Dex had completely forgotten about Mark. “I meant the whole team,” he recovered.

  “Oh!” Angel’s blush deepened. “Mark and I can’t. Date night, but the others might enjoy it.”

  The elevator dinged, the door opened to reveal Mark. His arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Dex’s hand on Angel’s shoulder and their close proximity. Angel took a step back, head down as he turned to Mark.

  “Mark, I--”

  “Dex,” Mark cut Angel off, acting as if he wasn’t there. “I got the reports from Dr. Pellman.” He handed over two manilla envelopes. “Farrow was killed with Dead Man’s Blood, and Knowles was staked through the heart.”

  “I already know this, Aragon. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed, and Angel took a step forward, anticipating a fight to break out, but Dex remained calm, crossing his arms over his chest. Mark backed down. “There was a symbol carved into each victim’s head under their hair. Dr. Pellman hadn’t noticed it until he started doing the autopsies.”

  Angel moved closer to Dex to look at the pictures. Farrow--who was only nineteen--had a two inch crude symbol carved just above her ear. It looked like two V’s turned on their sides, intersecting each other with another line going through the middle vertically.

  “Do we know what this symbol means?”

  “I have Astrid looking into it.”

  “Good work, Aragon.”

  Mark nodded and turned to Angel, acknowledging him for the first time. “Let’s go. We have a reservation to keep,” he snapped.

  Dex frowned, wanting to tell Mark to watch his tone and show Angel some respect, but their relationship was none of his business.

  Angel scurried from Dex’s side to stand by Mark. “Ready.” His voice was overly bright, false.

  It was the tone of his voice that had Dex stepping forward. “Are you sure you guys don’t want to come out with the rest of the team for drinks?” Dex offered, hoping Angel would take the out. “It’s two for one shots at Poppa’s.”

  “No. We have plans.”

  Mark dragged Angel away by the arm before Dex could say anything else. There was a burning in his gut, one that told him something was wrong.

  Dex took the elevator to the first floor, seeing the rest of his team heading out to the parking garage. Dex didn’t call out to them to invite them for drinks; it wouldn’t have been as much fun without Angel.

  Get a grip, asshole. It really had been too long since he had been laid if he was pining over someone else’s boyfriend--one of his subordinates no less.

  He dug in his jacket pocket for keys, but before he could make it to the parking garage, a small but masculine voice sounded behind him.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  A nervous, but handsome man stood behind him. He was a few inches shorter than Dex and a slender build. There was a wide-eyed naivety and shyness about him that pulled at Dex’s heartstrings. His hair was black, and eyes were the color of the winter sky. Small freckles dotted his nose, and there was a scar above his lip that suggested a corrected cleft palate.

  “Can I help you?” Dex asked.

  “I need to report a missing Supe,” the man nearly whispered.

  Despite his shy demeanor a power rolled off of him that was heady and strong.

  Dex cleared his throat. Some strange feeling filled him, and he wasn’t sure why he had felt it twice in one day with two different people. “You need Missing persons. Room 160.”

  “W-will you come with me?” the man asked, shuffling from one foot to the other. The protector in Dex screamed to help him, to keep the skinny man safe. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “Sure,” Dex conceded, leading the way. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, feeling the same zing he had felt earlier with Angel. And though he wanted to ask the man if he were single and try to take him to bed. Dex couldn’t. For a WatchMan to bed a Supe was against policy. He could be fired and the Supe would be executed. “What’s your name?”

  “Damon,” the Supe replied, his voice slightly more confident. “Damon Vas.”

  Chapter Six

  Damon

  “I’m Dex.”

  Dex led Damon through the immaculate lobby to a hall labeled Missing Persons and South City Traffic Violations. Outside room 160, Dex turned to Damon, placing his hand on his shoulder again. Damon tried not to flinch, mostly to prepare himself for the strange feeling, but also because his Ma always told him that WatchMen couldn’t be trusted. They were evil men and women who wanted nothing more than to wipe Supes from existence.

  They aren’t here to protect us, Damon. They are here for the human. They will kill you before you can even blink.

  Damon knew the truth in his mother’s words. He had seen WatchMen, especially Hunters, go into homes and come out covered in blood and smiling, fist bumping each other on a job well done. Falling into the clutches of the WatchTower had been a real fear and for years, ever since his Ma died, Damon had been skirting the street when WatchMen were near. He never came to this side of the Supe territory. He didn’t know what he had expected when he entered the chrome and glass building, but to meet a WatchMan who was so...nice...he wasn’t expecting that.

  The fact that Damon’s dragon was practically purring in the larger man’s presence set him a little at ease.

  “Here we go,” Dex said as they came to a stop in front of room 160. “Good luck.”

  “Wait!” Damon nearly shouted as Dex turned to walk away. “Please. Come in with me.”

  Damon was often called shy and naive, but never needy. But ever since those killings had started happening everything scared him, and something about the WatchMan made Damon feel safe.

  “Please,” he begged again.

  The corner of Dex’s mouth upturned, and his eyes softened. “Okay, Damon.”

  Dex knocked on the door, entering after a low grumbly command told him to do so. At a desk sat a man with red hair and a handlebar mustache. All around the room are holographic posters with the words “Have you seen this Supe?” or “Have you seen this human?”

  WatchTower only dealt in missing humans when they were believed to have been taken by a Supe. There are more posters of humans than Supes; the whole left wall was covered in the faces of humans aged two to sixty-five.

  The wall with the missing Supes only had ten posters, the youngest being a twelve-year-old vampire. The sight of the preteen vampire made Damon’s heart sink.

  “Can I help you?” The mustached man asked, gesturing for Damon to take a seat.

  Damon sank into the chair, and Dex stood behind him, a silent protector.

  Damon’s dragon made a noise of satisfaction in his chest, which caused the other WatchMan to raise his bushy eyebrows.

  “I need to report my roommate missing,” Damon said, not meeting the man’s eye. Instead he looked at his badge. Agent Miller, ABQ WT, MP, Unit 302.

  “What is their name?” Agent Miller replied with a sigh, as if he would rather be anywhere but there. He sat back in his seat, kicking his heels up on his desk. There was gum stuck to the sole of his loafer.

  “Piper Cartpener. She’s a witch.”

  The man made a face. “Age?”

  “Two-hundred-forty-three.”

  Agent Miller rolled his eyes as he scribbled on his tablet with a stylus. “When did you see her last?”

  “Last night. She left for work, but never returned.”

  Agent Miller sighed again. “Picture?”

  Damon’s hands shook as he pulled out his government issued phone. He nearly dropped the phone twice, his fingers fumbled to open his pictures. Dex plucked the device from his hands, and scrolled until he showed a picture of Damon and Piper at a bar called Oak Wood Drift.

  Piper was laughing in the picture, a pint of beer in her hand. Her pink hair cut into a short bob, framing her heart shaped face. Her eyes were bright purple, a spell she had casted on herself when she was a child.

  “Is this her?” Dex asked gently, placing a hand on Damon’s shoulder and giving it a small squeeze.

  Damon nodded, took the phone from Dex and showed the picture to Agent Miller.

  “Mr…?”

  “Vas.”

  “Mr. Vas, is it possible that your friend skipped town?”

  “We’re not allowed to leave the city without permission and a WM escorting us,” Damon answered.

  “Right,” Agent Miller said slowly, as if Damon were the dumbest person he had ever had a conversation with. “But leaving illegally has been done. Could it be possible your friend headed north to the free states?”

  “No. She would have told me.”

  Agent Miller looked unconvinced. “How do I know this isn’t some elaborate plan concocted by you and your roommate?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Dex tensed behind Damon. And he realized he didn’t want Dex to think he could possibly be a part of some elaborate, illegal scheme. He turned and looked at the WatchMan. “I didn’t. I swear.”

  “It’s been done before, Mr. Vas.” Agent Miller said, commanding Damon’s attention. “The broken hearted friend or lover files a report and we scour the city, but meanwhile the ‘missing’ person is enjoying the forests of Oregon.”

  Is that what happened? Did Piper ditch me for the north?

  “Enough, Arthur.” Dex’s fingers flexed on Damon’s shoulder. He stepped in front of Damon, blocking the other WatchMan from his view. “You and I both know that this man had nothing to do with his roommate going missing. Are you going to look into this or not?”

  “I will.” Agent Miller leaned around Dex to pin Damon with a glare. “Don’t be too surprised if we find out your friend headed north. That’s where they all go.”

  If Piper really did get over the border than Damon envied her. In the Free States, Supes had rights to education, jobs, equal pay. They weren’t forced to register with WatchTower, and they lived freely among the humans. It sounded like paradise.

  Why didn’t she take me with her?

  “I’ll keep you updated, Mr. Vas.” Agent Miller waved a hand, dismissing Dex and Damon from his office.

  They exited, Dex keeping a hand on Damon’s shoulder.

  “Fucker,” Dex cursed as the door closed behind them. “I’m sorry about Arthur. He’s a good guy, but believes everything is an elaborate hoax.” Dex paused, looking at Damon who felt on the verge of releasing his dragon or crying. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  Damon’s whole body shook, his eyes welled, steam billowed from his nostrils. “Or seven.” His voice was gravelly as his dragon neared the surface.

  Dex smiled slightly. His calm nature made Damon’s dragon settle. “You want to grab a drink with me at Norman’s?”

  Damon chuckled. “Yes. Please. They serve the best onion rings in the world.”

  Dex’s smile turned full blown, causing Damon’s breath to catch. “I’ll meet you there, and buy you all the onion rings your heart desires.”

  You can’t sleep with him. No matter how badly Damon wanted the night to end with the WatchMan in his bed, he had to keep his dick in his pants. No man was worth losing his life over.

  Chapter Seven

  Angel

  Angel still fumed as Mark pulled into the Parking Lot of Solomon Bistro. He had been forced to leave his car behind at work, which meant he wouldn’t be able to come up with a convenient excuse to bail when Mark became too much.

  “Stop pouting, Angel,” Mark snapped. “We’ll get your car after dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Mark growled, tangling his fingers in Angel’s hair painfully. Angel squeezed his eyes shut and let out a whine. “You will fucking go inside and eat the food I order you. Then we will go to my apartment, where I will fuck you for as long and as hard as I want.” He pulled harder, Angel screamed. His hands flew up to pull Mark off of him. “Don’t you fucking get how this works?” He kissed Angel roughly, his mouth crashing hard against Angel’s. Angel didn’t kiss him back, tears slid down his cheeks. “You seem to keep forgetting your place, Angel. “You belong to me. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good.” Mark let go of Angel’s hair and fixed his suit. “I love you, Angel.”

  “You too.”

  Why am I too weak to leave? Angel wondered. He prided himself on being strong, on having no fears. But Mark terrified him to his core.

  Mark didn’t apologize like he used to. And for some reason, Angel preferred that to the false contrite words.

  Mark shook some of Angel’s hair from his fingers as Angel wiped his cheeks.

  He regretted not taking Dex up on those drinks.

  Then your punishment would be so much worse.

  As they made their way to the restaurant Mark slid a hand down Angel’s back, cupping his ass. “Tonight I am going to remind you that you are mine,” he whispered.

  Angel shuddered with fear.

  The hostess smiled as they entered. “Name?”

  “Mark Aragon.”

  The hostess’ smiled brightened. “Agent Aragon, we have your table ready. Follow me.”

  They followed the hostess to a secluded booth in the back. The restaurant was full of humans, all rich and beautiful like Mark. Angel hated the fancy places he was dragged to, he would be happy with a pizza, beer and a movie. Three course meals and expensive bottles of wine were not his scene.

  “You’re going to have the wagyu.”

  Angel nodded. He hated steak.

  The waiter introduced himself as Chester and Mark ordered wine and their steaks. Angel kept looking at the menu, ignoring the slightly flirty exchange between his boyfriend and Chester.

  The duck in cranberry sauce looked good.

  Mark plucked the menu from Angel’s hand and gave it to Chester. Angel turned his attention to the tables around them, noticing Southern Presidential Candidate Ariel Simms.

  “She has a lot of nerve showing her face here,” Mark seethed. “She would be better suited dining with the filth.”

  Angel refrained from rolling his eyes and looked at Mark. “She’s still human. She just thinks that Supes deserve the same rights we have.”

  Mark scoffed. “Right. I forgot you’re a Supe lover like her.”

  “They just want basic rights. Why should we deny them that?”

  Mark’s lip curled back from his teeth. “Do you forget what they did to my mother?” His voice rose with each word he spoke. People began to stare. “Vampires ripped her apart, Angel, and you think they deserve basic human rights?”

  “Those vampires were executed, and that was a long time ago. Not all Supes are the same. Things have changed.”

  “Not all of them are dead! Besides, they will always be fucking beasts!”

  The entire restaurant fell silent, only the sound of a violin playing through the speakers could be heard.

  “Mark,” Angel urged. If he didn’t calm him down now, he would see Mark’s fists later. “Let’s just enjoy our meal. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “I’ll be back.” Mark stormed off toward the bathroom.

  After a few moments, the sound of silverware hitting plates resumed, but Ariel Simms stood and came to the table.

  She was Native-American and caucasion with straight black hair and friendly brown eyes. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” Angel said, offering a smile he didn’t quite feel. “My boyfriend gets emotional.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Angel regarded her curiously. Mark would say she was meddling as a political stunt, but she seemed genuine. “Actually I think your presence would just upset him more. Thank you though.”

  She nodded and turned to head back to her table where her children and husband were watching.

  “Mrs. Simms?” Angel called, and she turned with the grace of a ballerina and gave a small smile. “I’m voting for you in the upcoming election.”

  Her smile grew. “Thank you.”

  She sat back in her seat just as Mark reappeared. He seemed calmer, and his hair was wet as if he stuck his head in the sink.

  The food arrived moments later, and they ate in silence. Mark hated when Angel interrupted his meal with idle chit-chat.

  Angel’s mind began to wander. He thought about the weird buzzing feeling he had in Dex’s presence. How safe he had felt only after knowing Dex for eight hours. But before his thoughts led into dangerous territory, he forced himself to think of safe topics like his grandmother’s growing medical bills and the few items he had to pick up from the store the following day.

  “Let’s go,” Mark said once they had finished eating. Despite flirting with the waiter every time he came to check on them, Mark left a mediocre tip, but Angel learned not argue for him to leave more. It wasn’t worth the busted lip.

  Angel was silent as Mark drove back to his apartment--not stopping to grab Angel’s car--and after parking the car, they took the elevator up to the top floor. As they passed Astrid’s apartment, the sounds of a show or movie blasted through the walls.

  “She loves that show,” Mark said.

  Angel thought he should probably care why Mark would know that, but he really didn’t.

  Mark’s apartment was sterile. The only personal touches were a picture of his mother taken fifteen years ago, and a picture of Mark and his father when he graduated from WatchTower Academy. Angel hated the overly polished floors, the chrome appliances, the blinding white walls. He preferred the lived in, overly decorated feel of his grandma’s house.

  Mark poured a finger of whiskey into a glass and took a sip before glaring at Angel. “Strip,” he barked.

  “Mark, I’m not in the mood.”

  Angel flinched as the words left his mouth, bracing himself for what would come. Seconds later Mark’s hand struck Angel hard across the cheek. He tasted blood and fell to his knees. Mark stood over him, taking a drink from his glass before he knelt, pulling Angel’s head back by gripping his hair. Angel groaned in pain.

 

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