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deaths_headAs soon as he found her, he wanted her. She was a dazzling soul, pure and bright and she burned hot. The goodness in her wasn't angelic, it was ferocious--living fire, and he wanted it. The Lord, the Devil, they could both go rot because this woman was going to be his.
The first he ever laid eyes on her was the day he came for her.
She was with the blind lawyer, walking through the police station to meet a client. The lawyer was another one he wanted, but to the Shade's amusement he was clean. In his scarred and sightless eyes, there was no trace of the mark of death. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, the Man Without Fear, and he was as untouched as the driven snow.
The Shade sat at a detective's desk, just another perp, albeit a big one. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, tattooed arms bare, and a black bandanna knotted around his head to keep his wild red hair at bay.
He waited until Karen Page set eyes on him. An officer walked between them, breaking her line of vision...
When the officer passed, he was standing--and while the big biker was still present to everyone in the room who might be looking, the condemned soul he set his steady gaze on saw something entirely different.
Blood red hair spilled across his shoulders, eyes shielded by the wide brimmed black hat he wore, matching the long black coat that swept the floor. Though those eyes were in shadow, they were still eerily visible, flashing intermittently with sparks of light, glimmering as something in their depths moved and shifted.
And as she watched, the Shade raised one gloved hand, and very deliberately beckoned her forward with a crooked finger.
The first he ever laid eyes on her was the day he came for her.
She was with the blind lawyer, walking through the police station to meet a client. The lawyer was another one he wanted, but to the Shade's amusement he was clean. In his scarred and sightless eyes, there was no trace of the mark of death. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, the Man Without Fear, and he was as untouched as the driven snow.
The Shade sat at a detective's desk, just another perp, albeit a big one. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, tattooed arms bare, and a black bandanna knotted around his head to keep his wild red hair at bay.
He waited until Karen Page set eyes on him. An officer walked between them, breaking her line of vision...
When the officer passed, he was standing--and while the big biker was still present to everyone in the room who might be looking, the condemned soul he set his steady gaze on saw something entirely different.
Blood red hair spilled across his shoulders, eyes shielded by the wide brimmed black hat he wore, matching the long black coat that swept the floor. Though those eyes were in shadow, they were still eerily visible, flashing intermittently with sparks of light, glimmering as something in their depths moved and shifted.
And as she watched, the Shade raised one gloved hand, and very deliberately beckoned her forward with a crooked finger.
