Soul Betrayer

by Allyson Lindt

  She finally turned away. “You’re my assignment.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Holden’s voice was scratchy and strained. “But I have to ask what you are. Otherwise, I might be jealous that Izzy has so many impossibly attractive women at his beck and call.”

  She glanced back at him, eyes wide. “I’m—Um ... a friend. From church.”

  “Which is why I’ve never once seen you in the church. Makes perfect sense.” Heavy sarcasm lined Holden’s response.

  Tia’s eyes narrowed, and she was on her feet in a flash, stalking toward him. Any hesitation vanished. “Listen, I didn’t have to save you. I don’t know you from bubblegum on the bottom of my shoe. But since Izzy likes you, you get a pass. Back off, because your curiosity is pretty fucking insignificant in the grand scope of what’s going on here.”

  Where did that come from? The mini-tirade was extremely not like Tia. “She’s a demon,” Izzy explained. Maybe he should be more delicate with information like that. Save the conversation until they’d discussed more about what Holden could and couldn’t see. But the last few minutes had snapped a few of Izzy’s filters.

  Tia’s pout returned in an instant. “Am not.”

  And bipolar? “Because it just spontaneously rained in my apartment? Why am I your assignment?”

  She spun back to face him, lower lip jutted out in a pout. “Don’t take it personally.” Now that her panic had ebbed—Izzy assumed over how Ronnie would react if she’d let him die—Tia could carry on a conversation. “You’re not the only one with a guardian angel or demon. You’re just the only one who’s local.”

  “Did you have to destroy my books?”

  “Your apartment was on fire. You’re welcome.” She pulled her phone from the satchel hanging from her wrist and jabbed the screen several times.

  “I told you not to call Ronnie.” Izzy wanted answers, not more coddling.

  “I didn’t. I texted her.” Her eyes never left the device. “She’s in meetings, this is faster.” Her phone beeped. “We’re moving you.”

  “Bullshit we are.” He forced himself to stand. The room spun at a dizzying speed, and his legs threatened to give out. “That’s not your call.

  “Nope. It’s hers.” Tia held up the phone, screen toward him, to show him the message from Ronnie.

  Sometimes having friends in high—or low—places sucked. “It’s not her call either. Are you going to knock me out and kidnap me?”

  She bit her bottom lip, and her brow furrowed. He could almost hear the debate raging in her head over which instructions were more important, getting him out of here, or keeping him from getting hurt. “I’ll be back,” she said.

  Tia stomped out the front door, slamming it behind her.

  Izzy picked his way to the couch and collapsed next to Holden. Wet foam squidged around them, but he was beyond caring. Izzy dropped his head against the back of the sofa.

  When Holden brushed a damp lock of hair from Izzy’s forehead, a pleasant tingle nudged aside some of his irritation. “You know some interesting people,” Holden said.

  Interesting was one way to put it. Izzy forced a smile. “It’s not as swell as it sounds. Are you sure you want to stick around? Apparently it’s not safe here.”

  “What are you going to do? If it’s not safe for me, the same goes for you.”

  The concern in his voice warmed Izzy. Every inch of his body begged him to take a nap. He had things to do, though. He’d pop a couple Aspirin. The urge to survey his apartment threatened to rear its head, and he ignored it. He couldn’t stand to see so many damaged books again so soon. “I have to pay a friend a visit.”

  “Someone who blows things up and vanishes, or drenches rooms in water? What kind of friend?” Holden’s dry humor made Izzy laugh in spite of the aches.

  “The normal, library kind of friend. I need to research some things up, and—” Izzy nodded at the room, “—I can’t do it here.”

  “Do you want company?”

  He did. He wasn’t in the mood to be hovered over by Tia, or anyone from heaven or hell, but Holden would keep him sane. Besides, the research Izzy wanted to do revolved around prophets. He wanted to could fit the pieces around Holden together better. Taking a living, breathing, sexy source with him would help.

  “I’d love the company,” Izzy said. “I have to change first, though.” It was tempting to ask if Holden was still interested in joining him in the shower. But physically Izzy was going to have a hard time walking without wincing. He definitely wasn’t up for more. “Meet me on the street in thirty?”

  Holden gestured around the apartment. “What are you going to do about this? Don’t you need to call the cops or something?”

  Izzy had no idea what to do. What would he tell police? A vengeful agent of the archangel Gabriel tried to execute me. Please stop her. “I’ll figure it out.”

  Holden winced as he stood. He flexed, stretched, and then hesitated. He dipped down, hands on either side of my head, and brushed his lips over mine. “Downstairs, thirty minutes. Don’t stand me up. And don’t shave.”

  Chapter Five

  Ronnie wondered how, in all the years she’d known Lucifer in both her incarnations, she’d never noticed how closely he resembled a brick wall when she was trying to get answers from him. Had he gotten worse over time? Or was this a face he adopted for colleagues?

  She should have stayed with Irdu a few minutes longer. More productive all around, and definitely more fun. And she wished like hell that she could ignore the ache inside at Lucifer’s lack of response finding the two of them together. She didn’t want him to be jealous, but it would be nice if... what?

  It would be nice if he looked at her even a little like he used to. Before he fell.

  She blew up a puff of air to force a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Sammy didn’t tell me.”

  “Is that because you refuse to call him Samael?” Lucifer leaned forward at his desk in the Ubiquity offices, his fingers clasped together.

  “He’s never minded the nickname before.” Sammy wasn't one of those agents who got hung on up the sanctity of a name. As long as she approached him with respect, she tended to get along with him great. “He told me there was nothing for the SEC to find.”

  “Smart man. Listen to him.”

  Ronnie growled. “Why are we under investigation? We’re supposed to be flying under the radar.” That wasn’t always possible. It went back to the whole concept of being public-facing. But she’d like to believe the SEC wouldn’t be knocking on their door without probable cause. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she ignored it.

  “Do you know what plausible deniability means?” Lucifer asked.

  And there was the fucking stone wall again. Moments like this made her miss Michael. Not just emotionally, but he was the one original who was always up front with her. “I’m pretty sure it was part of Basic Deception Training, in hell. Do I need to have it in this case?” Her phone nudged her again.

  “No.” Lucifer’s expression never shifted from neutral, despite the edge in his voice. “But Samael does. Stop pushing his buttons and let him do his job.”

  The only reason Sammy would need that... Ronnie scowled. “So the allegations are true, but he doesn’t realize it.”

  Lucifer shrugged.

  “Way to be noncommittal.” This was the thing that frustrated Ronnie about her Ubiquity job more than all the rest combined. She signed on because angels and demons were taking advantage of loopholes in the system. Corruption ran rampant. And she swore in half the cases she tried to uncover or fix, Lucifer stood in her way. Her phone buzzed again, and she itched to reach for it.

  He always had reasons, and they always made sense. Then again he was gifted at using logic to spin things his way. This was the key reason she hadn’t followed him to hell when he fell. She’d gotten tired of the spin.

  “Funding for places like this doesn’t happen when the company and its founders appear out of thin air,” Lucifer said.
“It doesn’t matter how good we were at investing; this is a multi-billion-dollar corporation. So yes, there may have been a little smoke and a few mirrors employed. You know why we did it. Do you disagree?”

  “With the idealism behind Ubiquity? No.” Beyond seeking out rogue cherubs, it was a joint initiative between heaven and hell so both sides could better help humanity. After all, what better way to follow what people were up to than tracking their web browsing habits? “With your tactics? Yes.”

  “You know why it has to be this way.”

  Yeah, yeah. She was tired of slamming her head into this wall. “I have to get back to work.” She strode out of his office, muttering, greater good bullshit, as she reached for her phone. Two missed calls from Izzy. She frowned and played his voicemails.

  “Someone tried to blow me up. Call me now?” And then, “Hey. Where is everyone? Call me.”

  The device vibrated in her hand before she could return his messages. A text from Tia. One of the few people Ronnie knew who was genuine. They’d sat next to each other for months and rarely talked, even though Ronnie was sleeping with Irdu. All because it was a secret that Tia and Irdu were related. Ronnie wished she’d gotten to know the other woman sooner, but was glad they were friends now.

  Someone lightninged Izzy’s place.

  Fuck. Fear tightened in Ronnie’s gut.

  Half of heaven or hell could summon lightning. Electricity and water were easiest to work with. They existed in most things, so angels or demons who were only strong enough to work with a single element gravitated toward one of those two. Knowing the list of possible attackers was broad amped Ronnie’s anxiety.

  We’re moving him someplace safer, she sent Tia a reply, then called Izzy. Best to soften the blow herself if she could.

  No answer. Tia was next.

  With each ring, Ronnie clenched her free hand tighter. This couldn’t be related to their suspicions about Holden, unless humans had figured a hell of a lot more out about angelic power than Lucifer believed. Where did the attack come from?

  “Hey.” Tia’s stress was evident.

  “Is everyone all right?”

  “Well... Izzy’s pissed because I got all his books wet.”

  He would be. Ronnie hated that ancient tomes might be ruined, but at least he was well enough to get mad about it. “Why are his books wet?”

  “His apartment was on fire, and I had to put it out somehow, and he was unconscious, and I thought he was dead, but he’s not dead, and have you met that creepy friend of his with the staring—?”

  “Tia.” Ronnie hated to hear her so stressed. And Irdu would be furious when he found out his sister had been in a battle zone. “You said it was lightning.” Ronnie didn’t know which would be worse—two agents, one wielding each element, or one with enough strength to control both.

  “It was. And there were books. Did I mention the books? They sparked.”

  “Did you see who it was?” Not that Ronnie would recognize most of the names Tia might give her.

  “Abaddon.”

  Ronnie’s blood turned to ice in her veins. Why was one of Gabriel’s soldiers after Izzy? Or was Holden the target? “You’re sure?”

  Tia huffed. “Everyone knows who Abaddon is.”

  Right. This just got a lot more complicated. “Did you tell Izzy we’re moving him? And Holden’s going with him.”

  “Did I mention that Holden guy’s doing a creepy-starey thing?”

  “He does that.” Ronnie racked her brain. Where to put them? It wasn’t as if Ubiquity had safe houses; they were a technology company. And heaven and hell didn’t have a use for such a thing. Her place was no safer than Izzy’s. Anyone who was interested in hurting him knew he and Ronnie were friends.

  “He—sorry, they—can stay with me for a few hours.” Tia sounded reluctant.

  “I can’t ask you to do that.” Really, she couldn’t. Irdu would never forgive Ronnie if she didn’t pull Tia now, and Ronnie would hate herself if something happened to the demon. “I’m going to send someone else in to relieve you.”

  “No.” Tia’s voice grew hard. “Why? Because of my... Irdu?”

  No one was supposed to know they were related, or that they’d been human once upon a time. If Gabe found out Lucifer had turned mortals into full-fledged demons, angels blowing up buildings would become the least of Ronnie’s worries.

  “Yes, because of that,” Ronnie said. “And because of what you are. And because I’d hate myself if you got hurt.”

  “So, you can pull me, and send someone you don’t care about to take my place?”

  Ronnie clenched her jaw. She didn’t like that phrasing at all. She cared about every agent at Ubiquity, regardless of who they swore loyalty to. But Tia mattered more. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

  “Exactly.” Tia was smug. “Argument is over. They’ll stay with me for now. You’ll find them someplace long term and bring us dinner when you come to move them.”

  Bribe an agent with a good meal, and all was right in their world. Ronnie didn’t like that Tia had so deftly won the argument, but she smiled at the request for food. Still, a million thoughts and questions pounding in her skull. “Deal. I’ll be at your place as soon as I can. Promise Izzy whatever it takes to get them to go with you. Please?”

  MICHAEL’S SURROUNDINGS vanished, and a city street replaced them in a blink. He clouded the thoughts of the dozens of people milling on the sidewalk. Most of them wouldn’t notice him appear out of nowhere, but the fogging ensured anyone who did would assume Michael had always been there.

  He extended his senses, searching for threats. The world seeped back in response—the warm layer of nighttime humidity against his face; the stench of car exhaust, alcohol, and money; patrons chattering as they entered the art gallery. He wasn’t looking for the obvious, though. Disruption would most likely be an aura, spiked and frantic.

  He wove his way through the throngs, and stopped at the entrance long enough to show the doorman his invitation to the exhibit opening. Inside, bright white lined the walls and floors, pausing only for the paintings and sculptures on display. The artwork was stark, and horrific in contrast. Beautiful and erotic in its terror. Nudes bound with thorns. Chained by thick, woven cable. Locked with shackles of... was that a human heart?

  Michael shook his head, to clear the vivid imagery. It was potent work. Almost haunted or inspired. What would Ronnie think about the art? Would she be drawn to the detail and brush strokes, or zero in on the passion and pain?

  He resisted the urge to hover his hand millimeters above the canvas, to see if it emitted its own energy. Potent art shone or bled with its creator's intensity. That would probably hold Ronnie's attention the longest—the chance to feel something new. Her appreciation for experiencing everything, whether it was beautiful or raw and visceral, was a big reason he was drawn to her. Why he missed her so much, despite his attempts to set her memories aside.

  It was also why distance was necessary. When he lost himself in her awe, it was too tempting to stay there rather than do his job. It would be worse now that he was tasked with execution.

  An aura rescued him from his thoughts. Clear and sharp, like a sparkling sea. Almost as beautiful as the woman herself. Abaddon. Her narrow waist and seductive hips breathed life into a calf-length denim skirt, and the way she held herself said she owned the room.

  She glanced over her shoulder when he approached, then turned back to the painting in front of her.

  To an outside observer, Michael was meeting his date. The charade was fine with him. Abaddon was an old friend, and about as complication free as life got. He needed that. Her loyalties may lie with Gabriel, but subterfuge wasn’t in her arsenal.

  He stepped up beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist. The physical contact without emotional context was pleasant.

  She pressed her warm weight against him. “Shaken, not stirred, Mr. Bond?” Her words were almost a purr.

  He suspected she wa
s joking about the suit. Abaddon was what Ronnie would call thrift-store chic. Ronnie’s name carried a rush of second-guessing and regret, and presented him with a new question—was he wrong to walk away from her, rather than discovering what their future held?

  Lucifer told him she chose to go by Ronnie, rather than Uriel or Metatron, because it was the name both had used. It was also the nickname Michael gave her so long ago. After Lucifer fell from Heaven. After Metatron and Michael fell in love.

  Michael focused on his companion for the evening, instead of the past. The faint scent of jasmine teased his senses. “Is there any place in this city that’s more crowded tonight?” He kept his tone pleasant, despite the weight of everyone’s emotions pushing in on him. An exhibit like this, meant to shock and tantalize, would wreak havoc on an angel if they weren’t careful.

  “Probably a lot of places.” Abaddon looped her hand into the crook of his arm and tugged him to the next painting. “You wanted a spot somewhere besides Nashville, and let’s say I’m a patron of the artist’s.”

  He wouldn’t take his frustration—the stress of the atmosphere—out on her. She risked a lot by continuing to meet him. “You look good,” he said. That was polite. Conversational. “Your glow could be healthier.” He couldn’t help sliding in the reminder he wasn’t happy about her current lifestyle choice. She was his only almost-success.

  She held a cherub she shouldn’t have. According to his rules, he should have stripped it from her and obliterated her into nothing. It wasn’t that simple, though. She was an old friend, which made it harder, but she also supplied him with information about where to find others like her. And she hesitated each time he brought it up, so he knew she was closer to surrendering the cherub.

  “I heard what happened with Azazel.” She trailed a finger down Michael’s arm.

  He wouldn’t call her on the change of subject. “Thanks to media coverage, the world heard what happened with Azazel.” He hoped the family who witnessed it was doing all right. Whenever he saw them in an interview, he felt bad for not whisking them somewhere else before leaving.