Chapter 2

PORTER

As I duck under the showerhead, the ground beneath me rumbles. I brace my hands against the wall as scalding water cascades over my head, and I still when vibrations go through my palms and shimmy up my arms.

With a heavy sigh, I turn off the water and straighten. Just as I'm stepping out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist, the alarm blares. My shoulders slump, and I stifle a growl, debating whether or not to ignore it. We just returned from a ten-day stint in the borderlands, tracking our quarry to the area where many creatures of demonic origins dwell.

The twelve-block radius at the edges of the city is where people go to score drugs, women, and outlawed magic—a place many consider the edges of civilization.

Very few people dare venture beyond the borders. The magic is wild and dangerous, and the predators who live there often deadly. We can attest to that fact, since we barely got out alive.

Our fugitive wasn't so lucky.

Instead of going to jail, he chose to run and died a horribly painful death, if the way his body was practically turned inside out was any indication.

With his death, we lost out on our full bounty. Even though we retrieved the dead body, we only get paid half our fee.

Like it's our fault the guy was an idiot and got himself killed.

Yet something about his death still bothers me.

The way he died is too similar to the last three jobs we were assigned.

Someone was killing beastlings and mages alike, and I was curious why MID wasn't investigating. It's possible different agents were investigating the other cases, but something in the back of my mind niggled at me.

A sense of wrongness to the deaths.

The area where the murder occurred repelled my senses, both demanding I fix it and run away before the same thing happened to me or my men.

As the siren continues to blare, I curse then drop the towel and grab my pants. I just pull them up my hips when I step into the hallway of the barracks I share with my three teammates and find the rest of the men are in a similar state of disorder.

Cassius had obviously been sleeping, his brown hair standing up every which way. The white highlights make it look like he shoved his fingers into a socket. I'm not surprised Soren went for food, the man gnawing and ripping into a whole turkey leg nearly the size of his forearm. He's still wearing most of his bloody, ripped tactical gear that smells vaguely like pegasus dung, but that doesn't deter him. Darby took my route and cleaned up, wearing nothing more than sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

We all look like absolute shit after being on the road for so long, losing so much weight that our ribs are showing, the lot of us resembling hungry wolves. Well, except Darby—not even a strand of his honey blond hair is out of place. His ever present tablet is in his hands as he scours the servers for what triggered the alarms, a blue tinge from the computer screen reflecting against his pale face.

He is a literal tech wizard, one of the few people who can manipulate electricity with just a touch. When he works, it's like he can communicate with electronics—it wouldn't surprise me if he actually could. When he stills, much like a hound on the hunt, I know he found something.

"What do you have?" He tilts the screen so we're looking down the hallway of death row—a place where criminals are taken to be interrogated and agents get answers by any means necessary.

A second later, the door to the far room is blasted halfway down the hall, and Agent Scotts crashes to the ground, nearly flipping ass over teakettle before landing sprawled across the floor. Rocks and debris pelt the narrow space, and I swear I can actually see the rippling blast move through the hallway, the magic being absorbed by the walls as it goes.

Most of the magic anyway.

The flames are resisting the spells designed to absorb it.

The screen wobbles when the magic hits it, twisting the camera loose from its anchor, then it crashes to the ground. The image flips to the side, providing a perfect sideways view of a woman standing in the middle of the chaos with flames eagerly swirling around her, prepared to do her bidding like an eager puppy. Heat ripples in the air, then the camera goes fuzzy, and the image turns black.

We're silent as we stare at the blank screen, the image of the girl imprinted on my brain. Something about her captures my attention, a tiny spark of interest that is impossible to crush. It's not just the wildness that clings to her or her stark beauty—she calls to something in my soul, something that demands I protect her.

As stupid as it sounds, she makes my heart come alive, like it's beating for the first time. Yearning pitches my stomach sideways, like demonic bats have taken flight, and I'm not sure I'll be able to live without seeing her again.

Every instinct says she's dangerous, and not because of her abilities.

And despite my better judgment, I'm completely fascinated.

I want to touch her.

Breathe in her scent.

Cassius is frozen, as if his basilisk has taken hold of him, and I wonder if his beast feels the same longing. Darby rewinds the video without even touching the screen, then the image pauses on the girl. He zooms in on her small form, but the image pixelates no matter what he does, like he is desperate to catch sight of her again and study every minute detail of her. Even Soren stopped gnawing on the bone in his hand to lean closer to the screen, inhaling like he's trying to catch her scent and scowling when it doesn't work.

I'm not even aware I'm moving as I turn and sprint toward the stairs. We have to get to her before anyone else, or I fear she will disappear forever. "Death row. Now."

No one hesitates to follow as I shove out of the barracks, the guys so close that I can feel their breath on the back of my neck. My spine is rigid as we descend into the bowels of the building.

A second later, the sirens cut off, and I cast a look at Darby. There is a blue glow to his fingers as he runs them along the wall while he accesses the electronics.

The last thing we want is to have more soldiers on our asses.

I wouldn't put it past any of them to shoot us with friendly fire.

Each of us were once occupants of the underground playground, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. The thought of the girl being held prisoner, alone and at MID's mercy, is abhorrent and chills my blood. While the agency might advocate for peace, it's peace under their terms.

If they sink their claws into her, she'll become tainted and tarnished.

Much like us.

I slam my hand over the sensor, then shove my shoulder against the door the instant it turns green. I'm all but sprinting down the hallway in my rush to get to her before anyone else can claim control.

I dodge around Agent Scotts as he stumbles toward the elevator. Cassius isn't so polite—he shoulder checks the asshole, slamming him into the wall so hard that the agent slumps to the floor unconscious.

None of the other guys even pause in their stride.

I leap over the fallen door, ignoring the way the thick metal is still smoldering. It's harder not to notice the soot on the walls where the fire kissed the cinder blocks, or the way some of the spells appear to have been carved out of the heavy stone.

When Darby slows to study the markings, Soren grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him along. As we near the isolation cell, a hissing rattle comes from Cassius, his gaze narrowing on the two guards aiming their rifles at the girl. When his green eyes splinter to yellow, I turn away, not willing to risk being caught by a pissed off basilisk's stare.

While my species has some resistance to his abilities, now is not the time to literally freeze. Neither of us breaks stride as we enter the room. I grab the guard on the right, yanking on the gun just as he presses the trigger, and the bullet harmlessly hits the ceiling instead. As we fight for possession, I gather my shadows and throw them out. The inky smoke invades his eyes, nose, and mouth until they're spilling down his throat and filling his lungs.

Soren doesn't wait for the guy to go down, just swings his ham-like fist, and the guy drops. Cassius doesn't need any help. With just a touch of his hand against the second guy's neck, the soldier drops as venom bleeds into his bloodstream.

We're breathing hard by the time we turn toward the woman. She's even more beautiful in person, and I'm completely captivated, unable to take my eyes off her petite form for fear that she will disappear like a figment of my imagination.

Her smile wobbles as she gazes at us, a spark of curiosity in her eyes as she surveys our half naked asses. "Oh, wow, I think I might have actually burned out my brain this time. Not that I'm complaining, but I don't suppose any of you have the keys to the shackles somewhere? While I love being cuffed in certain sexy situations, these aren't the fun, fur-lined kind. They are really killing the mood."

Surprise and arousal flare through me for a millisecond as I take in her figure.

Only one thought goes through my head—mine.

She barely finishes speaking before her eyes roll back up in her head. I curse, wrapping shadows around her even as I leap forward, knowing I won't reach her in time. Dark shadows slow her descent, gently lowering her, and I drop to my knees beside her so she lands in my lap.

Her touch is electrifying, and I have to battle my shadows, struggling to peel them off her, but they fight me every step of the way like they are claiming her for their own and don't want to let her go.

Once my shadows are finally back under my control, I shake off my foolish thoughts and quickly scan the unconscious girl. Without her smile and snarky mouth, she feels small in my arms, her delicate frame almost fragile. She can't be more than five feet if she is an inch.

It feels wrong to see her so vulnerable, and I barely resist covering her in my shadows again.

When my gaze lands on the cuffs around her tiny wrists, my heart wrenches in my chest and stops.

Fuck me sideways.

"Find the keys." I bark out the command, fear trying to claw its way down my throat. Because, whether the girl knows it or not, she's right about the cuffs.

They are doing more than killing the mood—they are slowly killing her.

Darby and Soren search the guards while Cassius scans the room with his steely gaze, then he spins on the balls of his feet and marches out of the room.

"Nothing," Soren grunts, abandoning his search to hover over the girl. He picks up her arm and studies the cuffs as if he will try to physically snap them off.

If anyone could, it would be the big beast of a man.

We look toward Darby, who has somehow stripped the soldier of every stitch of clothing, the guy's bare, white ass hanging out for all to see. We watch him turn the soldier's boots upside down, then shake them out. When he turns toward us, his shoulders slump, and he shakes his head. "No key."

Shadows curl protectively around the girl, as if they could keep her from death. I gently hand her over to Soren, my arms aching to snatch her back. "I'm the fastest. I'll head toward the office. Keep her alive until I return."

I take a step back, reluctant to leave, my gut dropping because even with all my abilities, I know I won't make it in time. My shadows darken the corners of the room, as if they could block her spirit from leaving. Just as I head toward the dark corner, ready to walk through the shadows, Cassius strolls into the room with a set of keys dangling from his fingers.

He tosses them across the room, and Darby easily snatches them out of the air. Not wasting any time, he turns and fits the key into the first lock.

It's only when it clicks open that my knees weaken.

Thankfully, no one is paying attention to me.

Everyone crowds closer and watches with bated breath as the second cuff unlocks and falls from her wrist. Thick, black veins fork their way up her arms, almost seeming to pulse like they are feeding off her. The lines streak past her elbows, nearly reaching her shoulders, and I'm not sure how she's resisted the cuffs for so long, much less remained alive.

Most people pass out from the pain before the curse can do any permanent damage.

No magic, no curse.

I've seen men walk around with the black veins etched into their skin like tattoos gone wrong. Some people are so infected that they are no longer able to even cast magic again.

Feeling irrationally attached to the girl, I clench my fists and something inside my chest hitches at the thought of that being her fate. It takes all my control not to march back into the hallway and take Scotts' fucking head for doing this to her.

While the other two hover over her, trying to stabilize her, Cassius stands next to me, his arms crossed to keep from reaching for her. A scowl darkens his face as he studies the girl, then he mutters, "We can't take her to medical. The fuckers will treat her like a lab rat and do more harm than good."

"You want to bring her back to the barracks?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice. Don't get me wrong, Cassius is a skilled medic, but he much prefers research. He's never been a fan of having patients, other than one of us.

His scowl turns thunderous, then he flips down his ever present sunglasses before turning away and stalking down the hall. "Do whatever you want."

Soren doesn't hesitate, he just scoops the girl up then stands. She's so small compared to his six-foot-six frame that she looks like a toddler cradled in his arms. He doesn't hesitate to follow Cassius, not even bothering to look up, too busy studying the girl in his arms as he makes his way toward the stairs.

While I want to rush after them, not wanting to be away from the girl, I pause and survey the remains of the room. It looks like a bomb went off in the confined space. The walls, ceiling, and floor are covered with a thick layer of soot—all of us are covered in it—but that's not what captures my attention.

It's awe-inspiring destruction.

Part of the table is embedded in the wall. I say part, because the rest of the table is nothing more than melted sludge streaked down the wall to puddle on the floor. There are little chunks of metal from the chains everywhere, looking like some type of IED went off. They're thrown with such force that they would have gone straight through a body. In other spots, bits of metal are so deeply rooted in the walls that it looks like they melted the stone.

The three-foot deep slab of concrete under our feet is fucking cracked.

I marvel at such devastation.

If I hadn't seen the video myself, I wouldn't have believed someone so fragile and small could cause such mayhem, and my thoughts turn grim.

"MID is not going to let her go after they see what she can do." Darby comes to the same conclusion as me, his expression troubled. "They are either going to force her to become an agent, or they will make sure she never leaves alive."

It's not the first time they've done something similar. That's how each of us became agents. We were arrested on some trumped-up charges—or not so trumped-up, depending on the man—then given the choice of joining or going to prison.

Since no one leaves the prison except in a body bag, it's not much of a choice.

Not that being an agent is much better.

We're given the shit jobs no one wants. They seem to be collecting monsters, the bigger the better, and testing what we can do. After we serve out our sentence as an agent, we're free to leave.

So far, no one has survived long enough to enjoy their retirement.

I suspect that's by design.

After a few years, people like us seem to just disappear.

Not fucking suspicious at all.

"This isn't a life for someone as soft as her." I rub the back of my neck, my shadows skimming over my body in agitation. "She won't last a week."

"I've already deleted the video, but even I'm not good enough to make the physical evidence disappear." Darby's eyes are a little wide as he surveys the destruction. "As much as I want to help the girl, are you sure it's wise? I'm not certain even Soren can survive if she loses her temper."

I cast a look over the room again, then shake my head. "She could have killed Scotts, but she allowed him to walk out alive. I don't think it was an accident. Look at the damage. For it to miss him…it's a one in a million chance."

I walk out the door, eager to get back to the girl. I frown when I don't find Scotts in the hallway. That little pecker is going to cause us trouble. I can feel it in my bones. No doubt the coward immediately ran to complain to his supervisors.

My hands clench, and I wish I could wrap them around the little weasel's throat.

"Find out what you can about the girl." I take the stairs two at a time, not trusting the pull I feel toward her. "If we're going to stick our necks out for her, then I want to know if she's worth it."

Because if she's not, and this is some sort of trap, then I'll kill her myself.

Darby looks troubled by my order, but he doesn't protest. It's my responsibility to look out for the guys. If she's a threat, then it's my duty to do whatever is necessary to keep them safe.

Even if killing her will destroy the last bit of goodness in my soul and accomplish what MID could never achieve with all their torture.