Nephilim. Mary Ann Loesch
her as she observed the fatal wounds that even now caused the lifeblood to drip away. Nothing could be done. “Julie, look at me. I know you’re scared, but I can help. I can make the cross easier.”
Panic fluttered in Julie’s dark eyes. She struggled to speak. “H…help…me…”
With as much power as she could muster, Faye focused on the wounds in the torso. All sounds muted and fell away until there was just the erratic beat of Julie’s heart. Faye’s first instinct was always to heal, but in this case, that wasn’t an option. Instead, she delved into the ocean of pain Julie felt and removed it. Her power surged forward and flowed back with waves of Julie’s pain. She gasped at the cold shock of taking it in, and watched the young woman give a small peaceful sigh as life slipped further away. Closing her eyes, Faye whispered a quick crossover prayer, feeling the soul lift from the body. When she felt Julie pass through the veil without incident, she released the young woman’s hand.
Sirens screamed and pandemonium ruled the street. The shocked crowd surged around Julie and Faye. Faye crawled back, trying to escape the faces and hands that seemed to be everywhere. Someone grabbed her shoulder, pulling her away from the cluster. Nausea built within Faye, and though her vision clouded, she managed to stand. The hand on her shoulder moved down to her elbow, and she blindly followed the person guiding her away from the chaos.
“Stop please,” she whispered. “I’m going to throw up.”
She bent over and vomited on the sidewalk. Clouds of black dust came from within her, dissipating as they hit the ground, leaving only a foul smell behind.
“Jesus, lady, what the hell did you eat?” A Goth kid leered down at her, his lip ring shimmering in the night. Faye fought the urge to reach up and give it a hard yank.
“Move on,” a voice instructed the kid. The deep, rumbling tone carried the hint of a threat, and the Goth kid scurried on his way.
“Thanks for your help.” Faye wiped her mouth and looked up at her rescuer.
Two inky black eyes stuck in a harsh pale face that stared down at her. Long, shiny black hair framed the face, falling to just below the man’s massive shoulders. He wore a T-shirt that read Fuck with me. I dare you. No one in his or her right mind would have done such a thing. Just above the collar of his T-shirt, a long black tattooed line appeared, running around to the back of his neck. She knew exactly who the man was.
Nathan Ink.
3
Nathan stared at the woman. He’d sensed the commotion on the street before it occurred. Curiosity had driven him from his apartment above Hell’s Leak to see what would happen, though he had no plans to intervene or stop the event. That wasn’t his place.
As he stepped outside, Nathan could smell her. She’d stood outside the shop earlier, her blond hair shimmering like a halo in the red neon glare of the Hell’s Leak sign.
Ahh…a new client. Let’s hear the hum of her sin.
But she’d walked away after shaking a finger at him, almost as if she knew what he’d been thinking. And then there was the hum. Though he always had the metal music he favored cranked up in the shop to block the grating tone of the ever-present hum, it usually managed to rise above everything else, pleading to be noticed, but not with the woman. He’d heard nothing that singled her out as being special enough to sit in his chair.
Maybe she was strong enough to resist temptation.
Or maybe she was one of the Others. The thought made him frown. What could they want with him?
When he’d seen her take the dying woman’s pain, Nathan’s first instinct had been to withdraw. He hated dealing with the piousness of the Others! Yet the woman’s scent was different, not quite angelic. It drew him down the street almost against his will.
“You smell earthy. Ancient. Not like an angel.” He watched her steady herself. Whatever she’d done for the dying woman came with a physical price.
“So you’re saying I smell like old dirt?” She brushed off her skirt.
“Maybe. Who are you?”
“Faye McCoy.” She stuck out a shaky hand, which he looked at curiously.
“What do you want?”
“To get off the street for starters.”
“Who sent you?”
She dropped her hand and glanced around. The cops were interviewing witnesses. Pretty soon someone would turn around and point her out. He could sense her anxiety and tried to look within her head at her thoughts.
“That doesn’t work on me,” she said, turning back to him and touching her head. “I learned a long time ago how to block my thoughts.”
The admission surprised Nathan and he tilted his head to the side, studying her.“C’mon.” He expected her to follow him back to his shop, but she hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “You wanted to get off the street.”
“I’m not going into your shop,” she said.
“Why?” The sudden stubborn plant of her feet intrigued Nathan, as did her refusal.
“I’m not…comfortable with that.”
“If you want to get off the street, the other option is my apartment upstairs.” He smiled and let his wolfish gaze wander down her body. “Comfortable with that?”
“Do you ever tattoo people from your apartment?”
“No.”
“Okay,” she said, but he heard the wariness in her tone. “I’ll go up.”
She kept pace with his long strides as they headed away from the noise of the crime scene. Nathan noticed she fidgeted with her dress, glancing nervously behind them as he unlocked the street door next to the shop. As they climbed the stairs, he found her smell a distraction. It surrounded him in the small stairwell, tickling his senses, though he still couldn’t quite place it. Something not fully human. At the top of the stairs they stopped in front of a green door. Nathan muttered his password and it slid open.
“Well, that’s a new one. I thought doors swung open,” Faye said.
“I created a vision for anyone who might be too curious about me.” Nathan peered into the room. “I don’t like letting people in my true domain.”
“We could just have easily gone to a coffee shop,” Faye pointed out. “But you don’t seem like a coffee shop kind of guy.”
They stepped into the apartment. It wasn’t much, just one big room that stretched across the second floor of the building. Dusty books were stacked floor to ceiling, and boxes teetered on top of one another. Toward the back lay an old white mattress with the sheets tangled in a heap. In the middle of the room sat a stained couch that might have once been a fashionable red. A few feet away, the matching recliner sagged at the bottom, and its lumpy stuffing poked out from various holes in the upholstery. A worn coffee table covered with newspapers, pizza boxes and a baited mousetrap sat between the couch and the recliner.
“Hmm…. I think I’d rather see what the tourists view when the door swings the other way. Your domain is a mess,” Faye said, her gaze sweeping over everything as she brushed off a spot on the couch and sank down. She touched a hand to her forehead.
“Does it hurt to do what you do? To take someone else’s pain?” Nathan asked. She shifted on the couch, the motion causing her short dress to ride up a little.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then why do you do it?”
“I can’t help it.”
“The call is just too great for you then?”
“No.” Defiance glimmered in her eyes as she turned her attention back