Darkness Unbound (Dark Angels 1)

I grimaced. “The odds were a little in their favor.”

She grunted, then stood aside and motioned me in. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You can explain what happened and who we have to chase after.”

I grinned. I might not have come here for that sort of help, but it was always nice to know she was ready to kick some ass for me. Then again, she’d always treated me like one of her own.

She slammed the door shut and fell into step beside me, her gait long and easy. She was dressed in her usual jeans and T-shirt, but her feet were bare and half her toenails were painted an iridescent orange that clashed wildly with the vivid red of her hair.

“I’m gathering Uncle Liander has found a new nail color?”

She rolled her eyes, her smile warm and amused. I’d known her all my life, and she looked as young now as she had when I was a kid. So did Uncle Rhoan. Liander was the only one who’d aged, and even then you could only see it in the fine lines around his eyes and near his mouth.

“He never wears it himself, you know. I think he just enjoys painting my toenails.”

“Well, Uncle Rhoan never sits still long enough, so I guess you’re the next best option.”

She laughed and pushed open the door that led to the huge expanse that was their main living area. It was actually very similar in design to my own place, with the metal and brick of the old warehouse in plain view, and enhanced with lots of chrome and glass. But unlike ours, this place was filled with a riot of colors, from the green and rust of the huge sofas dominating the center of the room to the cherrywood and black of the kitchen. Huge paintings were dotted around the old walls—family portraits intermingled with light frames containing rolling images of forests and beaches. Aunt Riley had become so proficient at photography that she’d recently had her first exhibition. If the success of that was anything to go by, she was going to make

a name for herself in the art world.

Not that that was her aim. Shoes were her true passion, and she’d been designing her own for years now. I had prototypes of the latest line in my wardrobe, and I have to say, they rocked.

Liander was sitting on the huge glass-and-chrome coffee table in the middle of the U-shaped line of sofas, but his welcoming smile faded as he looked at me. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Some shifters decided it would be a nice day for an ambush,” I said, then changed direction as Riley nudged me toward the bathroom. “Although they weren’t actually shifters.”

“Strip and shower,” Riley ordered. “And I’ll get you some clean clothes. You,” she added, as Liander made to follow us in, “go make me a coffee and grab Ris a Coke. The explanations can wait until we get her cleaned up. Or do you want to explain to Dia why we let her little girl stand around and bleed to death?”

“I’m hardly bleeding to death,” I commented.

“That is not the point,” she said. “I’ve seen your mother annoyed. And trust me, it isn’t pretty. Go shower. I’ll be back with antiseptic.”

I stripped as she hustled Liander out the door, then stepped into the shower—which was even bigger than mine—and washed the grime and blood from my skin. It took a while, thanks to the fact that there were remnants of my discarded jeans and sweater stuck like glue to my skin.

Riley appeared as I began to towel off, clothing over one arm and a medical kit in her other hand. She dropped the clothes on the chair, then opened the kit.

“Those look like wounds from a large cat’s claws.” She grabbed the antiseptic and twisted the cap open.

I held up my arm. Though the slashes had stopped bleeding, the wounds still looked raw and bloody. I might be a crossbreed shifter, but quick healing was another of those things I didn’t quite get enough of. “They are. But the thing responsible could only take on half-cat form.”

“No explanations until I’m there to hear,” Liander called from the kitchen. “The coffee and Coke are waiting on the table.”

Riley touched my hand lightly, holding it steady as she began to spray my arm with antiseptic. The cool liquid formed a protective coating across my skin as it killed off whatever germs might be left. “It doesn’t look like it’ll scar,” she said. “You’re lucky.”

Unlike you, I thought, my gaze drifting down her left arm. Not only did she have lots of scars and a missing pinkie, but she’d partially lost feeling in her fingers—all thanks to her years as a guardian.

It was part of the reason she’d objected to Liana and Ronan becoming cops—because she hadn’t wanted them to face the hurt and scarring that she had. Of course, being a cop was far different from being a guardian, but I think she feared that might be the next step for them. They certainly had the skills for it—physically and psychically.

So did I—and it was a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Directorate. If Riley ever discovered they’d approached me some time ago, I think she’d blow a fuse.

And I’d be dead if she knew that I’d actually considered the idea, ever so briefly.

But in the end, it had been a mix of vanity, self-preservation, and more than a little fear of what I might be getting into that had made me walk away. I might be able to fight, and I might have talents that could be more than a little dangerous, but there was no way I was ever going to end up like Riley—scarred, battle-worn, and, worse still, never able to fully escape the claws of the Directorate.

“There,” she said, squeezing my hand before releasing it. “Get dressed, then come outside and explain, before Liander bursts.”

I grinned and got dressed. The faint scent of vanilla and musk clung to the clothing, meaning the jeans and the beautiful pale blue cashmere sweater I was borrowing belonged to Darci, Riley and Liander’s middle daughter—the only non-twin in their brood, and the only one who’d inherited Liander’s silver coloring. She also happened to be the only one who was close to my size. I was several inches taller than Riley or any of Darci’s siblings, and was more traditionally wolf-like in form as opposed to the lovely curves they possessed. Although at least I wasn’t completely flat-chested, like most wolves—and Darci—were.

Once I’d pulled my own boots back on, I dumped the damp hospital clothes back into my pack, then grabbed my jacket and headed out. Liander and Riley were already at the table consuming cake, but there was a bottle of Coke and another slab of thick, gooey chocolate sponge waiting for me. I grinned and sat down, feeling like a kid in a candy store and not sure what to tackle first. In the end, the need for caffeine won out.