Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (34 page)

“They never bothered you before tonight.” Gavin dabbed the blood from his nose where Logan had hit him. “Whether you want it, or not, your body views Calla as a mate.”

Mate?
“This supposed to happen?”

“Sabelle said it probably would. Though I’d hoped for Calla’s sake, it would have worn off by now.”

“Worn off?”

“Yeah. I suppose that’s the whole point of using
pure
virgin blood. So the bond wears off right away. The Alexi shit seems to be hitting you hard.”

“You’re telling me this is all temporary?” Logan rubbed his skull. “Perfect. You did this shit to me.” He pointed a finger at Gavin. “I blame you for this. Shoulda just let a bastard die.”

“You like her?”

“I hardly know her.”

“I’d say that’s nothing new for you. You hardly know the majority of your conquests.” Gavin gave a light smack on Logan’s cheek. “Watch yourself with her. She’s not like other girls. In more ways than one.”

Logan sniffed. “Am I stepping on toes?”

Gavin shook his head. “I see the way she looks at you.” His eyes gave warning.

Logan glanced away, toward where the chef shook a large silver pan over a blazing flame. “C’mon, don’t give me that look.”

“She’s pure, Logan. Innocent. Keep that in mind.”

“Like a need a reminder.”

“After what I just witnessed, I think you do. None of that psychotic bullshit with her, or I’ll personally tie you up by your nuts.”

Logan sneered.

“Now get that blood cleaned off of you. We’ve got human patrons out there tonight.” He patted Logan on the shoulder. “Keep the temper in check, or Britus will be carting your ass out tonight.”

“Hey,” he said, reminded of the reason for the drop-in, “that chick Britus had in security while you met with Fatman last week? Think she’s the lycan kid’s guardian. I’m going to check out the tapes.”

Gavin nodded. “On my way up now. Britus called. Got a nephilim in the Holding Tank.”

“He knows how to find Ryke?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“Be right up.” Logan left the kitchen and strode back through the crowd. He drew in a deep breath and cleared his throat as he approached Calla where she still stood beside Daria. He’d have been inclined to think it odd that she seemed unshaken by what’d just happened, but that was the difference between Alexi and regular human females. They’d seen things. Bad things.

“You okay?”

Calla nodded. “He really didn’t do anything. Just a jerk.”

“You shouldn’t have seen that.”

“You think I’ve never seen blood before?”

“I have a tendency to get spill-happy about it.”

“I noticed.”

“Just so you know, he’d have tried to do shit with you. They’re crafty.”

“And you think I’m gullible.”

Logan tightened his lips. “I don’t know what to think about you, Calla. You’re an all over the map kinda female.” He crossed his arms. “One second, you’re fragile and quiet. The next, you’re taking on bounty hunters.”

She smiled and, gods, that’s what it felt like when a heart skipped a beat. “Maybe you should proceed with caution, then. Sounds like I’m unstable.”

“All the more reason I think I like you.” Logan gave Daria a nod. “Got something in security. Take her up to my office.”

Daria hooked an arm in Calla’s. “C’mon, honey, I’ll get you settled in the penthouse.”

Logan followed behind the females through the crowd and into the elevator. One other male patron entered the elevator and pecked the second floor button. Logan waited until he’d stepped off before pressing the fourth floor button and signaling the next group to stay out. A small flap below the buttons opened and a keypad ejected toward him. After he’d typed in the pass-code, the keypad disappeared behind the panel, and the elevator moved up two levels—the only way to access the floor.

The fourth floor of Sanctuary was where all the business went down. Where security kept watch and order carried out for any supes who disrupted the place. No one but the bosses and bodyguards had access.

“Everything okay?” Calla’s brows knitted together. “You seem edgy.”

“Yeah. Always edgy before shit’s about to go down.” Logan lifted his hand to caress her cheek and hesitated. “Be right back.”

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he stepped out into a long white hallway so blindingly bright it made him squint. For supes being interrogated or dealt with, it was meant to intimidate. He reached the security room, where television screens lined the walls at different angles, showing every possible corner of the club.

“’Sup, Mack?” Logan walked over to the burly security guard sitting beside Gavin.

Mack sported an intimidating look, for a human, with a buzz cut and thick brows. All the security at Sanctuary had been handpicked. Humans were rarely hired unless they had some exceptional talent. Mack’s happened to be a keen eye—that, and he was a pretty damn good sniper. He pointed to the screen in front of him. “This the tape?”

“Yeah.”

In the ‘Holding Tank’, as the guards referred to it, stood a figure cloaked in black with the hood pulled over the head. The pair of Cons and black tats snaking up the legs made her an ‘It’, from what Logan could tell. “How’d Britus know it was a female?”

“She had tits.” Mack barked a laugh.

Logan leaned in, examining the screen just as the female twisted toward the camera. “Pause it.” He studied her face. The tats creeping up onto her neck. The piercing in her nose. The violet shade of her eyes. “She’s a supe?”

Mack shrugged. “I guess. Britus is the only one who saw her.”

“She sports a lot of ink. Shouldn’t be hard to pin her on the streets. Thanks, Mack.”

“No problemo, boss.”

“Let’s go see if our nephilim friend knows anything about Ryke,” Gavin said.

He led Logan through the white hallway to a room at the far end. The blinding light eased into the darkness of the stone walls, with not a single window. The dim glow of a lamplight provided the only visibility as Logan stalked toward the nephilim chained to a chair.

Fangtrails marred his otherwise perfect skin, and along with his Goth-style clothing, he wore the signature collar around his neck—the kind with hooked spikes on the underside that couldn’t be removed without leaving nice gaping holes.

Gavin crossed his arms, his feet set apart. “Where’s Ryke?”

The nephilim’s crystal eyes lit up. “No idea. But when I see him next, I’ll be sure to pass along your complimentary blow job.”

Logan slammed his fist into the nephilim’s gut, forcing a grunt from him as the male hunched over himself.

“We … haven’t … even kissed … yet.” The nephilim coughed out a chuckle and spat blood onto the floor.

“Shit’s gonna get worse.” Gavin tipped his head and crouched in front of the male. “My brother is missing. I’m not fucking around. Where’s Ryke?”

“Wanna suck me off—”

Gavin’s fist knocked the nephilim’s chin up, and the chair toppled backward, cracking the male’s head against the floor.

Logan straddled the nephilim. “Talk. Or I’ll yank the fucking collar off before severing your head.” He lodged a finger into the collar’s silver loop and yanked a prong free.

“Fuck!” The nephilim winced as blood spattered up into the air. Bits of flesh clung to the dislodged hook.

A red haze clouded Logan’s eyes and the heat spreading through his body signaled the release of his brand of pain. Each Brother carried a brand, etched in ancient Demonic symbols somewhere on their bodies. Logan’s was Fear.

“I … don’t know … where to find him.” Fluids gurgled in the male’s throat and he coughed blood.

Logan dislodged another prong, inciting a second outcry. The male’s eyes widened as fear seemed to penetrate his defenses, and Logan tucked his finger inside another loop.

Gavin knelt beside him. “How many prongs you think go around his neck?”

“Not sure. But I can’t wait to get to the ones attached to his spine.”

“Motherf—” The male took heaving breaths, his lips clamped. “Okay … he owns … an underground club. Never … been there.”

“What kind of club?” Gavin asked.

“Torture.”

Logan leaned forward and gave a light tug of the prong. ”Look at my face. It’s me he wants, isn’t it?”

The male sucked in a breath through his nose. “No.”

Gavin’s hand shot out, gripping a handful of the male’s hair, and wrenched his head back. “Who is he after?”

“Ah … shit!” The nephilim squeezed his eyes shut. “A … girl. Don’t know … who.”

Logan scratched his chin. “Think it’s the girl with the tats?”

Gavin huffed. “Could be.” He nodded toward the male. “You know what she looks like?”

“Please … believe me … I don’t.”

“What’s he want with this girl?” Logan toyed with a prong.

The nephilim slurped a breath. “No … idea.”

Gavin rubbed a hand down his face, still gripping tight to the male’s hair. “You tell all your nephilim friends, the pain of Wrath is coming for them.” Gavin lifted the nephilim’s head and cracked it against the floor, knocking the male out cold, before standing up. He wiped the blood from his hands onto a kerchief, which he tossed atop the nephilim’s body. “Every one of the bastards. Dead.”

Still crouched beside the male, Logan looked up at his brother. “Want me to finish this one?”

“No. I want his bleeding ass to go back and taunt them out of the nest. One of these pricks is going to talk. They’re half human. I know there’s an easier way to get them to spill.”

“You don’t think this was fun?”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Some kind of fucking spell. I’m going to check a couple of books.” His cell phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket and answered. A smile crept across his face. “Good,” he said into the receiver. “See you in a few.” He hung up the phone. “Ferno and Maddox are home. Time to raise some hell with these supes. See you back at the house.”

Logan rose up to a stand. “Ferno’s back?” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “Nothing like adding some chaos to the fucking mix.”

CHAPTER 28

Draven’s eyes flipped opened, and gray stone walls slowly came into focus.

How many hours had he lain there, in and out of consciousness? And who knew what the hell those paleskinned fucks had done to him in the meantime?

A stiffening chill ran through his body. Cold. He shivered as if he’d never get warm. Muscles ached, and his head pounded a blinding beat behind his eyes.

He glanced down at his naked body. Nausea tugged in his gut and he rolled over onto his side, waiting for a torrent of puke.

He’d been sucked raw and bite marks all over his body meant they’d had their fun doing it.

Something hit his face and Draven’s muscles lurched.

“You must be starving.” Ryke stood over him, tossing Draven’s pants to the floor.

Starving. Was that it?

“Come.” Ryke exited the room.

Draven dressed his battered body awkwardly and hobbled after him.

At the end of a hall that looked like something out of a modern-day horror flick, they reached a flight of stairs. Down, down he trailed behind, certain that Ryke knew how to sate whatever craving left his throat dry and stomach ready to climb out of his mouth.

They reached what appeared to be the basement of the building. “What’s … where are we going?” Draven’s hoarse voice hardly carried.

Ryke turned to face him. “Feel that burning in your blood? Those flames that reach every cell inside your body? It’s an eternal part of you now. If you deny it, it will consume you.”

Whimpers drifted to Draven’s ears as they stood before a door.

Ryke pulled keys from his pocket and, after throwing a sinister glance back at Draven, he opened the door.

Draven bent forward and clutched his stomach. He fell to his knees, the weakness turning his limbs to jelly, and raised a trembling hand to his face to cover his mouth.

Naked bodies hung from the ceiling, dangled by chains. Every one of them faces he recognized.

Weeping holes pocked their paling flesh, from where blood trickled and pooled below them on the concrete. Clinging to some of them were white, maggot-like creatures, their faces smashed like bats.

The same ones he’d seen at the old dock.

Feeding.

One of the creatures lurched toward them.

Draven’s muscles seized.

Ryke held out his palm, and the beast froze. “He’s come to feed. Like you.”

What? Fuck, no
. Nothing like them.

Draven watched the chests of his Alexi brothers and sisters rise and fall with their breaths.

Still alive.

Sick, disgusting bastards. Worse than the lycans.

At least the lycans killed off their victims.

A firm grip on his nape lifted Draven up from the floor and forced him in front of one of the bodies.