Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1)

by Tricia Skinner

  She renewed her search. Up ahead, exactly where he said he’d wait, Ionie caught sight of the towering nephilim. Her eyes drank him in.

  Jarrid dressed like a Pagan god in black. A pang of want hit her between the eyes. His leather coat rustled, brushing against his stylish boots. His hair, pulled back from his angled face, made his silver eyes more visible. While he talked to the bouncer, she heard appreciative — and semi-pornographic — murmurs from the people in line, male and female. Greedy eyes locked on the half-angel with undisguised lust.

  Ionie wasn’t in a sharing mood. She lifted her chin and released the front of her coat. Jarrid glanced up as she neared and damn, he looked gobsmacked by her approach.

  That’s it, big boy. Make the pneumonia worth it.

  She pursed her cranberry-painted lips and lengthened her stride so her red mini-dress rode perilously high on her thighs. The taunting clap of heels on concrete echoed around her, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off Jarrid. His eyes held a possessive glow, focused on her legs. Her heart cartwheeled in her chest. She teased him with flashes of chocolate beneath her sheer stockings. Finally, she stood in front of him, her skin burning. She’d never felt so hot in all her life.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

  Big lie. She’d waited in her car for fifteen extra minutes to time her unveiling.

  He stared down at her. The angle gave an unobstructed view of the slopes of her breasts. JP had planned every piece of her wardrobe to be a nephilim magnet. The heels gave her an extra bit of height and made her legs look much longer than they were. The candy-apple dress and matching coat made her appear a sweet treat. She’d styled her hair in cascading curls that hung heavy on her shoulders.

  “Damn, lady,” the bouncer said, “You make the moon pale with envy.”

  Ionie turned a warm smile on the werewolf. “Thank you.” She glanced up at Jarrid through her lashes. “I tried to find something appropriate to wear.”

  • • •

  When Jarrid had arrived at The Church, he’d sent a quick text to Tanis. The angel remained in the Stronghold to monitor cellular communications from the club. He’d next checked on Kas, who drove a close circuit near the nightspot. Cain and Nesty had arrived forty minutes earlier. The two would monitor activity from the second floor while he made sure anyone with heft in the city’s supernatural underground noticed his bait.

  Who had not yet arrived.

  Jarrid had surveyed the line of humans. Most were college-age, their eager faces frozen by the evening’s wintry chill. They lingered like lost souls, seeking a date with any devil who’d get them inside. He didn’t understand the allure. Was it a thrill to be a vamp snack? Or did they believe one bite from a Lycan would make them a werewolf?

  Ridiculous bullshit.

  The only deliverance for his brethren was through Ascension. Jarrid sensed he was close to gaining that freedom. Had he craved anything more? Grace had the power to transform them all — and with it unlocked, he could restore Tanis’ wings and revitalize his friend’s faded powers. He had gnashed his teeth, recalling how the Directorate had left the angel with his injuries.

  Side with abominations and live like one. The ‘screw you’ logic had come from Azriel.

  “Two of your boys are inside,” the bouncer told him, drawing his attention.

  “I’m waiting on someone.”

  Where was she?

  The Lycan had licked a single canine and swept a clawed hand over the crowd. “Take your pick. Any color, any flavor. They’re as good as popsicles standing out here.”

  After that, everything changed.

  Jarrid’s keen eyes caught movement near the end of the line. Bright red shifted past one huddled group of bodies before coming into view.

  Lord, have mercy. He sucked in a breath and held it.

  Ionie’s legs struck the pavement in sensuous strides, commanding — no demanding — every eyeball within a block pay homage. The thin high heels gave an illusion of length, as if her legs went on forever. His eyes followed the creamy brown ankles up, paused at the toned athletic calves before lingering on thighs made to smother a man in bliss. Fuck my life.

  His knees, ready to buckle, locked in place as the barely-there dress struck him immobile. The garment flitted with seductive promise, drawing his gaze with every mind-blowing step Ionie took.

  Blood rushed like a freight train through his ears. His breathing derailed and his heart tried to slam through his ribs. When his cock stiffened, no doubt accepting his body’s revolt as an invitation to play, Jarrid bit down on his inside cheek hard enough to redirect blood flow. Nothing in his brain registered except the sight of her.

  Ionie locked him in place with her innocent, almond-shaped eyes and a slow curve of a smile graced her red lips. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Despite her gravity-defying shoes, she barely chipped away at his lofty height. He looked down and prepared to mumble a greeting, when the only coherent thoughts in his head packed bags and fled.

  Two chocolate-colored knolls rose and fell with each breath she took, hypnotizing him. The halves Jarrid glimpsed looked soft enough to touch, yet firm enough to handle a squeeze from his massive palms. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

  “Thank you,” Ionie said, smiling to the bouncer.

  Had the Lycan spoken?

  She turned her beautiful face to him. “I tried to find something appropriate to wear.”

  Ionie proceeded into the nightclub. Jarrid forced his legs to move. He reached above her to hold the door open.

  Once inside, his eyes adjusted to the menagerie. Humans, Lycans, Fae, Vampires, Shifters. The Church was packed with every race worth counting in Detroit.

  “A Dream Within A Dream” by The Glitch Mob boomed from speakers over the dance floor, driving heavy, exotic beats into the erotic haze charging the air. Jarrid stared at the mass of bodies, some slick with sweat, grinding together.

  Then Ionie swayed, twisting her ample hips to the song’s pounding bass beat. He suffocated a groan before it climbed from his throat.

  She’s here to kill me. He never imagined his little reporter was an assassin in her own right. Hold up. My reporter?

  Ionie turned to face him, causing a mass of dark curls to wrap around her neck. “God, I love The Glitch Mob.”

  Right now, I love the fucking Glitch Mob! He nodded, stiff necked. When she bestowed a radiant smile on him, he vowed to download every CD of the band as soon as he returned to the Stronghold.

  “Come here often?” she asked, giving him a teasing wink.

  “I do.”

  “I can see why. I never imagined this place was so cool.”

  “You’ve only been here a few minutes.”

  Another song pulsed through the club. “Stripped” by Shiny Toy Guns.

  Ionie squealed and grabbed his hand. “Dance with me.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Jarrid took a quick glance at the clear glass on the second floor. Cain and Nestaron raised their beer bottles in unison. I’ll never live this shit down.

  He accompanied Ionie to a darkened area of dance floor, cataloguing every lust-filled eye fixated on her curvaceous backside. Jarrid reached the desired corner without committing murder. Barely.

  Sexy lyrics screamed from the oversized speakers lining the walls. The sensual beat had Ionie grinding her hips to pace the music. His dick became a pole. Jarrid adjusted the goddamned thing on the sly. If he had to pin it to his thigh with a dagger, he’d do it. Satisfied, he amended his earlier vow. Buy every album by The Glitch Mob and Shiny Toy Guns when I return to the Stronghold.

  Ionie reached her toned arms up, her slender fingers trailing fire down his biceps. He stood close enough to feel heat radiating off her like a kiln — pure, exquisite, scorching. His body responded
as if no other woman shared the dance floor. His attention was wholly hers.

  I’m so fucked.

  • • •

  Saul turned from the bartender in time to see a goliath follow a human to the dance floor. Shit, the guy was a hulk. He shoved through the crowd for a closer look. The big bastard stood to the side, but Saul didn’t recognize his profile. He shifted his attention to the woman.

  She was striking, some kind of mixed-race human. Her skin, a delectable shade of brown, was highlighted by the slip of a dress she wore. He looked down at the rail he stood behind. A red coat rested over the side.

  Hers?

  He watched the woman dancing in front of the tall statue and rested his hand on the coat. Saul stroked the soft leather in time with her gyrating hips. He imagined how she’d taste after she’d worked her blood to a vigorous boil. He kept his eyes on the strange couple, raised her coat to his nose, and inhaled.

  The chick wore no perfume he could detect, but her natural aroma fired his blood.

  I know this scent. He opened his senses, dividing the woman’s odor from the sweaty bodies near her. Spices. Sun-kissed sweetness. A hint of …

  Saul rocked back on his heels, his disbelieving gaze shooting to the woman.

  Grace!

  His lips snarled away from his fangs and he dropped the coat. Could this be the one he sought?

  At a nightclub? He had to be certain. No mistakes this time. He needed to get closer. Saul peered at the giant. Did they arrive together? She’d need an escort to get inside.

  He melted to a side chair, sat down, and drummed his fingers on the glass table.

  Think. If the big guy picked her up outside they may not be an item. He could chance getting her alone.

  The man leaned down, his face obscured, to listen as the woman spoke into his ear. Then he gestured to the rear of the club, to the toilets.

  Saul leapt from his chair. He bypassed a group of drunk Fairies to reach the restrooms as the woman disappeared into the one for females. He stole a glance at the dance floor.

  The hulk was gone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The ladies restroom was a sea of flesh. Ionie was glad she didn’t need to use the facilities. Her dance with Jarrid left her skin scorched. Banging beats, sultry bodies writhing around her, and a half-angel with the face of a god.

  What a night. He’d devoured every move she made with open hunger. I owe JP a year’s supply of Godiva’s.

  She gazed at her reflection above the quadruple vanity.

  Holy hell. She looked like she’d stepped out of a men’s magazine. Her careful curls had straightened in the heated air and now fell in heavy waves around her shoulders. She turned to the side. The waves continued in all its voluminous glory down her back.

  Her crimson dress clung to her midsection, drawing attention to her flat stomach and thin waist. The deep V-neckline plummeted down the front, making her breasts appear fuller than she’d ever seen. She grinned.

  No wonder Jarrid remained speechless.

  She reached an open basin and dipped paper towels into the cool water. She patted away the light sheen of oil on her forehead and nose, careful not to smear her makeup. She’d forgotten her small makeup case in her coat pocket.

  By her count, the night went well. She was inside the hippest club in Michigan with her gorgeous virgin date. Laughter bubbled to her lips.

  God, I’m trying to seduce an angel. Correction. I’m seducing a virgin nephilim.

  After one more peek at her reflection, she exited the restroom.

  Ionie walked into a vampire blocking the narrow hallway. “Ompf.” She pressed her hands against his broad chest. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?”

  Cold, red eyes seized on her, making her shudder.

  “You may walk into me any time you wish, beauty.”

  She managed a weak smile and lowered her hands. “Thanks. I’ll be more careful.”

  The man smiled back, showing his fangs. “At least tell me your name.”

  “Madeline,” Ionie said. Something was off about the way the vamp crowded her. She took a step to the side, allowing him room to pass. He didn’t move.

  “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Saul.”

  He offered his hand. Ionie hesitated. She wasn’t a rude person, but her warning bells clanged so loud she was certain he could hear them.

  A woman nudged her from behind, forcing her to step closer to vamp so she could pass. Ionie heard his deep intake of breath.

  Is he sniffing me?

  • • •

  Saul inhaled the female’s scent deep into his lungs.

  No mistake. She had Grace in her blood. Faint, but Beleth warned it would be. He couldn’t tell if the angelic marker meant she was the one the Renegade sought. Only Beleth would know.

  Now what?

  He studied her. She wore no ring. Not married.

  She was inside The Church.

  Arrived with or picked up by an Other.

  He wasn’t interested in fighting the overgrown bastard for snagging his date. Saul rubbed his chin and listened to her racing heartbeat.

  You should fear me.

  “I saw you dancing,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ve got some moves.”

  The woman — Madeline — narrowed her eyes. “You followed me?”

  “Busted.” He gave her a mock bow.

  “I’m here with my boyfriend. He won’t be happy to find us talking like this.”

  Saul quirked a brow. “Would he be impolite?”

  “Wh-what?”

  He stepped closer, enjoying the aroma of fear emanating from her. “I asked if your lover would be rude. I abhor rudeness.” He flicked his tongue against a fang. “It makes me react in unpredictable ways.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm before she buried it. Damn, her agitation made him light-headed with blood lust. A split-second image surfaced of the last woman he’d brought Beleth. He should have used the woman before the Renegade toasted her.

  What about this hottie?

  He squared his jaw. She’d meet a fatal end and he’d be too weak to kick Beleth’s ass when the prick decided to end him.

  Decision made, Saul closed in. He pressed his hand against ‘Madeline’s’ mouth, smothering her shocked cry.

  “Your jugular has my name on it,” he said, a whisper against the woman’s ear. “I’ll sample you, then hand you over. My partner will be so pleased he’ll ignore my little nibble and reward me.”

  ‘Madeline’ struggled, thrashing in his hold. He pressed his body forward, trapping her against the wall. When the restroom door opened again, he removed his hand and covered her lips with his.

  “Get a fucking room,” a woman said, stomping off.

  Saul felt the hard line of his prey’s full lips resisting him. Her distress was a drug now, and he wanted more. He tried to pry her lips apart with his tongue. She fastened her lips tighter, muffling cries or curses. He didn’t know which and didn’t give a damn.

  He wanted to drink her. He’d end up fucking her, too, if she kept fighting him. Blood and sex were a matched set in a vampire’s mind. Ideas buzzed to the foreground. He could slake his desires on the human after days of frustration. He’d tell Beleth he didn’t scent her until after the sex was over. No big whoop. The Renegade planned to kill her anyway.

  Saul’s palm grazed her thigh, hiking her short dress higher. He stood between her legs and when his engorged dick brushed her stomach, he released a deep moan. His vision swam from the need to bury himself inside her body.

  “Please, keep resisting,” he said. “You’re giving me so many naughty ideas.”

  Fuck you, Beleth! He needed release and this woman was his for the taking. He gazed dow
n the hallway. The exit sign was a beacon. He yanked the woman close and dragged her toward the door.

  • • •

  Ionie’s dance, her teasing fingers skimming his arms and shoulder, had seared Jarrid’s bones. His mutinous body had responded, waking to her, wanting nothing but her all over his skin.

  How would she feel in my arms?

  He leaned back in his chair and watched the dance floor. He imagined pressing his naked body against Ionie’s. He’d tuck her smaller frame under him as he … did what?

  “I’d let the Act of Contrition fuck me up for a month to read your mind right now,” Cain said, approaching from behind.

  Jarrid noted the odd expression on his brother’s face. Cain had watched him and Ionie. The assassin was good at seeing things. Too good. Jarrid shrugged, determined to bluff his ass off.

  “I could fuck you up for a month so you wouldn’t miss anything.”

  Cain laughed, hard. “In the state you’re in, I’ll pass.”

  The dance floor remained a mass of flesh, pulsing and heaving like a sex organ. Jarrid groaned. If he didn’t release his own throbbing soon, he’d explode. He lowered his hand and adjusted himself. The brief contact made light burst behind his eyes. God of All!

  “Even educated fleas do it.”

  Cain, always helpful.

  “Report,” Jarrid said.

  Cain grinned. “Kas and Tanis haven’t picked up any traces, but I came to tell you about a creepy encounter Ionie’s belongings had with a vamp.”

  Jarrid’s head snapped up.

  “While you were living Dancing with the Stars, a bloodsucker took an interest in her coat,” Cain said. “He sniffed it, went bleary eyed, then dropped it, and disappeared. I couldn’t get down the stairs fast enough because the damn thing was wall-to-wall people.”

  “Where’d he go?” Jarrid stood. He scanned the crowd. He located Ionie’s coat on the floor.