Nox leaned forward until he was almost nose to nose with the man who should have been dead. A man Nox had torn to shreds.
And when he did it again, he’d make sure there was nothing left.
Sweat matted Dekker’s hair, all the color leached from his cheeks, and crimson soaked his clothes.
Luca pulled on Nox’s arm. “Nox, it’s not Dekker. It’s his twin, Johnathan. Remember, on the plane. Let him go. Dr. Dante said he helped us.”
Nox didn’t want to believe it. This man was the same person who killed Luca, the same person who butchered Dr. Dante. His scent was unmistakable and he threatened everything.
Nox leaned closer and inhaled the man’s exhale. “What’s your name?”
Dekker licked his lips. “Johnathan.”
“Paul was your twin?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to hurt Luca?”
“No.”
Nox huffed against his neck, pulling the fear, pain, and touch of death across his palate. He rolled it over his tongue. The temptation to rip out the man’s throat centimeters from Nox’s lips, almost too much to ignore. But no lie tainted the man’s scent.
Johnathan closed his eyes. Resignation masked his face.
Nox retracted his claws and stepped back. Dekker slid to the ground.
Two other men, Mah, dragged Dekker out of range.
Dr. Date wiped his mouth. “Sorry, I should have reminded you sooner.”
“They smell like sex,” Nox said.
One of the men helping Dekker glanced back at the comment. Then the shadows of the house erased his frown.
“Um… about that. I… never mind.” Dr. Dante scrubbed his palms on his shirt. “I’ll let Seung explain it to you.” He fled into the house.
“I didn’t mean to upset him.” A wave of guilt sobered Nox.
“I don’t think it was you,” Luca said.
Nox raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, I’m pretty sure it was mostly not you.” Luca nodded at the house. “C’mon. I’m hungry.”
Droplets of crimson marked the path they’d taken Dekker. With each step, they grew smaller and fewer. Black swirled in the red but nothing like what Nox bled. The Anubis within shivered with what might have been caution. After being jacked up with Rakta, Nox understood why it reacted.
What pumped through the Mah, the perversion of the ichor, should not exist.
But now it did.
He held open the door for Luca.
Dust floated through the living area, riding beams of fading sunlight escaping through tall windows. Modern and antique furniture occupied the large space with its aged hardwood floors and whitewashed walls. A doorway in the back led to another room. Spices and grease were an undertone to the headier scent of Varu and Mah, Fenrir and Sarvari.
Dekker sat in a wooden chair with his shirt off.
Seung looked him over. “You’ll live.”