Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Nothing more. But someone was watching me. Did that mean I was close to the answer? Why were freaking Angels investigating their murder? And to top it all off, I apparently reeked of Demons. But… why ?
    I had no idea. Shivering, I stormed back inside, ready to pay my tab and leave.
    Sauntering over to the bar, the TV caught my attention. Someone had turned up the volume. As the words reached my ears, I groaned inwardly. Hemmingway seemed to be listening with rapt attention. It was the now familiar news rehash about me from the last few months. “ Master Temple is still refusing to comment, so the world is full of speculation. As everyone is aware, a few months ago, our beloved benefactor, Nate Temple — recently nicknamed the Archangel — and heir of Temple Industries after his parents’ murder, was allegedly involved as a person-of-interest in a murder spree the likes of which St. Louis has never seen before. At this time, he is not considered a suspect .” Her tone said otherwise. “ Alaric Slate — Master Temple’s business partner in a so-called coalition of supernaturals — is apparently missing, so no interviews with him have been forthcoming. ” The news reporter then went on to declare that the high-speed car chase over the Eads Bridge involving a Demon was no doubt a monstrous hoax. A woman had been found at the bottom of the river, but it was determined that she was most likely just an innocent crash victim. They had yet to determine her identity. I scowled. She hadn’t been an innocent bystander. She had been a silver scaled dragon intent on mutilating me. My best friend — werewolf, and now ex -FBI agent — Gunnar Randulf had barely helped me out of that one. Literally. Silver and werewolves were not bed-buddies.
    I idly fingered the bracelet of misshapen teeth on my wrist. Dragon teeth. Acquired from the late Dragon Lord, Alaric Slate. I had killed Alaric, and used his dental palate to make a fashionable bracelet. It had made me feel marginally better. When Alaric’s ritual had backfired, thanks to yours truly, the spell had then transferred the power and designation Obsidian Son to his offspring, Raego, making him the new de-facto leader of the dragon nation.
    A twofer if I ever heard one.
    Raego, always savvy, chose to break the morbid news to his fellow dragons by making my bracelet an award, like a god-damned Purple Heart, declaring me a friend of dragons everywhere. One phrase stuck in my eidetic memory like a persistent hunk of caramel corn. “He is the ultimate death for us. Our very own Grim Reaper for those who wish to act terrible to humans… or those who disappoint me.” I fingered the bracelet angrily. “I won’t be Raego’s fucking hit man.” I growled.
    I felt Hemmingway turn to study me acutely. “What?” I snapped, nervous at the attention the news story might have caused, as well as my last comment.
    But he didn’t acknowledge my idle comment. “Grandma, what great big balls you have!” He chimed in a falsetto voice, grinning wide.
    “You already said that.” I muttered. He chuckled. I pondered my recent encounter. “You really think so? He didn’t look too tough. Although he walked off my sucker punch pretty well.” I continued, regarding my departed appointment.
    “Well, does it take more guts to twice traverse a staircase in a burning building or to make a one-time leap into a volcano? Damned if I know, Kimosabe. All I know is when you’re making those kinds of calls, you’re up in the high country.”
    I chuckled. “Never heard that before.”
    Hemmingway nodded. “One of the Greats. S. H. Graymore. Interesting man.” He took a deep pull from his drink. “I hate those amoral ass hats.”
    I choked a bit on my drink, biting back a laugh. “Pardon?”
    “That was Eae, the Demon thwarter. But he’s nothing compared to the Archangels.” He looked me up and down. “The real Archangels…” his eyes twinkled, alluding to the nickname the media had