J. Geissinger - Edge of Oblivion

She rounded the corner of the alley just in time to see him hurl a throwing star at the man in white. Just before impact, his target dissolved into a fine spray of mist, and the throwing star caught the collar of the now empty white shirt and embedded it into the brick wall behind him with a thunk . It hung from the throwing star’s spikes like laundry hung out to dry. The mist that had been the man in white coalesced and rose quickly in surging gray plumes.

The force of his Shift made her gasp. He was incredibly powerful, just as powerful as the throb of energy that had so shocked her when Xander had Shifted at the Colosseum the night before.

It was always like that with an Alpha. Power and passion and heat. Past her shock, she wondered again why Xander wasn’t the Alpha of Manaus—he was far stronger than Alejandro, the one who ruled now.

Moving fast, the gray plume of mist disappeared above the roofline, pants and shoes and underthings left behind in a heap on the dirty cement. Xander ran to the pile of clothes, crouched down, and quickly combed over them. He pocketed something, then noticed her standing there, staring.

He stood and stared back. His eyes were fierce, firelit gold, unmistakably dangerous and wild.

She felt the surge of bloodlust crackling through his body and took a step back, her hand at her throat.

“Get back to the hotel.” He was breathing heavily but his voice was perfectly controlled, perfectly cold. “Wait for me there. Don’t let anyone in but me, no matter what happens. Entendido? ”

She nodded, backing away, her hand still at her throat. If she’d had any illusion of the truth of what he was, if she’d harbored any secret hope because of their strange conversation at breakfast, it was quickly stripped away and burned by the sheer pulsing force of the rage and hatred that burned in his eyes, bright as comets.

Killer , she thought. He was a killer. Of that, there was no doubt.

Then he turned away, walked to the very end of the alley where the brick walls met behind a pair of reeking Dumpsters, and simply melted into the building, leaving behind not a single trace he was ever there.

He didn’t want to leave his knives behind, so Xander simply used Passage instead of Vapor, a convenient Gift he’d more than once been grateful for.

This way he could simply Pass through solid material—or it through him, like the bullet—

keeping his clothes and anything he carried with him. Anything that wasn’t too heavy, that is. He’d once tried to Pass a three-hundred-pound deserter from his colony through the steel bars of the country jail he’d found him in, piss drunk, and had made the unfortunate and gruesome discovery that there were weight restrictions to this particular Gift. The man had made it halfway through before things really got ugly. Xander had had to abandon the body, but he burned the jail to the ground so there was no evidence of the deserter’s unusual demise.

In another life he’d have been a cat burglar. He’d more than once dreamed of the riches he could accrue, all with no more effort than it took to concentrate.

The building he’d entered through the back had once been a multilevel private home, converted now into a modest hotel. Once through the walls, he found himself in a laundry room, steamy and strewn with mountains of unwashed sheets, pillowcases, and towels. He oriented himself for a moment, finding the muffled energy of the Alpha far above him, moving fast over the roof. Then he started to jog, dodging washing machines and ironing boards and two old Italian women folding towels who shrieked as he went past.

He went through the kitchen, the dining room, and the small, deserted front lobby—not bothering with finding doors, just Passing through the walls as he went—and ran out into the street.

His prey was there, high above, a streak of pale gray moving swiftly and silently through the sky.

Though it was all he could do to keep the animal under his skin from clawing its way out, Xander forced himself to fall back to a safer distance. A plan formed in his mind. He could always Shift to Vapor if necessary, but not only did he not want to play that particular hand just yet, he wanted the man in white to think he’d lost him in the tangled maze of Rome’s streets, and—hopefully —lead Xander to his lair. If he thought he was still being followed, the chances of that happening were exactly zero.

Xander ran to a tall stone pine, umbrella-shaped and ubiquitous around the city, and scaled the trunk quickly, forgetting in his haste to even look around for watching eyes of pedestrians below. He reached the top and steadied himself between two massive branches and looked out, his view obstructed by nothing but a small branch with clusters of dangling needles he brushed aside.

Over the landscape of rooftops and treetops and church spires there rose one massive, iconic structure, a cruciform basilica topped by the tallest dome in the world. It dominated the skyline, glittering enormous and diamond white in the morning sun.

Xander watched in arrested curiosity as the small gray cloud of mist made its way above the city, angled down toward the dome, and disappeared into the cupola that topped it.

“ Meu deus ,” he breathed, frozen in horrified shock.

This was even worse than he thought.

Morgan awoke in warm darkness to the sound of Xander’s voice somewhere nearby, pitched low and tense. He paused intermittently between sentences as if he were listening.

“Yes, I’m sure. I know. I did, but he’d vanished. I’ll try again in a few hours. I’ve been at it all night. Yes, she—no. No. Leander, that’s not —” He exhaled in a long, aggravated hiss, then fell silent.

She sat up from the couch, blinking in the dark living room. She sensed it was still a while before dawn; the birds hadn’t even started singing outside the windows in the trees yet, and the city still held that slumbering quiet of very early morning. She stretched, wincing at the crick in her neck, and rose from the couch, pushing the ivory cashmere throw aside.

It had been one of the longest nights of her life.

Pacing hadn’t helped. Worrying hadn’t helped. Four shots of very fine whiskey hadn’t helped.

Only sleep had provided an escape from the state of anxiety she’d been in since she returned to the hotel after finding Xander in the alley, and that had been a temporary solution. Now that she was awake, the anxiety came flooding back full force.

What happened? Did he catch the Alpha? Did he discover anything? Were there more stray Ikati wandering the streets of Rome? Why was he gone the entire night? How could he walk through walls ?

Was he hurt?

His voice had come from the master bedroom, and she looked toward its closed door, wondering if she should knock or just wait for him to come out. The sound of running water decided for her. Xander was taking a shower.

With a heavy sigh, she rubbed her eyes and went to forage for something to eat in the kitchen.

She had only breakfast yesterday, and now her stomach was tied in hungry, disquieted knots.

In addition to the sprawling living room, master suite, sitting area, and a twenty-five-hundred-

square-foot balcony that overlooked the rooftops of Rome, the Nijinsky suite boasted a full kitchen, a bar, and a separate dining room for ten. She looked around the marble-and-chrome kitchen and thought she could quite happily live here for the rest of her life. Except when she opened the refrigerator door there was nothing but cold air to greet her.

She pursed her lips, debating. Wait for Xander to finish his shower, knock on the bedroom door, and get down to dealing with reality—or order room service?