Page 36 of The Guardian's Curse

“Allie,” she said as he got out.

“What are we doing here?”

She simply gestured for him to follow, then leaped from the third floor to the sidewalk. Her landing was graceful and silent, and he followed. Keeping to the shadows, she darted around a corner and down a dark street at a blistering speed. Worn brick and flickering neon blurred around him as he followed.

Soon, they arrived at the descending stairwell to a MARTA station. Several people slept on benches nearby, nestled into sleeping bags. He looked around to ensure he wasn’t being watched, then took the stairs down in a single long leap.

The schedule signs were blank, though fluorescent lights still burned above the empty train platforms. The smell of burnt fuel, wet earth, and stale coffee hung in the air. Safira looked both ways, then hopped down to the lower platform. Alistair followed, his senses kicking into overdrive as they passed into a dark tunnel. After a minute or two, Safira halted in front of a door set into the tunnel wall. She opened it, then gestured broadly for him to enter.

“Just a bit further,” she said.

Concrete stairs descended deeper underground. The scent of vampire blood greeted him at the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed one of his stakes to settle his crackling nerves.

The stairs ended in a narrow hallway. Safira brushed past him and led him to a large open room. Illuminated by a bare light bulb, trails of dried blood smeared the dingy tile beneath their feet. Three impaled corpses lay in the open area. Their heads had been severed, red eyes still staring in shock.

He covered his mouth. “What the hell, Safira?”

She cocked her head. Her eyes were blood red, and her fangs were descending as she spoke. “There are hunters in Atlanta, Allie.”

“I’d heard.”

“Then why are you worried about some asshole from Casteron?”

“I want to get Shoshanna out of my house,” he growled.

Safira’s red eyes rolled. “I’m sure it’s a terrible burden.”

“You have nothing on Elliott, do you?”

She sneered. “I’m Number Three of the Shroud, you presumptuous ass,” she snapped. “I know everything from his high school mascot to his credit score. I also know that you called me because you think I’m too stupid to realize what you’re up to.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he replied.

Her teeth flashed as she glared at him. “Then why call me, and not your dearest Paris, who indulges your every whim?” Her brows arched. “Well, put me on whatever list he’s on. I will not help you start a war with the Casteron.”

He growled at her. “Then you’ve wasted my time. I’ll find him myself.”

“Good luck, Alistair,” she said. “But while you’re seeking your petty kicks, this is what we’re dealing with.” Her gaze snapped upward. “Listen.”

Quiet voices echoed from above them. He closed his eyes to focus. There were two male voices somewhere nearby. One was tinged with a British accent, while the other was clearly American.

In and out quick.

We should wait for sunrise.

It won’t matter underground. Let’s just burn them and be done with it.

“Hunters. Presumably whoever made this mess,” Safira said, gesturing to the bodies. Then her lips curled into a smile. “Perhaps you’ll get the fight you were looking for.”

He grinned beneath his hood. “Then this wasn’t a wasted trip.”

Her gaze darkened. “We enthrall them. Make them leave.”

He threw up his hands. “Where are your teeth? What happened to the Guillotine of Auberon?”

A smile flickered across her lips, then faded into a somber expression. “These are different times, Alistair,” she said. “Eduardo’s command. If you violate it, I will not defend you to him.”

He growled and pressed himself against the grimy wall. The hunters’ footsteps crescendoed as they stalked down the hall. A glint of silver preceded the first of them, a stocky, well-built male with salt-and-pepper hair. The other was a wiry ginger with a wicked scar through his upper lip. Their black gear gave no clues about their affiliation. They both reeked of kerosene and sweat.

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