Sins of the Angels: A Supernatural Thriller (Grigori Legacy Book 1)

by Lydia M. Hawke

  “Happy birthday, Elizabeth Anthony,” she whispered.

  Roberts joined her. “You doing all right?” he asked.

  Alex handed him the wallet, her finger hooked over it to point at the date on the license. Roberts’s face went a shade grayer than it had already been.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  Alex jotted the woman’s name and address into her notebook and stooped to retrieve the handbag from the floor. She dropped the wallet into it, slid everything into an evidence bag, and sealed the bag.

  Roberts cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about earlier. This one’s pretty big, so if you’d rather sit it out...” his voice trailed off.

  Hope flared in her, then sputtered out. Why couldn’t Roberts have seen it this way before the killer had placed a personal call to her? Before Delaney went missing? Before Alex had seen this mayhem and slotted away the memories with all her others? She took a marker from her pocket and held it in a grip that numbed her fingers. It was too late to back out now. Hell, if she were to believe Trent, it had been too late for her all along.

  She uncapped the marker. “I’m okay.”

  Her supervisor shuffled his feet. “I mean it, Alex. There’s something about this one that makes my skin crawl. Given your background, I can only imagine how much worse it must be for you.”

  “I mean it, too. I’m fine.”

  Roberts stared at the floor. “You wouldn’t keep anything from me, would you?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like information pertinent to the case.” Her supervisor held up a hand to stave off her objection. “Like the fact he’s after you.”

  Shock removed the guard on her tongue. “How did you—?”

  “I’ve been a cop for thirty-two years, Alex, and I’ve known you for six of those. You were way more shaken than you should have been when you got off the phone with him earlier.”

  Alex looked to Benjamin and saw his eyebrows draw together in warning. Rebellion flared in her, but sputtered out almost immediately. She couldn’t defy him even if she wanted to, because she didn’t know anything yet. Didn’t know if what she found out could be shared.

  “You’re wrong,” she lied to Roberts, hearing the bitterness in her voice. “You would have been shaken too, hearing about Christine like that. Like you said, I have more reason than anyone else to be affected by this whole mess. So no, I’m not withholding information, and no, he didn’t threaten me.”

  Her staff inspector’s piercing gaze held hers for a long moment, rife with questions, doubts, uncertainty. Then his face tightened. “I don’t believe you. I’m putting a watch on you.”

  “You can’t.”

  Roberts raised an eyebrow.

  Alex bit her lip. Struggled for the right words. “This case makes my skin crawl, too, Staff. But not because of my history. The killer isn’t—I’m not sure he’s—”

  “The DNA results on that claw came back.”

  She blinked at the sudden change in subject.

  “It was unidentifiable.”

  Alex stared at her supervisor and watched him carefully not acknowledge all that stood behind his statement, all that stood behind her clumsy attempt to explain what they dealt with. Roberts looked away first.

  “I’m putting a watch on you.”

  “Don’t. If he is after me, he’ll go through whoever is in his way. You won’t be able to stop him.” And I don’t want anyone else to die.

  “What if someone else on the team was his target? What would you do?”

  Alex’s silence spoke for her.

  Roberts nodded. “I thought so. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll ask for volunteers.”

  ***

  Alex leaned an elbow on the roof of her sedan and threaded her fingers into the hair at her temple. She surveyed the dozen ambulances on the street, and twice that number of cop cars, all with their dome lights flashing. Yellow tape cordoned off half the city block, and farther away, wooden barriers held back the usual gawkers. The scene had all the earmarks of a Hollywood setting, complete with an air of make-believe, because surely the events here were too surreal to have actually happened.

  Two paramedics came out of the building, carrying a stretcher with yet another body bag on it, their faces grim. Alex’s grip tightened on her hair. She wished to God she could take Roberts up on his offer to let her sit this one out. No one on the squad would question the decision, and she sure as hell wouldn’t miss seeing the carnage.

  On the other hand, she’d be left with nothing but time on her hands. Time to sit and think about being hunted by a killer she could no longer believe was human; about being protected by someone about whom she harbored the same suspicions.

  No, as useless an exercise as this investigation might be, at least it kept her occupied. Kept her—Alex’s thoughts halted as, over the heads of the crowd gathered beyond the barriers, one face suddenly stood out. Trent. Tall and strong and watchful, his attention on the proceedings, he had returned from his meeting with the mysterious Verchiel. Alex frowned. But what was he doing out there? Had he seen something? Felt it?

  Irritation stabbed. He’d promised her answers, damn it, and he should have come straight inside to her and Seth. Speaking of whom...she straightened and glanced over her shoulder at the doorway, feeling a prickle of guilt. Her watchdog wouldn’t be impressed when he realized she’d slipped away from him like this, but it served him right for taking that holier-than-thou attitude with her. Besides, she hadn’t gone far, and eventually he’d figure out where she was and come after her.

  She located Trent again in the crowd. He hadn’t moved. She hesitated. Part of her wanted to go to him—even needed to—but that still didn’t make it easy to do so.

  So much sat between them, barely acknowledged, let alone explained. So much that moved like a vast, dark, endless sea she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore, despite her earlier, confident words. She studied him for a long moment. Wondered if she was ready to hear his secrets. To finally know who—or what—he was.

  No more lies, no more pretense of any kind. Just him and her and...Alex looked at the chaos of emergency vehicles surrounding her, lights splintering the night. And that.

  She watched another body bag being loaded into a waiting ambulance. Wondered who would face the task of removing Father McIntyre’s remains from the inverted cross. Her stomach twisted. She turned back to the crowd, steeled herself, and walked across the street to the barrier. She pushed her way through the gathered throng, reached Trent’s side, and said without preamble, “It’s time to talk.”

  Trent tensed and stared down at her in shock. He peered around as if to see at whom she directed her words and then frowned.

  “All right,” he said warily. “About what?”

  She scowled. “What the hell do you think? About this.” She jerked her chin toward the murder scene and lowered her voice. “You promised, damn it. You said you’d give me answers.”

  The confusion cleared from her partner’s expression and it turned thoughtful. Attentive. “Yes. I think that would be good. But not here.”

  Alex took stock of their surroundings. It was unlikely that anyone would overhear them, or even notice their presence, but he was right to be cautious. She nodded. “I’ll need to finish up here—” She broke off as the cell phone at her waist rang. Unclipping it, she glanced at the display and then flipped it open. “Jen, this isn’t a good time—”

  “Alex. Thank God,” Jen whispered.

  Alex’s entire being tuned into the edge of hysteria in her sister’s voice. The cell phone turned to lead in her grip, weighing down her arm. “What’s wrong? Is it Nina? Is Nina all right?”

  “I don’t know. She came home covered in blood and won’t talk to me. I don’t think she can talk. She’s sitting in the living room just staring at the wall and not moving, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Ice trickled through Alex’s veins. What the hell—? She moved away from Trent a
nd the cluster of people near him, trying not to make Jen’s panic her own. She lowered her voice. “Have you called the police?”

  “I’m scared to. What if she—what if—” Jen’s voice choked off into a strangled sob and then a hiccup. “Alex, just come. Please.”

  “I’m on my way. Just stay with her until I get there. Don’t touch her or let her wash—”

  “She’s my daughter. I’m not going to not touch my baby.”

  Alex tried to separate her professional self from the person her sister needed her to be right now. The person her niece would need when she got to their house. “Of course. But no washing. We’ll need her clothes as evidence.”

  “Whatever. Just get here.”

  ***

  She thought he was Aramael.

  Caim clenched his fists at his sides, struggling not to snatch the phone from the woman. Not to grab her arm and pull her into the alley with him and slice her open then and there; to find out, finally, if he was right. If the soul of a Naphil could be the key to his return.

  So close.

  He breathed in her scent, warm, clean, with a hint of vanilla. He could take her now, but he wanted more. Much, much more. He wanted Aramael to witness his success, to feel firsthand the agony of his own defeat, of loss. And he wanted him to live an eternity with that loss.

  The woman snapped the phone shut and moved close. “I have to go,” she said, her voice low. “That was my sister. Something’s happened to my niece.”

  Sister? She had a sister and a niece? Caim’s heart raced and his mind followed suit. Any blood relation to the woman would be Nephilim, too, which meant three within his reach. Could he really be that fortunate?

  He tried to still his thoughts, to sort out the possibilities. He had three, but needed only one. Wanted only one. One whose demise would inflict on his brother the kind of damage he’d endured himself. He mustn’t lose sight of that.

  Neither, however, should he assume that want would guarantee success. Despite Aramael’s erratic behavior, the Power could still outmaneuver him without warning. A backup plan wouldn’t be at all amiss.

  “Let me take you,” he said quickly, trying to temper his eagerness with the appropriate concern.

  “As if you’d let me out of your sight,” she muttered, but the look she flashed him was one of gratitude.

  And something more.

  Caim’s heart thudded in his chest. So he hadn’t been mistaken on the phone. She really did have feelings for his brother. Oh please, please let Aramael return those sentiments the way I think he does.

  He cleared his throat. “Give me the address,” he suggested gruffly, “I’ll drive.”

  “I’m okay, and it will be faster if I do the driving. I know the shortcuts.” She looked over her shoulder, away from the irritation surging within him. “I’ll just let Roberts know what’s up and—”

  “Give me the address.”

  The woman blinked at the command. “Excuse me?”

  Caim forced his shoulders down, his arms to relax. He stared at her, formulating the thoughts he needed to back up his words, the ideas he wanted her to accept. “I will get you there. You can call whoever you need to from the road while I drive.”

  Still she hesitated. Annoyance reared in him. He was so close. So close. He gathered himself to press in on her mind a little harder. Without a Guardian to interfere with him, it shouldn’t be this difficult to influence her. Was it because she was Nephilim? Or because of her relationship with Aramael?

  Sudden warning prickled along his spine and he jerked his head up, away from the woman, and stared across the street. Someone watched him.

  His gaze passed over a tall man standing beside the doorway to the mission, hesitated, moved back, and met brooding black eyes. Caim inhaled slowly, studying the man, sensing his curiosity. His puzzlement. The man’s scrutiny intensified. Caim’s palms grew damp as foreboding teased at the edges of his mind. The man wasn’t mortal. But he wasn’t an angel, either. He was something else entirely. Something—

  Abrupt recognition flared in the other’s face, along with an ugliness Caim had only ever seen in one other being, a being who had dared to defy the One herself.

  For an instant, shock paralyzed Caim. Then, as the other’s black brows slammed together, desperation struggled to his rescue. He would not lose. Not now. He reached for the woman in front of him.

  “Alex!” the other shouted, running toward them.

  As if privy to some secret signal, the woman dropped to the pavement, out of Caim’s reach. Caim hesitated, gauged the other’s proximity, and with a snarl, shifted his energy and left the scene.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Alex stared at Seth’s outstretched hand, noting the squared fingertips and lean strength. Her gaze traveled up his arm, across his leather-clad shoulder, and settled on his eyes. Calm eyes. Concerned eyes. Eyes that looked nothing like the fierce, infinitely powerful ones that had commanded her to fling herself away from Trent. Eyes she had obeyed without question.

  She knocked the hand aside. Levered herself off the sidewalk. “What the fuck was that about?”

  Seth hesitated, and she glowered at him. She didn’t have time for this; she’d get her answers from Trent on her way to—she scanned the area in disgust. Great. He’d disappeared again.

  “God damn it to hell,” she muttered. “Now where did he go?”

  “That wasn’t Jacob.”

  Alex paused in her check to make sure she still had cell phone, badge, and gun in place after her concrete-dive. “Of course it was.”

  “No.” Seth shook his head, his voice oddly compelling. “It wasn’t.”

  “Then who—” The words stilled in her throat. In the space of a heartbeat, she went over the few minutes she’d spent with Trent on the sidewalk. Recalled his wary surprise at her approach, her own unease at his reaction to her sister’s phone call. Bile rose into her chest at the realization he had somehow changed his appearance to that of her partner...and then she remembered.

  Her sister’s phone call.

  Sweet Jesus, he knew about Jen.

  ***

  “Soulmates?” Aramael echoed. He ceased pacing the gravel path and frowned down at Verchiel, seated on the stone wall surrounding the fountain.

  “You’re familiar with the concept.”

  “Passingly.” He waited, but Verchiel remained silent, rearranging the folds of her robe across her lap. Aramael’s temper edged upward. “I am in no mood for guessing games, Dominion. Tell me what you need to and be done with it.”

  Verchiel folded her hands together. “You and Alex.”

  “Me and Alex what? Damn it, Verchiel—” Aramael stopped. Stared. Felt his jaw go slack. “Soulmates? She and I are—but angels don’t have soulmates.”

  “Not now, no. But they did once. Along with free will.” Verchiel held up a hand to forestall another outburst. “Surely you remember the stories, what it was like before the mortals.”

  “My purpose is not to listen to stories.”

  “No. No, I don’t suppose it is.” The Dominion sighed. “Before the One created the mortals, we existed much as they do. Well, without the famines and wars and such. But we had free will and a full range of emotions, and we had soulmates. When Lucifer left and took the others with him, we went to war. The agony of having to fight our loved ones nearly tore us apart and, to make it easier on us, the One took away our free will and the capacity to feel love for those near to us.”

  Aramael frowned. “Why don’t I remember any of this?”

  “You never had a soulmate to remember.”

  “If all this was taken from us, how can I have a one now?”

  “I don’t know.” Verchiel shifted her seat on the stones. “Perhaps the woman’s Nephilim bloodline has something to do with it. If she retained enough of the divine, maybe it triggered your recognition of one another.”

  Aramael thought back to the first time he met Alex, the first time he touched her and felt the
explosion of energy between them that had rocked his entire universe. That had been one hell of a recognition. It made him wonder, if she really was his soulmate and they were to come together—

  Heat engulfed him with a ferocity that shocked him, setting his body aflame. He turned away from Verchiel and gritted his teeth.

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, struggling for control, knowing the hoarseness of his voice gave him away.

  “You need to understand the seriousness of your situation.”

  He laughed, a short, bitter bark. “Believe me, Dominion, no one understands better.”

  “And you need to leave her.”

  Fury surged. Aramael whirled. “No.”

  “Aramael, listen to me. You cannot hunt Caim like this. Your feelings for the woman, for Alex, interfere with everything that you are, everything you need to be. You must put distance between you. You have no choice.”

  “I will not leave her alone while he stalks her.”

  “I’m not asking you to. Seth has agreed to remain with her until your hunt is complete. She will be safe with him, you know that.”

  Aramael tipped back his head and stared at the sky, bearing witness to the debate raging in his heart. The two hungers warring within him: hunger for the hunt, and the one he felt for Alex. For a moment, he thought he might physically rip in half under the strain—and then a cleared throat, not Verchiel’s, claimed his attention. He looked over to see another angel, a Virtue, standing a few feet away.

  “Pardon the interruption,” the tiny female said. “But Seth requests that you return to the woman at once. He says it is urgent.”

  As acute as the heat had been a moment before, the cold that ran through Aramael now was a thousand times more intense, freezing every cell in his body. Holding him prisoner in a grip of ice.

  “Aramael?” Alarm pitched Verchiel’s voice higher than normal. Broke through his imagined shackles.

  He spun around, found she had stood up from the fountain wall. He towered over her. “Why could he not reach me directly? What did you do?”

  “I needed to be certain our conversation remained private. There are things I haven’t told you, things—”