Burning Dawn (Angels of the Dark #3)(24)
Author: Gena Showalter

Different degrees of anger, amusement and indifference met his announcement. Even still, he was obeyed without question. Their determination to remain in the skies, wings intact, was stronger than their emotions.

If only it were that easy for me.

What Thane learned: the nightclubs with the highest demon activity had been searched. So had the homes with the darkest auras. A handful of demons had been captured and tortured, but no new information had been gleaned.

The result: the Sent Ones were no closer to answers.

If you wanted a different result, you had to do something different.

If I were the incarnation of evil, and had just killed Germanus, the king of my greatest enemy, I would expect said enemy to come after me, determined to punish me. So, where would I hide?

First, Thane wouldn’t hide. He wasn’t a coward. But demons most definitely were.

Then again, demons were also braggarts.

So…which would prevail? The cowardice or the pride?

Pride. It almost always did. And pride would demand…what?

Ego stroking. Yes. If the demon couldn’t brag about what he’d done in the skies, he would resort to bragging about what he’d done down here. Human accolades were better than none.

“The demon we’re looking for has probably possessed a human in some kind of position of power. I want a list of the fifty most influential people in the area. I’m willing to bet someone has recently experienced a dark metamorphosis.”

The anger, amusement and indifference shifted to intrigue.

“I’ll do it,” Jamilla said. Having been tortured by demons only a few months ago, she relished every chance to strike back. “I’ll need at least twenty-four hours to go through our annals and put the list together.”

The annals recorded every move every human ever made, every word ever spoken. But because free will always played a part, demonic influence wasn’t mentioned with regards to the decisions made.

He nodded. “Koldo, talk to the rest of Zacharel’s army. Send the soldiers out to watch over and protect as many citizens of New York as possible. Axel, talk to Clerici. Perhaps he can speak with the Most High and have angels dispatched, as well.”

Both warriors nodded.

“Everyone is to come to the Downfall tomorrow night. We’ll plan our next move then.”

He waited until he received some sort of agreement from each of the warriors before flaring his wings and darting into the air.

A few seconds later, Xerxes was beside him. I know you’re worried despite Bjorn’s words, as am I, but this has happened to him several times before. He’ll be back at the club before nightfall.

Thane released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. As usual, his friend had known the crux of his problem. Does he suffer?

He must, Xerxes answered honestly. Upon his return, he reacts as he does after sex.

Bjorn hated to be touched. That rarely stopped him from taking a lover—Thane often thought his friend hoped to prove something to himself—but he always ended up withdrawing into the darkness of his mind for days afterward.

Thane swallowed a curse as he landed on the roof of the club, a flat strip of smoked glass—like Elin’s eyes—leading to his private wing. So badly he wished he could take Bjorn’s place.

Bjorn had suffered so much already, and edged ever closer to his breaking point. Familiar helplessness battered against Thane’s composure, guilt a noose around his neck, choking him.

“Cario,” Xerxes suddenly roared. He jumped the ledge of the roof and arrowed through the night sky.

Thane searched and found the girl climbing the side of the building in an effort to sneak past one of the windows.

A few weeks ago, she had come to the club. A woman of questionable origins, like William the Ever Randy, and clearly powerful, with the ability to read others’ thoughts. Thane had made a play for her. She had said no, but offered herself to Xerxes. Before the two could retire to the bedroom, she made the mistake of revealing what she’d gleaned from their thoughts.

It had enraged them all.

Thane had kicked her out and forbade her from returning. On her way out, she’d looked at Xerxes and said, “Remember me.”

Now, she noticed Xerxes’s approach and screeched, releasing the brick to fall down, down, down, hurtling toward the earth.

Xerxes followed, determined to catch her.

Poor girl. When he got his hands on her, he would interrogate her—to death. She kept coming back, and he wanted to know why.

Perhaps his questions would finally be met with answers.

Questions. Answers.

A reminder. Anticipation swept through Thane. He had his own interrogation to oversee, did he not?

* * *

UGH. SUMMONED BY the Big Cheese for their get-to-know-Elin chat.

She had just finished practicing with the Multiple Scorgasms. Three hours trapped inside the gym next door to Thane’s club. Today, she had not only been taught the art of throwing boulders too heavy for her to lift at targets moving too quickly for her to see, she was also given her nickname. Bonka Donk.

Yeah. A real winner.

Savy was Black Cawk. Don’t ask anyone why. The girls snickered every time they said the name, and Elin was afraid she would, as well. Chanel was Alcoballic. Bellorie was The Little Red Rocket That Could—Rocket for short. Octavia was Kobra Kai.

They were as serious about their nicknames as they were about their victories.

Adrian held open the double doors, his expression blank. Great. Would giving her a hint about Thane’s mood have killed him? Elin reluctantly entered the sitting room. I’m totally used to the luxury now. I won’t gawk. I won’t.

“I’ll be waiting in the hall when you are ready to return,” Adrian said, and sealed her inside.

Thane relaxed at the edge of a backless couch, his blond curls surprisingly tamed. I do not want to run my fingers through those curls. The robe he wore was a brilliant white, almost blinding, and without a speck of dirt. I do not want to peel the material from his body and feast on the muscles he displayed at camp.

She wasn’t attracted to him anymore.

Tension radiated from him, making him appear bigger, stronger. More aggressive.

I’m not intrigued by that.

I’m not drawn to him.

I’m scared. Right.

“Sit,” he said.

Though she wanted to run—because she was scared, dang it—she forced herself to claim the chair across from him. Already the air seemed drenched in the most expensive champagne, with hints of cinnamon, making her head swim. And this close to Thane, the scents only intensified. Did they come from him?