Page 74 of Fallen Omega

I take a convoluted way out of the grim area in the Wharf district. Once it was busy, but now it’s a lot of empty places, warehouses, run-down apartments, and businesses. Not many people are out. Some criminal types, and the beauty with them is that this area tends to be crime free and people keep to themselves.

Whatever they’re doing, they don’t want to be seen. And no one cares to see them.

I don’t speak to the pack members in the bar, or the staff that I know. I check out the clientele, see if anyone doesn’t fit. It’s all normal.

But still.

I transfer everything to a duffle, put on a cap and head out the back entrance.

Some might call it overkill. I call it covering bases.

I know something’s wrong when I reach the building.

Her scent.

There’s a whiff, but it’s not that strong of an aroma I can taste.

She’s fucking gone.

I don’t bother checking when I go in and dump her stuff. Instead, I lock the door, and for the first time in a long time, I smile.

Time to hunt.

Chapter

Sixteen

Lizette

Ismell him.

Breath catching in my lungs, the rum and tobacco with hints of roses scent winds down into my cells, regardless.

My heart thumps as fear runs a low buzz, making me shiver.

I didn’t run away, but I didn’t want to be cooped up. And okay, my first thought was to follow Reaper outside, but he moves like he isn’t there at all. Silent, invisible, a creature who can slide between worlds.

I don’t know if he’s seen me, and I’m not looking around again. Once I thought he was on top of me, his presence pressing into me like a cloying shadow, but when I whipped around?

Nothing.

No one.

So, I slip past an empty warehouse just near the water; the soft lap of waves and whoosh of traffic a few streets over arethe only sounds.

I don’t like it here, in the gathering dark.

Dirt crunches, and I almost scream out of instinct, but it’s me. My foot.

Breath comes harsh as I dart into a half open warehouse door. It’s full of old crates and empty shelves. Broken furniture.

Why do abandoned places always have broken furniture?

Concentrate, I tell myself, pulse racing hard.

I don’t know why I’m running, hiding, or why I’m panicked.

But it’s the kind of fear and panic that has an electric beat to it, and my heart spins.

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