Fallen Darkness (The Trihune Series Book 2) (9 page)

Chapter 19

Kate came awake with a jerk. Her past taught her to make no noise when waking. She lay still, not moving, barely daring to breathe, waiting to figure out what had woken her. Light streamed through the stained glass. Was it morning or afternoon? She wasn’t smart enough to know the difference between a ten o’clock or a one o’clock sun. Although as many times as she’d woken here the past few days, she should’ve figured it out by now.

Maybe nothing had woken her. She’d fallen asleep last night with her jacket on. Had been warm all night. Almost too warm.

Voices drifted up to the balcony. Kate froze. They were directly underneath her.

“So you have no idea what it looks like?” A man asked.

“No,” came a quick, almost brusque reply. A throat cleared. “Just that it’s a key,” the same man said, this time his tone softened, was kind.

“Well, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I offer my services.”

“You’ve already helped us, Patrick,” a third voice said. “By allowing us to take over your home and share your meals.”

“Oh, no,” Patrick said. “It’s but my pleasure. The Trihune mission, our war, is important for the good of all.”

War? What were they talking about? The Trihune? Is that some religious term? Not like she’d know. She’d never been in church when it was officially open. Had she broken into some fanatic church? A cult who believed eradicating all the beer-drinking men or the strawberry blondes of the world would bring them everlasting salvation?

Their voices continued, growing softer until a door shut. Kate stayed where she was for a few minutes. Slowly raised her head above the railing. Clear. Bag in hand, she crept down the stairs. Paused on the last step, listened, though she couldn’t hear much over her pounding heart. She aimed for the closest door, slowly pressed the lever down, took a deep breath, threw it open, and raced through it. There were no shouts of alarm, but she didn’t slow until she was a block away.

Damn. That was close. She turned left at the next block, heading toward a grocery store with customer restrooms.

Clean up. Figure out what time it was. Probably get something to eat because if she didn’t she might pass out before her shift. Then find a new place to crash. The church had been nice while it lasted. Maybe she’d walk past the shelter. Find out exactly where it was located, so she’d know where to go after her shift ended tonight.

Chapter 20

Lucas had been in Philadelphia for a week now. He and the two Fathers, Gregory and Patrick, had found absolutely nothing. No big surprise there. One call to the HQ to inform Cade of their non-progress and the boss said he wanted them to search a while longer. Again, not really a surprise, but it pissed him off.

Halfway way through the week his hands started trembling. Probably just the need for blood. The Sept’s monthly blood ceremony with Elias would be taking place later in the week. Lucas would miss it.

Over the centuries, he’d missed a ceremony or two. Elias never said how long it would take for their Behn powers to fade if they stopped renewing his blood supply in their system, but Lucas had gone two months without it before and suffered no consequences. The hand shaking was new.

Of course, he’d partaken from Followers regularly during that time. Something he hadn't done in a while and the reason he was scouring the streets tonight. Between Father Patrick’s incessant eager to please puppy dog attitude, Lucas’s inability to block the
choghens
’ emotions, and the Parkinson’s hands routine, he needed a fix.

His gaze swept the streets, hand clutching the star in his pocket. A door suddenly opened in front of him and he grabbed it to avoid kissing the wood.

“Sorry about that,” A
zakaar
said, arm slung around a short, petite blonde.

Lucas nodded in response. Happiness bloomed in his chest followed by the urge to sigh. His lip curled, hand tightened on the door. He thought he’d at least get to escape love and contentment when he’d left Astoria.

The couple was taking too long to reach their car, so Lucas strode into the building they’d just vacated. The door closed behind him and he breathed a sigh of relief as the lovey dovey, made him want to puke, feelings disappeared.

Until he realized where he stood.

A bar. Jam-packed with Followers. He stiffened. An assault of feelings vied for dominance. Joy. Lust. Shame. Sorrow. Contentment. Anticipation. Worry. Disgust.

Lucas was going to explode. He no longer noticed the sharp points of the star digging into his skin, though the scent of blood wafted up to his nostrils.

A wall. He needed his buffer back, or whatever it was that didn’t make this so difficult. Yesterday at dinner he’d attempted to block Father Patrick but it took so much effort he grew exhausted after five minutes.

Now Lucas envisioned a shining light, the light of the Creator, the glow often surrounding Elias. He imagined it enclosing his mind. Tucked in the edges. No breaks, no bubbles, no ripples. Tight, taut, encompassing, protecting. A barricade. Not a reflective barrier, but one that would destroy the infiltrators on contact. The emotions in his system began to die off. His heart rate decreased, blood slowed, muscles relaxed.

It was only himself. Only himself. Only—

“Are you okay?”

His eyes flashed open and met a pair of dark chocolate brown ones. Concerned, from her expression. Surprisingly there were no warm breezes drifting along his bloodstream. His barrier worked. A smile broke over his face.

Thank you, Creator. Thank you.

Then he fully took in the Follower standing in front of him. His breath caught in his throat. She was . . .

A mess.

Circles shadowed her eyes, so dark they were almost purple, as if she hadn’t slept in months. She was too skinny like she wasn’t eating either. Her cheeks had an unhealthy flush. Strands of hair stuck to her face as if she’d been sweating. The rest of her hair was thrown back in a sloppy ponytail.

The black jeans hugging her long legs had seen better days. Her three-quarter sleeved shirt was a size too tight, clinging to her breasts in a way that, well, made him want to pant. His eyes lowered to the black gloves that disappeared underneath her shirtsleeves. When his gaze traveled back to her face he saw the hard look in her expression. One he recognized from over the centuries. Life was an upward battle and most days she was losing.

Yes, individually, she was a mess, but as a whole?

Not. At. All.

He wanted to touch her. Buy her a meal. Talk to her. Learn how her words coincided with her emotions.

“Hello?”

A rush went through him at her tone. So many layered emotions in that one word.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you coming in or just going to stand in the doorway all night?”

“Sorry.” He started forward.

She waved a hand to the almost full lounge. “There’s an open table in the back or seats available at the bar.”

Before he could utter a word, she walked away.

Air suddenly vanished from his chest. Loss.

Frowning, he rubbed his sternum, staring after the
nheqeba
. What did she grieve?

She disappeared behind a swinging door and he turned to the room, expecting an onslaught of emotions. Nothing happened. Perhaps the barrier was faulty, had holes. He’d take it. A trickle was better than a gusher.

His gaze traveled to the door that was still swinging, probably led to a kitchen.

Even if it turned into a gusher, he’d stay. At least for a little while.

Lucas chose the table in the back, ordering a drink and some food when his waitress appeared. Disappointment flashed when he realized it wasn’t the
nheqeba’s
section.

Over the next hour the female’s gaze flicked in his direction as if she could sense his interest. Did she reciprocate it? Or did she think he was a stalkerish creep? At that thought, he tried not to get caught staring.

She was good at her job. The customers liked her. The
zakaars
more so. One in particular.

A roar sounded in his ears. His gaze swiveled the room, searching for the Follower who was about to erupt. He’d move the
nheqeba
out of harm’s way.

The searched proved futile. Most of the guests were drunk or on their way to it. None of the workers seemed angry or upset. Maybe it was only a flash of irritation inflamed by alcohol.

Lucas waved over his waitress. “Another scotch, please.” He’d stay a little while longer. To make sure nothing happened. It was his duty to protect, after all.

He sipped his drink, gaze travelling to the
zakaar
in a side booth. The male’s stares at the female practically rivaled his own. He was tall, broad shouldered, wearing a suit—off the rack—and an
I’m the shit
attitude. His entourage apparently believed it because they laughed at everything he said. Not even half of the drivel flying out of his mouth was crack a smile funny.

The
nheqeba
blocked his view of the table. She was delivering drinks to the
zakaar
. A roar blasted in his ears again, but Lucas was too busy listening to the male’s lewd suggestions to figure out who it was coming from. As she walked away, the
zakaar
grabbed her by the waist and yanked her to his knee.

The
nheqeba
stilled. Fear flashed across her face before she laughed—a forced awful chuckle. She wriggled out of his arms, and once on her feet moved well out of reach.

“Did you need something, honey?”

Startled, Lucas glanced down at the waitress. Only then did he realize he’d moved, and was now standing, halfway across the bar, hands clenched. Followers at the surrounding tables gawked. Lucas pivoted, walked back to his seat, watching the
nheqeba
out of the corner of his eye.

Was she okay? Her expression said yes, but the tightness around her eyes and stiff shoulders said something else. She fiddled with her sleeves, tugged them down one at a time before pulling on the hem of her shirt.

“Another scotch? Or something more to eat?”

The waitress had followed him back to his table. He moved his gaze to her and was presented with a black-laced cleavage shot. Oh, and she had a belly button ring.

“How about dessert? It’s on a special menu. Only offered to certain guests.”

He blinked, glanced at her fully, finally interpreting her expression. One he’d seen countless times over the centuries. A look most welcomed on ceremony nights.

Lucas forced a smile. The waitress with short, dyed, black hair, and too much eyeliner inhaled sharply, pupils dilating.

“Just another scotch, please.” He widened his smile to take the sting out of his rejection.

She blinked slowly before shaking her head. “Coming right up.”

The
nheqeba’s
tray was full when she walked from the bar. Extremely full. But she handled it with ease as if the tray were an extension of her arm, a relaxed expression as if the weight didn’t bother her. Nevertheless, Lucas had to stop himself from taking it from her grasp.

She passed out drinks, smiled, and talked with customers. Lucas watched the
zakaar
watching the
nheqeba
. There was a predatory gleam in the male’s eyes. He knew that look. Wore it when hunting Fallen. Lust was in that gaze, too.

Lucas’s hand tightened around his drink. Minuscule sounds of cracking glass reached his ears, and he had to force himself to relax.

The
zakaar
spoke. The whole table laughed, glanced at the
nheqeba
. She was serving a table near their booth. The
nheqeba
finished unloading her tray, said a few words, and headed down the aisle.

The slap across her bottom rang across the room.

Lucas froze. When the
zakaar’s
table burst into laughter, a low growl escaped from him. The
nheqeba
stilled, her back to the males, before continuing to the next table, her smile bright as she collected empty glasses and listened to refill orders.

A soft gasp broke into his thoughts. Lucas met his waitress’s startled gaze. “Your eyes,” she said on a breath.

Fuck.
He dropped his head, blinked, and glanced up, frowning. “What about them?”

The waitress’s forehead wrinkled. “Never mind. Must’ve been the lights.” She set his drink on the table. “You’ll let me know if there’s anything you need?” Her finger trailed down his arm.

“Of course.” He flashed a smile before his gaze found the
nheqeba
again. She was watching him. He straightened, wishing the waitress hadn’t touched him. Did the
nheqeba
think he liked her co-worker? The waitress said something else and left. Lucas held the
nheqeba’s
stare until someone called her and she turned away.

She worked harder than any other in the place. When she wasn’t refilling drinks at her own table, she ran to the kitchen with orders, wiped tables, even those not in her section, and helped the bartender pour drinks when it was slammed. His
nheqeba
didn’t like to sit still too long.

His gaze ran over her gloves. She hadn’t taken them off once. When a customer knocked into her and liquid splashed across her shirt and gloves, she used a wet cloth from behind the bar to wipe off the spill. Why was she wearing them? No other worker in the bar wore gloves. Did she have a deformity?

She hadn’t looked at him again. He wanted to motion her over. Tell her he was interested.

That wouldn’t be wise, though. It wasn’t like he could take her out on a date.

Lucas paused, glass halfway to his lips.

Did he actually want to date her?

Yes.

But he couldn’t. It was forbidden. Unless she was his
bahshrett
. His heart leapt, then his shoulders sagged. She wasn’t. He’d felt her emotions at the door, her grief when she walked away.

This would have to be enough. It would definitely make his stay in Philadelphia bearable. He tipped the glass and drained the sweet, smoky drink.

“Another one?” his waitress purred.

“Yes, please.” The
nheqeba
was at the
zakaar’s
table again.

Annoyance flashed. Startled, Lucas glanced at his waitress. She didn’t seem pissed, but he hadn’t misread the emotion flowing through him.

“Would you like some peanuts, or anything else?”

“Not necessary. Just the scotch.” He smiled, forcing his gaze to stay on the waitress until she turned away.

The
nheqeba
was still with the
zakaar
. If the male laid a hand on her again Lucas wouldn’t be able to control his reaction. The bartender had glanced in that direction more than once over the last few hours, concern etched on her face, but she hadn’t interfered.

Lucas hadn’t realized he was even considering it until the
zakaar
got up to leave. When his entourage followed, Lucas threw enough bills on the table to pay for his tab with a little extra to soften his rejection toward the waitress.

Outside he waited until the others had departed to make his move.

He closed the distance quickly. Placed his hand on the back of the
zakaar’s
neck above the collar of his jacket. Pushed the urge to sleep through his system.