The voices clawed at him, eager for their take. He filtered through the gap under the door but kept his smoke form once he got in, unsure of where she might be. The cacophony of heartbeats in the building made it impossible to pick out her pulse.

The kitchen was lit only by the dim bulb burning over the range. Her shopping bags sat on the counter. He returned to his physical body and went to find her. It was a small apartment; she couldn’t be too far away. The kick of the hunt shot through him like the spike of good whiskey.

He was moments from devouring her, moments from tasting the hot spill of blood he craved like nothing else. Yes yes yes…

A smiled creased his mouth and he was unable to stop it. Too long, he’d been shackled by the curse. By the comarré. Yes, she’d kept him from this as well. But those cares were gone. Nothing mattered but the blood and the righteous satisfaction of a kill.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, the word ghost surfaced. He shrugged it off and pushed forward. Soft singing met his ears. He went after the sound, using it like a beacon to locate her.

A door at the end of a narrow hall stood ajar. He walked toward it, pushed it open silently, and stopped cold.

No. Take her. Now. Anger reverberated through the voices, but his feet were planted.

She sat on the edge of a twin bed, singing quietly and petting the hair of a sleeping child. A boy. No more than four or five.

Mal backed up a step.

Kill her. Drain her. Drink!

He stared at the two of them while the voices spun into a frenzy. So innocent and unaware. Images flitted through his brain. An angelic face surrounded by brunette curls. Big brown eyes that stared up at him like he ruled the world. Pale skin torn and bloodied. Her body lifeless as a rag doll.

He went to smoke and left.

Creek paced expectantly. Every night since he’d told Annika about the mayor making him Paradise City’s enemy number one, the two of them had gone on patrol and made sure that the city’s othernatural residents remained as law-abiding and behaved as possible.

Tonight, she was late.

He pulled out his phone and checked it for the second time, but there was still no message from her. She was a basilisk and could definitely take care of herself, but that didn’t stop him from being concerned about his sector chief.

Not that he’d ever worried about Argent, except what the old dragon shifter might have thought about a few of Creek’s screwups.

Annika was different. He stopped pacing to sit on the steps that led down from his sleeping loft. Thanks to his grandmother, he and Annika had developed a much better relationship than he’d ever had with Argent.

He laughed softly. If Mawmaw had her way, she’d probably get them married off. Not that he felt like that about Annika. He preferred his women… human. Or comarré, but that door wasn’t just closed; it was nailed shut. And he knew Mawmaw well enough to know that inviting them both over for dinner wasn’t just her friendly way of saying thank you for saving her from Yahla, the soulless woman. He shook his head. Oh no. She made plans, that one. Plans she liked to see realized.

He’d pulled out his phone again and started a text to Annika when three short knocks sounded on the door of the repurposed machine shop he called home. He jumped up and went to slide the door back.

Annika stood on the other side, draped in shadows. She nodded and her ever-present black shades reflected the two solar lamps lighting his home. “Creek.”

Relief erased the tension in his shoulders. “I was starting to think something had happened.”

“No, I…” She looked down the street. “I just had some things to take care of.” Then she checked the other side. “I’m not alone.”

His brow furrowed. “Who’s with you?”

“Another operative. Everything clear?”

“Yes.” Another operative? Was he being moved? Given help? He pushed the door open a little wider. “Come in.” And explain.

She looked to her side again and motioned to someone, then stepped through the door. “This is the highest level of security, you understand?”

“Absolutely.” What wasn’t with the KM?

A shadow filled the doorway behind her. Taller, darker, and reeking of the dirty, spicy scent only one creature carried.

“Vampire,” he muttered.

She nodded and turned toward her guest. “It’s clear.”

The operative stepped into the light and Creek’s gut twisted hard. He swore softly under his breath. “Octavian.”

Chapter Three

Doc signed the last of the papers in front of him and set them aside. “All right. Bring him in.”

Barasa nodded and opened the office door.

A few moments later, Remo Silva strolled in.

With the same apprehension he’d feel toward any newcomer to his pride, Doc eyed the man entering his office. Even Omur and Barasa, Doc’s existing council members, seemed on edge. Despite being the son of the leader of São Paulo’s largest pride, Remo would still have to prove himself as a member of this one. His guaranteed position on Doc’s council didn’t come with built-in trust.

But Doc had agreed to Remo joining his pride and he would not go back on his word. He stayed seated, the proper position for any pride leader, and extended his hand. “Maddoc Mays. Good to meet you, Remo. Your father spoke highly of you.”

Remo shook Doc’s hand with unnecessary vigor. “I doubt that.” He laughed and a shiver of unease rippled down Doc’s back. “The old man was just happy to pawn me off.” He shook Barasa’s and Omur’s hands as well, then turned back to Doc. “Good to be here, though. I like new places. New people. New experiences.”




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