Kate Evangelista - Til Death

Dillan

Home Sweet Hell

Banshees. Nasty, yellow-eyed creatures with poisonous claws. Dillan damned them and the mothers who birthed them to hell as the G6 taxied on the tarmac. He rolled down his sweater sleeves to hide the healing evidence of their claws. Similar scratches riddled his body. Thankfully, the majority of his face remained untouched. Still, bitches, all of them.

He eyed the two burly guards sitting opposite him. They grunted. The disgust on their ugly faces seemed to imply that looking at his injuries meant he whined. He gave them the finger. They couldn’t touch him, despite the hostility in their glares. Their orders were to escort the banished to his prison. At least they didn’t shackle him.

Who would have thought demotion in the Illumenari meant prisoner status? Not like he could blame them. As a Guardian, he had one duty. And he failed at it. Trained all his life only to choke at the last second. Pathetic. He’d disgraced himself and his illustrious lineage. The fact they allowed him to live with his guilt was punishment enough.

“Well, it’s been a scintillating flight, gentlemen,” he said, his first words since leaving Turkey. Slapping the armrests of his seat, he pushed up just as the flight attendant broke the door’s seal.

Baldy one and baldy two shared a grunt and then sneered at him. Their silence spoke volumes. They might as well have called him trash. He would have. He waited, but they didn’t bother getting up. Apparently, their job was done.

Package delivered.

Giving the guys one last middle-finger wave, he picked up his duffle and shuffled toward the door. The flight attendant smiled at him. He gave her a quick nod. Just doing her job, she didn’t deserve attitude. Not like she judged him.

One huge downside of demotion?

He felt almost…human.

Shudders rolled down his body as he stepped onto the G6’s steps, duffle bag over his shoulder. His gaze flicked to the insignia of three concentric circles at the tail that represented their fight for the side of light. The symbol meant something, and he’d shit all over it. His pride for what he did was at an all-time low. Nothing could make him feel less of a loser as the plane’s engines screamed. The pilot powered down after the long flight. Heaviness settled on his shoulders, hunching them forward. A headache the size of a baseball formed behind his right eye. He hadn’t slept in God knew how long.

At the top step, he huffed. Running his fingers though his hair to scratch an itch, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d showered, and the inside of his mouth tasted like ass.

So much for traveling in style in the Illumenari private jet .

His guards wouldn’t let him out of their sight, even to use the plane’s facilities. The bastards. As if he’d escape at thirty thousand feet. Then again, he could have, and they knew that. But he wouldn’t. No matter how much he bitched and moaned about his situation, he’d do his time.

He frowned up at the midnight sky. A different set of constellations blinked back, mocking him for his mistakes. He shook his head. Definitely not in Budapest anymore. And why in the hell did the air smell like Pine Fresh?

In the distance, a shadowed figure stood still. He squinted. A banshee? Heart kicking into his throat, his fingers closed around the charm attached to a leather cuff on his wrist. One rub and he’d have his weapon ready to defend himself.

“Welcome to Wyoming, Dillan,” someone said in a calm yet detached voice, drawing his attention.

Rainer leaned against a sweet, cherry red ’66 Mustang. Not ready to acknowledge his uncle just yet, he flicked his gaze back to the spot where he’d noticed the shadow. It was gone. He rubbed his eyes and blamed it on the jetlag. Taking a deep breath of the bracing air, he looked down at his uncle from the top of the plane steps. The second his feet touched the tarmac, he’d give up any advantage the high ground provided. He knew the stories. Regular children had the boogeyman. The Illumenari had Rainer Sloan.

Then his uncle’s greeting registered fully. “Wyoming?” The word tasted foul. And because he just couldn’t help himself, “What? No parade? Confetti?”

“Nope.” Rainer shook his head, a half-grin on his lips.

“Is it too late for Siberia? I can leave the pilot here and fly myself there.”

He didn’t break eye contact as his uncle studied him. All Sloan men possessed the same brow, the same blue eyes, and the same straight as a razor jawline. It was eerie. Like staring in a mirror twenty years from now.

“Just like your father,” Rainer “the Boogeyman” Sloan finally said, his assessment completed. “Come on. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

The words “This is your life” flashed in Dillan’s head as he jogged down the steps. “You mean this isn’t it yet?”

Rainer pushed off the side of his car, moved around to the trunk, and popped it. “Consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky? Bullshit.” He dumped the sum of his things into the trunk that could fit a body and a half. Then slammed the lid and made his way to the passenger side.

“Hey! Easy.” His jailer sauntered to the driver’s side, hand gliding over the gleaming metal. “Dent anything, and I use your face to fix it. Where’s Sebastian?”

“He’s not here yet?” His brow furrowed. The hellhound left Turkey before he did. The fact that he couldn’t sense his partner anymore pissed him off. The restrictions on his powers blew. He’d have to relearn how to live without most of his abilities. Back to square one, i.e. the kiddie table.

“Being an Arbiter again sucks, doesn’t it?” Rainer teased as if reading Dillan’s mind.

Arbiter. He snorted. The title connoted a place of power. Someone in authority. He might as well be called a grunt. In the Illumenari hierarchy, Arbiters were the peacekeepers. They were sent to mediate disputes between Supernaturals. Only when an agreement couldn’t be reached between parties could force be used, hence the lack of any real power. Never in a million years did he ever see himself back at this level of his career.

Patience reaching its limit, he barked, “Can we just go?”

“I think you’re forgetting who I am and why you’re here. Do I need to teach you a lesson in respect?”

As soon as the threat reached Dillan’s ears, invisible, serrated teeth latched onto every part of him. He dropped to his knees, hands splayed on the blacktop. Without moving from his spot at the driver’s side, Rainer brought him down by his aura alone. As if banishment wasn’t humiliating enough. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out. He focused on his breathing, distributing what little energy he had in his body to dull the attack. The veins on his neck stood out from the effort. Blood rushed to his face.

Just when Dillan thought he was about to pass out, Rainer said, “And to think I had a case for you.”

Raising his chin, he met his uncle’s cold glare and croaked out, “What case?”

Like the tide, the supercharged air surrounding him receded. The Boogeyman threw his head back and laughed.

…

Two hours later, Rainer hadn’t shared a single detail of the case. It was like he dangled the carrot only to yank it away. No matter how much Dillan grilled him, his uncle remained tight-lipped. At least he no longer felt the killing urge coming from the driver side of the car. Dick move on his part, pissing Rainer off. He suspected the guy only remained obstinate to torture him.