by S. J. Day
They sat in one of the conference rooms in Gadara Tower. In addition to her and Sara, both Reed and Alec were present, plus Montevista and Hank. On one of the walls, a bank of video screens aired feeds from the offices of the other archangels. Five impossibly beautiful faces stared at her, watching her with the same intensity as Sara. It took every bit of self-control Eve had to sit still and not wiggle nervously.
Two days ago it had seemed as if Armageddon was here. Today they were drinking tea from a Victorian-style tea service and recapping the events that constituted the worst training disaster in Mark history.
“What made you think of the photographs?” Sara asked her.
“I needed proof,” she explained. “I suspected there was a traitor in the group after Reed and I established a timeline for Molenaar’s murder. Since Claire is the one who provided the benchmark and she didn’t have an alibi, I thought of her first. It wasn’t until I saw the picture and realized Rome—Garza had a visible mark, too, that it hit me: he was the one who volunteered to put the armbands on everyone. Probably because he didn’t want to risk either his grandmother or himself getting caught.”
“You did not see this when you read her, Hank?” Michael asked, his voice as resonant as a harp. Eve kept her eyes downcast, unable to look at him without quaking. As gorgeous as he was with his dark hair and brilliant blue eyes, he was also terrifying. There was something . . . lethal about him. A darkness in his eyes that hinted at volatile, frightening depths. If someone told her that he was Satan, she’d believe it. As formidable as Raguel and Sara were, they seemed almost friendly in comparison.
“The last time I read her was before she saw the photos,” Hank said. Presently in the guise of a man, he lounged with studied insouciance and offered the occasional supportive smile to Eve. “I knew she suspected someone and I followed her plan to assume the guise of the ghost hunters, but I was clueless as to the identity of the Infernals until after they attacked.”
Eve waited for someone to ask why Alec and Reed didn’t know, considering their insight into her mind, but no one did.
They don’t know we’re tied together, Alec said.
She looked at him. He sat at the opposite head of the table from Sara. While Sara was dressed faultlessly in a blood-red pantsuit, Alec was wearing his own classic attire of worn jeans and a fitted T-shirt. His hair needed a cut and deep grooves rimmed either side of his mouth, but neither detracted from his appearance. He was still hot as hell.
His dark eyes narrowed slightly. We’re keeping that information hidden from them—for now—but we’re going to have to figure out how you hid information from us.
She’d hidden her thoughts on purpose. They so firmly believed that the mark system was impenetrable by Infernals that they’d refused to listen to her. But . . . maybe she wasn’t supposed to be able to hide her thoughts from them?
“It was Hank’s penchant for red hair in all his guises that gave me the idea,” Eve offered, earning a wink from Hank.
“How did the Infernals get into the class to begin with?” Uriel asked. He seemed to be the most laid back of the archangels, but that didn’t make him less forbidding.
“As near as we can tell,” Alec said, “they were watching Sara’s firm. When the real Antonio Garza and Claire Dubois became marked, Timothy and Kenise took over their identities. Once they were in training, Timothy’s sexual activities with Hogan kept him smelling like a Mark. Kenise wore glasses that had porous arm sleeves soaked in a concentrate of Mark blood proteins. Her beauty supplies were also laced with it. The masking agent was continuously administered through their watches, which had reservoirs on the underside.”
“There is more to identity than mere appearance and smell,” Sara said defensively.
“If we assume that Les Goodman’s theory is true, they probably used the hellhounds. The hounds absorbed Garza and Dubois’s memories, which they passed on to Timothy and Kenise. Because the two Marks had yet to be assigned to a handler, they didn’t have the ability to send out a herald. There was no way for anyone to know they were dead.”
“Refresh my memory,” Raphael said. “Why do we wait until after training to assign Marks to handlers?”
“Because it’s a pain in the ass otherwise,” Reed said. Dressed in a three-piece Versace suit, he put everyone in the room in the pale—except for Sara, who eyed him with obvious hunger. Eve tried not to think about how that bothered her. “The trainees were sending out heralds during exercises, distracting the handlers unnecessarily and putting other Marks in danger.”
“There could be more imposters,” Eve mused.
Everyone looked at her.
Sara shook her head. “Once they graduate and establish a connection to a handler, they would be discovered.”
“But how much damage can be done in the interim?” Gabriel asked. His unshakable demeanor reminded Eve of Raguel. Both archangels projected the appearance of having an inner core so solid it made them unflappable. The others seemed more capricious. “We should test every untrained Mark to be certain.”
“Montevista.” Remiel’s voice flowed through the room. “How are you feeling?”
The guard straightened. “Better than ever, actually.”
The archangel turned his gaze to Hank. “Can you explain what happened? Why is Montevista with us today?”
“The same thing that happened to Grimshaw’s son,” Hank replied. “In a nutshell: high heat combined with the masking agent. There are other factors involved—animal DNA, a spell or two—but that’s the gist. The hellhounds were made viable by using a similar Mark blood/bone mixture as the Infernal mask, so when the hound’s blood splattered over Montevista and the car exploded, it created a situation not unlike the kiln incident.”
“Only Jehovah should have the power to preserve life,” Michael said in a tone that made Eve want to hide under the table.
“Do we have any idea how many of the hellhounds are in existence?” Sara asked.
“One. A male. Eve killed the bitch. I took care of the pups. That leaves only the sire.”
“Have we heard anything about Raguel?” Uriel asked.
“No,” Reed answered. “Nothing.”
“Perhaps he is dead.”
“Jehovah would have told us if that was true,” Alec countered.
Frankly, Eve thought it was pretty fucked that God didn’t tell them how to get Raguel out, but that wasn’t a discussion she was going to have in present company.
“I’ve got something.” Eve reached for the cell phone Montevista obligingly pushed her way. She flipped through the menu until she came to the ring-tones, then she played the default one. When it finished, she said, “When I first heard the tune, I recognized it as a Paul Simon song—my mom’s a big fan—but I couldn’t place the name. Now, I know it’s ‘Jonah.’”
The group stared at her.
“ ‘They say Jonah was swallowed by a whale,’ ” she sang softly, “ ‘but I say there’s no truth to that tale . . . ’”
More silence.
“Didn’t Jonah survive in the belly of the whale and come out unscathed?” she prodded. “Can’t be a coincidence, right? I’m always told there’s no such thing.”
Montevista nodded. “Blows me away that you caught that.”
“Thank you, Ms. Hollis,” Gabriel said. “We will take it from here.”
Take it where? Would they go as far as Hell?
Raphael moved on. “How many of Raguel’s trainees are left?”
“Three.” Alec’s fingertips drummed into the table-top. “Hollis, Callaghan, and Seiler.”
“They will have to join the next class.” Raphael bent his dark head—only Sara and Uriel were fair-haired—to read something on his desk. “Which will be Michael’s.”
Eve swallowed hard.
“I can pick up where Raguel left off,” Sara offered. “Since I am already here.”
Shit.
The curse came from both Reed and Alec simultaneously, which took Ev
e aback. But the other archangels readily agreed.
“Thank you for your input,” Sara said, looking at both Eve and Montevista. “You are both dismissed.”
They stood and left the room. Eve didn’t look back. She didn’t have to. If Reed or Alec had anything to say, they’d do it in her head, not with their expressions.
“We live to fight another day,” Montevista said, winking at her.
Eve reached out and gripped his hand. “I’m glad.”
Oddly enough, she really was.
Cap and gown. Eve never thought she would wear them again. Yet here she was, walking across a stage with diploma in hand and a crowd of fully fledged Marks applauding madly. The day was clear, warm Southern California perfection. The setting sun’s rays fell like a benediction through the skylight of Gadara Tower onto the crowd in the atrium below. It was late Sunday afternoon and the office was closed to the public.
Eve stepped down from the stage and a tall, dark figure intercepted her.
“Congratulations.” Reed’s voice was a purring, seductive rumble. He was always exquisitely dressed, but today he seemed especially so. His graphite gray suit was set off by a pristine white shirt and robin’s egg blue tie. His hair was both the perfect length and perfectly styled. His scent was subtle but addictive, luring a woman to lean closer to get a deeper whiff of it. The outer civilized trappings were so deceptive. Beneath them was a primitive man with very rough edges. But she rather liked him that way.
She pulled the cap off her head. “Thank you.”
“Have any plans tonight?”
In her heart of hearts, she had hoped Alec would get in touch with her, at least on this day. But she hadn’t seen nor heard from him since they spoke at the meeting with the archangels more than a month ago. Considering that they lived next door to each other and their condos shared a wall, she could only conclude that he was avoiding her. Her parents assumed they’d broken up. Eve figured his failure to appear at her graduation was proof of that. “No. No plans.”
“Care to go out to dinner?”
“I would love to.”
Reed had stayed away, too, although mentally, he’d been there. Rumor had it that there was history between him and Sara, which kept him at bay. Those whispers had prompted Eve to keep her head down the last four weeks of class, which actually hadn’t been difficult, considering how intensive training was. While it wasn’t said implicitly, there was the sense that they were preparing for more than just regular Infernal hunting. Eve hoped they were gearing up to go after Gadara. She still believed he was alive somewhere, waiting for them to come and get him.
“Give me a minute,” she said, “to get out of this robe.”
Half expecting a crude offer of help, she was surprised when he simply nodded. “My car is out front. Meet you outside?”
“Okay . . .” She sensed that something was different about him today. He was more somber, perhaps. More serious.
Eve hurriedly dropped off her cap and gown in an anteroom. She retouched her lip gloss and adjusted the straps of her black satin dress. Pausing, she took in her appearance—the strappy heels she hadn’t worn in so long they made her feet hurt, the dress that was a size too big now that she was exercising so much, the silver hoop earrings that would be a hazard in a fight. She’d given herself leeway today, figuring she had earned the right to dress up and be normal. Especially in the safety of Gadara Tower. Now she was grateful that she looked edible (if she did say so herself) because for once, she complemented Reed instead of looking like a charity case.
She found him in the circular drive, sans coat, leaning against the passenger door of a silver Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder. The top was down, his shades were on. Together mal’akh and machine made a lethal combination. Her breath caught at the sight of them.
He stared at her for a long, taut moment in which she was certain he undressed her mentally. She could almost feel it through the bond between them—the whisper of his fingertips against her skin as he pushed her straps aside, the press of his lips against her throat, the low groan of desire.
But it wouldn’t be that way at all. That was Alec’s style. Reed was rough and tumble.
“A guy can change,” he murmured, opening the door for her.
Eve smiled as she slipped into the seat. “Who says I want you to?”
He took her to Savannah on the Beach on Pacific Coast Highway, not too far from where she lived. They sat by a window, but she didn’t enjoy the view of the water. She was too busy studying him and trying to figure out what he was thinking. He seemed pensive, which didn’t jibe with a celebratory dinner.
“So,” she began, breaking the silence, “do you always take your graduating Marks out to dinner?”
Reed’s lips pursed, then he shook his head. “They don’t get assigned to a handler until a week or so after graduation.”
“To what do I owe this honor, then?”
There was a drawn-out pause before he said gruffly, “Today was the day you finally decided that you’re single.”
Wow. Okay. “Is this a date?”
“Yeah . . . Am I doing it wrong?”
It took a moment for her to realize he was serious. An internal shiver moved through her. She shouldn’t be surprised that an actual date wasn’t part of his repertoire. He was the kind of man who picked up a woman just by giving her “the look.” Hell, that’s how he’d picked her up. Next thing she knew, she’d been in the stairwell of Gadara Tower getting the ride of her life.
She leaned back in her chair. “You’re a little tense.” She’d tell him to drink a little, but mind-altering substances had no effect on celestially enhanced beings. The body is a temple and all that.
“Loosen me up, then.”
There he was, Reed’s internal caveman. “Should I sing and dance?”
“I’ve heard you sing, so no thanks. But dancing? Depends. Will it be exotic?”
“Pig.”
He reached over and caught her hand. “Show me how not to be, I’m willing to learn.”
“Where is this leading?”
“A sanitarium, if you keep trying to blow yourself up. Beyond that . . .” He shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
“I’m not ready,” she said honestly.
His dark eyes were amused. “Neither am I. But I’ll keep taking you out, you’ll keep dressing like that, and we’ll enjoy the ride. Wherever it goes.”
Eve took a deep breath and jumped in. “Okay. Deal.”
It was with great relief that Eve slipped off her heels in the elevator. The image of Reed standing by his car in the subterranean garage of her condominium complex was indelibly etched into her mind. She suspected it would follow her into her dreams. Alec had once looked at her with similar hunger. It was hard to get over wanting to be wanted like that.
The car reached the top floor and the doors opened with a soft ding. Padding out to the hallway, she came to an abrupt halt. Alec sat on the floor in black jeans and leather motorcycle jacket. His back was to the wall between their two condos and his long legs were stretched out into the hall.
He stood when he saw her. “Hi.”
She just stared.
“You look . . . amazing,” he murmured.
“You look different.” Darker, leaner, his hair a luxurious mane of black silk that tumbled around his broad shoulders. Still had the golden sheen of an archangel. And the distance between them yawned wider than ever before.
He nodded, waiting.
“Why are you out here?” she asked, gesturing at the length of the hallway.
“I’m waiting for you.”
“You could do that in your condo.”
“I wanted no distractions from thinking about you.”
Convoluted reasoning, but then . . . when had she ever really understood him? The man was a mystery.
Eve didn’t mean to sound resentful when she said, “I graduated today.”
“I was there. Congratulations. I’m proud of you.”
�
��I didn’t see you.”
“I saw you,” his lips thinned, “leaving with Abel.”
“I haven’t heard from you in a month.”
Alec came toward her. “I’ve been traveling. Researching what happened to us.”
“You could have called. E-mailed. Written a letter.”
“Yes.” He reached her. His hand lifted to tuck her hair behind her ear. “At first, I thought it was best to stay away from you.”
“You’re not my mentor anymore?”
“Not while you were in training.”
“And now?”
He exhaled harshly. “There’s something . . . in me, angel. I didn’t know it was there until I became an archangel.”
She frowned. “Something in you?”
“I can’t explain it, other than I want to keep it away from you.”
Eve sighed. “What do you want me to say to that, Alec?”
“I want you to say that you’ll let me try and fix this.”
“Fix what?”
“You and me.”
Stepping around him, she headed toward her condo.
“Eve?” He followed.
She unlocked the multiple dead bolts that had once given her a feeling of safety. Setting her shoes beneath the console table by the door and her purse on top of it, she looked at him standing in her doorway. “How do you feel about me?”
He didn’t misunderstand. “Confused. Detached.”
“You don’t love me anymore?”
“I want to love you.” His deep voice was low and fervent. “I remember what it felt like to love you.”
Her head ached. “I think you need to figure out what you’re doing with your life, before you try and do me.”
Alec stepped inside and shut the door. “What means more? When someone wants you because they can’t help it? Because of hormones or some chemical reaction in the brain? Or when they want you because they choose to want you? Because they make the conscious decision to want you?”
She groaned. “You’re too fucking complicated.”
“We’ll start slow,” he suggested, stepping closer and moving in for the kill.
“Like what?” she asked, suspicious.
