Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
The outside was also awash in the scents of vampires he didn’t know, and the overload hurt hunter senses he hadn’t been able to use for most of his lifetime. He’d shut them down in his youth, suffocating that which made him hunter-born—the same thing that would’ve been his biggest asset had he not been paralyzed.
Those senses had reawakened with a vengeance during his transition, but Vivek had lived in a body that couldn’t hunt for a long time. He knew how to stuff his discomfort into a tiny box that he shoved to the back of his consciousness. That didn’t mean he enjoyed the constant assault on his nose.
What a joke he was—a hunter-born who’d never hunted.
His fingers clenched on top of the cane.
He was pretty sure something inside him was stunted, a bit of growth that had never taken place. Probably needed therapy for that, but after a lifetime of being watched and touched by others, he’d had his fill of medical personnel of any kind. Didn’t matter if they were kind or not; he could barely even grit his teeth through his appointments with the physiotherapists and Tower healers.
“Here you go, boss.” The cab driver pulled up in front of a black building with a black door and blacked-out windows. “Look, man, I ain’t the type to get into no one’s business, but you really sure you cool?”
It still surprised Vivek when he realized that some people were just nice. Like Jim and Nellie, the only people he considered family though they shared no blood, were nice. Good thing he had them in his life or he’d have grown up a misanthrope who believed the worst of everyone; but as it was, he only expected the worst of most people.
After paying his bill with a simple scan of the sleek watch he wore under his suit jacket, he shifted to exit the taxi . . . and flashed his fangs at the driver.
The man’s jaw literally unhinged. “Holy shit!” A grin wide and dazzling. “Go get your freak on, my man!”
He mimed a high five motion before he pulled away. His words told Vivek he had an excellent idea of what lay behind the walls of the black building. No surprise; cabbies in New York knew everything. Several were informants for Vivek. He’d made a mental note of this cab’s medallion number almost automatically. Never knew when it might come in handy.
Turning onto the deserted street that wasn’t actually deserted if you looked into the alleyways and shadows, he made his way to the door. The driver needn’t have worried. No one approached Vivek. Mortals might not realize who he was, but the angels and vamps all knew him. Word on the street was that he must have “connections”—or a skill so rare as to have been Made despite his physical condition.
No one wanted to mess with a vamp that hooked up.
He wanted to snort. Yes, he had friends despite himself—Ellie was the reason he’d even been considered for Making. He never forgot that, or how she’d set him straight when he’d attempted to turn her offer into some sort of savior deal. Ellie respected him—enough to not pull any punches when he was being an ass.
A man needed friends like that.
But connected or not, here and now he was the threat. People who’d lived hundreds of years tended to forget about modern weapons—like the souped-up stunner in his coat pocket. Or the poisoned sword built into his cane. Because of course Deacon was going to build a sword into his cane, and Vivek had decided it had to be poisoned, because that might do enough harm to a rampaging angel to give him a shot at escape.
The stunner would definitely down an angel. He’d tested it on a Tower volunteer—and the angel had cursed him for days in the aftermath. It hadn’t taken her down for long, though. Five minutes max. But five minutes was plenty of time for a man who knew how to hot-wire almost any vehicle known to man and had plenty of other tricks up his sleeve.
Five minutes could mean a lifetime.
He hadn’t brought along his gun, the twin of which had caused a scar on Raphael’s wing that had turned into a permanent pattern after his feathers regrew. Good thing the archangel wasn’t holding a grudge. That gun meant serious business—and had felt too heavy-duty for tonight’s task.
Tonight, he wanted to make friends, not enemies.
Reaching the black door, he rang the weathered bell that hung over it, then waited. The slot in the door slid back a moment later, dark eyes scanning him. The slot shut, then the door opened to reveal a dimly lit interior, black carpet against black walls.
The bouncer shut the door behind him.
Vivek tipped the vampire because that was just good strategy. People talked to those they liked, and Vivek’s understanding of that was why he was now number two in the Tower’s information network.