knowledge was both emotionally and physically painful for him. Reyes wanted to lash out, punch something, and that he couldn’t…the demon fed off that corporal agony and demanded more. Wanted control.
Soon, he promised.
This was one of the many reasons Reyes had sent Danika away and one of the few reasons he should not be here to rescue her. She roused him and the demon as surely as if she were rattling a stick against a hungry animal’s cage.
If he gave his demon free rein as it craved, he would lose control of his actions. What if he hurt Danika? What if he enjoyed hurting her? Smiled while beating her bones to powder? What if he killed her, the very act he’d locked his best friend away for even contemplating?
He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, knowing he’d destroyed something so…precious. Yes, he realized then. She was precious to him. She was the angel to his demon, the good to his evil. The pleasure to his pain. And she was inside a Hunter stronghold, bound, helpless…suffering.
Once again red winked over his vision and rather than welcome it he now fought it. Damn this! There could be no giving over to his demon side, then, not even to battle the Hunters. Reyes would have to maintain command.
Someone slapped him on the back, jostling him from his musings. “Save it, my friend,” a female said.
Calm, settle. Reyes turned his head and found himself staring down at Cameo, keeper of Misery and the only female Lord. He quickly looked away. With her long black hair, silver eyes and skin like peaches and cream, she was beauty incarnate. She was also a strong, fierce warrior despite her delectable little body. It was hard to face her, though, when all of the world’s unhappiness seemed to seep from her pores and into his heart.
“We’ll retrieve her safely,” Cameo said, meaning to comfort him but only managing to make his chest ache. “Don’t worry.”
Gods, her voice. He tried not to cringe while the demon inside him sighed, liking the pain she unwittingly inflicted. Why couldn’t Reyes have been attracted to her? Would have made his life easier.
You’re hurting now only because the subject being discussed is Danika. Much as his demon enjoyed physical pain, Cameo represented an avalanche of emotional turmoil and dysfunction. So no, wanting her would not have been easier. Her tragic voice could drive any man to suicide and Reyes tried to kill himself enough already.
“Hunters once abducted a lover of mine,” she said.
Reyes rubbed his chest. Someone had actually slept with her? “And you were able to save him?”
“Oh, no. He died horribly. They cut out his heart and mailed it to me.”
Reyes blinked against a surge of panic, but didn’t face her again. That won’t happen to Danika. He scanned the building, breathing in and out, slowing his wild pulse, calming again. Lucien was already gone, and the others were sitting along the edges of the walls, polishing their weapons with lethal efficiency.
Finally, he trusted himself to speak without screaming. “That little story is supposed to soothe me?”
“Yes. They bested us once in this manner. We won’t allow them to do so again.”
Small comfort. Even now, a fist could be flying toward Danika’s face, a foot toward her stomach. A whip arching toward her back. A knife sliding into her organs. She could be sobbing for him to save her. And here he was, close, but waiting, leaving her helpless.
The knowledge was intolerable.
He stalked away from Cameo. Back and forth he paced. Should he ignore Lucien’s command and attack now? Let him work. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll come for you if she’s placed in any sort of danger.
Even knowing that, time passed with agonizing slowness, every tick of the clock a torturous beat. Only when the sun began to wane, dulling from bright gold to hazy pink, from hazy pink to deep purple and finally blessed gray, did he relax.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Paris remarked. “Fidgety, distracted.”
“Hopefully you won’t see me like this again.”
“I’m sending a prayer heavenward that I never look that way,” Sabin muttered. “Not that it’ll do any good. Still.”
Strider grinned. “But you’re so pretty when you’re in love.”
Sabin flipped him off.
Love? Was Reyes capable of such an emotion? “Night has fallen. Let’s go.” He pounded toward the front door.
Anya latched on to his arm, her fingernails digging into his bare flesh. “Hold it right there, sweetness. You don’t know the way.”
He barely managed to plant his feet into the concrete. “And you do?”
“Of course.” Her nails sank deeper, cutting skin, and he nearly moaned at the heady sting. “Lucien tells me everything.”
“Guide us, then, but do it now. I won’t spend another second inside this building, and I will break into every shop, home and structure that I encounter if necessary.”
“So impatient.” She tsked under her tongue and released him. “I admire that in a man. Just…keep up with me. If you can.”
With that, she claimed the lead. Everyone else filed out behind her. Overwarm, stuffy air became cool and fragrant, a mix of good and bad aromas: fresh flowers, car exhaust, baked breads and cloying perfume. Multihued lights pulsed from signs—Nude Dancers Here—and horns blared in a hurried symphony. Footsteps clomped in every direction, though nothing overshadowed the frantic dance of Reyes’s heart.
At one time, he had dreamed of traveling, of seeing this new world he’d hidden from for hundreds of years, but he had been bound to Budapest by Maddox’s curse. Now, he didn’t care about the world around him. He just wanted to reach Danika.
Though he and the others remained in the shade as much as possible, humans did notice them. Some jumped out of their way, some stared. Most grinned, seemingly fascinated. Not the typical mortal reaction; even the Buda townspeople were more respectful than friendly. Hollywood, Sabin had said. Reyes realized these humans thought the men were part of a movie.
A few times, Paris stopped to steal a kiss from a willing female. He was as helpless against his demon as Reyes was, so when Promiscuity wanted to play, Paris took time to play. Otherwise, he weakened unbearably. But for the first time in all their years together, Paris did not look as if he enjoyed the kissing.
Reyes didn’t slow, didn’t wait for his friend or ask him what was wrong. Urgency pounded through him, harder and more intense with every slap of his boots against concrete. Anya turned a corner, her long pale hair a beacon in the night. Down a dirty alley she escorted them, the scent of urine suddenly saturating the air.
When she turned the next corner, she tossed an anticipatory smile over her shoulder. “We’re almost there.”
Reyes palmed his gun and a knife. They were so familiar to him, so much a part of him, they were almost a natural extension of his hands. Not much longer now and you’ll see her. Soon, very soon,
