A sour milk and vinegar odor filled Gracyn’s nostrils as she knelt next to the disgusting dumpster. She pinched her nose, wishing the jerk she hunted had picked a less filthy bar, but this was his favorite spot. It was nearly the end of the night when her gaze narrowed in on the unsuspecting asshole, stumbling out of the door to find his next victim.
“Not tonight, asshole. Not ever again.” Her adrenaline spiked as she rubbed her fingers across the hilt of the knife and glanced over her shoulder. Not a soul around. Good.
A wave of menace proceeded ahead of him. “Please let this one have seen him,” she mumbled, tired of not getting any closer to finding her father.
Gracyn stood and walked from the dark shadow of the garbage container. He still didn’t notice her. Idiot.
The man stopped directly in front of the dumpster, only a few feet from her, pulled out a half-used cigar from his pocket, and lit it.
She took a step forward, and he finally raised his head after taking a long drag. His eyes went straight to the V of her T-shirt, then blew a puff of smoke in her direction. The dumpster stench was bad, but the cigar odor made bile rise up her throat. She swallowed hard.
Immediate memories of her adopted father suffocated her. It wasn’t the same type of cigar her father had used once in a blue moon, but her sister and mom had still complained about the scent lingering on his clothes.
Dad was the only reason why she did what she did now. The only reason why she’d joined the Inciters. And the only reason she ended those unworthy to breathe.
“Would you like a hit, darlin’?” The man’s voice brushed over her skin in a low thick twang.
“Not the kind you have in mind,” she said, eyeing his average size.
His hooded gaze lingered on her lips. “You lost?”
Her fingers tightened around the hilt, hidden at her side, and she forced a smile. “I’ve been lost for a very long time.” Lost. Broken. Exhausted.
“Well, hon, it looks like you’ve been found.” He placed his hand on her waist. “Come with me. I’ll get you off these streets and take care of you.”
“I bet you would.” She inched forward, close enough for the tips of her boots to touch his slick brown shoes. This was the tricky part, and it never worked out the same. But tonight, she was overly exhausted, so she took the direct approach. “Like you took care of the other girls you’ve found?”
He frowned. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
“Never mind.” The least she could do was give him a clue as to why he was about to die. Give him a chance to think about all the wrongdoings he’d done to so many innocent people, but first she needed information. Her heart fluttered a beat as she pulled out a picture of her family. “Have you seen this man?”
He glanced at the photo, then gripped her wrist hard. Pain shot up her arm. “No. Why? Who is he? Is this your family?”
“Was.” As her teeth clenched and she jerked out of his grip, she tucked the photo in her pocket, not trusting the asshole. She reached up and placed the pads of her fingers on his temples. Never sure if her visions worked accurately or not, she still gave it a shot and closed her eyes.
The man stood stunned.
A swirl of fog. Then nothing. Not a single glimpse of her father in his mind. Dammit. She was so damn tired of this. Tired of the nasty violent criminals, and having to be the one to stop them. She pressed her lips together. This was not the life she’d dreamed about.
He pushed her hand away. “If you want to touch me, baby doll, my dick could use your attention.”
“Gross. I’d rather not touch you at all, but I have no other choice.” A wave of fatigue rolled over her. If she didn’t find her dad soon, she wasn’t sure she could keep going like this. Before she grew too tired, she had to make her move.
“No other—”
She stunned the dude into silence when she swung out with her fist, not exactly hitting her mark yet, but close enough to cause his baseball cap to fall to the ground to make sure he was the right guy. He was. The scar on his forehead was plain to see even in the dark. Definitely the criminal out on bond for the third time. This round, he wouldn’t make it home after his last night out at the bar.
“Pick it up, bitch!” He pointed at the hat on the ground.
If the court systems wouldn’t step up to get rid of the scum, then the Inciters would.
She pulled her blade from her side. “Any last words of regret for those you’ve caused pain?”
“You’re here for revenge then.” A slow, crooked, evil smile framed his mouth. There was no remorse in his eyes whatsoever. “Regrets? Not a fucking one. You?”
A roaring grew loud in her ears. Of course he didn’t, but did she have any regrets? “Several, actually.”
Moving from week to week, and squatting in abandoned buildings. No real friends, other than Drake. Not a single love interest. And most importantly, not being home when her father murdered her family. And probably a few more she wasn’t thinking about at this moment.
The man took another puff before throwing the cigar on the ground. He released the smoke directly in her face for a second time without a care in the world.
“I hate litter bugs, but I hate predators more.” She slammed her fist into his jaw. He staggered backwards, but recovered quickly and charged at her. Her feet came off the ground with his strength. Her leg twisted wrong when she landed on her back with the man straddling her hips. Pain shot up her thigh. The blade was still firm in her hand, but this one didn’t deserve an easy, quick death like the rest of them. Why should he? His victims didn’t get that option. He tortured them slowly from what she’d read.
She struggled, trying to free her arms, when he leaned down and ran his tongue over her face. The odor from his breath wreaked havoc on her gag reflexes. He leaned back and slapped her face so hard she thought her eye would pop out of its socket. Shit.
Was trying to find her dad worth all of this? Probably not, but she’d promised her mom and sister that she would find out why he’d murdered them.
The man slapped her again. Her lip burned, and she gritted her teeth. Dammit, this sucks. There was one more thing she had to make certain before she ended his life: would he continue abusing girls? “That’s all you got?”
His brows lowered. “Like it, do you?”
“Not particularly,” she said. There was no other way to keep hunting for her father without doing what the Inciters required of her, but how could she keep doing this? Especially since she wasn’t one hundred percent sure about the visions.
He slapped her other cheek, and pain ricocheted all the way down her spine. She gripped his head and the fog returned. The hair on the back of her neck rose as images of his past flashed in his mind. Nope. Never again.
He jerked her hands off him and leaned back. Stars danced in her vision as he put pressure on her hurt leg. “You need to be taught an important lesson.”
A coppery tang filled her mouth, and she spit blood on his jacket. “No, thanks, teacher.”
She raised the blade fast, striking the rapist. The man glanced at where the knife protruded from his chest. He gasped, then dropped on his hands and fell over. Dammit. So much for a slow death. She shoved him off, stared at his still body as blood darkened around him on the ground.
“When will this end?” She had difficulty swallowing as the feeling of failure filled her.
When the Inciters recruited her long ago, they’d taken her off the streets, gave her protection, and trained her, and all the while she secretly searched. Some would argue that she really wasn’t taken care of, but that depended on one’s perspective.
Still. She hated how her life had turned out. Hated that she had to touch the criminals to see their past. Hated that they had to hurt her in order for a vision to appear. Hated that after all this time, she wasn’t any closer to keeping her promise.
More than anything though, she hated killing, even if they deserved it.
Gracyn wiped her blade on the man’s shirt. She stood, opened the dumpster door, pulled the guy inside, then closed it. Her hands and legs trembled, and the pain in her stomach from earlier in the week returned with a vengeance, almost masking the new-addition ache in her leg. How much longer must I do this? Until you find him. But despite everything, she persevered, refusing to give up until she accomplished her mission.
She walked several blocks in a fog, not noticing anything until she spotted Drake, another Inciter, waiting for her on the corner. He shook his head slightly. Shit. She tried hiding her limp as she approached, but he was on to her.
“How’d it go?” he asked with a little sarcasm dripping in his tone.
She shrugged. Drake had been pissed that she’d insisted on going alone again, needing to prove she was as good as the rest of them, even if the Inciter elixir hadn’t seemed to be working like it had with the others. Fake it till you make it. She continued alongside him while she massaged her fingers deep into her thigh in hopes it might reduce some of the discomfort.
Drake glanced at her hand, then pulled her to a stop. “What happened to your leg?”
A thickness formed in her throat. Of course, he noticed. Her best friend saw everything. It came in handy with the kills, but it was annoying when he used that crap to observe her every movement. “Nothing. Just landed wrong.”
He tilted his head back, and his wavy coffee-brown hair brushed his black T-shirt collar. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”
“Let me, huh? Right. I’m still better off than the dead rapist.” A lecture was coming; they always did. Drake detested how she fought with the criminals instead of taking them out immediately, but he wasn’t aware of her reason, her true purpose beyond her job.
He turned his prominent jaw away from her. “I’ll never understand your technique, Cyn. It could’ve gone horribly wrong. Again.”
Her stomach began burning, and she took a step back. “As long as I do what the boss wants, your understanding is irrelevant.” She’d seen their leader, Tom, briefly a few times, but he’d never spoken to her directly.
“What’s not irrelevant is time. We don’t have that luxury. The Seraphs and cops are on our ass.”
“Screw them. We’re making their jobs easier.” She had to believe that was true.
When the Inciters had come along, she was on the verge of having to give up her search for her dad. Drake especially made her feel like family. It wouldn’t replace the family she’d had. The one her dad took away from her.
What never made sense was why? Why’d he do it? Not once had he shown signs of wanting to harm anyone, much less murder. And she wouldn’t have believed the neighbors’ testimony if she hadn’t had a vision of her father leaving the house covered in blood. Yes, her visions were inconsistent, and she didn’t trust what she couldn’t understand, but what else could she do? More than likely the cops had given up the search many years ago. A cold case as they say.
She raised her head a notch and continued walking. She wouldn’t stop hunting until she got her answers. Well, she’d stop for tonight until she got enough rest to go searching for him again tomorrow.
“All I’m saying is we must be careful.” He caught up with her and shoved his hand through his thick hair. “And I don’t get why you let those fuckers hurt you. I know you don’t get off on the pain.”
“Of course not.” She sighed. “Just drop it.” But with the pain, the visions or memories seem to come to the surface. She imagined how it appeared to Drake since he was still unaware of her ability. She wasn’t sure what to label it. Gift? Curse? If the others could do what she did, they’d never told her, and she didn’t want to be labeled as a freak.
“I wish you would open up to me.” He huffed.
Warmth spread over her cheeks, knowing how much he cared. “I will, but not today.”
He took a deep, annoyed breath. “That’s the last time you go alone.”
“So you’ve said several times, D.” Confirming the targets deserved death was critical. She wouldn’t be responsible for removing someone good away from children. So far, all the termination orders from Tom did deserve what they got. Well, as long as her talent was accurate, and she hoped to heaven it was. She bit the inside of her cheek as she kneaded the leg wound. “Look, I’m not a kid. I can handle the rapists and abusers, and I can certainly handle the Angel of Death.”
That’s what the Inciters called the Seraph she’d only heard rumors about. He hunted them like they hunted bad guys. She’d always been curious as to what he looked like. She’d heard many rumors, but always different descriptions. Tall and wide as a mountain or big and skinny like a skyscraper. Built like a tank or thick like a gorilla. Dark slicked hair or a wild mess of silver. The one rumor people agreed on was that he was magnificent.
Drake cleared his throat, and his lavender, not yet violet, gaze eased along the deserted street for a second, then narrowed on her as he did a quick skim up and down her body. “I’m fully aware you’re a grown-ass woman, but I’m still responsible for you, Collin, and the rest of our group.” His annoyed gaze held hers. “And don’t fool yourself. We’re no match against the Angel of Death. Not until we take the final elixir.”
Goose bumps rose on her arms thinking about the next elixir. Would it work like their leader claimed? She hadn’t met any of the Level Threes. Still, Drake took his position as group leader seriously, and she respected him for that, but he needed to back off. She bumped her shoulder against his arm, trying to lighten the mood. Hers and his. “This grown-ass woman is twenty-five to be exact, more or less, and I bet I could do some serious damage to that celestial terminator.”
“You’d certainly try.” He cracked a small smile. “Damn. You’re old.”
“Kiss my old ass.” The adoption agency hadn’t given her date of birth to her parents, but they’d always celebrated her birthday the day she came to live with them. It still bothered her—the not knowing—and now she probably never would know.
“Not my type.” Drake glanced away. “You coming to my godmother’s for dinner? She made your favorite.”
Her ribs squeezed tight at the thought Drake still had real family. He defied the Inciter rules and continued his secret visits with his godmother, Stella. He’d never mentioned her to anyone other than Cyn. Stella didn’t have a clue what Drake did either; she only knew he was gone a lot. She certainly wouldn’t approve of Drake’s killing no matter if it was for the good.
Drake’s stomach growled. “I can already taste those pork chops.”
Her mouth watered, yet her stomach recoiled with stabbing pains. Her step faltered, and she hoped Drake would think it was her bruised leg. He gave her a side glance, but didn’t mention it. “Not tonight.”
Eating under a regular roof with real furniture and warmth was the icing on the cake for Gracyn. It kept her tied to simple, non-killing, human interaction. Stella was a loving godmother, even if she wasn’t hers, but tonight she wasn’t feeling all that normal. Her body hadn’t felt right since the last Inciter ritual elixir she’d downed a week ago, and she feared something had gone terribly wrong. “Bring me some leftovers.”
She’d most likely give them to Collin, because she couldn’t eat anything with this stomachache. Plus, the kid needed nourishment way more than she did. They’d found him only a month ago, after his father had beaten him so badly, he couldn’t see through his swollen eyes. Collin had connected with her and Drake almost instantly.
He raised a shoulder. “Maybe.” They stopped again after crossing the deserted street. “Keep your eyes open, Cyn. You never know when the Angel of Death is near.”
“Wide open.” Was he as deadly as he was beautiful like she’d heard? Even though the Inciters’ cause was to terminate horrible people from the streets, she was now a criminal too, but the difference was she was saving good people from bad ones. That had to matter, right?
“See you later, Cyn.” This is where he escaped to normalcy for a few lovely hours, and she went to the hellhole to hide from the Seraphs and hopefully recover.
Drake disappeared around the block, and Gracyn kept straight for another five minutes before ducking through a sizeable gap in a chain-link fence onto the abandoned newspaper warehouse property, their new temporary home-stink-home. With the angels always on their tail, the Inciters would move again in a few days, maybe sooner, but at least this time she had her own sleeping quarters. For now.
She gave the six-knock code on the door, and Collin greeted her at the back entrance. “You’re back early.” He glanced behind her. “Where’s Drake?”
“Searching for a new safehouse.” That was always what they claimed when he was with his relatives. No one could know she handled Tom’s order alone. Another rule they broke together. “Collin, have you heard any of the others complaining since the Level Two ritual? Stomach pain? Headaches?”
He shuffled his old boots on the grimy floor and frowned. “No. Everyone is bragging about how much stronger they feel.”
Her heart squeezed painfully. Drake had admitted to feeling stronger too. She patted Collin’s shoulder, totally understanding his disappointment. “Be patient, man. It will happen when the time is right.”
“What ev’.” He shrugged, then his gaze widened. “Um, you look kinda greenish. Maybe you should get some z’s.”
Never had she felt this terrible before. She pressed her hand to her stomach. “Just cramps.”
His cheeks grew pink. “My mom used a heating pad. I can get you one next time I’m out running errands.” He rubbed his hands down his torn jeans. “Or I can get those cramp pills.”
“I’ll be fine.” Neither would work on whatever this awful pain was, and she knew damn well Collin would have to steal those items because he didn’t have any money.
A few newly changed Level Two Inciters came in the door behind her, cutting up, bragging about whatever job they had done tonight. If they weren’t careful with the things they said, they’d lead the Angel of Death right to their door. These guys were different. She’d never grown close to them, but their presence would allow her to relax a little while she went upstairs.
“Hey, Red,” someone called out. She despised the nickname. Didn’t they know the difference between red and brownish-auburn? Boys.
The burning and nausea in her stomach wasn’t letting up though. Dammit. She threw a nod at the newcomers, then leaned toward Collin. “You’re right. I need to sleep it off. If I’m not up in an hour, come wake me.”
“Done.” He pulled the wooden compass watch she’d given him out of his pocket. The only item she’d ever taken from one of her kills. He glanced back up and tilted his head. “Man, your eyes are red and shiny. I don’t think an hour will help.”
“You need to work on your compliments, Collin.” She smirked, then ruffled his dirty blond hair, afraid he was right.
He jerked his head, swooshing his long bangs to the side. “Nah, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Suuuuure,” she teased. “One hour, and if Drake’s back before that, send him up.” As much as she didn’t want to admit something was wrong, she had to find out if the elixir could kill her. Maybe she was exaggerating, but the pain was awful.
She reached the top of the stairs. The queasiness overrode the ache in her leg. Was something wrong with the elixir dose she’d gotten? Truthfully, she had no idea what it was. All she knew was it was supposed to help them. Each level would make them more powerful. She glanced over the balcony. This place wasn’t much different from the other places, except this time the old rotten newspaper smell made her stomach flip, and her mouth filled with saliva. She swallowed.
“Keep your eyes open,” she called down to Collin, repeating the words Drake said to her earlier.
Collin finger-combed his messy hair. “Dream sweet dreams about me, Cyn.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Not likely, kiddo.”
“I’m not a kid!” he yelled before she made it down the hall. Poor Collin had matured too quickly, experienced things no one should have experienced—like she had, but this was the life they had been handed. I’m sick and exhausted, and I’m probably depressed too, because I’m talking to myself. Someone must know where my dad is.
A hollowness like no other lay inside of her chest. The murder of her mom and sister had ripped her life apart and changed everything. Her world turned completely inside out.
Lava clawed its way up her throat, water pooling in her eyes. She barely made it to her room, grabbed an old trash bucket, and released everything inside of her stomach for the third time this week. “What the hell?” It was time to accept something was really wrong and tell her friend. “Drake, hurry back.”
Her arm shook as she wiped her mouth, then chugged a bottle of water. She searched for something to settle her stomach. Unfortunately, she had nothing. Cyn welcomed the usual pain of training and fighting, but this was different. Poisoned—that’s how she felt. Would she even get the chance to ask her father what or who made him do it? And if she found him, would he try to kill her too?
She closed her eyes and sunk onto an old mattress on the floor that she’d covered with a clean blanket. The one Drake’s godmother had given to her. She laid down and rubbed her temples as a jackhammer tore through her skull. Her flesh turned cold and clammy and the room spun. Everything hurt so damn much. She forced herself to think of anything else right now.
A vivid memory of a rare winter night, her father woke her gently, whispering that it was snowing. A magical occasion in Baton Rouge. He wrapped her in a blanket, took her hand, and led her outside to the backyard. They sat on the porch steps, tilting their heads to catch tiny snowflakes on their tongues. He told her such fascinating stories of stars and celestial heroes, his words weaving warmth in the cold air. The moment was pure joy, a special time just between them, his love so strong, so real like a protective shield against everything else.
Suddenly, three black ravens landed at their feet, cawing so loudly it shattered the magic. Startled, her father rushed her back inside, where he made them hot cocoa and continued his stories. It should have been perfect, but those ravens had ruined their secret snow moment.
The memory got her through many horrible nights. A fleeting glimpse of joy that made it impossible for her to understand what he’d done to their family. And to this day, she hated ravens more than she should.
The pain twisted her gut, and she cried out. “Angel of Death, you’re welcome to come end my suffering now.”
#
Lucien Ward ran his thumb over the worn leather holster on his left hip as he observed the abandoned street below. He forced his Seraph senses out, scanning, making sure no one was nearby. The Inciter faction was becoming more brazen with each kill and more obscure in their hiding places. In fact, they made this little game of hide-and-seek even more interesting.
Walking near the edge of the rooftop, he sneered. “How many Inciters were seen tonight?”
“Half dozen, maybe more.” The Arch-Seraph General, Roman Genoa, plucked lint from his dark suit jacket, then met Lucien’s gaze. “The new recruits murdered five this week alone on the east side of Baton Rouge. It’s getting worse.”
“Damn. How do you know they’re new?” He eyed the General. Roman stood impeccably dressed, as always. The epitome of nobility. The complete opposite of him. But something was off.
“They were overheard bragging at some bar.” Roman leaned forward against the brick ledge of the corporate tower, staring off into the darkness. His lips pressed firmly together. Friend or not, Lucien always kept his guard up. Roman would choose his role as Arch-Seraph General to the bitter end. “Like roaches, they’re recruiting faster than we can end them.”
His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and tension grew tight across his shoulders. Lucien surpassed all the other Seraphs when it came to hunting, as Roman knew, but he couldn’t help feeling like the Inciters were starting to outnumber the Seraphs. “Maybe it’s time we get new recruits as well.”
Roman’s intellectual silver eyes held firm. “Mind your step. That’s not our place to decide.”
Obviously, he wasn’t talking about Lucien falling off the roof. Lucien should’ve bowed his head out of respect, but instead, he grunted. Roman might not regard or trust him like he used to, which cut, but Lucien still held high admiration for Roman. Even when Lucien had been demoted, Roman remained the only man he’d ever trusted, besides his dad. “General.”
“Stick to your orders, Loush.” Roman folded his thick arms. “And I’ll stick to mine.”
“I always do.” His mouth dried, and he flexed his fist at his side, hating the nickname Roman had given him hundreds of years ago.
“Do you?” Roman pulled his brows together. His stance restless.
He fought to keep his expression neutral; it had been only once that he’d allowed an Inciter to escape because he’d hoped it would lead him to the one in charge of their faction, but Roman didn’t let him forget his mistake. It had been a dead end, and the Inciter hadn’t been caught since.
Lucien raised his blades, the gleaming edges sharp and deadly. “You look like something is bothering you.”
Roman’s brow arched. “And you ‘look’ like a character from a Sapkowski’s fantasy novel.”
“Sapkowski?” Anything to change the subject from himself.
“Try keeping up with the current times, Seraph. Read a little.”
Why was he referencing a character, and who had time to read? Then he recalled a conversation they’d had a long time ago. “Current, huh?” He took a deep breath. “I believe you compared me to the same brooding monster hunter long ago. Try something written in this decade, Rome.” His brooding wasn’t as bad anymore. Was it?
“The Inciters are monsters, ruthless human killers, and must be stopped before there aren’t any humans left to protect.” Roman curled his lip, visibly grinding his perfect white teeth. “Protect the humans. That’s it. Clear?”
Tension rolled up his neck. There it was. The reason Roman was agitated. Roman didn’t need to spell it out. Rome was upset because Lucien continued searching for the two missing Arch-Seraph Guardians on his own. The two he believed were responsible for the Sadara murders. “I promised retribution.”
It was once his role as Arch-Seraph Guardian to protect the Sadaras, but not any longer, not since there was only one Sadara left to protect.
Roman stepped forward, staring him down. “It’s time you let it go.”
“If it were your family, would you?” His stomach hardened. “Has Sadara Aine?” The only one left. The only one left to give the General orders.
“No.” Roman shook his head. “That’s why I don’t have family.”
“You have me.” Shit. Why’d he say something stupid like that? Brooding was better than being a sap.
Roman’s eyes softened for a flash, but it was there. “Sadara Aine still has her own Soldiers searching.”
“I thought she gave up long ago.” When Aine had ordered her Guardian to hunt for the killer, he’d never returned. And the other Guardian disappearing at the exact time of the murders didn’t feel like a coincidence. There was a tingling hunch that there was a connection between the Sadara murders and the Inciter uprising. Even without proof, his gut was usually right.
Turning away, Roman moved past him. “Let’s end the uprising, Lucien. Humans are counting on us.”
“Hmm.” Humans were usually afraid of him. He dressed in mostly black and was at least a foot or so taller than most males. Plus, he couldn’t claim to have an angelic face, but he nodded once at Roman. The General might be his superior, but he’d been his friend long before he’d made higher rank. He’d always known Roman had his back, especially after he lost his mate and child. His chest tightened, and a heaviness filled his hollowed-out heart. “Is Sadara Aine still hiding?”
“Not hiding.” Roman stopped but didn’t turn back. “She’s counting on us to right the world too.” He paused. “If you need back up.” The dark tinted glass door slid closed behind the General’s rigid back. Everyone was under a lot of pressure. The mortal killings were out of hand.
The Inciters, as they called themselves, were growing by insane numbers, and wiping out civilians just as fast. Why? For what reason? Who was behind it all?
Staring out into the darkness, Lucien flexed his six-foot-six frame and palmed the grip of his dagger as his blood pressure rose. He’d do his duty as always, but until he found those who took everything from him, including his family, his internal scars would never heal. “I don’t care how long it takes. Retribution will be mine.”
