He rolled his head slowly side to side, watching the constellations wink in and out of sight through the cage of metal above him. Those gold tats of hers were something else. Straight-up amazing, if you knew what she’d had to endure for each one, and he did, thanks to the eons of knowledge that had been crammed into his brain in a matter of weeks. Without question, he knew more about the comarré than she did about the KM. Hell, even he knew more about the comarré than he did the KM.
He especially understood the pain she’d endured for those marks, since he’d been through the KM rituals. Women supposedly had a higher tolerance for pain, but he couldn’t imagine that pale, slender female going through that kind of agony. Especially not for the sake of some vampire. Pissed him off, actually. No woman should have to endure pain at a man’s hands.
Una’s dark eyes flashed in his mind, her cries and the sound of their father’s hand cracking her cheek echoing in his ears. He’d come home at just the right time to save her. Just the right time to crucify himself. He clenched and unclenched his empty fist, feeling the snap of bones under his fingers as if he were there again.
Anger pushed him upright. He hunched his back, remembering the day he’d accepted the KM’s offer. He’d walked out of FSP an hour later, proof of the organization’s power. He exhaled hard. Out of one prison and into another. But the deal was worth it.
Worth the pain of the day he’d been sealed into KM service. The memory lingered on his skin, sharp and heavy and just as painful. Being bulletproof didn’t mean the bullet wasn’t going to hurt. Neither did it mean the pain would weaken him. Instead of being something to fear, pain was something to use.
He set his beer on the step beside him and was about to get up and go back inside when he went stone-still. Two vampires strolled into the mouth of the alley, oblivious to his presence. Just to be careful, he used some of his newly acquired skills to stop his heart and breathing. They kept walking. As a safety measure, he’d decided not to make any kills this close to his home, but temptation kissed his fingertips and made them itch for his cross-bow.
If the fringe looked up and saw him, he’d take them out. If not, he’d let them pass. Fringe weren’t specifically his mission, but if they were hunting humans or him, they were fair game. He wasn’t comfortable with them knowing his home base either.
Vamp One said something to Vamp Two that made Vamp Two throw his head back in laughter. As his gaze rose, his beady eyes locked onto Creek. Then the vampire pointed Creek out to his buddy. A second later, two sets of fangs gleamed in Creek’s direction.
So much for letting them skate.
Creek vaulted over the fire-escape railing and landed in front of the dentally challenged pair. ‘Evening.’
The vampires stared back in silence, perhaps stunned by his good manners.
Without waiting for a return greeting, he yanked his halm off his belt and flicked it open to its full six-foot length. Few understood the power of the quarterstaff, and as a result, few feared the weapon. He liked that. Surprise was always an advantage.
Like now.
He tucked the titanium rod beneath his arm and lunged forward, ramming the sharpened tip into Vamp One’s chest, ashing him instantly. Vamp Two took off, but Creek flung the halm like a spear after him. The halm pierced the vampire through the lower back, pinning him to the potholed asphalt.
The creature screeched and clawed at the ground, trying to free itself.
Creek pulled a knife from his boot and strolled toward the thing stuck, buglike, on his halm. With one hand on the quarter-staff, he planted his boot in the middle of the vampire’s back. Kid couldn’t have been more than twenty, twenty-one when he’d been turned. But that kid was long gone, replaced by a parasite.
‘Nothing personal,’ he muttered, and drove the blade down into the creature’s neck. He jerked the blade toward the ground, crunching through bone and cartilage with a few deft cuts. The remains went to ash moments after he’d severed the spine. He wiped the knife on his jeans, then tucked it away, snapped the halm closed, and retrieved a small pouch from the interior pocket of his leather vest. A pinch of hawthorn powder went over the ashes, and they burned away like a lit fuse, leaving no trace of the kill. He did the same to the first one on his way back to the fire escape.
Fringe were good practice, and he’d need it to protect Chrysabelle and the ring in her possession from the noble vampire currently hunting her. At least until he convinced the comarré to turn the ring over to him. From the dossier he’d read, Tatiana was a tough customer and could not be allowed to possess the ring, whatever its powers were. Must be something else. The Kubai Mata wanted it badly enough to free a murderer from prison and put him to work.
Despite what they’d authorized him to do, he wouldn’t take the ring by force. He’d never use force against a woman. He would feel Chrysabelle out, see if she was open to giving the ring up. In theory, the KM were the good guys. Giving them the ring shouldn’t be such a hard thing to do. He leaped, snagged the bottom rung of the ladder, and climbed back to the platform.
From there, he swung his booted feet through the open window and back into the loft. In the meantime, he’d live up to the rest of the KM credo and protect the citizens of Paradise
