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He moved to the table for his knife. It had served him well so many times before. It would serve him again. Open the wound, and close his mouth over the sweet flow of life.
But it would drain out too quickly. He needed another, and the cages were empty, the hunt not complete.
“We will hunt after?” he asked.
She laughed. “So eager.”
“I seek only to please you.” He kept his head down, wanting to ask about her plans for him, but not sure that he should. In the end, though, he couldn’t keep silent. “Am I worthy? Will you take me with you to your side?” He wanted to be like her; he wanted to feed only on the blood. On the light.
She laughed, then twirled, her skirt flowing outward. “Some of my kind are worthy. Some waste their gift. And some should never have been turned at all.”
“And me?” he asked, praying she would find him worthy.
“You are meant for wondrous things. Special. So special.” She glided toward him, circled him. “Tell me, Xavier. Do you know the one who bound you? Who called your genius criminal?”
“I know her,” he said. “A bitch prosecutor.” He looked up, afraid he’d gone too far, but the Angel was only smiling at him.
“She is horrible. Takes things that do not belong to her.”
“My life,” he said. “My freedom.” But he had his freedom back now, and the bitch prosecutor didn’t matter. Only the girls mattered, and this one especially. This one who even now stirred at his feet. “It’s time to get started,” he said.
“Then do not hesitate.”
But he did, because the girl was not enough, and he needed to know. Needed to be certain another would come. Another would fill him. “And after?” he asked. “When the light is gone?”
“Then we will hunt again,” she said, satisfying him.
And with the greatest anticipation, he pressed the knife to the child’s throat, and listened as the scream came, yanking her back from the depths of sleep.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The hearing was not going well. She’d put on more than enough evidence to show that Luke had connections—serious connections of the type who could wrangle a way to remove the detention device. She’d presented evidence of guilt—the DNA, the silver signet ring from the crime scene, Doyle’s testimony. And she’d even been allowed to provide evidence of Luke’s notoriety—the kind of evidence that would never have been allowed upstairs—to show that he was a danger to the community.
She’d done everything right, and still she was losing. She could see it in the way the judge shifted and turned on the bench, his beady bird eyes seeming to look past her evidence to a conclusion he’d already established.
“I’m sinking,” she said to Leviathan.
“You’re putting on the best case you have,” he said, which didn’t make her feel better. This was her first hearing in her new job, and she was sitting at the counsel table with her new boss. She wanted a win, dammit, and the only way she could think to get it was to play her trump card.
She looked over at the defendant’s table—at Nick, sitting there looking smug, and Luke beside him, his manner, his appearance, his very essence both screaming of importance and warning of danger. She told herself this wasn’t about him—about them—and then, because her feelings for Luke should never have affected her prosecution of the case, she stood up, finally resolved.
“Your Honor, the prosecution moves to introduce video footage of the pool deck of the Plaza Towers taken late Friday night.”
Now Montague surged to his feet. “Objection. Your Honor, may we approach?”
The judge turned one of his beady black eyes on Montague. The gryphon—with an eagle’s head and a lion’s body—was huge and imposing, and he could maintain order in his courtroom with nothing more than a glance. “Approach? But there is no jury present.”
“No, but the gallery is full, and Ms. Constantine is about to lead us into mine-filled waters.”
The feathers that covered the judge’s face ruffled, but he agreed.
“This is completely unacceptable,” Montague continued. “Counsel is addressing an area that must be treated as off the record.”
“Your Honor,” Sara said, “that isn’t exactly accurate. My conversation with Mr. Dragos is off the record. But Agent Doyle acquired the same information entirely independent of me or Mr. Montague or Mr. Dragos.”
The judge considered for only a moment, then nodded at Sara. “Proceed.”
A little trill of victory shot through her, only to be quashed by Montague’s harsh words as they walked back to the counsel table. “There is the letter of the law, and then there is the spirit, Ms. Constantine. I think we both know that what you’ve done skirts propriety. At the very least you should have given us notice that you intended to piss on the good faith that Mr. Dragos and myself showed to you.”
