He debated his next step, knowing this was an elaborate trap for him, one that would be designed with the expectation that he wouldn’t come alone. Which was why he’d done exactly that.

But he could still take them by surprise.

Pulling out his phone, he jumped the hoops necessary to reach Adrian.

“Mitchell,” the Sentinel leader answered.

“It’s Raze. I’ve got a situation you’ll be interested in.”

“Where are you?”

“Chicago.”

“Yes, that is interesting. So am I.”

Raze stilled, his hackles rising at the softness of Adrian’s tone. “That’s not a coincidence.”

“No, it’s not. Location?”

He wasn’t surprised that the angel was so far from his home base in Anaheim, California. That was Adrian’s way. While Syre was cerebral in his leadership, using Raze and Salem to investigate and Vashti as his iron fist, Adrian was the opposite. The Sentinel leader left the administrative duties to others so he could remain a hands-on hunter in the field. A vampire hunter and goaler-those roles being the sole purpose of his existence.

Raze gave his location, then pointed out, “I wouldn’t have called you if I just needed a hand or two. If you’re going to send a couple lycans and call it a night, don’t bother.”

“Don’t tell me how to respond to a request for a favor.” The lack of inflection in the angel’s voice was more disconcerting than an outright threat would have been.

“If you’d let us establish some cabals and covens in the major cities, I wouldn’t need to call you at all.” The Sentinels used their lycans to keep vampires contained in rural, lower population areas. They said the policy was to protect mortals, but the side effect was the hindering of the Fallen’s ability to police their own minions. And every transgression was another mark against them, another smudge barring them from any possibility of redemption.