Excerpt
I made my way toward the back of the gym, setting down my go-cup on the shelf beside the sound system, then striking up my favorite classic rock playlist. I shrugged out of my hoodie and ran my fingers through my long, black hair, tying it up into a ponytail. I could fit in a warm-up and a few rope climbs myself while I waited for the door to open, getting myself in order before working the same movement with the kids. It'd take my mind off waiting for Faith as well.
The electronic bell over the front door chimed. I turned toward the whisper of denim and the squelch of wet shoes on rubber, expecting to find Faith walking in, a cranky apology on her lips and a sheepish expression on her face.
No.
Time slowed. I blinked, the movement seeming to take minutes rather than seconds. The air felt thick—almost too thick to breathe.
Before I even laid eyes on my visitor, the cadence of the walk struck me wrong, the footsteps belonging to someone heavier and with finer motor control of their body than my fifteen-year-old. I breathed in deep and tasted a hint of amber and vanilla in the air. None of the moms or stepmoms or girlfriends I'd met wore that scent. I'd studied each of them, remembered every quirky detail. I knew them. I couldn't afford not to.
I knew my visitor, too. I'd just never counted on seeing her again, because I'd never counted on seeing any of my fellow hunters from the Order again. Especially not this one.
The woman who'd walked through the door stopped ten feet from me, a signal she intended to talk rather than attack. Really, it was unnecessary. If she'd meant to harm me, I'd never have seen or heard her coming.
She pushed back the hood of her black rain slicker. Her blond curls had grown all the way to her shoulders since the last time I'd run my fingers through them. The only makeup she wore on her porcelain face was a pale pink flush of lipstick; her dark blue eyes were sharp on me. She unzipped her jacket, letting it fall open. A black brocade vest accented her long-sleeved black T-shirt. The ensemble hugged the curves of her breasts, skimming the line of her waist. Water soaked the hems of her black jeans. She wore steel-toe black boots with rubber soles.
Sunday Sloan. Once upon a time, my salvation.
The halo around her body held a tint of rose red, life force flavored with a strong, blinding passion that she harnessed in everything she did, including her kills. One look in the eyes of her victims, and she could literally blind them if she chose. She had a touch of the traditional psychic as well, not enough to actually see the future, but enough to guess what might happen that would affect her most and allow her to act accordingly.
The same magical gifts infiltrated her personal relationships. Her faults became hard to see. And once she made up her mind about a cause or a person, she gave them her unconditional, undying—blind—loyalty. I'd been on the receiving end of that loyalty. I'd thrown it away when I'd left without saying goodbye.
Sunday Sloan was the Order's MVP. Or MVO—most valuable operative. If she was here, I was in deep trouble.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
Heat filled her voice, rising with every syllable. "There's something magical rising in this town, Night—something big and bad. I came to learn about it. To understand it. I came to fight it. I came to kill it."
