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  Gabriel, wired on coffee, wringing his hands fretfully, stares down at the floor in the waiting room of Western Point’s maternity ward.

  He has no idea how much time has passed.

  It feels like more than an hour.

  Possibly more than two.

  Eventually, a doctor appears. Gabriel leaps to his feet and pleads for answers, but the doctor has very little good news to offer him. He starts with the words “I’m sorry”, and Gabriel drops back down into his chair.

  “Is it the mother or the child?” he cuts the doctor off mid-sentence.

  “The child is fine.” The doctor looks apologetic. “A perfectly healthy baby girl. Unfortunately, the mother—”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Which one?”

  “Both.” He forces himself to make eye contact with the doctor. “The mother first.”

  In a solemn silence, the doctor leads Gabriel to the morgue. Lora’s corpse is wheeled out on a gurney, covered in a white sheet.

  Gabriel hesitates.

  He’s seen corpses before. He’s seen men, mutilated in battle. He’s seen them disfigured and bloody, missing limbs and even faces. He’s seen intestines spilling out from abdominal cavities, and chests ripped open, lungs and heart exposed.

  He’s seen throats slit so deep the vocal cords are protruding, eyes gouged out and scalps stripped from bone like the peel off an orange. He’s seen broken bones pierced through flesh, and so much blood you could swim in it.

  But he’s never seen this.

  He’s never seen the pale, fragile remains of a woman he loves more than he ever thought it was possible to love another human being. The only woman he’d ever considered making a life with. The woman he’s just had a child with.

  The coroner pulls back the sheet to reveal Lora’s cold, lifeless face, and Gabriel has to lean against the gurney to steady himself, feeling bile rise in his throat. Reaching tentatively toward her face, he brushes stray hair away from her eyes. As his fingertip sweeps lightly over her forehead, he’s shocked by the change in her already.

  Her skin feels clammy and taut. Tiptoeing his fingers over her lips, he remembers what it felt like to kiss her: so moist and soft and pulsing with life.

  Not anymore. Now they’re dry and cold and cyanotic, and slightly firm to the touch.

  Tears well in his eyes.

  He can’t help it.

  The coroner is watching—so is the doctor—but he can’t do anything to stop it. He’s never felt grief like this before, and he doesn’t know how to suppress it. He presses a kiss against her forehead, but the unfamiliar sensation of her dead skin against his lips almost makes him express the contents of his stomach on the floor.

  Almost.

  Not quite.

  “The child,” he mumbles, trying to ignore a swell of nausea in the pit of his stomach. “Where is the child?”

  The doctor steps forward. “I can take you to her.”

  Without glancing back, Gabriel wipes a few determined tears away with his sleeve and follows the doctor out of the room. Minutes later, they’re in Lora’s old hospital room. Her blood is still pooled all over the floor, and the bed sheets are soaked red.

  A bucket of drenched surgical swabs, gauze and disposable accoutrements has been left beside the bed. In it, on top of the garbage, are the afterbirth and the remains of Lora’s torn uterus. After cutting her open to remove the baby, they’d attempted to save her life by performing a hysterectomy.

  It achieved nothing.

  The doctor kicks the bucket under the bed, hoping to hide it from Gabriel.

  Too late.

  He already saw it.

  A split second later, his attention is drawn elsewhere. In the corner of the room, in a sterile hospital crib, a tiny baby is sleeping.

  Gabriel approaches the crib slowly, his breathing shallow and irregular. She looks so small and delicate, her pink wrinkly skin almost glowing under the bright hospital lights. As he looks over the edge of the crib, she blows a saliva bubble between her lips.

  She’s perfect.

  He glances over at the doctor, making sure he has permission to touch her.

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” the doctor offers, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

  Gabriel turns back to the crib.

  The baby.

  His baby.

  Ella.

  He hasn’t been around a newborn since his youngest brother was born, and he barely remembers what to do. He scoops baby Ella up out of the crib and cradles her in his arms, supporting her head in the crook of his elbow.

  She wriggles and stirs, but doesn’t open her eyes. A tiny hand reaches out, grasping for something, and Gabriel offers her his finger. Sitting down with her in a nearby chair, he coos over her as she clutches onto him, gurgling and fidgeting with her hands.

  Time passes.

  Ella sleeps.

  Ella wakes and cries, and a nurse comes to assist Gabriel with a feeding.

  Afterward, Ella sleeps some more. All the while, Gabriel can’t take his eyes off her. He fusses over her, rocks her gently and strokes her chubby, flushed cheeks with his thumb.

  He doesn’t notice the sun set or darkness fall, and at first, he doesn’t even notice the door open. It’s a while before he realizes he’s being watched.

  Jonathan Cross has arrived.

  J.C..

  Lora’s husband.

  His best friend.

  Ella’s … father?

  His heart freezes as J.C. strides into the room and holds his arms out expectantly.

  “Thank you for staying with her.” He looks fraught. “I’d like to be alone with my daughter now.”

  He went home before he came to the hospital—he must’ve. He’s changed out of his Division uniform and he’s recently showered. His shaved head is glistening with tiny beads of nervous sweat, and his jaw is tight. He and Gabriel are the same age, and of roughly equal strength, but very different demeanors. J.C. struggles to appear tough and in control, whereas Gabriel struggles to show his softer side in front of others.

  And now is no exception.

  He has no choice but to hand baby Ella over, so he does.

  “I put in a request for some personal time off work,” J.C. informs him brusquely. “The Hunter General already approved it.”

  “Of course.” Gabriel swallows hard. “If there’s anything you—”

  “We’ll be fine.” J.C. gazes intently at baby Ella. “Thank you.”

  That’s a dismissal, and Gabriel knows it.

  Lacking a legitimate reason to argue against it, he leaves. He pushes through the hospital hallways at double pace, eager to get out into the fresh night air. As soon as he breaks through the hospital entranceway, his caged emotions start to get the better of him.

  He makes his way to the end of the building and ducks around the corner, slumping into a weakened pile on the ground, sobbing gently.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Hermit

  Gabriel downs a double measure of illegally distilled, high proof whiskey in a popular Fringe District bar: Kink Central. It’s a one-stop shop for booze, drugs, gambling and sex, and Gabriel’s slowly working his way down the list.

  Kicked out of Western Point by J.C., left with nowhere to go and no place for the overwhelming emotions inside him, he’d come straight to this familiar haunt. He didn’t want to be home alone, drinking himself into a stupor in solitude. He’d rather be here, surrounded by life and noise and distraction, slowly numbing himself.

  He has no idea of the time, and he doesn’t care. He loses track of the amount of liquor he’s consumed, and the number of cigarettes he’s smoked. His head’s spinning, and when he tires of losing hand after hand at poker, he retreats to one of Kink Central’s back rooms.

  Here, he settles himself into a corner and watches the conclusion of a fight that’s been underway for twenty minutes. In the middle of the room, the floor’s been torn up to expose the basement bene
ath, and a chain-link fence has been erected around it. Inside this pit, two Chimera fight to the death.

  Their leathery gray bodies become a blur of flailing limbs, talons, and snarling teeth. Blood soaks into the dirt and stains it red. Their shrieks, huffs and shrills echo around the room, every roar and growl cheered on by the eager crowd of spectators who’ve placed wagers on the likely winner.

  Not that it matters which one wins—it’s all about the bloodshed.

  It’s all about the violence.

  It’s all about the pleasure of watching one of these abhorrent freaks of nature die in abject agony, and relishing in its torment.

  For many, it’s cathartic.

  These repulsive creatures bred like cockroaches and took over the New World after a global war destroyed human civilization, and now they’re nothing more than entertainment. Humans are taking back what’s rightfully theirs, and seeking to eradicate these intruders from their land. It’s gratifying to watch them die.

  Usually, that is.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, it’s doing little to ease Gabriel’s troubles. He’s preoccupied and barely conscious, slumped against the wall, staring at the pit. One fight becomes two, becomes three or four or more. He watches monsters pull each other apart, tearing limb from limb and flesh from bone. He passes out and comes to again, and has no idea whether this is the same fight or a different one, the same day or the next.

  He’s bored.

  Though he tries to ignore her, a Jade—a Fringe District whore—has her eyes fixed on him from across the room. He refuses to make eye contact. As he gets up from his seat, empty beer bottles topple like dominoes all around him. He steadies himself against the wall, manages to remain conscious despite an almost complete gray-out of his vision, and then stumbles toward the washroom.

  The Jade intercepts him.

  “You want some help, honey?”

  He shoves her out of the way. “No.”

  She lets him go … but she’s waiting for him again when he returns a minute later. In one hand, she’s holding two bottles of beer. In the other hand, she’s got two cigarettes pinched between her fingers.

  She’s persistent.

  “Slow night?” Gabriel guesses.

  She shrugs. “Kind of.”

  He takes a cigarette from her. “You bought these yourself?”

  “You looked as though you could use a little something.”

  Gabriel digs a lighter out of his pocket, lighting his, and then hers. Cigarettes are sold individually in this district, and they’re not cheap.

  “I consider it an investment.” She smiles at him. “If you like me, you’ll wanna spend time with me.”

  Gabriel trails his eyes over her. She’s in her early twenties, and would have a perfect figure were she not undernourished. She’s wearing hot-pants and a sequined bra, and her hips are painfully skeletal. Her breasts, on the other hand, are disproportionately full compared to the rest of her body. When she raises her arms above her head, swaying her hips from side-to-side in rhythm to an electronic beat thumping out from the room next door, Gabriel spies two tiny scars peeking out below the underwire of her bra.

  She’s been surgically enhanced, and that can only mean one thing: she’s a top earner. If she weren’t, her Handler would never have sprung for the surgery.

  “How much for the night?” Gabriel asks at last, snatching one of the beers out of her hand.

  “Depends.” She teases him by pulling down the hem of her hot-pants, revealing some of her shaved pubic area. “What type of service do you want?”

  A few minutes later, she’s giving him a private dance in a bedroom on the top floor of Kink Central. She shakes her boney hips, moving her body to made-up beat, doing her very best to get this appointment upgraded to something a little more physical—and it appears to be working.

  As she gyrates over his lap, he begins to get aroused. Despite the alcohol in his system, and despite his will to suppress it, his anatomy hardens and he craves intimacy. Whether she can see it, or simply sense it, she suddenly changes seduction tactics. She releases her breasts from the sequined bra and leans over him, sliding slowly onto his lap.

  Rocking back and forth on him, she rubs her naked breasts against his chest and coaxes his erection bigger.

  “I think you need more than a dance,” she whispers in his ear.

  She’s right.

  He’s throbbing inside his pants and he wants stimulation of a different kind.

  He wants to feel better.

  He’s about to give in to temptation when his cell phone begins to ring. He tries to reach for it, but the Jade gets there first. She delves her hand into the pocket of his pants and fumbles around for it. At first, she deliberately misses. She pinches the head of his engorged cock delicately between her fingers, causing him to flinch back from her.

  He doesn’t want this.

  Not from her.

  He snatches the phone away from her and checks the caller ID.

  It’s Veronica Valentine.

  Veva, the girl who’s belonged to him since she was sixteen.

  Coming to his senses somewhat, he pushes the Jade off his lap and answers the call.

  “Vee.”

  “Gabe, where the hell are you?!”

  Her voice is some small relief to hear on the other end of the line, even though she’s pissed at him.

  “I needed to blow off some steam.”

  “I haven’t heard from you in two days.”

  That sobers Gabriel up slightly. Two days? Really? Is that how much time has passed?

  He checks his phone to confirm the date and time: six p.m. on a Monday.

  He’s lost the weekend.

  He’s missed work.

  Shit.

  The Jade tries to reengage him, but he keeps her at bay.

  He forgets about the phone call.

  “Gabe? … Gabe? Hello? … Are you there?”

  His head spinning, he puts the phone back to his ear. “I’m sorry, Vee.”

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “Nowhere. I … ”

  The Jade coos to him in the background and he tries to silence her.

  “Who’re you with?” Veva sounds suspicious.

  “No-one.” Gabriel tries to stand, supporting himself against the furniture as he makes his way to the door of the whorehouse bedroom. “I’m on my way home. Let’s have dinner tonight. Just you and me. I’ll pick you up in an hour?”

  On the other end of the phone, Veva sighs. “Gabe, I—”

  “Please.” He doesn’t let her protest. “I need to see you.”

  “I already ate.”

  “A walk, then.”

  Silence.

  “Vee,” he pleads. “Let me make this up to you.”

  Another silence.

  Then, “Okay. One hour.”

  Click.

  “Hey!” the Jade calls to him as he swings open the bedroom door. “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t stay here. Real life needs me.”

  “I’m not real?” The Jade strips completely for him, hoping to entice him to stay.

  He doesn’t even look back.

  *************************

  An hour and ten minutes later, Gabriel is standing outside Veva’s house, waiting for her. When she emerges, she’s wearing a stunning a-line skirt with a silk blouse and four inch heels. Her long dark hair is clipped back, away from her face, and her hazel eyes are piercing and vibrant.

  She looks immaculate.

  “You’re late,” she moans disapprovingly.

  “I’m so—”

  “Sorry. I know.” She steps closer to him, inspecting his appearance.

  He’s showered and shaved, and put on a clean uniform. He no longer reeks of booze and cigarettes, or the cheap perfume of a Jade.

  “I was worried about you.” She runs her hands over his chest. “What happened?”

  “I lost a friend.”

  “And t
his is how you mourn? You disappear for days without word?”

  “I’m a selfish asshole. Is that what you want me to say?”

  “I want you to let me in.” She brings herself closer to him. “This isn’t going to work if you keep on closing me out.”

  “This isn’t easy for me, you know.”

  “What isn’t? Being a decent person? Or being in a relationship?”

  “I’m trying, Vee. I’m just not good at this.”

  “I’ve gathered that. You’ve been so absent the last few months. I’ve barely seen you, and I was beginning to wonder whether or not you even still—”

  She doesn’t get to finish that thought.

  Gabriel smothers her doubts with a kiss.

  When it breaks, “I promised you a walk in the park, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t think you promised me anything. In fact, you’ve always been very careful never to make a promise, lest you should be forced to break it.”

  “Come on.” He takes her by the hand and tugs her onward. “Let’s go.”

  Looping her arm through his, he leads her on a stroll through Prospect Park. They talk, they laugh—a little, albeit subdued—and eventually, they settle down together on a park bench.

  As the conversation lapses, Veva edges closer to him.

  He knows that if he makes a move on her now, she’ll accept him. Her eyes are gleaming and she’s looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to advance on her.

  He shouldn’t.

  He knows better than this.

  He’s mourning Lora’s loss, and the last thing he should be doing is exploiting Veva’s love for him. Nevertheless, the lure of her lips is overwhelming, and he succumbs to a sudden and intense pang of desire.

  Fuck it.

  Slipping a hand around her neck, he pulls her into a kiss.

  Her lipstick tastes like apples.

  The kiss is sincere and passionate, and Gabriel has to stop himself before he gets carried away. He can’t hide his arousal. His erection is prominent and obvious, and as Veva glances down into his lap, she can see the outline of it inside his clothing.

  Feeling brave for a moment, she reaches forward and tickles her fingertips against the full length of it.

  “Vee …” he cautions her against tempting him further.