Chapter Two
Dane
I was almost through the downtown area of Ashwood when the wail of the siren behind me spiked my anxiety. For half a second, I debated going faster. I was nowhere near far enough away from that insane fight.
But I pulled to the curb, letting out a shaky breath as I put the car into Park. My hands were trembling so badly that I couldn’t even run my fingers through my hair. If I’d known barbecue came with a supernatural showdown, I’d have grabbed some nachos at a gas station instead.
Damn my weakness for barbecue.
In the side mirror, red and blue lights bounced off buildings and parked cars, casting a disorienting glow. It was hard to see behind me with those bright-as-shit headlights, but I managed to watch the cop get out of his car and stride my way.
Getting pulled over felt almost comical in the grand scheme of things, but my gut still tightened. God, the guy was huge. His arms were the size of my freaking thighs.
“Just breathe, Dane. Act normal,”
I muttered, even though I wasn’t sure I remembered what normal was anymore. Not since Osiris.
As he drew closer to my car, I rolled the window down. The night air was cool against my skin, and I realized then how badly I was sweating.
The guy had a rugged, chiseled jawline and a strong stance, his hand resting confidently on his utility belt. But his overpowering cologne made my nose twitch in irritation, causing an urge to sneeze. “Can you take a wild guess at how fast you were going?”
“Clearly too fast or you wouldn’t have pulled me over.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I bit my lip hard enough to sting. My nerves were going to land me in jail if I didn’t pull myself together.
But every time I tried to calm down, all I could see was Osiris’s menacing eyes and feel Malachi’s lips on my skin.
He shot black bolts and you’re thinking about his lips? Idiot.
Dragging in a shaky breath, I glanced up, trying to focus on the cop instead of the mental trainwreck playing out in my head.
Instead of the cop looking pissed, the side of his mouth curled up, like he was amused. “You would be correct.”
He shifted slightly, glancing at something to his right. The glint of his gold-plated nametag caught my eye. Sheriff Whitmore. Great. It just had to be a sheriff.
His gaze pinned me. “Since I’m in a generous mood, here’s the deal. Give me a good reason, and I’ll let you off with a warning.”
My grip on the wheel caused my fingers to cramp. “How good does it have to be?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was waiting for me to dig my own grave.
A thousand excuses shot through my head, but none stuck. Fuck it. If he wanted a good reason, I was about to hand him a doozy. Deep breath in, long breath out. Don’t sound crazy. Don’t sound crazy.
“I just fled a supernatural battle between a dark…whatever and a demon who were throwing electricity, furniture, and nasty attitudes at each other.”
My breath hitched. “I wasn’t sticking around to find out who won.”
Nope. That didn’t sound crazy in the slightest. It sounded like I was a straight-up lunatic.
The sheriff’s grip tightened slightly on his utility belt, the leather creaking in protest. “Where?”
I blinked. “Where…what?”
“Where did the fight happen?”
he asked in a firm tone. Before I could reply, he snatched his phone from his pocket and started typing. Then he paused and looked expectantly at me.
“The place was called Flaming Wings.”
The name wasn’t lost on me.
He immediately switched from texting to making a call, but turned away before I could hear what he was saying.
Either Whitmore believed me or he was arranging for me to be sent to a mental health facility.
After hanging up, he looked right at me. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Was this guy for real? “Like…details?”
I sneezed. His cologne was starting to give me a migraine.
“Were there any customers there besides you?”
“Uh, yeah.”
A knot formed in my stomach. The customers had been stuck in that eerie stillness, and now I wondered if any of them had been hurt. My mind flashed to the little girl, the elderly couple, and the pregnant woman I’d spotted just before I’d bolted out the door. I didn’t want anything to happen to them. “The place was packed.”
Whitmore cursed under his breath before returning to his call. “We’ve got a full house there, Chase.”
My skin prickled when he gripped his phone tightly, his eyes straying back to me. “Use your goddamn imagination. Just get them out of there.”
My mouth felt dry, and my jaw tensed up. I hated the fact I even knew Osiris, but it was my fault those innocent people were in danger. The demon was after me, and they were just innocent bystanders. Being frozen wouldn’t protect them from stray bolts of electricity or flying projectiles.
Everything in me wanted to go back and make sure they were all right, but my survival instincts and overwhelming terror wouldn’t allow me to.
For months I had been running from Osiris, always looking over my shoulder. Seeing him tonight, hearing his voice, brought back horrifying memories of what he’d done to me. I arched my back slightly, as if that could ease the ache that erupted just thinking about Osiris. The intense hatred I felt for him made my breathing heavy and uneven as I glanced at the sheriff.
When Whitmore turned back around, his broad shoulders practically blocked out the streetlights, giving him a strange, ethereal glow. “Step out of the car.”
“ Why ?”
The word slipped out before I could stop it, my voice higher than intended.
One of his eyebrows arched. “You want me to say please?”
With trembling hands, I reluctantly pushed the door open. Whitmore stepped back, giving me space to climb out without feeling trapped.
He didn’t say anything at first, just gave me this slow, assessing look that made me want to retreat. It was the same kind of look my dad used to give me.
Right before he knocked me upside the head.
I sneezed.
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
Just choking on your scent. At least now I was out of my car, a breeze carrying his smell away from me before my nostrils were permanently damaged. If he was going to drench himself, he could have picked a less repulsive fragrance. It was like inhaling a mixture of dirty socks and gasoline.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Considering what you just told me…”
The contrast between his composed words and my frantic thoughts was almost unbearable.
“Wait.”
I squinted up at him. “You’re…you’re not calling the psych ward, are you?”
For the first time, Whitmore’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. “No.”
“Well, that’s…great.”
Knowing I wasn’t headed for a padded room didn’t help my nerves. Why wasn’t he freaking out or calling me a liar? He just stood there like otherworldly battles were as normal as a pro wrestling match or a Sunday night football game.
With a shrug, I told him what had taken place, leaving out Malachi’s flirtatiousness. Either the truth would set me free or catapult me into an even bigger mess.
The more I talked, the crazier it sounded, even to my own ears. I could still see the malice in Osiris’s eyes, still feel the slight breeze between our fingers as he almost touched me. My gut jerked, and I had to fight back the urge to vomit at the thought of those hands coming anywhere near me again.
The awkward silence stretched as Whitmore studied me like I was a puzzle missing half its pieces. But his expression wasn’t harsh. It was more contemplative, like he was sorting through information only he understood.
He just kept staring, and the longer he did, the more I wanted to yell, “Say something!”
“So…”
I licked my lips, trying to moisten them. “You…believe me?”
“Does it matter either way?”
“Uh, yeah. Kinda feels like it would.”
My laugh was thin, humorless, but better than standing there silently freaking out. “It’s not like ‘supernatural smackdown’ makes for a great alibi.”
Although it might make for a great TV show. The thought made me cringe. My mind always came up with the most ridiculous crap when I was stressed.
Like Transformer wings.
Whitmore’s expression softened slightly. “I believe you.”
He leaned back slightly, crossing his beefy arms. “But what I don’t know is how you’re involved.”
“Involved?”
I stared incredulously at him. “I’m not involved. I was just eating. Food. Brisket. You know, human things .”
I wasn’t telling him that I knew Osiris. He would want to know how, and I wasn’t reliving my nightmare with a stranger.
Whitmore’s brow lifted. He seemed to do that a lot. “And yet you were right in the middle of it.”
“Well, yeah, I mean—”
I stopped myself. There was something about the way he was looking at me that made me squirm. Averting my eyes, I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. “Wrong place, wrong time?”
“That’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“You’re telling me,”
I muttered. That was becoming the story of my life. With Osiris. With Malachi. And with my dad too. But with him, it was more like wrong parent, wrong life.
“What’s your name?”
I debated on whether or not to give him my real one. But so far, the guy was being cool, and I didn’t want to ruin that by lying to him. “Uh…Dane.”
“Okay, Dane.”
Whitmore stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “I need you to come with me to Wings so we can corroborate your story.”
My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. “Are you insane ?”
First, I wished he’d stop reminding me of wings. Second, I’d never heard a cop suggest someone return to a violent scene before. Did he think his massive size was enough to protect me from otherworldly beings? It made no goddamn sense.
“Feels like it most days.”
He glanced toward the distant wail of sirens.
The melancholic response halted my rant. The sheriff was making it hard for me to have a complete meltdown. I wished he was a little skeptical of my story or would try to arrest me…or something. His calmness was somehow making my anxiety so much worse.
Maybe because he wants you to go back to the restaurant.
There was no damn way I was stepping foot anywhere near that place again. The guy had to be on drugs. Why would he even suggest it after what I’d just told him? Nope. Not a chance. Going back to the scene would be the worst idea imaginable.
“Look, uh, Sheriff,”
I began, praying he wouldn’t force me to go. “Maybe we can, I don’t know, not do that?”
I had no idea if the two were still battling it out at Wings, and I wasn’t taking a fun-filled trip there to find out, even with law enforcement by my side. I wanted badly to put this town in my rearview mirror.
I really, really wish I’d gotten nachos. What was the worst thing that could happen at a gas station? Don’t you dare try to think of dangerous scenarios, moron.
Swatting at pesky bugs, I watched as a second cruiser rolled to a stop in front of my car. “Fantastic,”
I murmured. “Just what I didn’t need, another cop.”
A few people on the sidewalk stopped to look our way, their curious glances darting between us. This town was so dead that watching me get arrested would probably be the highlight of their evening.
The door swung open, and a deputy climbed out. My stomach sank. He wasn’t quite as massive as Whitmore, but the muscles stretching his shirt sleeves screamed gym rat with too much time on his hands.
His swagger dripped with self-importance, his look screaming he owned this town. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the prick.
When the deputy finally reached us, his nose wrinkled. He used the back of his hand like he was wiping it, but it lingered a little too long. Clearly I wasn’t the only one who thought the sheriff’s cologne was the kind of thing you’d weaponize, not wear.
“Harrington.”
A flicker of irritation crossed Whitmore’s face. “Why are you here instead of at Wings?”
Whitmore sent one cop to investigate? He must not like Harrington if he was willing to sacrifice him.
“Because I didn’t find anything.”
Harrington shrugged, turning his head to watch a car pass by, then flicked his gaze at me. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so dismissed in my life.
What a douchebag.
Harrington’s tone was matter-of-fact as he continued. “Walked in, folks were eating, laughing, the usual. Nothing broken, no scorch marks, and no winged warriors duking it out in the corner. If there was a fight, I didn’t see any evidence of one.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? You think I imagined that?”
“I said there was no evidence.”
Harrington’s faint smirk ignited my temper.
“I don’t have that vivid of an imagination!”
I shrieked, tossing up my hands. “You think I just pulled that whole thing out of my ass? Jesus Christ.”
I could practically hear the buckles tightening around my straitjacket. Did they even have buckles or were there just straps?
Whitmore’s gaze narrowed just a fraction, like he was considering my words more carefully now. Harrington, on the other hand, had his eyes glued to his phone, as if he was checking his messages.
“Shit,”
I said under my breath, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead. The fight, the frozen diners, the lightning—it had all felt so real. But now? The stress of running from Osiris had to be frying my brain. That was the only explanation. Because if it wasn’t real, I was officially losing it.
And the two cops weren’t exactly helping. Their looks—uncertainty from Whitmore and complete doubt from Deputy Douchebag—made my teeth grind. I refused to believe it hadn’t taken place. Why on earth would I imagine anything involving Osiris? Even thinking about him caused my heartbeat to skip then slam back with enough force to make me dizzy.
But then again, I like my toys intact before I break them.
My fingers curled tightly into fists, nails biting into my palms. I fought to control my breathing, but each inhale felt like dragging in shards of glass. Keep it together, Dane. You can’t let him win. Exhaling deeply, I forced those thoughts to retreat to the deepest recesses of my mind.
Then I turned my focus on Whitmore. “Was that a good enough excuse to let me off with a warning, or should I come up with something even crazier?”
Harrington snorted but didn’t say a word. Whitmore, on the other hand, clenched his jaw.
“That excuse,”
the sheriff said, his tone taking on a hard edge, “shouldn’t have involved using manpower.”
I highly doubted it could be considered manpower if the sauce stain on Harrington’s shirt was anything to go by.
Deputy Douchebag smirked. “I mean I could write him up for wasting our time.”
Whitmore didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he stepped back. For a second, I thought he’d moved aside so Harrington could arrest me, but the guy gestured toward my car. “You’re free to go.”
This evening was just full of surprises. “Really?”
His hands curled back around his utility belt, giving me a look that said I shouldn’t press my luck. I gave him one that said he needed a better choice in colognes. “Drive safely. And keep your speed in check.”
“I’ll head back to the station.”
Harrington shot me the briefest glance, complete with a barely-there eyeroll.
What…just happened?
I hesitated, because clearly, I liked pressing my luck, but hell if I was going to argue. With a frustrated huff, I turned and dragged my feet back to the car, suppressing an urge to slam the door when I climbed in.
A shuddering breath slipped out, but I wasn’t sure if it was from relief, frustration, or fear. Whitmore was already gone, but Deputy Douchebag stopped his cruiser next to my car, giving me a look that made me feel like I wasn’t playing with a full set of marbles.
I never wanted to flip someone off so badly.
“Lovely.”
I pressed the heel of my hand into one eye. “Now I’m officially labeled as a crazy person in this town.”
With an aggravated sigh, I lowered my hand and told myself that it was time to leave. Whether the fight was real or imagined, I still had to stay ahead of the demon. Lingering anywhere too long was dangerous.
But then again, I like my toys intact before I break them.
“Fuck.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that would somehow block the rising panic. “Think about anything else.”
My thoughts switched to a dark-winged man who had curled himself around me, his solid body protecting me, his soft lips destroying me.
You will if it’s my tongue coaxing you.
I brushed the spot where his lips had lingered. My breathing slowed, my pounding heart easing as my thoughts stilled.
With a soft exhale, I opened my eyes. The world had righted itself.
Then I saw him in the rearview mirror.
Whipping around, my mouth dropped open slightly. Malachi’s tall frame was slumped over, his breathing shallow and strained. My gaze darted to his blood-soaked shirt. Beneath the torn fabric were char marks.
My pulse hammered as a single thought screamed through my mind.
What the hell do I do?