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Tonight’s fog was different than the kind that warranted the blaring of a civil defense siren. While just as utterly blinding, this fog was otherwise harmless. But the kind that caused city officials to sound an alarm? Now that was the type of fog that prompted every citizen in the area to get inside and stay inside. Even people as crazy as Roman knew better than to step outside during a fog warning.
Dropping into a crouch before the slain monster, Roman reached for the head with a gloved hand—
And froze. It was gone.
The hair on his scalp prickled with a warning.
He wasn’t alone.
Adrenaline sparked in his veins, making him smile like a wolf. Oh, this was going to be good.
Slowly, Roman lifted himself to his feet. As he surveyed the soup of fog and darkness swirling around him, that predatory smile spread across his face until it was more a hungry baring of teeth.
“Little pig, little pig,” he drawled, his husky voice growing louder with every word he sang. “Come on outtttt!”
Nothing. It seemed he’d stumbled into a game, and he had every intention of playing.
He walked slowly. Soundlessly. Turning in place, he picked apart the alley with eyes that were now black with the Sight. There was no aura, but he could feel that someone was here. Watching him.
Movement on his left.
Roman struck—not with his body, but with his magic. His shadows.
He could command the darkness as he saw fit, and his command tonight was for the shadows of the alley to apprehend this nosey little pig.
A tendril of blackness slashed through the air. It grabbed hold of an ankle, causing whoever it was to trip. They—she grunted and fell.
Roman reeled those shadows in, dragging the female back this way—
And slammed her up against the brick wall. Whoever it was, she gurgled and squirmed—his victims always did. And they always begged before he gutted them like fish.
A faint trickle of moonlight cut through the fog, and Roman stepped into it, shadows wreathing his fingers. “What do we have here?”
He paused. Cocked his head.
It was the rabbit messenger. The strawberry blonde who’d hired him not one gods-damned hour ago.
“Bold little bunny,” Roman drawled. He glanced at the bag she’d dropped—the one containing the severed head of the Hound—and clucked his tongue. “Thieving little bunny.”
The rabbit struggled, thrashing against the shadowy restraints. She smelled like apples—those green ones that were so sour they made him want to shave off his tastebuds.
“I didn’t know you could—” She writhed and bucked, but his shadows didn’t yield. “Control them,” she concluded, panting.
A thrill of pleasure skittered up Roman’s spine at the sight of her breasts rising with every inhale, at the sound of her pulse skipping like a flat stone on water. Fear, most likely. Maybe even a touch of excitement, if the feel of her aura was any indication. Both were turn-ons for him. Was she enjoying this?
Roman stepped up to where she was pinned. She tried to shrink away from his advance, but his shadows gave her no leeway. A wisp of black snaked around her throat, squeezing tight.
Her gulp carried through the alley. The sound made Roman smile—and his smile made the bunny hold her breath.
He was close enough now to touch her, to kill her. She knew it too—he could tell from her reluctance to expel the air from her lungs.
“They call me ‘Shadowmaster’ for a reason,” Roman said, watching the freckled skin on her chest pebble with goosebumps. “How can I be the master of something if I cannot control it?”
He plucked the mask off her face.
Eyes the prettiest shade of green stared back at him. There was a split in her left iris, one portion a darker green than the other. With her sneakers dangling nearly three feet above ground, her head was slightly higher than his. Her brows, the same strawberry blonde as her hair, were straighter than they were arched, her mouth full, jawline soft. There were freckles all over her face, too, and just below her right eye was—
A small tattoo. A raindrop.
