“Because I have to.” I stare at the ceiling. The light fixture is crooked, knocked askew by my wings more than once as we fucked. “If Thorn and Regina had found out…before…my crimes would have been even more legion. More…depraved. They would have used my power to do…” I cannot finish the sentence. The very idea of an angel being forced to corrupt souls is too much. “Regina knows now, and she will tell Thorn. They will never stop hunting me. It would be better if I simply…disappeared.”
A hint of fear creeps into her voice. “You’d leave? Really leave…me?” The final word is so quiet, I think I might have imagined it, but when I meet her gaze, her eyes glisten.
This—us—cannot be. Every moment she spends close to me is a moment she is in terrible danger. Why did I think we could ever be? The knowledge that I must hurt her rips my heart from my chest, but my only hope to keep her safe may be to drive her away. Or disappear.
“You do not need me,” I say, forcing an edge to my tone. “You got me ‘out of your system.’” If I do not end this now, she will be hurt. As will I. And that is a risk I can never take.
“I know what I said. But…you don’t think I actually believed it. Do you? After what we just shared?” After a full minute, she sits up with the sheet clutched to her chest. “Shit. You did, didn’t you? This was just…getting laid for you. I can’t believe I was so stupid. That I let you in. That I trusted you.” Her voice cracks, and she throws her legs over the side of the bed and pushes to her feet, wavering for a minute and giving me the perfect view of her ass until she finds my bathrobe and shrugs into it.
Tears glisten in her eyes, but she blinks hard to force them away. “I won’t be able to think straight until I wash you off of me. By the time I’m done, I expect you to tell me exactly how much I owe you for the clothing. I’ll reimburse you for it within the hour. And we’re never talking about this again.”
My bedroom door slams, and a piece of my heart breaks off and crumbles into dust. For centuries, I forced myself to be cold, detached, and unfeeling. It was the only way I could survive.
The very first time I saw Zoe, my resolve started to falter. And in the garage, when it was either show my true self or lose her forever, I knew.
Zoe Dawes ignited a fire deep inside me, and I do not think the flame will ever die out.
Twenty
Zoe
I can’t believe I fucked my partner. Marching down the hall to his guest bathroom, I strip off the robe and yank the shower handle all the way to scalding. I need to wash his scent off of me, but more than that, I need to punish myself for even thinking there might be something between us.
He’s an incubus. A sex demon. I don’t care if he’s half angel, the other half of him is designed to seduce. To control.
Stupid, Zoe.
But I still need to work with him. The missing shifters—and the men we haven’t been able to identify—are depending on me. On us. I can’t let them down.
Hissing as the water hits my skin, I realize the bruises on my legs aren’t my only injuries. My elbow is scraped raw, my right hip is four shades of purple, and now that the high from sex has worn off, I feel like I was hit by a truck.
The irony of using Sin’s shampoo and soap don’t escape me. I’m going to smell like him—at least a little—all day. I should go home, but it’s already almost 9:00, and if Thorn follows the timeline he’s used for the past eighteen months, another woman will go missing by tomorrow at the latest.
Questions race through my mind like Formula One cars, zooming around so quickly, I can’t focus on any of them for more than a second. Where is he hiding the women? Who is he selling them to? And where?
I can’t take the blistering spray a second longer, and once I’ve wrapped myself in a fluffy black towel, I peek into the hall. Sin’s bedroom door is closed, and I can hear rattling and thudding, like he’s moving furniture or something. Then again, his wings did some serious damage to the room when he was—stop it, Zoe.
My cheeks catch fire as a vision of his naked body flashes through my mind, but I shove it down deep and examine the clothes he had delivered.
Shit. Everything’s in my size. And expensive. Even the black silk bra and panties. The jeans mold to my ass, and the leather boots? They look completely unassuming, but when I take a step, it’s like I’m walking on air. There’s no way I can afford to pay him back. Not right away. He must have spent twice my monthly salary on one outfit.
Unless I want to get myself home in his bathrobe—or my bloodstained clothes from yesterday—I don’t have much choice but to accept the gift. And the bastard knew it.
My bag, which also bears a number of dark red stains, is at least mostly intact, and while my phone only has ten percent of its battery left, I slip out without saying a word to him and call a Lyft.
I’ll be steadier once I get to the Bureau. I have to be. These women’s lives depend on it.
No one looks at me twice when I walk in, even though I feel like there’s this huge sign over my head flashing I had sex with an angel last night.
At the coffee pot, I barely nod at Kunchin when I fill my mug, then grab my spare phone charger and battery from my desk and make a beeline for the upstairs conference rooms. I need to talk to someone, and I absolutely do not want to be overheard.
“Hey, Zoe,” Dion says when the call connects. “I mean, Agent Dawes.”
“No, Zoe’s fine. This isn’t exactly…um…Bureau business.”
She laughs, a deep, husky sound through my earbuds, and I can just imagine her throwing her head back and smiling as she says, “Well, okay, hon. What’s up?”
“Do you know much about incubi? I have questions, and the handbook was a little light on the answers.”
“You have a handbook?” After a beat, she huffs. “I’m not surprised. So many of us know little to nothing about those outside our kind. Pity, really. We all fight the same battles. Anyway, I know a little. What’s that partner of yours done now?”
The temperature in the room feels like it rises twenty degrees, and I shed the brand new black blazer I almost didn’t take from the bag of clothing Sin bought me. Until I checked the temperature outside and realized it was in the forties. “I need to know about their talents. How long their influence can last, what they can do to their victims…”
“Did he feed off of you?” Her voice sharpens, the hint of outrage both embarrassing and welcome. “Hon, that’s sexual harassment right there. I don’t care who he is, you work together.”
“He had to.”
“You’re defending him?” she hisses, the very feline tone full of outrage. “Zoe—“
I rest my elbows on the table and drop my head into my hands. “Just let me explain. We were attacked yesterday, and he was hurt trying to protect me. Seriously hurt. And I had a choice. Let him feed from me or watch him die alongside me. He…he actually asked as he was lying there bleeding all over me.”
“Huh. Incubi don’t usually have that level of control. He’s old then. Really old.”
Picking through yesterday’s memories, I say, “At least six hundred.”
“Holy shit. Hon, he’s obviously careful as fuck. Most incubi and succubi are killed by their victims’ jealous lovers long before that.”
I choke back a sip of coffee. Dammit. I should have taken the time to add some creamer to this swill. “So how long does their influence last? After they feed, I mean.”
“You said he asked, right?”
“Yes.”
“What color were his irises?”
“Dark red. Even the whites of his eyes turned red.”
“He didn’t influence you, Zoe. He couldn’t have. Using his talent to alter or influence a person’s thoughts? It requires energy. If his eyes were pure red, he was fucked. Like about to die fucked.”
Suddenly realizing just how close we came to not making it out of that garage alive, I set the coffee down and force a few deep breaths to stop the room from spinning. “You’re…sure?” I
wheeze.
“Pretty damn sure. Also pretty damn worried. Where are you right now?” Dion’s voice takes on a motherly tone, and I answer automatically.
“Work.”
“The Bureau’s off of Portrero, right? You have time to get coffee with me? Like now? I think the rest of this conversation needs to happen in person.”
I shouldn’t. Both because this case has a major countdown clock over our heads and because talking about my partner to a civilian feels…wrong. But I don’t have any friends in the world of the other—except Kunchin—and I’m definitely not going to talk to a coworker about this shit. If I’m honest, I don’t have any friends in the human world either. Not really.
“I can be at the Blue Bottle Coffee on Sansome in fifteen minutes.”
Dion sighs, her relief bleeding through my earbuds. “The first cup’s on me.”
Sin
I can hardly see past my fear when I enter the Bureau. Zoe left my apartment alone—with only a terse text message explaining she was going to take a Lyft into work. Thank fuck for the Fiat Spider I keep in the garage in reserve. The Audi is still at James Temple’s apartment. Or at least I hope it is.
Zoe is not at her desk either. Why did I not impress upon her the immense danger she is now in? Regina saw her. Saw me expose my wings to save her life. Zoe has the mortal realm’s largest target on her back, and she is galavanting around alone? I can still detect a hint of her scent, so she has not been gone long.
Before I try to find her, I have the tech department transfer my mobile number to my backup phone. My primary cell ended up in six separate pieces after the explosion. Within seconds, the device vibrates, and two text messages flash across the screen.
Commander Eve: Where the hell are you?
Zoe: Running an errand. Be back at 11:00 a.m. Don’t bother me unless there’s a break in the case.
The order stings. No, it does more than that. It slashes a knife deep into a heart I thought far too damaged to feel anything.
I have to work at summoning my anger. Usually so close to the surface, it has faded since I met Zoe, and that is unacceptable. Anger keeps me focused, and I require as much of it as I can muster now. Phone in hand, I jab the screen hard enough, I fear it will crack.
Where are you? I am coming to pick you up.
“Sinclair! Get your ass in here!” the commander shouts, her tone not one to be dismissed. She stares daggers at me as I approach, shoving her keyboard back and waving her hand towards her visitor’s chair.
“About damn time. Where’s your partner? She came in, then ten minutes later, bolted like her ass was on fire,” Eve says, a distinctive high-pitched edge to her voice. She’s close to a shift. Something is bothering her. Something more than my AWOL partner and the attack on our lives.
“Zoe had a personal errand to attend to. Apparently. I am waiting to find out where so I can pick her up.” Sinking into the chair, I narrow my eyes at Eve. “What is wrong?”
“Salem is threatening to fire me.”
I lean forward, tension prickling along the back of my neck. “Why?”
“Three hundred and forty-two thousand dollars of this division’s budget is unaccounted for. The dicks in Salem believe I had something to do with it.” Her talons tap against the desk, and the frustrated sound she makes as she throws her head back shakes the glass walls. Any higher pitched, and she’d probably have shattered them.
I scan the bullpen, seeing heads turn, agents whispering to one another. Eve notices and slaps her hand down on the button to engage the privacy screens. “Just fucking great.”
“Get one of the witches to cast a truth charm.”
Grayson’s eyes darken, and she shakes her head. “I won’t ever be under a witch’s spell again. Which means I have to do this the old fashioned way. Spending the next few weeks neck deep in budget reports.”
Pushing to her feet, she turns her back to me and runs her hands through her blond hair. “But not until you tell me exactly what went down yesterday.”
Half an hour later, I have still not heard from Zoe, and my ire and concern are rising with each passing minute. The commander is satisfied that neither Zoe nor I sustained serious injuries, and she had two of the mages conjure memories of a gas leak for the SFPD officers.
Back at my desk, I run a trace on Zoe’s phone. Blue Bottle Coffee. At least she is in public and not out chasing down a lead on her own. It takes me only a few moments to convince one of the ghouls to check up on her.
“Agent Sinclair,” the ghoul whispers to my mind when it returns. “Agent Dawes is having coffee with a panther shifter named Dion.”
I take a small measure of relief from the report, and pull up James Temple’s last will and testament. Fuck. The date at the top is the day before he shot Zoe. There is nothing out of the ordinary about the text. Standard legalese, his name, date of birth, address, and the like. A small list of possessions bequeathed mostly to Zoe, his savings to be distributed to a handful of charities.
Nothing appears out of place until I zoom out and view the two-page document as a single image. A faint watermark darkens the paper, and I have to rotate the pieces several times before the image coalesces into something that makes my blood run cold.
The edges are uneven. Perhaps a bit lopsided. But it looks very much like an orange blossom. Fuck.
Thorn and Regina are most certainly sending me a message. They know I am in San Francisco, and they are counting on my fear leading me to make a mistake. One that will land me in their clutches once again.
After I order the ghoul back to Blue Bottle to watch over Zoe, I turn my focus to the human missing persons databases and begin my search for men between the ages of twenty-one and forty. The assholes who nearly killed us yesterday were wearing masks, but as I flew past, I got a very good look at their eyes. I can find them. I have to.
Zoe
Blue Bottle Coffee’s tall windows let in the late morning light, and when I step inside, Dion waves me over to a table in the corner. She’s already ordered, and my mouth waters at the sight of the steaming French Press pot and two cups.
“Guatemalan single origin,” she says with an easy smile. An animal print sweater hangs off of one shoulder, a black bodysuit underneath, and her skin glows, not a single fur visible.
“You’re a mind-reader,” I say, sinking down across from her.
“Nah. Us coffee snobs just gotta stick together.” She winks, then depresses the plunger. “Okay. Spill it, hon. What happened with your handsome jerk of a partner?”
I can’t tell her everything. Not by a longshot. But if I don’t get some of this off my chest, I’m going to implode. “We had sex.”
The French Press rattles on the table. “Holy shit. You…and an incubus? Was it hot? They’re supposed to be—“
“Dion!” I check the tables on either side of us, hoping no one heard her say the word incubus. “I am not going to tell you that. Shit. We are totally failing the Bechdel test right now, you know.”
“You needed Other dating advice, hon. So that’s what you’re getting. Next time, we can start a book club. I like me a strong military man with a kick-ass heroine.” She leans forward, a sparkle in her amber eyes. “Dish, Zoe. I haven’t gotten any in a year.”
I don’t know how to…dish. Though, when did I last have a female friend? College? I can’t remember just hanging out and talking…ever. “Every time I’m close to him, I want to tear his clothes off. Or hold his hand. And that’s just not…me. I’m the least clingy woman you’ve ever met. But after Sin fed from me, it was like I couldn’t get enough of him. Even now, I still want him.”
Staring up at the ceiling, I run my fingers through my unruly curls, pulling hard at the roots as I try not to scream in frustration. My nipples pebble under the silk bra, and I curl inward, suddenly self-conscious Dion might see how aroused I am.
“Do you know anything about other mating?” the panther asks.
“Mating? Like…what happens in all t
hose paranormal romance novels? Aren’t those full of shit?” I cup the mug tightly, needing the rich scent and warmth to ground me.
“‘Course they are. But every lie starts with a kernel of truth.” After a quick glance around us, Dion scoots a little closer. “When I find my mate, I’ll know. I’ll smell ‘em. That’s how it works for shifters. Witches…they feel this instant connection. Magic on magic. With incubi…it’s complicated.”
“Of course, I get the complicated one,” I mutter.
Dion reaches for my hand. “Complicated ain’t always bad, hon. From what I’ve heard, incubi…when they find the one for them? They’ll die before they betray you. They’ll die to protect you. And they’ll give you the best sex you’ve ever had for the rest of your life.” With a wink, she sits back. “He wants you too, right?”
My cheeks catch fire, and I stare into the bottom of the mug. “Yes. He said what he feels for me is…’different.’ Not just hunger. Something more.”
Dion pours herself another cup of coffee and grins at me. “Well, Zoe…then I have one question for you. What are you going to do about your partner falling in love with you?”
Twenty-One
Sin
Despite my hatred of the swill brewed in the Bureau’s break room, I have been staring at my computer screen for too long. After I pour myself a cup, I turn to find Velma—one of the new vamp agents—close enough I almost knock into her.
“Sinclair,” she drawls, her wide, violet eyes framed with thick lashes that flutter as she smiles. “I was hoping to run into you today.”
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