Chapter Five
Within seconds of Jacob flashing out of Sheoul-gra,
Hawkyn did the same. Then he spent nearly every minute of the next thirty-six
hours shadowing Jason Drayger...with nothing to show for it.
Hawkyn had left Drayger alone only twice. The first time was
during a four-hour period when one of his other five Primori was in danger—danger that never materialized. But when Hawk
returned to Drayger, the guy had been driving home, blood spattered on his
shirt and pants.
It had been Aurora’s blood, and Hawk knew it. He’d felt sick
to his stomach and furious that he’d missed an opportunity to locate her. Guilt
had weighed him down like a wet shroud, and out of guilt, he’d left Drayger to
shower and go to bed, and Hawk had gone to Aurora’s house to see who she was.
To see who Drayger was hurting.
As Hawkyn wandered through her little one-bedroom house in
Portland’s quirky Pearl District, he couldn’t help but smile at her cheery ‘50s
retro decor and the delicate spun glass and stained-glass ornaments hanging in
her windows. Hedgehog figurines and scented candles lined a couple of small
shelves, and, while she had a few framed family photos on the walls, there were
far more artsy pictures of Portland and the surrounding area.
Her place was cozy and warm, and he got the impression that
this was more than a home for Aurora; it was a sanctuary. From her overstuffed
furniture to the yoga mat in the corner, the gurgling water fountain in the
entryway, and the Japanese rock garden that filled her tiny outdoor space out
back, her house was a soothing retreat.
Which made sense when he discovered that she was a masseuse
at an exclusive nearby spa.
Every discovery Hawkyn made only strengthened his resolve to
help her. He just needed to find her first.
Hopefully, that was going to happen now.
Drayger was on the move again. This was it. Hawk knew it.
You can’t interfere.
No, technically he couldn’t. But he had to do something.
Aurora’s magic had been wasted on Hawk when she could have used it on Drayger.
What if she was supposed to have gotten away? What if his interference had
caused her capture? By saving her he’d be righting a wrong. Setting Drayger’s
future back on course. Maybe. Hopefully.
Sounded good to him.
Shadow wings out and the khote engaged, Hawkyn sat
in the backseat of Drayger’s unassuming beige Ford Escort and listened to the
too-loud, incoherent screech of some heavy metal band as they navigated the
streets of one of Portland’s industrial areas. Drayger had picked up some cheap
fast-food burgers and had eaten one, but the others sat next to him in a bag,
the greasy stench filling the interior. Finally, Drayger pulled into a
junkyard, unlocked the gate, and parked the car near a shipping crate tucked in
a rear corner of the lot.
Hawkyn’s pulse quickened with anticipation as Drayger opened
the creaky door and stepped inside.
And there, huddled in a corner on a filthy mattress, was
Aurora, her long blond hair tangled and matted. She reminded Hawkyn of a
chained, neglected animal, and his hands clenched in fists of hot rage. She was
naked except for panties and a ratty, stained AC/DC T-shirt Drayger must have
given her, and her exposed skin was bruised and crusted with dried blood. Her
bloodshot eyes were bright with fear, but also defiance. Hawk had seen that
look so many times over the centuries, from soldiers who knew they were
cornered by the enemy but were determined to go down fighting, to abused women
who had had enough.
Fierce respect swelled inside Hawkyn’s chest, and he found
himself torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to fight beside her.
“Hope you’re hungry today,” Drayger said as he held up the
bag of food.
“Fuck you,” she rasped, and Hawkyn couldn’t help but admire
her spirit. “I’m not playing the puke game with you again.”
“You either eat the food so I can watch you throw it up from
the pain, or I gut punch you until you throw up bile. Your choice. Personally,
I think it’s better to be able to puke something up, but whatever. Dry heaves
are a choice, I guess.”
Hawk’s own stomach turned over. How could he have forgotten
that Drayger loved to watch his victims vomit while being tortured?
You know how.
Yes, he did. Like most of his brethren,
he was capable of compartmentalizing, separating his
feelings from his job and locking the bad shit in a virtual box that rarely had
to be opened. Because opening that box could wreck even the most callous of
warriors and destroy the vital objectivity and distance required to do one’s
duty.
Aurora closed her eyes and shuddered. “Why are you doing
this?”
“Because I have to,” Drayger said, his tone chillingly
ho-hum. “I’m sure there’s some underlying pathology, some traumatic break I
endured as a child, but what it comes down to is that I get off on causing fear
and pain.”
She opened her eyes, the dim light making the exhausted
circles around them even darker. “That doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Wrong.” Drayger inhaled as if savoring the scent of her
misery, the fucker. “Imagine having nothing to live for. Imagine a depression
so deep you can’t climb out of it. I’m dead inside. Nothing makes me happy.
Nothing makes me feel. Nothing except what I do to women like you. Knowing I’m
ridding the earth of magic-using scum gives me a reason to live.” He dropped
the bag of food on the floor and reached for a scalpel on his tray of torture
instruments. “So let’s get started.”
Shit. Hawk had to stop him, but how? He couldn’t very well
pop out of thin air and trash the guy. Of all Memitim rules, harming your own
Primori was the biggest no-no. An offense so egregious that one could,
potentially, lose their freedom...or their life.
Which meant that Hawkyn had to lure Jason away.
Or scare him away.
Quickly, Hawkyn zapped himself outside and searched for a
suitable projectile. As he picked up a rusty crowbar, a bloodcurdling scream,
muffled by the metal walls, filled him with even greater urgency. And rage.
Imagining that Drayger was sitting in his vehicle’s
passenger seat, Hawkyn hurled the metal rod through the passenger side window.
Glass sprayed into the air, but it would have been far more satisfying if the
shards had been made of Drayger’s skull. The car alarm blared, drowning out the
tinkle of glass pelting the ground.
Still invisible, he flashed back into the cargo container
just as Drayger heaved open the door and peered outside. Inside, Aurora dangled
helplessly from chains, blood dripping from one partially skinned thigh, and it
took every ounce of control Hawkyn could muster to keep from releasing her
right then and there.
Mercifully, she’d passed out, but the fact that she
couldn’t, at this moment, feel pain didn’t make Hawkyn feel any better. If
anything, his anger level went up a notch, making him tremble with the desire
to slaughter Drayger the way he would have if the guy hadn’t been Primori. Damn
the rules. Damn this job. Hawk hated it. He was good at it, but son of a bitch,
he despised it sometimes.
The day Hawkyn swore in as a Council member, shit was gonna
change.
Drayger scanned the deepening twilight before he ventured
out to turn off his car alarm. Looking as nervous as Hawk had ever seen him,
the bastard scurried back to the container, frowned at Aurora as she hung
limply from the chains, and slammed the sliding door closed.
Hawkyn flashed out long enough to watch Drayger take off,
and then he went back inside and lowered the female’s unconscious body to the
metal floor. The anger inside him raged even harder as he gathered her petite
frame in his arms. She needed medical attention, but he couldn’t take her to a
human hospital. There would be too many questions, police, and eventually her
statements would lead to Drayger’s arrest.
So what?
The question flashed in his
thoughts a dozen times before logic and duty brought him back to reality. Like
it or not, the scumbag was vital to humanity in some way, and Hawkyn had a duty
to make sure Drayger fulfilled his destiny. Besides, maybe by removing Aurora
from the equation he could set things right.
Maybe.
Please let this set things right.
Holding her securely and trying not to think about how cold
and fragile she felt, he flashed himself to UGH’s underground parking lot and
strode through the sliding Emergency Department doors for the second time in as
many days. Instantly, a hairy male nurse with a snout and a female nurse with
tiny horns jutting from her temples jogged over and directed him to a cubicle,
where he laid Aurora on a waiting wheeled exam table.
A female in a white lab coat embroidered with a modified
caduceus and the name “Blaspheme, MD” joined him and asked questions as the
other two prepared IVs and performed checks of Aurora’s vitals.
“What species is she?” Blaspheme asked.
“I’m not sure,” Hawkyn said, “but I’m guessing she’s at
least half human.”
She nodded and gestured to the male nurse. “Run a DNA DB
test, STAT.”
“DNA DB?” Hawk stepped aside so the nurse could slip past.
“DNA Database,” she said as she cut through Aurora’s
T-shirt. “We can run her DNA against all the logged species in our database to
see if we can find a match.”
“If not?”
“Then she’ll be listed as a new unknown species until she
regains consciousness and tells us.” She barked some orders laden with strange
medical terms at the remaining nurse and then turned back to Hawkyn. “What
happened to her, and how are you involved?”
He blinked at the forcefulness of the question, and when he
caught the nurse staring at him it occurred to him that this could easily
appear to be a case of domestic violence. It kind of surprised him that demons
would give a crap about such things.
“She was imprisoned and tortured by a serial killer. I
rescued her.” He could have explained in more detail, but he figured it was