Death Lord

9

My fingers tightened around the whiskey glass, as I remembered the utter terror I’d felt when I couldn’t reach them anymore. I’d packed up and flown down here as soon as I could, taking on the investigation myself. But when I’d gotten here, all I’d found was a cold trail, and rumors of the Grim Reaper of New Orleans that was enacting vigilante vengeance around the city. The Grim Reaper...who turned out to be Belial—my father’s murderer.

I took another sip of whiskey and made my voice calm again as I looked up at Belial. “When I came to investigate, the only person I found killing shifters was you. No trace of my brothers, or any other leads. Their trail simply went cold.”

Belial refilled his whiskey glass as he considered my words. “I have no idea what happened to your brothers, but I have noticed something odd in the city recently. I’ve noticed the shifters here have been attacking humans more often than ever before, and when I try to stop them, they’re often filled with an almost mindless, animal rage, like they can’t control their wrath.”

“That’s odd,” I said, frowning. Shifters always had a problem with rage, of course. We were the demons of wrath, although we could feed on any strong passionate emotion. Anger was just the easiest one to find and provoke.

“The people in New Orleans also seem more violent and angry lately,” Belial said. “There’s been a major uptick in violent crimes committed every day. The news channels are all telling people to be home before dark just to be safe.” He let out a frustrated breath. “I’m doing the best that I can to protect the city, but I can’t be everywhere at once. It’s getting out of hand, and I’d just like to find the source.”

You and me both, I thought, looking him over. He seemed genuinely upset, but he could be a very good actor. I still didn’t trust him.

“Do you have any leads at all?” he asked. “You mentioned that your brothers said they found something that could possibly help.”

“They never got to share the information with me,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m staying at Hotel Immortelle like my brothers were, but I didn’t find any information there on what happened to them. It’s like they just vanished.”

“Hmm.” Belial downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and then considered me again. “I suggest we get some rest and then start searching. I’m sure you’re exhausted after stalking me all night and trying to kill me.”

“Does this mean I’ll be going back to that wonderful dungeon you have in the basement?” I glared at him. “Are you going to chain me up again?”

“Not if you control yourself.” Belial turned a lazy grin on me. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing?”

The sultry purr in his voice sent an unwanted rush of desire through me. “With you? No way in hell.”

He chuckled low in his throat, like he knew I was lying, as he gathered our glasses and put them in the sink. “Fine, no chains, but you’ll stay with me tonight so I can keep an eye on you.”

“Lucky me,” I muttered. I could already tell this was going to be a long night.

6

EIRA

B

elial led me back out the way we’d come and up the stairs again, to a heavy metal door protected by an electronic lock. I watched as Belial unlocked it with a code and then ushered me inside, to what I assumed must be his living room. It was the epitome of masculinity, with exposed brick walls, dark wood framing, and a leather couch that looked both impressive and comfortable. A huge TV sat on one end, while shelves crammed full of books, both new and old, lined the opposite wall. Big windows looked out over the French Quarter, along with a balcony draped in thick, dark curtains. I spotted an open kitchen with dark granite counters and stainless steel appliances, along with a dark metal dining table, and a hallway leading off to more doors, presumably bedrooms. It was all exactly what I’d expect from someone like Belial, except for one thing: the art all along the walls. Dozens of paintings that looked like they came from all different eras, as if he’d stolen each one from a different part of an art museum. I didn’t know enough about art to know the artists or even the eras, but I had to admit that the man kept surprising me.

Belial stalked across the room to the hallway, where he grabbed a blanket and a pillow from a cabinet. “You can sleep on the couch.”

He shoved both of them at me and I eyed him warily. “You actually expect me to sleep here?”

“Sleep or don’t, that’s your problem.” He loomed over me, his eyes dark and deadly. “Just don’t even think about running.”

“Or what? You’ll chase me down and chain me up again?” I rolled my eyes.

“If you try to run, my horse will stop you.”

“Horse?” I asked, looking around. It had to be a metaphor of some sort. “What horse?”

“That one.” Belial gestured behind me.

I turned and immediately jumped, because a huge pale gray horse had somehow appeared behind me without making a sound. It was bigger than any horse I’d seen in my life, and had glowing purple eyes. I’d seen a lot of stuff in my time, but I could still be shocked. “Where the hell did that come from?” I asked, gaping at the horse. Despite it’s very equine face, I had the feeling that it was looking at me with disdain, like I was a fly on its back that it could flick away with a single swish of its tail. It probably could. Those purple eyes gave me the creeps.