senseless. Instead, the man stood his ground with a smile that would have put him first in line for a long stay in a mental institution.
“You think that fancy metal is going to make me run, Superboy? I know all about you. I know where your power comes from and I know you won’t kill me. A few scratches here and there aren’t going to bring me down a notch in Andraste’s eyes. Take a poke. Let’s see what happens.”
Garrett hesitated, and it cost him. The second guy had recovered from his near asphyxiation enough to take Marta from the man who was taunting Garrett. His concentration split between the two of them, Garrett pulled in more darkness to strengthen his sword, willing to take both of their lives to save the woman who was still hanging like a limp puppet from the second man’s dirty hands.
“Bring it, big man. Show me what your blade can do.”
Garrett rushed the guy, allowing himself to feel the euphoria of letting loose. Blood lust sang through his veins, making his own smile just a little too maniacal as it stretched his face to its limit. “Gladly, douche bag.”
The wind whistled as the black blade cut through the air on a direct path to the man’s chest. A second before he would have made contact, the man pulled out a sword of his own. The clang of the long pieces of metal crashing together rang through the air, reverberating against the brick and bouncing back to fill the alley. He expected people to come crashing out of their apartments or to hear the blare of cop sirens. Neither happened as he and his opponent continued to hack away at each other. There was no finesse here, only a killing urge.
Garrett watched helplessly as the other man hauled the woman off to the end of the alleyway, throwing her into a waiting car. Fury rose up inside him, along with a dark miasma that claimed his vision. Growling, he thrust his sword into his opponent, welcoming the pain when the man managed to land a blow just above his heart.
His tattoos coalesced into a solid mass around the blade, holding it in his skin, which gave him the advantage of keeping the man’s sword prisoner while he redoubled his attack.
His opponent went down with the word Andraste and a cackle on his lips—not dead, but unconscious from the blow Garrett had dealt to his head with a black mallet that had formed in his other hand.
Garrett removed the man’s sword from his own chest and threw it down next to his body. He would have to call his friend Jackson to come clean up after him. He hated to do it, but there was no way he would be able to get rid of this trash without going crazy. Garrett owed Jackson for a ton of things, but nothing more than the day he’d taken him off the streets as a favor to Lissa.
Fortunately he felt the weight of his cell phone in his back pocket. Taking it out, he growled instructions to Jackson, then limped toward the end of the alley. He had no idea how he was going to find the kidnapped woman. He might not interact with many people, but he knew their habits, the intricacies of their lives. He was a watcher. Marta was a lawyer who had three grandchildren from her only son. They all came to dinner on Saturdays, never missing a week. He had to find her.
He set out with the intention of searching every nook and cranny of the city, every single place he could think of where a prisoner might be stashed. But there was too much ground to cover, and the craving for chaos and oblivion was overwhelming. Two hours after the fight, when the sun began to peek over the range of mountains to his left, he decided to call it quits. It went against his every impulse, but he couldn’t fight the darkness and the craving much longer.
At the last minute he stopped, remembering to pick up the couple of shards of glass from earlier in the evening. Once he reached the area beneath his balcony, he used the grappling hook to pull himself back up the side of the building to avoid showing himself in the hallways. His chest ached enough to keep him conscious. The tattoos wouldn’t be able to hold back the blood flow from the injury much longer. He had to get to the chair quickly and then find some medical supplies.
Failure rode on his shoulders the whole way up to his balcony. He climbed hand over hand, hoping the exertion would help clear his mind, but it wasn’t working. The scream of police sirens down below did nothing for him, either. He hoped Jackson had had enough time to set things right.
When Garrett entered his apartment, it was to the sound of knocking. His breath came in sharp gasps and he felt like Mr. Hyde without a Dr. Jekyll in his near future.
He could ignore the sound, but the thought didn’t sit well with him. Jackson might need assistance, not that Garrett could provide it, or the police might be on the other side of the door with questions for him. They’d be willing to break down the door if he didn’t get there fast enough.
Fortunately, he’d been smart enough to keep his exposure as a person with weird abilities to a minimum. He’d never been caught in the act, although a few local newspapers had run articles about a mysterious man who helped poor schmucks who had gotten themselves into trouble.
Taking a moment, he calmed his breathing and ran a hand over his short hair. He had no idea who was on the other side of the door, and since he didn’t have X-ray vision like his favorite little-known comic-book hero Booster Gold, staring at the wood wasn’t going to do anything for him.
He opened the door to what he could have sworn was a ball of energy.
“Oh my God, Garrett, did you see what’s going on downstairs? There was another attack and they’re saying Mrs. Handel is missing! Do you think it’s the same people who attacked the others? Oh my God!” Her face was drained of color.
He stepped out of the door. He didn’t want her inside his apartment, but he was well aware that this wasn’t a conversation he should have while leaning against the door frame. Maybe she had information he could use? After all, she was friends with Marta. If only he’d had time to purge before talking with her. His head was muddled and his control was on the verge of cracking.
“Just be careful.”
“I am, but who knew this kind of thing would happen in our neighborhood? I’ve lived here for almost five years, and I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m scared. I don’t know why someone would target our building, but I can’t think of any other explanation.”
For the first time he took in what she was wearing. A pair of drawstring sweatpants hung from her lush hips, and a large T-shirt crept off the jut of her creamy shoulder. This was not the Dory he was used to seeing. Normal Dory was buttoned up to the top of her neck and decked out like the accountant she was. Beautiful, untouchable by the likes of him. This Dory was softer somehow, with curves and dips he had never noticed before. Ugly lust rose in him. He wanted to drop her to the floor and take her then and there, releasing all the pent-up rage inside him. He took an involuntary step back, breaking his eye contact with her body. It was disgusting of him to even be thinking things like that. Where was his decency? He needed the chair and the purge more than ever after two hours of running around with his body supercharged on all things dark and evil.
“Garrett?”
Blood blossomed on his shirt as the tattoos surrounding the wound in his chest gave out. The last thing he saw before the darkness finally claimed him was a pair of bright blue eyes widening in horror.
* * *
It was not easy to kick open Garrett’s door and drag him through it. Dory had never been inside his apartment. Since he was always so private, she was tempted to look around, but the deadweight in her arms was not going to go away, so she’d just have to stay curious a little longer.
He had fallen forward as a huge splotch
