Soul Surrender (12 page)

D
espite its pretty-sounding name, Flower Avenue was a rough part of town. My powers were already masked when I turned myself invisible. And thank Hell for that. I appeared right in front of a handful of prostitutes who appeared to be coming home from work. A massive man followed them, shouting for his portion of their earnings.

The women clung to each other; one's eyes were clamped shut and an older woman held her elbow, dragging her down the sidewalk.

“Listen, bitch,” he shouted, speeding up after them. “I know you made more than this tonight. You're not trying to pull a fast one on your daddy, are you?”

Across the street, the lights were on in this Grayson guy's house—but all seemed quiet. “Seemed” being the operative word here. Closing my eyes, the prostitute's chattering teeth and sniffles were thunderous in my ears. I darted for the pimp, taking him out at the knees until he fell face forward onto the concrete sidewalk.

“What the fuck!” he shouted, and I was certain that if any of his buddies had been around to witness how squeaky his voice became, he would have gotten his ass kicked by them. I jammed a knee into the small of his back until I felt his spine against my kneecap. “Who's there?” He reached around with a flailing arm, which I caught with my superhuman strength and pinned behind him until I heard his shoulder pop.

“Your worst nightmare, fucker,” I growled in his ear.

He whimpered. “I wasn't doing nothin'—”

“Don't you even start that shit! You will leave those girls alone. You will let them conduct their business and not lay a hand on them. Do we understand each other?”

He didn't answer immediately. I shoved his shoulder higher to his ear, digging my knee into his kidney. “Ah! Yes, yes!” he screamed.

“Good.” I pushed off of him to my feet and crossed the street, leaving him writhing in the middle of the sidewalk. I glanced at Grayson's house, then rushed back to the hurt pimp. Picking him up by the collar, I brought my mouth to his ear. “You're coming with me. You're going to talk to a friend of mine and tell him you need help. And that one of your girl's clients dislocated your shoulder. You will not mention me.” I dragged him to Grayson's doorstep, and he shouted the entire way. As I let go of his shirt, he crumpled into a sniveling heap at my feet. I rolled my eyes at the pathetic sight and kicked at the door.

“Cry for help . . . get him to open the door or so help me Saetan, I'll give you something to really cry about.”

“Help! Please help me!” the pimp shouted.

The tiniest rustling of noise came from the other side of the door and near the window to the side. “Go away.” A deep voice called through the door.

“I-I can't. Please help. I'm dying out here.”

A pause. “You're fuckin' high. Get outta here.”

“N-no, I'm not. I'm clean, I swear it.”

The door cracked open and a shadowed eye peered out of the shadows at the man in a pile on his stoop. “Shit,” he muttered. “C'mon, man, get up. I can't have this kind of spotlight on my place.”

“C-call an ambulance, please.”

Grayson didn't answer. “You live around here?”

The pimp whimpered, clutching his shoulder. “Not far.”

Grayson opened the door a little wider. I was met with long sandy brown hair flowing to his shoulders, and hazel eyes. A trimmed beard framed full lips. “Shit. Okay, okay. I'll call someone for you. You got a roommate or someone who can pick you up?”

He nodded and Grayson pulled out a cell, leaning against the doorframe, dialing as the pimp fed him some numbers. With the door open, there was just enough room for me to slide inside. I sucked in, thinking small thoughts, and ducked under Grayson's arm into the dark one-story house.

Just as my nose ducked under his forearm, he shifted to lean his back against the frame instead. I held my breath and dodged him, tugging my foot in, just shy of perfect timing. The toe of my chucks brushed his heel. He yelped and swiveled, eyes narrowing with the focus of Sherlock Holmes eyeing the scene of a crime. He whipped a .38 from his back waistband, clicking the safety off.

The pimp shouted, covering his head as best he could.

“Who's there?” Grayson whispered, narrowed gaze burning into his home's darkness. I held my breath and pressed myself against his coat closet in the foyer. Bluish moonlight gleamed off the barrel of the gun and winked in my direction.

“Man! Ain't no one there. Call my damn roommate already!” the pimp shouted from the cement stoop.

With one last scan of the foyer, Grayson nodded and pressed the phone to his ear. Within a few minutes, a black Buick screeched to a halt, and two men huffed their way over to the pimp.

“Get 'im to a hospital,” Grayson said quietly to the men.

“Oh, yeah?” The larger of the two climbed the stairs, so full of piss and arrogance, his eyes might as well have been yellow. “You do this to my brother?”

The tiniest flick of a smile tweaked Grayson's mouth. “No. But there's no doubt in my mind he deserved it.”

The pimp grunted. “Let's go, J. I need a doctor bad.”

His brother moved into a fake punch—as if he were going to head butt him, but Grayson didn't even flinch at the threat. He held his ground at the entrance to his home, arms crossed and gun tucked safely back into his waistband. I kind of liked this guy, I thought with a smirk. He was rogue, refusing to play by Saetan's rules. Something that I, of all people, could respect.

The guys finally drove off, but Grayson's body language was no less tense as he closed the door behind him. He moved swiftly from room to room, darting between furniture and checking under beds and couches. The house was furnished okay—nothing special, but it was no crack house.

Finally he landed in the kitchen, placing his gun on the table and lowering himself into the chair at the head of his laminate, faux-wood table. “I know you're in here,” he said, not shouting but also not whispering. It was almost like he was talking to me as if I were sitting right in front of him. “I'm not sure what you're waiting for, but I prefer to get this over with.”

Part of me wanted to turn visible right there before him. Show myself and tell him to make a run for it. But then I would never learn who the Contenitore was; and I would never find Lucien. And Lucien meant more than this guy ever would.

I bit my lip and moved out of his line of vision. His eyes stayed where they were and I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't see me.

He leaned forward on two elbows, still staring straight ahead. “I can't sense you—it's strange. You must be something like me, but there's no aura connected.” He fingered the handle of his gun, and I noticed the safety was still off. His eyes lifted once more to the wall in front of him. “But I can smell you,” he whispered. “And I've got an awfully good nose, my friend. I'll be able to trace that scent anywhere you go.” He closed his eyes and on a deep inhalation snapped them back open with a smile.

“Plum blossoms,” he said with a rasp. “And vanilla. With a hint of . . .” He put a finger in the air, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Yes, a hint of lavender. You switched perfumes recently, is my guess. Maybe three months ago. From lavender to plum blossoms.” His eyebrows shot up and, using his palms pressed to the table for support, he rose to his feet, taking the gun with him. “I assume you're not in a chatty mood, my invisible friend. Why the change in scents? A new beau? That's what you women do, isn't it? Get a new man and switch the little things about yourself that you think defines who you are?” He filled a teakettle and put it on the stove. “Probably changed your shampoo, too.”

Knots twisted in my stomach like wringing laundry, and I ran a hand through my hair. He was spot on—plum blossoms switched about four months earlier. “I knew there was a lady assassin working for Hell—checked her out myself.” He spun and retrieved two mugs from a top cabinet. “You're not her, my friend. She smelled of jasmine.”

Silence hung in the air, and he tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. His accent had a Texas drawl to it that would probably cause most women to melt at his feet. “No? Still not up for a chat? Okay.” He shrugged and grabbed two teabags from a different drawer. “I hope you like mint tea. I love this brand. They use only real mint leaves, and it's great if you need to get some sleep.”

He moved around the kitchen with a prowling grace and though he appeared relaxed on the outside, every muscle was rippled and tensed beneath his clothes. “So, the way I see it, I doubt you're a threat to me. Chances are, you would have ripped into my throat by now if you were taking me in.” He stopped, chuckling, and wrapped a teabag around the handle to a mug. “Or—I should say you would have tried.” Only it came out “traaahd.”

The teakettle whistled, and he poured steaming water into each mug. After an added teaspoon of sugar he sipped, looking up and around the kitchen from the lip of his mug. “So,” he said as he hopped into a seated position on the counter, “the way I see it—you're either gaining some sort of intel about me. Or you're madly in love with me.” He smirked, and the deepest dimple formed on only one side of his cheek. He inhaled. “No, no . . . I don't smell any arousal. Intel it is.” His smile was one that no doubt got him his way every time. I crossed my arms and thought of anything but what those muscles would look like on top of me. “It's a shame, too; it is. You smell purty.”

Maybe I should come clean. Open myself up to the guy. Maybe we could help each other?

“You should really drink up before it gets cold. Sugar's on the counter if you take it sweet.”

I really didn't count on him pinpointing me so damn quickly. It was infuriating and admirable all at once. He drained the last of his tea, hopping off the counter and dropping the empty mug in the sink. “Well, if you change your mind, I'll be going to bed in a few.” He glanced out the window into the night sky. “You should be safe tonight.”

He headed for the bedroom, which was behind the kitchen.

“Wait—” The word was out of my mouth before I could think twice to stop myself.

“Well, well, well,” he said, spinning in place. “The invisible lady is not a mute. How interesting.”

“Put your gun down. Away from you.”

He grunted a chuckle, rolling the gun in his hand. “And how do I know you're not armed?”

“Would a promise suffice?”

His response was a lifted eyebrow.

“Yeah, I didn't think so.” I sighed. “Do you promise not to shoot?”

“I don't make promises I can't keep.” His voice was suddenly harder than marble.

“I'm not here to hurt you. If anything, I think we can help each other.”

“Well, then.” He set the gun down on the counter between us. “I promise to shoot only if I believe you to be a threat to my freedom.”

I could live with that. Of course, up until thirty seconds ago—I
was
a threat to his freedom.

With a deep breath—because I couldn't believe I was actually friending the enemy—I turned visible again, still masking my aura. “I have reason to believe Hell's bounty hunter is coming for you. Tonight.”

Grayson's face fell into a scowl, lines and shadows turning him from a cute and shaggy man to an angry beast. “And you thought I needed an audience for it?”

“No,” I continued, ignoring the annoying implications of his words, however true they were. He nibbled the inside of his cheek, and from behind his lips his tongue ran across his teeth. “Okay, fine. Yes. But I do actually admire what you're doing. I'm not exactly the most obedient follower of Saetan myself.”

“Okay.” He crossed his arms, blue veins protruding from massive biceps. “Then show me your entire nature. What sort of demon are you?”

Just as I was about to drop the rest of my mask, the kitchen window blew open. It was just the distraction the Contenitore needed to bust in through the sliding back door. Glass shattered, sprinkling my skin like a biting shower, and a man balled on the floor slowly rose.

His eyes, beginning at my toes and slowly lifting to my legs, torso, and chest like a rising tide, widened as they met mine. Emeralds colliding with sapphires, all breath expelled from my lungs and I couldn't breathe. Stars encroached my vision.

“Monica.” His whisper was rough and oozed lust with a sprinkle of bitterness.

“Oh, my Hell,” I panted. “Drew.”

G
rayson lunged for his gun, and just as quickly I snapped out of my trance, reaching the handle first with a fumbling grace.

Grayson growled, his sneer flashing newly glistening fangs. “Well, well, well. The prospect of an alliance faded fast, now, didn't it?”

The gun trembled in my hand, and I pointed it to the floor. “Th-this—this isn't the bounty hunter. I-I don't know how he got here, but he's a friend. Drew . . . are you okay?”

“What are you doing here, Monica?” He didn't sound angry, but he didn't exactly sound happy to see me, either.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What am
I
doing here? What are
you
doing here? You're supposed to be in Alaska.”

“I was. For a while. And then I was summoned to duty. You telling me you didn't get my postcards?”

I swallowed, not answering.

Grayson hissed from behind me. “I'm not going in alive, man.”

Drew's gaze drifted beyond my shoulder to Grayson. “I don't kill. It's my one stipulation. But I am obligated to get you there.”

Grayson lunged for Drew, and I dove at his body, rolling on top of him. I straddled the rogue Hellion, my thighs flanking his torso, pinning his arms.

A lazy smile slid across his face and his eyebrows twitched. “Now, darlin', I know you're sweet on me, but now just ain't the time.”

Drew's shout startled me enough for my grip on Grayson to slip, and he flipped me over as Drew barreled into him, knocking his body against the wall.

I rubbed at the knot forming on the back of my head and darted to my feet as well, stumbling and dizzy. I shook myself out of the daze and back to the present, where Drew and Grayson were punching and wrestling. Grayson managed to get a large arm around Drew's neck in a headlock.

“Wait! Just fucking wait!” I cocked the gun, pointing the barrel between Grayson's eyes. “Don't think for a second I won't use this.”

Grayson released Drew and held up his palms.

I gestured with the gun to the other side of the kitchen. “Get over there.”

“As you wish, sugar pie.” Grayson sneered.

“And you,” I said to Drew. “Get your ass over there.” I gestured to the opposite side of the kitchen. “Are you the Contenitore?”

“You got it.” His voice was hoarse—whether from sadness or anger, I couldn't be sure.

“You know this Ken doll?” Grayson growled. His grin was anything but pleasant.

Drew's eyes flicked to Grayson's long sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, and tan skin. “You're one to talk.”

Grayson flinched in an attempt to attack again. I fired the gun at the now-cold mug of tea he had prepared for me. Grayson froze, his eyes locked on to me. “That's what I thought,” I whispered. “Now stay the fuck there until I say otherwise.”

Heat prickled my skin and all my hairs raised as I directed my attention back to Drew. “Your escape from Hell—it wasn't really an escape, was it.”

“Monica, this really isn't a good time.” He gestured in an exaggeratedly polite way to Grayson. “As you can see, I have work to do.” I gnashed my teeth together and narrowed my eyes until finally Drew nodded. “Fine. Yes, I found a way out of Hell. Though I wouldn't exactly define it as an ‘escape.' In exchange for
not
spending an eternity in Hell, I was sentenced to indentured servitude. For the next twenty years.”

“Twenty years,” I repeated.

“Twenty years is a helluva lot better than eternity.” His eyes swept back to Grayson's, and he raised an eyebrow. “But I refuse to take a life. Even a demon one.”

“Who you calling a demon, errand boy?” Grayson chuckled, and I recognized the forced casual gait from our exchange earlier. He leaned against the counter on an elbow.

“Drew, where's Lucien?”

Drew's gaze cut to me. “Your boss?”

“He was closing in on you—and now he's missing.”

Drew considered this a moment and concern softened his features. “I don't know, Mon.”

“You really think Heaven's gonna let a servant for Hell through their pearly gates?” Grayson snorted and shook his head. “Dumbass. You're just as screwed as the rest of us. Saetan don't make bargains he can't win.”

Drew's breath was steady, and he took two steps closer. “I've heard it all, cowboy. You're not getting out of here.”

“Well, I suppose you could be right. But y'all gotta catch me first.” On a snarl, fur sprouted from his spine and he curled onto all fours. Hands turned to paws, nails to claws, and his nose grew into a snout. Hazel eyes flashed gold, and before I knew it, Grayson was an animal snapping his jaws at each of us.

“Grayson, stop!” He lunged at Drew, who, amazingly, instead of running in the opposite direction, fell forward onto the beast. The two bodies collided and morphed into one, becoming some sort of jellylike substance. Their combined bodies writhed on the floor, screaming. Drew's form quivered, becoming Grayson, then back again to Drew.

I stood with shaky knees and back pressed against wood-paneled walls. The gun trembled in my hand. “Drew?” I whispered.

He crawled to his feet, stumbling back with his hand to his head. “Get out of here, Monica,” he rasped.

“What? No . . . I just got you back. I'm not leaving you aga—”

“I said leave!” he shouted, and his eyes snapped to mine. They were black. And not just a darkened shadow sort of black. His irises consisted of dilated pupils only. Gone was the set of sparkling green eyes I loved so dearly.

Fangs snapped from his teeth, fur sprouting on his knuckles and he threw his head back, neck muscles bursting through his skin. And for the second time in less than a year, the ground swirled below Drew, into a black tunnel, and swallowed him whole.

“The vessel,” I whispered to no one.