Night Falls on the Wicked - By Sharie Kohler Page 0,74

she didn’t have to spend her life alone. That she had him. Always.

He looked down at the little girl staring up at him so expectantly. He stroked a hand over her downy-soft hair.

Aimee buried her face in his chest. “I want Darby.”

“I know, sweetheart. So do I. So do I.”

He’d find her. Even if it took surrendering to that part of himself that he had vowed to kill, to keep buried inside himself forever.

There was no question about what he needed to do. Darby had done the unthinkable. He could do this. He would.

He wouldn’t lose her.

TWENTY-FIVE

It took longer than he liked to find someone to watch Aimee but he didn’t want to leave the child with just anyone—not after what she’d been through. He couldn’t do that to her. Or to Darby. Darby had sacrificed herself to see that Aimee was safe. He had to make sure she stayed that way.

The concierge directed him to a sweet-faced girl who worked in the gift shop. Turned out she was an art student. The moment she sat down with Aimee and began to draw pictures of zebras and teddy bears, the girl was transported to another world. Satisfied she was happy and in good hands, Niklas slipped away with no worries for her.

He left his guns behind. He knew enough about demons to know that guns wouldn’t work. Just as with lycans, there were specific methods to killing demons. If he could lure the demon inside Darby out into the open, then a blade would be his only option.

He carried the weapon in his coat pocket as he walked the quiet streets. He lifted his face to the frigid air, searching for a scent of Darby. If she was close, he could detect her. After their time together, it would be a certainty. She was in his blood now.

If he wanted more range, wanted to deepen his senses, then he would have to shift … have to become the hunter that burned at the core of him.

He headed through the park, where the trail of her died, vanishing into the bitterly fierce wind. He detoured off the path and found a copse of trees with snow-heavy branches that hung low, brushing the frozen earth. Ducking under the cover of those heavy branches, he stood shielded, hidden from view.

He waited, watched, peering through the latticework of frozen branches at the stillness of the park, assuring himself that no one was around. The quiet paths, the lonely benches. No one walked the park this early in the morning, especially on a day so cold. He released a resigned breath. Warm fog puffed out from his lips.

With a determined clench to his jaw, he stripped off his clothes and secured the knife to his thigh. His adrenaline pumped hard, shielding him from the worst of the cold as he stood naked, his skin tightening, pores shrinking in reaction to the freezing temperature but also in preparation for what was to come. What he willed to happen.

That warmth that was always there, simmering just beneath the surface, burst free. His veins burned hotly, his heart hammering at a frantic tempo. Air rushed from his mouth in spurts. Dipping his head, he moaned low in his throat. A scratchy, tingling sensation that bordered on pain overwhelmed his body. He threw back his head. Arched his spine. His moans grew louder and he bit his lips, not wanting to attract attention. He brought his hands to his face, clutching his cheeks. He felt his bones alter, ever so slightly stretching, pulling …

For once he let go, no longer struggling to hang on to himself. His emotions surged to the surface right along with the beast. He thought of Darby and the demon who had her. A red haze clouded his visions.

He couldn’t stop himself. He lifted his face high to the morning wind and released a howl.

He was overwhelmed by myriad scents. Countless foods, human aromas, all manner of rotting debris from Dumpsters littering alleyways.

He sifted through the odors, hunting for one. Subtle and soft, clean as soap with an underlying hint of vanilla. It was inherently Darby and he would know it anywhere.

After several moments it was there. He found it.

With a low growl in the back of his throat, he tore free from where he hid in the trees, moving so fast that the human eye would only see a blur and not his monstrous form.

His heart pounded at an unbelievable rate, matching the rhythm