Page 6 of Property of Mako
“I’ll call you,” I cut in and then ended the call. I changed my phone to silent and no notifications.
Dressed in black jeans, a black hoodie, and black combat-style boots, I stepped into the shadows. Faint scuttling sounds were followed by soft scraping noises as rats dug through trash cans.
My heart raced and my hands shook slightly.
Maybe I should’ve turned back.
The warehouse district was half-abandoned, the windows boarded and tagged with cryptic graffiti—spirals, bleeding eyes, and symbols that looked older than the English language. The streetlights flickered like they were gasping their last breath.
Resolutely, I clutched Lily’s necklace in one hand and a crowbar in the other. Because logic be damned, something inside me knew this place mattered.
When I reached the place mentioned in the groups, I ducked under a twisted iron gate, the smell of rust and ash hitting me in the face. The blackness was thick around me, but I didn’t dare turn on a light. All I could do was pray that I didn’t trip on or kick something.
Somewhere in the dark, I heard voices—low, guttural.
The closer to the edge of the building I got, the louder they were. It sounded crazy, but they seemed… not human.
Cautiously, I peeked around the corner—and saw them.
Three figures. Pale skin. Long, dark coats. Eyes that I could see all the way from where I was because they seemed to shimmer gold in the dark. They stood around a dark-haired girl—barely conscious—strung up between two metal poles like bait on a hook. The girl’s mouth moved, but no sound came.
“She’s marked,” one said as I fumbled for my phone to call the police.
“Bloodline’s clean. Young. Unbound.”
“Thane will want this one delivered intact.”
I gasped.
Too loud.
Heads turned. Eyes locked on me, though I knew there was no way they could discern me in the pitch black.
And the air went… wrong.
They moved faster than my thoughts processed—silent, predatory, uncoiling from the shadows.
I did the only thing I could—I ran. I could practically feel them breathing down my neck.
Boots skidding across gravel, lungs burning, I pushed myself. Something inhuman screamed behind me, high-pitched and yet bone-deep. I didn’t look back. Didn’t want to see what was chasing me.
Foregoing my previous stealth path along the building, I sprinted across the open lot toward the broken fence—and slammed into a figure blocking my path.
“Nooooo!” I screamed and swung the crowbar?—
But he caught it—with one hand.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes like burned silver. His inked arms were veined and appeared not to have an ounce of fat on them. He didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. He simply turned his head toward the incoming things and bared his fangs.
Fangs.
He gently placed me behind him, yet I still stumbled back into the bent and distorted chainlink.
What followed wasn’t a fight. It was slaughter.
The man moved like he was born in war—an ancient, savage, and lethal dance. He tore through them with brutal elegance. Silver blades flashed as they whipped through the air, flame-charged fists hitting pale flesh with a sickening crack, and a growl that made my bones literally ache.
By the time it was over, the pavement was slick with blood and dusted with what looked like ash.
