Avenging Angel

by Cynthia Eden

  DON’T MISS

  The Fallen

  ANGEL BETRAYED

  ANGEL IN CHAINS

  ANGEL OF DARKNESS

  NEVER CRY WOLF

  IMMORTAL DANGER

  MIDNIGHT’S MASTER

  MIDNIGHT SINS

  And read more from Cynthia Eden in these collections!

  HOWL FOR IT

  THE NAUGHTY LIST

  BELONG TO THE NIGHT

  WHEN HE WAS BAD

  EVERLASTING BAD BOYS

  AVENGING ANGEL

  CYNTHIA EDEN

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  DON’T MISS

  Title Page

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  PROLOGUE

  Marna awoke to pain. Her eyelids flew open as a white-hot fire sent bolts of agony throbbing through her whole body. The fire burned the hottest near her shoulder blades. Burned.

  She screamed as loud as she could and she jerked, trying to rise and get away from that agony—only to find that she couldn’t move.

  They’d strapped her onto some kind of table. She was lying facedown, held almost completely immobile by the bonds.

  “Easy . . .” A man’s slow, drawling voice came from beside her. She saw faded jeans. Tanned hands. Then he bent and brushed back her hair. “You’re gonna be all right.”

  Marna stared into his face—strong, fierce, dangerous—and knew he was lying. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. She knew his face. Knew him—and knew that he wasn’t a man at all. Not really.

  Monster.

  A beast lived beneath his skin. One that was just dying to break out.

  Another stab of pain hit her back, and she flinched at the fresh burn. The monster’s face tightened, and he said, “Don’t worry. He’s almost finished sewing your wounds closed.”

  Sewing you . . .

  She swallowed back the scream. Someone was sewing up her back. Mending flesh that had been sliced open.

  Nausea hit her. Fear and fury had her shaking. “My . . . wings . . .” She barely managed to get the words out because her throat was so dry. Parched. Probably from all her screams. But she had to ask about her wings. They were the only things that mattered.

  Marna was an angel, and an angel without wings . . .

  Hello, hell.

  An angel without wings could never return to heaven.

  Memories rushed through her mind. She’d had her wings hours before. She’d been doing her duty. Just following orders, until another monster had attacked. Until a bastard had sliced her wings right from her flesh and left her to die in the rotting vegetation of a Louisiana swamp.

  The man before her—no, remember, he’s a monster, too, you’ve seen the panther beneath his skin—brushed his fingers over her cheek and wiped away her tears. “I’m sorry, but there was nothing we could do.”

  She bit her lip to hold back any more cries.

  A muscle flexed along the hard line of his jaw. “He—he sliced them all the way off. Fuck, he cut into your bones.”

  There would be no going home for her.

  Her eyes closed as hope died. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

  Another poke in her back. More fiery pain. She knew what that pain was now. A needle. Thread. Going in and out of her body. Sewing up the gaping holes that had been left behind.

  My wings are gone.

  For centuries, she’d been an angel. Her job had been to ferry the souls of humans from this world to the next.

  She’d never known fear. Anger. Pain.

  Those were all human emotions. Angels were far from human. She’d never known—

  Not until her wings had been cut away by a panther shifter who feared no one and nothing.

  Without the wings, the magic that had kept her immune from human feelings was gone. Wiped away. The emotions hit her now, slamming into her with the force of a speeding train.

  Fear.

  Rage.

  “All done.” Another male voice. Had to be the guy with the needle. She opened her eyes, but didn’t look his way. She didn’t want to see him or see her own blood staining his hands. Marna had turned her head so that her eyes met the monster’s green stare.

  Such a pity. A monster shouldn’t have a face like his. He shouldn’t have such deep eyes, eyes that made it look as if he actually cared what happened to her.

  “You’re gonna be all right,” her monster told her. Hadn’t he said that before?

  Marna managed to slowly shake her head. No, she’d never be all right again.

  Then the monster leaned close to her. His breath feathered over her cheek as he promised, “I’ll kill him for you.”

  She wasn’t supposed to care about revenge. She hadn’t been a punishment angel. Vengeance shouldn’t have been her calling.

  It shouldn’t . . .

  But she wanted to give pain for pain. Her life was gone, ripped away by a panther shifter’s claws. And now another shifter stood in front of her—and offered to destroy for her.

  Vengeance would come. She’d make sure of it. After all, there wasn’t anything else waiting for her now. Not heaven. Not hell. She was in hell for an angel.

  There was only . . .

  Vengeance.

  The delicate angel had broken.

  Did she even realize that tears slid down her cheeks? Tanner Chance kept guard by her side. His hand was on her arm, stroking her.

  He couldn’t seem to stop touching her.

  They’d found her body in the swamp. At first, he’d thought that she was already dead.

  So much blood.

  Then she’d moved, and he’d realized just what his sick freak of a brother had done.

  Sliced the wings right off an angel.

  Her lashes lifted and her eyes, the palest blue he’d ever seen, locked right on him.

  No, those eyes seemed to see right through him. Tanner cleared his throat. He was a cop. He’d spent too many years seeing blank expressions like that on the faces of victims.

  “You . . . you’re safe now.” He’d keep her safe. “You just need to rest.”

  She didn’t speak. He didn’t know what else he was supposed to say to her. He never knew what to say to the victims. He just knew how to make the bastards who hurt them pay.

  He was very good at delivering justice. But this time . . .

  An angel.

  She had to hate him. She knew who he was. Knew that his brother was the fucked-up asshole who’d tortured her. Tanner cleared his throat and had to say, “I’m not like him.”

  Her eyes never left his.

  And he was still touching her. Her skin was the softest he’d ever felt. The smoothest. Her flesh was golden and perfect.

  Or, it had been, until claws had ripped into her back and torn that flesh wide open.

  Her breath exhaled softly. “When I’m stronger . . .”

  Tanner leaned closer because he could barely hear her words. “What is it? What do you need?” Anything. He’d do—

 
“When I’m stronger, you should . . . stay away from me.”

  He glanced at her small hands. They’d had to bind her wrists when they strapped her down. Not to hurt her, but to keep the little blond angel from hurting them.

  The angel before him—Marna—she wasn’t some sweet and gentle guardian angel.

  She was an angel of death. One who could, and had, killed with just a touch.

  He could touch her all that he wanted. That was the way the game worked with angels. But the instant her hand touched him . . .

  Dead.

  If she wanted him dead, all she had to do was touch him, and she could send him straight to hell.

  She smiled at him. The smile made her seem even lovelier, and then the angel said, “When I’m stronger, when I’m free . . . get as far away from me as you can.” The faintest of pauses, then, “Because I’ll have my vengeance.”

  She didn’t look so broken anymore.

  “Remember . . . to run, shifter.”

  He didn’t move, and he damn well kept touching her. “I’m not the running kind.” Not anymore. The scared kid he’d been had died long ago. Now he fought any bastard who came his way, and he made sure to win his battles.

  His angel kept her cold smile and told him, “Wait and see.... You will be. . . .”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Two months later

  A girl knew when she was being stalked.

  Marna didn’t glance over her shoulder as she made her way through the bar. What would have been the point? She felt his eyes on her. Knew he was there.

  Sometimes, it seemed that he was always there.

  Bodies brushed against her as she wound through the crowd. Marna didn’t recoil as she’d done when she first lost her wings. She’d grown used to the touches over the last few weeks.

  Music blasted out in a steady beat from the speakers that hung near the ceiling. The place was packed, filled with men and women drunk on a powerful combination of alcohol and lust. The too-loud club shouldn’t have been her kind of place.

  It was.

  She made it to the bar and lightly tapped her fingers against the glass counter. Then she let her gaze lift to the mirror that waited behind that bar.

  In that shining surface, she saw him perfectly.

  Tall, strong, with wide shoulders and muscled arms, her watcher easily cleared a path through the dancers. Maybe it was the harsh intensity of his face that made folks step back. The man stalking so purposefully toward her wasn’t handsome, not really. His features were too hard, too stark.

  But...

  But there was something about the high arch of his cheeks, the square cut of his jaw and the sensual curve of his lips. With that thick mass of dark hair that skimmed his shoulders, Marna supposed that some human women might find him attractive. Even sexy. Humans always seemed to think the dangerous ones were sexy.

  Good thing she wasn’t human.

  His eyes, dark green and burning with a quiet fury, were on hers in that mirror. She almost smiled at him. Instead, she lifted her drink and sipped it lightly.

  What did the big, bad shifter want now? She’d tried to play it nice. She’d told him to stay away. She’d given the guy fair warning, but . . .

  “What in the hell have you done?”

  Tanner Chance closed in on her. His voice had been pitched low, so that only she could hear him, and the guy’s body curved around hers.

  He didn’t touch her, not yet, but only a few inches separated them.

  She turned her head and felt the whisper of his breath on her cheek. For some reason, Marna shivered.

  “You didn’t have to do it,” he gritted and, oh, yes, that was most definitely fury burning in his gaze. He’d better be careful. Too much fury wasn’t good for the beast that he carried inside. “You could have just lived your life. Could have just gone on—”

  A laugh slipped from her, but the sound was bitter. “What life?” Her life had been clawed away from her. There was no heaven for her, not anymore. Just hell on earth. Feelings, emotions, needs—they seemed to constantly swamp her now, and they were driving her crazy.

  No one had warned her about the hungers . . . for food, drink . . . pleasure.

  Men.

  Without the magic from her wings, every human need and emotion slammed into her, and each day, Marna felt she was losing a bit more of herself.

  And I used to wonder what it would be like to be human.

  What she wouldn’t give to be ignorant again. To just . . . not know.

  He leaned in closer to her. Still not touching, but every part of her was hyper aware of him.

  “Others know what you did,” Tanner said.

  Marna blinked, lost. “Uh, good?” Because she didn’t know. Had no clue what the guy was rambling about now. But . . . he smelled good. Not like the others in that place. He didn’t reek of stale beer or too much cheap cologne. He smelled—

  “They know you killed those men.”

  Whoa. Back up. She hadn’t killed anyone.

  His eyes narrowed, the faint lines tightening on his face. “You left their bodies in the alley. What did you think would happen? That no one would find out what you were doing?”

  Another laugh came from her as she turned away. “I have no idea what you’re—”

  His fingers closed around her shoulder.

  Marna stilled. “You know better.” He did. The guy had a pretty thorough knowledge of angels, so he understood just how dangerous her kind could be. She’d gone out of her way to warn Tanner off. Seeing him reminded her too much of what she’d lost. Because of—

  “Why am I still breathing?” His other hand rose and pulled her off the bar stool and up against him. “If you want me dead, then why am I still standing?”

  His body was so hot and hard against hers. Her heartbeat kicked faster in her chest. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him because the guy was really just huge. His hands seemed to burn right through her clothes, their weight a heavy touch that made her feel strangely restless.

  His gaze searched hers. “Why?”

  She brought her hands up between them. Placed her palms right over his chest, smiled and—

  “We got a problem here?” the bartender demanded as he slapped his hands down on the counter.

  Tanner didn’t turn his way. “Mind your own business.”

  Didn’t he sound all tough and deadly? Didn’t he look that way, too? In his faded jeans, in that black T-shirt that pulled across his muscled chest, with his dark hair mussed and that jaw clenched . . . he looked like he could kick the ass of any fool dumb enough to get in his way.

  Marna wasn’t a fool.

  She also wasn’t weak.

  She spared a glance for the bartender. About six-three, way over two hundred pounds, and sporting fists that would probably make most men tremble in fear. “I’m okay.” She had this.

  The bartender’s eyes narrowed and clearly showed his doubt. “You sure, honey? ’Cause I can—”

  Tanner swore and stepped away from her. Ah, giving up already? But then he shoved his hand inside his back pocket and yanked out some kind of wallet. He flashed his ID and snarled, “Police, asshole. Now step the hell back.”

  Right. He was playing the police card? Figured he’d stoop that low.

  Her lips twisted as she started to walk away.

  “You’re not leaving me, Marna.” There was no missing the anger beneath his words.

  So what? She had her own share of anger. “Watch me.” Yes, she’d actually taunted the big, bad shifter. Marna marched away. She kept her head up and her back straight. She’d just clear her own way through the crowd.

  Tanner grabbed her arm after she’d taken about five steps. “Not gonna happen, baby.”

  Wait . . . baby?

  She glanced at him and saw that the guy had pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Her jaw dropped.

  “I tried to do this the easy way, but you didn’t want that.” He snapped one cuff around her wrist before she co
uld even blink. “So I guess we’ll go for the drama.”

  He spun her around and locked both cuffs behind her back. Marna was aware of the avid stares and not-so-quiet whispers that focused on her.

  “You’re comin’ with me,” Tanner told her, his faint Southern accent deepening a bit, “because there is no way I’m letting you out of my sight now.”

  She yanked at the cuffs. She should have been able to snap the things in two with hardly any effort.

  Only . . . no snap.

  He pushed her forward. The crowd backed up. “Thanks to a voodoo priestess I know off Bourbon Street, I was able to add a little something extra to those cuffs.” Tanner’s words were pitched low. “They can keep level-ten demons locked up, so I figured they’d keep you held tight, too.”

  This wasn’t happening. She yanked against the cuffs again. No give.

  Tanner had promised that he’d never hurt her. He’d seemed . . . good, despite his sadistic freak of a now-dead brother. She’d been willing to let Tanner keep living.

  Only now he was cuffing her?

  Fury churned in her gut. “You aren’t doing this to me.”

  He leaned in close to her, close enough for her to see the dark gold flecks in his eyes. “I’ve got two dead bodies that I can trace back to you. Trust me, I am doing this.”

  Two dead bodies? Marna shook her head. She hadn’t killed anyone.

  Though that certainly hadn’t been for lack of trying.

  I can’t kill anymore. No one knew that secret shame yet.

  But the shifter wasn’t giving her time to respond. More cops were spilling through the doorway, guys in uniform this time, and they were all closing in on her. Great. Obviously, she was having another one of her lucky days.

  “It shouldn’t have been this way,” Tanner told her, and anger was heating his voice again. An anger that seemed to match her own. “Fuck, too many know. Don’t you understand? There’s nothing I can do.”

  She was surrounded. Men and women in blue were staring at her with narrowed eyes while Tanner started spilling some lines about her needing an attorney and having the right to stay silent.