Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (33 page)

Back and forth the two spoke and, in the course of the exchange, she watched the demon’s facial expressions change, careful not to make full-on eye contact with him. His eyebrows came together, and with the way he continued to rub his chin, Calla could sense some trepidation brewing.

Conversation died down to silence and Logan laid his hands flat on the counter, tipping his head.

Uh-oh. It just got serious.

The shopkeeper let out a sharp exhale and pointed, leaning in as he spoke low. He hopped down from his chair on the other side of the counter and circled around to the front, leading Logan toward a shelf, where he pulled back a book and gave a furtive glance behind.

He stopped and crinkled his nose.

Calla’s eyes shot to Logan, who kept his gaze forward.

The entire wall of books shifted to the side, revealing a darkened staircase. Turning his attention back to the wall, the shopkeeper seemed to blow off what Calla assumed was a whiff he’d picked up of her human scent.

Sconce-candles flickered and flames appeared from nowhere, lighting the way down the winding staircase.

What the hell?

He waved them to follow, and Logan grabbed hold of Calla’s hand as both trailed behind the demon shopkeeper. Down, down into a cellar of sorts, the warm, humid air from outside the shop dissipating into cold.

As if they’d walked straight into death.

Through the dark cellar, he led them until they reached a large vault. Skulls protruded from the metal, as if they’d been built right into the vault. The surrounding wall was made up of skulls and other bone parts. Like a crypt.

The demon directed Logan to take a seat at a concrete table and he twisted the large dial on the vault, covering it with his hands.

“What is this?” Calla whispered.

Logan signaled with his finger,
Shhh
.

The demon disappeared into the shadowy cavern, and came out carrying a large leather-bound book. He set it down on the table, pointed his finger one last time, and spoke in the Demonic language before shuffling away back through the cellar and leaving the two of them alone.

“Sages tomb. I’m only permitted to view this because I’m a prince’s son.” Logan flipped the book open. The script on the page looked as if it’d been written with quills. “Damn, I wish Gavin was here. He’s better at the ancient language than I am.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Ichor.”

“What?”

“The blood of the gods. Only certain species carry ichor. I saw it in another male at Moonshines.”

Calla sat quiet, watching him thumb through the book, his dark brow furrowed in concentration, his lips and the hard lines of his jaw tightening with his study. The hand propped behind his dark chestnut hair created a bulge in his black shirt.

As his brown eyes focused on the words he read, Calla rested her chin on her palm.

Fascinated.

She twirled her hair around her finger and swallowed the pooled saliva in her mouth.

The male was … well, pretty hot in study mode.

Plus, something told Calla, in spite of his brawny, tough-guy exterior, he was probably pretty damn intelligent.

He scratched the back of his head. “Fuck.”

Such a harsh word for all the intensity he’d exhibited just a moment ago. Calla’s smile begged to escape.

“Someone’s torn pages from the book.”

“Which pages?”

“Mating habits.”

Calla frowned at that. “Of what, exactly?”

“Sangexzha. Sang for short. Progenitors that carry ichor.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Sangexzha have been extinct for centuries.”

“So, they’ve come back?”

“I don’t think they have.” He rubbed his hand back and forth through his hair as he spoke. “I think someone is
trying
to bring them back, somehow.”

“Are we talking about a species of demon?”

“We’re talking about a plague. A very dark period in demon history. It’d be like a zombie apocalypse.” His hand fell from his hair and stroked his chin. “Ryke has some role in this. And somehow this is connected to Zeke.”

“And so … this
plague
is happening on the other side?”

“I don’t know, for sure. I’m sure as fuck not going to start that rumor. But all the more reason I think you should take me up on my offer to stay tonight.”

“Clever. You brought me all the way to the underworld to convince me to sleep with you.”

His lip twitched and his cheek dimpled. Kind of adorable.

CHAPTER 27

Zeke startled awake and lifted his head. Blackness. A throb in his skull intensified, as if his brains might pop at any second.

Soft, warm hands fell against the rawness on his chest, causing his muscles to flinch, and urged him back. “Lie down. You’ve much healing left to do.”

His mouth opened to silence. He pushed the words but only harsh breaths passed his lips. Scorching dryness in his throat flared with each ragged sip of air.

“Demon, you are safe. Rest now.” The soothing tone of her voice put his thrumming heart at ease, though he didn’t know for sure if he had reason to trust in it.

Nothing could be worse than being at the hands of a bounty hunter, though.

She hummed as her hands swept over his abdomen. That voice again. The melody, so beautiful, like the gentle chime of an angel’s.

Perhaps he’d died and gone to heaven. The thought spurred an inward laugh. More likely, he still lay at the mercy of the hunter, soon to be yanked back into hell.

Warmth traveled his body and his muscles sagged. Yes, sleep. That’s what he needed. The draw of it lulled him.Deeper. Deeper.

* * *

Calla settled into the passenger seat of the McLaren and eyed Logan as he held his cell phone to his ear.

He paused for moment, like he listened to a message, before muttering, “Fuckin’ A,” and fired up the McLaren.

“What’s up?” Calla asked as they squealed out of the alley.

“Mack left me a message. Got some security business at Sanctuary.”

The car weaved through what little traffic strewed Jefferson Avenue. At a split in the road, Logan veered to the right, straight into the mouth of a tunnel lined by bums.

Like being swallowed by night, the car sped deeper into the darkness and left the vagrants behind. A roar of the engine signaled Logan had fed it more gas, and the walls of the tunnel, lit by only an occasional streak of fluorescent light, whipped past the window in a blur.

“What is this?” Calla watched her lips move on her reflection.

“Secret entrance. Whole lot of supes would kill to find out where we live.”

“You guys are pretty infamous, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“So, this business at the club has to do with Zeke?”

He leaned into the console. “A cop we know, Fatman, came to see Gavin a few days ago. According to Gav, he had a woman with him. Britus kept her in security.”

“What’s the deal with her?”

“Dunno yet. Fatman’s dead. Tipped off the lycans. That small track we found? Belongs to a kid lycan that went missing about the same time Fatman came to visit the club. Gotta feeling the woman might be the kid’s guardian. Might’ve been looking to hire us to get the kid back.”

“Is she your client?”

“No. Gavin figured the kid was probably dead.” He shrugged. “Missing kids usually are.”

“So, what was the tip?”

“Where to find the kid.”

Calla frowned. “Why tip off the
lycans
?”

“Apparently, there’s a breed of good Samaritan lycans.” Logan rolled his eyes. “Got a feeling Fatman was in trouble. Saw him dead in the alley. Fang marks. Ichor.”

“Sang?”

“They’re involved. Not sure how, or why. Ryke somehow plays a role in this but the pieces aren’t coming together fast enough.”

“If you know Ryke is involved, why not go directly to him?”

“Can’t get to him. Calix is banished. And Ryke hasn’t been round, according to his sister, aside from popping in long enough to beat the living shit out of her.”

The road opened to an enormous underground parking lot. Logan parked the car adjacent to an elevator with a blood-red door. A cut of the engine and he shot up out of the driver’s side, rounded the vehicle, and was at the passenger side before she could flip the handle open.

* * *

Logan led Calla inside the elevator and up to the first floor bar of Sanctuary.

The clusterfuck had already begun. Not unusual for Sanctuary—even on weeknights the place tended to be packed. Supes everywhere.

Logan’s muscles tensed. His heart pounded and a rush of adrenaline had him feeling pumped up.

What the hell?

He signaled the maître d’, who stumbled over himself to reach them. Logan leaned forward. “Find her a table.”

The maître d’ nodded and snapped two busboys over.

Logan brushed Calla’s hair to the side and spoke low. “I’m going to find Gavin. Sit tight.”

Once she’d nodded, he walked away. Damn the zing that kept zipping through his veins.

Pat, the bartender slid down to him. “What’ll it be boss?”

“You see where Gavin went?”

Pat jerked his head to the side. “Took a quick call. Saw him take off toward the back.”

“Thanks.” Logan’s gaze wandered back in Calla’s direction.

Hairs bristled.

His stomach folded into knots.

Another demon had taken his seat beside her.

Teeth gritting, Logan strode through the crowd, eyes fixated, the red haze seeping into his field of vision with every step closer.

The silver tattoo etched into the demon’s neck sent jagged knives sawing through Logan’s veins. Scelius demon. Rotten pricks. If there was one demon species that could be blamed for most of the human illegitimate children in the world, it’d be them. They roamed in gangs, like a pack of hyenas, wreaking havoc everywhere they set foot.

Why Gavin hadn’t blacklisted them remained a mystery to Logan.

He paused when Calla drew away from the demon. From a distance, Logan watched her body language. Smooth fluid movements like a confident killer. Had he noticed that in her before? He tipped his head, concentrating on the exchange, motionless in a crowd that continued to gyrate around him.

The demon stroked his hand down her hair and buried his face in her neck.

Logan charged forward. “Motherfucker!” He didn’t spare a single second before drilling his fist into the demon’s nose.

Blood flew up into Logan’s face, and he hammered a second punch in the same spot as the first.

And another.

“Fucking dead!” The red filtered a shade into Logan’s vision and stole his awareness of everything around him.

Calla slid from his periphery.

Arms gripped Logan from behind.

He jerked his head back and heard the crunch.

“Goddamn it, Logan, calm down!”

Gavin’s voice broke through the haze of red, but his body still shook and his fingers twitched with the urge to pound the Scelius’ bloody face some more, as Logan allowed himself to be pulled away.

He took deep breaths to calm himself.

Shit
. He’d fucked up.

Daria stood beside Calla, as Britus gripped the nape of the Scelius and lifted him from the chair.

Through the kitchen door, Gavin pushed Logan backward, nearly knocking him to the floor.

A clatter of dishes rang out as the chef fell back into the dishwasher.

“What the fuck was that?” Gavin set his hands on his hips.

“You know what those pieces of shit are all about, Gavin. Why do you keep letting the raping bastards in here?”

“Because if we’re going to pick out character flaws in every species that walks through that door, we’ll be sitting here twiddling our goddamn thumbs for customers. It’s business.” He got in Logan’s face. “Half the demons out there are raping bastards. Wanna beat the shit out of all of them? Start acting like a fucking boss. That’s what we have security for.”

“He tried pulling his shit on Calla. He was all over her.”

Gavin grumbled a sound of disapproval. “And so it’s begun.”

“And so
what’s
begun?”

“Hell for her, I’d imagine.” Gavin scratched his smooth jaw. “Her blood flows through you, Logan. You’re acting like … a bonded male.”

The sensation he’d felt when he first entered the bar. His rage flaring like a demon possessed by own dick. Damn, Gavin had hit the nail on the head.

He shook it off.
Impossible
. “No,” he said, “I’m acting like I want to bury every one of those jackfucks.”