Immortals Darkening Preview

by Robin T. Popp 
 

So this is death.

The irony was not lost on Darius as flashes of brilliant light blinded him and pain drove him to his knees. With one hand braced against the tiled floor of the balcony, the other clutched his stomach as every nerve burned with a blistering intensity. He fought to stay conscious while nonexistent shards of glass pierced his skull.

There was powerful magic at work here—living magic that, perversely, was killing him.

“Sekhmet!” he roared. This was her fault. If his patron goddess hadn’t removed his life force, the Calling spell would have transported him painlessly to wherever he was needed. Earth must be in dire straits if humans had broken a seven-hundred-year silence to Call the Immortals.

He fought the pull of the spell, drawing on his own power until he felt it rippling along his skin, causing his tattoos to lift and morph briefly into the items they represented before turning into images once more.

“Whitley!” If Sekhmet wouldn’t answer him, maybe her priest would. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught of ever-increasing pain, he fell into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around himself to keep from being ripped apart.

Then, as suddenly as the attack started, it ended. Slowly the pain in his head faded, and he opened his eyes. Bright light blinded him, but he quickly realized it was merely the sun shining overhead. As his eyes adjusted, the rest of his surroundings came into view— the clear blue sky, the lush green woods on each side of the sapphire-blue water of Lake Pax. Darius studied the flight of a snow-white hawk as it flew low across the water, searching just below the water’s surface for its next meal.

Ravenscroft—his home—was beautiful, and yet its beauty was lost on him.

At the sound of running footsteps, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Darius, I heard you cry out.” Whitley hurried to him, putting a hand under his elbow for support. “Are you all right?”

“It appears I’ll live,” Darius muttered, repeating a joke that was so old it had ceased to be funny.

“What happened?” Whitley ran a critical gaze over him, as if he needed to reassure himself that Darius really was okay.

“It was a Calling spell,” he said. “A very strong one. There must have been many witches working together on it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease some of the tension.

Whitley looked stricken. “Without your life force, you could have been killed.”

Darius grimaced but said nothing.

“It’s a good thing you were able to break their hold,” Whitley commented.

“I didn’t,” Darius answered, remembering the way the living magic had suddenly been cut off. “Something interfered with the spell.”

“A demon?”

“If there’s a demon out there powerful enough to stand up against that much magic, no wonder they need the Immortals,” Darius said thoughtfully. He paused to give his next words emphasis. “I can’t ignore this.”

“There’s no way she’ll let you leave,” Whitley said.

“I’m not asking her for permission.” Giving the priest’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, he turned and strode back into the palatial building that was his home.

His mother, a favorite of Re’s when the Egyptian god had ruled the world, was known for her fiery temper as well as her power for healing, which made her unpredictable at times. Most of the time, he amended. “Sekhmet!” Darius hollered, storming through the great hall. He headed for his mother’s audience chamber, slamming through the gigantic double doors that dwarfed even his 6'5" frame.

At the far end was the low dais upon which his mother’s throne chair sat—empty. Behind it, the backlit waterfall filled the room with the soft glow of light and the soothing sounds of running water that did little to calm his nerves.

Looking around, he willed her to appear. “Damn it,” he growled when she didn’t. There was no telling what problems the delay was causing on Earth. Ravenscroft did not exist in the same dimension as Earth; therefore, ten minutes to him could be days by Earth’s standard. Given the strength of that Calling spell, he didn’t think Earth had the luxury of time.

Unable to quell the sense of urgency pressing in on him, Darius paced back and forth in his mother’s audience chamber, impotent rage seething beneath the surface of his otherwise calm facade. After several hours, he finally felt the shimmer of power behind him and turned to see his patron goddess materialize on her throne. Though she was centuries older, she appeared to be as young as Darius, and her beauty never failed to take his breath away. Today she was wearing a long, flowing aquamarine gown, cut low to show off her ample bosom—and around her neck she wore her diamond necklace, from which hung a simple golden orb that radiated such brilliance it could have housed the sun. In truth, it housed something far more precious to Darius.

“Where have you been?” he demanded without preamble, his eyes on the orb.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” she said coolly.

“I’m needed on Earth,” he continued. “It’s urgent, so if you’ll just restore my life essence . . .”

Her green eyes sparkled with the temper Darius knew too well. “It’s a sad day when a son can’t even be civil to his mother.”

Darius bit back his snarl. “Good evening, Mother,” he said with exaggerated politeness. “I must say, you are looking spectacularly beautiful today, as you do every day. Your smile brings sunshine to an otherwise dark and dismal existence. The songbirds’ sweetest melody pales in comparison to your—”

“Stop—before I forget how much I love you,” she warned. “I was with my sisters when you bellowed for me—and didn’t feel like abandoning them so abruptly. They still mourn the loss of your brothers.”

Darius heaved a sigh. “They aren’t dead, Mother.”

“They might as well be,” she replied hotly. “To stay on Earth, fornicating with human females and pursuing other hedonistic activities . . . too busy, even, to pay Ravenscroft a visit.” She paused, shaking her head. “It’s enough to break a mother’s heart.”

Darius rubbed his head. It was the same old argument. “They’re grown men. They’re entitled to live however and wherever they want.” He couldn’t help wondering whether his brothers had felt the spell. Where exactly were Adrian and Tain, Kalen and Hunter? Had they abandoned their new lifestyles to answer the summoning? “No matter how misguided their choices might be,” he added, because defending his brothers was not going to make Sekhmet more sympathetic to his request. “I, on the other hand, am very aware of my duties and responsibilities, which is why I summoned you. There’s trouble on Earth. I’ve been Called.”

“What?” He was relieved to hear the alarm in her voice. “But you’re still here.”

“My body is bound to my life essence. You know that as long as you wear that orb around your neck, I can’t leave.”

She seemed to relax. “Good.” She held out her hand and he took it, helping her to rise and step off the dais. “Shall we dine?”

“What?” He let go of her hand, surprised. “Didn’t you hear what I said? There’s trouble on Earth. I need to leave.”

Irritation crossed her face. “You’re needed here.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “For what?”

She had continued walking to the doorway that led into the dining hall, but seeing that he was no longer following her, she was forced to stop and look at him.

“Really, Mother,” he pressed before she could say anything, “Ravenscroft is not exactly a hotbed of demon activity. There’s not a breath of death magic in the entire realm.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Just because there are no demons doesn’t mean you can’t train.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past seven hundred years? I’ve done nothing but train— relentlessly—so that when I’m finally Called, I’ll be prepared.” He took a step forward. “Now, for the last time, restore my life essence.”

“No.”

He stood there, staring after her as she turned and continued to the doorway. “Why are you doing this?” he asked when he’d recovered his voice.

She stopped again and looked at him. “I don’t want you to end up like your brothers.”

He was so angry he had to clench his fists tightly to keep from doing something he’d regret. He fought to make his voice even. “I am not like my brothers.”

She stared at him, her expression as fierce and unyielding as the lioness she was so often depicted to be.

He shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. You’d let everyone on Earth suffer, so long as you get what you want.”

“Do not try to make me feel guilty,” she shouted, sparks of anger shooting from her emerald-colored eyes. “I will protect what is mine. When Re’s life was in danger, did the Nile not run red with the blood of those I slew to protect him? Do you think I care about the lives of a few mortals compared to that of my only son? No, you will stay here—with me.”

Her gaze burned with an intensity Darius had witnessed only a couple of times before, and though he knew she loved him, he also knew that she meant what she said. She was never going to let him leave. Ever. With his freedom went his entire purpose for being. His life stretched out before him—bleak, desolate, and never-ending. He would spend the rest of his immortal life training for a battle he’d never fight, go to bed every night with no reason to wake up the next morning, pray for an end to his imprisonment that would never come. Even paradise could be hell if you were stuck there long enough.

Walking up to Sekhmet, he placed his hands on her arms and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Mother, there are two things you should know. I love you as only a son can love his mother. And I would rather die than be stuck in this prison of yours for all eternity.” Then, in a move born of desperation, he yanked the orb from around her neck. Ignoring her cry of pain, he hurled it against the far wall with all his might, hoping if he destroyed the orb he could end his life.

The orb shattered against the wall with a burst of blinding light. Darius was barely conscious of Sekhmet’s gasp as he waited for his life to end. The golden light drifted across the room toward him, spiraling slowly until it formed a thin coil that eventually took the shape of a long, narrow serpent.

As it drew closer, the serpent began to twist about in the air, chasing itself in a figure-eight pattern until it finally caught its own tail.

Darius glanced at Sekhmet and saw her face turn ashen. He knew right away that something was wrong, but before he could do anything, the coiled golden serpent touched his skin just over his heart.

Tendrils of power spread out and gripped him, growing stronger every second, pulling him. His mind started clouding over until he was barely aware of his surroundings. He was aware of shouting in the background, but he couldn’t make out his mother’s words.

Almost beside him, a pinpoint of white light appeared and quickly grew. He recognized it as a portal and felt himself being drawn inexorably toward it.

“No!” his mother screamed, though he could barely make out her words. “Not this way. It must be restored . . . vulnerable ...must protect . . .” Her frantic voice faded, now sounding like it was coming from a far distance. “In ...physical love ...find ... pleasure ...forget ...”

Sekhmet’s spell died in her throat and she found herself alone in the audience chamber, staring at the spot where her beloved Darius had stood seconds before.

“Darius,” she shouted. “I summon you to appear before me.” She held her breath and waited, her heart pounding. When he did not appear, she felt an icy fear grip her. His immortal life force had not been properly restored, and he was as close to being mortal as he’d never been before. It was why Ravenscroft had expelled him.

“Whitley,” she called. She knew she had to do something to warn Darius about his vulnerability, and she was hoping her levelheaded priest would help. She paced the floor, considering her options. She couldn’t go herself—Re had made sure of that before he lost his powers—but once she explained the situation to Whitley, he might agree to let her send him back in a dream.

She heard the running footsteps of the man who had been her lover for thousands of years. It was ironic that she, a goddess feared by mortals and deities alike, would be afraid of the reaction of this particular man.

She quickly rehearsed what she’d tell him, stopping when she got to the part about the unfinished spell. Whitley, being a man, would not understand a mother’s need to protect her child from the lure of sex.

How much of her spell had touched Darius before he vanished? Worse still, what would the ramifications be of the incomplete spell?

“Mistress, are you all right?” Whitley rushed into the room. When he saw she was alone, he dropped the pretense of being a mere priest and came to her, enfolding her in his arms. “What is it, my love?”

“Darius is gone. He broke the orb and was expelled to Earth.”

“It’s okay,” Whitley consoled her. “He must protect the humans.”

“No, it’s not okay,” she told him. “His life essence didn’t absorb into his soul as it should have. Instead, it drew on his unique brand of magic and turned into a tattoo. He’s lost his immortality, and there’s no telling how it may affect the rest of his powers.”

“And he’s just gone to Earth where a powerful evil is waiting for him.” Whitley scowled at her, and she bowed her head in shame.

“It’s my fault,” she said miserably. “I only wanted to protect him.”

“Call him back,” Whitley ordered.

“I can’t—I tried,” she replied.

He glared at her. “Then send me back to Earth so I can warn him.”

Doing so would make Whitley mortal again, and she couldn’t bear to lose both her men. But it warmed her heart to know he was willing to sacrifice his immortality for their son. “There might be another way, if you’re willing to help.”

“Of course I’ll help. What do you need me to do?”

She quickly explained her idea, but when she finished, she found she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

Whitley was never one to push, so he remained silent and patiently waited for her to continue. Finally, she took a breath and looked up into his face, genuine tears in her eyes. “There might be one other problem.”

The blaring noise of the alarm roused Lexi Corvin from a deep slumber, and she awoke feeling drugged and irritable. She wanted to rip the offending timepiece from the wall and toss it through the window of her fifth-story apartment, but knew she couldn’t afford to keep buying new clocks—or replacing windowpanes. So, instead, with great restraint, she merely slammed her hand down on the snooze button to quiet the obnoxious noise.

Resisting the urge to go back to sleep, she cracked open her eyes and found herself squinting against the bright sunlight slipping through the curtains, giving the room a disgustingly cheery warmth that was at complete odds with her mood.

The week before a full moon was always hard on werewolves. Their animal side grew stronger, and they had an urgent need to foster reproduction. Translated into human terms, it meant she was bitchy and horny.

If she had still been living in upstate New York with her pack, she would have simply shifted to wolf form and spent the next week hunting prey and frolicking with the available males. That wasn’t really an option anymore, now that she lived in the city. She had bills to pay, food to buy. That took money, and people who took off a week or two each month to be a “wolf” didn’t hold jobs very long. She wanted to keep her job. It was the first one she’d had that particularly suited her. Bounty hunter.

Shoving back the covers, she dragged herself out of bed. She took a couple of minutes to stretch, trying to loosen muscles that had become tight and sore after chasing down four skips the day before. Crime in the city was up by staggering numbers, which meant business was good.

She crossed the bedroom and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until she found the news. Lately, it was more depressing than ever. The world— or at least her little corner of the Big Apple—was going to hell in the proverbial handbasket. Just last night there’d been another gang fight in Central Park, leaving five teenagers dead and another three seriously injured. In Murray Hill, a venerable neighborhood filled with old money, a fourteen-year-old boy had gone berserk and shot his parents and younger sister before turning the gun on himself. Down in Soho, a man had stabbed his girlfriend multiple times following an argument, killing both her and their unborn child. Plus, five more people were mysteriously missing—making a total of twenty-three in the last four weeks. The police had no more clues now about how the different people were related or what had happened to them than they did after the first disappearances. The number of random street muggings was up, as were the number of rapes, and the police were advising everyone to stay inside after dark—much to the annoyance of the local nightclub owners, who were fighting back by offering nightly specials.

Lexi flipped the station and watched a reporter standing outside the mayor’s office giving an update on the rumor that the city officials were debating on calling in the National Guard to patrol the streets both day and night. But New York wasn’t the only city suffering, and the National Guard was already stretched thin. Lexi shook her head and turned to yet another channel, this time finding a TV evangelist asking his congregation to petition their government for stricter Conversion Laws because he felt the number of vampires in town had dramatically risen in the last six months.

She turned off the TV and walked into the bathroom. Had she really thought that by moving to the city she’d escaped the raw animal violence that came from living with the pack? It seemed she’d only traded it for a new, darker kind of violence—though she couldn’t remember it being this bad five years ago. Only recently, as far as she could recall.

She stood in front of the mirror and gazed at her reflection. The light gray eyes staring back at her looked tired. She’d let her friend Heather talk her into going to a special meeting last night. Like Lexi, Heather was a witch, but while Lexi preferred to operate on her own, Heather belonged to a group called the Coven of Light. They had stayed up too late, listening to the members discuss possible strategies for dealing with this dire outbreak of crime. The coven believed the growing problems were the work of a powerful demon, who was upsetting the delicate balance of living magic and death magic.

Lexi didn’t know who this all-powerful demon was, and frankly, she found it hard to believe the coven’s predictions of doom and gloom if the Big Bad wasn’t stopped. Like most magical creatures, she’d learned the basic laws of physics at an early age. The world was comprised of two types of magic: living and death. The natural state was for both magics to exist in balance.

The Coven of Light witches were convinced that the Big Bad was somehow going to eradicate all living magic, even if it meant the world would be destroyed as a result.

Weeks ago, Heather had told Lexi about Amber Silverthorne, a witch in Seattle who had an encounter with the Big Bad while investigating the murder of her sister. She’d almost died too, but then some warrior called an Immortal had suddenly appeared to protect her.

At that point in the story Lexi had almost walked out on her friend. Was she supposed to believe the Immortals existed? Please. Demons trying to take over the world? Immortals? Myths and legends. Then again, people once thought werewolves and witches were just stories too.

She picked up a brush and started working the tangles from her long black hair.

Lexi would have dismissed the whole story as nonsense, but Heather had never lied to her, and she could see for herself the death magic increasing in strength.

When the coven found out the demon was being aided by one of the five Immortals, the members decided the only way for it to be stopped would be to hold a Calling and summon the other brothers to help. Heather had begged Lexi to participate. They needed as much living magic power as possible to make the spell work. Still not one-hundred-percent convinced, Lexi had nevertheless agreed.

To her amazement, the spell had almost worked. She’d caught a brief glimpse of at least one of the other Immortals in her scrying flame. Unfortunately, the spell had also Called the rogue brother, Tain, who appeared on the scene with the Big Bad at his side and helped break the spell before any of the other three Immortals could materialize.

Lexi put the brush down and held up her hands to look at the palms. Fire was her medium for casting spells, and that night of the Calling, she’d had to hold a fireball in her hands for longer than ever before. In the end, all she’d had to show for her effort were first-degree burns across her palms and fingers. But now, a week later, the only evidence of her participation was a slight pinkish tint to her skin where the burns had healed.

Last night’s meeting had shown her that the witches were feeling at a loss as to what to do next. They’d played their ace and lost.

Lexi still wanted to find some way to help, but right now she had some big bads of her own to tackle. Working her waist-length hair into a braid, she secured the end with a hair fastener. When she finished, she pulled off her nightshirt that read “F*** You and Your Anger Management Class” and pulled on her working uniform of a black leather sleeveless shirt, pants, and Dockers. The outfit was comfortable to work in, but, even more importantly, she knew it made her look tough. A lot of times, taking down a skip was as much about psychology as it was sheer speed and strength.

As she prepared to leave her apartment, she felt the prickle of pent-up magic along her arms. She’d need to visit Ricco soon to help her siphon off some of it before the buildup of magical energy killed her—not that she’d ever let it get that bad. She smiled at the thought of all the wonderful ways the dark-haired, blue-eyed vampire gang leader had “helped” her before. Ah, Ricco.

Heaving a sigh, she left her apartment. Outside, she discovered a beautiful, clear May morning with just enough of a breeze that in the shade, one could actually catch a chill. She let the sun warm her and took in the bustling neighborhood. Hell’s Kitchen in the morning was a place unlike any other.

She walked along the sidewalk, listening to the chatter of people on their cell phones as they hurried about their business. The smell of fresh-baked breads and pastries mingled with gas fumes from passing cars. Over the din of traffic, she heard the distant blare of a cruise ship’s horn as it pulled out of dock. At the corner, she waited for the traffic light to change before crossing to the other side, where she stopped at her favorite kolache shop to grab a bite to eat. By the time she reached the office of Blackwell Bail Bonds, she was in a better mood.

“Morning, Marge,” she greeted the secretary at the front desk. Then she crossed her arms across her chest and gave the petite older woman a reproving glare. “I thought you were going to quit?”

“I quit last night, honey,” Marge said in her deep, gravelly voice. She took another drag off the remaining half-inch of her cigarette. “It worked so well, I might try it again tonight.”

Lexi shook her head. “Those things’ll kill you, you know.”

“Yeah, well, at my age, there’s not much point in giving up something I enjoy.” She exhaled a puff of smoke and coughed a couple of times. “What’s going on with you? You look like shit this morning.”

“Late night,” Lexi said evasively, not bothering to elaborate when Marge raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t sure Marge would believe her if she told her some super-demon was trying to destroy the world. “Who are we going after today?” she asked, pulling the top case file from her in-box. She was hoping for a difficult rundown, or maybe someone who would resist arrest so she’d have an excuse to rough them up just a little. Such things were frowned upon, but she would relish a bit of a fight just to work off her frustration—sexual and otherwise.

She opened the file and read over the case. “You’re kidding me, right?” She waved the file in the air. “This is a fucking fairy. I’m not going after him.”

Marge tsk’d at her in disapproval. “Such language.”

Lexi tossed the file back in her box and cocked her head in apology. “I’m sorry. Let me rephrase. I’m not going after that fucking leprechaun.” She looked at the other in-box and plucked out the top file resting there. “What kind of skips does TJ have?”

TJ was the other bounty hunter at Blackwell. He was a year or two older than she was and six feet of pure muscle. Behind that muscle was a keen intellect, which made him deadly for a human. Despite her werewolf abilities, Jonathan Blackwell still typically assigned the tougher cases to TJ.

She opened the file. “Maurice Gonzales. Charges of spousal abuse. Seven priors. Substance abuser.” She glanced at Marge over the top of the file. “I’m taking this one.”

“Lexi, you know the rules. Jonathan assigns the cases, and he specifically gave that one to TJ.”

“It’s not fair,” Lexi said. “The leprechaun’s a lush. He’s probably passed out somewhere. He’ll be easy to find, and he’s so tiny that TJ can carry him in a backpack.”

“If you don’t like the cases you’re assigned, you’ll need to take it up with Jonathan.” Marge’s scratchy voice was firm as she stood up and came around the desk. Taking the file from Lexi, she set it back in TJ’s box. “All I know is that I put it in TJ’s box. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Where are you going?”

“If you must know, that coffee went right through me. Have a good day,” she hollered over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom in the back.

Lexi’s gaze found the coffee mug sitting on the desk, looking shiny and clean. She glanced over to the coffee machine and saw the carafe, sitting empty and dry on a hot plate Lexi would bet was cool to the touch. She smiled to herself and pulled the leprechaun’s file from her in-box and placed it in TJ’s box. She grabbed the Gonzales case, quickly thumbed through its contents, then dashed out before Marge came back.

Gonzales’s apartment was only about a twenty-minute walk down to the far west part of 37th street. This close to the river, the buildings tended toward warehouses. Its emptiness gave it a bit of a spooky feel, even in broad daylight. Not surprisingly, Gonzales lived in a building where security was nonexistent. The lock on the front door was broken, so there was nothing to stop her from going straight to his apartment.

The young woman who answered held the door ajar and looked out warily. There were fresh bruises around her jaw and right eye that didn’t completely hide the discoloration of her older bruises. She looked like she didn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, and Lexi wondered what kind of scum her husband was to beat her up. She was almost eager to give him a try at someone who could fight back.

“I’m looking for Maurice Gonzales,” Lexi said. “Is he in?” She tried not to appear too obvious as she looked past the woman’s shoulder into the apartment.

“Who are you?”

“I’m from the bail bond agency. He missed his court appearance, so I’m here to take him back to jail.”

It was hard to miss the look of surprise that crossed the woman’s face. “He won’t go. I tried to remind him the other day and . . .” She gave a small shrug, but Lexi didn’t need her to finish the sentence. Her bruises told the story for her.

“I understand your concern, but I think he’ll find I can be very...persuasive.”

“He’s very strong,” the woman cautioned.

“Stronger than a werewolf?” Lexi asked, smiling when the woman’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

A slow, tentative smile appeared across the woman’s face. “Maybe not.” She glanced behind her at the small boy playing with toys in the middle of the room before turning back to Lexi. “If you take him to jail, how long will he be there?”

“That depends on whether I think there’s a chance he’ll run again. If I do, he could be there until his new court date—which could be several weeks from now.”

“Several weeks would give me time to pack up and leave.” The woman stopped talking while she thought about it. “If I tell you where he is,” she said finally, “will you call and tell me when he’s in jail?”

Lexi nodded. “I will.”

“Big John’s Ice House.”

Lexi smiled. The day was looking up. She thanked the young woman, got her phone number, then left. Big John’s wasn’t more than five blocks away.

Inside, the bar was more crowded than she would have liked since it was almost lunchtime, but she spotted Gonzales immediately.

He was sitting at a table with several other men, playing cards. Despite the dim lighting, she saw he had stringy, dark, shoulder-length hair and a jagged scar across his left cheek. When he held up his cards, she saw the prison tats across his fingers.

Lexi thought about her strategy. According to his case file, he was a little taller than her own 5'10", and he outweighed her by a good fifty pounds. She had a couple of options for taking him in—all of which would be easier if she could get him someplace by himself.

Stepping behind a floor-to-ceiling column, she unbuttoned the top couple of buttons of her shirt and pulled the band from her hair, letting it cascade down her back. Under the circumstances, it was the best she could do to soften her appearance.

Stepping up to the bar, she ordered a drink. As she waited, she passed her gaze over the room, making sure to linger on Gonzales until he saw her. When their eyes met, she gave him the barest hint of a smile and then kept looking around the room, making sure she looked at Gonzales at least once more before turning her attention to the drink the bartender handed her.

She pretended to daintily sip it, though she had no intention of drinking anything from this place. After a minute, she rose and, throwing one last shy smile at Gonzales, walked out of the bar. If she were lucky, Gonzales would take the bait and follow her out.

She walked slowly to the end of the building and stopped to wait. Just when she was about to give up and go to Plan B, the door to the bar opened and Gonzales stepped out. She saw him look around, and, spotting her, he gave a big smile. His teeth were heavily stained from tobacco use, and she wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a dentist. She had to work hard to keep disgust from showing on her face.

As he came toward her, she eased around the corner. There was a narrow gravel driveway that led to a parking area behind the warehouse next door, and she walked along it, hearing Gonzales’s hurried footsteps as he came after her. Briefly she listened for sounds of anyone walking nearby who might feel compelled to interfere.

The hand on her arm pulling her to a stop came sooner than she expected. He must be eager, which suited her fine. The sooner she put him behind bars, the better everyone would feel. Schooling her features, she turned and gave him an innocent smile.

“Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be in this part of town by herself,” he said. “Maybe I should make sure you get home safely. Or, better yet, how about you and me go someplace we can get to know one another better?” His breath hit her in the face like a wet, moldy blanket, making her want to gag.

Instead, she laughed. “Not if you were the last man on Earth.”

The grip on her arm grew painfully tighter as he yanked her forward. If she’d been a normal human female, she might have been in real trouble.

“Someone needs to teach you some manners,” he growled.

“I know you don’t mean you. Now—Let. Go. Of. Me.” She enunciated the words, wanting to make sure there was no miscommunication, but she couldn’t help adding with a mumble, “You stupid fuck.”

He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said. As the comment finally registered, she saw him get mad. About damn time. She had a full second to brace for the impact when he backhanded her.

The blow was still hard enough to knock her head to one side and split open her lip. As pain lanced through her, she felt the wolf in her rise. She was dangerously close to shifting, but she managed to keep everything except her eyes from changing.

“What the hell ...?” He sounded confused.

“Maurice Gonzales,” she recited quietly, dabbing the blood from her lip with a finger, “my name is Lexi Corvin and I’m a registered bail enforcement agent. You missed your court appointment and jumped bond. I’m taking you in.”

He jerked back as if he’d been hit. “Fuck that.” He turned, but before he could run, she grabbed his collar and hauled him back.

He swung his arm in a wild punch she easily ducked. She fisted her free hand and hit him back as hard as she could. But he was a big man and didn’t go down easily. Fueled by rage, he wrenched free and began pummeling her face and stomach with his meaty fists.

She did her best to ignore the pain and lashed out at him again, first hitting him with several quick jabs to the chest followed by a roundhouse kick to his kidneys.

She may have crossed the line of ethics in luring her skip into a fight, but her sense of justice couldn’t pass up the opportunity to beat the crap out of a man who liked to hit women.

Lexi felt Maurice starting to tire, but before she could deliver the final blow, a sudden explosion of light off to the side flashed so bright Lexi had to close her eyes. A shock wave rippled outward, buffeting her with enough force that she had to fight to keep her balance.

When she dared to open her eyes, a concentration of smoke or mist was starting to disperse, and in the middle of it stood the figure of a man.

He was a giant, with dark, unruly hair that fell almost to the collar of his sleeveless black duster, which hung open in front, revealing well-muscled arms and chest, both covered with tattoos. His black leather pants hugged slim hips and muscular legs—and his boots seemed to be of a style much older than any Lexi had seen.

His striking features seemed familiar to her, and it was with a sudden shock that she remembered where she’d seen him before: during the Calling. He had appeared briefly in her scrying flame. At the time, his face had been distorted in pain, but there was no doubt. This was an Immortal.

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