he was more awake than he'd been in months, hyper-aware of his surroundings and the rogues crawling over the wreckage of the downed chopper. The human still strapped in the pilot's seat was very clearly dead and there was little he could do with that kind of leftover. The emotions had gone with the soul. Now, the fire had burned the body almost beyond recognition, melting the MVD-issue jumpsuit onto the blackened remains.
That made Hazor's job here that much easier.
One less human to tell the world that he'd seen Hazor raising an army here in the Preserves—an army with forbidden wings. If word got out, if the Heavens learned too much about Hazor's activities down here, the archangel who had taught Hazor the secret of restoring the Fallen's wings would also Fall and Hazor would lose his own newly regained wings.
And that wasn't happening.
"There were three humans," Hazor growled.
His second-in-command inhaled sharply and hissed. "Not all dead."
"One dead. Two jumpers. Both female." Hazor pointed to the corpse. "Pilot went down with the bird, but the photographer and the bodyguard jumped clear. First went out about five minutes before the chopper went down. We'll start the search two clicks west of here. The other jumped last minute, so she should be close."
The second jumper wasn't mission critical. She was muscle for the photographer and Hazor doubted the woman had seen anything beyond her targets. If she'd had the vidstick from the camera, she'd have bailed sooner instead of trying to draw the rogues' fire away from her companion. Whatever intel she had was in her head. Taking care of her would be simple.
The photographer was a different story, he realized as he examined the burnt wreckage of the tripod-mounted camera. Fire had gone to work but not before someone had popped the vidstick, which meant whatever info had been on the camera was now walking around the Preserves.
His second snapped his fingers, summoning a tracker to his side. Rezon was a big, hard bastard with a scar that twisted down the left side of his face. Topping out at well over six feet, he towered over the other rogues who cleared a path for him. He was all cold menace and didn't so much as blink when Hazor gave him his orders.
"You take the second jumper." He'd go after the photographer himself.
""Kill or retrieve?" Rezon asked in a flat voice.
"Retrieve." There were advantages to getting his hands on the missing female and you didn't send a tracker like Rezon after a female without clarifying the life-or-death situation. "If you can. If she gives you trouble, kill her. The first girl, however—I want her alive. She'll have the vidstick somewhere on her person." And, even if she didn't, he still needed to make sure. He couldn't allow the information she was carrying to fall into the hands of the Fallen—and he'd fought alongside those bastards for too many years to write them off now. The Fallen would send someone after the chopper.
"Speed," he said, "is of the essence. I want these girls. Now."
Nodding, the tracker peeled off, heading north to find the second jumper. Rezon had never lost a trail yet.
Dismissing the tracker and his quarry, Hazor turned his attention back to the crash site and its surroundings, running his eyes over the deets. Twenty minutes and five hundred yards later and he had his direction. The broken canopy and a minute trace of blood on the trees below said that this was where the photographer had hit the ground. He snapped out an order and a second team took off, running hard on her scent. He'd catch up with them after he'd finished his sweep of the crash site. Just in case there was anything—any clue— he was missing here .
Hazor had his orders and they were simple. Kill the girl. She'd seen too much, taken photos of Hazor intoning the runes that gave a rogue back his wings in exchange for a demonic bargain. Maybe, she wouldn't—couldn't—connect those dots. Or, on the other hand, maybe she could.
That made Hazor's job here that much easier.
One less human to tell the world that he'd seen Hazor raising an army here in the Preserves—an army with forbidden wings. If word got out, if the Heavens learned too much about Hazor's activities down here, the archangel who had taught Hazor the secret of restoring the Fallen's wings would also Fall and Hazor would lose his own newly regained wings.
And that wasn't happening.
"There were three humans," Hazor growled.
His second-in-command inhaled sharply and hissed. "Not all dead."
"One dead. Two jumpers. Both female." Hazor pointed to the corpse. "Pilot went down with the bird, but the photographer and the bodyguard jumped clear. First went out about five minutes before the chopper went down. We'll start the search two clicks west of here. The other jumped last minute, so she should be close."
The second jumper wasn't mission critical. She was muscle for the photographer and Hazor doubted the woman had seen anything beyond her targets. If she'd had the vidstick from the camera, she'd have bailed sooner instead of trying to draw the rogues' fire away from her companion. Whatever intel she had was in her head. Taking care of her would be simple.
The photographer was a different story, he realized as he examined the burnt wreckage of the tripod-mounted camera. Fire had gone to work but not before someone had popped the vidstick, which meant whatever info had been on the camera was now walking around the Preserves.
His second snapped his fingers, summoning a tracker to his side. Rezon was a big, hard bastard with a scar that twisted down the left side of his face. Topping out at well over six feet, he towered over the other rogues who cleared a path for him. He was all cold menace and didn't so much as blink when Hazor gave him his orders.
"You take the second jumper." He'd go after the photographer himself.
""Kill or retrieve?" Rezon asked in a flat voice.
"Retrieve." There were advantages to getting his hands on the missing female and you didn't send a tracker like Rezon after a female without clarifying the life-or-death situation. "If you can. If she gives you trouble, kill her. The first girl, however—I want her alive. She'll have the vidstick somewhere on her person." And, even if she didn't, he still needed to make sure. He couldn't allow the information she was carrying to fall into the hands of the Fallen—and he'd fought alongside those bastards for too many years to write them off now. The Fallen would send someone after the chopper.
"Speed," he said, "is of the essence. I want these girls. Now."
Nodding, the tracker peeled off, heading north to find the second jumper. Rezon had never lost a trail yet.
Dismissing the tracker and his quarry, Hazor turned his attention back to the crash site and its surroundings, running his eyes over the deets. Twenty minutes and five hundred yards later and he had his direction. The broken canopy and a minute trace of blood on the trees below said that this was where the photographer had hit the ground. He snapped out an order and a second team took off, running hard on her scent. He'd catch up with them after he'd finished his sweep of the crash site. Just in case there was anything—any clue— he was missing here .
Hazor had his orders and they were simple. Kill the girl. She'd seen too much, taken photos of Hazor intoning the runes that gave a rogue back his wings in exchange for a demonic bargain. Maybe, she wouldn't—couldn't—connect those dots. Or, on the other hand, maybe she could.
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