between himself and the man. A man who gasped when Aeron grabbed him and spun him around.
“What the hell?”
“Aeron,” Paris called, weary.
Aeron ignored him. “You disgust me, you insignificant little shit. Why don’t you try beating
The man paled, trembled. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but you better get out of my face, asshole.”
Tourist, he thought, or he would have been recognized. “Or what?” Aeron smiled slowly, cruelly. “You’ll call me another bad name?”
There was a snarl low in the man’s throat. He had a knife in his pocket, Aeron suddenly knew. He wanted to stab Aeron in the stomach, in the neck, and watch him bleed to death.
Without any warning, Aeron struck. His right fist connected with the man’s nose. There was a grunt, a howl of pain. Blood sprayed. He didn’t pause, but swung his other hand. His left fist connected with the man’s mouth, splitting tissue. The howl became a scream.
Aeron wasn’t done.
Still, Aeron didn’t mind.
As the man tried to orient himself, tried to struggle free, Aeron kneed him in the groin. His opponent doubled over, air shooting out of his crimson-soaked lips. No mercy. This bastard had never shown any. Aeron kicked him in the shoulder, and he flew backward. After that, he was in too much pain to stand or even defend himself.
He gazed up at Aeron through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt me.”
“How many times has your wife said something similar to you?” Aeron dropped to his knees, straddling the man’s waist.
Drawing on a reservoir of strength he probably hadn’t known he possessed, the white-faced man tried to scoot backward. Aeron merely tightened the grip of his legs, holding the bastard in place.
“Please.” The man’s voice was shaky, desperate.
Aeron struck again and again, raining one blow after another. The man’s head whipped left and right with each new impact. More blood sprayed. Teeth even flew out like pieces of candy. Skin split and bones broke.
Soon, there were no grunts, no gasps.
A hand patted his shoulder. “You’ve punished him. You can stop now,” Paris said from behind him.
Aeron stilled. He was panting, his knuckles throbbing. Too easy. That had been too easy. The man hadn’t paid enough for the damage he’d inflicted.
“Let’s go home,” Paris suggested.
Home, no. He wasn’t ready to return to his room—to see the bed where he’d kissed and touched Olivia. Still, Aeron stood. He gave the man a final kick in the stomach before facing his friend. “I need some time. Alone.”
A while passed in silence, Paris studying his hard expression. Finally he nodded. “All right. Maybe use it to decompress, ’cause damn.”
“Plan to.” Even after Paris walked away, Aeron remained in place, trying to pull himself back together.
Wrath continued to prowl through his mind, worked into a frenzy and ready for the next victim.
He needed Legion.
Or Olivia, he thought then.
His heart began pounding for a different reason, and it took him a minute to realize why. Arousal mixed with regret was beating through him exactly as his fists had beat at the human. Olivia hadn’t woken when he’d left her in Gilly’s guest room. She hadn’t woken when he’d given Gilly instructions to call him the moment she did. No, she’d lain on the bed, splayed adorably, hair tangled around her, snoring delicately. Fighting the urge to curl beside her again had proved nearly impossible. But he’d done it. He’d headed out to round up Paris.
Perhaps he should return to her, he thought, heading in the direction of Gilly’s apartment before he could stop himself. He glanced up at the heavens, hoping for guidance. His gaze never made it to the stars. Instead, he caught sight of white, feathered wings and ground to a halt.
Galen. Leader of the Hunters. False angel. Bastard.
Automatically Aeron palmed two blades and slipped deeper in the shadows. He shouldn’t have come into town without a gun, but he’d been so preoccupied with Olivia that he hadn’t thought to grab anything extra. Galen was perched on top of a building, those wings outstretched as he scanned the streets.
If he knew Aeron was below, watching him, he gave no notice.
All the while Wrath howled inside Aeron’s head. The warrior had committed too many sins for the demon to process, the need to kill simply flooding Aeron.
Galen straightened unexpectedly. Aeron pressed against the wall of the building behind him, sure he’d been spotted but unwilling to walk away. Perhaps tonight they would end this. Finally.
Galen jumped, falling…falling… His wings stretched farther, flapped once, and he landed softly, several yards away from Aeron.
Aeron tensed. He couldn’t kill Galen without severe consequences, but he
A moment ticked by, then another, Galen simply tucking his wings into his back and waiting. He never approached.
Every fiber of Aeron’s being wanted to leap forward and attack. Surprise attacks were his forte, after all, but he held himself steady. Sometimes battle wasn’t the best course of action in a war. Sometimes merely watching and learning reaped far greater rewards. What was going on here? What was Galen doing in Budapest?
He’d come here before, of course, but he’d recently left to fight a contingent of Lords who had raided a facility in Chicago where he’d been raising—and educating—halfling children. Half human, half immortal. All of whom had been taught to hate the Lords.
Now that school was in ruins, the Lords having liberated the kids and found them loving homes. Homes the Hunters would hopefully never be able to track down.
Was Galen here for vengeance, then?
“Finally,” Galen said, his rich voice filling the silence.
Aeron scanned the area, but saw no one approaching. So, to whom was Galen speaking? To himself? Or—
A pair of legs appeared a few feet in front of Galen. Only, those legs weren’t attached to a torso. What the hell? The question had barely formed before a waist appeared, then shoulders, arms—and there, on the inside of the…apparition’s right wrist, was a symbol of Infinity, the mark of a true, dedicated Hunter—and lastly, a face. Then a male was standing there, fully formed, holding a piece of dark, flowing cloth.
Not a ghost, then, for there was no shimmering outline around him. Just a man, as real as Aeron was. But how had he—
His eyes widened in dread and astonishment. Cloth. Cloak. The…Cloak of Invisibility?
“I’ll take that.” Galen confiscated the cloak and folded it once, twice. Rather than cause the material to shrink yet thicken, each fold diminished both size and width, and soon it appeared the warrior held a simple square of paper.
Oh, yes. This could be nothing else but the Cloak of Invisibility.
Galen tucked the artifact into his robe, even as Aeron reached out automatically.
“There are cameras here,” the human said. “I haven’t found them, but I know the demons keep the city under surveillance.”
“Don’t worry.” Galen laughed, smug. “They’ve been taken care of.”
