Dirty Angel (Sainted Sinners #1)

by Vivian Wood

  He filled her again, fast and rough. Vesper let her face drop to the bed, groaning as he moved, the feel of him so perfect that it made her eyes roll up in her head.

  “You feel so good,” he told her, his fingers digging into her hips. “So, so good.”

  “Kirael… Kirael, I’m going to—” she whispered, then shattered, shouting her pleasure.

  Kirael didn’t slow, thrusting quick and hard as she shuddered and clenched around him. For several seconds, she was weightless, floating in the sweetness of it, sublime.

  When she drifted back down, Kirael groaned, his movements growing brutal.

  “Yes,” she moaned, encouraging. “Let go.”

  He came with a low growl, filling her in sharp, deep thrusts. When he finally slowed and withdrew, they both collapsed with twin groans of exhausted satisfaction.

  It took several long minutes before Vesper could move her limbs again. She contented herself with turning her face toward Kirael, watching his face. Eyes closed, hair sticking to his nape and jaw, he worked to catch his breath.

  She knew Kirael would draw her close soon, but Vesper didn’t want to wait.

  This time, she wanted to be the one to make the first move, to show him how she felt.

  Once she’d recovered a bit, Vesper moved closer, tucking her body against Kirael’s. He slid an arm around her, his eyes opening for a brief moment, his lips turning up at the corners.

  He looked so peaceful, Vesper did the exact same. Closing her eyes, she was content to lie next to him, just smiling like an idiot.

  So, yeah. Maybe she wasn’t great with the words. Maybe she was a little gun-shy.

  Maybe this was all she could give him today, this little bit of herself. But she knew how she felt, deep down. She knew that Kirael was her perfect match. A soulmate, if you wanted to get corny about it.

  The words would come, sooner rather than later, the pretty phrases that made hearts skip a beat. Kirael would be right there, when she was brave enough to say them all.

  For now, this was… perfect.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kirael

  Kirael lay quietly and feigned sleep, waiting for Vesper to drift off.

  All he wanted to do was fall asleep holding her, but there was something he needed to do first. Once he was absolutely sure that she was out cold, he gently rolled Vesper onto her back. Getting up, he covered her with a blanket before grabbing some clothes.

  This is a little too familiar, he thought. This time I’m coming back before she wakes up, though.

  Considering what he was about to do, Vesper would no doubt forgive his short absence. His words to her earlier were true, though: he did intent to be present, to give up his obsessive search for penitence.

  For Vesper, for himself. This would only be the firming of his resolution. Though the idea had only come to him as he lay in bed with Vesper, inhaling her sweet scent, he knew it was the right thing to do.

  He was down the stairs in a matter of minutes, out in the still-humid New Orleans night air. There was nothing for it, this close to the bayou. Locals just got used to the way everything stuck to their skin, the dampness of it all.

  Heading straight down to Jackson Square, he scanned the moonlit pedestrian walkway in front of the Cathedral. Across the way, he spotted a scraggly-looking figure pushing a shopping cart full of soda cans, covered head to toe in a heavy, hooded coat despite the weather.

  “There you are,” he said, mostly to himself.

  Kirael made a beeline for the man, waiting until he got a few paces away to call out, “Arturos!”

  The figure slowed, glanced back. Even from here, in the dark, Kirael could tell that Arturos wasn’t close to looking human. The odd Fae creature blinked big yellow eyes at Kirael, looking like a startled owl.

  For the life of him, Kirael couldn’t figure out how Arturos passed every manner of human, all day and all night, and no one ever found him out. Arturos leaned forward, his long white beak appearing in the moonlight.

  It was the most of Arturos that Kirael had ever actually seen.

  “Call Arturos?” the Fae asked, his voice like the creaking of a thousand tree branches. His beak clicked when he spoke, and for some reason the clicking itself made all Kirael’s hair stand on end, a sure sign of a dangerous creature.

  “Yes. I have a trade,” Kirael said, determined.

  Arturos didn’t move for a long time. When he inclined his head, Kirael let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

  “What trade?” Arturos asked.

  Kirael held out both his palms and closed his eyes, summoning the Book of Names. When he looked up, he could see nearly all of Arturos’s beak, and the tip of his pointy white chin.

  “Book. Have Book,” Arturos clicked. “Trade Book.”

  “Yes,” Kirael said.

  “Give Book. What Trade.”

  “You want to know what I need in exchange?”

  Arturos dipped his head. “What Trade, Angel.”

  Angel. It had been so long since anyone had called Kirael that, the word took him off-guard.

  “There is a girl, a woman. She is at Mere Marie’s house. Do you know the place?” he asked.

  Another dip of Arturos’s head.

  “She is sick. Drugs, who knows what. I need her to stop.”

  Arturos was still. “Change Girl Heart?”

  It took him a moment to parse that. “Yes, that’s what I’m asking. I want you to change what’s in her heart, make her want to get better. Can you do that?”

  Silence. Painful, terrible silence. Then, “Give Book. Trade Book. Girl Want.”

  “Yes,” Kirael said, his relief immense. Then he hesitated. “And one more thing.”

  “Want.”

  It was impulsive, but… “A ring. From Keil’s on Royal Street.”

  “Ring.”

  “It’s a canary diamond with some kind of sapphires. Massive. Used to belong to Mary Queen of Scots or something.”

  Arturos blinked his big owl eyes. “Ring. Trade.”

  “You will heal Mercy, from the inside out. And deliver the ring to me, sooner than later. And in exchange, I will give you the book. Do we have a deal?”

  He couldn’t see much past the very tip of Arturos’s beak, but Kirael could’ve sworn that the Fae smiled.

  “Trade. Deal.”

  Kirael held out the book, wondering what Arturos’s hands looked like. He’d never know, though; Arturos crumbled like a column of ash, a sudden brisk wind sweeping him into a swirl of air.

  In a blink, the swirl covered the book. In the next instant, Kirael’s hands were empty. Before him, Arturos’s shopping cart stood, abandoned.

  “Okay…” Kirael said, shaking his head. “I suppose we’re done, then.”

  Turning back toward his flat, Kirael couldn’t stop the smile on his lips.

  Vesper. He was already imagining crawling back into bed with her, the sleepy sound she might make, the feel of her body pressed against him.

  Since the moment of the Fall, he’d been ungrounded, lost.

  For the first time since that terrible moment, Kirael knew exactly who he was, where he was going. He was going to be with Vesper, and though the apartment itself meant almost nothing to him, a singular thought rang though every fiber of his being.

  He wasn’t going to a particular place. Rather, he was going to where she was.

  Kirael was going home.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Vesper

  Six Months Later

  Vesper laced her fingers with Kirael’s, swinging their hands between them as they walked. He nodded at a bunch of ducks flying overhead, a common enough sight in City Park.

  “I don’t get your thing with birds,” she said.

  He just winked and shrugged, unworried as they continued their stroll, cutting across one big corner of the park.

  “I like this walk,” he said. “It’s nice to get off the Canal Streetcar, then see a little of the park, a
nd then there’s Vargus’s house.”

  “Yep. It’s pretty amazing,” Vesper agreed, although they both knew she wasn’t talking about the location.

  They made it to Vargus’s a few minutes later. A familiar figure sat on the front stoop of Vargus’s little shotgun, head down, intent on…

  “Are you shelling peas?” Vesper called as they crossed the yard.

  Mercy’s head snapped up, and she grinned. “Yep. They just came out of my garden last night.”

  “Ridiculous,” Vesper said. She eyed her sister; Mercy’s dark hair was growing long and dark and pretty. She was finally filling out a little, too. More chic model and less skeleton lady.

  It was a sight that Vesper had never thought to see again. Each time she laid eyes on the new, improved, sober Mercy, she wanted to kiss Kirael on the mouth. Well, she always wanted to kiss him, but this was a special kind of grateful, thank-you kiss.

  After all, he’d made this happen. Mercy had been the one to struggle through the withdrawal and continued therapy sessions, but… none of it would have been possible if Kirael hadn’t given up the Book of Names.

  She glanced at Kirael, squeezed his hand, and then reluctantly released him. Just for a minute, just to hug her sister.

  Good god I am so clingy lately, she thought with a sigh.

  Mercy set the peas aside, rising and brushing her hands off on her apron. She opened her arms, beckoning to Vesper. “C’mere.”

  They hugged, Vesper’s heart starting to overflow. When she stepped back, she had to blot at her eyes, trying not to sniff.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mercy said, giving Vesper the eye.

  Vesper flushed. “Nothing. Just… emotional. You know. I’m just… I’m so glad that you’re here, and…”

  “Oh, don’t start crying,” Mercy sighed, patting her on the shoulder. “Kirael, what’s up with her?”

  Vesper glanced at Kirael, who merely raised a brow and a shoulder at once, unconcerned. “Not a thing, as far as I can see.”

  Vesper blushed even harder. “Quit.”

  “I like it when you get red in the face,” he said. “No shame here.”

  “Vargus!” Mercy yelled over her shoulder. “They’re here!”

  Vargus bent low to poke his head out the front door. “Bout time. I’m starving.”

  “Ugh, werewolves,” Mercy said, flapping a hand. “You ever want a roommate who will eat you out of house and home, a werewolf’ll do the trick.”

  “I will remind you that I own this property,” Vargus said, amused.

  Mercy paid him no mind, turning back to Vesper. “You look dead tired. You could have called to cancel, you know. Did you work late?”

  Vesper glanced at Kirael, feeling a dumb smile creepover her face. That was her life now, thrilled one minute, crying the next, then back to thrilled. It was like her heart was on a roller coaster, every waking second.

  Kirael just nodded at her. Vesper fiddled with her ring, feeling self-conscious.

  “I’m going to take some time off, actually.”

  Mercy had turned to head back inside, but now she paused. She came back around slowly, looking suspicious. “Why?”

  “Well, because… I won’t be able to work. For about seven more months, and then a while after that,” Vesper said, pulling a face.

  “Or never,” Kirael chimed in.

  Vesper raised a hand, shutting him down. He’d wanted her to quit her job from day one, this was just more incentive for him to insist.

  “Wh— oh. Ohhhhh,” Mercy said, pressing her fingers to her mouth. She looked at Kirael, who nodded. “Oh, really?”

  “Really, what?” Vargus asked, leaning against the door frame.

  “A baby, Vargus,” Mercy said, giving him a look.

  Vargus’s jaw dropped, which made Vesper crack up.

  “You— really?” he asked, echoing Mercy.

  “Yes, really!” Vesper said. “People have babies, Vargus. It’s a thing.”

  His shock was comical, but not as comical perhaps as the way Vesper’s own mouth dropped open when Vargus grabbed Mercy by the waist, swinging her up, and then kissed her.

  “Oh, put me down,” Mercy said, sounding flustered. Now it was Mercy’s turn to blush, it seemed.

  Vesper was sure she must look the very picture of surprise, right then.

  “Wait, are you two…” she asked, pointing back and forth between Vargus and Mercy.

  “Oh, hush, don’t worry about us,” Mercy declared. “Now come inside and sit down to dinner. I want to hear every single detail.”

  “Okay, okay!” Vesper said with a laugh.

  “I mean it, Ves. You never listen to me, but you’d better listen to me now…” Mercy said, her voice trailing off as she headed inside.

  Vargus followed her, leaving Kirael and Vesper alone for a final moment before dinner.

  They looked at each other, grinned, and kissed one more time. Then Kirael took her hand, leading her inside to dinner — and a truly happy family meal.

  If You Dirty Angel…

  Catch all the action from the very beginning with Vivian’s Alpha Guardians series!

  We’ve included the first three books in Vivian’s sexy alpha male shape shifter series: Evil Abounds: Bear Rising, See No Evil: Bear Rebel, and Hear No Evil: .

  Turn the page to start a sexy, thrilling new romance!

  Evil Abounds

  Historical Notes

  Dear Reader,

  As a New Orleans resident, I am always inspired by the rich history, vibrant culture, and haunting beauty of my city. I have certainly drawn on many of the stories and famous figures from the interwoven tapestry of New Orleans myths, legends, and history. I would like to make a point of saying that I have taken bits and pieces of all of these things, mixed them all together, and come up with a work of fiction.

  None of the names, places, or persons in this story are meant to be taken literally — that’s part of the fun of a story like this. Everything in this story is a work of fiction, a figment of my imagination, and is meant to be interpreted as such.

  Please enjoy this story, with my compliments.

  Sincerely,

  Vivian Wood

  1

  Chapter One

  Mere Marie

  New Orleans, Louisiana — 2015

  Mere Marie was roused from a light doze near midnight, though she wasn’t sure what had disturbed her rest. A flicker of icy air against her skin perhaps, or a shifting of the deep shadows cast by the last few candles she’d left burning. Though it was the 21st century, some 220-plus years since Mere Marie’s birth, and modern conveniences abounded, she still preferred some of the more romantic notions from her early life. Candles were always lit after dark at Maison Laveau, and dark always seemed to come early in the sultry New Orleans summer nights.

  Pulling her shawl more snugly around her shoulders, Mere Marie rose from the comfortable leather armchair she preferred for resting. An immortal, a member of the Kith, as the paranormal community were often called, Mere Marie had no need for true sleep. Not the way humans did. But, like the candles, it was an old habit that she simply kept for the sake of keeping. She followed many of the old ways, worshiped her ancestral spirits, lived in the same house where her mother and her mother’s mother worked as maids, her New Orleans lineage going all the way back to the city’s foundations. Back to Haiti, even, if she summoned her ancestral spirits and asked for a glimpse into the much more distant past.

  The age of her beautiful house, added to its location in the vibrant, thriving Vieux Carre, meant that Mere Marie might simply have heard a muffled sound, some distant shout of celebratory joy from a tourist experiencing the French Quarter’s charm for the first time. Her bedroom window faced the quieter side of Vieux Carre, but she still got occasional bits and pieces of late night revelry.

  When Mere Marie turned toward the window, intending to open first the glass pane and then the tightly-shut wooden storm shutter in order to peer out i
nto the street, she stilled. The candlelight turned the window into a murky mirror, and the hazy reflection told Mere Marie that she was not alone in the room. Mere Marie saw herself of first, a diminutive Creole woman appearing about sixty years age. Her long, dark hair was neatly braided and wound around her head, her white night rail rumpled. Her high, proud cheekbones, her broad, flat nose, and her distinctive cafe au lait skin tone showed Mere Marie’s mixed ancestry, common in women from the class into which Mere Marie had been born - Gens de Couleur Libres, or Free People of Color.

  Such classes were supposedly a thing of the past, but Mere Marie wasn’t the type to forget her roots. No practicioner of Voodoo was likely to get far without respecting the past or the spirits of their ancestors. Family magic, people sometimes called it.

  Mere Marie studied the window again. Standing only a foot behind her was a fiercely tall, finely turned-out gentleman of proud African heritage. His presence made every hair on Mere Marie’s body stand on end. What in the world was Le Medcin doing in her house? During the witching hour, no less.

  “Monsieur,” Mere Marie said, watching his reflection. She knew better than to try to turn around and face him, but she couldn’t stop staring at him, her fascination only increasing with each passing moment. She wasn’t sure if he was a god, an ancient spirit, or something else entirely, but Le Medcin’s power was such that it drew one in, even someone as old and powerful as Mere Marie. All she knew was that Le Medcin worked for the highest of higher powers, a distant sort of benefactor to humankind and Kith, the final authority in all matters both in this world and the next.

  On the surface, Le Medcin was nothing but a handsome, well-to-do Free Person of Color, wearing an elegant if outmoded black suit with tails and a sky-high top hat. He clutched a gold-tipped cane. His dark skin seemed to be stretched a little too tightly over his bones, and when he moved or spoke Mere Marie had the distinct impression that she could see right through to his skeleton. She’d dealt with him perhaps a dozen times in the last hundred years, and each time had been just as off-putting as the last.