Fury (1 of 4)

The woman was scared. He was still following her, she was sure. As she pushed her way frantically through the crowd, she’d occasionally catch glimpses of him. Over her shoulder, in the windows of office buildings, even on the massive television screen that hung outside the subway station. She desperately needed to get away.

She just managed to make it across the road before the storm of cars erupted again. As she dared another glance over her shoulder, she saw him. He was standing at the front of the mass of people waiting to cross. He had eyes only for her. His brown overcoat seemed impervious to the wind. His hands, thrust deep in his pockets, guarded treasure troves of fear.

Running now, no longer caring if anyone thought her strange or crazy. Her only thought was to get away. In desperation, she found herself making random turns, taking side streets and alleys. It was too late when she realised her mistake – away from all the people, there would be nothing to make him wait.

She was halfway down the narrow street between two office blocks when she heard steady footfalls behind her. Unable to stop herself, she turned to face her stalker. His face was beautiful and his golden hair flowed down his neck. But his eyes held an anger and hate she had never known. His coat hung open, and with a shrug it slid off revealing an impossibly chiselled chest and four beautifully perfect wings.

“What are you?” she pleaded. Somehow he was closer to her now – she could smell rosemary and incense and blood. Still he said nothing, but hate twisted his face.

Headlights blasted the shadows from the alley as a small dark sports car came roaring towards her. He tensed like a cat ready to snatch its prey from a rival, only to be driven back by a hail of bullets. The car skidded to a halt, the driver holding the steering wheel in a death grip with one hand, and frantically working the trigger of a large revolver with the other. With a scream of frustration, The winged man scrambled straight up the alley wall, threw himself into the air and took flight.

"Get in!" screamed the driver.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners. My name is Dante Harsher, and I'm pleased to meet you. Now will you get in the fucking car before it decides to come back?"