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J ust when Ely had fallen asleep, the OC tapped into his head. Short and sweet. Bring in Malacour.

He flew toward the trustee’s bar in Angor. No doubt about it, Scourge misbehavior was on the uptick. More fights than usual spilled onto the streets. Gangs of miscreants wandered the city, smashing whatever was in their paths. Weaker Scourges ran from the stronger rampaging malady-stricken. Shit was stirring.

Ely pushed through the front door, shoving through the crowd to get to Malacour’s office. It was empty.

The patrons were rowdy, high on rumors of a rebellion as Ely cleared a path to the bar. His gaze swept the room while he listened for intel or news of Malacour. Nothing definitive on either.

Ely may have been as excited as the Scourges. A rebellion was something to consume time. The chatter around him was speculative. No one was named, other than Lucian, who popped up often. Guesswork or knowledge?

Some of the patrons were eager for the Singer in the Velvet Cage, as she was billed. Despite the pain they’d feel from her song, her voice and beauty were worth the agony.

Ely agreed. Even with no real intel coming from the Scourges, he planned to stick around for her performance before he searched for Malacour.

The crowd’s anxiety ratcheted up, a sure sign she was expected.

The room quieted. A spotlight beamed onto the stage. Her cage descended from the ceiling. That was new. He guessed her popularity warranted an expensive gadget. As before, she was in a swing, her back to the audience.

Fiery red hair hung to her waist while her hands gripped the chains of the swing. Two Blood Leeches rotated the cage, the bars wrapped in velvet. She faced her fans.

She was stunning in a strapless, black gown, a snug bodice of shimmering sequins, its full skirt showing only the tips of her matching shoes and a slit revealing a shapely leg.

Her flesh was lightly golden and dotted with freckles like her face. Her makeup was artfully applied, red lips, blush, and mascara-ed pale, translucent eyes. They were almost like a Mind Rat’s but more subtle, more beautiful, more hypnotic, and the soft green of the palest sea glass.

Despite his revulsion, Ely’s heart thundered with emotion.

Her song was deep-throated and bluesy. Something about a two-timing lover. The crowd was silent, lips parted, intent on the singer and her song.

When that tune ended to uproarious applause, she sang “I Will Always Love You,” made famous by the human Whitney Houston.

Listening to her, Ely felt more alive than he had for millennia. Maybe ever.

Then the Scourges clutched their heads and cried in pain. She’d dug inside their minds and twisted. Though Ely sensed an intent to enter his brain, it was only a twitch, easily blocked.

Her gaze locked on him. She unfolded from the swing and gripped the velvet-covered bars of the cage. With her sea-glass green eyes wide, she pleaded with Ely. “Do something. Help,” they begged.

He turned away from the attractive Mind Rat. The bartender, a trustee who was shifting from Scourge to Immortal, was obviously feeling the singer’s effects.

“Got any Demon Brew?” asked Ely, breaking through the pain.

“On tap.”

“A pint.”

The guy winced, slapping a hand to his temple. “You paying?”

Ely tossed a few creats onto the bar. “Who’s the singer?”

“Some oddball Scourge Malacour picked up. But she’s a looker, huh? Great for biz.”

“Speaking of your boss, is he around?”

“Somewhere.” The bartender’s gaze surveyed the room. “There he is.”

Ely spied the manager near the stage chatting on a phone. No telepathy for the guy since he was a Scourge, albeit a trustee. Malacour still had to use the device to communicate. All nervous like, he glanced around the room. Spying Ely, the guy dropped the device from his ear and melted into the crowd.

Ely ignored his drink and sprinted into the crush of patrons, tossing bodies out of his way to get to Malacour.

Was this his eternal life? Chasing down Scourges? Maybe it was time for him to rest again, to hibernate, to go into stasis at a retreat until OneWorld was new again. If not, he feared he would be on the road to contracting a malady as Gareth had. It was said that the pressure of eternity could cause madness.

“Outta my way, assholes.” Ely jumped on top of a table. His gaze darted left. Right. Ahead. He didn’t spot Malacour.

There .

The front door was closing, the trustee scurrying outside to the street. Ely charged after him, ignoring the ruckus he’d caused in the bar.

When he spied Malacour, he pounded down the sidewalk. Gareth had been an asshole. Ely didn’t think of himself as asshole material. Maybe sometimes, but not always. He was just bored out of his mind.

He did have to admit that Dom, Madeline, and the unexplainable events stirring up OneWorld were noteworthy. Maybe shit would get interesting enough to shake him out of his stupor. Though chasing Scourges around was biz as usual, earthquakes and the enigmatic Maddy were kinda exciting.

He took his mood temp. Yeah . He was feeling a bit livelier. A bit more interested in seeing what was coming. The redhead in the cage pinged his curiosity. Too bad she was the thing he hated most.

At a corner, he looked around. No Malacour in any direction. He angled his head to the sky. He hadn’t left on wing. Where the hell did he go? Ely had failed to catch him, his mind focused on other shit.

****

L ong after their guests had gone, Madeline lay beside Dom on the bed, staring out the open roof at the stars. The night was amazingly clear and warm. For the moment. Comfortable, she snuggled against Dom’s arm which was looped under her neck. But she heard the blood thrumming through his veins. Her chest bounced up and down with panted, panicked breaths while she struggled with her urges.

Philosophy and Psychology, Religion, Social Sciences...

But Maddy’s recitation did nothing to curb her hunger for the black-winged assassin.

She’d conquered the traumas of childhood, led a good life, had a great job, and was independent. Praevus disrupted all that, making her a slavish dupe. That problem erased, her focus now narrowed to a beating pulse in Dom’s neck.

She closed her eyes to concentrate on happy moments, such as the last time she’d been together with her sisters. They’d gathered in St. Louis since it was in the middle. Darya had flown in from New York and Fia from Los Angeles. They met at a long-running restaurant, Lombardo’s Trattoria near Union Station. Madeline had ordered the rigatoni with seafood, her usual.

With a scallop poised on her fork, she asked, “How’s your dance studio, Darya?”

Though her sister had trained to be a ballerina in New York, an automobile accident had ended that career path. The resilient Darya, however, picked herself up and opened a dance studio for determined young performers. She never looked back.

“I have some talented youngsters. One kid, in fact, was just accepted into the Dance Theatre of Harlem. I was sorry to see him go, but it’s a big step up. Anyone want the last piece of focaccia?”

Maddy shook her head.

Fia, whose career as a lounge singer was hitting big, waved her sister on. “I was approached by a record producer at the nightclub. When I get back to LA, I’m going to meet in his studio to go over his ideas. What about you, Maddy? You’re the brains of our outfit. What’s new?”

“I’m starting my masters, beefing up my creds in special collections and research.”

The happiness of the get-together had stayed with Madeline, a celebration by three young women who could have been damaged by a bad childhood. Instead, they’d tackled life and won.

Good times.

Now Madeline cuddled up to a winged Immortal in a dimension somewhere in the universe, thinking about sucking his blood. This sure wasn’t grad school.

No blood sharing. No mating. Dom had nixed Indigo’s idea. In desperation, she’d even tried bottled blood. Nope. She’d thrown up what she swallowed.

Now she was hanging on by an un-manicured nail. And losing her grip. If she didn’t manage the cravings soon, they would control her. She refused to put Dom in harm, although he’d assured her she couldn’t kill him since he was Immortal.

That may be, but she didn’t want to severely injure him either. Like drinking all his blood so that it took centuries for him to heal.

Twisting toward Dom, Madeline stared at his masculine face with its hard angles, firm jaw, and lines that said he’d seen sadness. A man she was falling in love with. Hell . She’d already fallen.

He was gruff. He was impatient. He was a survivor like Madeline. He’d tackled life and won. But there was more. Despite a less-than-cheerful outlook, he was kind and caring. It didn’t hurt that he had a body women wanted to fondle.

Would she be his downfall?

Dom opened his good eye, fixing on her, his black hair loose, a silky swath resting on a thick pectoral muscle. He caught her ogling him. “What?”

“Nothing. This is nice. The two of us. The starry sky.” She felt the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks.

He smiled, something Dom didn’t do nearly enough, but when he did, well, ladies hold onto your knickers. And in his smile was an equal dose of love and assassin confidence. A lethal combo. She felt it to the tips of her toes.

Dom suddenly went still, a sure sign he was listening to a telepathic conversation. He growled. Apparently, the news was not good.

Maddy grabbed a book from the bedside table.