Shadow Kissed 03 - Shadowman

entry.
    If the hellgate could infiltrate his mind— Open me! it rattled—then the mortals would be utterly overwhelmed by it. And he was still too weak to fight an army of devils.
    When the warehouse door didn’t give, the men looked for an alternative. They spotted and quickly agreed upon an alley not far away.
    The woman’s heart beat as fast as a newborn child’s, shush-shush-shush , but her eyes were hard. Death could sense the clockwork of her brain, though he had no idea what she thought to do.
    She had to know by now it was hopeless.
    Hopeless. The word was poison. And today of all days, he could not permit its pollution within the three worlds, not when he fought its contamination himself.
    He couldn’t save the woman. She would die, if not by these devils in the making, then by some other means, and soon.
    One of the men cursed as she bit his finger, and he slapped her face.
    If Death had his scythe, he would have cut her quick. Ended this without her experiencing the indignity of the attack. But he would not touch that weapon again; it would keep him from Kathleen. And he was done with death.
    The only thing left was to save her, though he would do her no favors by prolonging her demise. It would come, and there were forms that were worse than the one these men intended.
    Still. This would take little effort. With cowards like these, almost none at all.
    Shadowman cast his attention down the alley, where it terminated on the other side of the street. He found a heap of refuse topped with a length of metal. With a finger of Shadow, he nudged the piece to fall. It clattered on the ground.
    The men stilled. The woman’s shirt was up above her breasts, though an undergarment kept her nakedness from their eyes.
    â€œAnyone there?” one of the men called.
    Death answered by flicking Shadow toward a dank heap of cardboard.
    â€œIt’s only a rat,” the other man said. But they both stared down the alley, eyes squinting for signs of movement.
    Rats would be fitting. Death organized the darkness into a swell of vermin, a river of scrabbling claws and gleaming eyes, and then sent them coursing toward the men.
    â€œFuck!” one shouted, shrill, rearing back, and landed on his backside when the woman gave him a hard kick to his chest. Then he fled, swatting at the Shadows scampering over his body.
    The other had already ducked out of the alley and was running down the street, glancing over his shoulder, with no care for his friend.
    Done.
    When both were gone, the woman slowly sat up, squinting into the dark.
    A long moment passed, her fear and anger dissolving into an acute sense of isolation and vulnerability. She pulled her shirt down, drew her limbs in, and made a ball of her body, hands gripping her head. Visible shivers wracked her. Tears streamed down her face, and she wiped her nose with a knuckle.
    She snorted at herself. “Ty was right. What the hell am I doing?”
    Hell, indeed. The gate went kat-a-kat .
    â€œI swear this story is going to kill me.”
    She rested her head against the brick. Black smudges winged from her eyes.
    It was time for the woman to go home. To see her loved ones. To make the most of the hours or days he’d won her with Shadow. The only other person for whom he’d held back Twilight had been Kathleen. How fitting that he should do it again on the eve of Kathleen’s liberation.
    The woman examined her skinned palms, then used the wall to stand. After stepping to the end of the alley, she peeked around the corner. Shadowman noticed her gaze drop to her discarded coat. A lick of anger had her straightening. She glanced both ways, then walked resolutely to the fallen material and picked it up. She retrieved her dropped keys as well, refashioning the spikes between the fingers of her shaking, fisted hand.
    She couldn’t possibly be thinking of continuing on, could she? Was she deranged?
    But she seemed frozen in front of the building, eyeing the facade.
    Perhaps the hellgate had her in its grip.
    The woman put her free hand on the knob and tried the broken door, bitterly muttering, “Thanks for opening it for me, guys.”
    Shadowman waved a hand and compelled darkness to hold it shut again.
    But she effortlessly pushed the door open anyway.

    Layla swallowed hard and opened the busted door. The cold knob soothed the skinned heat of her palm, but it didn’t ease her fear-cramped stomach or get rid of the