“You’re Numen, yet you roam the earth, forming alliances with demons. You can reportedly sense angels wandering this plane.” Sandeen spread his hands as if it were obvious.
Jameson ignored the skip of his heart when Sandeen accused him of being fallen. Numen was no longer home. It would be his one day. But it wasn’t home. “I’m fallen.”
“I’ve come across fallen in my many years. To put it simply, they were no better than humans. I followed them, studied them. They aged as humans, they had no other sense about the world. Most couldn’t even survive here. But you…You fell how many years ago?”
Point made. Jameson had not crossed any fallen in his time on Earth. Not knowingly, anyway. He’d had an idea their immortality was lost with their angelic abilities but had no confirmation.
“I’m sure the underworld has some way for you to roam this plane. If angels can fall, can’t demons…rise?” Jameson’s mouth quirked.
A shadow crossed Sandeen’s face. “I’m afraid not. Our Almighty is not as benevolent as yours. We serve our purpose or we are sent to Hell. There is no free pass to be not evil. It would upset the balance of the world.”
“Why are you interested?”
Sandeen’s expression remained impassive.
Eh, worth a shot. Jameson didn’t figure he’d tell him, but he was curious. He propped himself on his arms, his elbows on the table. “I’m working with Gerzon.”
Sandeen inclined his head. “I have no plans to interfere with Gerzon’s claim to the well of angel fire.”
How the hell did Sandeen know his deal with Gerzon? Was there a leak in his office?
“Demons like to talk,” Sandeen said, as if reading his mind. And damn if he wasn’t right. Demon were worse at letting gossip run rampant, and angels were bad enough.
“Then what do you want?”
Sandeen sat forward and mimicked Jameson’s position. “I hear you want Daemon steel, more specifically, weapons.”
Jameson waited, not acknowledging the statement.
“Are you as picky about divine steel?”
If Sandeen could get his hands on that, Jameson wouldn’t complain. The history of their weaponry was clouded in myth, but Jameson wouldn’t be surprised if it originated from the same place—or if that place was far below where Numen assumed.
“For every weapon I can get you, I want a vial of your blood.”
Jameson blanched. Other than to spill it, angels had no use for blood. Yet Jameson knew well the power of Numen blood on a Daemon weapon. It was part of his key. Jameson’s contacts in Numen would provide the entryway.
But he was fallen, and Sandeen knew it. What power would his blood hold? Sandeen must suspect there would be some. As he’d noticed, Jameson was not a normal fallen. He would need to tread carefully, lest he become a pawn for Sandeen.
But dammit, he needed weapons if he was going to advance his plans. Especially with the conniving Gerzon.
“How much blood for your vial?”
Sandeen had his answer ready. “One ounce for every blade I provide.”
Sounded fair enough. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“What do you plan to do with the weapons?”
Touché. His blood for a blade. Jameson thought of the scythe he had scored off the archmaster all those years ago. He wouldn’t need a whole lot more to fully arm himself and a few trusted allies. As his plans of angelic domination grew, he’d have to share his secret and arm his followers.
All in good time. None of it did any good if he couldn’t get beyond the Mist. “We’ll start with one transaction and go from there. A trial run.”
Sandeen’s mouth went flat at the lack of a solid deal. After a second, he nodded.
Jameson reached his hand out to shake. Sandeen leaned forward for a quick clasp to seal the deal. Gerzon would be pissed if he ever found out, possibly withhold the demon servants Jameson was using to hunt angels, and of course, try to kill him. Jameson would have to make sure that did not happen.
“Are you going to partake in the festivities downstairs?” Jameson asked, walking the male to the door of his meeting room.
Sandeen glanced at the suit his host was wearing. “I think I’d stand out.”
Jameson waved his hand to ease the male’s worries. “Not as much as you’d think. The interests of my clientele are diverse.”
Sandeen adjusted his suit jacket and straightened his tie. “Maybe I’ll go look around then. It’s still early.”
Chuckling, Jameson clapped him on the back to see him out the door.
* * *
“Um, yeah, he liked it,” Harlowe said as she and Odessa strutted to the entrance of Fall from Grace. The knockout blonde’s hips swayed over long legs clad in fishnet stockings.
The five of them had checked into two hotel rooms and had gotten some much-needed rest. She and Harlowe had stayed in one room while the males shared the adjoining room with the door open. Surrounded by four warriors, Odessa had gotten some of the deepest sleep of her life, despite recent events. Then the two females had shopped all day to buy their outfits for the night.
Odessa had a clear picture of how they had needed to look to blend in at the club. Magan’s notes had been detailed. But Odessa wasn’t sure how well Harlowe would blend in. Her five-inch black platform heels put her well above six feet tall. If her black-studded midriff-baring halter top and black leather mini skirt didn’t attract attention then her face certainly would.
Harlowe was a stunning creature normally. Now with black coal-rimmed eyes and a braid running down each side of her head, and her dirty-blond hair dyed a reverse ombré ending with black tips, she was truly exotic. Her odd-hued eyes looked even more lavender against the black liner and dark red lips.
Odessa was only slightly jealous of the graceful walk Harlowe managed in her shoes. Choosing knee-high black boots with a thick heel, Odessa figured she’d be safer walking through a crowd and not garner even more attention with her already tall height.
While Harlowe went for goth sex kitten, Odessa had chosen goth schoolgirl. She wore a white sleeveless button-up shirt, not buttoned but tied at her waist with a loose black tie around her neck. Tight black shorts she could barely sit in completed her outfit, along with the long fingerless black gloves she wore on each hand.
As for her hair, all she did was darken it a few shades so it was nearly black, and secured it in two ponytails at each side of her head. She rimmed her eyes as dark as Harlowe’s and borrowed the same shade of blood-red lipstick.
When she had stepped out of the hotel bathroom and Bryant’s gaze swept her body, she couldn’t name the emotion darkening his gaze. Passion? Yearning? Anger? Panic? All of them? His jaw tight, he hadn’t uttered a word. He had just turned back to Bronx and Urban to finish planning their night while Harlowe got ready.
“I don’t think he liked it,” Odessa repeated.
Why had she mentioned her insecurity to Harlowe? Maybe the female would have some insight into Bryant’s thoughts since she’d been working with him for so long.
Harlowe’s braid jostled as she shook her head. “That was the reaction of a guy who liked it way too much.”
“He wouldn’t have sent Bronx to scope out the club if he thought I looked like I was capable of doing this.”
Harlowe stopped outside of the entrance, which was nothing more than a tin door on a three-story warehouse. The only hint that it wasn’t abandoned were the deep thrums of bass that could be both heard and felt from where they stood.
“Bronx can get close like you and I can’t, know what I mean?”
Odessa had an idea from the anticipatory gleam in Bronx’s eye when Bryant said they should have another warrior on the inside. Harlowe couldn’t seduce any information out of anyone because she had to protect Odessa, who was mated and definitely wouldn’t be cozying up to anyone. Odessa mentally snorted. She couldn’t even do that with her own mate.
“I just don’t think he likes me,” Odessa muttered, dismaye
d she said that out loud. Could she sound needier?
“I think otherwise.” Harlowe raised a black-lined brow. “He probably figures that as soon as you’re safe, you’ll want to go back to a life that doesn’t include him. I don’t want to be intrusive, but if the rumors are true about you two not…”
Odessa released a gusty sigh. “It’s not for lack of trying on my part.” Wow, that came out pathetic.
Harlowe gave her a small smile. “Don’t give up on him. Males of any species are pretty thickheaded. Just remember, though, you’re playing for keeps. If you really can’t envision being his mate, or doing the forever thing, don’t string him along. I kind of like you. I’d hate to have to kick your ass for hurting him.”
As serious as the warrior was, Odessa smiled anyway. She couldn’t see her human friends like she used to, not until the threat following her was terminated. If she could befriend a fierce, closed-off warrior like Harlowe, then things weren’t all dismal.
Could she envision being Bryant’s mate? He was a stolid male, surly, and looked like he wanted to punch whomever he was talking to. He was also honest, loyal, and a fierce warrior. It was obvious how close his team was and how much they respected their leader. Director Richter definitely held much regard for Bryant as a friend and leader. Whenever Odessa was close to him, it was like her blood was pure ethanol and he was a lighter. She wanted him to come close so he could light her up. She wanted his heat, and she wanted that intensity turned on her.
Following Harlowe through the dank club entrance, Odessa was grateful for the noise and darkness. It masked her flush and rapid heartbeat when she remembered the one time she’d had Bryant’s intensity focused solely on her. If only she could have stretched those few minutes into an eternity. Or at least, dear Lord, have kept her coworkers from knocking so she could discover the delicious feeling of being filled by him.
Harlowe turned to say something. Shaking off her rising lust, and regret of a steamy moment cut way too short, she shook her head at her companion. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Don’t look twice at him!” Harlowe repeated, trying not to shout.
Odessa nodded. Got it. Don’t stare at Bronx, or smile, or totally fuck up and say hi. He was a stranger. Was he here, yet? What would he be wearing? He was too striking not to recognize, but she’d only seen him in the standard long robe or his warrior dress. It’d be hard to skip over him like she didn’t know him, but she could do this.
She and Harlowe sported the requisite black rose tattoos. Time to find out what came next. Her rose was drawn in at the top of her breast, barely peeking out of her shirt. Harlowe’s was on her upper thigh, obscured slightly by her fishnet hose. Since they weren’t real, they thought it best to keep them from being fully visible.
Letting Harlowe take the lead, Odessa trailed behind, gawking at the club. The place was dark, lit with a few strobes from the dance floor and the red lights emanating from the black wrought iron dance cages at each corner. Three cages had a woman, dressed much like Odessa and Harlowe, gyrating to the beat of the music, and a fourth had a man, dancing just as enthusiastically. Despite outside appearances, the inside was modern, open, and spacious. A wall-to-wall window overlooked the bar and dance floor. The window view was of another room in the second level. The interior on the other side was too dark to make out details.
The club’s patrons consisted mostly of young women, many dressed like the dancers, but a few slacks and A-line skirts were mixed in. The men varied. Some wore the goth look with long black hair and dark-lined eyes and black clothing. Some were dressed in skinny jeans of varying colors and slim-fitting shirts, some rounded off the look with thick-rimmed glasses. There were even a few men in expensive suits roaming around, eyeing the bared flesh.
Odessa peered into the fringes of the club where booths lined the walls. A threesome was in full swing. Two men and a woman were using all the surfaces for purchase. She quickly glanced away. At the places she’d gone dancing with the girls from work, she’d gotten an eyeful before, but not to the extent of what she had just seen. This was open, blatant.
She feathered a hand over her forehead. Could she do this? Pretend this was her idea of a perfect night out?
Harlowe leaned in. “The girl is possessed. At least one of the males around her is, also.”
Odessa resisted the urge to glance back and see if she could figure out which man was hosting a demon. Bryant said they could train her on what to watch for when it came to knowing who, or in the case of gargoyles, what was possessed. Warriors were trained heavily in that skill, analysts weren’t. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t be useful. It was time to prove why she was the best choice to send in and start evaluating ink. She peeked at the woman. Her body blocked much of the male’s with her back to the crowd and her legs open toward the wall.
A barbed wire tattoo wrapped around the woman’s arm. It was hard to tell in the dark, but the ink was dark, probably black, with a lighter shade on the barbs. Red? Odessa turned her attention to the woman’s partners. All the men in the club were harder to search for tattoos and these two were no different. Staring any longer would make others think she was appalled or interested. She needed to blend.
Making their way through the crowd, several barbed wire tattoos caught her eye. Some were decorated with blood on the tips of the barbs and others weren’t. They picked seats at the bar. It was the best spot to gather as many observations as they could. Odessa swiveled to face the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Bronx snaking through the crowd.
Wow, talk about blending. Dressed in black jeans and a black shirt that molded over his muscular arms and chest, he had spiked his naturally jet-black hair and drawn a tiny black rose on his earlobe. Between his looks and his swagger, he drew attention from everyone he passed. He paused long enough to strike up a conversation with a petite knockout who had similarly spiked hair. Mere moments later, he took her hand and led her to the outer edges of the dance floor and crowded her into the wall. He planted his hands on each side of her head. From the way the woman snaked her arms around Bronx’s perfectly V-tapered back, well—Odessa averted her gaze.
Aside from wanting to be able to look Bronx in the eye after this, their stance reminded her of her own wall episode. When Bronx made his first move, Odessa’s first thought had been that she could never do that. Meet a stranger and hook up right away. But that was exactly what she’d done with Bryant—or had tried to do. From the way Bronx was moving, the human woman had already made it farther than Odessa had.
A soft glow from above made her look up. The room on the other side of the window was no longer dark but close, like a hallway light was on. A male faced out, monitoring the crowd. His arms were crossed and his legs spread. Everything about his stance radiated power.
“What do you think of that?” Odessa flicked her gaze up to keep from pointing.
“My guess is it’s the owner. I don’t see a stairwell or elevator, just the restrooms and a keypad entrance beyond those.”
Odessa’s heart lurched. That’s who they were looking for. Did the shadowed man know who killed Magan? Had he ordered her death?
A deep voice interrupted her musings. “You got a demon in you?”
A burly, bald man was perched on Harlowe’s other side. Harlowe tipped her head like she heard the question wrong.
“Want one?” the intoxicated man chortled.
Crude joke aside, relief flooded Odessa. They weren’t being asked if they could be possessed.
Harlowe seized the opportunity. “Nice wings.”
The man touched the spot where he had a three-inch pair of torn angel wings inked on his thick neck. During her work, Odessa had noted that this tattoo was particularly uncommon and labeled it as more significant than bloodied barbed wire.
He beamed, his stare glassy. “I earned them the hard way.”
“Oh?” Harlowe gave him her full attention.
The man tried to lean into her and almost fell off his stoo
l. He situated himself before speaking. “Yep. I let an archmaster possess me and lured a warrior to me. Boom.” The man flared his hand out, his eyes crossing as he stared at his fingers. “When the angel went to grab the demon out of me, there was no resistance.”
Harlowe’s shoulders tightened. What did that mean? Archmasters waged a constant battle for power against souls. Had this guy somehow opened himself up to possession? Allowed it? And it had gotten the warrior killed?
“The ol’ arch jumped out of me, surprising the warrior in the fog, or wherever the hell they disappear to.”
That was as bad as Odessa expected.
“Impressive,” Harlowe murmured, her gaze speculative. “So, the warrior?”
“Dead.”
Ah, now it was clearer. The human helped a demon lay a trap for a warrior. That would explain the increase in warrior deaths. Suddenly, the reality of what Bryant did for a living sank in. If she mated fully with him, she would worry every time he went to work.
What if they had kids? What if a drunk human like this one lured her mate in to his death, leaving her to raise a family alone?
As Odessa’s ire toward people like the one hitting on Harlowe grew, her friend gathered information.
“Wouldn’t your arch dislike you having so much to drink?”
Oooh, good question. At least the man didn’t pose a danger to other warriors if he was incapable of clearing his alcohol-clouded mind.
“He don’t bother with me no more.” The man’s face screwed up and he reached for Harlowe’s drink. He downed it in one swallow. “A possession…changes you.”
“Really? How?” Harlowe’s voice dripped with sympathy, and she angled her body toward him. She put on a good show.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly somber. “Before you decide to get your wire inked, just think about it for a while. Some things you can’t take back.”
The man slid off his stool and stumbled away. From the thousand-yard stare, his mind was no longer at the club. Odessa could almost feel sorry for the tortured soul, until she thought of the dead warrior and how it could’ve been Bryant. Had the warrior had a family?
Angel Fire: Angel Fire, Book 1 Page 15
