It was a good hour for sin—prime for hunters on the prowl. The air was charged with the promise of dark deeds for the willing and the unwilling. Then again, innocence was relative in this part of the city. There was a thin line between the criminals and their victims, and an even thinner one between them and the real demons who preyed upon their weaknesses.

It made his job so much easier. No one would come running for the death of one more drug trafficker. It would be a simple strike and kill, then on to the next target.

Saden unfurled from his crouched stance atop an empty factory building and strode across the gravel roof to the far end for a better vantage point. He bent low at the corner and took in the scents and muted vision of Lady Night. In the near distance, people lined the entrances to the seedier clubs in the district. Those that catered to the worst Los Angeles had to offer.

Humans with more money than morals and the demons who walked undetected among them.

None of them knew how good they had it. Their lives, however thinly glorious or fucked up, held the promise of a future. Even the fate of death was theirs to embrace if they chose it. They would never know the reality of existence beyond redemption. Never be forced to endure what they couldn’t even imagine. There were some laws and consequences no amount of praying to any religious sect could redeem you from. And he knew that more than most.

A sharp gust of wind from behind blew his black, shoulder-length hair into his eyes. He whirled around and grasped the knife at his belt. The air above him shimmered, swiftly displaced by a large shadow barely discernable against the backdrop of the star-filled sky. Its outline became clearer as it swooped down to land on the roof.

A heartbeat before it touched the gravel, its form changed to take on substance. Great, shadowed wings drew in to become arms and the pointed tail split into two legs. The shape of the dragon was gone and in its place stood a man dressed in black.

Saden took in the man’s blond, spiked hair and familiar features, and cursed. Not a threat. Merely a temporary inconvenience.

“I’m not in the mood, Blade,” Saden ground out. “Go back and tell Serrakus he can damn well wait for me to get this job done. He should know by now I don’t take out my targets until I can prove their guilt.” He turned back to scan the distant crowds still filtering in and out of the nightclubs.

It wasn’t unlike Serrakus to check up on his Drakons if they took too long on assignments. The Drakonem held zero tolerance for failure or delay, but Saden refused to be the angel of death for some poor sap who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Too often, he’d seen the justice of the Drakonem imparted without real truth behind it. And equally often, the Drakons under their control would carry out their sentencing with no questions asked, only to avoid punishment.

He, however, would gladly take his Drakonem’s wrath if it meant keeping an innocent from death. He—a Drakon. The worst of all condemned criminals among the demon world. Saden suppressed a smirk at the irony of his morals.

Blade scowled as he moved to stand beside Saden. “Hello to you, too, asshole. Serrakus didn’t send me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My assignment’s done,” Blade said with a shrug. “Had to deliver some young phantom to Serrakus. Apparently the kid ran away from home and tried to make it big using his power to convince humans to give him their wealth.”

Saden frowned. “A phantom? What was his tribe doing this close to the city?” He was vaguely familiar with the elusive Dresidiens. Aptly called phantoms by other demonic races for their mind-walking abilities, they could discern and control the thoughts and desires of others. The lure of their power was said to be as strong as any deadly sin if used for the wrong reasons. It was why Dresidiens tended to dwell in the forests and deserts, away from civilization.

From what he understood, that choice was as much for their protection as it was out of preference for solitude.

“They were migrating south to Mexico for the winter. The kid’s family stayed behind on the outskirts long enough for the mother to give birth. Apparently, he took that as an opportunity to prey on the masses. He didn’t kill anyone but he might as well have. The exposure he caused reached the local police and the press. It could take his tribe weeks to erase what he’s done.”

Blade was right. The careless exposure of demonkind was as damning as a murder charge. In severe cases like this one, the punishment of being made a Drakon was inevitable. “How long was he sentenced for?”

“Don’t know yet. Probably a year. Officially.” Blade cast him a doubtful glance from dark blue eyes. They both knew it would be a lot longer than that before the phantom was finally granted death. One year roughly equated to ten, no matter how well a Drakon served its Drakonem. “Serrackus hasn’t given me any new jobs yet so I thought I’d keep you company.”

From the strain in his friend’s voice, Saden knew there was more to Blade’s presence than simple boredom. Blade seemed to be almost vibrating. His lean body was coiled with tension rather than the easy confidence it usually held. It wasn’t hard to realize what was going on.

Every Drakon had a limit. When the stress of their condemned lives and the brutal authority of the Drakonem came to be too much, only one of two outcomes ensued. Most were beaten into submission, the pain somehow snapping them back to reality. Others lost their minds completely and became a liability the Drakonem weren’t willing to risk. Those were forced to serve the rest of their sentences as warders—jailors of other Drakons and permanently bound to the realm of their masters.

Saden had been on the brink of insanity once himself. If not for an old friend, his mind would likely have shattered then—his soul lost to a fate worse than the one he was already living. Now, it was another person who kept his sanity in check, though she would never know.

For Blade, it was sex. The only vice they were permitted. The man would drown in it if he could, and had more than his share of willing females to choose from with his blond, pretty-boy looks and athletic build. The fact that he wasn’t in the arms of a woman right now told Saden just how bad his friend’s situation was.

“You doin’ all right, man?”

Blade rolled his broad shoulders and gave a thin smile. “Yeah, I’m cool. It’s your ass you should be worried about. Heard your mark was trained by the best of your kind before leaving their ranks. Isn’t he one of the top players in this district now?”

“They’re not my kind,” Saden growled. He may have been born a Vampyre, but he was no longer one of them. “And he’s nothing more than an exiled Vampyre who traffics in human drugs. Hardly worth my time. It’s no wonder that race is going extinct when they have to ask the Drakonem to send a Drakon after their own trash.”

He ignored Blade’s raised eyebrow and tapped into the sliver of Drakonem soul that was tethered to his own. It warmed to his call, singing along his nerves and centering in his chest until he was able to fling a part of it out like an invisible net. It immediately connected with the live beings nearest him and used their core energy as synapses to carry its pulse from person to person, searching for its target. A few blocks away, it found its mark and relayed the information instantly to Saden.

Two human bodyguards flanked the exiled Vampyre he’d been ordered to kill. They were steadily making their way toward the target’s limo parked at the side of the building Saden and Blade stood on, as was Messing’s MO. This stop was just the first of many he made every night to regulate his drug enterprise. With the clubs swinging in full action, it would be an easy, unseen execution—all according to plan.

The only difficulty would be separating the two humans long enough to take out their boss. For as much as they deserved the same fate, they were governed by their own laws and therefore considered innocents in the eyes of the Drakonem.

“Think you can distract the human bodyguards while I deal with my target? They’ll be coming up on our right in two minutes.”

Blade smirked and extracted two black shurikens from his shoulder harness. “I can do you one better and put them out of their misery. A little provocation and Serrackus will never know the difference.”

“Distraction,” Saden reiterated, shaking his head. “Unless you’re willing to take the punishment when our Drakonem finds out.”

Which would be inevitable. The piece of Drakonem soul that lived inside him, making him a Drakon, was loyal only to its true master, Serrackus. It would report any unsanctioned kills carried out by its Drakon vessel no matter the reason for the deaths. Even if Blade took out the humans himself, Saden would be held responsible as the humans were associated with his target.

The Drakonem justice system was supposed to allow for the deaths of innocents if those innocents posed a serious threat during the capture of a target. But the Drakonem rarely observed their own rules. They were demi-gods in their own right with unquestionable authority over the criminals they controlled.

No. Killing the humans for any reason would only give Serrackus an excuse to exercise his sadistic tendencies.

“It’d almost be worth it,” Blade said with a grin. “Postpone his upcoming vacation for a few weeks.” When Saden just glared, he lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine, we’ll do this your way.” After sheathing the shurikens, he started for the other end of the roof, mumbling under his breath, “You were a hell of a lot more fun before you took responsibility for your girlfriend.”

Saden grit his teeth, saying nothing. Besides, Blade was right. Before Daneya, he’d taken as much pleasure in pissing Serrackus off as Blade still did. Despite the multiple punishments and extensions to his sentence that defiance had gained him. That didn’t make Daneya his girlfriend, however. Far from it.

She was merely the object of his promise to an old friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Certainly not the object of his desires, or at least not as far as he was willing to admit. Even to himself.

He turned his gaze back to the empty street below and saw Messing and his bodyguards rounding the corner of the block ahead. The trio was dressed in similar Italian pinstriped suits with Messing half a head taller than the others. Typical for most Vampyres. His aristocratic looks and relaxed gait gave him an air of smug confidence Saden couldn’t wait to crush.

It was moments like this, taking down the true criminals in the demonic world, that made his existence tolerable.

“Shit. We’ve got company,” Blade said from his position at the opposite corner of the building.

Saden grunted. “Quit jerkin’ off to the obvious and get down there.”

“I don’t mean leech boy and his goons over there. Your girlfriend came out to play and she’s brought three of her friends to make it interesting.”

“What?” Saden ran over to Blade and peered over the edge.

Climbing out of an unmarked van were four dark figures clothed in black combat fatigues. It was obvious what they were from the organization of their movements to the weapons they were geared with. Vigilantes. Members of a secret society who called themselves Defensores Contra Malum. Protectors from evil.

The DCM was an organization made up of several units that had been around almost since the dawn of mankind. While their original goal was a noble one, to protect their race from rogue demons who walked the earth, their ambitions had somewhat changed over the centuries.

Many had taken it upon themselves to eradicate all demons who posed a threat to their way of life. Some had reason enough for their hatred. Most, however, were simply fanatics who would stop at nothing to ‘purify’ their world.

Daneya’s tall physique was unmistakable among the others. He would recognize her anywhere—the red tint to her burgundy locks, tawny skin and the confident way she carried herself. The fatigues she wore hugged her lean body, accentuating her curves as she adjusted her weapons. She was the picture of a proud warrior, even if her cause was misguided.

“What do you want to do now?” Blade asked.

Saden cursed under his breath, momentarily caught in indecision. It wasn’t unheard of for vigilantes to unknowingly track the same targets as Drakons. Daneya had been a member of her DCM unit for nine years. He supposed it was inevitable that he would run into her at some point. Yet, he couldn’t let her interfere. Messing was crude but dangerous, and he was Saden’s mark.

If anyone else took him out, Serrackus would know and hold him responsible. The punishment for failing could last months. He couldn’t risk being absent for that long. It was his job to protect her, as he’d been doing for years.

Damn it! How the hell could he have missed her energy when he’d scanned for his target?

“Lead them away from here. I’ll take care of Messing and his guards.”

“Sure you don’t want to let them create the distraction for us? Messing’s men might actually pick a few of them off while you take him out.”

Saden growled softly. “I can’t risk Daneya getting hurt. Keep her safe or I swear—”

“You’ll use my balls for target practice,” Blade finished. “I know, I know. Can’t blame a guy for trying, though. Your girlfriend needs to wake up and smell the shit she’s hangin’ around with.”

Saden shook his head and strode back to his position. Messing was nearing the corner of the building now. Saden looked back in time to see Blade jump off the edge on his side. A chorus of startled shouts rang out followed by pounding boots on pavement. He gave Blade the few precious seconds necessary to draw Daneya and her group away then leaped down to the ground, his trench coat billowing out behind him. The trio spun around, no longer interested in the sounds of pursuit on the other side of the building, and drew their weapons.

The man on Messing’s left was stacked like a linebacker with a massive chest almost freakishly disproportionate to the rest of his body. The one on the right made up for his average build with a barely concealed arsenal strapped to his midsection.

Linebacker stepped in front of Messing and pulled a hunting blade from his belt. “Leave.”

Saden flashed his teeth. “So soon? And here I thought we could be friends.”

Disbelief sparked briefly in Linebacker’s eyes before he charged. Saden braced himself and pivoted at the last second, using the man’s momentum to grab onto his wrist and twist the blade from his hand. Another half turn and Saden ducked a wide punch then hooked an uppercut into the man’s gut. He grasped the back of Linebacker’s neck and slammed him face first into the side of the building.

One down, two to go.