Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) by Eliza Hendrix (best motivational books to read TXT) 📗

“It’s okay, buddy,” I say, scratching his forehead.

In reality, that statement couldn’t be further from the truth.

Nothing is okay.

The Book of Origin—the most powerful book known to shadow dwellers—along with the Heart of Danu—another dangerous item seemingly used to amplify magical abilities—is now in the wrong hands.

In short: we’re all fucked.

Chapter 16

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“Is she okay?” Rachel says in the distance.

Drax responds, but I’m too busy staring at the wall to understand.

There has to be an answer.

“She’s been sitting there for hours,” Rachel says.

Zerachu wouldn’t do anything to put the Underworld at risk, which leads me to believe either one of two things:

1)    She was under some sort of spell.

2)    It wasn’t her.

Are either of those options even possible? It’s hard to imagine anyone casting a spell over her. That woman would smell an attempt miles away and turn her attacker into fungi.

Which leads me to option two.

But could someone else have impersonated her? I saw her a few hours before Rachel did; she looked fine to me. This isn’t adding up.

“She isn’t even blinking,” Rachel says.

“She’s thinking,” Drax responds.

Riskus goes on to say something, but it sounds like nothing more than high-pitched gibberish.

“Would you guys shut up?” I hiss, and the motel room goes quiet. “I’m trying to think.”

“You’ve been thinking for hours,” Rachel says. “How much longer will this take?”

Finally, I turn my head toward everyone. “As long as it takes.”

“Well, I’m hungry,” Rachel says.

Rolling my eyes, I reach into my pocket, whip out my wallet, and toss it at her. “Then go get some food.”

It bounces a few times off her palms until she finally catches it.

“You guys staying here?” she asks.

Rather than answer her, I go back to staring at the wall. As I disappear into my thoughts, Rachel marches across the motel room with Riskus prancing behind her. The moment she opens the motel’s door, however, a loud bang echoes all around us.

How the fuck am I supposed to concentrate with everyone making so much noise? Gritting my teeth, I scowl up at Rachel, but the horrified look on her face is enough to get me to keep my anger in check.

With her back pressed against the closed door, her chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath. Her eyes, easily the size of golf balls, dart between me and Drax as if one of us holds the key to calming her down.

“Holy mother of Hades,” Drax says, getting up for the first time.

Cautiously, he moves toward the motel’s grimy window, pulls one of the blind slats down with his claws, and sticks his face against the glass.

Another explosive sound goes off, and the walls around us tremble. Mr. Mushroom lunges off the bed and disappears underneath.

“What the fuck’s going on?” I say, jolting upright.

Shoving Drax aside, I pull at the blinds, tearing them off the wall completely. I didn’t mean to pull that hard, but what’s done is done.

I squint through the window at what appears to be a group of young warlocks swinging wands around. My attention shifts onto the shortest one whose mouth is wide open. He’s shouting something, though I can’t make out what.

Then, he jabs his wand at a red pickup truck parked in the motel’s lot. At once, a stream of green light spits out of the tip of his wand and envelopes the truck, causing its windows to shatter and its tires to explode.

Are you fucking kidding me? Out in broad daylight? They’re acting like the Code of Invisibility doesn’t apply to them. All shadow dwellers are bound by this law. Morons like these are the type who risk pissing off Asmodeus.

And everyone knows what happens when Asmodeus gets pissed off. Vampires start talking about hunting down and eliminating certain races of fae. They’ve done it in the past—leading to the extinction of certain demons—and they’ve made it clear they aren’t afraid to do it again.

“Stuff like this has been happening all week,” Rachel says. “Ever since we were told to evacuate the Dark Hall, people keep talking about the End of the Divide, or something.”

My stomach sinks. This can’t be happening. Shadow dwellers have spoken about the End of the Divide for centuries, but the idea has always been that—an idea.

Drax knows what I’m thinking. With a single glance his way, it’s like we’re reading each other’s minds.

“People say shit to say shit,” he says, almost as if trying to convince himself.

“I get that, Drax, but this is the first time the Dark Hall gets evacuated,” I say.

He remains silent. He knows I’m right. Shadow dwellers are accustomed to running into a few rogues now and then—people who think they can run around casting spells on others, or tearing feebles apart with no fear of consequences.

These shadow dwellers always get caught by the vampires, and no one ever hears about them again.

The End of the Divide isn’t a term that’s thrown around lightly. It originated centuries ago when groups of shadow dwellers banded together, hoping to unite our world as one. But how can shadow dwellers and feebles coexist? People have tried and failed.

The End of the Divide, if it ever occurs, won’t be an amicable union—it’ll be a bloodbath. Feebles will stand up and demand that we be confined behind prison bars to protect their families.

Clenching my fists, I stare at the warlocks outside who are now firing strings of light at overhead birds and turning them into honeybees. This is the kind of behavior that will attract feeble aggression.

“I’ll be back,” I say.

“What’re you gonna do, Alex?” Drax says. “Knock them out?” His flared nostrils look like they’re on the verge of splitting his face in half.