Such was the way of it these days. His stay in the Pit had altered him in more ways than one.
“You will do this because of your vow to the League.” Bill arched a brow. “And because I know your true origins.” The words slid between them—silky, dangerous. Bill’s ace in the hole.
Logan paused, the glass nearly to his lips. His throat tightened and his teeth clenched hard.
“I know who your mother is.”
The glass shattered in Logan’s hand as a snarl erupted from within his chest. In a flash, his fist closed around Bill’s throat and he shoved the Seraphim back onto the bar with such force that the walls shook sending bottles and glasses crashing to the floor.
Logan’s skin shifted and the beast shone through, his eyes morphing to blood red as he stared down at the small man held tight in his grip.
Several longs moments passed and eventually Logan pulled back, curses in an ancient tongue flying from his mouth as he stepped away.
He closed his eyes, forced his body to relax, and crooked his head to the side. “Where’s the girl?”
There was a pause.
“Purgatory.”
Logan swore. “I don’t have permission to enter the gray realm, you know that. No hellhound has ever breached it.” He swore again. “And even if I did, there’s no guarantee I will get to her in time or find my way out.”
“This is true.” Bill nodded. “But I have faith in you, Logan. I always have.”
Logan clenched his lips together tightly and took a few moments to gather his thoughts. He had no choice and he hated that the little son of a bitch had put him in this situation. Hadn’t he given enough to the fucking League?
He glared at the Seraphim and spoke coldly. “Where’s her body?”
“The Regent Psychiatric Institute in Florida.” At Logan’s snarl, the round man finished quietly. “Morgue.”
The word had barely escaped Bill’s lips and Logan was already gone.