Chapter Five
KIRA DOVE’S SCENT lingered in the air, a tantalizing fragrance that teased his nostrils. It held the merest whisper of honey, but was enough to point Logan in the right direction.
He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, wincing at the pain that lashed across his muscles. The damn smoke creatures had proved harder to kill than he’d thought they’d be, and the extra time he’d dealt with them kept him that much farther away from his target.
He’d been afraid that Kira’s scent would fade, that the gray realm would shift and it would take him too long to find her again.
Luckily for him he’d been able follow her path from the alley, though he wasn’t entirely sure where he was at the moment.
He turned, a muscle working its way sharply across his jaw as a frown stole over his features. His arm still tingled from her touch—the flash of heat and need still roiled beneath his flesh. In all of his years, he’d never felt such a connection—such an insane desire to take, to hold, and to claim. Not even when he’d fancied the werewolf, Lita.
What the hell was up with that?
His eyes narrowed as he searched the gloom; her energy left small signatures behind, little bits of her soul that glistened among the shadows. He saw them there, drifting up ahead, like magical fireflies. They were beacons of light in the darkness as surely as if she’d lit the path with a hundred torches.
Behind him, the market had been swallowed whole—sucked into one of the many invisible threads of existence that shifted and changed constantly here. It’s what made purgatory so dangerous. The gray realm was constantly changing, combining bits of a person’s reality and bits of what the realm was—which, to most, was a mystery.
Many had been lost here for millennia, especially the ones who didn’t belong.
Like him.
Logan rolled his shoulders and moved forward, pushing any thought but retrieval from his mind. Damned if he was going to stay any longer than he had to. He’d grab the girl, find his way back to the portal, and get the hell out. Once she was back in Bill’s custody he could forget all about Kira Dove.
He slid among the shadows with predatory ease. Out here along the edges of the gray realm it was quiet, though the landscape was ever-changing. Buildings rose up on either side of him—tall, monstrous things that disappeared in the clouds—and down the way a carnival was in progress; a massive Ferris wheel slowly turned, though no one rode it.
A gentle breeze stirred bits of paper and large orange leaves that had come from nowhere. They danced in front of him, lingering in the air, before being swept away behind him.
The street before him was eerily quiet save for a lone soul several feet ahead of him. The man paused, swiveling his head around until he spied Logan.
His clothing was not the modern type that Logan had come to prefer—jeans and t-shirt had been his mode of dress for years. This man, his clothing spoke of a different time.
A top hat sat precariously on his head and his facial hair was elegant—a mustache neatly trimmed with a salt-and-pepper beard to match. Round glasses perched on an overly long, thin nose gave him a bit of a hawkish look. His overcoat was royal blue; at his throat a crisp, starched shirt; and his white pants, showing stains on the knees, were tucked into brown leather knee-high boots.
In his hand he clutched a riding crop, his fingers covered with dirty gloves that at one ti
me must have been white, yet now were dove gray.
The man tipped his head and tapped his hat. “I say, sir, can you point me toward . . .” He frowned. “I’m just looking for the . . .” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Sorry . . . lately I seem to have difficulty remembering what exactly it is I’m looking for.”
He arched a brow hopefully, a sad, wistful smile claiming his mouth.
“Sorry, I can’t help you with that.” Logan’s words were clipped.
Poor bastard. Logan wondered how many more years he was doomed to wander, never resting, always searching for the path that would lead him to salvation.
“Oh yes, well,” the man crooked his head to the side and touched the edge of his top hat, “a good day to you then, sir.” Shoulders slumped, the man continued on his way and soon disappeared into the heavy mist that rolled across the pavement.
Logan followed in his steps, his gaze locked on to the thinning whispers of light that danced in the air. He crossed the street, nostrils flaring as the girl’s scent sharpened and then faded.
Where the hell was she?
Logan paused, closed his eyes, and concentrated. He inhaled great gulps of air, his body analyzing every particle, tearing them apart, and seconds later he turned. The billowing clouds of mist faded and there across the way was a massive forest. He sensed many creatures hidden behind the trees: lost souls, spirit guides, and more than a few who didn’t belong.
His chest grumbled and he bared his teeth. His human girl was wandering among them.
Logan took off at a run and plunged headlong into the thick stand of trees. They were taller than any found in the human realm, great soldiers made of ancient wood that had stood guard for millennia, their eyes watching in silence the parade of souls doomed to wander the gray realm.
In here, deep within their ranks, was an entirely different world. The quiet was heavy, the scents fresh and sharp. A healthy dose of greenery lay at his feet—tall grasses, weeds, and bushes—and the rich scent of freshly mown lawn reached his nostrils.