Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

“What you do not possess cannot be in danger.”

She laughed. It was a rich, warm sound that nevertheless sent another round of chills down my spine. “I like you, reaper. Very much.”

With that, she turned and walked back into the nook, becoming one with the shadows. I hesitated, glancing up and down the street to see if anyone was paying any attention. No one was—unfortunately. As Azriel’s fingers touched my spine and urged me forward, I took a deep breath and followed the bitch inside.

The dual fire of the swords peeled back the darkness and provided glimpses of Hunter ahead. Amaya was hissing again, the sound a constant static in the background of my mind. She didn’t like this place any more than I did.

The heavy door at the end of the corridor swung open as we approached—Hunter and Azriel silently, me with more of a clatter—and Brett Marshall himself appeared to greet us. Or rather, to greet Hunter.

“Mistress,” he said softly, kneeling before her, head bowed. “All is ready.”

I blinked. Mistress? Was Marshall one of Hunter’s fledglings? It would certainly explain their similar mannerisms. And why he’d been trusted to run an establishment like this.

Then the rest of his words registered. All is ready? What the hell did that mean?

I didn’t know, and I suddenly had a bad feeling that I didn’t want to find out.

Hunter touched Marshall’s head lightly as she swept past him, and he shuddered in what almost looked like orgasmic pleasure. Then he was up and following her, not even bothering to look at us. In the scheme of things, I guess we were not that important.

The woman at the desk looked almost identical to the woman who’d been there earlier. Only her shoes were different—red instead of black. I wondered if they were twins, or whether Marshall simply preferred a certain look.

The next set of doors opened and the stink of vampire, booze, and lust hit like a hammer, snatching my breath and sending me stumbling. Azriel caught me again, his grip gentle yet strong, filled with a heat that leapt from his skin to mine. It chased away the fear, chased away the aches, and this time I didn’t immediately pull away from the sensation. I very much suspected I’d need that inflow of strength if I was going to make it through the hours ahead.

We moved deeper into the club, heading not toward Marshall’s office but rather toward the elevators. The blue and purple fire of the swords pierced the shadows, briefly illuminating the gaunt faces and haunted, glowing eyes of the vampires closest to us. Hunger was rife in the room, so thick I could have carved it with a knife. I edged a little closer to Azriel and wondered why Hunter had chosen this place, of all damn places, to meet. She was the one who’d warned it would be dangerous for me to be here at night, and yet here she was, risking the life of someone she supposedly valued.

It is merely another form of warning, Azriel said.

I glanced at him. Of what? Behave, or you’ll be vampire meat?

Yes. His gaze met mine. She does not like your offhand manner in dealing with her.

I snorted softly. She can read my thoughts—she has to know I’m scared shitless by her, and that my manner is nothing more than false bravado.

She can read some thoughts, but not all. He half shrugged. She has been alive a very long time. It becomes very easy for the old ones not only to lose humanity, but to expect certain levels of deference.

Subservience, you mean.

If she expected subservience, you would be dead.

I half smiled—an expression that quickly died as I followed Hunter and Marshall into the elevator. Being stuck in a small metal box with those two and going down into the bowels of what had become little more than an abattoir was not my idea of a good time. But if I edged any closer to Azriel, I’d be crawling into his pockets. What did you mean, some thoughts, not all?

Just that.

So the nano cells are working? I knew they were, but I still needed reassurance—at least when it came to Hunter.

Yes. She is only picking up minor bits and pieces.

My gaze searched his for a moment. How the hell do you know this? I mean, Hunter’s no slouch when it comes to telepathy, and I can’t imagine you’d have easy access into her mind.

I’m a reaper. The human—and non-human—mind is open to us in all its chaotic glory.

So what can you tell me about Marshall’s comment?

We go to meet others.

The elevator doors opened, revealing the basic metal corridor of the feeding rooms. Others? I asked silently, then glanced at Hunter. “Why the hell are we here?”

“I wish to see this room of ghosts,” she said, as she stepped out of the elevator. “And it is as good a place as any to discuss what you need to know.”