Night Falls on the Wicked (7 page)

Normally this would have come across as dismissive and uncaring. Normally such a cavalier remark would have pissed her off. But she didn’t get that vibe from him. He meant what he said
because he knew. He knew how hard life could be. He knew firsthand.

She suddenly felt herself hoping he wasn’t just passing through. That maybe he was sticking around.

Just as soon as the thought entered her head, she shoved it out with a mental curse. Dangerous, stupid thinking and she knew better.

“Yes, it is hard.”

He stared at her, his eyes so deep and peering that she feared he could see inside her to all that was wrong with her. She winced. And that would be a lot.

“You don’t think wolves did this,” he uttered. A statement, not a question.

He pointed a finger where the paper rested on the counter just in case she was confused about what he was talking about. She wasn’t confused. At least not about that. She did wonder why he seemed so interested in what she thought, however. And why was he so interested in the wolf problem? Or rather, the lack of wolf problem.

“I don’t know what killed Corey.”

“But something did. And you know it’s not wolves.” He picked up a french fry and bit into it with clean, even teeth. “Interesting. You seem to be the only one around here to share that sentiment.”

She glanced around the busy diner, aware that most of the conversation centered around what was going to be done about the wolves. She frowned. If the true threat was what she suspected, there was nothing any of these people could do.

Nothing except bar their doors and pray.

“Don’t worry,” he said, rising from his stool. He dropped a bill on the counter. “It will all be over soon.”

“What do you mean?” She cocked her head.

He hesitated for a moment like he wanted to say something. “Everything will work itself out. Just don’t go wandering around at night.”

And she knew. He knew what …
things
… were killing people around here. He suspected the same thing she did. She stared at him, hoping for more elaboration.

He didn’t give any. “Good night. Darby.”

A small tingle trailed down her spine at the sound of her name on his lips. He seemed to say it almost as an afterthought, like it was something he wanted to experiment pronouncing on his tongue.

As he walked away, she glanced down at the large bill on the counter. “What about your change?” she called, snatching up the money.

He ignored her, continuing out the door and into the cold night.

N
iklas walked swiftly through the snow, his booted feet hitting the snow-covered pavement hard, as if each step could jar some sense into his head and remind him of his purpose here.

He cut through the murky, purple air. Night was falling. They were somewhere close, ready to strike again. This time, he’d be there. He lifted his face and breathed in. It was there. A trace of Cyprian and the rest of them. The sickly sweet scent of blood always clung to them and stayed behind on the air.

This was the part he hated. The waiting. The tense holding of his breath as he listened, as he
felt
, scenting the night air, letting his instincts guide him.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the brightly lit diner fading behind him. A steady stream of people continued to enter the establishment. The usual dinner crowd combined with those morbidly curious about the murdered waitress.

In the future, he would eat somewhere else—if he didn’t catch them tonight, of course. He still had tomorrow night though. Certain waitresses were simply far too distracting. He breathed in. He could still smell her. Clean skin and fresh vanilla. He wondered if she tasted the same. He shook his head as if he could dislodge the thought with the fierce motion. She fogged his head with needful thoughts. Thoughts of tangled limbs and sinking himself inside her softness.

He’d thought it was a good idea to eat there considering the pack’s latest victim had worked there. He thought he might find out some information, although he probably knew more than anyone else about what exactly was going on. He sure as hell knew that the local wolves hadn’t gone on a killing spree. He knew that. And so did she.

Darby. The waitress. She wasn’t all that she appeared to be.

As curious as he was about her, as interesting as he found her, he needed to forget her. He was here for one reason and it didn’t involve getting entangled with a woman.

He swung his gaze upward. A latticework of branches lining the sidewalk blocked his view of the sky, but he didn’t need to see it to know. He could feel it, in the pull and itch of his own flesh, in the hum of his bones. There wasn’t much time left.

He located his Hummer at the end of the block. Shooting a glance around his shoulder, he made sure no one was about as he popped his trunk and armed himself with additional weapons.

It was time to hunt.

Closing the trunk, he took off running, diving between buildings. He followed his gut, not using his eyes but that sixth sense he’d possessed since he was sixteen and his world changed forever.

As dusk turned into night, he left the town behind. The blood rushed in his veins as he ran through snow-draped woods. His racing steps were silent in the hush of the forest. An animal of the night, he surrendered to his instincts, all stealth and speed, as dangerous as that which he hunted.

Their howls soon filled the night. Distant, but he followed the sounds, jumping over a frozen creek and vaulting over a five-foot drift of snow.

Their howls grew frenzied and he knew they were closing in on prey. He ran harder, pushing himself. Cocking his head, he inhaled the ripe scent of them on the air and stopped abruptly. Pressing a palm to a nearby tree, he leaned close to the frozen bark and inhaled.

One of them had passed here, brushed against the very spot his hand touched. He dropped to a crouch and assessed the ground. Fresh snow covered it, but he ran fingers through the powdery
white anyway, sensing they’d passed over this ground.

Suddenly the howls stopped, swiftly dying in the air. And he knew they’d found their prey.

He took off again, grunting as he vaulted over frozen ground, jumping off a steep craggy hill and landing in a roll until he was on his feet again. The silence told its own story and he ran until his chest hurt. The sound of running water reached his ears.

He broke through the trees and jerked to a halt at its bank. Immediately the tang of freshly spilled blood hit him, powerful and cloying. His gaze zeroed in on the human remains scattered near the side of the partially frozen river. Blood covered the snow for several feet, staining it a deep red so dark it nearly looked black.

He was too late. They’d fed and he was too late. They were gone.

D
ARBY STAYED LATER THAN
usual, helping clean up. But then it had been an unusual night, starting with the news of Corey’s death and the diner’s sudden surge of business, and then ending with her encounter with the stranger. Another encounter. It seemed odd at this point that she still didn’t know his name.

As she headed out the back door, she was too tired to think about heating up a can of soup as she’d planned. Even though her stomach rumbled
in hunger, weariness won out. Her bed with its electric blanket tempted her more than the prospect of hot chicken noodle.

As she moved along the short walk to the wooden stairs that led to the upstairs loft, the wind suddenly blew a fierce hiss. The sound reminded her of an angry beast … and she’d met a few of those in her life to know. Goose bumps puckered her flesh.

She stopped and looked around. No one else lurked outside. For some reason, she thought about the stranger and his warning to not wander around at night. Not that there was much help for what she was doing—not if she wanted to sleep in her own bed tonight.

Her gaze scanned the diner’s back lot. Sam’s truck still sat parked beside the Dumpster, empty, its windows dark eyes that only emphasized how alone she felt at this moment. Tall, snow-dappled trees closed around the broken-up concrete, stretching to the night sky. And of course, there was the moon, full and glowing, watchful as an eye in the sky.

She reached for her necklace beneath her sweater, rubbing her fingers over the three pendants, taking comfort in their presence close to her skin. The necklace had been a gift when she turned thirteen and her powers had first begun to assert themselves. Her mother had hoped they wouldn’t—had hoped she would be different.
Normal
. Normal enough to not attract demons.

Satan’s spawn had a particular aversion to milk—the food of life—salt and holy water. Each pendant contained one of these three elements and served to protect her. How much protection it offered, she couldn’t say, but she would take whatever help she could get.

And there was the blistering cold of her environment, not to be overlooked. That was perhaps the greatest help of all. Born of the fires of hell, demons could not withstand extreme cold. Their powers of manipulation were always weakest in such climes. So Darby endured living in climates too cold for a demon to thrive.

The wind blew again, the sound it made unearthly as it cut into her face like the sharp pricks of a knife. Almost like a moan.

Awareness settled over her, knotting her shoulders. Her gaze darted around, looking for something where nothing appeared to be.
Appeared
. Her hand tightened around her keys until the relentless metal cut into the tender flesh of her palms. Appearances meant nothing.

Darby knew too well that the world was a place where the wind was sometimes something more than wind. Where shadows weren’t always shadows. Where girls who worked in diners were something else, too. Even when they didn’t want
to be. Even when they would give anything to be something else. Something normal.

Turning, she quickly moved for the stairs, taking two jarring steps at a time, her every instinct commanding her to seek shelter, sanctuary. Her fingers located the right key on the ring in readiness. Her instincts were well honed. She knew to trust them.

“You’re sure in a hurry.”

He was waiting for her in the shadows of her small porch. He rose from the chair tucked in the corner, blocking her from reaching her door. She should have noticed his heavy breathing sooner. His nose was bright red, and she guessed he had been waiting for a while.

“You think you’re something, don’t you?” Ned’s lip curled as he looked her up and down. He wasn’t the first man to get surly with her, but he was the first one to follow her home to harass her. She crossed her arms and returned his stare. For some reason, he failed to intimidate her. When she’d spent half her life contending with demons, this guy hardly registered on her fear radar.

She released a heavy sigh. “You’re not going to get out of my way, are you?”

He shook his head, his lips tipping in a cruel smile.

Certain she wasn’t going to make it around him and escape into her apartment, she whirled,
ready to descend and flee back into the diner.

She didn’t make it down one step before she felt a great slam of pressure in her back. Her head snapped on her shoulders as she flew off the steps and landed facedown on the rough concrete at the base of the stairs.

Pain radiated through her body. She lay utterly still for a long moment, a croaked gasp wheezing from her lips as her body absorbed the brunt of impact. Without the cushion of snow, she knew it could have been worse.

Feet pounded heavily on the wood steps above her.

“Oh, did you trip? Gotta be careful on those steps. They can be slippery.”

Tripped? Right.

Her hands trembled as she flattened them on the ground. Pain shot through her palms. Wincing, she pulled back and looked at the bleeding scrapes. Apparently the snow hadn’t saved her hands from reaching the concrete.

Ignoring the pain, she pushed to her feet, snatching her keys back up from where they had fallen beside her as she did so. “You pushed me,” she said in a voice that shook. Oddly, not from terror though. Anger thrummed through her blood.

He nodded. “Kicked, actually.”

His thick-soled boots slid to a stop before her.

She stretched to her full height, pulling back her shoulders and ignoring the discomfort in her back from where his boot had struck her.

“What now?” she demanded. “You’re going to beat me up? How melodramatic. Go ahead. Let’s get this over with.”

He tilted his head, studying her as if he’d never seen anything like her before. Fury gleamed in his eyes like a living, glittering beast. “You’re afraid. Stop pretending you’re not.”

Is that what he wanted to see? Her fear.
Idiot
. Fear was nothing. She lived with it every day, waiting for something far worse than him to find her.

She lifted her chin, determined that she not give him the satisfaction. “There’s a bully like you in every town on every corner.” She smiled at him then, rotating her keys in her hand, readying the largest one for when he came at her again. As she knew he would. Bullies like him were predictable that way.

“Bitch,” he growled, his face turning an unflattering purple shade.

He slapped her, but she managed to pull away, taking the force of the blow against her ear rather than her cheek.

Head ringing, she lunged forward and jammed her key into his face, digging the metal in as deep as she could, knowing this was probably the only chance she would have to do him serious injury.

He howled and pulled back. Bright blood flowed freely between his fingers from where she’d gouged him with her key.

Keys still in her hand, she turned and fled up her steps, her goal simple.
Get inside her apartment before he recovered enough to come after her.

She was at her door, key sliding home in the lock when she heard him pounding up the steps, coming after her like an enraged bull.

Shit!

She released a small cry of relief when she flung the door open, slamming it shut before he reached her. Sliding the lock in place, she took a step back to watch the door shudder beneath the weight of his fists.