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to the Nile building. Yeah, they overstepped the boundary. You know what to do.” Disconnecting his cell phone, Khamun motioned for his brothers to move out, informing their minds that they would take out the Cursed watching the Guide’s house. He closed his eyes as Calvin inhaled sharply and whispered a teleportation prayer.
    Landing in the back of an empty house, he heard his bro’s land at the same time in different sections of the quiet neighborhood surrounding Cursed entities. He smiled. It never stopped to amaze him how his senses responded to the hunt. It was mind-blowing, almost addictive.
    Quietly stalking, he scaled the side of the house, propelling himself upward, and stood on the roof in a low crouch. The adrenalin in his system made the muscles in his body twitch with anticipation and a slight calmness as he inhaled the cool night air. Cutting into the night, his amber eyes sliced through the darkness and slightly glowed with the touch of the moonlight.
    At twenty-nine, Khamun was a Reaper. He had no other term to call it, because he still didn’t know what he was. No one in Society, not even his own parents, could understand his extra abilities. So the first time he went on a hunt, which wasn’t purposeful, and he fed from his first victim, he had decided to never tell his parents that their dear son was something unheard of.
    His wings expanded into the night as he flew in the air, gliding into a leap, and landed on the top of a nearby car. He descended so lightly, not a sound was made as he jumped off and sprinted to the back of his Guide’s house without the Cursed knowing. Skidding to a halt, his fangs crested as he crouched low behind his Guide’s mother’s garage.
    The air near the garage was filled with a putrid smell, and he knew a Cursed Gargoyle was near. Extremely near. His gloved hands fisted. He was tempted to retrieve a blade but opted to use his hands for the kill. He loved the feel of a Gargoyle’s flesh tearing in his hands as he sent the beast back to hell.
    Resting a solitary hand on the soft grass, he was furious as the energy of the land let him glean what had occurred. They brought Gargoyles, which meant the S.O.B.s were on a mission to reap havoc. It wasn’t making sense. What was it that had a team of Cursed ready to kill his Guide? Usually, it was a simple Light-versus-Dark scuffle, an I-want-what-you-got war when it came to Guides, but this was different. This was more than one Cursed warrior here; it was a small team.
    Coming back to reality, he clutched the grass and clucked his tongue as a nerve ticked in his jaw. Well, this was just interesting. He knew many parts of the Lou had areas where old slave and forgotten graves used to rest, or old church plots, but this was more. This was both. He grinned.
    His Guide’s house happened to be resting on old holy land blessed by Native Americans, then later the Church through the generations. He could read the history and feel the pain of the past in the souls being cut off too soon due to bigotry, fear, pure animosity, and more.
    His Guide’s mother chose a proper house location, and now it was time to handle what they came to do. He felt his brothers in the midst of the fight already as he waited for the Gargoyle to come his way. Rolling his sleeves up, intricate prayer symbols swirled on his forearms as he kept a palm flat on the land and another resting against the garage.
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    Marco was on a mission. He felt his cousin searching the neighborhood like a mad man. He reached for the barrel that was securely strapped on his back and moved quietly yet quickly, shielding himself in the shadows. He wondered if she was here. He couldn’t deal with the actions he would have to take if she was.
    He eyed a Hunter who had backed up into his way. He stopped in the middle of the street then slowed his stride to a deliberate stroll, lighting a “trinity,” as they called it in Society.