Claimed by the Demon Hunter 3 (Guardians of Humanity)

by Harley James

“No, but I should check on my relic straight away.”

  “Who’s this informant who supposedly knows about angel feathers? Human or Guardian?” Nate demanded.

  Neither. “I know next to nothing about him. For all I know, he was working with Baal, and this was an elaborate entrapment.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, Jameson. Human or Guardian?”

  Jessie’s brows drew together. “And how did this all come about?”

  Too much. He felt suffocated.

  He reached for the truck door handle. “It’s been a long day. I assure you, I’ll answer all your questions tomorrow. Let’s come up with some ideas to recover the feather and discuss them in the morning, shall we?”

  Exhaustion made his legs heavy like concrete blocks. But it was beyond physical. Despair was a living thing, a hand around his throat, squeezing. A dark hopelessness that made it impossible to imagine waking up and surviving another twenty-four endless hours.

  And no one even had a clue.

  He glanced over his shoulder, trying but failing to lift his lips in a conciliatory smile. “I offer my heartfelt apologies, Jessica. I hope I did you no lasting harm.”

  Nate leaned across Jessie to point in Spencer’s face. “We rushed here to save your ass, and all you can say is ‘I’ll answer your questions later?’ You are a selfish bastard.”

  Very true, mate. He welcomed the barb’s sting and wanted more. Deserved so much worse. “Pointing is uncouth, Nathaniel. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that? Oh, right. She was too busy on her back to be imparting proper etiquette lessons.”

  Nate swore viciously and lurched out of the truck. Spencer exited the vehicle with considerably less vehemence, but met Nate by the truck’s front quarter panel, shaking his head and holding up his hand so his bouncers would stand down. A good bout of fisticuffs resulting in a brutal pummeling was just the thing to assuage his guilt.

  Jessie wedged herself between them. “More violence is not the answer.” She pressed her bum against her mate, her arms spread wide, her eyes direct on Spencer’s. “I found you across two thousand miles because I sensed the feather in a way I never have before. It was being asked to do something. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. I’m hoping it will call to me again so we can find it. Tell us exactly what you planned back there when Baal jumped you.”

  He sighed. All this bloody talking. “Angel feathers are supposedly more potent on demons than a chrism-oil-tipped dagger. I’d hoped to use your feather on Baal to stun him, then lop off his head with my sword.” Never having fought an archdemon before, he’d grossly underestimated Baal’s strength and speed.

  Nate rubbed his temples. “Say Baal does have the feather. What happens when he figures out how to use it as his own weapon? Can it immobilize Guardians too? These goddamn demons don’t need any extra advantages. Alexios is going to go nuclear. And who knows what Michael will do. Fuck!”

  Ah, hindsight, thou villainous baggage.

  Spencer had considered the feather falling into demon possession, but he’d thought meeting with Nikolai to learn more about the angel feather’s true powers outweighed the potential risks.

  “Watch your backs with increased vigilance until the feather can be located. Since Baal fled immediately upon your arrival, perhaps it’s still there. The good news is, since humans can’t perceive Jessica’s angel wings, I’d infer the same applies to her individual feathers. So fortunately, we don’t have to worry about Baal hunting some unlucky human finder. I’ll return to the beach with backup after briefing my security team.” He bowed slightly to Jessie. “I do apologize, my lady. I shan’t liberate another.”

  “Liberate? You sorry sod—”

  Spencer’s head snapped back with Nate’s solid right jab. Blood filled his mouth, the metallic tang suffused with unsavory remembrances. Roguish past. What was with today?

  “Nate!” Jessie scolded.

  Spencer waved off his bouncers who had murder on their faces. He extracted a handkerchief from his trousers, shaking out the sand before wiping the blood dripping from his nose. “I had it coming. Now, I hope you’ll excuse me. I’ve a meeting with my staff.” Pepper would be all over him with her incessant questions once he went inside.

  Jessie gave him a hug while Nate silently watched. Spencer returned her hug, then bent over her hand with a slight bow. “I shall endeavor to redeem myself because of your gracious rescue.” A lie. He was long past redemption. “Now, I bid you both a good night.”

  He felt Nate’s gaze heavy on his back as he approached the rear entrance to Inferno.

  “Something about you has changed since you stayed with us at Mirage,” Nate called. “If you fail in your duty, there will be consequences for all of us. Remember that.”

  Spencer greeted his bouncers with a slight dip of his chin, then paused in the doorway after the bigger of the two men opened it. He turned his head to the side, watching the air turn to steam from the clash of disparate temperatures. “I remember everything,” he whispered.

  And that was heart of the problem.

  Chapter 3

  Sydney turned off the water faucet with her elbow and swiveled to the hand dryer, careful to keep her purse from bumping anyone in the crowded ladies’ room at Inferno. Her head ached from the club’s oozing bass, and her cheeks hurt from the fake smile she’d kept plastered on her face for the last couple of hours.

  But the one thing that would keep this I’m-having-a-great-time-on-my-birthday charade going was the gorgeous feather carefully nestled at the bottom of her purse.

  Laura’s first stop tonight had been Baker Beach. In the parking lot, they’d slipped off their impractical party footwear and made their way to the breezy shoreline where the entire Torque team had gathered around a small fire. They’d sang her a rousing happy birthday, and on their way back to their cars an hour later, she’d found the feather peeking out beneath the weeds by the light of all the camera flashes.

  She wasn’t sure what bird species it came from, but it was obviously huge. She would’ve guessed an endangered California condor, but the feather was a stunning white instead of black.

  Maybe an albino condor? That would really be something.

  Whatever the case, it would be the crown jewel of her fifteen-year-old brother’s feather collection. She could hardly wait to bring it to Joaquin first thing in the morning. He always felt crappy the day after an infusion, and it would cheer him up immensely.

  She exited the nightclub bathroom and turned the corner with her first real smile since setting foot in this swanky joint. With its dark brick walls, curved wood-paneled ceilings, and Edison-bulb chandeliers, walking through the place was like being cocooned in a wine cellar.

  She stopped to admire a life-sized photograph of a woman wrapped in a silk scarf kissing the nose of a muscular black stallion. It was provocative and uncomfortably sensual.

  Stop staring, Sydney. People were going to think she had a weird animal fetish or something.

  Her face flushed and she rubbed her bare arms, though it was anything but cold. Delicate, claw-foot tables and soft leather benches in various configurations sprawled atop a two-toned, chevron-patterned wood floor that must have cost a fortune.

  And the curious logo in the middle of the dancefloor—a star inside a circle with other symbols she didn’t understand—was, in itself, a work of art.

  On her way back to her friends’ table, Sydney pushed her purse strap higher on her shoulder and tugged—for the dozenth time—on the hem of her ridiculous miniskirt. These things were not only impractical, but confining. I respect you, stylish people, but I’d never trade your threads for my grease-stained jeans and Star Wars t-shirts, thank you very—

  Whoa.

  Sydney stopped in her thigh-high boot tracks to see a well-dressed man unzip his slacks, hoist a blonde in a red dress onto a table, spread her legs, and have his wicked way with her.

  And wow. Red Dress was enjoying herself. Eyes closed, neck arched back, ha
ir trailing into the drinks that managed to stay put on the debauched table…

  Holy crap. Shagging in public? Sydney tore her gaze away to look around. Men and women on both sides of the copulating pair were coming together in all gender combinations. So primitive in their passions. So lewd in their finery.

  She felt every thrust echo through her own body, a detonation of energy that made goosebumps race up her arms. One-night stands. She could suddenly see how they happened. Apparently, some people didn’t even make it out of the club. Who knew?

  Her chest rose and fell with the appalling throb of her pulse, the fingers of her right hand skimming over the front of her blouse. A flurry of activity exploded around her as big men with black Inferno sport coats infiltrated the orgy.

  Warm hands gripped her upper arms to move her aside, the contact breaking down her final firewall. Her muscles relaxed in delicious surrender as she turned toward the body radiating such intense heat behind her.

  She reached out to steady herself, touching the broad chest that appeared before her in a three-piece suit. The man snapped orders to the bouncers in a low British accent, then he reached to remove her hands from his chest.

  When his gaze dropped to her face, the words died on his tongue.

  The noise and flurry around them faded into the background. Dizzying, breathless moments while it was simply one man, one woman.

  Exquisite.

  She heard the British-enunciated word inside her head as though the stranger had a direct line to her subconscious.

  Like he was the one who’d said it.

  His penetrating blue eyes darkened before zeroing in on her parted lips, flushed chest, and rapid breathing. The way her pulse was carrying on you’d think she’d run for miles.

  No, Syd, it’s the near-orgasm you had watching live porn.

  This couldn’t be happening to her, even though he was staring at her like she’d emerged naked from the ocean a la Botticelli’s famous Birth of Venus painting.

  Yeah right. She had the long red hair, but that was where the similarities ended. According to a long-ago ex, going to bed with her was ‘like fucking a popsicle.’ Which still stung and confused her seven years later, and explained why British Hottie’s smoldering stare was a nice, temporary delusion because…

  Look. At. Him.

  Short, dark hair with the slightest curl; strong cheekbones and a nose not entirely straight; full, sensual lips bracketed by a 5 o’clock shadow; and dark eyebrows that were decidedly un-manscaped.

  She liked that little detail very much.

  Actually, she liked everything about his face. Especially his eyes with their deep blue lagoon ringing the lighter, stormy slate of the irises.

  And he smelled so good.

  One side of his mouth tilted up. Then an eyebrow raised. Like he could read her mind and was amused by her thoughts.

  Face on fire, clutching her purse strap with both hands, she tried to move around the impeccably dressed man, but stumbled.

  British Hottie’s hands shot out to cradle her hips. “Steady on, goddess.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Charming, too? She was gonna be another one-night-stand statistic if this insanity didn’t stop pronto.

  Even her embarrassingly-in-love, never-let-go father hadn’t ever called her mother a goddess.

  She should probably marry HBC—Hot British Charmer—immediately.

  A giggle slipped out before she could squelch it. She’d only had one drink and one shot. Way less alcohol than the others at her table. But still more than you usually indulge in, lightweight.

  She pinched her cheeks to control her uncharacteristic thoughts, but the warm pressure of the stranger’s palms on her hips felt more intimate than any touch she’d shared with Derek, even when they’d made love. A very tepid sort of love-making, by the way HBC’s thick, black-lashed, blue eyes were compelling her to want to touch, taste, and rub herself over every square inch of his tight body.

  Someone must’ve slipped me some Ecstasy.

  If not, she was still probably going to make some bad decisions on account of all these dirty thoughts crowding out her reason. Reason, which motivated women to do intelligent things like tell men to remove their hands from her person. Or remove them herself.

  Or knee him in the family jewels.

  Unfortunately, there was something about this man that made her want to do just the opposite. Be someone else. Only for tonight.

  “Hey Syd, there you are! What took you so lon—oh. Okaaaay.”

  Sydney blanched. She didn’t have to turn around to know Laura was now sporting a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. Fabulous.

  Sydney glanced up at the man who had yet to release her, disgusted with herself for letting his looks influence her values. How shallow. And a one-night stand? How stupid. It would only make her feel guilty in the morning.

  She dipped her chin and stepped back. His hands fell from her hips, but she’d remember the pressure of his thumbs for the rest of the night. Probably longer. “Excuse me. I was startled by the…commotion, but I’m fine now. Thank you.”

  HBC threw a hand signal to the bouncers who had efficiently dispatched the orgy without mass chaos. He must be the manager or something. Everything was back to normal, the DJ going on with the show as though nothing had happened. Weird, but impressive.

  “You should have a seat and allow me to fetch you some tea or coffee.” He smiled, devilishly. “Or perhaps another drink?”

  Yeah, that sounded dreamy as hell coming from that mouth and those vocal cords, but she’d been dumped in the last twenty-four hours.

  Rebounds were as much of a no-no as one-night stands. My choices create my destiny.

  “I appreciate the offer, but—”

  “She’d love to,” Laura gushed, lurching forward to thread her arm through Sydney’s and pinching her hard in the waist with her other hand to silence further protest. “Her favorite drink is a Jameson Ginger and Lime, so if you have that, it’d be perfect. It’s her birthday today!”

  And Tiana’s was only five days away. Surely she’ll get in touch by then.

  Hot British Charmer’s eyes warmed to a smokier brownish-blue. “Is that so? And what might the ravishing birthday lady’s name be?”

  How could you not smile at such fanciful speech? The guy really knew how to lay it on thick.

  “I’m Sydney.” She extended her hand, and he bowed over it, the warm contact of his lips on her skin making her heart trip like a schoolgirl’s.

  “I hope all your most fervent dreams come true, sensational Sydney.” He signaled a passing server and then gave her a devastating smile. “I’m Spencer Jameson.”

  Just like the whiskey. Except Jameson whiskey was Irish, not English. “Jameson is a Scottish or northern Irish surname. I know because my father’s as Irish as they get. Yet you sound like you come from somewhere else in the British Isles.”

  “Your ears have not deceived you. I originally hail from Northamptonshire in what is now the East Midlands of England, though I left long ago.” He paused, and a shadow passed over his features. “I’m honored you chose Inferno to celebrate your special day. Tell me, what do you do when you’re not breaking men’s hearts?”

  Sydney’s lips parted momentarily. She wasn’t used to flirting. How did people do this night after night? She turned helplessly to Laura.

  Her best friend wrapped an arm around her waist. “She owns Torque, an auto repair shop in the Marina District. If you haven’t heard of it yet, you will soon. It was voted one of the up and coming businesses by the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce. So you see, she’s got beauty and brains.”

  “Enchanting.” His smile seemed sincere.

  Sydney’s face heated. “Laura.”

  Laura leaned in next to Sydney’s ear. “It’s a vetting process, babe. Either he can handle the fact that you’re an intelligent entrepreneur who happens to look sexy as fuck in a skirt, or he’ll split at the first opportunity. We’re going to weed this shi
t out earlier than last time, let me tell you.” She smiled wider as she stuck out her hand for Spencer. “I’m Laura Sellers, her best friend since she rescued me from a bunch of mean girls in the third grade. I also happen to be the office manager at Torque. She’s single, in case you were wondering.”

  Oh my God, Laura. Sydney took a steadying breath and lifted her gaze to Spencer’s amused one. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’ll think we’ll head back to our table now.” Her head swiveled to pin her best friend with a your-ass-is-grass look. “Or had you forgotten that there are five other people here with us, Laura?”

  Spencer inclined his head, stepping back with a flourish so she could be on her way. As she walked by him, the air grew overly warm and humid. Or maybe it was her hormones on overdrive.

  Or she was massively drunk. Or high.

  Well, no, probably not high. If she was high, she wouldn’t feel embarrassed. Right?

  “Happy birthday, sweet Sydney.”

  She shouldn’t have been able to hear his whisper in this noisy club. Okay, maybe high after all? Ecstasy often contained hallucinogens which acted on the mind and caused you to see or feel things that weren’t really there.

  Or so she’d read.

  She glanced to the side and up into his eyes. A metaphysical caress. Her conscience toyed with the idea of a one-night stand once again. More alcohol would help things along. Did anyone ever do a one-night stand without some sort of impairment? It seemed hard to fathom, but then, she was the least impulsive person she knew.

  My choices create my destiny. And one-night stands, by nature, didn’t involve people who never let go.

  That was rational thinking at its best. Case closed.

  She cracked her first truly authentic smile, causing the one on Spencer’s face to die away. In fact, his expression melded into bewilderment. He appeared lost. Almost...stricken.

  Why?

  None of your freaking business. You run in different circles. You’ll never see him again. “Thank you again, Mr. Jameson.”

  She turned away, and instead of heading to her table, she pushed her way through the crowded dance floor to re-enter the bathroom. She struggled to calm her still-racing pulse while Laura stood outside her stall and read her the riot act for passing up the chance of lifetime.