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“She cannot perish. Her future is hidden in the fabric that binds us all, and it needs to be protected.”

“Seems like a moot point considering she’s already dead.”

Bill’s eyes narrowed. His face darkened. Gone was the pleasant, middle-aged human. In his stead a powerful, enigmatic creature stood. Two realities converged and Logan had to admit, the little shit’s mojo was impressive. Bill’s voice vibrated, falling in layers that encircled Logan and filled his head. There was no mistaking. The Seraphim was livid.

“She is not meant to die—not yet. Someone is trying to alter her destiny and I need you to retrieve her for me.”

“She’s not my problem. Find some other dog.”

“Oh but she is your problem. I need someone who can track her. Someone who knows her scent.” Bill leaned closer, his voice amplified even more. “Someone who’s tasted her soul.”

Logan had had enough. He growled, bared his teeth. “I don’t take orders from you. Not anymore. I don’t know why I ever agreed to it in the first place.”

Liar. If he was being truly honest, Logan could at least admit he’d only agreed to join the League because he hated Mallick’s guts. The demon was getting much too powerful as far as he was concerned. Something had to be done.

Bill sighed, grabbed his bag of candy, and helped himself to a generous amount. He chewed and stared up at Logan thoughtfully, though the hellhound was wary of the expression that now rested upon his features.

“You will do this for me.”

Logan crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs. The Seraphim was going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.

Logan reached for the nearly empty bottle of whiskey and dumped the last of it into his glass. “You’ve wasted a trip, old man.” He was dancing on the edge. Tossing insults to one of the most powerful creatures in existence.

And he didn’t give a shit. Such was the way of it these days. His stay in the pit had altered him in more ways than one.

“You will do this because of your vow to the League and because I know your true origins.” The words slid between them. Silky. Dangerous. Bill’s ace in the hole.

Logan paused, the glass nearly to his lips. His throat tightened and his teeth clenched hard.

“I know who your mother is.”

The glass shattered in Logan’s hand as a snarl erupted from within his chest. His fist closed around Bill’s throat and he shoved the Seraphim back into the bar with such force that the walls shook, sending bottles and glasses crashing to the floor.

Logan’s skin shifted and the beast shone through, his eyes morphing to bloodred as he stared down at the small man held tight in his grip.

Several long moments passed and eventually Logan pulled back, curses in an ancient tongue flying from his mouth as he stepped away.

He closed his eyes, forced his body to relax, and crooked his head to the side. “Where’s the girl?”

There was a pause.

“Purgatory.”

Logan swore. “And her body?”

“The Regent Psychiatric Institute in Florida.” At Logan’s arched brow the round man finished quietly. “Morgue.”

The word had barely escaped Bill’s lips and Logan was already gone.

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