Page 133 of Darkness

Fuck. Craig. The man in Morrisey’s painting. The lost love.

A traveler.

“Craig?” For a moment, hope filled Morrisey’s face, replaced a moment later with a cold hardness Farren had never seen before. “You’re not Craig. He died.”

“My old body died. I found a new one. I wanted to tell you, but couldn’t let you know I’m a traveler. You weren’t ready to learn about us yet. Leaving was the only way I could protect you.”

Back then, Morrisey would have no way of knowing. He faltered, indecision on his face.

Farren’s heart squeezed painfully with a never-before-experienced intensity. He’d heard of heartbreak before—a human exaggeration. Was this what they’d been talking about? Morrisey had loved Craig but didn’t know his nature. No! Don’t listen to him! But if faced with a chance to get Kele back, would Farren embrace any chance, no matter how small or false?

The indecision faded, replaced with certainty. “You weren’t with me because you loved me, but because of Asher. You were keeping watch and reporting to him, weren’t you, until he was ready?”

The man splayed his hands out at his sides. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. I left to protect you.”

Surely Morrisey could see the lies in the man’s aura. Love is blind, Leary once said, speaking of a cheating former wife. Could humans truly convince themselves to deny painful truths?

The Craig traveler pleaded. “Asher… punished me. But he’s forgiven me now. We could be together again, Morse. You and me. Like old times.” Again, his aura told another tale.

Morrisey snarled. “If you’re with Asher, you’ve made your choice.”

Craig’s death had left Morrisey vulnerable, causing him to drink, which stunted his powers—until Asher was ready. Damn.

Morrisey bored an intense gaze into him. The imitation Craig grimaced, clutching his head. He and Morrisey stood there, locked in some kind of battle of wills. A tear tracked down Morrisey’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, Craig,” Farren felt more than heard. Pain, loss, determination.

Craig collapsed without a sound. Morrisey wiped away tears with the back of his hand and turned to face another man. “You! You were across the street at the birthday party.”

Birthday party? Oh, Morrisey’s last case with Atlanta PD.

The man grinned. “Your partner was so easy to manipulate. His despair. How sweet!”

“You made Will kill himself.” A statement, not a question.

The man gave a little bow. “Guilty as charged.”

“Why?” Morrisey spoke in a low growl, the tightening in his jaw betraying barely controlled rage.

“To get him out of the way.”

A diversion. This man created a diversion.

Safely tucked behind two of his followers, Asher grinned, ready to strike.

“No!” Farren shrieked, launching himself to intercept.

Morrisey closed his eyes, threw his head back and arms wide. The hairs on Farren’s arms rose a moment before a whirling vortex ripped through the room, tossing travelers right and left.

No, not travelers—what humans called souls.

Only Farren and a few others remained unaffected.

One by one, souls ripped from bodies, leaving human forms gasping out their last on the floor. The portal no longer dwelled within Farren, but stood before Morrisey, taking the lost into its inky blackness.

Domus had no wars in recent memory, so never had Farren heard of so many of his people dying suddenly, unless a sector crumbled. A few caught on to the carnage, turned, and tried to run.

They stood no chance against the force of Morrisey James. Several simply dropped in surrender where they stood, maintaining their souls.

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