Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(43)
“I’m freezing my arse off out here. Two pepperonis and one supreme, already paid for. What’s the problem?”
I laughed in disbelief when the man buzzed us in.
Once inside, Christian ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Never underestimate the stupidity of men when it comes to food and sex.”
When we reached the sixth floor, I looked down the hall in both directions, making note of where all the exits and stairwells were. It was an old building with peeling paint, wainscoting, tubular lights along the ceiling, and black doors inside small recesses in the wall. I concealed my light so as not to tip him or anyone else on the floor off that a Mage was lurking about. Christian gave me a light push to stand away from the peephole. He took off my hat and pulled it over his head, as if somehow that magically changed his appearance.
I pulled my stunner out of its sheath and gripped it firmly, the blade protruding between my middle and ring finger. I gave Christian an impatient look, wondering if he was going to stand there all day or get this show on the road. He pinched his chin, studying the door, and finally rapped his knuckles against it.
“Who’s there?” a voice boomed.
Christian cleared his throat and took on an American accent. “Al’s Wrecker service. We found your vehicle. We can’t scrap it until you sign release papers. Unless you’d rather I leave it outside. Either way, I need your signature.”
I nodded. Quick thinking and believable.
“Goddammit,” the man grumbled.
“There’s also a fee for cleanup,” Christian added.
I kicked him in the leg. No need to push it. If this guy was cheap, he might keep the door locked. I stayed out of view as the latch clattered against the wood.
The moment the door cracked open, Christian wedged his foot inside, his arm leaning against the doorjamb. “Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?”
When the man tried to close the door, Christian flung it open.
“Oh, for feck’s sake. Put the weapon down, you dolt.”
I wedged past Christian and stepped to the left. The Mage glared at us, a small piece of impalement wood in his hand, no bigger than a pencil. I quickly noticed his appearance now that I had a good close-up look. Dark hair shaved on the sides and long on top. When I noticed he had shoes on, I guessed by his rumpled hair that he must have recently woken up and was planning to go out soon. No sign of any weapons on his person outside of the wood in his hand, so we’d definitely caught him off guard.
His apartment was bright, spacious, and unremarkable. It lacked curtains and furniture that one might acquire over a lifetime. The door on the right presumably led to a bedroom. Straight ahead, a turquoise sofa faced an old television set, and the wooden coffee table in front of it was littered with notebooks and soda cans. I noticed a cheap desk on the left-hand wall and something blinking on the computer monitor. The narrow kitchen to our immediate left was dark and empty except for a bowl of cereal and carton of milk on the bar.
The Mage didn’t bother to wipe the milk stain off his goatee as he held up his weapon in self-defense, which made it all the more comical. “Get out of my space, fanghole.”
Christian slammed the door shut with the heel of his boot and inched forward, his gaze sharpening on the man, who quickly broke eye contact. “You want to tell me why you ran from us?”
“None of your business, Vamp.”
Christian glowered. “What do you know about Jennifer Moore?”
The Mage winced. It was so subtle it could have been mistaken for a casual blink, but I’d caught enough men in a lie to spot the tells. He reached in his pocket and palmed what looked like a smart key for a car. When he pressed the clicker, two large speakers on his desk illuminated blue around the edges, and “Walk Like an Egyptian” started up full blast.
Christian and I exchanged a glance, silently agreeing that this search had just hit level weird.
The man sneered. In a quick motion, he drew back his arm and flicked his wrist, the impalement stake spiraling through the air toward Christian, who dodged it. The stick would never have gone through Christian’s coat, so the Mage was stalling.
I flashed toward him with my stunner in hand just as the door crashed open behind me. I didn’t have time to look. When I shoved the Mage to knock him off-balance, he spun to the side and sent me careening straight toward the wall. I quickly turned and swiped my blade in a crisscross motion, now aware of the drama ensuing by the door.
A Vampire had burst into the room and attacked Christian. Their fangs were out, and it looked like one of those late-night paranormal movies—minus all the hissing. Christian threw the other Vamp against the wall, leaving behind a large crack.
When the Mage ran past me, I caught the back of his shirt and slashed at his arm. He spun around and punched me in the nose, blood immediately spraying the floor and gushing down my face. A hot flash of pain stunned me for a second, and then I noticed an odd red mark on his upper chest where the buttons had popped off his shirt.
Did I do that?
I flashed around him and attempted to drive the stunner into his back, but he twisted and bellowed in pain when it sliced him across the side instead. The Mage bent my wrist at a painful angle, forcing me to drop the dagger. Before I could pick it up, he kicked it across the room.
His eyes darted left toward the window, giving away his intent. Before he made a move, I delivered a high kick and struck him in the chest. He pirouetted toward the wall and crashed into a floor lamp, which he grabbed and swung at me. The brass clipped my shoulder seconds before I flashed out of the way.