Runaway Renegade (Ultimate Passage Book 4) Read Free Page A

black wings, fully converted to his saural form.
    The sun had set, dusk was on its way out, giving him the dimness he’d need to fly over the gorge and the villages, skirting mountaintops and freezing until he finally reach the hotel in Mumbai. Then he could get on a flight and head home to Los Angeles. Flying halfway around the world sucked.
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    H e’d just flown in , still in his saural form, at home in his luxurious penthouse apartment, comfortable and warm, Thane looked in the mirror, converting, his bones narrowing, his scales receding behind human epidermis. His wings folded and slid under the skin. He studied his human form.
    “Handsome devil.” He adjusted his tie, smiled at his reflection, then quickly sobered as the age-old questions came back to him. Was he a devil? Was he a demon? Was he an angel? He had no memory of ever being anything but a death-dealer, and then a Brethren.
    When he’d asked Zale about it, Zale said he had no memories of home either.
    All Dumarians located on Earth had been compelled to forget their pasts before being initiated as Brethren. Something went wrong with Thane, though, because he remembered being a death-dealer. He’d never shared his memories with anyone, not even Zale. When Thane asked Zale if he remembered anything from his days prior, Zale said he remembered nothing. So Thane kept his secret.
    But Thane had questions, and he felt sure that Brohm had the answers, but something about Brohm made Thane suspicious. He wasn’t going to go to Brohm for answers. He didn’t trust him.
    “Fuck it,” Thane commented to his reflection. “Fuck it.” He’d become quite accustomed to the American slang and ways. Too accustomed, if he were to tell the truth. He enjoyed this time better than he’d enjoyed any other. He fit in comfortably, more than any other location in any other century.
    He was meeting some of his human friends at The Other Side. With The Other Side’s rigid dress code—fetish, fantasy, or formal—Thane could enter without converting and fit right in. Or he could wear a business suit, specially provided by Zale’s favorite Italian tailor.
    The fetish part wasn’t necessarily Thane’s flavor, though he did enjoy the view when the ladies paraded their attire and accessories, particularly if the attire was body paint.
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    I t was after midnight when Thane went to the rooftop of his apartment building, converted into his saural form and took off toward The Other Side.
    Cab? Who needs a cab when you have wings?
    Fifteen minutes later, he alit on the rooftop of a building not far from The Other Side, converted into his human skin, and adjusted his suit with its customized slits for his wings. He took the stairs to the elevator on the fourteenth floor, then the elevator the rest of the way down. A block later, he encountered the crowd that composed the line waiting to get into The Other Side. The clubbers wore body paint, some in the forms of animals, some as painted-on lingerie. In addition to those in body paint, there were a few furries, some elves, a sexy wicked witch. Many of the men wore suits, though a few opted for Viking attire, barbarian loin cloths, and even firefighter gear.
    Within moments, he was in front of The Other Side. The bouncer waved Thane in, without checking his ID and indifferent to the fact that the line outside stretched around the block. Thane was VIP. He should be; he was friends with the managers, Brad and Calder.
    What neither Brad nor Calder knew: The Other Side was owned by Thane.
    The club wasn’t too packed, even though the law would allow more. They didn’t like patrons to have to elbow each other, crush props, or rub off body paint.
    Thane made his way toward Brad and Calder’s reserved table. One of the waitresses saw him, waved then approached. Heather… that’s what he thought her name was. Maybe. Hell, he wasn’t sure, it could be Hannah. She was in body paint, and that was it. Her entire body painted a rich, vivid