Redemption (A NOVEL OF THE SEVEN SIGNS) by Erica Hayes

to smoke.

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CHAPTER 7

    Japheth stole down the narrow firelit street, sword in hand. The moon glared between looming buildings, a fat red fireball, only one night from full. It poured eerie shadows through the trees, licked down the walls, dripped on the barred windows like blood.
    Broken glass littered the sidewalk, the remnants of some protest or riot. The charred shell of a car still flickered with orange flames. A starving dog rooted through garbage, bloody foam coating its jaws. Rat bites oozed corruption on its skin. Somewhere, a baby cried.
    His nose twitched, hunting rotten hellflesh. Elusive, this Fluvium. He didn’t keep just a single nest, where he could be besieged and slaughtered. No, he flitted ghostlike through the West Village streets, spreading his curse like a poisoned shadow.
    And no one was talking. Already tonight, seven vampires had perished on Japheth’s sword, and before they’d died, he’d demanded everything they knew about their demon master. And he’d gotten nothing.
    Not a damn thing. Just cackles, spitting vitriol, fear. One had dirtied himself, the stain spreading on his jeans beforeJapheth skewered him in disgust. All terrified to their putrid bones of hell.
    Coldly, Japheth pushed damp hair from his eyes. They’d made their choice. They’d given up, succumbed to the hunger. It was too late for them. They deserved what was coming.
    But he still hadn’t found her .
    His ears twitched. He spun, searching… Nothing. Just leaves, rustling in some non-existent breeze. Surely he’d heard footsteps, smelled some faint sweetness that tingled his tongue…
    He gritted cold teeth, sweating in his silver armor. Last night, he’d fled home in pale pre-dawn, tried to scrub his mind of Michael’s taunts and get some rest. But he’d spent a restless few hours, fevered and comfortless, dreaming of her .
    The vampire bitch, dark eyes flashing, her spicy female scent torturing him. Her mouth warm and delicious on his, her hair spilling over his hands. Muscles straining, hot hard flesh, pinning her beneath him, fighting for her wrists, spreading her taut thighs and pushing into her, pounding within her, rage and passion and unslakable thirst and…
    Well, yeah. That.
    He’d woken in a burning sweat before they’d finished. It still felt like someone had kicked him in the balls. But he preferred aching balls to the alternative.
    Normal male lust was one thing. Wanting to make love to… He squirmed, mortified. Wanting to fuck some dirty hellspawn… Even a vicious workout and a stinging cold shower had barely calmed him down.
    If twitching feathers and a stone-hard dick could pass for calm . He was still thinking about her. Still imagining how she’d feel. Her devilmagic might be dissolved, but he still struggled under her spell. And only her screaming death on his sword could break him free…
    “Looking for someone, angel?”
    That honey-blood voice quivered his feathers taut.
    She grinned, mocking. Leaning against the redbrick wall beneath a rusted fire escape, steeped in magical shadow and hot vampire stink.
    He stared, dumb. Tall for a girl, only a head shorter thanhe. Long legs, encased in blue jeans and black army boots. Her short black t-shirt stretched over full breasts, flashing that tempting skin above a silver belt buckle. Her bare arms shone, muscular but womanly. Sexy dimples in her cheeks, perfectly shaped for cupping in his palms.
    The bloody feathers of slain angels, gold and white and red, stuck through the thick dark braid she tossed over her shoulder. A few wisps escaped to play around her face in the summer-night breeze. He wanted to trace their path with his fingertips, cheekbone to chin to cherry-ripe lips…
    “Matter of fact, I am,” he said tightly. “Your sniveling master. Fluvium, is it? Prince of Thirst? Tell me where he is and I might kill you quickly.”
    She laughed, fangs glinting. Sharp, lethal like a tigress’s. “You’ve come to kill Fluvium?