And why he’d come.
Logan shook the memory from his mind and walked past the large body. He reached for the last one and yanked back the cover. It was the girl, of that he had no doubt.
Bruises covered the entire left side of her face and dried blood crusted near her nose and mouth. Her dark eyebrows were arched, delicate accents to adorn large eyes—which were not open. The long hair he remembered was no more—only hacked-off blunt ends remained, which barely touched her shoulders. The deep black color was gone, though the roots showed an inch thick among the cheap blond dye job. Her skin held the sickly tinge of indoors, as if she’d not seen the sun in years, yet her body was lean and muscular. The girl had worked out.
Hard.
Her arms lay at her sides and he noted scars along the inside of her wrists. Some were fresh but a lot were old. This girl had tried to die. Many times, by the looks of it.
Logan frowned. Why was she so damn important?
Why had he been dispatched to drag her to hell when she was ten? Nothing about that night had been on the up-and-up. His lips thinned and he scowled at the memory. It had been all wrong. He’d known it then and as he stared down at her broken body, something stirred within him. Cold, anger, and something else.
It was the something else he dismissed. He had no time for softness. For second-guessing. For fucking feelings.
Logan bent low, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. He filtered out the smell of death, of disinfectant and fear, and growled as two scents rose to the fore.
Her unique signature he remembered with clarity—which was odd, considering he’d targeted hundreds of thousands of souls in his lifetime. The little Dove was still full of honey and of the sun—surprisingly something that had not been killed while she’d languished here in this hellhole.
It was the other that had his hackles rising—the scent of otherworld. It carried the unmistakable trace of the upper realm.
Kira Dove had been murdered by one of Askelon’s own. But who? And why? He let the scent settle in his mind, compartmentalized the bastard’s signature so he’d never forget. If he ever crossed paths with the murderer he’d know it.
He straightened and cocked his head down at her, a frown burrowing his forehead. The bruising on her arms and knuckles suggested she’d fought back, which was interesting, considering she’d had a death wish for years.
After a few moments, Logan covered the body with the sheet and took a step back—he had everything he needed. One more glance around and then he disappeared, his tall, muscled form changing shape as the beast inside erupted.
He charged past the startled receptionist, a blur of fur, fangs, and deadly intent. Outside he turned and headed toward the far corner of the estate. Once he was hidden deep within the gnarled overhang of bush that lined the edge of a swamp, he stopped.
Flanks heaving, the hellhound turned its head toward the dark sky and howled. The terrifying lament echoed into the stillness, reverberating and thickening as it traveled beyond.
It was a call that wouldn’t go unanswered.
Within minutes a shadowed figure appeared, one that drifted above the ground. It was embraced within an ethereal mist that trailed behind it as it moved toward Logan, and when it was inches from the hellhound it stopped.
Why have you summoned me? The gatekeeper’s rasp echoed inside Logan’s mind.
Logan’s blood-red eyes regarded the cloaked figure for a few moments and then he growled, their wordless conversation continuing.
You will let me pass into the gray realm.
The gatekeeper laughed. Impossible. The gray realm is not for your kind.
Logan moved forward—the hellhound’s impressive height and muscled frame towering over the gatekeeper—and bared his teeth. You will let me pass or I will hunt the daughter that you hide among the humans.
The gatekeeper was shocked into silence and Logan watched him closely. Everyone had secrets. In his line of work it boded well to know as many as he could. Just as Bill had used Logan’s own secret to force him into this covert mission, he’d use whatever he had in his back pocket to get it done.
Logan Winters would do whatever it took to keep his mother safe—she was the one thing he treasured above all else.
After several long moments, mist whirled around them both, cool tendrils slithering along the damp ground like spectral fingers. Follow me. The order was terse. Angry.
Logan charged forward on the heels of the gatekeeper and seconds later the gray mist swallowed them whole.
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Chapter Three
KIRA DOVE HAD died and gone to heaven, or at the very least this was the closest she was going to get.