Page 84 of Hell’s Half Acre

The heat returned to his hands. Even now, he could see the blood on Sorcha. Feel her breath rattling in her chest.

Had he not been there, she’d be dead.

The images of her sister’s crime scene haunted him. He hated looking them over because it was Sorcha’s face in each photograph. If Siobhan had been even a tenth as kind as her sister, then her death was a travesty.

It was why he’d spent hours trying to figure out who’d done it. Looking for a clue that had escaped everyone else’s attention. Sadly, it’d happened too long ago for him to hunt the killer by scent.

Unlike the idiot who’d gone after Sorcha today.

You are mine.

And he wasn’t feeling merciful.

Chapter

Sixteen

Human. That was what surprised Luke the most. Sorcha’s shooter was a human being.

At first, he’d been sure that it was preternatural in origin, and it wasn’t like him to be wrong.

But the scent in his nostrils was the same exact one he’d smelled when the attacker drove past them on the street.

In canine form, Luke crept closer to the door of one of the rooms at the Thunderbird Inn—a modest little hotel right next to some of the SCAD properties and across the street from the bus station. It was a quaint motel modeled in a retro 1960s style.

Ironically, Luke had spent a few nights here when he’d first arrived in Savannah. Helly had loved the donuts in the morning and free popcorn.

Even though he passed the place rather frequently, he hadn’t really thought about it since Reyes had allowed him to live over the garage at IA.

Until now.

He followed the scent to the green door with the crooked number 6 screwed to it. Inside, he could hear someone rummaging.

Then he heard the man speak in Spanish. “She should be dead. I’m getting out of here immediately and heading back.”

Luke let his canine form melt into the shadow body he’d used often in Hell. Stepping through the door, he watched the squat little man scurry to gather his items and pack them in a small brown suitcase.

As the man turned toward him, Luke narrowed his gaze.

He was a priest of Xolotl.

Just what the hell was going on? Xolotl was the Aztec god of fire, the underworld, and death, among other things.

As another canine Alpha, the Aztec god had once been friends with Luke’s mother…long before Luke had been born. It was in his honor that his mother had chosen her hellhound form.

To Luke’s knowledge, the god was gone. Long gone. He’d been sacrificed centuries ago for humanity.

So why would there be a priest for the ancient god in modern-day Savannah? It didn’t make any sense.

Luke watched as the priest kissed his ceremonial breastplate, then closed and zipped his suitcase.

As he made for the door, Luke materialized.

The priest froze. He stared at Luke as if he were trying to place him. “Who are you?” he finally asked in Spanish.

“The protector of the one you shot.”

He paled at those words, then turned to run for the bathroom.