20. Ashe

Smoke swirls in the air around me as I tilt the whiskey glass to my lips. But just like the three glasses before, it does little to subdue my vexation.

Demons. The Tribunal was injecting their Reapers with the essence of demons like some little mad science experiment. Were they that naive to think that they could control them this time around or were they really just that stupid?

“I wish you wouldn't smoke in my bar,” Marco chides. “I don't let my regular customers do it.”

“I'm not a regular customer.” I smirk, exhaling another cloud through my nose. “And it's after hours. No one's here to complain.”

“I'm complaining, and the smell still lingers.”

“Maybe for you.”

I down the liquor in record time and he raises an eyebrow. “Long day at the office?”

I slide the empty glass across the bar top. “That obvious?”

“You're drinking like you're trying to forget.” Marco squares his gaze with my own. “Or like you're about to do something stupid.”

“Like what, leave again?” A snort sputters from my lips as I squash the cigarette out on the counter. “Yeah, that worked out so well for me last time.”

“C'mon, Ashe, did you really think they'd let you go?”

I cut him a glare. “I'm not here for a lecture,” I say, a scowl tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Then what are you here for?”

“To drink.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as he refills my glass. Some answers might not hurt, either. “Marco, you get a lot of supernaturals in here. Have you heard any talk about a group called the Enlightened?”

“Is that some new-age garage metal band?”

I roll my eyes. “I'm serious.”

The bear scratches his chin in thought before finally shaking his head. “Can't say that I have, sugar plum. Why?”

“Apparently they've been causing a stir around the Fourth Ward. Digging up graves, coordinated hits on Tribunal property, illegal magic.”

“They sound like a fun bunch.”

“Well they've got the Tribunal on edge, and fear makes people do stupid shit.” I sigh as I swirl the whiskey around, watching the ice cubes clink against the glass. “They're trying to make cambions, Marco.”

He leans forward, intrigued. “I thought cambions were the result of demons mating with a mortal?”

That was the only way that it was supposed to happen, and the survival rate for the illegitimate offspring—or the human mother, for that matter—was dismal at best. The essence of the demon, absorbed by the zygote during conception, was often too much for the mortal vessel to handle and would tear her apart from within. The few women who did manage to survive a full pregnancy term ended up dying during childbirth; the fate of their half-breed children would prove to be just as tragic as their inner demon fought to consume them.

Hunting down abominations to serve as their enforcers never was enough for the Tribunal, though. Once unable to control them, now it seems they were determined to create them in their own image. What they would not do to keep their grip on the power they have enjoyed for centuries.

“I guess they've engineered a way to skip the gestation period.” I bite back a grimace as I swallow down a long swig of whiskey. “Half-breeds from a test tube. How demented is that?”

A guttural chuckle rumbles in his chest like distant thunder. “Well you're the only half-demon I know and you're not half bad.”

“Then you don't know demons.” I fixate my gaze on the arkoudan. “Have you ever seen a wraith?”

His brow creases as he frowns. “No, but I've heard the stories.”

Of course. Everyone has heard the stories, but no one liked talking about it. If there was one thing supernaturals feared even more than the wrath of the Tribunal, it was a demon gone mad.

“Then you know how dangerous demons can be if they get overstimulated. And cambions are worse. We're half human so we actually feel the emotions that demons feed on, and if we don't control them then we end up feeding on ourselves until it drives us insane. I've seen it before.” I've nearly done it before. “It's not pretty.”

Marco grunts as he watches me take another sip. “Maybe only one of your kind is enough, then. I won't be in business much longer if more half-demons come in to rob me of my liquor.”

“You're doing a public service. And it's not stealing if you don't charge for it.”

“I do charge.” Marco shakes his head. “Don't think I'm not keeping a ledger. You've run up quite a tab these last fifteen years.”

“So send the bill to Catalina.” It would not be the first time she had to pay off my debts. I've racked up quite a ledger with her, myself.

At the mention of her name his fists clench. “Speaking of that devil,” he growls, “she paid Dani a visit today.”

So that was where she disappeared to after our discussion with Chandler? I frown. “What for?”

“To scare her, I'm sure. And it worked. Charmed a guy to death right in front of her, among other things.”

Goddammit. “I'll talk to Cat.” Even though she was unhappy with this whole situation, I knew that she would not hurt Dani while she wore my ring. The magic would call me to it before so much as a hair could be harmed on the barista's head, and the risk of exposure was too great for someone of Catalina's status to even attempt such an attack.

Still, I also knew firsthand how intimidating Catalina could be. That could not have been a pleasant encounter. “Is she okay?”

“She's fine now, retired to her room before I left to open the bar.” He pauses for a moment, ruminating on his words before adding, “I like her.”

I scoff. “What is this, mating season for shifters?”

“Dani's a good girl, Ashe. Scared out of her wits, but she has a good heart. I think she'll be good for you.”

A warmth stirs in my stomach at his words and my jaw tightens. She may be nice, but she was still a complication. Nothing more. “You've known her for only, what, a few weeks? How do you know her heart is good?”

Marco taps his nose with a wink. “I just know.”

“You two have been spending way too much time together.”

“And you, not enough. Go home, Ashe.”

Before I can retort, a loud buzzing cuts through the air and with a groan I fish out the phone from my jacket pocket. I did not even have to look at the caller ID to know who would be calling at this hour.

“What?”

“We have a disturbance on the Southside. Territory dispute between a gattan and some sanguinis vampires.” Chandler's voice sounds groggy, like he was woken up from a deep slumber, and a small smile flutters on my lips. Good, I hope he has trouble falling back to sleep.

“Aren't domestic disturbances a Public Affairs problem?”

“It's beyond that, now. The Untouched are involved.”

For them to be calling on the services of a Reaper for a situation like this could mean only one thing: they wanted to silence any witnesses. Rumors had the tendency to spread like wildfire, and if they were not dealt with quickly enough then the entire forest could burn. It was a risk the Tribunal would not tolerate.

“Why don't you send your new pets?” This type of assignment was simple enough for one of them to handle alone, even without their newfound abilities. “I'm off the clock.”

“You don't have a clock, Ashe, and Damen is out hunting his own mark while Selene recovers from her injuries. You did a number on her earlier.”

“Why didn't you call the doctor?” The department always kept one of those witches handy, though I've never had the need—or the desire—to use them, myself. Still, any practitioner of blood magic worth their salt would be able to perform a basic regenerative spell.

“He did what he could, but she refused anything more than a concoction to numb her pain. Said that if you didn't need a healer then she didn't, either.” I can practically hear the frustration in his tone and my grin widens.

So they may have a demon's strength and speed, but they lacked our regenerative traits. At least they were still easy to kill—for now, anyway. If Chandler's talk of dosages was anything to go by then that could very well change. There was no telling exactly how far their little science experiment would go. Or what sort of ramifications there would be if they succeeded.

“She started that fight. I warned against it.” But oh, did I enjoy knocking that smug look right off of her face.

“Well, until Selene fully heals I'm afraid you're all we have right now. I'll send you the location. And Ashe, wrap this up quietly.” Click.

I flip the phone closed with a disgruntled sigh. “Duty calls.”

“No rest for the wicked, huh?”

Marco's attempt at a joke only further sours my mood. “And here I was hoping for an uneventful night. Honestly, why can't you shifters just keep your fucking shirts on?”

“I assume you're talking about the lycans, in which case impulse control isn't in their nature.”

“It's one of the gata, actually. But this lack of control your kind has is really starting to piss me off.” The irony of that statement is not lost on me and I grit my teeth.

“That's unusual. They're usually pretty good at staying out of trouble.” He quirks a brow. “You gonna be okay to drive?”

'Are you about to do something stupid?' is what he was really asking. At this rate, though, I could really care less. Between Chandler being his usual witchy self, Catalina's little altercation with Dani and the revelation of the Tribunal's insane Genesis Project, I have had just about enough.

I shoot Marco a glare as I withdraw my keys from my pocket and push myself to my feet. “Today's been a shit day for me. I'd be more worried about the other guys right now.”

A knowing look shadows his face as he glances me over. It was the same look he wore seven months ago, the last time I allowed myself to feed while on the hunt. Concern was etched into his features, but if he had anything to say about it he instead held his tongue.

“Just be careful, Ashe. You play with fire, sooner or later you'll end up getting burned.”

I toss back the liquor, wincing as I tap the empty glass facedown on the bar. “I'm made of fire, Marco. Burning isn't something new to me.”

***

The scene was in chaos by the time I pull up to the building that Chandler had sent me to.

The desolate area, an abandoned sector within the Southside's industrial district, was situated near the rail yard and was often a campsite for drifters and drug addicts alike—the perfect hunting ground for young, hungry vampires. And tonight, it seemed that the gattan family who occupies this turf has finally had enough of the trespassing.

I park my motorcycle in the empty lot across the street and shrug off my jacket as I survey the commotion on the other side. Even from this distance, I could make out the thrashing form of an oversized feline as it hissed and swatted at the surrounding crowd. Several men and women in suits, grossly out of place among the dilapidated brick and trash-strewn sidewalks, flittered purposefully between the giant cougar and another group gathered at the opposite end of the building. Two shiny black SUVs were parked to the left and a beat-up white cargo van was parked off to the far right, the black decal of the Tribunal's sigil on the side door prominent beneath the glow of the only streetlight.

So the cleaners were already on-site. No doubt they wanted this wrapped up quickly.

“Right, then,” I mutter aloud as I throw up my hair and make my way across the lot. “Let's get this over with.”

A tall man with peppered black hair and a clean-pressed suit walks up to me the moment I set foot on the property. “This is official business,” he says, raising a hand. As if that could stop me. “Move along.”

“I'm no tourist.” I fish out my wallet and flash him my badge, watching as his dark eyes shift between the words 'LIQUIDATION DEPARTMENT, REAPER' embossed in the metal and the telltale tattoos swirling up my arms.

“You're late,” he finally grunts as he leans back.

“And you're sloppy.” I gesture behind him. “How the hell did you guys manage to fuck up a routine domestic dispute?”

“We have the situation contained.”

“Clearly. Who's in charge?”

“That would be me. Lieutenant Kerrigan, special agent for Public Affairs.” The man puffs out his chest as he extends his hand in greeting. “I thought all you Reapers ran in pairs now?”

“I'm more of a solo artist.” I flick my gaze down to his outstretched hand and fold my own behind my back. I was not too keen on shaking hands with a witch. “So, what's the situation?”

“Someone broke the rules.”

My lips twitch. “Someone always breaks the rules.”

Kerrigan grins, though I find no humor in his smile. “I imagine it's good business for someone like you. Death, I mean.”

Ah, Reaper jokes. How original. “And I imagine these messes your department keeps making are bad business for you. I hear incompetency is contagious.” I tilt my head in the direction of the white van just down the street. “Guess it's a good thing the cleaners are already here, then, isn't it?”

“You Reapers have no sense of humor.” Kerrigan shakes his head as he beckons me to follow him. “Is that a requirement for your line of work?”

I merely shrug as we approach the first group.

Two well-dressed men stood with their backs pressed against the crumbling brick wall, their arms outstretched like the limbs of frozen statues. Off to the side, a bedraggled couple in dirty clothing sat slumped on the ground, confusion masking their faces as their wide bloodshot eyes darted between the men and the three suited strangers chanting in front of them. Fear radiates from the two humans, mingling with the coppery scent of blood that hung heavy in the air as it oozed from the wounds on their necks, and I harden my jaw.

“What have we here?”

“Bloodsuckers from a local sanguinis clan on the upper-east side of town. Newborns, by the looks of it.” Kerrigan taps one of the suits on the shoulder. The witch ceases her incantation and steps aside. “From what we gathered, they were feeding on those two humans when the gattan showed up to try and chase them off. They got into a scuffle and things escalated from there.”

“Who put in the call?”

“I did!” One of the men lurches forward, freed from the binding spell that rooted him in place. His maroon eyes blaze with anger as he bares his bloody fangs and growls, “Those animals started this mess! Why are we the ones being detained?”

I tilt my head, taking note of the scratches on his neck and rips in his fine clothing. He reeked of blood, cheap cologne and arrogance. If I had to guess, these vampires came here itching for more than just a quick meal and when the rest of the gattan's pride showed up they thought calling in the badge would be their saving grace. Oh, how wrong they were.

“Technically, this is their turf. You're trespassing.”

“These humans are our junkies, we've been feeding here for weeks. We didn't break any laws!”

I look down at the two drifters on the ground. Junkies. Vampires loved using that term on repeat victims—especially the sanguinis—but unfortunately for them, the description was not too far off. A vampire's venom is as addicting as any drug and the more they use it the more their prey craves it, like chasing after a high. And by the looks of it, these junkies were still high from the supernatural toxins swimming in their veins. But because the feeding process had been disrupted, their memories will remain intact when they finally come down from their euphoria.

There was no hope for them now.

“You're wrong about that,” I say, squaring my gaze with the vampire. “You revealed yourself to a human. Junkie or not, they've seen what you are now.”

He scoffs. “Like they'll tell anyone. I'll kill them myself if—”

Quick as a flash, the Reaper's mark pulls against my skin and I extend my arm. “Passing judgment is my job.” I press the tip of the silver blade into his neck. A thin trail of smoke billows from the contact, swirling around his chin and past his frightened eyes, and I sneer. “And I'm not in a very forgiving mood tonight.”

He flicks his desperate gaze to the man behind me. “Aren't you going to do something? This is crazy! I-I'm the victim, here!”

“Someone has to be made an example of, otherwise how can the Tribunal be trusted to keep us all safe?” Kerrigan shrugs. “I'd suggest choosing your hunting grounds more carefully next time, but I don't think you'll have that luxury.”

“I have rights!”

Without hesitation, I throw up my other arm. The bladed chain sails past, clipping one of Kerrigan's witches on the shoulder as it finds its target. “Your friend just exercised his right to remain silent,” I say as I recall the chain. “Would you like to do the same?”

“You live in the Fourth Ward, son.” The lieutenant smirks as the decapitated body of the second vampire falls to the ground. No doubt he was enjoying this. “You have no rights and the Tribunal offers no leniency.”

I point to the other end of the building. “See that over there? You pissed off that shifter and now I have to go deal with it.” Before the vampire can blink, I wrap my fingers around the tattered collar of his silk shirt and drag him backward. The heels of his shoes scrape through the dirt as I slam him forcefully against the wall, heat licking at my insides as I let the threads of my anger loose. “And that pisses me off.”

He struggles against my hold, the aura of his fear radiating a bright purple against the gray haze that filled my vision, but his unrefined strength paled against my own. My veins pulsate as my hunger boils to the surface and even though I knew it was dangerous, even though Catalina had advised against it, I did not care. I did not even want to fight back the demon inside me, not tonight.

“W-what are you?”

“Your worst nightmare.” I grin as I level my gaze with his. “And you caught me on a bad night.”

The fire dancing in my eyes flares wildly as I probe his mind, sifting through his most precious thoughts as I search for the thing he feared most. His eyes glaze over as I dive deeper, tugging at the threads in his mind until I latch on to what I was seeking. There, tucked away in the farthest corner, was the ammunition I was looking for.

Clowns. This kid was afraid of clowns.

Oh, this will be fun.

I pull on the thread and bring his fear to light. I fill his head with false memories of a blood-crazed clown slicing flesh from his bone and play his pain over and over in his mind until it became his prison. Every sight, every sound, every metaphysical sensation the red-nosed nightmare inflicted on him became his new reality. Nothing else existed for him outside of his own personal horror.

And when he ran out of skin to peel, I reset the clock and the torture began again.

As the seconds ticked between us I made years pass in his mind, days and nights blending together as his tormentor cut and carved patterns into his flesh. His fangs were ripped from his jaws and his eyes were plucked from their sockets as the maniacal clown shrieked with laughter. There was no escape for him.

With each phantom cut the vampire screams, and as he screams the purple aura of his fear glows brighter. I devour it as it seeps out of him, leaking from his eyes and mouth and nose like vapor from a sewer. It tasted sour, like spoiled milk, but the demon in me craved more and so I fed. With each spike of imaginary pain his fear grew. I inhaled and absorbed it all, my skin burning with fire and my muscles contracting as the essence fuels my body. I fed until his mind shattered.

And when the screaming finally stopped and he had no more fear to give, I beheaded him.

“I heard that Liquidation still had a cambion under their thumb,” Kerrigan muses as I walk back to the sidewalk. “Never thought I'd live to see you in action, though.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of a hand. “Don't sound too excited.”

“It almost looked like you enjoyed yourself.”

My jaw tightens. “There's a fine line between pleasure and obligation.” But a small part of me hated to admit that he was right. Deep down, hiding beneath the flames that burned in place of my soul, I knew there was a piece of me that enjoyed his suffering.

And that terrified me.

The lieutenant grunts, nodding to the vampire's lifeless body. “Was that really necessary?”

“Judgment's been passed, Kerrigan. What do you care how it's imposed?”

“So long as you don't go crazy from it, I don't care.” He motions to the two humans. “And them?”

I flick my fiery gaze to the couple. Their purple auras glow brightly as they cower in fear and I briefly wonder if they fully comprehend what was going on or if they thought this was all a part of some heroine-induced dream that they were desperate to wake from.

No, I think with a grimace. This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare, and I'm the monster they fear lurking in the dark.

I turn back to Kerrigan. “What about them?”

“They're witnesses. Even if no one believes their story, rumors are a dangerous weapon. We either control the narrative or we risk instability.”

The Tribunal's age-old anthem: maintain the balance at all costs. The myths that surrounded the supernatural today exist only because they allowed them to. Any speculation beyond that was quickly silenced.

“Let your witches deal with them, then. Your field agents look like they're itching for some action. Surely they can handle two drugged-out junkies.”

“You said it yourself, Reaper. Passing judgment is your job.”

Of course, anything to not get their hands dirty. Fucking witches.

I lift my arms and set the Reaper's mark upon the humans before they can flinch. The silver chains snake around their throats and, with a flick of the wrist, their necks snap like twigs. It was a merciful death compared to what the others would do.

I glare at the lieutenant when the deed was done. “Satisfied?”

He smirks and my skin crawls. “I will be once we wrap this up. You still have a cat to put down.”

Rolling my shoulders back, I flex my muscles as I allow the demon fire within me to cool. The heat fades from my eyes but my veins still burn with renewed strength as the fear I had consumed fully digests. I was not taking any chances tonight. It was time to bring this to an end.