Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

It was a nonsense conversation, but right then I just needed to get my mind off the pain and dizziness. Slamming my soul in and out of my body like that had not been one of my brightest decisions, and I doubted I would repeat it anytime soon.

“Well, yes,” he said equably, “but the point is, I can regenerate the boots—and the body.”

“Does that mean you don’t scar?”

“Do you see the wound from the silver bullet I took?”

My gaze swept over him, although I knew all I’d see was warm, suntanned flesh. “That’s a skill I need.”

“What you need is to get back to the hotel and wash that powder from your arm—otherwise the rash may well get worse and scar.”

“Damn.” I took another slow, deep breath, then carefully pushed away from the wall. The room only did a minor dance before it steadied.

Despite stating that I needed to take a shower, Azriel righted the chair, then sat me down. “I did not catch the Rakshasa.”

“I gathered that.” I ran a hand through my sweaty hair. “And unfortunately, it now knows we’re here waiting for it.”

“Yes.” He squatted in front of me, taking my left hand in his and rubbing it gently. Up until that moment, I hadn’t realized just how cold it was. “But I do not think that will stop it from coming. Its hunger is great.”

I frowned. “Why wouldn’t it just seek out a safer hunting ground?”

“Because, as I said, it is drawn by great anger and despair. There is much of those emotions in this place.”

My fingertips were beginning to tingle with heat, a sharp sensation that wasn’t exactly pleasant. And while part of me wondered why he didn’t just flush heat and healing through me like he usually did, the sensation of his hands rubbing mine felt too good to complain. “But there are other dark clubs—why wouldn’t it just choose one of those?”

“I suspect because of the ghosts. It is their need, their anguish, that is the draw here.”

“Does that mean the other places don’t have ghosts?”

He shrugged. “They undoubtedly do, but for whatever reason, they are not as vocal or as angry.”

“But why? I mean, they’re all in the same situation—why would these ghosts be more vocal than the others?”

“Perhaps they aren’t. Perhaps the Rakshasa—for reasons we cannot understand—simply chose this club over the others.”

“So now that it knows we’re here, it may hunt in the other clubs?”

“Possibly.”

Wouldn’t that make Hunter a happy woman? I closed my eyes as the warm, prickly sensation began to spread through the rest of my hand, but I resisted the urge to pull it from his. I wanted to enjoy the press of his fingers just a little bit longer. “Do you think we should remain here until dawn?”>And with that, he disappeared. I swore, sat down, and closed my eyes. I didn’t bother reaching for calm, didn’t bother to center myself. I simply wrenched my soul free from my flesh and flung myself onto the fields. For a moment everything spun around me, a whirl of gray that had my stomach churning and my pulse rate shooting through the roof. Or maybe that was simply fear.

The Dušan exploded from my arm, her lilac form quickly gaining flesh and shape, until she seemed so real that I wanted to reach out and touch her. She swirled around me, the wind of her body buffeting mine as her sharp ebony gaze scanned the fields surrounding us. I wondered if she sensed the Rakshasa, or if she was merely reacting to the knot of fear growing in the pit of my stomach.

I spun around, my gaze searching the silvery plains. But there was nothing; no one was here. Then I remembered what Azriel had said—if spirits traversed the fields, it was only via the paene. I’d come too far into the fields.

I dove for the shadowy divide between the fields and the real world, and spotted it. The Rakshasa was a boiling, writhing mass of dark gray that almost merged into the mist that was this part of the fields. And it was quickly receding into the distance.

Azriel was easier to find—he was a blaze of sunlight in this ghostly otherworld, a force whose very presence throbbed through my being. He was closer to the creature than I was, but nowhere near close enough.

I ran forward, Amaya gripped tightly in my right hand and the Dušan’s serpentine form swirling around me. Her eyes glittered fiercely as she continued to scan the fields around us—searching for trouble. Searching for a threat.

I hoped like hell she didn’t find it.

But even as that thought crossed my mind, trumpets echoed, the sound oddly haunting in the hush of the fields. The last time I’d heard those trumpets, it had meant the Raziq were hunting me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I kept my gaze on the receding forms of Azriel and the Rakshasa, trying to increase my speed and catch up, but having little success with either. I might walk the fields, but this was not my world, and it seemed that the constraints of my flesh were affecting me here. Speed had never been one of my gifts.