Page 97 of Commanding Flame and Shield
AUGUST
“I thought you said vampires weren’t real.” The words tumbled from my mouth. She turned that fierce gaze on me.
“They’re not. Not in the way you think of them. The unfortunate truth is that most paranormal tales and folklore can be explained by our kind. There are demons steering Renown bodies that feast on life force, including draining mortals of their life blood until they’re a husk.”
“Like over-dried fruit,” Alec said dryly. “Only Alvara could be excited about a run in with this particular kind of tormentor.” He drew his fangs and ran his tongue along their sharp tips. Illustrating how our dark cousins would accomplish such a thing.
“Tormentors are second hierarchy demons. Aren’t they?” I tugged on the memories of our lessons.
“Some of the worst of them. Like the one that stabbed Aren.”
“Great,” I said matter-of-factly, setting my mug on the counter with a clunk.
“You’ve already seen our plan.” Marcus stated in that eerie all-knowing way of his.
“I have,” Alvara said softly, sipping on her coffee with a nonchalance that suggested they discussed the weather.
“And?” Jason demanded impatiently. Again, I suppressed the urge to growl at him. My territorial instincts turning borderline aggressive.
“I’ve made some improvements.” She flicked her hand open, and a dancing flame hovered between her fingers.
Marcus grinned, the expression all predator, and rumbled, “Excellent.”
* * *
The momentthe vision had struck, Alvara read the apartment. Read the memories there. The discussions. She had gone so far as to snatch up a pair of Damien’s combat boots on the upstairs hallway landing, which she knew he would have worn in an encounter with the tormentor demons. The vampire Renown. She could see where they nested, where they laid traps for drunk prey that would willingly follow. And she set her own plan in motion. When she emerged from our room, she was donning a tight black battle suit that concealed more weapons than I could comprehend. Her favorite blades hid in skintight sheaths, and two double stack Glocks pressed against her back and belly. She had braided her long hair back in an intricate pattern, into a high ponytail, a crescendo of voluminous curls down her back. Black and dramatic, Alvara’s makeup was expertly applied in precise strokes. War paint, more than makeup. Perhaps a touch of concealing her identity. But the black shadow above and below made those emerald eyes hauntingly bold.Terrifyinglybold. The demons might run with one look at this celestial assassin.
That was what she’d become. Death, in boots. It was that preternatural grace, as she descended the stairs, that ran a chill down my spine. That otherworldly lethality to her stride. That fluidity as she accepted a leather coat from Alec and slid into it in a motion smooth enough to be a dance.
“There will be twelve Renown in the den tonight. Guarded by two sentinels—crawlers, in skin suits. I cannot see if the mortals remain. If they’re within, we will free them. If not, dispose of them quickly and quietly. Our target is the nest itself. Damien has dibs on the leader, who will be...tricky to spirit away somewhere discreet. But if Grayshell takes the basement, the three of you will win.”
Fae appeared by her side, her footsteps nearly silent. Her style was just as dramatic as Alvara’s. A matching leather bodysuit and biker jacket clung to her fuller frame, her platinum hair braided back, and beautiful face marred in the same dark cosmetics.
All the men wore thick denim, white t-shirts, and fitted leather jackets. Our weapons concealed beneath.
The sun long-since set, only the orange pendant lights above the island, and electric fireplace illuminated the apartment. Alvara took her spot between Alec and me, cracked her neck, and popped her fingers. She flashed an all-feline grin at Marcus, who returned it.
“Just like old times,” she sighed. A heartbeat later, we made the jump.
The women led the formation, with the five of us flanking them like bodyguards, shields all down, buried deep to make sure we all stayed on the line tonight. Alvara’s slim hips swayed as she walked in her leather boots. I soaked up the way her body moved, taking in the swagger she and Fae stepped into for the role they were taking on. Alvara had fully embodied her moniker,The Angel Of Death. The confidence she emanated was staggering, like a royal among common men.
Alec’s focus was a weight on my face as he muttered, “You need help with that?”
Brows pinched, I looked around, dread coursing through me when I came up empty. Risking a glance his way, I found that devilish smirk twisting his mouth.
“With what?”
“That drool on your chin, rookie. Here, just a smidge.” He reached up a hand like he’d wipe my face, and I scowled as Jason and Marcus both choked back their laughter. Their amusement cracked my irritation, and I rolled my eyes, returning to watching her back.
“Oh, fuck off.” There was no bite to my tone, and his satisfied snort was all the answer I got before the shadows guttered. The bar they led us towards was bright under a yellow downlight that flickered, as though it knew what was within the walls it illuminated. “Sabotage” by The Beastie Boys blared over the speakers. A long line of choppers served as a fence between the road, and the line of people waiting for entry. Staring at phones, making out with neighbors, dragging on cigarettes, the line wrapped around the building. A river of mental and vocal chatter that Alvara didn’t so much as look at. My heart began to gallop, just as Alvara’s quickened infinitesimally.
“Alec.” She spoke his name like a command, and he gently set his hand between her shoulder blades, his shield rippling down her body in a wave. Her heart steadied. I stared at him in question, and he flashed a cocky crooked grin. Repeating the motion, he sent a pulse of magic down my spine. It steadied my body’s response to the terror shoving itself up my nose. The rest seemed to hold steady. Alvara and I somehow synchronized in our jolt of adrenaline, as though our bodies recoiled from the scent. The very vortex of energy around the building seemed heavy, like a weight had dropped into my stomach.
Alvara waltzed past the line of waiting people, causing a wave of protest. A sweaty middle-aged man snarled that she was a whore, and Fae shot a literal wink back. Of course, that aggravated him further. Alvara didn’t bother to glance his direction. The Westerlund brothers behind us only needed to cross their arms to silence them. A man built exclusively of sharp angles, in a too-tight-shirt stood as bouncer at the door, and Alvara made straight for him.
“There’s a line, ma’am,” he said gruffly. But when she draped herself onto his counter, resting her head on a hand, his heart began to bolt like a stallion freed from its pin.
“Hello handsome.” Fae sauntered up beside her, extended her delicate hand, and he reached to accept it on instinct. “I’m Kayla. This is Elizabeth.”
