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She moaned and shook as his fingers fed from the images in her mind. When he was done he settled her onto the low-slung bench and left her to the shadows.
Tasha wouldn’t remember Declan or the green demon she’d been riding. His face was grim as he grabbed his beer from Jim and headed outside. She definitely wouldn’t remember the vampire, Ana DeLacrux.
Samael walked with slow, precise steps through the darkened streets of District One. A storm had just blown in, he’d rode the tail end of it as he’d ascended from the human realm, and another threatened on the horizon. Such was the way of it here.
He exhaled twin shots of mist as the warm air from his body mingled with the cold. Shrewdly his gaze swept the street. Declan would have stashed the vampire close by. He knew the sorcerer was attached to the woman. He’d made it a point to know everything about the man.
He snorted as he cut through the thick gloom. Feelings were for the weak.
Ahead he spied the watchtower and without breaking stride, turned toward it. His long legs ate up the distance in no time and he shook the excess moisture from his thick hair as he walked toward the front desk of the ramshackle hotel adjacent to the tower.
The Soul Sucker was a dump, as was ninety-five percent of District One, but he paid no heed to his surroundings. What did he care? His palatial estate was nothing like these ruins.
The clerk behind the desk stood straight when he spied Samael, and though he appeared calm, his thin shoulders shook slightly as they hunched forward.
“Master.” His tone was flat though respectful.
Samael arched a brow. “Anyone check in tonight?” he asked casually. He smiled as the clerk swallowed thickly and nodded.
Silence fell between them and he leaned in close. “I’m not a mind reader”—he flexed his fingers—“though there are ways.”
The tall man jumped, his Adam’s apple bobbed in a fluttery motion as he cleared his throat. “Sorry, master. Yes, a couple came in, uh, I don’t know about—”
“Number?” Samael bit in harshly.
The clerk’s face was pinched as he pointed toward the elevator. “Ten-twenty.”
Samael turned without another word. He ignored the elevator and took the stairs, enjoying the strenuous exercise as he jogged up them. He entered on the opposite end from where he needed to be. Garbage littered the corners, rats scurried about, and a few lost souls stared his way as he made his way down. They were derelicts. Souls that had managed to claw their way up from below, but sadly would never leave District One, which was basically Hell’s version of purgatory.
He stopped in front of the last door on the left and removed his aviators. A thin sheen of energy slithered across the entire frame. It was magick, O’Hara’s brand, no doubt. A ward of some sort.
He heard a crash followed by a cry of rage from inside. He smiled. Nothing like a little tension and anger to feed his soul.
Declan had obviously charmed the door so the vampire wouldn’t be able to leave. That was good, because she could royally screw things up if allowed out. His full lips thinned into a grimace. Lilith would not win.
Could not win.
If she managed to gather the mark of seven then all was lost. The scales would be tipped so far to the left, the right side would never be able to recover. Life as he knew it would cease to exist.
He fucking liked things the way they were. Why else would he risk his life every day that he drew breath? Why else join with Bill and the rest?
He stilled as his heart flushed hot with anger. That Lilith had managed to take them from his man, Janus, must still be dealt with. The soul reaper had been in charge of teens. He’d turned up dead, the children were missing, and Lilith gloated from her dungeon below.
Someone had set her on the path to the children. Had the audacity to betray the demon of chaos. Samael clenched his hands tightly and growled. A rat scurrying at his feet bolted, startled as the sounds echoed down the hall. He snorted. They knew not what they tangled with.
He pressed his hand against the frame and hissed as pain traveled along his arm. It was intense and left blisters in its wake. He smiled and turned away. He liked pain. It was one emotion that made him feel alive.
The vampire would not be going anywhere. One less thing for him to worry about.
Samael cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and was about to leave when a curse, bang, and shriek sounded once more—this time, accompanied by an incredible crash and the sound of glass breaking.
Bloody fuck! What the hell had she done?
He turned a thunderous eye toward the door and tweaked his shoulders once more as the tattoo along his neck shimmered.
“Sleep, my friend. I can handle a vampire. Especially one that comes in such a small, pretty package.”
Samael didn’t hesitate, issued nothing more than a grunt as he sent his booted foot straight through the door, splintering it in two sections. The energy that burned up his leg was fierce. He clenched his teeth and growled as he stepped through the ward, wincing slightly as the pain tripled before fading away.
