Or been laid there once he was dead, more likely.
Knowing she couldn’t put it off any longer, Lina lifted her gaze upward, coming to a stop at the source of the blood. His neck. His head had been completely severed from his body—the only certain way to kill a demon.
Gods, he hadn’t been dead long. Not long at all. The blood had barely started to congeal.
She spotted the glimmer of something along Sam’s neck and crouched down, making sure to avoid the viscous liquid that even now seeped out further along the carpet. So gross.
When the instinctive urge to gag took hold of her, she placed a hand over her nose and mouth. A footstep sounded right outside the apartment, and she shot her gaze up to see Ronin entering.
“She’s having a cup of tea, but my calming effect won’t last long. Have you found anything?”
“Yeah.” When Ronin dropped down beside her, she pointed it out. “Looks like he was decapitated with something like fishing wire.”
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and drew out a napkin, then lifted Sam’s hands one by one and examined the fingernails. “I don’t see any skin under the fingertips. No apparent signs of struggle.”
“Right. For the most part, he looks peaceful.” Eager to leave behind the sight of Sam’s sightless eyes, Lina rose to her feet and headed for the front door. She examined the lock and doorframe. “No sign of forced entry.”
“He knew his attacker.” Ronin stood and crumpled the napkin before sliding it back into his pocket. His eyes met hers across the room. “This is related to the dark fae.”
Exactly the conclusion she’d reached. “So Sam attacks us, and then the man who hired him to attack us kills him? Why?”
Ronin’s puzzled gaze met her own, just as the muted blare of a siren drifted into Lina’s ears.
He picked up the sound at the same time she did. After taking one last look around the apartment, he motioned toward the door. “Time to go.”
Chapter Eight
As if his life was some damn broken record stuck on repeat, Dagan found himself back at his old, familiar hangout—Opiate. And this time, he had a real reason to drink. The fight with Ronin left a bitter taste in his mouth that no amount of hard liquor could wash down. Didn’t stop him from trying, though.
He knew his own shortcomings. He’d lived with them all his life. But the fact that Ronin thought so little of him hurt more than he would ever care to admit. His brother thought he was worthless.
Hell, maybe Ronin was right.
Dagan managed to down a fair number of shots before getting propositioned, which must be a testament to how pissed off he looked. Usually it didn’t take nearly so long for a willing and available woman to come his way.
“You look like you’re having a bad night,” a smooth, sultry, feminine voice practically purred.
He swiveled his head so see a pretty brunette with eyes the color of moss. The long, lean lines of her body and her catlike eyes marked her as some sort of feline shifter. Wildcat, if he had to make a guess. Something about her triggered a spark of a memory buried deep inside his brain, but it was gone before he could grasp it.
“Definitely not one of my best,” he replied.
“I can relate.” Her mouth ticked upward, and she inched closer to where he sat. Lifting a brow suggestively, she said, “Want to make it better?”
Sex was the last thing on his brain right now. He opened his mouth to decline her less-than-subtle invitation, when the memory of Ronin’s words flashed through his mind. His brother had called him a man-whore. It didn’t take too much logic to determine that everyone else Dagan cared about thought the same thing. So why not live up to their expectations?
“Yeah. Why not?”
He hadn’t really meant to say that aloud, but she didn’t give him a chance to take his words back. Grinning over at him, she said, “Then let’s go.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before finishing his drink and rising from the barstool. “Your place?”
“Why wait?” She turned toward the rear part of the club and, after giving him a suggestive glance over her shoulder to confirm he was following, led him toward the back.
Her shoulder-length brown hair gleamed in the artificial lighting. Dagan found himself wishing it was another shade entirely—a soft, moonlit blond. As soon as he caught the direction his thoughts had taken, he cursed himself. He and Lina were never going to happen. The sooner he got that through his thick skull, the better off he’d be. Lina deserved way better than he could ever give. And random assignations in a seedy nightclub were more his thing anyway.
No sooner had they passed through the gauzy curtain into the back part of the club than the brunette shifter edged his back toward the wall and plastered her front to his. “I’ve seen you here before, you know.”