He came closer, lifting her legs over his shoulders and pounding into her wet sex so hard and fast she had no choice but to come again. This time, she made sure to keep her cries to herself. Her little gift to Mateo.
Because what he didn’t understand was that he lacked what her late mate had excelled at. James had used charm in spades to get his way and she’d fallen for all of his false words.
His betrayal had left her a shattered shell of what she’d once been. And after the unloving home she’d been raised in, that was saying a lot. Watching his wings get carved out of him hadn’t filled her with satisfaction. The whole messy process had been more like tying off a garbage bag and tossing it out. Necessary to keep her environment clean. Both the garbage and his wings had met the same fate: disintegration by angel fire.
Thanks to his fallen status, she could even mate again. Their bond had been severed with his wings. She wished the process had taken her memories of him as well.
Mateo pushed off her with a grunt. He went to the guest bathroom to clean up, after which he’d return to his duty as sentry outside of the senate coliseum gates. She rolled off the bed and, ignoring every mirror she passed, went into the master bath.
A quick shower later, she toweled her short, bobbed hair off and donned a long, pristine, white robe. The after-sex glow had left her body and she was back to being Chanel Hancock, senator.
Mateo would be waiting for her. They always determined their next rendezvous before he left. It was easier than passing notes among the nosy senators. Prying bastards.
How could she still cry his name? Thankfully, only Mateo could coax a climax out of her and she hadn’t humiliated herself in front of anyone else.
Another sin she wished James could pay for. She hated him all over again for upsetting the realm and creeping back into her thoughts.
Spritzing herself with rose water, she finally looked at herself in the mirror.
When had she gotten so old? To humans she’d look like a rocking fortysomething. But when she’d been synced, she’d looked fresh out of college even at centuries old.
Breezing out, she trailed down the stairs as light as a dove, her sandaled feet quiet on the white marble floors. She might be broken and battered, but she moved gracefully. Never let them see the cracks.
Thank you, Mother.
Mateo was posed at the window. He was back in his short robe, wearing sandals that wound up his shins. The Greeks had copied them at some point in history, but none of them had looked as good as Mateo.
He was peering out around the thick maroon velvet drapes. She’d special ordered them from a store in the human realm during the days she used to venture down there. Once she’d become a senator, her life had been dedicated to the job.
He glanced back and put his hand up. She stopped at the base of the stairs. He never commanded her. She was in control, always. That he did now? Something was wrong.
He reached to his waist, but the long dirk he carried when he was working was gone. He never came to her house armed. His dark brows closed together as he looked around.
Damnation. She didn’t have weapons either. But her kitchen had the next best thing. She pivoted and scurried away from the window.
“Chanel,” Mateo hissed.
Her sandals whispered over the floor. A shadow moved in the corner. An intruder was using her damn drapes to hide. With a cry, she dove toward the butcher block.
The strange male charged her. She pushed as much speed as she could through her body until her hand closed around a handle. A butcher knife whistled free.
She spun, bringing the knife down in an arc and slicing the intruder across the chest. His eyes went wide and he jumped back. She didn’t recognize him, but his wings were morphed and he wore all black. Numen wasn’t a shadowy realm, but night was falling. He’d planned this.
There was a vial in his hand, the cap off. The substance inside hadn’t registered when Mateo barreled into him from behind. Chanel jumped onto the island and scurried over the other side. A wild scream erupted from one of the males.
What the hell was going on?
Grunts and muffled thuds came from the other side. The male was still yelling, his voice at an agonizing pitch. She gulped and crawled back onto the counter. Creeping to peer over the other side, it was all she could do not to run screaming herself.
Mateo had the male pinned under him. His hands had tendrils of clean smoke coming from them. But the intruder. He was worse. Much worse.
When Mateo had tackled him, the vial of angel fire had spilled over his neck. All Mateo had to do was hold him down until it ate through the flesh.
The male’s screams were cut off as he lost his vocal cords. The fire burned deeper and the light winked out of the male’s eyes.
“Oh. My God.” She didn’t dare drop down. Were there others? The knife was clenched in her white-knuckled fist. She’d probably start sleeping with it.
“He’s gone.” Mateo pried his fingers off of the man’s chest and raised them. Tiny dots of blistering red spattered his shaking hands. He sucked in a wobbly breath.
“Mateo. You’re hurt.”
He nodded grimly. “But you’re alive.” He caught her gaze. In his she saw what she’d been denying for the months they’d been sleeping together. He cared for her.
The fool.
She gathered all the regal composure she could muster, calling on skills learned over her entire life. Both her parents had been senators, after all. After a couple of centuries, they had walked into the fire, weary of life and unwilling to find purpose in the human realm doing humanitarian aid.
“Come. I may have some ointment for that.” All she could do was make him feel better. Angel-fire wounds were permanent. Their natural healing tendencies wouldn’t prevent scarring.
“Later, Chanel. I must report this trash to the enforcers.”
She nodded, feeling like those odd bobbleheads she’d once seen during a foray in the human realm. Her gaze kept straying to the garish red droplets on the floor. Quit looking! “Yes, of course. He attacked a senator. He must be reported.”
All of her years at the highest station in Numen and that was all she could say.
Mateo scowled at his hands, his body tight. His shaken but steady gaze met hers. “The burn is complete. You should accompany me. There could be more after you.”
She would ask if he was sure the male had been after her, but she was the ex-mate of the fallen who was plotting against the realm. She was never one to get lost in wishful thinking.
“Of course.” Put her on repeat. She was always the most levelheaded one in the room. After what she’d seen in her life, she would scoff if anyone suggested otherwise.
Mateo hefted the male, his dusky gray wings twitching with the effort. He motioned for Chanel to stay behind him. Kicking the door open, he peered outside. “I only sensed one.”
She nodded though he couldn’t see her. Putting one hand on her heart, she willed it to steady itself.
Through the rest of the evening, she layered her icy facade back into place. At the enforcers’ headquarters, her embarrassment at being caught having a fling with a sentry faded with Mateo’s respectful explanation. One would think they were contemplating a sync with the way he talked about her. Protective. Considerate. Adamant. He cared for her and he’d known better than to show it.
She was going to have to break it off. Never would she make herself that vulnerable to a male again.
She brought a trembling hand to her forehead. But she had been. Her life had been at stake and he’d risked life and limb to save her.
Leaving the white marble structure was the first time she’d taken stock of the building. It was the first time in her long career that she’d set foot inside. For such a large, square structure, it was nothing more than a cubicle farm broken up by larger offices and meeting rooms. She hated the place.
One thing she’d determined as they outlined the sudden attack: her ex was involved. It was too much
of a coincidence that she’d done some light questioning regarding transcension and then a couple of days later someone tried to kill her.
Julian. The danger to him was only increasing, and she didn’t give a gutter rat’s ass how well he was trained. Mateo was trained, too, and it’d only been luck that the vial had landed on the other male.
Mateo stopped beside her. Not once had he taken her hand, nor had he put his hand on the small of her back. He gave her space, perhaps sensing she would suffocate from proximity and touch. It was not unlike the way he read her in the bedroom. No kissing. No small talk. No cuddles.
“Would you like me to spend the night?” he asked.
Her muscles went rigid and she lifted her chin to make it seem like she wasn’t unstable. Going back to her home? Where a male had just died?
Atrocious.
But where else would she go? The enforcers had offered a guard detail and she’d shut it down with nothing more than a look. She hadn’t thought beyond that.
Yes, she’d need Mateo under the same roof, if not in the same room. The same bed was up for debate. She hadn’t slept with anyone since she’d learned of her mate’s many betrayals.
But there was one thing she had to do first.
Her only child was off in another realm doing his job while males in black might be hunting him.
That was unacceptable.
Anger built inside of her, stronger than she’d ever known. She would not let her son fall victim to his father’s machinations, no matter what Jagger’s position was. Going against his father would tear him apart.
It was a hell of a risk, but her dormant motherly side roared to life.
“Yes, Mateo. If you could stay with me, I would greatly appreciate it. However, I have one stop to make first. Oh, and pack your weapons.”
* * *
“This isn’t a good idea.” Mateo pulled at the collar of his plain white T-shirt as he climbed out of their rental car.
The club her ex supposedly ran was a block away from where they’d parked. She didn’t know how to drive, but that was another talent of Mateo’s, she’d learned. Her toes were pinched in her shoes, but she used the pain to fuel her aggression.
Humans swarmed the streets, all lost in their own thoughts. To think, the previous night, she’d been attacked in her own home, and now she was in Las Vegas in the middle of the night where she could be attacked anytime.
Chanel agreed with Mateo. This wasn’t a good idea. The price of this excursion could be her wings. And Mateo’s. Yet he was still here. She trusted him on that basis alone. “Only I can get my point across. He gave Julian one warning already. Perhaps hearing the danger is real will spur a reaction.”
“Julian was competent all the way through school and I’ve heard he’s a skilled warrior.”
Chanel wanted to groan. Mateo was the same age as her son? What did the humans call females like her? Cougars?
“Yes. But he’s not usually facing off with his father.” And a true father would do all he could to protect his children, even if that included dropping his ridiculous notion of taking over Numen.
The street they were on smelled like exhaust and garbage, and a cloud of marijuana smoke blew across her face. She wrinkled her nose. Why anyone would smoke something that smelled like a smoldering pair of dirty socks, she would never know.
Back in the day, she’d never minded puffing on a quality Cuban, but the smoke had rolled over her tongue like evaporated caramel—rich, potent, and full of status.
She glanced down at her own charcoal pantsuit. A fuchsia scarf draped over her baby-pink shirt and she wore pointed kitten heels. It was her only armor against seeing her ex again. Her clothing and Mateo.
They’d descended to Earth and stayed in a hotel overnight. She’d ordered clothing, but he’d insisted on garments he could move in. From his dubious expression at the suit she’d pulled up on the hotel’s computer screen, he must not think he could fight in a tux. He’d picked a T-shirt and jeans. The ball cap pulled down low to conceal his face wouldn’t have gone with a proper suit anyway.
Oddly enough, they both blended in Las Vegas, though the closer to the club they got, the more they stood out. Too little skin showing, and they were both missing any goth appeal. However, the street around the club was pristine. And it smelled better.
She eyed the place. Fall From Grace. Bold, James. Bold. A three-story building that must’ve been a warehouse at some point in its seedy life was now a trendy club that didn’t look like it’d normally attract the clientele heading inside.
She glanced at Mateo again. Looking at him too often had been a problem all evening. He was just so…different than her ex.
Perhaps that’d get to James. That she was with a rugged male, not one who hid behind expensive threads, perfectly coiffed hair, and false promises. Mateo hastily hand combed his hair. She knew him enough to understand that his pristine appearance on duty was not the same as off duty.
“I’ve read the reports.” She hadn’t told Mateo about her obsession with the latest news regarding Jameson Haddock. She’d read all the analysts’ notes. It paid to have power. “He arrives before the club closes—after lurking somewhere else doing God knows what.” Though James was her problem, not God’s.
“We should have done surveillance for a few days.” Mateo didn’t like her being exposed.
She didn’t bother to reply. He understood it wasn’t possible to spend the next three days watching this tasteless club and its wretched humans willing to sell their soul for a connection.
Get a puppy.
She kept her chin in the air as she strutted along the street. Time was running short. They’d watched this place all evening. Mateo had noted where all the surveillance cameras were positioned, pinpointing where they could make their presence known while avoiding photographic evidence of violating Numen law.
There were demons present. Filthy creatures, but they preferred to roam closer to the entrance. People crowded the front, but the back was quiet, as if they all knew Jameson preferred the privacy and were too scared to disobey. An empty alley held no appeal for interfering sylphs.
Mateo had suggested she wear a disguise, but she refused to face her ex-mate while cowering from her own kind. No. He needed to know how deadly serious she was about the danger to their son.
“They should be arriving soon if they’re coming straight here.”
How would she have possibly done this without his help? He might be younger but was apparently quite experienced in the human world. Finding the social sites James’s followers used, he’d learned when and where James and his latest plaything were dining.
The alley was one way, and his three-story club took up an entire side with a distillery or some such bordering the other side. The backdoor was closer to this end of the street, which was the exit. Perfect.
An engine rumbled from the alley. The driver must’ve entered from the other side.
Mateo turned the corner and she walked behind him. Over his broad shoulder, she squinted around the headlights of the audacious vehicle. The driver had opened the back door and was now holding open the entrance to the club.
A familiar figure stood next to him and ushered in a woman teetering on impossibly high heels. The heels had more length than her skirt.
Just what James liked. The male had never been one to work for anything in his life; why would female’s clothing be any different?
“Mr. Haddock, we need to talk to you,” Mateo called, his voice calm but authoritative. Her pulse jumped. There was no going back.
James didn’t give them so much as a nod. The driver’s hand slipped under the lapel of his jacket. She wasn’t naïve. He was reaching for a weapon. No wonder James liked it on Earth better. He wielded more power here than he ever had in Numen as James Hancock.
She spoke, her own voice surprisingly strong. “Tell him to give us a moment, James.”
His head cut to the side and he stared over his shoulder. His narrowed
stare passed over Mateo. Her companion didn’t move, and he wouldn’t until all other witnesses were inside.
Her mate murmured to the driver. The man stiffened as if to argue, then thought better and followed in the direction the woman went. The three of them were alone in the alley.
Mateo didn’t move forward. This was the area the cameras didn’t reach well.
“Come out of hiding, my dear.” The taunt dripped from James’s tone.
She stepped to Mateo’s side. Strong and silent, she’d never felt more protected. She faced her mate. Ex-mate, though with the way he haunted her, she had to remind herself of the “ex” part. He looked well. Dashing. Handsome as ever, but with more…confidence. Swagger. Refinement. His dark brown hair was stylishly long, giving him an air of seductive mystery. The eyes that made it hard to look at her son directly were keen and clear. His suit was more expensive than any she would’ve ordered Mateo, and his shoes were probably imported from another country. Whatever his journey as a fallen had been, he was thriving now.
She despised him.
Seeing no reason to spend more time on this errand than necessary, she was blunt. “You’re endangering the life of our son.”
Even in the shadows of the alley, the flex of his strong jaw was visible. “Is that why you’re here, Chanel? Did you bring the muscle to rough me up?”
“No. I wanted to know if you were too stupid to have realized that your ridiculous notion of using demons to gain control of Numen could get your son killed. I wondered if you were too selfish to have thought of him or his well-being at all.”
Mateo quit breathing next to her. He was worried she’d laid it on too thick, that James would react with volatility. That wasn’t James’s way and she wished she had all night to rail at him.
Displeasure rippled through James. “Chanel, you’re as tiring now as you ever were. I can see the years have not melted the ice off you.” He tilted his head. “Did you come all this way just to tell me that you fear our son, who is a warrior trained to fight and kill all manner of demons, might be in danger?”
Wicked Fire: Angel Fire, book 2 Page 5
