“They’re feeding from you?” he asked, incredulous.
“Like I said, ten percent is our share. That’s why Neil and the others checked out. Sammael gave strict orders—no leaks of the Lebensborn-2 program. If we’re too weak to fight off a Mark attack, we are to take ourselves out of commission before we’re captured. I thought Charles would back me up when I argued against that, but I was wrong. He’s hot and a great fuck, but I’m not going back to Hell for anyone or anything. Especially not for a guy who thinks I am just a disposable piece of ass.”
Lebensborn. Alec’s fists clenched. Sammael considered the Holocaust his greatest masterpiece, his trial run for Armageddon. That he would revisit the horror, even in name only, made Alec fit to kill. “I’ve never met an Infernal willing to commit suicide.”
“You’ve never met an Infernal with Destruction on his tail,” Giselle retorted. “Charles warned us that if we returned to Hell as a traitor to the program, Sammael would make us pay. When the choices are to get ripped to shreds by a hellhound then tortured by the Prince or to kill yourself and wait in the earthbound queue, suicide is the lesser of the two crappy options.”
“You didn’t follow through.”
“Thanks to you.” She smiled. “What are the chances that you would come along? Cain of infamy, the only Mark powerful enough to give me a shot at staying on Earth. It has to be fate.”
Alec’s gaze lifted heavenward. He never knew at moments such as this whether he was following a divine plan or just monumentally cursed to always step into shit. Perhaps this was all part of an elaborate punishment for his machinations to resurrect Eve. If so, he would consider the price worth it.
“Are the puppies still with Charles?” he asked.
She nodded. “That’s why we want to drive in the other direction. They’re housed in a kennel dead center of a gated, wolf-only community. You’re good, but you aren’t that good.”
Alec turned the ignition. “Was that a dare?”
Giselle paled. “No! I didn’t mean it that way.”
He backed out of the parking spot and headed toward the northbound onramp. Brentwood was an hour away. “I’ve never been one to turn away from a challenge.”
Raguel. The archangel needed to be brought up to speed. Then, Alec would grill Giselle to formulate a plan of attack. And when he found a private moment, he would touch base with Eve and make sure she was okay. As long as she was doing fine, he could manage the rest.
“This isn’t a challenge, you idiot!” Giselle screeched. “This is a kamikaze mission. We. Are. Going. To. Die.”
Alec grinned, then opened the throttle.
CHAPTER 8
Eve hated horror movies. She didn’t believe she had ever watched an entire one. Usually she had her face buried in her hands or she left the room. Her best friend, Janice, refused to sit next to her during slasher flicks and boyfriends quickly learned that it was safest to stick to blow-’em-up action films. She loved to watch stuff explode, but creepy music and waiting for mass murderers to pop out of closets was too much suspense for her.
Too bad Richens hadn’t figured that out yet.
The Mark lagged behind her, as if she would be of any help at all during a surprise attack. He also exacerbated the problem by stage-whispering all manner of provoking statements, like: “Did you see that?,” “What was that noise?,” and “Do you smell anything?”
Thankfully, Edwards held his tongue, bringing up the rear with a silent stride. They were searching through the ground floor of a three-story building that was dressed as an office unit. It was the tallest building in Anytown and perhaps the most inhabited by vermin. Roaches climbed gray walls and rats dashed across the retro-patterned linoleum. A worn mannequin with a broken face staffed the receptionist desk, its dead eyes staring blankly. Eve shuddered and tried not to look at it. Her overactive imagination made her feel as if she was being watched with malicious intent.
Morning light spilled in through the windows, many of which were broken. Shards of glass shimmered on the dusty floor and crunched beneath their booted feet. Outside, the cries of seagulls filled the air with a mournful cacophony.
“This would have worked better at night,” Edwards said gruffly. “We’re open targets in the daylight.”
“Gadara says fifty percent of hunts are conducted during the day.” Richens snorted. “I’ll be asleep then.”