Master Unchained (Stealth Guardians Book 2) (12 page)

“Your father seems to adore you,” Hamish remarked. “That was quite a moving speech.”

“He loves me.” Maybe too much. Perhaps that had always been the root of her problems.

“I lost my father a long time ago,” Hamish said. “You should cherish his love for as long as you can.”

“I do,” she admitted. Despite everything.

Hamish said, “You don’t get along with your mother.”

She didn’t look at him when she replied, “It’s complicated.”

Very complicated.

Tessa emptied her glass and let her eyes roam, searching for the waiter. If she was going to get through this evening, she was going to need another drink.

16

The vortex, the swirling mass of dark fog and wind he’d used to transport into the human world, closed behind him and vanished without a trace. Zoltan glanced around, making sure nobody had witnessed his entrance, but the bushes and trees in the residential neighborhood had hidden him well.

He’d donned a beard, brown contact lenses, and dark blond hair that reached over his ears and curled at his nape, the facial hair helping him blend in with the fashions young humans seemed to favor these days. He’d drawn the line at the man-bun though. How any self-respecting man could wear such an emasculating hairdo was beyond him, and he certainly wasn’t going to sink that low.

He only had to walk two blocks to reach the house in question. The many cars parked on the curb on both sides of the street, as well as in the driveway, indicated that the homeowners had guests. Lots of them. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him from doing what he’d come to do. He was sure there was a way in without being noticed.

A whiff of cigarette smoke blew in his direction. He looked around for its origin and saw a young man standing next to a bush, smoking. He wore the outfit of a catering company, a white shirt, black slacks, and a red bowtie. Perfect.

Zoltan walked casually as he approached the young man, who couldn’t be older than twenty-five.

“Evening,” Zoltan greeted him with a grin, then motioned to the house behind him. “No smoking inside, huh?”

The kid made a motion to extinguish his cigarette, but Zoltan stopped him. “No, don’t put it out for my sake. Actually I was hoping I could bum one off you.” He jerked his thumb to the house. “Before I join the party.”

The young man grinned and dug into his pocket, pulling out a pack. Zoltan reached for it and helped himself to a cigarette. But he didn’t light it immediately.

“What’s your name?”

“Kevin.”

“I’m Harry, nice to meet you,” he lied. Lying was second nature to him. As was the use of force. “Must be hard working these parties. Hope you’re not short-staffed. These people can be like piranhas, working you guys to the bone.”

Kevin gave a long suffering sigh. “Right? Well, at least they hired five of us. So it’s not too bad.”

Zoltan lit his cigarette and took a drag from the disgusting thing. “That’s cool. When I used to work in catering, I found it a great way to meet people. You know? Every party was a different crew. I rarely worked with the same colleagues more than once.”

“Same here,” Kevin agreed. “I don’t know the other four. The boss just schedules us, you know. You can’t really choose who you work with.”

Zoltan nodded as if he cared. “Yeah, true. So, what company do you work for?” He glanced around. “I don’t see a catering truck.”

Kevin motioned to the house. “Oh, we parked in the alley behind the property. Didn’t wanna occupy any parking spots meant for the guests.”

“Yeah, makes sense.” Though the kid still hadn’t answered his question. “So what company was that again?”

“A Class of its Own Catering.”

“What a coincidence! Is John still running the joint?”

“John?” Kevin furrowed his forehead. “I don’t know a John in management. Bruce does the scheduling.”

“Oh, Bruce, right,” Zoltan said, slapping his hand against his forehead, pretending to know who Kevin was talking about. “John is in accounting. Of course you wouldn’t know him.”

He took another drag from his cigarette, then threw it to the ground and extinguished it with his shoe. “Well then, off to the party.”

“Have fun.”

Zoltan faked a motion to the opposite side, then wrapped his arms around Kevin’s neck and jerked him back, before the kid even realized what was happening to him. He started to struggle, but Zoltan was many times stronger and dragged him behind the bushes.

“Now tell me, how bad are you, huh? Ever stolen anything? Ever beaten somebody up?” Zoltan whispered into his captive’s ear, hoping he was right about the kid. “Yeah, you’re no choirboy, are you?”

Kevin fought, his fear rising with every second. Perfect. Underneath it was something else. Kevin wasn’t innocent. He’d committed crimes, petty crimes, but that would do. Zoltan tossed his victim to the ground and pinned him there, one hand around his throat so he couldn’t scream. Savoring the moment, Zoltan bent closer and opened his mouth, sucking in a deep breath, then another. A light mist started escaping through Kevin’s nostrils. Zoltan sucked harder and slowly eased up on his grip around his victim’s throat. More mist rose, turning a darker shade, first gray, then black.

Yes, that’s what he needed. This would be a good feeding, a rich one. The young man at his mercy had done bad things, and now Zoltan reaped the benefits. With every breath, he sucked in more fear and evil from his victim, and felt his own strength growing. His cells replenished, filled with power. In the last few months he’d come across many rich feasts like this. There was more and more evil in the world, and it tasted good.

Renewed and strengthened, Zoltan let go of his captive. Kevin was unconscious now.

“Thanks for everything, Kevin.”

The hapless human had given him all he needed. And now Kevin deserved his rest. In a few hours, he’d wake up with a headache the likes of which he’d never known before. He could kill him of course. For a brief moment he considered it. But that could be messy, and he didn’t want to get any blood on Kevin’s clothes.

“It’s your lucky day.”

Moments later, Zoltan emerged wearing Kevin’s white shirt, black slacks, and that ridiculous red bowtie. Not even his mother—if he had one—would recognize him now.

“Showtime.”

Zoltan entered the house via the tradesmen’s entrance to the side. Kevin had propped the gate open, so he could enter after his smoke break. Zoltan now closed it behind him and walked to the door at the end of the walkway and peered inside. The kitchen. Several catering personnel were busy with drinks and food. Time to establish his credentials so he could move freely within the house.

He stepped inside and addressed a woman who was filling flutes with champagne. “Hey, sorry, uh, Bruce sent me.”

She stared at him. “Yeah, why?”

“He said the clients requested six staff, not five, so he sent me to chip in last minute before the homeowners think they’re getting shortchanged.”

She shrugged. “Fine by me. It’s a little crazy here right now anyway.” She turned to one of the others, a young man who was just picking up a platter with canapés. “Hey, Mike, have you seen Kevin? He was supposed to do the cocktails.” She motioned to a tray with various pre-mixed drinks.

The guy shrugged. “Nope.”

“I saw somebody smoking outside,” Zoltan offered. “Maybe that’s him.”

“Figures,” the woman said. “What’s your name?”

“Greg.” The name
Harry
had already outlived its usefulness.

“I’m Cathy. Can you take the cocktails?”

“Sure. No problem.”

It would give him a good cover to check out not only the house itself, but also the homeowners and the guests. Nobody in these circles ever noticed a servant. By the time Kevin woke up and somebody realized that a stranger had been able to move within the house unimpeded, he’d be long gone. Nobody would be able to give an accurate description of him. And even if they did, it would lead nowhere. Because the human world didn’t have any record of him.

With ease, Zoltan moved through the ranks of the city’s upper crust, and made his way to the person he wanted to look at more closely: Tessa Wallace, the councilwoman. She’d just walked up to a woman who looked vaguely familiar, and hugged her. The woman was a good twenty to twenty-five years older than Tessa.

Zoltan moved closer.

“Amanda, I’m so glad to see you,” Tessa chirped. “How have you been holding up?”

A sad look crossed the other woman’s face. He’d seen that look before. Yes, at a funeral. He loved going to funerals, loved watching humans mourn their loved ones. The pain that saturated the air at a funeral was so heavy, so thick, that he could practically snatch it out of the air and swallow it down, to feed that part of him that gave him his demonic strength. After a funeral he always felt invigorated, replenished. And this woman had suffered: Amanda Yardley, the widow of the former mayor. Even now, pain radiated from her, and though pain was not as powerful as fear, he was drawn to it nevertheless.

“I’m coping,” Amanda said in reply to Tessa’s question. “Every day gets a little easier.”

“We all miss him terribly.”

“Thank you. By the way, I brought the book you lent him. I left it with my jacket.” She pointed toward the front of the house. “Remind me before I leave.”

“I was actually just talking about that today. Gunn is looking for some files, and it’s possible that they were accidentally packed in with John’s personal stuff. He might call you.”

Amanda tossed her a confused look. “There were no files in the box they sent to my house. Just some awards, a few trinkets and personal papers, and his appointment book.” She smiled wistfully. “I hung the awards on the wall of his study.”

A tap on his shoulder made Zoltan turn.

“I’ll take one of those,” the tall man said and pointed to a glass on Zoltan’s tray.

“Of course, sir,” Zoltan answered, managing to keep his cool. He wasn’t easily rattled, but suddenly coming face to face with a Stealth Guardian was nevertheless a bit of a surprise. Not that it was totally unexpected.

Although one thing did come as a surprise: the man, whose distinct aura identified him as a Stealth Guardian, was no stranger to him. In fact, a few months earlier, in an old farmhouse in California, he and two of his demons had fought against two Stealth Guardians—and come away empty handed. This man had been one of them. And one other thing immediately became clear. He was the same man the newspapers and social media channels had identified as the hero from the night before. An online article he’d seen that afternoon had claimed that Hamish MacGregor was Tessa’s boyfriend.

“Thank you,” Hamish said, snatching a glass, before brushing past Zoltan to join Tessa.

So the Stealth Guardians hadn’t lost any time assigning a guardian to the councilwoman—a guardian who’d then promptly saved her life. However, one thing was odd: did the charge know she was being protected? Did she know who her boyfriend was? Had the Stealth Guardians suddenly changed strategy and started working out in the open?

In any case, with Hamish in the picture, right now wasn’t the right time to act. He would have to change his plans. No matter. He was flexible. There were plenty of other routes to get to Tessa and destroy her.

Without drawing any attention to himself, he moved away from his primary target and surveyed the scene. It wasn’t hard to spot who the hosts were: Tessa’s parents, Philip and Diane Wallace. Philip Wallace seemed to be a strong-willed individual, his posture and poise indicating determination, whereas his wife was anything but. Her body language revealed her insecurity, which she tried to hide beneath expensive jewelry and designer clothes.

But Zoltan sensed something else, too. There was a scent about her, faint, but undeniable. An alcoholic, for sure. Drugs probably weren’t too much of a stretch either. Whatever she was using to get through the day, and through this party, it made her an easy target. Ah, how he loved the upper crust with their insecurities and their lack of restraint! It made them just as easy to manipulate as a drug addict on the street corner.

Diane Wallace was his way in.

He just had to get her alone.

17

Hamish walked around the car and helped Tessa out of it. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lavender eyes sparkled like two stars in the night sky.

When he closed the car door behind her, she giggled. “I can’t believe how you made Mrs. Cranston run for cover when you were going on and on about how exciting instruction manuals were.”

He grinned. “Serves her right for peppering you with questions about the incident at the center last night.”

“Thanks for saving me. Both from Mrs. Cranston and from the falling duct.”

Tessa leaned in, and the temptation to pull her against his body rose. But he knew he couldn’t act on it. He’d made a promise to her and to himself. And he was going to keep it.
Rasen
be damned.

“How many glasses of champagne have you had?” he asked, smirking.

“Are you suggesting that I’m drunk?”

Hamish chuckled. “Not drunk. Just a little tipsy.” And it was kind of endearing to see her so carefree.

“Well, you would be too if you had to make nice with my mother for an entire evening.”

“I thought she was rather—”

A sound coming from behind him made him spin around.

“Shit!”

Two intimidating looking men were charging toward him. Sharp blades glinted in their hands, making their intentions clear in a split second; their green eyes flashing in the dark confirmed it.

Instantly cloaking Tessa with his mind, Hamish ordered her, “Run inside, now!”

He shoved her in the direction of the front door to her apartment building, then bent down and pulled his dagger from his boot, dropping the car keys in the process. One of the demons jumped him, while the other raced toward the front door, guided by Tessa’s screams.

Hamish crashed to the floor, his demonic attacker landing on top of him. Hamish kicked him off, rolled away, and cloaked himself in the next instant. But the demon was good. He’d anticipated the evasive move and swiped Hamish’s arm with his dagger. He cried out, uncloaking himself in the melee, before kicking out at his attacker. The demon tumbled backwards, giving Hamish a chance to get to his feet.