Shadow Kissed 03 - Shadowman

Mickey’s chest to see if he had one. It was a puny, slimy thing, just like him. Too bad it stopped.
    Mickey dropped to the floor. Ungrateful man. And here she’d given him her best years.
    Something hit her from behind and her left shoulder was alight with pain.
    Use the Benelli , a soldier thought behind her.
    Rose shuddered as eight successive blasts thudded into her side. She couldn’t feel her fingers. That whole side of her body had a sparkly singe kind of sensation that made breathing hard.
    If they weren’t careful, they might just hurt her.
    Mickey dead, now that Layla had to go, the one who started it all. No wonder the gate was so intent on getting rid of her. Layla was poison.
    Rose struck the window above Mickey. The glass came out in one funny big piece, with a whole lot of wall attached to it. Another fat shot struck her back, and she was propelled outward, skidding across a wide veranda on a slick of her own blood.
    She managed to climb on top of the railing, but shots drove her over the side and into the bushes at the building’s base.
    â€œCircle around!” the leader shouted.
    They were murderers, all of them, not to face her in a fair fight. If she died, her soul died, too. The end of Rose Petty. Forever. kat-a-kat-a-kat: Go back. Kill Layla Mathews. Now. The gate needn’t worry. Layla was going to die. And not because the gate told her to kill the bitch. This was personal now.
    Rose made for the trees, loping fast on all fours. The ground exploded beside her, showering her with soil, but she kept going. This was Layla’s fault. Run. Hide. Heal.
    Oh, Mickey.
    That Layla was going to pay.

Chapter 18
    The last time Layla had walked down this miserable street she’d lost her life. This time, she had it all in front of her. To her left was a wide concrete slab, and across the way, much farther, a cargo ship, crane reaching over its hull. Massive blue and orange cargo containers had occupied the lot near the warehouse. Now it was empty, and she could see all the way to the choppy, gray river. Parked on the street, to her surprise, was her car. Nobody had stolen it, after all.
    This was the place. He had to be here.
    A rusted smear of blood near the doorknob made her pause, but the frame was still broken, so she pushed the door open and peeked inside. The place was as dark as she remembered, though now a white-blue light flickered in the depths of the large space, like a fluorescent trying to come on. And then the light went out entirely.
    Layla crept forward, keeping to the dark.
    An extended male roar of frustration and the light burst into existence again, a plasma of blue violet tossed up into the air, battering the darkness. Magic.
    Had to be him. Layla advanced, trying hard to keep each footstep soundless. That weird bursting feeling almost overcame her again when she saw his silhouette—his tall, strong body braced, one arm extended, palm flat as he coaxed the light to maximum brightness, the other arm outstretched behind him, for balance. His long hair was in a ratty knot away from his face. Poor man was finally learning what a hassle that hair was going to be. No way on earth she’d let him cut it, though.
    Shadowman. Mortal?
    She was three paces from him, but he still didn’t notice. His body shook with the effort he used to create the magic light. From this close she smelled his sweat, dark, a little funky, and totally human. Which made her grin and go warm all over, in spite of the cold.
    Screw it. She stepped up beside him, pretending to concentrate on the light, though all of her attention was on him.
    â€œSo what are we doing?” she asked lightly, rocking back and forth, heel to toe, on her feet.
    He reeled back and the light went out. She thought he fell on his ass, but since she couldn’t see, she couldn’t be sure.
    â€œYou okay, honey?” She tried to keep the laugh from her voice. Really, she did.
    A blue flame burst to life, held in his palm while he, yes, was half sprawled in shock on the warehouse floor. Strands of tangled hair fell in his eyes. His shirt, a long-sleeve tee, was ripped on the side, his abs nicely flexed beneath. An unlaced shoe had come off. Didn’t look like he knew how to tie the laces.
    â€œNeed help up?” Layla held out her hand. The bursting feeling grew painful. Crap, she was going to cry again.
    â€œLayla?” The “la” was hoarse. He’d gone and ruined his