Eve of Destruction (40 page)

The redhead in the pink and purple dress studied photos of Anytown. “These dummies are creepy looking.”

“Psychological warfare,” the brunette in orange said from her seated position atop an ice chest. “They could
easily replace those mannequins, if they wanted to. But then they’d lose the freak-out factor inherent in having them decayed and riddled with vermin.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” the goateed man at her feet drawled. “Makes me hot.”

“Roger.” The brunette poked his thigh playfully with a pedicured toe. “I can only imagine how much worse the place looks at night, with shadows thrown into the mix. I can see why
Paranormal Territory
would get psyched out enough to think they saw something here. But I researched the area thoroughly. While it’s a training ground for both military and local law enforcement, there have been no deaths or unfortunate accidents here.”

“We should have gone to Alcatraz,” Roger muttered.

“We were asked to come here,” the brunette said, sounding exasperated. “It would have been fucked up to take off just because we got a better offer.”

The sound of an approaching helicopter grew un-customarily loud and snared the attention of everyone in the room. Callaghan, in particular, widened his stance as if preparing for battle.

“Why does that chopper sound like it’s flying directly over us?” the redhead breathed, her arms wrapping around her middle.

“I am certain that is normal for a military base,” Claire said, but the quaver in her voice ruined any chance of her words soothing.

They were completely clueless. It was all too much fun.

The brunette stood and moved to the front picture window. “It does sound awfully close. Almost like it’s going to land.”

They were too distracted to notice when the doors and windows were sealed, both with secular locks and a containment/warding spell. No one could come in, and no one could get out. There would be no escape.

Within the hour, they would all be dead . . .

The men’s side of the duplex was abuzz with activity.

Richens’s pale cadaver was splayed on a collapsible gurney. Two E.P.D. investigators bent over his remains, probing into the gaping wounds to collect evidence and reach some helpful conclusions.

There had been a lot to like about Richens—selfishness, arrogance, lack of remorse, the way his intestines had gushed out of his body like fat, slippery sausages. A shame he’d been marked. With his fondness for half-truths and manipulation, he would have made an amusing court jester.

“Hey.” One of investigators looked up with a smile, which faded when she saw the bloodstains on his clothes. “What happened to you?”

Laurel turned to face him, her pretty glittered face changing from welcoming to concern. “Oh no! Are you hurt?”

With Havoc home with Sammael, there was no longer any need to save the Mark blood to feed the hellhound with. And with the Marks’ deaths imminent, there was no more reason to hide who he was. He
would greet the Alpha with his war paint on—the evidence of his kills dripping from his muzzle and claws.

He took in the room’s occupants with a sweeping glance. Two investigators and two female Mark trainees—Seiler and Hogan. Three guards and Montevista were locked outside. Callaghan and Dubois were across the street. Hank—the only possible fly in the ointment—was occupied in Anytown, along with two more guards. They all expected the threat to come from without rather than from within.

He made a show of stumbling as if wounded and was caught by Laurel’s soft, pale arms. She was sexy, susceptible to manipulation, and blessed with a ravenous juicy cunt. Just the way he liked his women. She’d spread her legs every time he snapped his fingers and in doing so, had spread her Mark scent all over him.

“Let her go, Garza.”

Hollis’s voice momentarily took him aback, then a slow smile curved his mouth. What few weapons they’d brought with them were packed in the Suburban and Hollis’s skill with a sword was mediocre, at best. He had every confidence he could take her.

Deliberately keeping his back to her because he knew nonchalance would rattle a newbie Mark, he said, “Make me,
bella.”

“Bugger off,” Laurel snapped. “Find your own man.”

“You cannot have all the men, Hollis,” Seiler intruded.

Women. They were their own worst enemy.

“He’s not a man,” Hollis retorted.

Laurel tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Uh, I think I would know if he wasn’t.”

“You should sit this one out, Evangeline,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “The Alpha is here now. In just a few minutes, this will all be over.”

“It’ll be over
for you,
” she corrected.

She stood at the mouth of the hallway, her dark eyes hard and wrathful, her fists clenched. But her frown gave her away. She knew he wasn’t a Mark, but she didn’t know who he was or remember their history together. She couldn’t recognize him through the glamour.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Laurel demanded. “Why do you have blood all over you, Antonio? And why are you squeezing me so tight? I can’t breathe.”

His smile widened into a grin. “The better to kill you, my dear,” he whispered for her ears alone.

Gripping Laurel tightly to him, he set his hands on either side of her spine and extended his claws, ripping deep into her liver and kidneys. She would have screamed if he hadn’t restricted her chest. She looked at him with horror-filled blue eyes, her lips lovely as they parted to expel her last breath. He inhaled it deep into his lungs like a lover’s kiss.

His animal senses picked up the whistle of a blade, and he jerked to the side to narrowly avoid the flame-covered dagger aimed at his head. “You suck,” he taunted Hollis.

A rapid volley of blazing knives shot toward him. He dropped Laurel’s corpse and ducked.

Spewing a stream of German, Seiler tackled Hollis.

Regaining his footing, he took on his wolf form and lunged for the nearest investigator. His teeth perforated the jugular before they hit the hardwood. Sweet, syrupy blood gushed down his throat, and he growled with open-throated triumph.

Pounding came to the door and the guards yelled for entry. The cacophony created a unique and provocative requiem. It made him want to howl with joy, so he did.

Seiler and Hollis continued to fight like hissing cats. The second investigator withdrew a pistol from beneath her lab coat and aimed. The fired bullets pierced excruciatingly through fur and flesh, but the mask mitigated the silver that would otherwise slow him down. Finally, the gun clicked repeatedly with no report. Realizing the magazine was empty, the investigator screamed.

He vaulted forward and took her down for the kill.

In the “ghost hunter” house, the sound of panicked shouting in the neighborhood lured everyone to the window. The group stood shoulder-to-shoulder as a unit, exposing their backs as they watched the guards across the street scurry like ants.

“Why can’t they get in?” the brunette asked. “Look at them. They’re pounding on the doors and windows.”

“I should be there,” Callaghan said, tension gripping his powerful frame.

“Go,” the redhead said. “They need you.”

He shook his head. “I gave my word tae stay here.”

“We’re fine,” the brunette insisted. “We’ll just—Wow!”

“What the hell?” Roger’s tone was awed. “There are at least a half dozen of them!”

Wolves. Big ones. Running from the direction of Anytown in a cohesive pack. A large wolf with a white diamond patch on the forehead led the group.

The Alpha was here. After three weeks, the time had finally come. She had hated him once. Detested him for raising her grandson as a wolf rather than the mage he was. Her only child had died giving birth to his son, and Charles repaid her memory by ignoring Timothy’s magical birthright. She had done everything in her power to turn Timothy against his father, but now she looked to Charles as the deliverer of her vengeance.

“Ready to die?” she asked sweetly.

They turned and faced her. Callaghan scowled. “What?”

She smiled and killed the dog first, throwing a ball of pure, icy evil that the stupid creature chased and bit into. It screamed and rolled to its back, legs sticking upright and jerking quite dramatically.

“Jesus, Claire!” the brunette cried. “What the hell did you throw at—?”

Shedding the glamour of the Frenchwoman, Kenise revealed her true form. Then, she went after Callaghan.

She hit him with enough force to lift him from his feet and slam him through the nearest wall, embedding him in the drywall. He hung splayed like a starfish, his
black turtleneck smoldering right between his pectorals. A direct hit.

That left her with the mortals, who stood frozen with shock. She smiled and rubbed her hands together.

She struck Roger next, knocking out the kids in order of threat level. The men first, then the girls. But when she turned to the brunette, the redhead lunged at her, toppling her to the floor.

Stunned by the unexpected attacked, Kenise began to laugh. A mortal taking on a witch? It was comical. Then, the redhead pushed up and smiled a cat-with-cream smile that chilled Kenise into silence.

The pink and purple dress changed, turning to black as if afflicted with a spreading ink stain. It swept over bare arms and legs, turning into long sleeves and floor-length skirts. The strawberry-blonde tresses lengthened, the hue deepening into a darker, richer shade of red. The pretty features morphed from fresh youth to stunning, bewitching beauty.

“Evangeline was right,” it murmured, in a gravely male voice so at odds with the highly feminine appearance. “She swore the traitor would come after the college kids if they were given the opportunity.”

Kenise gaped, her brain arrested in midthought by utter surprise.

The rapid clicking of canine paws turned her attention and her head. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Great Dane, who changed midstride, growing in height into a lumbering dragon. “Cain’s woman is a smart cookie,” it rumbled.

Roger pushed up from the ground, dusting himself
off. He sighed over the gaping hole in his chest that went clear through to the other side, then altered into a faery of such blinding beauty Kenise was enamored with the sight of him. Tall and lean with pale blond hair, pointed ears, blue eyes, and a winsome smile, the prince was the most gorgeous creature she had ever seen. “I was certain the empty driveway and house would give us away,” he said. “You’re dumber than you look.”

The gravity of her situation sank into her stunned brain along with the horror sinking into the very marrow of her bones. Three Infernals. There was no way for her to fight them all off. She would have to appeal to their dark side and pray to Sammael that they could be lured home.

A groan came from the wall and Callaghan slowly roused. “ ’At wis a helluva dunt tae my heid.”

“How . . . ?” Kenise gasped, feeling her hopes die. She might have had a chance if only Infernals were present, but with a Mark around it was a long shot convincing them to return to the fold.

“We protected him with warding. Couldn’t leave him hanging out to dry,” the dragon explained in his guttural voice. “We like him.”

“What should we do with this, Aeronwen?” the redhead asked, looking at the brunette while gesturing to Kenise.

“Let’s train the Mark how to vanquish witches.” The brunette’s glamour fell from her like a shrugged-off cloak, revealing a gray-haired woman in a gray suit. A gwyllion. Incapable of creating her own glamour,
which meant one of the others had created it for her while wearing his own.

Four powerful Infernals and a Mark. She had no chance. None.

The faery shifted into the guise of Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy. “I agree. No need to let her go to waste.”

“I don’t smell you,” Kenise managed through dry lips. “Any of you.”

The redhead’s smile lacked even a semblance of warmth or humor. “Did you think you were the only one who could create the mask? Once I had the materials, the rest was simple. Of course, I admire your pioneering spirit. The mask was very clever.”

“You are a traitor to your own kind!”

“My kind?” The gwyllion stepped forward. “My kind is those who want to keep me alive.”

“Sammael would take you back,” Kenise said quickly. “You have insider knowledge he desires.”

“You presume to speak for Sammael?” the faery asked quietly. “You
are
stupid.”

The redhead stood, removing her not-inconsiderable weight, but when Kenise attempted to regain her feet, she was restrained. With just a single snap of the faery’s fingers, her arms were splayed and palms staked into the hardwood in semblance of a crucifixion. Screaming, she fought the magic and broke free, only to be repositioned just as quickly as the first time. She continued to struggle until exhaustion set in.

Murder by numbers. There were too many of them. Infernals who had used her own creation against her. The plan had been perfect. Brilliant. They would have
gotten away with it, if it hadn’t been for that meddling Evangeline.