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“I don’t want a holy war running amok in my backyard. Keep your boss out of my city.”
No worries there. Bill was with Azaiel. He was one of the original Seraphim but had fallen from grace centuries ago, lured from the upper realm by a beautiful eagle shifter. Dumb fuck.
He’d created a portal that had almost ripped a hole the size of Hell into the human realm. A lot of people had suffered, given their lives in order for the portal to remain hidden. Declan’s own father, Cormac, had tried to get his slimy hands on the damn thing.
Azaiel had languished in the Hell realm for eons, but two years ago he’d been retrieved and now was on trial for his sins.
As far as Declan was concerned, the fallen was going to get what he deserved. Bill would be busy for days.
Declan nodded. “Done, and the second?”
Ransome grabbed a coat from the chair behind his desk. “I’m coming along.”
“Not possible.” Declan shook his head. “I’m working this one alone.”
Ransome ignored him and slipped supple leather over his powerful shoulders. “You forget, sorcerer, that this is my town, and nothing of significance happens without my knowledge or involvement.”
Declan’s lips thinned but he remained silent. He could use dark magick to stop him, Ransome had no idea the kind of power that lived beneath his skin, but he couldn’t deny the wolf was one hell of a tracker.
&
nbsp; He nodded and stepped aside, following Ransome out the back door. He’d humor the wolf for the moment.
Besides, Bill would fucking hate the idea.
Chapter 2
The city of the dead—or Lafayette Cemetery No. 1—was quiet as Declan and Ransome walked by. It was nearing 3 A.M. and the souls of those still wandering between the concrete mausoleums were eerily silent.
Declan paused as his gaze passed over the rows of above-ground tombs, a macabre collection that stood in shadow. The dark gray, faded slabs looked forlorn and decrepit. He sensed the energy traces of those long gone from the earth, yet still bound to the physical world. Some stayed by choice and others because of unfinished business.
Either way it sucked to be in limbo. He should know.
“Where we headed?” he asked Ransome. They’d left the craziness of Decatur and Bourbon Streets, and were near the Garden District.
“A place on Prytania. It’s been empty for years but was recently settled again.”
Declan frowned. “By otherworld?”
“Yeah, a vampire.” Ransome arched a brow. “And don’t start with the Lestat jokes, they’ve been old since before ’94.”
Declan had no clue who the hell Lestat was but his interest was piqued. He’d not shared with Ransome the fact that this so-called protector was a vampire. Adrenaline flooded his cells. The hunt was on.
They passed several large mansions, all of them well-kept, reeking of old money and an era long dead. Shadows clung to the buildings, filled with whispers of energy that seemed out of sync.
The air was rank with pain, loss, and anger. Declan inhaled the ancient magick that lived and breathed in this part of New Orleans and smiled as it hit the cells inside his body. He could get drunk on the power, feed from it like candy.
He’d forgotten what the rush felt like.
Ransome stopped a few feet ahead of him, his large frame suddenly still. The wolf pointed toward a house in darkness. “The DeLacrux mansion.”
The house was set back a ways, the entire property bordered by an intricate iron fence. The large trees in the front yard as well as the gardens and shrubs all looked overgrown, gnarled, and badly neglected. A run-down gallery ran the length of the home, with an upper level that mimicked the bottom.
Declan took a few steps closer and felt the unmistakable trace of a protection ward. “DeLacrux?” he asked, frowning as he continued to gaze upon the darkened home. The name was familiar somehow, but at the moment the reason for it escaped him.
He made a note to call Nico and have him check it out.
“The family has lived here for over two hundred years. They are the original owners and built this house, though for the last fifty or so it’s been vacant.” Ransome glanced toward Declan. “Until a few weeks ago.”
