by Anne Hope
“I am Micah,” the intruder said, “angel of the divine plan.”
After his little demonstration, Kyros knew he spoke the truth. Only angel’s blood could reduce a member of his army to ash and smoke.
“This is what I propose.” Micah tossed the sword at Kyros’s feet. “I will grant you protection, cloak you in the same manner Athanatos did. You will be virtually untraceable. Not only that, but you will have access to an unlimited supply of angel’s blood.”
Interest sparked within Kyros. Perhaps they could strike a deal after all. “In exchange for what?”
The angel smiled. “A few small favors. I will come to you as I please, and you will do as I command, no questions asked.”
Marcus lay on the couch in the junior suite they’d rented in a hotel in Portland, trying to settle his jangled nerves. He’d kept it together for Regan and Ben’s sake, but braving the river hadn’t exactly been a day at the beach for him, either. He, too, was cursed with the crippling aversion to water that plagued his kind.
He could still remember the time he’d spent in the tank, the water doggedly creeping up to his chin, the chilling, paralyzing effect of it. If it hadn’t been for Cal, he would’ve drowned that day. The man had saved his life, and this was how Marcus had repaid him—through betrayal, mutiny. As far as he knew, he and Regan were harboring a soul that could destroy everything the Watchers had spent centuries fighting to preserve.
They’d escaped their pursuers today, but he knew for a fact the Watchers wouldn’t give up. Sooner or later, they’d catch up to them, and then what? Would he kill his fellow comrades, strike them down with the same lethal efficiency he reserved for his enemies?
Traitor or not, he was still a Watcher…and so was Regan. Her devotion to Ben had blinded her, just as Marcus’s loyalty to Regan had blinded him. Now they were both in way over their heads.
Beyond the blackened windows, a faceless moon mocked him. The inky darkness was deep, impenetrable, and yet moonlight perforated the night, silvering everything it touched.
The moon’s radiance was an illusion, merely a reflection of the sun, but its effect wasn’t any less powerful. Tall buildings shimmered, their windows blinking in the shadows. Thin threads of clouds unraveled across the bruised sky like spools of gauze, their gray bellies bloated with a luminous glow.
Like the moon’s light, his emotions couldn’t be trusted. They were only reflections of the soul he’d once possessed, so he made it a point to ignore them as much as he could.
Regan’s question chimed in his head. “Don’t you feel anything? Ever?”
He did his damnedest not to, but once in a while he failed, and when he did Regan was usually to blame. The woman had always brought out the best and worst in him, now more than ever. Something about her spoke to the man he’d once been before his soul had forsaken him.
“I finally got Ben to sleep.” She sailed into the room, wrapped in nothing but a terrycloth robe. The dress he’d bought her had gotten soiled and torn during their unexpected trek through the woods, but since it was the only item of clothing she had, she’d washed it and hung it up to dry in the bathroom. “He had a lot of questions. I had no choice but to tell him a little about us.”
Marcus tried not to notice the way her robe parted at the neck to reveal a long line of creamy skin, failed. “What, exactly, did you say to him?”
“That we’re different, like him. That we can make things happen, do things regular people can’t. He took it better than I thought.” She came to sit beside him. Her fresh scent invaded his personal space and filled him with the crazy urge to bolt.
She pried her hair loose from the elastic band, running her fingers through it. As much as he wanted to look away, Marcus watched, transfixed, as an abundant mass of curls fluttered over her shoulders. A sweet, burning sensation raced through his bloodstream until his face flushed with heat. The walls of his throat thickened, and his breathing grew short and quick. His starved fingers suddenly itched with the urge to touch.
She sank into the couch and let her head fall back, exposing the gentle arc of her throat. He could all too easily picture his mouth on that throat, tracing a burning path along her pale skin, his lips wandering down toward the spot where the robe parted slightly to hint at her cleavage.
Moonlight and shadows, truth and illusion, none of it mattered. Desire was desire any way you looked at it. Problem was, he wasn’t allowed to act on it. The second he’d gone rogue, he’d broken practically every vow he’d taken when he became a Watcher. His vow of celibacy was all that remained of his promise to Cal, and he intended to keep it.
He turned to find Regan watching him with a heavy-lidded stare, as though she was attempting to read his mind. “Good thinking with that kayak,” she told him. “I wasn’t exactly sold on the idea at first, but now I see the genius behind it.”
Amusement yanked at his mouth. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you just call me a genius?”
She grabbed a cushion from the couch and threw it at him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He caught the cushion, tossed it right back at her. The robe slid off her shoulder to expose her toned arm, her long, delicate neck, the soft swell of her breast. His mouth went dry. Centuries of pent-up need rammed into him, more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced before. The urgent need to possess, to stroke and explore, flooded his veins. All he could think about was how soft, how warm and silky, her skin would feel beneath his eager palm.
Regan quickly tugged the sleeve back on, but red-hot desire continued to hum in his veins. He could barely remember the last time he’d been with a woman or what it had felt like. His last experience hadn’t been an act of passion but one of duty.
Tonight, however, passion seemed to be running the show.
He cleared his throat, left the comfort of the couch to go stand by the window, where Regan’s proximity could no longer torture him. Refusing to afford him even this small grace, she stood and bridged the distance between them.
“Penny for your thoughts.” A smile ghosted over her lips.
“Is that all they’re worth?” he teased, flinging her words from the other night back at her.
The levity only lasted a few seconds, then her features grew serious again. “Marcus.” His name was a breathy whisper in the sweet-smelling air. She placed her hand on his biceps, and her heat singed him and made his pulse sprint. “I know you’re worried. I can see how much Ben unsettles you.”
“It’s not the boy, it’s what he can do.” He met her sparkling gaze, nearly lost his train of thought. “You saw what he did to his parents, to those coyotes in the woods. He’s dangerous, Regan. To be honest, I’m not exactly sure what we’ve put into motion here.”
Her hand fell away, and he mourned the loss of the contact with an intensity that shocked him. “I’m not sure, either,” she confessed. “But I have to trust my instincts.”
Shadows danced across her face, drawing his attention to her beautiful mouth. He wanted to taste it. Badly.
Tearing his gaze from her lips, he stared beyond the windows instead.
“Do me a favor?” She crossed her arms over her chest, her demeanor tense and uncertain. “It’s weak and stupid and a totally female thing to ask, but can you hold me, just for a minute?”
His heart punched at his ribs. Warning bells chimed in his head, loud and clear, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse her.
Awkwardly, he placed his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. Her body fit his so perfectly, as though she were made for him, as though he’d held her in his arms a thousand times before. With a weary sigh, she glided her palms across his waist to rest them on his back, and her feminine warmth seeped into his flesh, thawing everything frozen inside him. Giving in to the sweet pleasure of it, he propped his chin on the crown of her head and closed his eyes, blocking out the fraudulent glint of the moon.
Chapter Fifteen
Marcus awoke the next morning to the sound
of Regan shuffling through the hotel room, clad in the blue dress again. It wasn’t nearly as flawless as it had been yesterday. The material suffered from the effects of snags and tears, but it still fit her figure like a glove.
She’d spent the night in the bedroom with Ben, while Marcus had slept on the couch. Sunlight filtered in through the windows to swamp his face, forcing him to squint. Sliding her feet into her shoes, Regan tugged at the dress, then made a beeline for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She jumped, pressed her palm to her heart and turned to look at him. “You scared the shit out of me. I almost forgot you were there.”
Lazily raising himself to a sitting position, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Not sure how I should take that.” He stood and stretched, secretly enjoying the way her catlike gaze glided over his body, even though he knew it spelled trouble. “You still haven’t answered my question. Where are you sneaking off to?”
“I thought I’d visit the hotel gift shop, find something a little more appropriate to wear. Don’t take this the wrong way, but your taste in women’s clothing sucks.”
She’d done it again—made him want to laugh. He’d felt more pleasure and amusement these past few days than he’d had in centuries.
“Since I left my backpack in the Jeep, I’ve got nothing else to wear besides this.” She spread out her arms, giving him a clear view of her perfectly proportioned body. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s looking a little used.”
He still liked the dress, but he knew better than to debate fashion with a woman. “Need a credit card?” His subtle way of reminding her not to use any of her special abilities so as to avoid leaving a trail of energy behind, which could lead the Watchers right to them.
“Don’t worry. I’ll just have them charge everything to the room.”
“And the kid?”
“Ben’s still sleeping.” He wondered if she’d purposely emphasized the boy’s name to draw attention to the fact that he rarely used it.
She placed her hand on the doorknob, turned to look at him. “Do me a favor?”
Her words brought to mind last night, the way he’d held her in his arms, the way her body had molded to his and made his blood sizzle with a desire he’d believed long dead.
She must have caught a flicker of something in his eyes, because a potent flush spread to stain her cheeks. “Give Ben a bath when he wakes up. He’s a mess after our hiking expedition yesterday.”
All traces of amusement fizzled away. “Wait a second—”
“See you in a bit.” She flashed him her most glorious smile, then shot out of the hotel room, leaving him behind to wonder what the hell had just happened.
Regan mindlessly selected a few items from the racks—several boring blouses, two nondescript pairs of blue jeans, comfortable sneakers. Her goal was to blend in as much as possible, to look identical to the countless humans roaming the streets. The only distinguishing item she permitted herself was a tweed army cap, beneath which she could tuck her abundant mass of curls. She chose some clothing for Ben, stopped at the toy section long enough to select a construction set she thought he’d like. Then, after grabbing a few necessities from the shelves, she headed to the cash register.
She was glad for the long line because it delayed her return to the hotel room, where Marcus was waiting for her. After last night, the idea of facing him was more unsettling than battle. What had compelled her to ask him to hold her? Was she out of her freaking mind?
Her face burned just thinking about it. She wasn’t the kind of woman who normally needed to be held. She didn’t have meltdowns. She never relied on others to provide comfort. She took care of herself, usually with the help of a very sharp blade. She had absolutely no use for hugs.
Why then had Marcus’s arms felt so damn good around her? Her heart betrayed her with a loud thump. Her breasts tingled at the memory of his heated touch. Traitorous desire twisted low in her abdomen. Realizing she’d forgotten to inhale, Regan swallowed a large gulp of air.
Didn’t she have enough to deal with as it was? The last thing she needed was to acknowledge an irrational attraction to a man she was forbidden to have. A man she’d known forever but was only now truly beginning to see. A man whose strong, illicit embrace felt oddly like home.
The two women standing in line in front of her began to argue, and only then did Regan realize the dark energy she was emitting. Usually she was pretty good at subduing the darkness inside her so it wouldn’t negatively impact humans. This morning, however, she was a total mess, unable to control her crazy impulses, let alone the black energy that sustained her.
One woman pushed the other. The other pushed back. The arguing and jostling continued until a security guard came and dragged them out of line. Regan watched in dismay as the guard escorted the irate customers to the door, forcing them to leave their would-be purchases behind. Eerie silence engulfed the remaining people in the store. The man standing in line behind Regan glared at her impatiently.
Snapping out of her daze, she walked up to the cash register and placed her selections on the counter. With a sheepish shrug, she smiled at the cranky-looking clerk, who didn’t bother to smile back.
What the hell was keeping Regan?
Marcus stood across the tiny bathroom from Ben, next to a tub filled with sudsy water. A tub he’d begrudgingly filled, all the while cursing Regan for suckering him in to this.
“Get in.” He gave the boy an I-mean-it stare.
Not the least bit intimidated, the boy stared back at him, arms crossed belligerently over his narrow chest. “Why do I have to take a bath?”
Marcus sighed. “Because you’re covered in filth from head to toe. If that’s not reason enough for you, you smell bad.”
Ben’s lower lip trembled. If he started to bawl, Marcus was out of there. He could handle anything—armies of murderous Kleptopsychs, vicious gangs of Rogues, homicidal humans on a killing rampage—but he drew the line at tears.
The boy dug in his heels, his stance oozing resistance. “I hate baths.”
“Yeah, you and me both, kid. Now get in there and get it over with.”
With a last defiant glare, the boy untucked his T-shirt. Relieved the fight hadn’t turned ugly, Marcus turned to leave.
“They want to hurt me, don’t they?” Ben’s shaky question stopped him mid-step. “Those men that keep coming after us.”
Reluctantly, Marcus turned around to be sucked in by Ben’s guileless face. Lying would’ve been the kindest thing to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to deceive the boy. Ben had a right to know what was going on.
“Yes.”
The kid nodded with an acceptance well beyond his years. “He told me they would.”
Marcus, who’d been anxious to retreat from the bathroom, suddenly took a step forward, his interest piqued. “Who?”
“The angel—the one that puts the pictures in my head. He told me lots of people are going to want to hurt me, but he’ll make sure I’m okay. He promised he’d help me find my way home.”
This wasn’t good. All it did was confirm the fact that the kid was indeed Cal’s false prophet. Ben tugged the T-shirt over his head, and Marcus’s next words died on his lips. A nasty scar discolored the boy’s skin from his collarbone to his diaphragm.
“Where’d you get that scar?”
Ben’s hands flew to his chest, his small fingers tracing the jagged mark cleaving his ribcage. “The doctors gave it to me, when they fixed my heart.”
Sitting at the edge of the tub, Marcus studied the incision. “What was wrong with your heart?”
The boy shrugged again. “It liked to murmur, so they had to open my chest to shut it up.”
Chapter Sixteen
“You were right. The kid’s definitely not a Hybrid.” Marcus plowed into the hotel room, clasping a yellow envelope in his hand.
After Regan had returned from her shopping spree, he’d hightailed it out of there, t
elling her to stay put and muttering something about research he needed to conduct. Now—nearly three hours later—he was back, all fired up, waving the envelope in her face as though it held the answers to all their questions.
He shot Ben a furtive glance, then dragged her to the bedroom where they couldn’t be overheard, shutting the sliding door behind them.
“What’s gotten into you?” After the embrace they’d shared the previous evening, being alone with him was alarming, not to mention a little exciting. The queen-sized bed dominated the room, the sheets mussed, the pillows tossed at strange angles, hinting at the restless sleep she’d had.
He must have read something in her eyes because his glance flitted to the bed. His features taut with discomfort, he cleared his throat and sat at the corner, inviting her to do the same. The mattress sagged as she lowered her body next to his, trying her damndest not to picture his arms around her again.
He opened the envelope and pulled out what looked like a medical file. “I did some digging,” he said. “Got my hands on Ben’s medical history.”
Regan knitted her brows in confusion. “Why?”
“When I was giving him a bath, I noticed a scar on his chest, so I thought I’d look into it. Turns out the kid suffered from a heart murmur, a result of a congenital defect. They operated on him when he was three.”
“How does that prove he’s not a Hybrid?”
He flipped through the pages, his arm grazing hers. He had truly gorgeous arms—strong and powerful, braided with muscles. She’d expected his embrace to be cold, maybe even a little rough. Instead it had been surprisingly tender and hot enough to melt the polar ice cap.
“Because he died on the operating table.” He showed her the proof he held, but she had trouble interpreting the medical jargon. If only Lia were here to translate.
“I don’t understand.”
