Dark Desire (8 page)

Chicago …

“I don’t know how you do it, but I don’t want you to stop.”

Galen inclined his head to Henry Craine, acknowledging the compliment that had just come from the mob boss’s lips. Craine was the top of the food chain when it came to organized crime in Chicago, and if there was one thing Galen had learned about the bastard in his short term working for the current mob boss, it was not to fuck around with him.

Galen had seen almost all of them come and go; he’d worked for the biggest names to ever grace the newspaper headlines—Colosimo, Torrio and Capone, Ferriola, Carlisi and LaPietra. Rhys and Galen had seen them all rise through the ranks, had seen them dominate and had seen them fall.

“I’ve got another job for you.” Craine slid a manila folder across the table purposefully, his dark eyes on Galen’s face. Galen reached for the thin cardboard, pulling it in front of him and studying it.

The mark was someone Galen had never heard of before. The three grainy black and white photos showed a young man with dark hair and eyes.

“His name is Anthony Allesi. He’s been skimming my product and selling it on the side, lining his pockets with
my
money,” Craine told him. Galen looked up at the man from under his lashes for a moment, seeing the anger clouding his dark eyes.

“I want him dead, and I want it to send a message to anyone else in my operation who thinks running their own outfit at my expense is a good idea.”

Galen smiled coolly. “It’s no problem.”

“You have twenty-four hours. I want him gone before he can distribute the current cut he’s taken from me.” Craine stood up from behind his desk, offering Galen his hand like he always did. He was firmly of the belief that it wasn’t a gentlemen’s agreement without sealing the deal with a strong handshake.

They shook, then Galen slipped his jacket from the back of the chair and stepped from the room, shutting the door behind him.

Craine’s bodyguards were standing on both sides of the door, passively staring at nothing in particular. Galen could smell the tang of gunpowder on them; it seemed they had both gotten a little trigger happy within the last few hours.

After they handed back his machete in its holster, Galen looked down the hall. A dozen feet away, Rhys sat in one of the chairs against the wall, his expression blank. His eyes cut to Galen when he heard his footsteps.

Galen strolled from the office, the details of his target neatly tucked away in his head. Without needing to look over his shoulder, Galen knew when Rhys pulled up behind him.

“We’ve got twenty-four hours,” he muttered, fixing the collar of his shirt and tucking it under his leather jacket.

Rhys stayed silent, but that wasn’t anything new. The ride down in the elevator was quiet except for Rhys’s steady breathing. They stepped out of the glass and metal building into downtown Chicago, the rush of the night-time pedestrian traffic beginning to thin out. Galen settled his attention on the skyscrapers all around him, thinking.

“I want to take care of this sooner rather than later,” Galen told Rhys.

“Fine by me,” Rhys replied darkly, the malevolent grin in his voice unmistakable, and they turned down an alleyway so they could fade to the address written in the dossier. On the way they passed a man who was just stepping out of the darkness. Their eyes met, and Galen thought he recognized him for a moment. Overhead, the guttural caw of a raven floated over the sound of traffic. Galen turned to watch the man walk across the street, keeping his head down.

“What is it?” Rhys asked, following his gaze.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I just thought I recognized that guy.”

Rhys squinted after the man for a moment before dismissing him. “Let’s get this hit done.”

Galen shook his head, trying to shake the feeling that he’d seen the man before. “All right, let’s go.”

A moment later, they were standing across from a warehouse tucked away behind some other industrial buildings.

Galen pulled out his machete from the holster under his jacket while Rhys fingered the handle of his hunting knife. Bladed weapons were better than firearms—less noise, more intimate fighting, bloodier deaths. All of these things made Galen tick. It was what made him feel alive.

They both watched on for an hour or so, noting how many people walked in and out of the building, what pieces they were carrying. There were maybe a dozen people inside, Galen thought. A dozen they could most definitely handle. Galen and Rhys were stronger and faster than the humans, who really didn’t stand a chance against a couple of trained killers like them.

“Ready?” he asked the other Mare.

After a curt nod from Rhys, Galen moved towards the building, staying within the shadows to hide his approach. A man stepped from the doorway, huddling up against the brickwork and shivering in his coat. Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, the man put it in his mouth and attempted to light the end. He cursed every time a strong gust of wind extinguished the flame before it could take, eventually turning around and huddling near the wall—turning his back to Galen in the process—and flicking the flint with the pad of his thumb.

Galen could see the glimmer of a dancing flame; it burned bright orange for a moment before guttering out to leave the man’s face in shadows once more.

Fading directly behind the human, Galen drove the tip of his machete straight into the back of his neck, angling the blade upwards into the base of his skull while covering his mouth with a hand. The human dropped to the floor soundlessly, Galen cradling his fall before pulling the knife free and running its sharp edge across the front of his throat.

When the man was quiet, and only the sound of blood escaping his body could be heard, Galen signaled for Rhys to move in. Galen stood up, picking up the body and dragging it out of sight, then followed his best friend into the harshly lit warehouse. Sure they could have faded in, but where was the fun in that?

The humans stopped what they were doing when they saw them both, some stepping back a fraction when their eyes found Rhys. The smell of fear hung heavy in the air, and Galen soaked it up. There really was nothing a Mare liked better.

Galen and Rhys were among the humans before they had time to register that they were under attack, weaving around gun muzzles pointed in their directions and ducking under sharp blades aimed for their chests. Before any blow could land, Galen would fade to a new position, confusing his opponent, opening them up for a fatal hit. He made sure his kills were extra violent—instead of going for a straight slash to the throat, he chose to cut open the humans’ bellies first to let their intestines spill out onto the floor. He materialized directly in front of one human, wrenching the butterfly knife the man had been brandishing free of his hand before he could strike. With practiced movements, he slid the man’s own weapon into his solar plexus before punching the handle in and up, into his heart.

When there was no other movement in the warehouse, Galen looked up to see where Rhys was. The Mare was literally dripping in warm blood, the spray from severed arteries covering his face and neck until only his stark white teeth and pale blue eyes could be seen.

Taking a look around, Galen counted fourteen humans. Their blood was pooling into tacky puddles on the floor around their dead bodies.

“Let’s go find Allesi.”

Stalking through the warehouse, Galen was surprised that he hadn’t already seen the cocksucker. Perhaps he was the kind of man who didn’t like to get his hands dirty. Yeah, that had to be it. After scouring the lower level, Galen moved towards a set of metal stairs. Music was pouring out from under the door of the room perched at the top.

Rhys followed at his back, protecting him against possible attack. There was no doubt in Galen’s mind that Rhys would give up his life for him. His loyalty was embedded in his DNA.

There was a small window beside the door. Galen looked in, seeing the man from the dossier asleep in an office chair—his legs propped up on a desk covered in bricks of white powder. Galen frowned. For someone who was supposedly running a clandestine operation, it didn’t seem smart to fall asleep on the job.

Bringing the tip of his machete up to the glass, Galen tapped once, twice, three times. Allesi awoke with a start. The man blinked dumbly at the bloodied weapon, a crease forming between his brows … then his eyes widened as he realized the blade was attached to a hand and that hand was attached to Galen.

Allesi began reaching under his arm, but Galen stopped him with a measured shake of his head. The man froze, thinking for a heartbeat before going for his weapon in any case. Before Allesi could point the muzzle at the window, Galen and Rhys were already inside the room, sharing the same air, breathing in his fear and his anger.

“Who the fuck—” he sputtered, stopping abruptly when Galen tutted at him as though he were a recalcitrant child. He really was in no position to be making demands. After hauling him out of the chair, Rhys pressed the length of his bloody hunting knife along Allesi’s neck.

“You’ve been a very naughty boy, haven’t you, Allesi?” Galen taunted, looking the man square in the eye. Allesi’s brown eyes widened with fear, a new wave of the acrid stench hitting Galen’s nostrils. He breathed in deeply, holding it in his lungs for a moment.

“Oh, God,” Allesi whispered, realization dawning. “Whatever Craine is paying you, I’ll pay you double,” he said, his voice quivering.

Galen stared coldly.

“I … I can give you a cut of my profits.” Allesi spoke rapidly, his voice getting higher.

“How much?” Galen inquired, meeting Rhys’s eyes with a smirk. He liked this game.

“Three percent.”

“I’m sure you could do better than that,” Rhys murmured darkly beside his head.

Allesi’s whole body shook, his bladder releasing in fear. Galen stared down at the puddle of piss collecting on the floor before looking back into Allesi’s face.

“F-f-five percent,” Allesi stammered.

“Ten,” Galen countered, thoroughly enjoying himself.

The human’s eyes darted around wildly. “Ten,” he agreed, still shaking, still stinking of fear. Galen looked at Rhys and stepped back. The human’s shoulders slumped, his whole body relaxing at his newfound sense of freedom. Allesi had thought his “deal” was enough to change Craine’s order to kill him.

But he was wrong.

Rhys struck like lightning, driving his blade into Allesi’s side.

Allesi screamed out wordlessly, dropping to the ground, clutching his side. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking the threadbare carpet beneath their feet. Galen rolled him over until he was on his back and stared down at him.

“Consider this your one and only warning from Craine.” The words were slow and deliberate, meant to taunt him. Galen stood back up and brought the blade of his machete down across the man’s throat. Allesi’s head rolled beneath the desk, a bloody trail following its path.

Galen met Rhys’s greedy yellow eyes. “Let’s make sure we send the right message.”

Taer ignored the yells from the line of humans, gods and demigods waiting to get out of the cold and into the Eye as she stepped past Mav and into the club. The Valkyrie’s midnight and cornflower blue eyes remained cold and detached as they watched her. Not once had Taer seen Mav display any emotion other than cool indifference.

Mav’s black sword sat starkly against the skin of her neck, naturally drawing the eye to the thick scar marring the Valkyrie’s otherwise perfect skin on her throat. Taer had never been told what had happened to Mav, but as she touched her own scarred throat, she understood why Mav wouldn’t want to discuss it very often.

The wall-length bar on her right was crowded with people already, Mist and another young woman, a human, serving the five-deep line of clamoring gods, demigods and humans. Taer pushed her way past them all, brushing off the casual pats to her ass as she did.

She was halfway through the crowd when she heard a crash and a loud shout. Her head spun around toward the bar, and she saw the young human woman grimace and clutch at her forearm with a white-knuckle grip.

“What the fuck happened?” Mason barked from behind Taer. He pushed forward, scattering the patrons at the bar waiting to be served. Taer followed in his wake, taking up her position beside him.

“I broke a goddamn bottle and cut myself, that’s what’s happened,” the woman yelled, pressing the towel Mist passed to her against her forearm.

“You’re out,” Mist said the instant she got a good look at the wound.

“But—” the woman protested.

“Elli, you’re out. Go to the hospital. Get that wound treated and come back tomorrow.”

Taer watched as Elli’s eyes hardened, her shoulders bunching up in anger.

“Elli,” Mason said. “You heard Mist. Go get that cut seen to.”

Elli’s brown eyes swung to Mason, holding his stare for a long moment before she ducked under the end of the bar and pushed through the “Staff Only” door.

When Taer looked back, Mist was staring at her. “You know how to pour a drink?”

Taer shrugged.

Mist sighed. “Guess that’ll have to do.” Throwing a shirt at Taer, she said, “Go get changed, then come and help me out. We’re swamped tonight.”

Taer didn’t want to be there—it was too damn noisy and her nerves couldn’t really take it—but before she could back out, Mason took her by the elbow and led her away.

“You need to help out. Your nerves will be fine. Just keep your head down and do as Mist tells you, okay?” His words were spoken quietly—gently—and when she looked into his hazel eyes she wondered how he’d known. Was she wearing her wariness so openly on her face?

He sighed. “It’s a long story.” Opening the door Elli had just disappeared through, Mason gave Taer a little shove. “Go on now. You’re wasting time.”

Taer wandered—slightly dazed—down the hallway and into the changing rooms. The tang of blood hit her senses first, followed by anger, then tears. She found Elli angrily stuffing her apron and a bar shirt into her locker.

“How is it?”

“Still bleeding,” Elli shouted, slamming her locker door shut with a clang. Shouldering her bag, she turned and left the locker room, taking her swirling anger with her.

“What a bitch,” Taer muttered under her breath as she pulled off the hoodie and T-shirt she’d been wearing and put on the one Mist had given her. After washing her face and finger-combing her dark hair and putting it in a high ponytail, Taer checked the reflection of her scar, just peeking out from the top of the boat-necked shirt.

With a resigned sigh, Taer pushed through the door and back into the belly of the Eye. There were at least double the amount of people crowding at the bar now, but Mist appeared to be handling everything well. Maybe she wasn’t needed after all.

“Taer, get your ass back here!” Mist called as Taer turned to go. Taer did as she was asked, stepping behind the bar and looking at the closest customer.

“What are you having?” she asked. She had to listen hard to hear the guy’s reply as he yelled it over the music. After she’d served him two beers, he paid and she moved on to the next customer.

After about six hours of this, the crowd started to drop off and Taer felt as if she could breathe again. She slumped against the bar top, staring out at the thinning crowd. Exhaustion completely and utterly owned her body, but Taer figured it was better than the alternative of reliving her brother’s agonizing and drawn-out death.

She spun around when someone grabbed her hand. It was Mist, shoving a fistful of money into her palm. Taer gave her a quizzical look.

“Your share of the tips from tonight. You did well, Taer.” Mist turned back to wipe the bar down. By the time everyone had filed out, and the bar was clean, the lights had been turned on, chasing away the shadows.

“Tay?” Korvain asked behind her. Taer looked up to find him standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the upper levels of the club. “What are you doing behind the bar?”

“Mist asked me to fill in when Elli cut her forearm on a glass bottle,” she said, shoving the cash into the pocket of her sweats.

Korvain leaned up against the side of the doorway, his dark eyes assessing her. “How are you feeling?”

Translation: Aren’t you tired?

Taer shrugged. “I’m surviving.”

Korvain frowned, but said, “Come on. I want to teach you something.”

“Tonight? Now?”

He arched a dark brow at her. “Weren’t you the one complaining that I wasn’t teaching you fast enough?”

“We’re going to do weapons training right now?”

It was true that this was exactly what Taer wanted, but why the change of heart?

Korvain shook his head. “No. I’m going to start your mental training tonight.” Before she could baulk at his offer, he said, “Not negotiable. Come on.”

Taer looked at Mist, who only shrugged at her. She followed Korvain’s broad back to the elevators up to the apartments. Taer could still feel the tension between them, their earlier argument still stifling the air between them.

She cleared her throat and leaned against the side of the elevator car, facing Korvain. He looked relaxed, but looks could be deceptive.

“Is Bryn still worried about Darrion coming after the other Valkyries?” she asked to break the stiffness between them. “Is that why you’re taking Eir to and from work?”

He turned to her. “It’s not Bryn who’s worried. It’s me. I don’t trust that he’s just gone into hiding. He has to be planning something. He has to be coming for me, or you …” He paused. “Or the woman I love,” he tacked on quietly.

Taer stared at him, dumbstruck, and Korvain averted his eyes—looking at the sealed door of the car.

“You love her?” she asked just as quietly.

Korvain’s jaw flexed, and he refused to look her way. He was shutting down, unwilling to share any more with her. A little over a month ago, she would have seen his love for Bryn as a weakness and made some smart-ass comment, but since losing Adrian, her perspective had changed. Loving someone wasn’t a weakness. It took strength to trust someone else with your heart, but it took more strength to know that maybe they might be taken away from you sometime soon.

“I’m happy for you, Korvain,” she said without looking at him, joining him in staring at the doors as the car glided to a stop. She let him lead the way out and followed him into the apartment.

“Get showered. I need you relaxed for what we’re going to do.”

Taer didn’t fight him on it. After training all day and then having drinks spilled on her all night, she was in desperate need of a shower. Once she’d toweled off, she tied her hair into a high bun at the top of her head and padded into the living room, where Korvain was waiting.

“Lie down on the couch,” he said from the armchair across the room. Taer did as he instructed, propping her head and shoulders up with a few cushions.

“Now, close your eyes.” He waited until she had before speaking again. “Over the next few nights, we’ll be focusing on some other skills that will help you defend yourself against non-physical attacks by Darrion.” Taer sat up and opened her mouth to argue, but Korvain simply spoke right over her. “And my decision to stop training you with weapons still stands. You’re not ready for that yet.”

Lying back down and closing her eyes, Taer crossed her arms over her chest. “And you think this will protect me better than being able to wield a sword or a dagger or anything else pointed, dangerous and likely to perforate?”

“Against Darrion? Yeah, I’d say so.”

“So, what could possibly help me defend myself against him?”

“Dream walking.”

Taer had heard only the strongest and most pure-blooded Mares had that ability. “Are you sure?” she asked, cracking one eye open to look at him.

“We won’t know until we try it. Now, close your eyes and relax your mind—just let it go blank.”

Taer placed her interlaced hands on her stomach, let out a breath and did as Korvain had asked. She tried to make her mind blank, but instead her thoughts went to the many ways she could torture and kill Darrion. It was just too bad that he could only die once, really. That mother-fucker was going to suffer for killing Adrian.

“Tay? I said relax,” Korvain said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I am relaxed,” she spat back.

“No, you’re not. Your knuckles are white. What are you thinking about?”

Taer opened one eye and looked at her hands. Sure enough, they were both white, the bones straining against her skin. Forcing her fingers to relax, she flexed them a few times before trying again.

“Better,” Korvain said. “Now, I want you to think of Eir.”

“Eir?” she asked, her brows pulling into a confused frown.

“Yeah. Think about the color of her eyes and hair, think about how she smells, the color of her skin. Think about it all. Are you doing that?”

“Yes,” Taer replied, thinking hard about the Valkyrie lying in a bed on the opposite side of the wall, no more than fifteen feet away from her. She imagined herself looking deeply into the goddess’s royal blue and teal eyes.

“Okay, good,” Korvain said, but his voice sounded distant now. “Look around. Can you see a door somewhere?”

A door? Taer looked away from Eir’s blue-ringed eyes and took in the room she found herself standing in. The walls were a brilliant, pearlescent white. Completely pure. The floor was the same. She thought it was stone she was standing on, but it was warm and seemed to absorb her weight effortlessly.

“Find the door, Taer,” Korvain urged, his voice sounding fainter this time. Taer took a few steps forward, the white walls giving way to more white walls. She looked behind her on instinct, jolting back in surprise. Just to the left of where she’d been standing was an old wooden door with iron studs protruding from it.

“I see it,” she replied, not sure whether Korvain could still hear her. She felt like she was completely alone in this place.

“Good. That’s good. Open it.”

Taer’s hand stretched out to the small iron ring in the middle and twisted it. She was sure it would creak and groan, but it opened smoothly. On the other side, she couldn’t see anything but blackness.

“It’s dark. I can’t see anything.”

“That’s all right. Step into the room anyway. Trust me.”

Taer swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped through the door. She expected to fall straight through the darkness, but was surprised when her foot hit spongy green grass instead. Slowly, like the rising of the morning sun, light filled the space. Taer blinked, looking around. She recognized where she was after a few seconds: Boston Common.

Suddenly there was a dog bounding towards her … no, not towards
her
—towards Eir. Taer could see her now, sitting on a park bench directly in front of her. Her head was down, her face covered, and Taer could hear the gentle sounds of her sobbing.

The dog’s pink tongue whipped out of its mouth and swiped across the back of Eir’s hands. Gasping, the Valkyrie sat back in surprise.

“Hello,” she said, reaching out an unsteady hand. “What’s your name, handsome?”

Taer watched closely as the dog licked Eir, causing the Valkyrie to laugh out loud. The dog took this as an invitation to keep going, this time landing lick after lick on her face.

“Fuck, Sophie! No!” Taer heard a voice and turned in time to see Mason come running up to the dog. Mason apologized, and when Eir laughed again, his whole expression softened. Taer had wondered before why Mason’s eyes always looked so haunted, but now—while standing with Eir—he looked so at ease … so happy.

Did they know each other?

“Taer? Come back to me now.” Korvain’s voice seemed to boom in her ears. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to find him standing there, but there was only the expanse of park at her back.

“I don’t know how,” she replied, keeping her voice low, afraid she’d be heard.

“Think about where you are right now, in this realm.”

Where was she? Taer squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and thought about the apartment, about the couch she was lying on in the living room. She opened her eyes when the scent of Korvain’s skin trickled into her nose.

He was looking down at her seriously. “What did you see?”

“Eir was in the park,” she replied, sitting up and realizing how stiff her muscles were after the grueling work-out earlier. “Was I in her dream?”

“Yeah, it sounds like you were. You did really well, Taer. It took me nearly three cracks at this stuff before I even got close to the hallway into someone’s unprotected mind. It looks like you’re a natural.”

Taer’s chest puffed out a little with the praise, but if it was that easy for her, wouldn’t it be just as easy for someone else to infiltrate
her
dreams?

“Don’t worry. Not all Mares can dream walk. Your private thoughts are safe if you follow the proper precautions,” he said, answering her unasked question. The concern must have been written all over her face. “Try to get some sleep now. Your body needs to repair itself. We’ll start practicing some shielding techniques over the next few days.”

Too exhausted to argue, Taer got up and slid into the bedroom she shared with Eir. The Valkyrie had her back to Taer, her chest rising and falling steadily under the blanket draped over her. Getting into bed, Taer slid down into the pillows, drifting off into what would no doubt be a restless and nightmare-filled sleep …