Director Vale clenched his jaw, but she didn’t apologize for talking over him. “We have not. Once his traitor status was revealed and he fled the senate auditorium to descend, we found no clues as to where he went. But since Enforcer Stede went missing, too, we assume they are working together in the human realm as they did here.”
When the director paused, she caught the heaviness weighing on him. There was more. “Do proceed.” She didn’t even bite his head off. That was how much she respected him.
Resolve filled his face. “It’s only a suspicion, but the rise of angelic deaths in the earthly realm continues.” Yes, she was concerned about that as well. Lingering guilt was stoked by the thought she was somehow responsible for those deaths. She’d unleashed her mate on the world, and he’d had nowhere to go and lacked the grace to die. “I would have expected a decrease. Our people know there’s danger and our warriors are prepared for it, especially those in or serving around the Las Vegas area.”
She immediately caught his drift. “He’s changed tactics. Any idea what his advantage is?”
“First, it’s only speculation that Jameson is behind it.”
She refrained from rolling her eyes.
“But I think it’s a solid assumption. If it’s not him personally, it’s one of his people. Director Richter—Leo—is adamant that after he was nicked with the blade, before the fire, that he couldn’t descend.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why Vale’s predecessor would flee to the human realm when he was burning alive with angel fire, but then rational thought during that situation had likely been hard to come by.
The director continued. “We suspect there’s a substance that’s inhibiting our ability to transcend.”
She blinked. How could such a thing be possible? A few select senators granted those from Numen the ability to ascend or descend. Transcension wasn’t tangible. The ability was more akin to a divine gift, and while too many of them used it for fun and relaxation, they still earned it throughout their long life. A century goofing off was nothing compared to two spent serving humans or their own realm.
“Like a chemical?” she asked.
He shrugged. That was never a good sign. His tidbit was almost as shocking as finding out her mate was behind an uprising and she hadn’t had a clue. “I have very few I trust to brainstorm this with.”
Ah. Her respect rose a few more notches. She’d been around much longer than him, so long that she’d forgotten her own age. After James’s—Jameson’s—betrayal, the years had bled into themselves. She didn’t care how old she was, only putting one foot in front of the other. Only recently had she taken a lover, though she disdained that word. She’d loved James Hancock with all her heart and soul. She’d waited centuries for a mate and he’d swept her off her feet. For a while, he might’ve even loved her in return. But not more than himself.
Thankfully, Director Vale yanked her out of those thoughts. “In the human realm, he’d have access to any chemical he wanted. He has the money.”
She waved it off. “Nothing that could affect us. We are separate beings and our immortality spares us. It’d have to be from Daemon.” She relaxed enough to let her expression slide into pensive, rather than aloof. “But they’d likely have figured something like that out by now. No, it’s something about James. Jameson.” Argh! Others had adapted to calling him Jameson easily enough, but to her he was the same male that had torn her apart. She couldn’t separate them into before and after. “Jameson. It has to be something unique Jameson brings to the table.”
“We are sadly deficient in information regarding fallen.”
She fully agreed. Once they lost their wings, it was like they had never existed, and that had never felt…fair. Her mating had been real. Her broken heart had almost killed her. But she had to admit, militantly pretending James Hancock had never existed for her son’s sake had been oddly therapeutic. She’d pushed her boy to defy the expectations of their people. To be everything his father wasn’t.
“Do you think his blood would be enough?” The director cleared his throat and rushed on like he was afraid she’d scoff at him. “As a fallen, he’s lost all ability to move through the realms. Do you think the act of falling is so powerful that his blood alone could inhibit others’ transcension?”
She gave an indelicate snort and ignored the shocked expression Vale tried to cover. “If anyone’s blood would be cursed enough, it’d be his. He’s already proved capable of mutating a horrible situation to his benefit. If his blood can affect us by association, then yes, he’s discovered it.”
Bryant’s nod was grim.
She had no idea what propelled her to say her next words. “Trust me, I’m questioning why I didn’t just hire a thug to kill him right after he fell.” She’d been angry enough.
The heartbeat of silence should’ve been awkward.
“You had a son,” he said, though his tone also made it clear he was of a like mind.
And I was hopelessly in love and so tragically hurt. She had hired someone to spy on him after he’d lost his wings. Once. And she’d regretted it. The report had been crushing. He’d been selling himself for whatever could make a buck. Her strong, charming mate reduced to a product.
She’d looked away and never looked back. A mistake, obviously. “Speaking of Julian. How is he?”
An unreadable emotion rippled across Vale’s face. “He remains on his protection detail.”
“But?”
He blew out a breath like he wished he could bullshit her at least this once. “Jameson made contact with him.”
The tidal wave of rage that followed should’ve lifted her off her seat. How dare he? That male had never changed a wet nappy or soothed nightmares. He’d been out “working,” work that she’d later learned included a lot of time spent between women’s thighs.
After what he’d done, falling for that human with the son. When the watcher had approached her and confessed to seeing him play ball with his mistress’s son, it had been the final straw. That was when she had tattled. Petty? Absolutely not.
The director’s hands were folded but his knuckles were white. She must look like a nuclear warhead ready to detonate. Inhaling slowly, she said, “I’m surprised he’s chosen now to take interest.”
“It could be accessibility. Jagger has been in the same place for months.”
Jagger. Her boy’s nickname. She approved of it. It distanced him even farther from his father.
“Jameson passed along a warning,” Director Vale said. “He seemed worried that Jagger would be targeted because of him.”
She cocked a brow. It took more mental effort to keep the rest of her face from revealing her rage. Curse James and curse the Jameson he’d turned into. “Indeed.”
Perhaps she could use this information. Her pride for Julian had its limits. Constant worry gnawed at her and it was worse now that she knew what her son was tasked with. Before, he’d never visited, much less discussed his work.
Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d sheltered him a bit too much from emotions that made a person weak. He’d been sixteen and, she had assumed, less affected by her brutal emotional shutdown.
“Jagger’s a good warrior,” the director said like he could tell she was also concerned. Or he’d deduced that if one parent was worried, the other would be too. “He may be in more danger than initially understood, but both he and Ms. Montclaire are highly capable.”
Ah yes. Ms. Montclaire. The troubled young daughter of the recently deceased Kreger Montclaire. Chanel hadn’t known the mother well, but considering what Kreger had been willing to do for her safety and the safety of his children, she had more than a few concerns. Would Julian cast off all good sense? Did he have enough training to keep a pretty young female from affecting his decisions?
He couldn’t escape being his father’s son, after all.
“We’ll keep monitoring the situation, of course,” Director Vale said.
Yes, she wo
uld as well. And she’d use her not inconsiderable power to interfere if she had to.
“I’ll do some discreet checking with those responsible for granting transcension.” She rose and fluttered her wings. “You know where to find me.” She swept out of the office, dutifully ignored the new assistant, and continued out of headquarters. The bodyguard she’d appointed for herself fell in step next to her from where he’d been posted outside of the office.
Mateo was young, obedient, and good in bed. Young enough to not get attached. One could hope.
Chapter 3
Figure it out. The way Felicia had said it, so flippantly, like if he thought he was so smart, he could. If he knew her well enough.
He knew as much as he needed to about Felicia Montclaire.
Two days had gone by since his father’s phone call. He’d dragged Felicia back to Numen to meet with Director Vale. Tattling on Jameson was his duty. Didn’t mean he’d felt right about it.
The male had called to warn him. He shouldn’t look further into it, but how could he not? Even if Jameson Haddock cared about him at all, he was still working with Daemon. He wasn’t backing off because it could get Jagger caught in the crossfire. He hadn’t even backed off when he’d realized Jagger was on the front lines. Or as close as he could get while acting as Felicia’s bodyguard.
Jameson was watching Felicia’s. He’d known when they arrived. Had he been in Atlanta personally, or was paying one of his demons to watch the place?
Jagger might hate his assignment, he might be harboring a ton of resentment about it, but he didn’t slack on his job. He hadn’t sensed anyone watching them. And they varied their routine as much as they could while being sequestered in a two-bedroom apartment. They never grabbed groceries on the same day each week, never at the same time.
He paced the apartment. The blinds were drawn. Felicia bitched about the lack of sunlight, but she’d helped lower them. Then she’d gone about ignoring him.
Figure it out. He hadn’t known her mother had walked into the fire. A senator’s wife offing herself should’ve been bigger news.
Did that mean her death wasn’t well known? Had Senator Montclaire concealed the real reason his mate wasn’t around? Numen angels with no official position often lived in the human realm, doing good deeds and aiding the needy. It was their calling to help humans. He was stunned to realize he hadn’t wondered about her mother’s whereabouts until now.
There were a lot of reasons why Felicia’s father might’ve hidden the truth, or at least hadn’t been forthcoming about it. Shame. It certainly didn’t reflect well on him that his mate couldn’t spend eternity with him. Angels weren’t as advanced in mental health issues as humans were, though Jagger suspected they weathered the same disorders. Their natural healing might help, and of course mating was supposed to accelerate the healing process. Mates could share energy to repair tissue, and he doubted the nervous system was exempt. But that didn’t mean they were shining beacons of functionality at all times.
Felicia’s father had been murdered, but she’d claimed to be estranged from him. And now she admitted her mother had walked into the fire.
What would tear them apart? And what would give an angel chronic pain? That was a foreign concept. Though he often wondered if Director Vale still suffered from the pain of his injuries. Angel fire was the only thing capable of causing lasting scars—
Had Felicia had a run-in with angel fire?
Was it connected to her mother’s death?
When she and Odessa were together, they acted as if they had once been a loving family.
Jagger couldn’t relate to that part. Had his parents ever liked each other? Growing up, his home had been…cold. Like his mother. But she’d mated his father.
He’d never had the guts to ask her if she and Father were a natural match. His kind either found a mate at some point in their long lives or were granted a mate when one was needed most. Warriors like him were often gifted a mate when they were critically injured, though they could also choose their own.
Jagger was alone, and that was fine with him. He’d rather linger at death’s door than take a mate he’d never met only to heal himself. An unfeeling, frigid life spent paired with someone from eternity was hell on—well, not on Earth, but in his realm.
A door down the hallway squeaked open. Felicia’s bedroom. He’d memorized the sounds of her moving around.
She appeared in the hall dressed in her typical fitness gear. Short shorts and a tank top with a dark sports bra underneath.
Not for the first time, he wished she lived somewhere other than Hot-lanta. Somewhere cold, where she’d have to cover up.
Like every other day, he had to force his gaze to her face and away from her long, golden legs. The way the muscles flexed and bunched were mesmerizing.
Her expression was pinched, and he was starting to think it wasn’t from living with him. He’d heard the pill bottles rattle like clockwork every four to six hours. He’d read the instructions and verified the ingredients.
Why the fuck did she need painkillers?
“So, Ted needs some help at the gym.” She stuffed her feet into her athletic shoes, then tortured him by bending over to lace them. He ripped his gaze away before his dick decided it liked the view.
Scratch that—his dick had decided long ago it loved any view with her in it.
Traitor.
“And you told Good in Bed Ted no, right?” He knew the answer, but dammit. Sitting in the apartment with her was mind-numbing torture, but protecting her in public, and doing it while keeping his kind secret? He’d rather waste away on this stupid couch-slash-bed. Add in the fact she’d slept with the gym owner, and well, didn’t his mood sour.
“Funny story. I told him that I had an old friend in town who was kind of a loner and I felt bad leaving him. I promised you’d sit in a corner and glare at everyone because you had trust issues.”
He surged to his feet to cover how frustratingly accurate she was with her description. “Don’t you think about anything before you act?”
She straightened and planted her hands on her hips. “I know you’re going crazy in here. I am too. The thing is, unlike you, I can’t just go back to Numen when this is over. I built a life here. A good job with good people and my own money. I’m not ruining it. I already quit my main job. My hiatus is up, my rent money is burned. So unless you’re going to kick in for bills for the next who knows how long, I need to work.”
Rent? Bills? He…hadn’t thought about any of that. He’d assumed she was floating by with her family’s money. Part of the senate’s job was to fund their people’s work in the human realm.
So how did she make a living?
* * *
Felicia delivered a slow-motion kick to the middle of a white rectangular pad. Her partner didn’t even grunt since she’d dialed down the force of the blow to negligible levels.
She turned to her captive audience of ten-year-olds. “Ready?”
Out of the five, Bristol shot up his hand first and skirted to the front of the line. “Ready, Felicia.”
The other four fell in behind him. Leyvonna, Theo, Kraig, and Claudia in that order. Claudia. Always last. Her mother had to drag her in each evening, but the girl had proved herself proficient time and time again. It had been weeks since Felicia had helped out at the gym, but concern had already settled in about Claudia. Her shoulders hung and she looked a few nights short of a good night’s sleep.
As Felicia talked her pupils through the next round of practice kicks, she remained way too attuned to the man leaning against the wall.
Jagger’s hair was brushed off his face but some strands fell forward like they were compelled to frame his strong jaw. She knew the feeling.
As always, ignoring him proved impossible. The lick of his gaze traced her back, oddly a brief reprieve for her aching muscles. If only she could bottle the effect into her own version of Icy Hot, she wouldn’t have to worry about money. Add his face to the pac
kaging and watch the cash roll in.
She wished it were cool enough for him to wear jeans, but in the Atlanta heat and humidity, the running shorts clinging to his thick thighs were a better choice. Not for her. He could’ve found a looser T-shirt. And maybe in a color that didn’t highlight his unusual eyes. The dark green technical fabric did his eyes as much justice as his abs.
He was a long way from the robes of their realm, and he fit in here way too well. Except for the massive scowl on his face.
She straightened her own T-shirt. It had the gym logo emblazoned on it. She’d chosen krav maga because this gym wore street clothing to train in. The white linen pants and white tunic other martial arts used reminded her too much of home. In this building, respect was earned. Money and station had nothing to do with it. She got more respect when she stepped into the gym than any other day at home.
So it sucked that she missed her realm so much.
Class wrapped up.
“Felicia.” Ted crossed to her side, giving his back to Jagger. “Is everything okay?”
“You mean other than the beach boy I can’t seem to shake?”
“You know I don’t blame him.” His lips twitched. Ted had a girlfriend now, but he never pretended they hadn’t killed time in bed together. “It’s none of my business, but you’ve missed a lot of work and then you show up with this guy. I can’t have parents questioning the dude hanging out in the back glaring at you.”
“My family is…” She got a twinge in her back just thinking about them. But living here, she’d crafted her story long ago. “They got into some trouble and they’re afraid that it’ll come back on me. Jagger is an old friend of the family.” She lifted a shoulder in a way that massaged her scar tissue more than strained it. “They want him to look after me. Do you mind if he tags along?”
That was the best explanation she could give. She didn’t want to lie and say that he was her boyfriend, and bringing her guy with her for every shift would be even weirder anyway. Ted Benson would call bullshit faster on that than on the mafia-laced story she’d just given him.
Wicked Fire: Angel Fire, book 2 Page 3
