Soul Stealer (10 page)

He held the small woman against his wide frame, looking on her face. She could almost feel his lust as his body had its intended reaction to the bait. It made her own body tingle, and she tried to control her heartbeat. There was something wild about him, something that made her wonder what it would be like to stop controlling herself.

The Sin Eater pushed a dark lock of hair from the
frustro
’s face, and the sight of his hand performing such an intimate motion made her quiver. Then she frowned, noting that the Sin Eater was careful not to touch the young woman’s perfect skin. Anael’s stomach sunk.

He knows that she’s a trap. This one won’t work.

When the Sin Eater raised his head she wasn’t scared of him, not after he’d shown such tenderness. His face was aged, heavily lined in an attractive way that only men really had when time was starting to show on their features. His eyes were a startling green, his hair an unruly mass of black waves that made him look like a madman.

Anael couldn’t look away, feeling her cheeks
color. She was attracted to him, she recognized the feeling immediately. She’d been fighting it for eons.

His eyes slid back down to the flaxen-haired beauty in his arms, lifting her easily and walking away. Stunned, Anael let him leave, knowing he couldn’t hurt the
frustro
worse than she was already. And he couldn’t touch her in an inappropriate way; they were made to discourage contact from their respective Sin Eaters.

Disgusted, Anael was left with the
decipio
. He’d passed out, and with his blood leaking all over the smell of alcohol was much more obvious. He couldn’t hold the stuff; he was a drunk.

Anael sighed. There were no back-ups on this side of the ocean, and the Sin Eater was wise to their whole set-up. It would be another fifteen to twenty years before another
laqeous
could be sprung.

She left the
decipio
on the ground, standing carefully and gingerly wobbling out of the alley on a healing ankle. She resolved then and there that this would be her last chaperoning mission. She didn’t want to deal with Sin Eaters or the whole
laqeous
shit show.

She had less reason to avoid Voro than she had that Sin Eater. His name had been Tentatio-Onis; temptation. At least Voro wasn’t a Sin Eater anymore, but he still brought up that surge of lust that she always tried to tamp down. The difference was she couldn’t get away from Voro; he was here, all the time. She’d have to learn to control her body better. There had to be a way to prevent her unwanted reactions from controlling her.

Until then she’d keep a frosty distance. She’d been doing it for a century now so she had to better at it by now. Right?

Saleem tripped himself with the skipping rope again. He really had to pay attention to what he was doing here, but he felt lethargic. The fasting again. The sun wasn’t down yet and his stomach was in full protest.

He wasn’t sparring today, but Jimenez was in the ring with that dark-haired woman again. Man, she looked like she packed a hell of a punch.

He tripped again.
Stop staring at her, you creep
, he scolded himself.
She’s a cop, remember?

Muslim with a restraining order was really not a trend he wanted to hop on board with.

He went back to staring straight ahead, taking those small hops with both feet over and over until it felt like his lungs were on fire. It took less time than usual because of his diet, but a burn was still a burn.

Saleem took a seat with a bottle of water to catch his breath. Stupidly, he was facing the ring, but he really couldn’t help it.

She was gorgeous; long and lithe, not skinny by any means. He could stare at her legs for days, he was sure. When she walked the muscles flexed in her thighs, hamstrings, up to that tight backside under the workout pants she wore. She had started out in a tank top but it had been drenched and she was sparring in a black sports bra now. The strength in her back as she let Jimenez turn her was a knock-out to him. Her long hair was piled on her head, the parts that had fallen stuck to the sides of her face, wet with perspiration. She could care less about sweat. She wasn’t one of those fussy women.

Jimenez said something that made her laugh and he felt his body tighten at the sound. It was a real laugh, not pretentious. Completely honest. Her mouth was wide with it, her head fell back.

He’d never wanted someone he hadn’t met like this. He didn’t even know her bloody name.

She turned away from Jimenez, slapping the boxing gloves together, and caught him looking. Maybe it was his utter exhaustion or his incredible stupidity, but he didn’t look away and make like he hadn’t been watching her for the last twenty minutes.

She met his gaze levelly, returned it, her face going blank for a moment, just long enough for his stomach to sink. Then, she gave a small smile, let her eyes drop down from his face, and she turned back to Jimenez, calling him on.

He smiled, too late for her to see it. But it felt fantastic. He got to his feet, turning back to the mirrors. He was sweating too, but the smile on his face was big, bright and goofy. Had she liked what she saw?

He had no idea. He was big and some women were terrified of anyone over six feet. He was only six-two, but he’d inherited his father’s large build and wide shoulders. He always got asked if he was on anything to build muscle, but he found that eating lot of protein gave him decent size and definition.  Maybe it was lucky genetics.

His nose was very straight, his hair very black, which he kept cut very short, almost shaved. A girl he’d dated in high school had told him his lips were the most attractive part of his face. He had no idea if that was true. His lips were like his mother’s; full, round. His eyes were almost black they were so dark. Another girl had told him once that he looked best with a five o’clock shadow. He might be handsome. Saleem really didn’t know; he hadn’t cared until she had actually looked at him.

He went back to jumping rope, but that smile never left his face.

After he’d finished his cardio he went to the locker room to shower, not looking back in case he jinxed the contact high her smile had given him. He rinsed off quickly, hoping to catch another glimpse of her before he had to leave. Coming out of the locker room he paused, wondering how stupid it would look to go back in to the gym for no apparent reason.

He should have left something behind so he could go in and get it. Man, he was terrible at this. His brother was always so much better with girls -

The door swung open right then, and there she was; glowing and sweaty and headed for the women’s locker room.

She looked over at him, and he was struck dumb right where he was. Even sweaty she smelled good. It must have been a body lotion or something –

“Hi,” she said, giving him an odd look before turning for the women’s locker room.

Say something.
Any
thing. Just make this not so painfully awkward.

“Hi. Your form is really good.” Oh for fuck’s sake –

She turned back. “Pardon?”

Despite cursing himself out internally he still babbled on, his mouth off its leash like an idiot puppy running around humping and pissing all over the place because it didn’t know any better. “Your form is really strong. You’re light on your feet. Hell of a boxer.”

She stopped where she was, arm cradling a water bottle to her collar bone. “Are you … are you watching me?”

Busted. So busted. “
Umm … yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

“You’re in training with Jimenez too, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll never be as good as he is, but it’s a hell of a workout. And it never hurts to know how to defend yourself.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. You have a problem with people wanting to take a round out of you? I find that hard to believe.”

He said nothing, just watched her lovely eyes as they trailed from his face, down his neck to his chest. He swore he could feel it like a touch. He wished she was touching him.

“I’m Claudia,” she said, eyes flicking back up to his face, a redness to her cheeks that wasn’t there before. She’d been checking him out and she was embarrassed.

“Saleem,” he returned with a head nod. Now he felt about eight feet tall.

“I’ll see you around, Saleem,” she said, turning on her heel and pushing the locker room door. Too bad it was a pull door.

“I’ll see you around, Claudia,” he said smoother than he felt as she laughed at herself, pulled the door open and vanished inside without turning around again.

That stupid smile was back again as he left through the front doors. He didn’t want to wipe it off.

Chapter Ten

Essum woke with a pounding headache, on his back, the hotel bed a mess of blankets around him. He rubbed his face then checked the clock. It was only mid-evening. Hadn’t he slept himself to death yet?

Clustered around the alarm clock were bottles of Jack Daniels. Well, empty Jack Daniels bottles would be a more accurate statement. He’d been holed up for … was it just one entire day? Or two? Who the fuck even knew?

The Boss was ignoring his requests for a convo. That had him nervous. But he still couldn’t shake that feeling of dread he’d had in that janitor’s closet at the night club …

Essum didn’t want to remember it. He was having anxiety attacks like a fucking human at the thought of it. He didn’t even want to go outside anymore.

Whatever it was had killed that woman. Just flat out ran through her and kill
ed her, and the worst part was Essum felt like he should recognize it or some shit.

He should get out, though. He should go and try to do a little of his dirty work, feel more like himself. That usually got him out of his funks.  Go keep a little sin on this side, feel better, even get some fresh air.

He sat up and the room spun. Holy shit, he’d really polluted himself this past 24 hours. Just as his stomach settled back under his rib cage his head started pounding with a new and frantic urgency. The thought of going out made his stomach twitch again, but he needed to put something gross and greasy in it fast if he was going to be even partially functional.

He showered by basically standing under the water and letting it run over him. He kept one hand on the wall the whole time to steady himself.

Feeling marginally better, he bypassed the diner on the motel’s main level. He’d caught a memory from the cook the first night there; the pig sneezed into everything he made. It was a point of pride. He wasn’t evil or a “sinner,” he was just disgusting.

Essum stopped in at a greasy spoon that served breakfast all day, got some bacon and eggs in his stomach, then hit the streets as daylight was draining and the people on the streets were certainly not on their way to work. They were on their way out for fun. Perfect for what he needed.

He found his first victim after about twenty minutes of wandering. The fellow was only about twenty-three, and if it wasn’t for the stink on him Essum would have looked him over. He looked exactly how a computer programmer would look. Thin, limp greasy hair, glasses, bad skin, clothes that were pricey but not pieced together quite right. He likely creeped out every girl he’d ever met …

… and for good reason. Essum dug deep into grey matter with both hands and came up with clumps of all kinds of nasty. The guy was a chemist genius, made his own roofies, and then raped the girls he went to college with. He calibrated the drug just enough that they never suspected they’d been drugged, and he took extra care to make sure they never suspected the violation. Even used spermicidal lube so they weren’t sore after.

What a gent.

His sin was like a slap to the face, a little wake-up. But if Essum was going to be back to fighting form he’d need something a lot bigger and far more revolting.

Downtown in the evening, surrounded by living, breathing mortals once again. He took a deep breath, not even choking on the exhaust and dust in the air. He could smell that it had been another warm day by the dull dry stench of baked concrete. Now the sun was dropping, and as soon as it was hidden behind the metal and glass skyscrapers it was going to get season-appropriate cold. That’s when he’d find more fuel. The only people downtown when it got cold were out looking for trouble because they had to.

Just like him.

Claudia stepped out of the gym shower, feeling much more like herself than she had going in. Her pulse was normal, her blush was gone. Now she just felt stupid.

The man she’d run into in the lobby was
not
Damien, she knew once she’d actually talked to him. While his voice had been deep, it hadn’t set off hair-trigger sensations of ecstasy like Damien had with just one word. His lips were similar yes, but his coffee-colored eyes were nowhere near lavender. He did not wear clothes worth more than her car.

He did smell nice, though. Like good clean soap.

He’d been checking her out, sure, but one look at how he blushed when she caught him and she knew there was nothing to be afraid of with him. He was a nice guy.

Okay, a nice guy with a fantastic arms, gorgeous dark skin, and an ass you could bounce quarters off of. Yet she wasn’t in to that kind of thing, was she?

She paused while toweling off. Sexual identity crisis aside, she really had no business being with anyone, clearly. Plus, she was busy. She had to get going; she still had three addresses to check out.

She dressed quickly, tying her damp hair up on top of her head before heading out to her squad car. Normally she wouldn’t do this with work resources but it was a pretty good
neighborhood, and people around here knew her. Plus it was just down the street from the young college student’s apartment.

The building super let her in, leading her up the stairs to the third floor where the apartment was still blocked off with yellow police tape. After unlocking the door for her the older woman then left Claudia on her own without any more questions. It wasn’t that she didn’t seem concerned, Claudia decided. The woman was likely just waiting to get her apartment back so she could rent it again.

Claudia unpeeled one piece of tape, pushed the door open and stepped over the tape on the bottom half of the opening, then she shut the door behind her. She snapped a latex glove in place then flipped the entryway light on.

She stood where she was, closing her eyes against the assault that buffeted her. It was like someone was whispering every nightmare to her, warning her that it would all come true if she didn’t get the hell out. She toughed it out, then opened her eyes and strode to the back of the unit, to the living room with the sliding glass patio door overlooking the alley that led to the parking lot. That door had been closed and locked from the inside, she remembered from the report. Whoever kicked in the door left the way they entered.

There really was nothing to this, she realized sadly. If it hadn’t been for the crumpled body of a healthy eighteen-year-old and a broken doorjamb you’d never know anything happened.

Except for the case of the heebie-jeebies, of course. There was no explaining that. She’d been at accident sites before where people had just fallen wrong or an unknown congenital heart defect caught up with someone. As sobering and sad as it was it didn’t hold this much menace for her. The last time she’d felt something like this was for a woman who had been massacred in her living room. The air had been thick, too thick to breathe, and the smell of the blood had been cloying and sweet. That place had been screaming “stay away” too, but nowhere near as strong as this.

Claudia locked the door when she left. She wasn’t going to the club where they’d found Meghan – she couldn’t do that. Claudia somewhat remembered the force field of fear at that location but she couldn’t handle going there just yet. So now she turned the car north, heading for downtown and the apartment of Patrice Jenkins.

This place was a bit more upscale. She parked on the street and the doorman showed her where to find the building manager. This man, about the same age as her, led the way up to the apartment himself, yammering on about how he was glad the police were being somewhat discreet on the subject. Oh, but aside from ducking the bad PR he was also glad the poor woman wasn’t harmed by some huge oaf breaking down her door. He was likely high, wasn’t he? Snuck in a back door somehow?

The manager finished up by assuring her he’d help in any way possible. Perhaps she could come by for a drink and keep him up to date on the progress of the investigation?

She smiled as she took him in, pausing at the apartment door. His suit was nice. Shoes were shined. Hair was starting to recede. Not a bad-looking guy, really. His smile seemed honest e
nough. And yet with this guy … Nothing. She didn’t feel the slightly warm rush of attraction.

Apparently great big, tall, dark and handsome was her taste.

She didn’t really give him an answer, just said, “We’ll keep you informed, don’t worry. Thank you so much for your cooperation Mr. Monroe.”

He left without smiling back.

Even outside the door the foreboding draught was strong; stronger than the last apartment, but then again this incident was fresher. Made some sense, perhaps. The intensity of the stay-away was the first thing that hit her as she studied the door.

This one had definitely been kicked in. There was a huge boot print in the middle of the door, and she knew it would match the shoes worn by the man they’d taken to the hospital.

She realized there was no footprint on the first apartment door, not even a dent. And the top hinge of the young girl’s apartment door had been blown off, too. This door was only broken where the latch caught. Hinges were fully attached. This door had swung inward once it was kicked. She could see where the inside knob hit the drywall and left another dent.

The first place? That hadn’t happened. It was like the first apartment had its door partially blown off or something.

Claudia wandered into the open-air feeling of the living room and dining room. The place was sharp, furnished in an almost masculine style. But still very clean, modern.

Kind of hard to imagine a woman living here, though.

She coughed then, and the aroma of
get the fuck out
intensified for a moment, making her hack even harder. Feeling bad but knowing there was no evidence for her to fuck up, she moved to the kitchen and turned the tap on, taking a quick gulp right from the stream. She turned the water off, and over the drip-drip of the tap wrapping up its business she heard the sound of glass tinkling down the hallway.

Claudia paused, listening as the sound continued. Shit. Now she’d have to do something about it.

She slipped her sidearm out of its holster, keeping it down against her leg, safety still on. As she started down the hallway, the pounding of her pulse in her ears overrode everything to where she couldn’t hear anything else.

So she held her breath, which did nothing to fight the panic that was rising up her legs, scrambling to overwhelm her.

Claudia forced it down. She crept along the hall, her free hand gliding along the sleek modern paneling so she’d know where it was behind her the whole way. If anything that doomed feeling was making her hope there was something back there to shoot.

“So here’s where it sits,” Peter said in his annoying pragmatic way, perched on the edge of his chair a table’s width away from Voro. “We need someone to go find Raphael, see if he’s still … operational. We know he’s alive over there, we just don’t know to what capacity.”

Voro just nodded. “Sounds good.”

The quiet was quick. Usually Peter got uncomfortable before he did, but the longer Voro waited the more his skin crawled. So he gave the “move it along” hand roll.

“And we need to see what exactly attacked him. Closer up. So … what do you think?”

Voro splayed his hands. “What the hell does that even mean? What do I think? You want a mark for your planning abilities?”

“We want you to do it.”

Peter blinked once in the time Voro blinked a half dozen times. “What?”

“We want you to make contact with Raphael. And we want you to try and make contact with this … thing down there.”

Voro leaned forward. “You have got to be out of your fucking mind.”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. Voro didn’t even know saints got headaches.

“Voro … it pains me to say this. It really does. I don’t even know why I’m the one doing this. But the fact is … if this is a Psionic Vampire, and if he is just … charging up to enter the next state of being, then it’s very likely that taking Raphael’s life force was the equivalent of about a thousand human souls. He’s that much closer to taking solid form. And we can’t risk having another angel down there right now, and not just because we’re down one as it is.”

His eyes were weary as they came back to Voro’s face and he inexplicably felt some of that angelic sympathy that was so bloody foreign to him. “Look, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Voro replied, gentler this time. “When I was back down there I was … a fucking newborn. All my instincts, my abilities, were gone. I could read people like you guys do, sure. But without all my old skills? I may as well be paralyzed.”

“Jehoel didn’t want to have to grovel, that’s why I’m here. We need you, Voro, if for no other reason than to get Raphael back to us.” It truly was paining Peter to ask this. Voro could sense that as soon as he’d gotten the summons to meet him here.

Then he thought about what Peter was actually saying. Their first concern was Raphael, just like his was. Voro sighed heavily, not liking the ache he got when he thought of Raphael unconscious on the floor. That fucker wasn’t just a pain in the ass. He was likely the only friend Voro could expect to have, as strange and unlikely as their friendship was.

Besides,
Voro didn’t even really think it was a Psionic Vampire, did he?