Dead After Dark (Companion #6.5)(89)

Sasha shot up from the swing. “Trust is such an overrated commodity,” she said with the snippiness of a woman wronged. “Good luck finding your person.” She stormed to the door.

“Suit yourself, but I’ll pay well to find Ekkbar.”

Sasha paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Who?”

“A Hindu guy goes by the name Ekkbar. Supposed to be in Atlanta this week. Been told he has information I need.”

She swung around. “What information? Who told you?”

“Can’t tell you all of that,” he dodged, hoping to stoke the interest simmering in her whiskey-gold eyes.

“You and your secrets,” she muttered then glanced away, inhaling a deep breath. When she cut her eyes back at him, she was clearly in a dilemma. “How are we supposed to find him if you aren’t going to share information?”

We? He had her. “I’ll share everything I can. He’s rumored to be around Piedmont Park this evening.”

“Really?” She clamped her lips shut as if realizing her enthusiasm was a mistake. “Why not go find him without me?”

“It will be easier to blend in and snoop around if we team up. A couple isn’t as quick to make as a single tail.”

She tapped a sexy royal purple fingernail against the door, thinking, then drew a deep breath. “Okay, but only for a week. If we don’t find him after that, I’m free from the contract.”

“Fair enough. I’ll pick you up at five.” Trey expected to locate Ekkbar and send him back beneath Mount Meru by tomorrow. In the meantime, his bogus PI contract would keep Sasha close enough to protect from the magician’s clutches.

The only other problem was keeping her out of Trey’s hands.



Ekkbar peered into a pool of water hidden beneath Mount Meru he’d located the first week he’d lived there. He waved his hand through the air, swirling the nihar. When the mist cleared, he chanted in his native Hindu language, words spoken only by past sorcerers.

He had to locate Batuk’s miserable soldier Vyan. The filthy dog had ruined Ekkbar’s plans, destroyed his chance to escape. Now everything hinged on the elite soldier’s success. But how could Vyan possibly defeat a Belador or even the pair of witches with his meager powers? Ekkbar had to devise some way to help the wretched interloper. But first, he had to find him.

Black water began moving, spinning the pool gently. Ekkbar extended his neck forward two feet until he could stare down into the whirling water.

An image formed of buildings and metal chariots Ekkbar had seen before when he gazed into the future. Vyan probably hid in fear. The soldier came into view, huddled inside a dark room, just as Ekkbar expected. Rays of sunlight striking Vyan’s face from the slats he peered through faded away as the sun plunged behind trees, shrouding the land in darkness.

Vyan stood. He wore strange clothes, no longer dressed in a warrior’s mantle of tanned skins. Batuk had been right about Vyan’s craftiness. The soldier looked similar to others in the twenty-first millennium. Even his shoulder-length hair and two small braids alongside his face were of that era.

Vyan hooked his sword in place.

Ekkbar scowled at the warrior’s stupidity as Vyan covered the sword with a long coat.

“The fool is wasting his time if he thinks a sword will kill a Belador.” Ekkbar extended an arm out from his body to his head, rubbing the slick surface in worry. He was doomed if the warrior’s best plan depended on a blade.

When Vyan reached inside his pocket and withdrew a multicolored stone, Ekkbar gasped, cursing the thieving warrior, then leaned forward to confirm he was correct.

Batuk’s elite soldier held the weapon that could ensure success, if Vyan did not destroy the world by carelessly wielding the Ngak stone’s magic.



Trey parked his Bronco along the curb on Tenth Street then circled the truck. The short leather skirt Sasha had on would never allow her to make that step down with modesty.

She opened her door. “How can you be sure Ekkbar is here?”

Trey caught her around the waist and lowered her slowly between him and the truck. His gaze dove to the plunging neckline of her violet and black lace top that showcased a cleavage he’d like to dip his tongue into.

Wonder if she still liked having her nipples . . .

“Trey, did you hear me?”

Barely. Blood roared through his ears from the image his last thought had conjured.

“My resource is pretty dependable,” he answered, closing the door and taking her hand. Both of his intel hits came early this morning from nightstalkers—vagrants who had died during natural disasters such as violent storms or deep freezes, then lived as tortured souls in the half-world between life and death. Nothing new entered a territory without their notice, but all they could do was inform.

Unfortunately, nightstalkers held no allegiance to either side of life and possessed no moral code. They relayed information in exchange for a handshake with a supernatural being. The longer the handshake, the longer they could remain as a solid body—much desired over a vaporous form since they could down a bottle of wine as a lifelike ghoul.

“You know what this guy looks like?”

Glad for the change of subject, Trey nodded. “Yes. Short guy, about five feet tall, frail-looking, bald with a big hook nose, and . . . odd eyes.”

“What are you going to do when you find him?”