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The fingers of death, so cold and familiar.
And then, finally, a face.
The last image before death won. The last conscious thought.
Doyle looked. And in his mind he saw Lucius Dragos, fangs bared, as he bent close to suck the last vestiges of life from Judge Marcus Braddock.
Doyle’s teeth chattered and his body shook as he pulled free of Braddock’s mind. But he had Dragos now, had him dead to rights.
Exhausted, he tilted his head up to face Tucker. “We finally got him, partner. And we are going to nail his ass to the wall.”
* * *
Ural Hasik stood in a copse of trees, looking at the activity inside the crime scene tape. He’d been monitoring the humans’ police band radio when he’d heard the call. Joggers. A body in the park. A neck wound.
He’d reported it immediately, of course. As he expected, he’d been ordered to come. To watch. To stay hidden. And then to report what he learned.
Now, he pushed the button on his phone, knowing that his report would make Gunnolf very, very happy.
“Dragos,” he said, when the Therian leader answered the call. “The para-demon says that Lucius Dragos killed the judge.”
ChapterFive
Doyle stumbled, losing his footing as he shuffled from the muddy ground to the asphalt of the parking lot. His body was wrung out, every movement akin to pushing his limbs through pudding. And the miners with pickaxes whacking at the inside of his skull weren’t helping the situation.
Tucker thrust out his hand. “Keys.”
“Fuck you.”
“I mean it, man. You’re spiraling. No way are you getting behind the wheel.”
“The hell you say,” Doyle retorted, but it was only for form. He was ripped up, and right then all he wanted was to collapse on the Catalina’s bench seat and close his eyes.
“Keys,” Tucker repeated.
“Only to shut you up.” Doyle tossed him the keys. Or tried to. They made it a few inches, then clattered to the pavement.
“Fuck it, Doyle.” Tucker bent to grab the keys. “Give it up and let’s get you what you need.”
Doyle gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Be fine,” he managed, sliding into the passenger seat and closing his eyes. “I’ll sleep it off. You drive to Malibu. I’ll be fine.”
“Bullshit,” Tucker retorted as he slid behind the wheel. “It’s me, remember? I’ve gotten to know your sorry ass pretty well over the years.”
Doyle lifted his head to tell his partner to fuck off, but found he didn’t have the energy.
“Okay. That’s it. We’ll hit Dragos’s house after. But first, I’m taking you to Orlando’s.”
“No.” He hated that his partner knew what he went through. Hated more that Tucker had been sucked into helping each time Doyle sank deeper into the mire.
“I don’t see that you have a choice, buddy,” Tucker said, fastening the seatbelt that Doyle was struggling with. “You’re fading fast. When was the last time you had yourself a Happy Meal?”
Too long, and he hated that he needed the hit. Needed to feed.
The weakness in him shamed him. He was only half demon, dammit; he should be able to wrest more control. Should be able to function without taking, without feeding.
And it wasn’t just the weakness that plagued him when he didn’t feed. He lost his gift, too. How was that for fucked up? He could see the dead’s attackers, but only if he fed. If he made himself a monster.
When he fed, his demon side surfaced. Claimed. Wanted.
