Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (20 page)

He hadn’t killed many female lycans.

Though, he’d never been opposed if one happened to cross him.

Females didn’t possess the same level of aggression as males. Mostly, they acted as mating toys to their lycan counterparts, since wolves typically stuck to their own kind, with little interest in human males—or demons, for that matter.

Her enthrallment with him had Logan’s bullshit sensors on high alert.

And just like that, a tingle spread through his muscles.

The room spun. Shadows moved in on him, forming a circle around where he stood.

Logan swung his arm back but the female had disappeared.

Blackness filtered.

He blinked it away and, on opening his eyes, found himself propped against a wall in an alley. Through a distorted film, he could just make out a crowd of bodies as the pungent scent of trash and wet dog burned his nose.

Muscles tensed, he peered down at a blanched white object lying on the ground in front of him. The edges came into sharp focus until Logan could see a bloated male lying slumped and not breathing.

His skin looked as if all the color had been drained from him, his lifeless, glassy eyes nothing more than black orbs.

Fatman.

“Who is he?” The male’s voice came from behind.

Logan sucked in a breath.

He slammed an uppercut to the lycan on the right, jerking his head back and knocking him like a bowling ball into his on-looking brethren. In a second beat, he kicked his leg out, sending the male to the left flying against brick.

Blocks burst with the impact and dust puffed in the air.

Logan swung around to find the alley full of lycans, their silver eyes bouncing as they closed in on him, their growls growing louder with each step.

From the shadows, a hand appeared, rising up into the dim alley light, and they quieted.

“Answer the question.” The voice remained cloaked by the darkness.

“Go fuck yourself. That’s my answer.”

A snarl hit the air, and the male stepped forward into view. “I’ve tried to be civilized. Tried to integrate with your kind. I do not wish to fight you. I just want to know who he is to you.”

Logan glanced down at the body and back to the man. “You first. Explain how the hell I ended up out here.”

Red fabric materialized from behind the male, drifting on the air as the redheaded woman from the club sidled up next to him and draped her arm over his shoulder. The glow of her seductive eyes curled Logan’s lip.

“I knew there was something screwy about you.”

“Allow me to introduce you to my mate, Sana—a demon, as you can see.”

“With shit taste in men.”

The male’s lip kicked up into a smile. “Now your turn.”

“Cop.” Logan sniffed and drew his daggers from his hip.

“Not necessary, my friend.” The male held up his hands. “You’re free to go.”

“No shit. What makes you think I’m interested in leaving without killing one of you dickbags first?” The knife spun flat on his palm.

The female stepped forward and Logan held the blade level.

“I don’t think so, bitch.” Logan tipped his head. “That’s what you call a female dog, right?”

The woman’s brow winged up. “That’s alpha bitch to you.”

“The
cop
, as you say, behind you”—the male pointed past Logan—“provided a tip on some precious cargo. A tip that resulted in the death of my pack brothers.”

“Who gives a shit?” Logan continued to toy with his blade.

“I do. And considering it was your brothers who made the kill and stole what’s mine, you should, too.”

“Not following. And to be honest, I’m caring less the more you talk. So let’s cut the shit and start the bleeding.” Logan flipped the dagger he held “My hand gets twitchy after a while.”

“A boy. Lycan boy.” The male rubbed his chin. “Ring any bells?”

Logan caught the knife and froze. “Yeah. But not because I’ve personally met the little bastard … yet.”

“He was taken two days ago.” The male toyed with his mate’s hair as he spoke. “I happen to know his guardian. She reported him missing. So, naturally, we’ve been looking for him. We take care of our own.”

“Who’s the guardian?”

“Not important. The asshole behind you tipped us off. We cased the neighborhood and a few of my boys found the kid locked in a basement. With your brothers. They attacked, and my pack brothers were killed. We came back here and found him,”—he gave a nod toward Fatman—“dead in the alley. I’ve no beef with Wrath. I know what you’re all about. Give me the boy, and I’ll find a way in my heart to forgive the killing of my brothers.”

“Well, see, three things: first, I don’t give a shit about your
forgiveness
. Second, turns out, I’m looking for the kid myself. And third, I’m not planning to go home without killing something first.”

“Very well. If you must kill someone, kill me.”

Logan lurched forward.

The male threw out his hand. “Can you at least grant a man about to meet your blade one request?”

“What the fuck—I’m feeling charitable.”

“Can you examine our friend over here? Tell me if you recognize the mark on his arm?”

Logan pitched another glance over his shoulder. “Know that I’m quick to put the brakes on anything tricky.” He swept his dagger in front of him, pointed at the wolves behind the male. “Numbers mean shit if the blade is quick.”

“No tricks.” The male held up both hands.

Keeping his eyes locked on the pack, he backed toward the corpse, whose body had begun to bloat, giving it a swelled maggot appearance.

“Christ,” Logan muttered as he knelt down and grabbed hold of the cold, stiff hand. On the inner wrist, a symbol had been branded into the skin. Frowning, he gave another long look at the dead male’s face.

’The hell you get yourself into, Fatman?

“You say he tipped you off?” Logan asked over his shoulder. “To the neighborhood where you saw my brothers?”

“Yeah.”

“Would that happen to be Carrie and Brimson?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Hunter’s mark.”

“I’m not following.”

“Of course not.” Logan stood, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Killed by a bounty hunter. When they make a kill, they brand their insignia into the flesh. Kind of a pride thing.”

“This bounty hunter is a demon?”

“Yes. They’re hired as mercenaries.” No way he’d tell him any more than that. though questions of his own swirled in his head. Like, how did Fatman end up a target?

“It’s safe to assume, then, that this bounty hunter was hired to kill this man?”

Based on the involvement of Logan’s brothers and Zeke’s abduction, Logan guessed the bounty hunter had been hired to kill
him
. “Who the fuck knows? I’m just surprised the bastard has all his limbs intact. So, what’s the deal with this kid?” Logan swiped his nose. “Thought you killed kids an’ shit?”

“Some more primitive species, yes. As pack alpha of the Purebloods, I decree that no one kills a child.”

“
Pureblood
.” Like any part of the assclowns was pure.

“Born of the ancients. Our blood carries none of the human mutations that have passed down for generations.”

“You’re half human. How’s that work?”

“Our blood is stronger than the circulating hybrid shit. We don’t
make
lycans. We seek them out. And we don’t make
random
kills like our rivals.”

“So, what
do
you kill?”

“Rapists, child abusers.” The male threw his head to the side. “Pedophiles are a bit of a delicacy are they not?” He laughed over the surrounding wolves’ snarls.

“Let me get this straight, you don’t kill
any
innocents? None?”

“Have you had the urge to kill
me
?”

Logan hadn’t. None of his usual alarms had gone off—a strangeness he’d attributed to whatever mind-screwing cocktail the demon bitch had fed him. “No. Some freaky shit, too, because I can pick up on that pretty quick.” He rubbed his chin. “Already let one lycan go. Don’t know if I can do that again.”

“The tiger.” The wonderment in the male’s tone raised Logan’s brow.

“He’s taken.”

“He’s an anomaly that I’d love to meet.”

“Look, I’m not here to play cock-matcher. Your little bastard wolf-child might know where my brother’s at. Think Zeke was taken by the bounty hunter.”

“I suppose it’s in our best interest to find him, then.” The male crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless you intend to kill me. Then, by all means.”

“I’m not merciful. Someone’s going to die tonight. But if you run your ass out of here, I might decide not to throw a coffin at it on your way out.”

“My sincere thanks.” He bowed his head.

“You got no idea where that kid’s at?”

“None. I hope to find him soon, though. He’s in great danger.”

Logan gave a jerk of his head. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The male stopped alongside Logan. “I’m Marrick, by the way.” He looked past Logan. “As for our dead friend over there, I suggest you look closer. I fear another beast has awakened from its slumber.”

“What beast?”

“Only your history books can shed light on that question.” He nodded toward the corpse. “Blood carries some …
interesting
revelations.” He continued around Logan, grasping his mate’s hand behind him.

Logan kept his attention on each lycan human as they passed, some with threats on their faces, which only stoked his urge to pop a blade into their guts.

Goin’ soft, stupid ass.

After they’d all filed out, he knelt once more beside the corpse and scanned every visible part of its body. The fleshy neck was so distended, Logan had to tip the head just to see the throat.

There, at the base, two half-moon black holes. Fang marks.

“’The hell?” He leaned in for a closer look.

A clear silver fluid seeped from the wounds.

Damn all the questions drudged from his already-battered brain by that singular, brief glance.

What did Fatman have to do with the bounty hunter? What left the fang marks? Plus, how the hell did everything tie in to Ryke?

CHAPTER 15

Gavin rubbed his temples as he descended the long, winding staircase into the catacombs. At the bottom, he took a dark hallway to the left, leading to an ominous series of closed doors that would probably scare the piss out of a human.

The ghouls’ quarters.

He paused at the last step, where the sound of a woman’s broken outcries brought his hands to his side and a deep furrow to his brow.

Motherfucker.

Gavin hastened his pace to the last door on the right, beyond which, the noises inside could have been any number of things.

He knocked hard. “Xander!”

A moment passed before the door opened to a crack, Xander’s naked form filling most of it. A heady scent of sex and burning flames wafted through the opening and crinkled Gavin’s nose.

The male stood only a hair taller than Gavin, boasting an intimidating musculature that would make him a worthy opponent in a fight. Sweat coated his body, and his chest rose and fell like he’d run a marathon.

Through a small gap over his shoulder, Gavin caught sight of a woman’s form inside the dark room, blindfolded and her hands tied behind her back by ropes hanging from the ceiling, her ass high in the air.

“She a willing participant?”

Xander shrugged and his lips curved into a wicked smile. “Ask her.”

“Is this consensual?” Gavin called out over Xander’s shoulder.

“Yes, will you be joining us, Sire?” Her breathy voice didn’t carry the slightest hint of fear.

“No. I won’t.”
I’d rather sever my cock with a butter knife than share a woman with the fallen.
Gavin’s attention returned to Xander. “I need to speak with you.”

“Would you like to come in?” Xander widened the entrance, giving Gavin a good eyeful of the scene. Toys, purchased from what looked like the raunchiest BDSM club in the city, lay strewn about the room. Another woman, sprawled out on the bed with a spreader bar between her ankles, also lay hogtied and blindfolded, her nipples clamped.

“Not particularly.”

“Give me a moment, then, yeah?”

Gavin gave a nod, and stepping to the side of the door, he leaned against the wall, and rubbed a hand down his face.

Xander emerged from the room, in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and closed the door behind him.