Angel Betrayed

by Cynthia Eden

  ANGEL BETRAYED

  CYNTHIA EDEN

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  EPILOGUE

  He Fell for Her

  Copyright Page

  For Brad.

  Sometimes, heroes can be good guys, too.

  PROLOGUE

  Death could be kind or he could be cruel. Tonight, he felt damn cruel.

  Sammael’s dark wings flapped behind him as he watched his prey. The stench of blood and sweat clung to the men. They’d fought hard and long that day. They’d killed so many—men, women, and children. Sammael had taken the souls from the broken bodies. They’d seen him coming—only those slipping from the mortal world ever saw an Angel of Death—and their eyes had filled with terror.

  So many dead in such a short time. He’d watched their slaughter. Stood back while they begged and screamed.

  His job was only to take the souls. He gave them peace after their suffering. He served. He didn’t question.

  Until now.

  There was no reason for him to be in this forest. No reason for him to watch these men. They weren’t on the list for death, not tonight anyway.

  They were laughing and drinking. They didn’t sense him. No one ever did—not until it was too late.

  Blood still stained their hands.

  Watch and wait and take the souls when it is time. That was his job, and it was the job he’d done for centuries.

  Angels didn’t feel emotion. They didn’t feel lust or love or rage.

  No, angels weren’t supposed to feel. But he’d never fit into that perfect mold. Lately, he’d been feeling too much, and he just couldn’t shut off the fury.

  Sammael dropped to the ground. His wings closed in behind him. To kill, to take a soul, he only needed one touch. Just one.

  He smiled at the men. Some were stiffening and glancing around, as if they sensed him.

  They only see when death is at hand.

  Sammael reached for the first man. Death is at hand for you. One touch and the human fell to the ground with an expression of twisted agony contorting his face. The laughter stopped then, and the scent of fear teased Sammael’s nose.

  His black wings spread behind him, powerful and strong. When the others began to run and scream, his smile stretched.

  No more watching.

  Another touch and another body hit the ground. Again and again. The laughter that filled the air was his now. He had the power, and he didn’t feel like being kind to the mortals around him.

  Shouts of “devil” and “monster” filled the air. The shouts were almost insulting, but he didn’t really expect these fools to recognize an angel.

  They saw him now because he’d changed their fate. Marked by Death now. Death was closing in, and they couldn’t fight him. There would be no escape.

  When they ran, he just flew after them. He caught the men, lifted them up into the air, and then tossed their dead bodies back to the ground.

  “Please . . . mercy!” One man’s desperate cry.

  He had no mercy.

  He touched and he killed . . . until no one was left.

  When the haze of rage cleared from his eyes, the dead circled him.

  The smile still lifted his lips when the wind began to whip against Sammael’s body. The wind howled, screaming like the dead men, no, like those women had screamed earlier that day when they’d been slaughtered. Like the children had screamed when he’d just stood there and watched the bastards attack.

  No more watching.

  He had the power. He’d take it, and he’d kill anyone he wanted.

  Sammael’s body jerked into the air. He flew, high, higher, way past the clouds and back to the domain of the angels. But he didn’t return to heaven on his own accord. They yanked him back.

  “Sammael.” His brother’s voice boomed as Sammael dropped onto the marble floor. “What have you done?”

  Sammael rose slowly and let his wings stretch behind him. His shoulders rolled as he stared at Azrael. He didn’t have to answer to the other angel. When it came to the hierarchy of the Death Angels, Sammael was at the top. Everyone else should bow to him. They should all learn that lesson. “Don’t dare to question me.” He was the power. It was past time that he started to use that strength.

  But his brother just shook his blond head. “You took them. It wasn’t their time.”

  “I made it their time.” No apology. His gaze swept the room. Heavy with thick, white columns. Walls adorned with gold. Perfect. Opulent.

  Prison.

  Sammael turned away and headed for the gold-plated doors.

  Az appeared in his path and blocked his way. The other angel had always been fast.

  I’m faster.

  “We don’t judge,” Az said, voice flat. “We deliver those that are charged to us. We are not to interfere in the lives of humans. You know this.” Ah, his brother had better be careful. It almost sounded like some emotion had slipped into his voice.

  “I know we have the power to kill,” Sammael told him. “So I killed.” And for the first time, it had felt . . . good. Want more.

  “No, you punished.”

  Perhaps. But those men had deserved a good punishment. An eye for an eye, and a death for a death.

  “There are others who dole out punishment,” Az continued, his bright blue stare seeming to blaze right at Sammael. “Uriel is—”

  “I just served them up to Uriel early.” Uriel and the band of punishment angels that served under his wings. Wrath. Destruction. Annihilation.

  Oh, how he envied them.

  Envy. One of the seven deadly sins. Angels weren’t supposed to sin. Only men could sin and be forgiven. Angels weren’t allowed that luxury.

  They can torture, they can kill.

  What about me?

  “They would have found their way to Uriel’s hands sooner or later,” Sammael said with a dismissive wave. He didn’t back away from his brother. He never would. “I just sped up the process.”

  Az shook his head, and his hair brushed his shoulders. “You disobeyed.”

  Sammael was tired of pretending. Not perfect. “And I’ll do it again.” He let the grim smile tilt his lips once more. “Humans don’t have the power. We do. I do.” He’d be using his power from now on. Humans would learn they should be afraid.

  “That is not the way!”

  “It is for me.” He shoved his brother aside. “The rules are changing. The ones who get in my way . . . they will fear, and they will die.” Because he wasn’t going to watch anything, not anymore.

  “Brother . . .” Az sighed after him. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  The golden doors wouldn’t open. Sammael grabbed them and pushed as hard as he could, but they wouldn’t budge. The wind was howling again and that painful screech filled his ears.

  Angels don’t feel pain. But that wind—the noise hurt.

  The wind caught Sammael’s body and carried him into the air. He hung suspended, his wings flapping
helplessly and his body straining, as Az slowly walked around him.

  “There’s still time,” Az murmured, brows pulling together. “Ask forgiveness, brother. Change your ways and you can—”

  Watch for an eternity. Hear the screams and do nothing. See the blood and only know the smell of death.

  Sammael kept the smile on his face. “I ask for nothing. From now on, I take.” Lives. Souls. Everything.

  Az’s eyes narrowed. “Then you die.”

  With those words, he fell. The elaborate room vanished as Sammael plummeted from the sky. Wind whipped around him, biting into his flesh as he fell, faster, faster, and—

  Agony ripped through his body. A white-hot fire consumed him, burning . . . ”Az!”

  But his brother wasn’t helping him. No one helped him. He fell, and he burned. His wings—always the most sensitive part of his body—burned the longest, the hottest.

  He screamed and screamed and seemed to fall forever.

  When he hit, he expected death. Az had promised death.

  But Sammael wasn’t dead. Broken, bloody, and burned, but not dead.

  Not yet.

  And that was just the start of the hell to come.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The devil owed her a favor, and it was time that Seline O’Shaw called in that debt.

  “Well, well . . .” Sammael—Sam because he’d long ago dropped the more formal version of his name—raked her with his bright blue stare as she made her way across the crowded New Orleans club and to his side. “Come back for another dance, have you?” His deep voice cut easily through the laughter and whispers that floated in the air.

  Dance. Seline’s eyes narrowed. “Not tonight.” No, tonight she was waiting tables at Sunrise and wearing one of those skimpy black dresses that all the waitresses were forced to squeeze into before each shift. Thankfully, she wasn’t scheduled to go onstage again. Too dangerous. She’d only danced twice, and she didn’t plan to hop up there again. Seline risked a quick glance over her shoulder. “I need to talk with you,” she said as her voice dropped.

  Sam wasn’t alone. But then, he was the big, bad-ass Other in the city so he usually had company. Not guards exactly. Why would he need guards? If the stories were true, Sam could kill with a touch. The man wasn’t human, not even close.

  So, no, the demons weren’t around to guard him, but she knew they were there to pretty much jump when he so much as whispered an order. Demon attack dogs.

  “Go ahead,” he invited softly, his voice low and rumbling, “talk.”

  Right. Like she was going to bare her soul with his two demon goons right next to him. And Seline knew the guys on either side of Sam were demons. Most folks probably would have thought they were humans—very dangerous looking humans—but not demons.

  Seline wasn’t most folks, and she damn well knew a demon when she saw one. After all, she’d been born with the special curse of being able to see right past a demon’s glamour. She didn’t have the luxury of pretending that monsters weren’t real. She saw monsters every day.

  And every time I look into the mirror.

  “Alone.” She cleared her throat because the word came out way too husky. She really had to watch that. She wasn’t trying to seduce Sam, not yet anyway. “I need to talk to you . . .” She let her gaze dart to the goons. “Alone.”

  Sam waved his right hand, and the demons rose. They disappeared into the crowd like good little flunkies even as Sam edged away from the table and closed in on her.

  She didn’t back down. Seline tilted her head so she could meet his blue stare. The guy was big—had to be at least six feet three, maybe six feet four—muscled, and too sexy by far.

  He was also the deadliest man she’d ever met. Don’t forget that. Remember who he is, what he is.

  Death.

  Strange. She’d never thought Death would be particularly sexy. He was.

  His eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen. His cheeks were high, his jaw hard and strong, and his lips—sensual, but with an edge of cruelty she couldn’t miss.

  Sam took her hand. “Come with me.”

  A shiver slipped over her at his touch. She hadn’t expected her reaction to Sam. The first time she’d seen him, she’d . . . wanted him and that wasn’t the way things were supposed to work in her world. She was the one desired. The one wanted. That was the way she’d been made. She might not like the life she’d been given, but screw the bitching and moaning routine. Seline couldn’t control what she was, but she could use her power.

  Sam led her through the crowd and to a small door on the side of the club. The private room. Yeah, she knew the place. She’d been working at Sunrise for a while now, and she’d learned the rules. This room was for the VIPs. A place for them to have quick sex, to run a business deal, or to party the night away. All without having to worry about any prying eyes watching.

  Unless you wanted to be watched, because she knew some folks in Sunrise liked that, too.

  The bouncer at the door immediately let Sam inside. Figured he’d get instant access because right then, she knew Sam was the most important VIP in the place.

  Fear had a way of making certain people very, very important.

  The door closed behind her with a soft click. No watching. Seline’s heart did a too-fast kick when Sam turned around and locked his stare on her. “Better now?” he asked with a twist of his lips. Sexy lips. “I’m all yours.” He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her with a gaze that always saw too much.

  Oh, damn. She swallowed. Play the game. “I-I . . . you owe me, Sam.”

  His dark brows—black to match his midnight mane of hair—rose. “Do I?” His voice was careless, but she saw the intensity in his eyes.

  Seline nodded quickly. “I helped you before. I told you—told you when the shifter wanted you dead.” Who didn’t want him dead? But a few weeks ago, she’d tipped Sam off about the very dangerous coyote shifter who’d been hunting him. That tip-off should give her the bargaining power she needed right now.

  His head inclined. “So you did.” His gaze raked her body, and that hot blue stare lingered a bit too long on her breasts and her thighs.

  The top of her “uniform” plunged right between her breasts, and the skirt barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. She shifted slightly beneath his stare but quickly caught herself. “You owe me now, Sam,” she reminded him.

  That brought his eyes back to hers. His face, that perfect face that didn’t belong on someone so dangerous, tilted to study her. Sam might have the reputation of the devil, but the man’s face and body were pure perfection. All the better to tempt.

  Sometimes she felt like everything about the man was a lie. But, fair enough, she was pretty good at deceiving, too.

  She pressed, “You pay your debts, right?” He’d better. “Depends on the debt.”

  That wasn’t the answer she wanted.

  Sam lowered his arms and stalked closer until only a foot of space separated their bodies. The door was closed behind her, and when he leaned in, Sam slapped both of his palms against the wooden frame and caged her with his arms. “What do you need, Seline?”

  She wasn’t surprised that he knew her name. He’d watched her often enough in the last two months. First, he’d watched her at Temptation. Going in as a dancer had been the only way she knew to get close to Sam—and she had to get close.

  But when some assholes had torched the joint, she’d had to come up with a real fast plan B. Since she knew Sam spent a lot of time here, she’d taken a waitressing job at Sunrise. All to stay close to him.

  It had only been later that she’d learned Sam actually owned Sunrise, too.

  “Seline?” His breath feathered lightly over her cheek. “What do you want from me?”

  Her chin lifted but she kept her hands at her sides. Don’t touch him. “Protection.”

  His brows rose.

  “I won’t lie to you, Sam.” Yes, actually, she would. A lot. “I haven’t exactly been l
iving the pure and innocent life.” Okay, that line was one hundred percent true. “I . . . made a mistake a while back, and now there are some people out there that want me dead.”

  “Why?”

  The door was shut. They were totally alone. She could confess to him. “Because I killed a man.” The words seemed to fall into the thick silence of the room. “I didn’t plan to do it. It-it was an accident—”

  “Was it?”

  Her hands clenched into fists. Ah, caught me. “No, it wasn’t.” Again, this part was true. The lies would only come later. “He was an asshole who got off on hurting women. He used his fists any chance he had, and I wasn’t gonna be the next body he put in a box.” She wouldn’t be any man’s punching bag.

  His eyes studied her. “You’re afraid.”

  Only of a few things in this world.

  “Is that why,” he continued quietly, “you’re always armed?”

  He knew?

  “With a gun close by, tucked in your purse or . . .” His fingers slid up her thigh. Up, up, stroking over her flesh until he found the sheath of her knife, tucked right on the interior of her thigh. “Or why you keep a knife strapped to your thigh?”

  “You can’t be too careful,” she whispered, her body tight because he was still touching her—and she liked it. Can’t. Too dangerous. Wanting Sam could make her weak, and lust was a weakness she couldn’t afford right then.

  Unfortunately for her kind, lust was like kryptonite. The closer the temptation, the stronger the weakness.

  “So you need protection.” His stare narrowed on her. “What, exactly, does that mean?” He paused. “Do you need a guard? Someone to watch over you? Or . . .” His left hand rose. His fingers curved under her cheek and his thumb brushed over her lips. Her breath caught, and her heart raced in her chest. “Do you want me to kill someone for you, Seline?”