He debated his next step, knowing this was an elaborate trap for him, one that would be designed with the expectation that he wouldn’t come alone. Which was why he’d done exactly that.
But he could still take them by surprise.
Pulling out his phone, he jumped the hoops necessary to reach Adrian.
“Mitchell,” the Sentinel leader answered.
“It’s Raze. I’ve got a situation you’ll be interested in.”
“Where are you?”
“Chicago.”
“Yes, that is interesting. So am I.”
Raze stilled, his hackles rising at the softness of Adrian’s tone. “That’s not a coincidence.”
“No, it’s not. Location?”
He wasn’t surprised that the angel was so far from his home base in Anaheim, California. That was Adrian’s way. While Syre was cerebral in his leadership, using Raze and Salem to investigate and Vashti as his iron fist, Adrian was the opposite. The Sentinel leader left the administrative duties to others so he could remain a hands-on hunter in the field. A vampire hunter and goaler-those roles being the sole purpose of his existence.
Raze gave his location, then pointed out, “I wouldn’t have called you if I just needed a hand or two. If you’re going to send a couple lycans and call it a night, don’t bother.”
“Don’t tell me how to respond to a request for a favor.” The lack of inflection in the angel’s voice was more disconcerting than an outright threat would have been.
“If you’d let us establish some cabals and covens in the major cities, I wouldn’t need to call you at all.” The Sentinels used their lycans to keep vampires contained in rural, lower population areas. They said the policy was to protect mortals, but the side effect was the hindering of the Fallen’s ability to police their own minions. And every transgression was another mark against them, another smudge barring them from any possibility of redemption.
“How many more rogue minions would there be if vampires were allowed access to such a smorgasbord of food? The spread would become uncontainable. It’s already out of control as it is or you wouldn’t be calling me.”
The line died, leaving Raze cursing at his cell phone. One of these days, he and the angel were going to have it out. But not tonight.
As the couples swayed like hypnotized king cobras, Raze leaped over onto the uppermost bench, then started taking the stairs down, applauding as he went. “Man, you’ve really got your delivery down. I mean, I could almost buy it… if I was a whacked out moron.”
The man lifted his head and looked at Raze, his eyes glowing in the darkness. “Raze, how nice of you to join us. We’ve been expecting you. You are, after all, the guest of honor.”
Although the distance between them was great, neither of them needed to raise their voices to be heard. “I’d say I was more of a bouncer. One who’s going to bounce all your nutty asses into Hell.”
“Where are your friends? Surely you didn’t come to such an occasion alone?”
“Yeah, it’s just me. I tried to round up more of a party, but everyone said it’d be a dud. They were right.” Although he kept his descent easy and casual, Raze was hyperaware of new participants to the game as black-clad minions crawled toward him like ants. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you remember me?”
“Nope. You don’t ring any bells.” He could tell being forgotten really chafed and that made him smile. In the back of his mind, he considered the possibility that Adrian might leave him hanging in the wind-the Sentinel hadn’t actually agreed to show up. But Raze had no choice but to proceed as if reinforcements were on the way. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“That’s my goal.” The man walked closer, his arms extended in dramatic fashion. “The Fallen are so busy wishing to be the angels you once were that you never enjoy being what you are.”
Raze pulled one katana out of its sheath, the moonlight glinting off the silver-plated blade. “The only thing I don’t like about what I am now is how much time I have to waste hunting dickheads like you.”
“Ah… you’d prefer to continue your quest to fuck everything willing to sate your lust. Of all the Fallen, you’re one of the most pitiable. At least the others fell for love. You fell only because you can’t keep you dick out of warm, wet holes.”
Pivoting, Raze sliced the head off the minion who’d attempted to come at him from behind. He took out two more who lunged from the sides, his speed and strength fueled by the bitter truth that had been thrown in his face. Grimm’s eternal love bullshit was why Raze had volunteered to hunt him down to begin with. The twisting of love to achieve an even more twisted end stirred violence and fury inside him. He’d watched his fellow Watchers give up their wings for it, and Grimm’s doctrine made a mockery of that terrible, heartrending sacrifice.
“See how he slays the bravest of us?” the idiot prophet asked his minions. “His own people. Weakening us from within. This is who we’ve elected to follow and yet they lead us nowhere! We remain in the shadows, hidden from the world, while-”
“Are you going to shut him up,” Adrian asked, landing gracefully on a bench and swatting away the incoming surge of minions with an impatient swat of his massive wings, “or is that what you needed me for?”
The vampires on the field had staggered to their feet when Adrian appeared and now they scrambled in every direction. It was a natural, instinctive urge to run from an apex predator, but the Sentinel leader himself inspired a unique awe and fear. Like Syre, Adrian had been blessed by the Creator, gifted with a face and form that was the height of angelic perfection. The thirty-foot expanse of his alabaster wings glimmered in the moonlight, the pure pristine white of the feathers framed by crimson tips, as if he’d trailed the edges through freshly spilled blood. That band of red was a vivid reminder of what he was-a weapon tasked with punishing the Fallen and containing their minions.
“He’s mine.” Raze raced down the steps and vaulted onto the field at the same moment a dozen lycans in lupine form hit the grass, converging on the panicked mass. He went after the leader, who surprisingly stood his ground and faced off with a pistol in hand.
“I could change your life, Raze.”
“Gimme your name.”
“Does it matter?”
Raze shrugged and twirled his blade with practiced ease. “Always good to have a name to go with a kill.”
The man smiled. “You won’t kill me. You need me to tell you if there are more of us, and if so, how many more and where they are. And I won’t kill you because I need you, too. If you’d think outside the box, you’d realize that you could be the cornerstone of massive, sweeping advancement. You could have the mate you deserve. You could-”
“You don’t know what I deserve.”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Raze.” He looked over Raze’s shoulder and his smile widened. “You surprised me by bringing in the Sentinels and their dogs, but we had to get rid of them at some point. Now is as good a time as any.”
Using the man’s distraction, Raze whipped out the blade strapped to his left thigh and threw it, striking the prophet in the throat. The gun discharged. Pain ripped through Raze along with the bullet that shot clear through his shoulder and out the other side. The wound healed almost instantly, proving the man’s words to be true: he didn’t want Raze dead or he’d have used a silver-laced bullet.
Behind him, the field erupted with the sounds of gunfire and the yelps of wounded lycans. Raze dropped to the ground. As the robe-clad minions utilized the weapons they’d hidden beneath their robes, his mind quickly assessed his options. Adrian and a female Sentinel took to the field, their wings deflecting bullets and slashing like blades. Screams rent the air. Bodies were severed into pieces.
Most minions never knew what it was like to face a Sentinel. They could never prepare for the lethality of those magnificent wings that sliced like blades and were impervious to all mortal implements of destruction. Unique to each angel, the patterns and colors said much about the angel’s soul if you knew how to read them, and their average thirty-foot span meant it was nearly impossible to get close enough to inflict any damage.
Raze took out a minion with his other knife, then crawled to the body of the prophet and took his gun. Lying on his back, he emptied the clip into the converging mass of robe-clad figures, slowing them down so that he could join the fray with his swords. Leaping to his feet, he did just that, cutting a swathe through the chaos.
