Night Falls on the Wicked (24 page)

A soft knock sounded at the door. He paused, almost thinking he’d imagined the timid sound—until it came again.

He hurried to the door and stared out the peephole. Nothing. No one was out there. The knock came again. With a curse, and a sixth sense telling him what he would find, he yanked the door open and looked down at Aimee. She stared up at him with wide eyes in a dirt-smudged face.

Her bottom lip quivered. “I want Darby.”

He squatted and swept her into his arms, hugging her close. He couldn’t help thinking:
I want her, too.

“Darby,” she sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder.

He carried her into the room, making shushing sounds.

She pushed up from his shoulder, her wide eyes darting wildly around the room. “Darby! Darby!”

“Shh.” Seeing no hope for it, he guided her to the couch and explained, “Honey, Darby’s gone.”

“Gone?” She swiped a grimy little hand against a runny nose. “Where’d she go? Who’s going to take me to my grandma’s? She promised she would bring me to my grandma.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll see you get there.”

Tears trailed down her cheeks in shiny tracks. “Why’d she leave me?”

“Aimee, honey, can you tell me what happened to the bad man that took you?”

“The shadows came. They got him.”

“Shadows …” He stopped, suddenly understanding. He squeezed his eyes in a tight blink.
Demons
.

Darby did it. Of course. She’d made a pact with a demon, but not for nothing.

Cyprian was gone.

It was over. Ten years of searching, hunting, breathing and living for revenge. Done. Finished. His mother was avenged. Because of Darby.

He looked intently at Aimee. Her eyes were no longer the pewter of a lycan. She wasn’t infected anymore. Darby had taken measures into her own hands. She’d sacrificed herself for Aimee. And for him.

He probed carefully inside himself, searching, testing to see if the connection to his alpha was there, if the thread that always linked them still existed.

No. Nothing. It was gone.

There was no rush of relief as he’d always expected. No sudden sense of freedom.

If anything, he was furious with himself for not guessing Darby would do something like this. And he was furious with her for sacrificing herself for Aimee. For him. Damn her.

Damn her for thinking she was somehow less important than him, that she was expendable.

She was everything. And he would show her
that—prove it to her. He’d find her. Save her as he failed to save his mother. And then he would spend every day of the rest of his life showing her just how much she meant to him. He’d show her that she didn’t have to spend her life alone. That she had him. Always.

He looked down at the little girl staring up at him so expectantly. He stroked a hand over her downy-soft hair.

Aimee buried her face in his chest. “I want Darby.”

“I know, sweetheart. So do I. So do I.”

He’d find her. Even if it took surrendering to that part of himself that he had vowed to kill, to keep buried inside himself forever.

There was no question about what he needed to do. Darby had done the unthinkable. He could do this. He
would
.

He wouldn’t lose her.

I
t took longer than he liked to find someone to watch Aimee but he didn’t want to leave the child with just anyone—not after what she’d been through. He couldn’t do that to her. Or to Darby. Darby had sacrificed herself to see that Aimee was safe. He had to make sure she stayed that way.

The concierge directed him to a sweet-faced girl who worked in the gift shop. Turned out she was an art student. The moment she sat down with Aimee and began to draw pictures of zebras and teddy bears, the girl was transported to another world. Satisfied she was happy and in good hands, Niklas slipped away with no worries for her.

He left his guns behind. He knew enough about demons to know that guns wouldn’t work. Just as with lycans, there were specific methods to killing demons. If he could lure the demon inside Darby out into the open, then a blade would be his only option.

He carried the weapon in his coat pocket as he
walked the quiet streets. He lifted his face to the frigid air, searching for a scent of Darby. If she was close, he could detect her. After their time together, it would be a certainty. She was in his blood now.

If he wanted more range, wanted to deepen his senses, then he would have to shift … have to become the hunter that burned at the core of him.

He headed through the park, where the trail of her died, vanishing into the bitterly fierce wind. He detoured off the path and found a copse of trees with snow-heavy branches that hung low, brushing the frozen earth. Ducking under the cover of those heavy branches, he stood shielded, hidden from view.

He waited, watched, peering through the latticework of frozen branches at the stillness of the park, assuring himself that no one was around. The quiet paths, the lonely benches. No one walked the park this early in the morning, especially on a day so cold. He released a resigned breath. Warm fog puffed out from his lips.

With a determined clench to his jaw, he stripped off his clothes and secured the knife to his thigh. His adrenaline pumped hard, shielding him from the worst of the cold as he stood naked, his skin tightening, pores shrinking in reaction to the freezing temperature but also in preparation for what was to come. What he willed to happen.

That warmth that was always there, simmering just beneath the surface, burst free. His veins burned hotly, his heart hammering at a frantic tempo. Air rushed from his mouth in spurts. Dipping his head, he moaned low in his throat. A scratchy, tingling sensation that bordered on pain overwhelmed his body. He threw back his head. Arched his spine. His moans grew louder and he bit his lips, not wanting to attract attention. He brought his hands to his face, clutching his cheeks. He felt his bones alter, ever so slightly stretching, pulling …

For once he let go, no longer struggling to hang on to himself. His emotions surged to the surface right along with the beast. He thought of Darby and the demon who had her. A red haze clouded his visions.

He couldn’t stop himself. He lifted his face high to the morning wind and released a howl.

He was overwhelmed by myriad scents. Countless foods, human aromas, all manner of rotting debris from Dumpsters littering alleyways.

He sifted through the odors, hunting for one. Subtle and soft, clean as soap with an underlying hint of vanilla. It was inherently Darby and he would know it anywhere.

After several moments it was there. He found it.

With a low growl in the back of his throat, he
tore free from where he hid in the trees, moving so fast that the human eye would only see a blur and not his monstrous form.

His heart pounded at an unbelievable rate, matching the rhythm of his feet. He exited the park and whipped through the city, guided by his nose and instinct. Guided by his heart. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something he didn’t think he’d ever felt.

Before Darby.

D
ARBY WOKE GROGGILY, HER
head heavy and aching as if she were hung over from a night of binge drinking. She’d had a few of those nights in the past. When she’d first left home and everything—everyone—she ever knew, she took solace in a bottle once or twice. Until mornings like this convinced her to stop feeling sorry for herself and put an end to that.

The cold greeted her stiff body. With a wince, she lifted her face, peeling it off a grimy surface. The entire side of her body that pressed against the floor ached. Tears pricked her eyes as blood flowed back into those numb parts of her body. With the flow of blood came pain.

She contemplated her situation as she blinked her burning eyes. The demon must have grown tired of the struggle—with her and the bitter cold.
She carefully prodded around inside herself, poking about to see if he was somewhere in there, just dormant. Did demons even sleep? She didn’t sense him at all. Not inside her or anywhere else.

Faint memories of the night before filtered through her mind. She concentrated, pulling them forth like elusive dreams from the dark.

It had been a constant battle throughout the night between her and the demon. Back and forth they went. One moment she would wrest control when the demon slipped away, too plagued by the cold.

In those moments of freedom, she would walk as quickly as she could, practically running from the bus station where he’d been trying to lead her. And she didn’t need an explanation as to why he was taking her there. He was trying to get her on a bus headed south, where it wasn’t so cold. If he succeeded in that, she would forever be at his mercy. Her face felt tight and itchy with the weight of this very real fear.

Slowly and with a hiss of discomfort, she rose into a sitting position, taking a moment to assess her surroundings. She didn’t know where she was. In a building of some sort, on the floor of a dingy room where the overriding color was gray. Faint sunlight trickled in from the boarded-up windows, motes of dust dancing on the beams.

In the distance a car alarm blared over the cacophony of a relentless power drill. She pushed the tangle of red hair from her face and inspected her room more fully. Newspaper littered the floor. It dawned on her that this was an abandoned house that transients probably used. She had somehow found her way here during the night.

Standing, she stretched out her sore muscles and rubbed filthy hands on the thighs of her jeans. God, she felt gross. It felt necessary. She needed to find a bathroom and get washed up. She doubted she could even get on a bus looking the way she did.

But she needed to hurry. Her demon could come back at any moment.
Her
demon. Her stomach rolled, rebelling against the sour thought. That her life had fallen to such lows, that
she
had fallen to such depths rocked her to her core.

For Aimee
…
for Niklas
, a voice whispered across her mind. That made it worth it. Aimee was safe now. And Niklas would have peace at last. They’d forget her and move on with their lives.

Strange that this had all happened just when she’d opened herself up for the first time in her life. Just when she had decided to embrace people back into her life.
Love
—when she had thought to try to find love for herself again. That maybe she
deserved it like everyone else. That she needed it to live through this life.

Her newly woken legs shook as she strode to one of the boarded windows. A big crack gaped between the nailed-up boards. She wanted to get a glimpse of the world waiting for her.

She peered outside. The face of a brownstone apartment building stared back at her from across the street. A construction site was in full swing next door to it. Several men with hard hats walked in and out of the structure, carrying boards, wiring and other materials. Maybe she could ask one of them for directions to the bus station—where she would buy a ticket for the first bus headed north.

Turning, she exited the room and entered a narrow hallway. Dim and airless, hardly any light penetrated it. Without any windows, it felt as if she had suddenly stepped into night. She put a hand to the wall and felt her way along, skimming the ripped plaster with trailing fingers. In the murky air, she detected what looked like a descending staircase at the far end. She made her way carefully, shivering in the cold, stale space.

She hardly noticed the change in the air at first. It was insidious, a subtle thread of warm air drifting and curling around her ankles, then easing up each calf. The heat expanded, a pleasant thing in this bitter cold. But still she shivered. It could mean
only one thing. There could only be one source for the sudden heat.

Glancing down, her eyes rapidly scanned the area around her, registering only the murky gloom that pervaded the length of the corridor. The demon’s dark shadow might be hard to see, but she didn’t need sight to know he was here, that her demon had returned to claim her again.

She sensed him, felt him. Knew him as she knew herself.

Panic clawed up her throat. She turned, ready to run, flee. Where, she didn’t know. She wasn’t thinking rationally. She only knew she had to keep running.

A sudden crash sounded behind her and she risked a glance over her shoulder. A cry strangled in her throat at the sight that greeted her.

A lycan stood at the top of the stairs, all heaving muscle and sinew. Her first thought was Cyprian—until she recalled that he was dead now. That had been the deal. And upon further inspection, she saw that he looked nothing like Cyprian. He even held himself differently. Legs spaced apart in an oddly familiar way.

His eyes glowed across the distance at her. A bright, burning light within a sea of indigo.

Her pulse stuttered against her throat. “Niklas?”

She took a sliding step toward him, still uncertain. Niklas would never shift, never surrender to that part of himself. He’d made that abundantly clear.

He moved toward her, sinew rippling beneath bronze fur. He growled low in his throat, a noise that sounded suspiciously like her name. And there were those eyes again, drilling into her with familiar intensity.

“Niklas!” She surged forward. He’d found her! He’d come for her …

A dark wind swirled between them in the corridor, the hot air singeing her skin, reminding her that they weren’t alone.

“Niklas!” she cried, stretching out a hand as if she could reach him—or push him away. The impulses to do each warred within her. “Go! Run away, Niklas! It’s too late for me! Get out of here!”

His response was to pull a deadly-looking blade from a strap attached to his thigh. With a shout, he charged at the demon’s hazy shape.

“Niklas, no!” she screamed.

He didn’t stand a chance fighting a demon that was nothing more than shadow. Only she could see him—only witches and the rare few demon slayers.

And the only way a demon could be killed is through locating the mark of the fall on him and
stabbing him there. An impossibility when Niklas could see only the vague, shadowy shape of him. Darby knew this. Niklas knew this, too. And yet he was here. Fighting an impossible battle for her. Why?