Page 8 of Dark Shadow of Guilt

A bored Ely rested a hand on the hilt of a short blade in his hip holster.A shitload of Scourges could be waiting to jump us.

And that would hurt us how, Ely?Dom frowned, not sure what the problem was. They were Immortals, and other than themselves, no one except the OneCreator or Michael could extinct them.

His ice-winged brethren turned an empty gaze to Dom.They can’t kill us, but we could be laid up for a while if there were enough of them.

When did you get to be such a wuss?asked Remi.

Ely’s eyes narrowed to angry slits.Not. I could use a real dust-up to keep me awake. Just throwing out a possibility.

Dom scrubbed a fist across his jaw.I’ll fly above the Scourge, keeping pace with him. You two stay on his ass. Be ready for a surprise once we land.

“Let’s go, Ike.” Dom’s ebony wings spread wide as he pounded into the air. The Scourge popped off the ground next with Remi and Ely following him. They skimmed the rooftops, taking a route toward the industrial district.

Newly arrived inmates in Angor or those who were too stupid to move up in status worked in the factories here in Stupool. No safety standards. They breathed chemicals, sooty air, and toxic fumes. A dark cloud of smog enveloped the area, a thick, nasty haze vomiting from smokestacks. Not that it could kill them, but getting air in the zone was like breathing underwater and had them hacking up black spit.

After Ike signaled below, he angled toward the ground, coming in for a soft landing on a street. “She’s in this d-d-district, but the alleyway gets n-n-narrow. We have to walk.”

Dom snagged his upper arm, nearly yanking him off his feet. “She? You didn’t tell us the human was a female.”

“Does it matter?” The Scourge’s cheek twitched.

Dom distrusted beings with nervous tics. They weren’t reliable. “Where we goin’?”

Ike pointed straight ahead, leading the way.

Dom’s gaze took in both sides of the alley. What a dump. Course that assessment pretty much held for all of Angor, except where the assassins lived. The largest city, Stupool, was a dismal industrial jungle of factories, flesh bars, BDSM joints, roads clogged with cars emitting carbon monoxide, and streets ripe with smells and things you didn’t want to think about. Whenever possible, he avoided strolling the avenues, wading through sewage that leeched onto the street.

Beyond the city were the Ordeals—Blood Volcano, Slough of Despair, Blades Forest, Violence Village. And more. Each spot was a punishment zone for Scourges.

Angor was often shrouded in fog and storm clouds, the sky dim, a palpable gloom that ranged from shadowy to inky. Yet the fickle weather would change in an instant. Gentle breezes turned to gale-like winds and tornadoes, light mists transformed into monsoon rains, and black skies heralded sunshine. One moment, you slapped on sunscreen and dark shades on a hot, bright day. The next, you buttoned up your fur-lined jacket against the stormy skies and intermittent light, a cold, icy, stark place as cruel as those it contained.

Nonetheless, centuries ago, the Feard had elected to live in the White Mountains of Angor rather than among their kind in Vast. Each winged assassin had a different reason for the relocation. Ohngel had grown weary of the politics of Vast, the OC’s favored dimension. Ely, bored with immortality, was game for anything new. Dom wanted to distance himself from those he might have to capture or kill another day, as he’d done with Gareth. Remi? Well, who knew why the bronze spike-winged assassin did anything.

The Feard had built their homes on cliffs high in the mountains, open to the air and overlooking the ocean and Scutter Shoals Bay. In that territory, they thrived in the unpredictable environment, far from Vast’s politics, other Immortals, and the ennui of eternity.

Though they lived among the Scourges of Angor, the same detritus the Feard tracked, captured, or extincted, there was an honesty to this dimension that Vast lacked. The OneCreator’s home base was a place of disguises, platitudes, and intrigues. And it had its own miscreants, sometimes as dangerous as Scourges.

Behind Dom, Ely cleared his throat.We’re heading into a warehouse zone. Keep sharp.

Dom answered by flicking out his onyx-tipped wings, some with sheathed razor-edged feathers. Then he swooshed them into his spine. “Ike, we better get there soon. I’m getting itchy. When I get itchy, shit dies.”

The Scourge pivoted around, his eyes wide with fear. “Just a little farther. H-h-honest.” He resumed walking forward.

Dom listened as Remi rambled on about his kinks.This place smells like the ass-end of a pig. Not my favorite perfume. I prefer a nicely showered female Scourge wearing a leather garter belt, fishnet stockings, and nipple rings. She’s carrying a whip and chain.

Remi had a thing for fucking Angor inmates. The more pain, the more pleasure. For someone who could light up a dimension with his broad, dimpled smile and deep amber eyes, he could be dark and destructive.

But Dom was in no position to judge. He enjoyed a weekly visit from the Scourge Mora, and he dabbled in other local females as well as several in Vast. He had one steadfast rule, though—no emotional connections. Sex for the sake of sex. If a female got too clingy, too demanding, she was history.

Ike halted. He gestured toward a tall metal door. “H-h-here. I’ll wait outside.”

“You wish,” said Dom. “You’ll be keepin’ us company. In fact, you’ll be first through the entrance. Thanks for volunteering to be target practice.”

“But Praevus is mean.”

The Feard flicked their gazes from one to the other. “That fucking Mind Rat,” said Remi. “Is he our mark?”

The Scourge nodded.

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