Duncan leans against the wall with his hands in his jeans pockets.
“Where are you going, Lawrence? I can’t let you take the girl.”
Lawrence wraps his hand around my throat for the second time. “He will be eager to find out what this pretty little Iris is. She doesn’t even know.”
I purse my lips. “Why do you keep calling me that? My name is—” He cuts off my words with a squeeze of his hand, and I thrash about, trying to stomp on his feet.
Lawrence sniffs my shoulder. “If nothing else, she will make a tasty meal.”
I stiffen. They were going to eat me? I think I preferred being an alien.
“You and me both, sweetheart,” Duncan mutters under his breath. He pulls a knife out of each pocket, the moonlight glinting off the sharp blades as he palms them. I frown. Did I say that out loud?
Duncan circles us like a lion deciding on its best direction for a kill.
Lawrence pivots, using me as a shield. Halfway around, I spot Eve lying still on the floor. Glazed hazel eyes stare at me, unblinking. Her temples have been crushed, resulting in a surreal-looking skull, like a deflated doll.
My hand flies to my mouth to stop the scream on the tip of my tongue. Focusing on Duncan, I push down my panic and force myself to breathe evenly. After two rotations, my suppressed terror has morphed into rage.
My heart pounds in my ears. Before I can lose my nerve, I lean back into Lawrence’s body and wrap my hands around his neck. Tipping my head back, I try not to flinch when he smiles, his black, gleaming fangs elongating. He arches an eyebrow and tightens his hold on my waist, pulling me closer.
I lock my hands behind his head and give Duncan a surreptitious glance, hoping he can read my intent; otherwise, this net is about to get very claustrophobic.
Bending my back, I use my body to toss Lawrence over my shoulder.
The net vanishes, and he crashes against the wall. I blink. I’m not that strong… must be the adrenaline.
Lawrence springs to his feet, scooping up the gun I dropped earlier. A belligerent grin accompanies his obsidian eyes.
Three events happen at once; a thunderous bang reverberates around the room, perforating my eardrum, Duncan lifts his hands, and I instinctively jump in front of him.
Chapter Two
Natia
Tauruses have a winning mentality. They go into something with a do-or-die attitude, and giving up never crosses their minds.
Four years later.
H eavy rain obscures the abandoned warehouse as I squint through the windshield to analyze our surroundings. Dangerous possibilities lurk in the rain and shadows. The only working street light illuminates the front entrance to the warehouse with a neon orange glow.
“Where is he? Maybe we should issue department watches to our marks so they can turn up to their own demise on time,” I grumble.
Duncan glances up from the unusual leather-bound book written in some kind of hieroglyphs, which he has perched on the steering wheel next to the clock on the dashboard. As our resident language expert, I’m not sure there’s a language the guy can’t read. “It’s only been five minutes.”
“If you were five minutes late for a bus, you’d miss it. If you were five minutes late crossing the road, you might get hit by said bus. Besides, I have a date.”
Duncan scoffs then quickly stiffens as I shoot a glare his way. “Sorry… I was just…”
“Just what? Shocked that I could get a date?”
He scratches his chin. “Well, you are a bit… prickly.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I give him a playful shove.
He chuckles. “Really, though—who is it?”
I give him a wink. “The Real Housewives.”
He snorts. “I see your priorities are in order.”
We fall into companionable silence, each of us tracking any small movements. This particular demon is skilled in causing doubt and was being strategically placed in juries to ensure certain clients would be found innocent. We are luring him to the warehouse under the pretense of hiring him on behalf of a sports star who crashed his car into a house while high on drugs.
After New York, my world combusted with the knowledge that we aren’t the only species at the apex of the food chain, and we were in fact being hunted, preyed upon, and used as fodder for a wide host of supernatural beings that enjoy toying with human lives. Decisions were made, life-altering ones, which led me and Duncan to a fast friendship and a joint interest in protecting humankind. We aren’t without our own power; with the support of an international secret government agency, my enhanced senses, and Duncan’s magic, we are a force to be feared and admired.
Something shifts in the distance. I squint as a dark figure emerges from around the corner before disappearing into the front entrance of the warehouse. “Is that our mark?”
Duncan follows my focused gaze. “I can’t tell… Let’s wait—”
I jump out of the car. “Let’s not.”
Duncan utters a curse and follows me, but waits outside. Entering the warehouse through the back door, I get my first glimpse of our target lounging against some old wooden pallets—a bald, stocky guy in his fifties with mean-looking tattoos decorating his skull and neck. He resembles an ex-cage fighter with a name like “The Destroyer” or “Knuckle Duster.” I move forward at a casual pace, my heavy footsteps echoing throughout the expansive room, announcing my presence.
Knuckle Duster (yes, that’s the nickname I’m going with) pulls himself up to his full height, using the pallets as leverage, and saunters toward me, his hand prematurely outstretched. “You must be Dana. Where’s your colleague? Fox, right?”
“Really, an X-Files reference?” Duncan chuckles into the earpiece.
I smile and keep focused on him. “He’s running late,” I answer.
His eyes flick to the tops of the swords sheathed at my back. He smirks and shakes his head as two other people stroll through the door and flank him.
“They think the joke is on us,” I mutter under my breath so only Duncan will hear.
“Help?” Duncan enquires.
“Not yet. You need to be our surprise.”
“So, Dana,” Knuckle Duster drawls, “you’re not here for business, are you?”
I halt my approach, leaving twenty meters between us. “Depends on your definition of business. For me, that’s precisely what this is.”
The man on the left skims his eyes over my body. “She’s tiny, boss. Let’s just kill her and go back to the bar.”
“Agreed!” the woman on the right exclaims, examining her fingernails.
Knuckle Duster waves his hand toward me with a bored expression. “Go ahead.”
The woman drops her hand and gives me a slow, sly grin. She prowls toward me, her lithe body making her movements almost cat-like.
I smirk, which wipes the grin off her face. Clearly, she expected me to be scared. My heightened senses feel the shift in air currents, alerting me to her attack, and the flex of her arm muscles gives away her first move. I duck as her fist whizzes over my head and hammer mine into her stomach, sending her sprawling.
She rights herself and flips her ice blonde hair over her shoulder. I meet her calculating gaze as she analyzes my body. Her movements are quicker this time, but I anticipate the strike, my forearms taking the brunt of a double kick. I catch her foot and twist to the side, flipping her over.