Dark Devotion: Dark Series 3 (4 page)

Rhys blinked rapidly, squinting against the sun trying to assault his retinas. He wondered what had woken him up. His cell phone rang again, the sound shocking his senses for a moment. Reaching out, he picked it up and looked at the screen. It was an unknown number and his pulse quickened.

“Galen?” he asked.

“No. Moretti.”

Disappointment flooded Rhys, swamping the fleeting glimpse of hope he’d felt. “What do you want?” he demanded, his free hand curling into a tight fist.
Moretti was Henry Craine’s lawyer, and Craine was Rhys’s employer.

“I tried calling Galen but it went straight to voicemail.”

Rhys sat up, suddenly uneasy at hearing Moretti’s words. The same thing was happening to him. His best friend hadn’t returned home from Craine’s office two days ago. He figured the mob boss had sent him on another assignment before they were supposed to hit Boston. But deep down, he knew differently.

“I have a job for you.”

“Why isn’t this order coming from Craine?” he asked.

A chair creaked in the background. “You haven’t seen the news?”

“No.”

Silence.

“Craine is dead.”

Rhys’s mouth went dry. “When?”

“Cops think he’s been dead about a week.”

A week?
“How?” Rhys’s voice was barely recognizable.

“Looks like he disturbed a B and E. Anyway, I need you both for a job.”

“It’s just me. Galen is MIA.”

“Still … are you interested?”

Rhys paused for a beat, thinking it over. He rarely worked alone … well, without Galen at least. Rhys was never really alone. And right on cue, the beast that shared his body stretched out in his mind.

“You still there?” Moretti asked.

After clearing his throat, Rhys said, “Yeah, I’m here. Who’s the hit?”

“Kid named Valentin Romanoff. He’s a supplier who’s encroaching on our turf.”

“When do you want him gone?”

“As soon as possible.”

Rhys stood up, pinning the cell phone between his shoulder and ear while he pulled on a pair of sweats. It was a fucking catch twenty-two; Rhys needed to kill like he needed to breathe, but every time blood was spilled, it made things ten times worse for him.

“I’ll take care of it.” He hung up the cell phone and tossed it on the bed. The news about Craine had taken him by surprise, but what worried him more was that Galen was still missing.

Picking up his laptop, he flipped it open and took it off standby. After some hacking into the police databases, Rhys found the information he needed on Romanoff and got changed. After putting on a pair of black cargo pants and a black long-sleeved tee, Rhys strapped daggers to his body and faded from the apartment.

The Cossack had apparently been successful before he came to Chicago because the bastard had a place right on Lake Michigan. Rhys saw a guard standing by the door, and he could guarantee there were at least two more inside the palatial house. Pulling out a dagger, Rhys faded to the human at the door and slit his throat in one swift movement. The guard fell to the ground soundlessly. Rhys pulled the weapons from the other man’s body and stashed them on his own.

With a thought, Rhys rematerialized inside the house, his molecules reforming on the other side of the door. He could hear five more sets of feet moving around. Closing his eyes, Rhys let his beast come a little closer to the surface, taking advantage of its sense of smell. Two men were on the first level and the other three, whose scents were fainter, were upstairs. Stalking around the bottom level, Rhys found one guard standing watch at the back door. Rhys even let the bastard see him in the reflection of the glass door before striking. The second guy just happened to round the corner as Rhys lowered the first one to the highly waxed floor.

The guard reached for his weapon, but it didn’t matter. Rhys was faster. Taking another blade from his arsenal, he threw it at the human. The man dropped to the ground, the dagger firmly buried in his chest. Rhys yanked the blade free as he walked past him and made his way upstairs.

The floorboards creaked and groaned a little, but nobody came to investigate. Rhys dispatched the other two guards silently, stalking toward a room at the end of the hall. Nudging open the door with his foot, Rhys stepped inside and looked around. The Cossack was nowhere to be seen. Rhys was about to turn around and check out the rest of the house when he heard the sound of metal on metal, muffled by rubber.

Walking around the corner, Rhys came across another room filled with gym equipment. Three of the four walls had mirrors on them, and in the middle of the room – on the bench press – was Romanoff. The kid’s black eyes narrowed as he looked at Rhys through the reflection in the mirror.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, only a slight hint of a Russian accent leeching into his words.

Rhys didn’t bother answering the question. He faded to the guy, grabbed him by the throat and hauled him off the bench. The fucker put up a fight, his hands coming up to Rhys’s to try to loosen his grip. Rhys only squeezed harder. He threw Romanoff against one of the walls, the mirror shattering and sending shards of glass showering over them both.

A few of the edges drew blood as they hit Rhys, but it wasn’t his blood he had to worry about. It was the other guy’s. As soon as the smell of it hit the air, Rhys felt the grip of his self-control starting to fail. Rhys recognized he was jeopardizing everything. He was also cognizant of the fact that he didn’t give a fuck. He wanted to kill. He knew that shedding more of the Cossack’s blood would only fuel his beast, but he had to do it.

Even now, it was whispering to him.

Kill.

Romanoff tried to stand up, and Rhys let him struggle to his feet. His beast liked it when his prey tried to escape; it made the hunt that much more exciting. Letting the human take a few steps away, Rhys reached for one of the blades he had used to kill the kid’s guards. Valentin’s eyes went wide and he turned and ran. Rhys smiled and gave chase, driving the steel into the kid’s spine.

Romanoff dropped to the floor, hitting his head on the rolled steel leg of his bench press as he did. Blood sprayed, coating the air. Rhys could see Romanoff’s chest rising and falling slowly. The blow hadn’t killed him, but blood poured from the cut to his head, dripping onto the rubber matting on the floor.

His black eyes fixed on Rhys. “Who …” he gasped and swallowed, “sent you?”

Rhys smiled, knowing his canine teeth had changed shape. Bringing his arm up, he drove the dagger into Romanoff’s chest. Rhys wiped the blade clean and looked around the mirrored room. A flash of yellow caught his eye, and he studied his bloody reflection for a moment.

The face staring back at him was barely recognizable. Sure, his features were all the same: the same aristocratic nose, the same mouth, square jaw and the same inky hair, but his eyes were a brilliant gold. He blinked, his vision turning to shades of red.

Out
.

The whisper was louder than before. With a growl, Rhys faded back to his apartment, painfully aware that it was empty. He didn’t want to hope that Galen might miraculously return because he knew his friend was already dead – he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. Tugging on the neck of his shirt, Rhys pulled it over his head and let the fabric skim through his fingers. Next were his cargo pants, which joined his shirt on the floor as he made his way to his bedroom.

Twisting the taps on in the shower, he didn’t bother waiting for the hot water to kick in. He stepped into the cubicle. The ice-cold water felt good against his heated skin, but it did little to subdue his beast, who he could now feel pacing backwards and forwards under his skin.

More
, it whispered.

It was becoming stronger, and Rhys had no idea how to gain the upper hand, how to get complete control over it; he hadn’t had to manage it alone for a long, long time. He went through the regular rinse-and-repeat routine, and less than five minutes later he was clean and smelling of fucking roses. He stepped from the stall, wrapping a towel around his waist. Although the shower had helped his body to relax slightly, it couldn’t help the frenetic pace of his thoughts.

What he needed was to tune out and let his mind go completely fucking blank for a while. Mindless reality TV was in order. He couldn’t understand the humans’ fascination with it, but at least it numbed the mind. In the living room, he turned on the seventy-nine-inch monster set against the wall, the home theater kicking in at the same time. Rhys wandered over to the bar and poured himself some bourbon. Back in front of the TV, he sat his ass down and took his first sip of Kentucky Tavern. It went down his throat smoothly, the flavor of vanilla lingering on his palate.

American Idol
was on. A judge was yammering on about how transcendental some woman’s performance was.

Blah, blah, blah.

He took another sip from his glass, trying to concentrate on anything but Galen’s disappearance and the bloodlust still owning his body. If his best friend was dead, he wanted to give him the funeral he deserved. Murderous intent pumped through his blood like poison, his beast enjoying the slideshow of blood and gore currently streaming through Rhys’s head.

Staring down into his glass of bourbon, Rhys knew alcohol alone wasn’t going to cut it. He needed another release, but with Galen missing, it would be up to him to find a woman he could use. Slamming back the rest of his drink, he stood up and got dressed before fading to the alleyway beside Ice. As he stepped into the glare of the streetlight, a giant black bird cawed and landed on the stop sign at the intersection.

Rhys walked to the front door of the building and pushed it open. The cold air hit him and he shivered. At the bar, he ordered a shot of bourbon and tipped it back.

“Another one,” he told Skadi. The ice giant produced the bottle and topped up his glass once more. Rhys turned around to face the room, his eyes jumping from face to face, trying to find a suitable female. The problem was there were none. They were all light elves, and he’d vowed he wouldn’t ever touch one of them. In fact, the last time he’d been there with Galen, Rhys had intentionally scared off the woman his best friend had coerced to come to their table.

Rhys placed his empty glass on the bar and headed for the door. If he was going to get what he needed – not what he
wanted
– he would have to go somewhere else. He didn’t want to hurt one of his kind, so that left only one place. He had to hit up a human bar.

Walking down the sidewalk, Rhys checked out the nightclubs he passed. The music blaring out of them was a strange assault on his senses. He finally picked one where a human the size of a Mini was standing outside. The deciding factor had been the lack of line to get in. Stepping up to the bouncer, Rhys looked him in the eye and waited.

“ID,” the human drawled.

Pulling the wallet from his back pocket, Rhys produced the card the bouncer wanted. The guy studied it for a moment, his eyes darting to Rhys’s face then down at the info. Handing it back, the bouncer took a step away from the doorway and nodded for Rhys to go in.

The lighting in the club was dim, the only real source of illumination coming from the red track lighting under the bar, in bulkheads above it, and in the inset ceilings. He walked around until he found a free table and sat down. Seconds later, a waitress appeared.

Placing a cocktail napkin on the table, she asked, “What’ll it be?” As she bent down, Rhys got an eyeful of her breasts and the black lace bra that was holding them back. A girl like her would have had the matching panties too.

“Bourbon. Neat.”

The woman smiled. “My kind of guy. Be right back.”

He watched her walk away, hypnotized by the sway of her hips. She would do. When she returned, and placed his drink down, Rhys took hold of her wrist, careful not to be too rough.

“What time do you get off?”

“Not until two, but I have a break in thirty.”

He gently caressed the inside of her wrist. “What’s your name?”

“Cat,” she replied.

“Come and find me when you take your break.”

Want.

Rhys ignored the voice, smiling at Cat when she nodded. He slid a fifty into the glass on her tray. That was a little stiff for a shot of bourbon, but he didn’t care. He was just laying the groundwork. He sat back in his chair, bringing the glass to his lips. The club had an eclectic mix of people; there were some businessmen still in suits, knocking back a few drinks before going home, some older women in small groups, and a few younger looking men who were probably in college.

He nursed his bourbon and people-watched until Cat came back over to him wearing a wicked smile.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He nodded and threw the rest of his drink down. Standing up, he held out his hand to her. “Which way is the bathroom?”

“I’ve got a better idea. My boss is out for about an hour. We can use his office.”

Rhys paused for a moment, thinking through his options. Being in a semi-private place was necessary. If things went bad, he needed to know there would be help for her. Being somewhere completely private – like her boss’s office – heavily decreased Cat’s chances of survival if … no,
when
things got out of control.

“Wait—” he said, but she tugged on his hand, dragging him through the crowded dance floor.

He should have pulled away. He was stronger than her, but there was a small part of him that said this was necessary. He didn’t have the luxury of time; the beast would need to be sated. They climbed a set of metal stairs that led to a mezzanine where there was another bar set up and three doors along the back wall. Cat opened the one in the middle of the room. He reluctantly followed her into the office.

“Lock the door behind you,” Cat said, slinking over to the desk and pulling open a drawer. A bottle of Jack and two glasses hit the table a moment later.

“Drink?”

“Sure,” he replied. She poured them each a drink and handed him his.

“To new acquaintances,” she said, knocking her glass gently against his.