Coming Darkness

Two-2

“And probably more fun,” Kai added, before tripping over a large, orange tabby. “You did that on purpose,” he accused. The cat blinked and chirruped back innocently. He had no doubt that both Uriel and the cat were laughing at him. “Do that again, and you'll be warming my feet as a pair of slippers,” he told the cat, who continued to appear maddeningly unfazed.

“It was my understanding, vampire, that your kind is celebrated for its heightened reflexes.” Uriel's lips curved, hinting at a smile. “Perhaps the centuries spent with my brother have made you soft.”

Kai stopped walking and turned to face him. “You would make yourself unwelcome so soon, Uriel?”

The archangel looked it at him, assessing. He inclined his head. “Careful, vampire, lest you become thin-skinned in your old age.”

Kai couldn't help the smirk. Despite his discomfort, he liked Uriel. They resumed walking.

Eventually they came to a stop at a row of hedges. There were no cats on the other side. Uriel put the grey cat he was holding gently on the ground and gave it one last stroke.

“Those runes on the edge,” he pointed out a line of stones, “keep the cats from crossing the boundary of the hedge. The amount of effort, time, and expense Gregory put into warding the property is impressive. He is well protected from all but my kind—and you, of course.”

Te had told Kai that Gregory had magical deterrents, which, due to Kai's protections, neither of them had taken seriously. The cats had been a surprise, but thanks to Uriel, they had been only a minor inconvenience. It all proved Gregory's guilt rather eloquently. No one went to this much trouble if they weren't hiding from something.

* * *

Roberta's stomach growled. She wondered if she could get away to get something to eat, maybe bring the Asshole his dinner as well. Bound to get yelled at either way, after a quick look around to make sure that nothing needed doing right then, she decided to chance it. On the way past the door to the inner office, she listened, trying to determine if he was winding up the phone call and would be calling for her soon. He was still engaged, so she kept moving toward the office's outer doors.

Taking a fortifying breath, she stepped out of the office, keeping her head down and eyes on the floor. Moving quickly, she passed the Asshole's bodyguards stationed along the hall. Asian in countenance, tall and lean, they wore their hair long, varying in style from a single, thick braid to many braids tied back from their faces. Dressed identically in black, with intricate tattoos in the tribal style on every inch of uncovered skin, they had an air of menace about them that always made her stomach twist. They didn't carry guns that she could see, but each had a mean-looking blade attached to his hip. She wasn't afraid of them exactly. They just made her uneasy.

Having made it through the bodyguard gauntlet, she took a relieved breath as she turned down the corridor toward the cafeteria. Once again, her eyes didn't roam as she passed the stone statues that lined the walls at regular intervals.

The Iron Lady had horrible taste in art. The hideous things were all over the place. Then there were the nasty knick-knacks on the Asshole's desk and shelves, some of which looked like they could have been made from parts of real animals—or people. Thinking about them made her shiver in disgust. Once, when she'd commented on the décor, the Iron Lady told her that both she and the Asshole loved primitive art and that they made frequent trips to forgotten places around the world specifically to add unusual pieces to their collection.

Upon entering the cafeteria, she immediately forgot her train of thought and stood frowning at the menu for a moment. Once recovered, she decided on a cheeseburger with bleu cheese and fries for herself—damn the calories—and meatloaf with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables for the Asshole. Undoubtedly he would look at her plate and ask her if she'd “ever seen a salad, ha ha.” She would laugh politely and wish she'd poisoned his meatloaf.

Of course she knew she was fat; it was obvious, like having brown eyes. But there were other things about her body that she was happy with. At six feet tall, she towered over both the Asshole and the Iron Lady, with heels and without. Her hair was long, thick, and heavy, and she loved how it accepted a curl or color at her whim. She favored a reddish-brown dye for it, believing it gave life to her otherwise unremarkable appearance. It didn't all have to center on her weight, and she was fine with that.

Unfortunately, when she'd been to see her parents last Christmas, her mother, a perfect size six, had turned her nose up at Roberta's insistence that her weight not be a topic of discussion. Since Roberta had “thrown away” her “promising career in entertainment,” her mother felt that she should understand that all she had was her looks, actually putting forth the question—what man wants a fat wife?

Roberta was probably all of ten when she'd realized her mother was delusional when it came to her daughter's supposed talents. She'd suffered through dance classes, painfully aware that she wasn't graceful, a realization that sapped her confidence, which in turn made her an even worse dancer—as if that were possible. She had nightmares about singing classes. Regardless of how much she'd practiced, she could not make her voice match the music. She was hopelessly tone deaf and tormented by guilt because of her lack of ability.

Still, she'd gone along with it, enduring the embarrassed looks by the other kids and parents as her mother bragged about how Roberta would be a star. Passable at acting, she'd managed a few commercials as a young adult, but after a very frank—and private—talk with her agent, Roberta had quit.

Temp work had been her salvation. Finding that she had a knack for office work gave her a deep sense of pride—finally she was good at something. Of course, her mother never forgave her and still lamented the fact that she'd squandered her chance at stardom. Subsequently, holiday trips and the occasional phone call was about all the contact with her family that she could stand.

When the meals were ready and packaged, she gathered them and made her way back to the office, wondering whether the Asshole had noticed she was gone or not. Afraid she had been away too long, she decided to take the back way through the kitchen. It would get her back to the office much quicker than if she returned the way she had come.

When she returned, the inner office doors were open, and she could hear the Asshole yelling. Assuming he was yelling at her—she seemed to be the only person he ever yelled at—Roberta momentarily tuned him out while she placed her dinner on her desk. Standing straight and tightening her mental armor, Roberta carried his dinner to his office, prepared for a verbal lashing.

* * *

Once Kai passed the hedge border, he caught a scent and understood why the cats were confined to the lawn. Scenting the air more thoroughly told him that there were five werewolves ahead. He didn't need his nose to tell him that they were all half-breeds, as no pureblood were would ever work for a human.

Taking off at speed, he headed straight for them. They stood in a group near the second checkpoint. The shifts must have just changed; they were at ease, laughing and smoking.

Not slowing, using surprise to his advantage, Kai snapped the necks of two of them. Half-breeds only changed during the full moon, and since that was a few weeks away, the best they had to answer his challenge was heightened senses and speed. Given his age alone, it wasn't even close to being enough. They circled him, preparing to pounce. He dodged one, intending to leap at another when three flaming arrows appeared out of nowhere, taking them out instantly.

“Dammit, Uriel.” Kai spun toward his offending companion.

“Come along, vampire. Don't dawdle,” Uriel said as he passed, heading up the driveway.

Disarmed, the bark of laughter from his own throat surprised Kai. Implausible as it was, he was more amused than irritated. He jogged up the road and stopped alongside the archangel. Two mongrel guards stood talking near the entrance. They appeared calm, not having heard the commotion from further down the driveway.

“From now on, let me handle it,” Kai said, giving Uriel a sidelong look.

“As you wish, vampire.”

“I have a name, you know,” he muttered, before walking up the driveway toward the guards.

“Of course. Vampire,” Uriel replied.

Kai snorted and shook his head. He'd never get the last word.

Moving toward the mongrels, he felt gleeful anticipation at the opportunity to stomp out two bastards of the race. Reigning in his hatred, he strolled up the driveway, reminding himself that he was here in a professional capacity, and that called for him to dispatch them cleanly, without lingering long enough to t*****e. Knowing they couldn't sense him, he moved at a leisurely pace, giving them ample time to see him. Once they spotted him, the one closest to him raised his g*n.

“That's far enough,” he said.

“Mongrels with guns,” Kai replied, not slowing his pace. “If you had any self-respect, you'd be ashamed.”

“Maybe you'll rethink that,” the grinning guard replied and pulled the trigger.

The round hit Kai in the upper chest. He grunted in pain even as he sprinted forward, grabbed the g*n, and smashed it through the guard's head. The other guard shot him in the back.

Kai cursed, turned, and leapt, snatching the g*n while simultaneously kicking out and breaking the guard's legs. The guard screamed and fell to the ground. Kai broke the g*n in half and threw the pieces away.

Even now he could feel the bullets working their way back out. He didn't like being shot, and he would probably use more effort to avoid the bullets but for one thing—the look on his assailants' faces when the bullets didn't stop him. It was worth the pain every time.

“When the first bullet didn't take me down, you should have switched tactics,” he admonished, squatting down to address the guard at eye level.

The shocked guard tried to shrink back and away. “Those bullets were not only silver, but they were blessed and soaked in holy water. You were supposed to go down with the first shot.”

“Unfortunately for you, I didn't.” The sound of the bullets hitting the ground punctuated his reply. He pulled a flask from his coat, unscrewed the cap, then took a mouthful, and swallowed. Reaching out with the flask in his hand, he poured a little on the guard who screamed and tried to move away. His terrified eyes fixed on Kai.

“What are you?”

“Is that really relevant considering your current state?”

The mongrel on the ground looked helplessly back at him. Kai took another sip of the holy water. “Gregory. Where is he?” The guard's eyes never left the flask.

“How do I know you won't pour any more on me?”

“You don't. What you should have guessed, however, is that I certainly will if you don't answer correctly.” Following through, Kai poured another thin stream over the vampire's broken legs, eliciting more screams.

“Please—down the hall and to the left. Stop,” the guard pleaded, frantically waving his arms.

Kai inclined his head. “Thank you.” He recapped the flask, pocketed it, and then stood up to leave.

“Wait,” the guard cried after him. At Kai's inquiring look, he spoke again. “You can't leave me like this.” He gestured to his broken and melting legs.