Wicked Road to Hel (League of Guardians 1)

Chapter 1

Declan O’Hara stepped into the middle of the crossroads, a lonely stretch of pavement on the outskirts of town. The moon was barely visible, yet a thin ribbon of light bled through, basking the low-lying fog in an eerie glow.

He glanced to his right as a series of subtle vibrations shot up his legs.

Company was coming.

His hands were loose at his sides and he cracked his neck in an effort to relieve some tension.

Declan smiled in anticipation. It was about time.

His eyes pierced the gloom. An image wavered and solidified not more than three feet from him and the smile vanished, leaving his expression blank. He studied the newcomer for a few moments, relishing the fear he sensed.

“You’re late.” Declan’s voice was low, the tone conversational, yet the hard glint in his eyes told a different story.

His visitor, a slight imp of a man, took a step backward and shook his head. “I got away as soon as I could.” His voice was thin and there was a nervous edge to it.

Declan paused, welcoming the whisper of magick that rippled over his skin. “Where is he?”

The newcomer swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple protruding in a rapid jerk. “He’s no longer in Los Angeles.”

At Declan’s frown the man continued. “He now has a protector . . . a vampire.”

“A protector?” Interesting. “That’s all you got?”

The slight man nodded slowly.

Unbelievable. Declan swore under his breath and turned away. What a complete waste of time. For fuck sakes, he’d given up a bottle of merlot and a hot blonde for this? His irritation was surpassed only by his desire to get back to the lady and salvage at least part of his evening. He stepped away.

“What about payment?”

Declan paused, letting the energy inside him gather until his fingertips hummed with the heat of his power. He glanced back, eyebrows raised. “Payment? You didn’t give me anything I don’t already know. I wanted the location.”

“But I warned you of the protector—”

He laughed, though he wasn’t amused. “You think I need to be warned?” The ground beneath them trembled and danger swept in on the breeze. Declan was pissed. He had no time for this shit.

“There’s talk . . .” The man licked his lips nervously. “There’s talk that he’s been taken to New Orleans.”

“Fact or fiction?” Declan was fast losing patience. It didn’t take much to trigger his dark side these days.

“I can’t be certain.”

Declan turned once more to face him, his face hard, his eyes cold.

“I risked a lot to come here, to meet with you. If they find out . . .” The small man’s eyes glowed, a tinge of red burning through the gloom as he snarled in anger. “Samael will kill me.”

Declan’s surprise at the informer’s words was kept hidden. Samael? If the demon lord was involved, the game had just changed big-time. Declan’s fingers twitched, his nostrils flared as the energy in his hands sparked.

“What does Samael want with him?”

“I will give you no more.” The informer widened his stance and hissed. “I want payment.”

There it was . . . the trigger.

Declan cocked his head to the side and gave his power free rein. Mist swirled ever faster, hiding the darkness he unleashed. Wind whipped along the surface of the road, moaning as it enveloped the informant in a blanket of death. Seconds later Declan stepped over the still form that lay at his feet.

“Consider that payment rendered.” He grabbed his cell phone and hit redial.

“You get the intel?” Nico’s rough voice filled his ear. The shifter was a jaguar warrior and Declan’s partner.

“I’m headed to Louisiana. I’ll let you know what I find when I get there. We don’t have much time. Samael’s involved now.”

“Samael?” Nico sounded surprised. “That can’t be good. Who the hell is this guy we’re tracking? Do we have a name yet?”

Declan’s eyes narrowed. “No name.” He paused as an owl hooted in the distance. “Check out Los Angeles, see if you can pick up his trail or find a bread crumb that’s bigger than a nibble.”

The line went dead.

Guess he was heading to the Big Easy.

Declan arrived in New Orleans well past midnight the following evening. The moon was in hiding, the air was cool, and the energy in the city was powerful. Ancient magick lived here, fed not only by the great Mississippi River that slid by in silence, but by the souls of the dead who refused to leave.

It had been ages since he’d last been here. Another lifetime. He shook the melancholy that threatened and sought out the French Quarter. The Voodoo Lounge was located amongst a host of venues on Decatur Street.

Declan headed that way, his tall form sliding amongst the tourists with ease, his dark good looks drawing many a female eye. He ignored them all—even the busty brunette with the large doe eyes and plump, candy red lips.