Page 89 of Dark Shadow of Guilt

But he couldn’t muster a response. He was too wrapped up in his repeating past.

Flexing his wings gave him a reprieve from thinking. The exertion when he pushed the limits cleared his head.

He hadn’t saved his closest friend.Damn. He hadn’t even known Gareth was descending into madness. And his trial had been a disaster, primarily because of Gar’s behavior in court. The OC, deeming the assassin guilty, doomed him to Angor. While his friend awaited transport, Dom had visited his cell.

“Why should I kiss ass?” Gar had asked, his lips curling into a sneer.

Though annoyed by his brother assassin’s attitude, Dom had been encouraging, determined to wait, convinced of his eventual rehabilitation and return to Vast. The copper-winged assassin would once again fly at Dom’s side.

After visiting Gar’s cell, Dom threw himself on pillows near the fireplace in his home to reflect on the situation. Heavy rain thundered down on the protective shields, soothing and peaceful. Then the OC summoned him for a job.

The boss lazed on his throne as always, his bronze chest bare, his shirt unbuttoned. When Dom reported, the big guy cocked his head to the side. His penetrating gaze unnerving. “I have an assignment for you.”

“What is it?” Dom hoped the job was distracting enough to take his mind off Gareth’s problems.

“I have chosen you to chase down my copper-winged assassin. He has escaped from his cell. Your task is to capture him and deliver him to Angor. If you can. If not, extinct him.”

Silence pounded against the walls of Dom’s heart. He wasn’t sure he had heard the OneCreator correctly. Or if he had, was this some court game the boss was so fond of?

Dom swallowed hard, the lump in his throat a solid stone. “Why me? Send Michael.” He didn’t want to volunteer the other Feard. After all, they, too, were close to the afflicted assassin.

The OC waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Michael is dealing with a situation only he can handle. It is you.”

Dom considered arguing, but the determined line of the OneCreator’s lips told him it would be useless. He accepted the task, his duty as an assassin defining who he was.

Perhaps he was the best choice. He would not harm Gareth, and his brother was likely to come in willingly for him.

Outside the massive Sanctuary Keep where the OC lived in Vast, Dom hovered in the fresh air, allowing his mind to catch up to his task. He had never felt shrouded in such darkness, caught between his duty and saving his friend’s life. If he were smart, careful, and lucky, the two opposing tasks would meld and he would help Gar.

So he cast out his emotions, something he rarely did because the result bombarded his senses. He allowed them to drift across the dimension, searching for signs of fear, disruptions, and oddities.

Moistening his index finger, he raised it to taste the breeze, focusing his senses on the best direction. At first, nothing. Then a ripple, followed by a scream for help. He stroked his powerful midnight wings downward, lunging into the sky. High above the keep, he angled them for flight, shooting forward, aiming for the desperate pleas.

At The Between, a vibrant valley west of Clearwater Lake and east of the Lakelands region, he found the source of the agonized cries. He was too late, however. On the ground was a body torn asunder, blood soaking into the grass. The arms, legs, and torso of a female were strewn about like trash. On her face, where there should have been laughing eyes, there were orbs that had beheld horror. A nightmarish Scourge leaned over her.

Dom pounded his wings against the air, making certain his arrival was noisy, a distraction for the crazed Immortal. He landed, his long blade already drawn in challenge.

The being swung around, his eyes black lumps of coal. In each fist, he clasped entrails. Dripping down his chin was blood, and in his teeth were chunks of flesh.

Dom’s breath hitched. He wanted to scream his outrage. He had come across such sights before. Nothing new. But it was the face of the nightmare that shocked Dom. His heart stopped beating in his chest. He could not swallow. The sword he had drawn hung limp at his side.

Gareth.

His closest friend, the male he’d known since their haven, the one with whom he’d shared adventures and females.

Gar dropped the entrails on the grass and swiped an arm across his bloody mouth, leaving a stain on the sleeve of his tee. “Welcome to the party. I don’t suppose I can deny being a Flesh Eater. She is quite tasty. Care for a bite, my brother? Releasing our base emotions is both delectable and freeing.”

Dom shook his head, unable to speak. All he saw was the youth who had escaped their haven by flying away with him on an adventure. They were too young. No permission. Yet Gareth always accompanied Dom to keep him out of trouble, to give him a partner in crime. They had flown over the ocean, their wings still not mature. Caught, they were returned to the haven.

As young Immortals in the throes of uncontrollable hormones and youthful curiosity, they had hidden behind a large boulder at a nude bathing pond to sneak peeks at females, water sluicing off their naked bodies. Caught, they were returned to their haven.

Snitching bottles of Demon Scourge from a bar in Vast, they’d drunk their fill behind the stone walls of their haven. Caught, they were returned to their rooms.

In the aftermath of each adventure, his friend stood silent by his side, accepting his share of punishment though the ideas had always been Dom’s.

Now, Gar was a Flesh Eater. No longer the honorable copper-winged assassin. A Scourge. And Dom had missed the clues, had missed helping his friend fight the malady, had missed hearing his silent pleas. Or had Gareth never called out for help?

“Right about now, Dom, you are kicking your own ass. Blaming yourself. Understandable. I was always the docile one, your dutiful sidekick. You broke ground, knowing I’d follow. My turn to take the lead. I am no longer your shadow.”

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