Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 1)

“Don’t know. Some lady about forty years old. He’s not particular.”

“What about the other victims?” the Devil asked. “Did it matter who you killed?”

“No. He just wanted the liver and heart.”

“Why?” I snapped.

“Don’t know.”

“What did he look like?” the Devil asked.

“Never saw his face. Bloke wore a cape the whole time. Hood covered everything.”

“Do you remember anything distinct about him?”

“No.”

I looked at the murderer, feeling tightness in my throat. “Last year, did you kill a blonde girl with a raven tattooed on her back?”

The Devil growled. “Tell the truth.”

The man’s brow furrowed as he looked at me. “Yeah, I killed her for the client. He wanted another heart. What of it?”

Bile surged in my throat. My fist flashed up, and I punched him square in the face.

He slumped backward, unconscious, and I shook out my fist. “I want to kill him.”

The Devil nodded and dropped the murderer. He collapsed off his bar stool. “You can do so later, if you want.”

I drew in an unsteady breath, knowing that he meant it. I’d never do it, though. As much as I wanted to pay him back for what he had done to Beatrix, committing murder myself wasn’t the answer. I’d figure this out after we saved the other woman.

I looked toward the window. It was nearing dusk, and tonight was the full moon. I looked at the Devil. “We don’t have long.”

The Devil nodded and climbed off his stool, then patted down the unconscious man.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“The dagger.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry I knocked him out before you could ask him. I was just so…”

“Angry.” The Devil stood, an expression of understanding on his face. “I get it. Don’t worry, the dagger isn’t important.”

“Thanks.” I shook my arms, trying to drive off some of the tension I felt.

The Devil spoke into the little magical gadget strapped to his wrist. “Come into the pub. There’s someone you need to pick up.”

At my feet, the murderer groaned and staggered to his feet The Devil grabbed him by the arm. The bastard jerked away, but the Devil was too fast.

He pulled him close, his teeth bared. “Run and I will tear your throat out,” he said in a low, calm voice that sent shivers down my spine.

The man wilted.

I didn’t blame him.

“And this is for Carrow’s friend, Beatrix.” The Devil punched him hard in the face, knocking him cold, and let the body fall.

“Thanks.” I appreciated that punch more than a million roses.