Dark Intentions [ON HOLD UNTIL SUMMER]

Chapter 1

Paris, Present Day

 *Sin*

Get out, call him, you can scream then.

Sin’s long strides carried her through the city of love, as if it were wings on her feet rather than the softly soled boots Xander had given her as a present just the night before. The silence of the night was ripped apart by the screeching of sirens and screams. The noise punctuated the public’s discovery of the bloody mess she’d left behind in the grassy park. She wanted to scream at the naive crowd that pushed their way around her.

The hasty flight took her along the banks of the Seine, drawing the occasional wandering eye from a curious tourist and native alike. She probably looked a right mess, covered in blood and fleeing from the cacophony of noise like a bat out of hell. Her burnt mahogany curls had torn loose from the tie she’d put them in, trailing behind her like some glorious cape of iridescent browns and reds, complimenting the amber hue of her eyes. She looked more like the Fae than any other Immortalia—immortal beings that stalked the shadows beside the human world—with eyes almost too big for her small face and a slender button of a nose. But not even the elusive Fae could claim her prominent cheekbones and lush lips or her petite frame and lithe body. None of the other races could claim her efficiency at death either. Not even Xander could match her with a blade, which is why he sent her to go kill bloody demons instead of getting off his lazy arse and doing it himself.

The mundanes around her eyed her skeptically, before parting around her as a sea of mortality. Once again, they proved the minds of mortals proving to be just as clouded as she thought. It amazed her how they turned a blind eye to the supernatural world that seemed to overflow into their day to day life. Seriously, how many times a day does a feral woman covered in drying blood bolt through the streets so that they’re unaffected by the sight? If she had been privy to the sight had she been an oblivious mundane, she probably would have at least spared it a second puzzled glance.

A few of them actually seemed to contemplate the idea of restraining her; the others looked  terrified of the sight she presented. Luckily for them, they didn’t know what she’d done to save their miserable lives. They would never have to suffer the labored breaths that smelled of decay as the beast of hell hovered over them with a look of distorted glee masking his heinous face. They wouldn’t have to lay paralyzed with fear at the thought of the demon dragging them through the port hole that would take them to Asmodea, the demons’ hell realm. It also happened to be where her nightmare kept his home.

And this was all because Xander had sent her to Paris to take care of some minor annoyance. Minor annoyance my arse!

She had just happened to be wandering down the northern side of the Seine enjoying the view and the quiet after a fruitless day of hunting for whatever creature was abducting Xander’s precious little mundanes. It was pure coincidence when she caught the faint whiff of sulfur and dried blood that accompanied higher level demons. She shouldn’t have even been in the area, since Xander said most of the abductions happened in the western part of the city, but as she indulged in a night walk she couldn’t ignore the prickle of hair rising over her skin. A sensation that always accompanied an opening to the port holes that served as a doorway between Asmodea and the mundane world.

She’d acted on instinct rather than mind the quiet tremble of fear that always cautioned her to flee at the first sign of demons. She braved the terror of being dragged back through that hole and finding herself once again at the dark angel’s mercy. Not that Azael had any mercy. The fallen seraph had long since forgotten the meaning of the word, probably around the same time the elder council threw him from the Celestial’s graces.

Fighting back the image of his condescending smile, she scrambled away from the gore in the park and forced her feet to maintain a pace that could be mistaken as a mundane’s clumsy gait. An errant thought mentioned pleading with the Gods to keep her from being caught, but she dismissed it just as quickly. She was no longer a shriveling waif that needed the protection of the pretentious divine that favored few while ignoring the others that inhabited their creation.