"Fucking hell, Layla!"
Working the rooftops of Caldwell, Xhex kept on Xcor at a distance, tracking him from alley to alley and district to district as he went up against slayers. From what little she saw, the male was an incredibly efficient fighter, that scythe of his doing some serious fucking work.
Damn shame he was a megalomaniac with delusions of the thronal variety.
At all times, she stayed a minimum of a block away. There was no reason to press her luck and run the risk of his tweaking to the fact that he was being followed. She had a feeling he knew, though. If the way he handled the enemy was any indication, he'd be smart enough to assume that Wrath and the Brotherhood would send emissaries out after him, and it wasn't like he was in hiding. He was an individual with a pattern within a limited geographic space: He fought in Caldwell. Every fucking night.
Hello.
As snowflakes began to swirl in the air, the male in question moved position, falling into a jog with his right-hand man, Throe, by his side. Staying on them, she dematerialized to another building. And another. And a third. Where were they going? she thought, as they left the fighting sector. . . .
Half a mile or so later, Xcor paused down at street level, clearly trying to decide between left and right. As Throe came up next to him, angry words were exchanged. Maybe because Throe recognized they were headed in the wrong direction?
While they argued, she glanced at the sky. Checked her watch. Shit. Xcor was going to dematerialize at the end of the night, and that was how she was going to lose him. With her instincts roaming only so far, he was going to get out of range fast when he ghosted away.
But at least she had his grid now. And sooner or later, either he or one of his soldiers was going to get injured and have to be driven out of the city. It was inevitable - and that was how she was going to get them: a scattering of molecules she couldn't track. But a car, a van, a truck, an SUV - that was her way in. And shit knew they were months overdue for a goddamn injury.
Abruptly, Xcor went on the move again, heading around the building she was up on top of, calling her back into action. With grim intensity, she crunched through the crusted snow of the rooftop, circling with him, jogging by HVAC vents and other mechanicals. When she got to the other side, she -
John Matthew.
Shit, her John was not far. What the hell -
He'd told her he was staying home tonight because he was off rotation.
Who was he out with? Qhuinn had given up his man-whore ways. . . wrong part of the city for that, anyway. This was the theater district.
Dematerializing to the lip of the building, she looked down. Across the street, at the head of an alleyway, John was standing in the shadows, with Qhuinn and. . . Layla. Who was up off the ground in the former's a
rms, looking like she'd passed out?
Shiiiiit. Lot of drama down there. Big drama - the kind that was threatening to fritz out the Chosen's emotional grid altogether.
Scattering her molecules, Xhex re-formed in front of John, startling the bunch of them. "Is she okay?"
We're waiting for Butch, John signed.
"Is he on his way?"
He's tied up across town on cleanup. But we need him now.
Clearly. Whatever had happened here was deep.
"You can put me down now," Layla said gruffly.
Qhuinn just shook his head and kept holding her up off the snow.
"Look, iAm's not far. " Xhex took out her cell and flashed it. "Will you let me call him?"
"Yeah, that'd be good," Qhuinn replied.
As she hit up the Shadow, she stared at John while the phone rang. "Hey, iAm, how's you? Yup. Uh-huh - how'd you know? Yeah, I need a set of wheels in the theater district, stat. . . . You are so the man, iAm. " She ended the call. "Done. ETA is less than five minutes. "
Thank you, John signed.
"What is it?" Qhuinn said as Layla started to stiffen.
Xhex narrowed her eyes on the Chosen's face as the female's grid lit up. . . with arousal. And shame. And pain.