Drakon's Knight

by N. J. Walters

  Death wasn’t something he feared. They were old friends.

  What he did care about was getting a cup of coffee. He turned on the pot he’d set the night before. When it gurgled, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.

  The angel seemed slightly perturbed with him. Gabriel was used to being feared and obeyed. Maccus feared nothing and obeyed no one.

  “I have a proposition,” he began.

  “Not interested.” He wanted nothing to do with angels or Heaven any more than he wanted anything to do with demons or Hell. He’d had his fill of both.

  “That tattoo on your back says otherwise.”

  Maccus ground his back teeth together, tightening his jaw the slightest bit. In a moment of weakness, he’d had a pair of wings inked on either side of his spine, a reminder of who he’d been. They also covered the scars from where his real wings had been ripped from him. But unlike the glorious white and gold wings Gabriel had hacked away, his were midnight black.

  “I want you to kill someone,” the angel continued. “Isn’t that what you do now? Assassin for hire to anyone who has enough money to afford your services. The Forgotten. How melodramatic.” A sneer marred his perfect features. “You don’t even kill for a cause.”

  “Not interested,” he repeated, not caring what the Gabriel or anyone else thought of him. He wanted the angel gone, preferably permanently this time. He didn’t want to have to kill him. If pushed, he would, but that would bring unwanted attention his way.

  And after an eternity of fighting, first for Heaven and then in Hell, he was tired. All he wanted was to live his life in some semblance of peace.

  Gabriel sauntered over to the kitchen counter and sat at one of the stools that ranged along the peninsula. He plucked an apple from the bowl of fruit and bit into the juicy flesh. The archangel hadn’t changed a bit, taking whatever he wanted without asking, as though it was his right.

  “I think otherwise,” Gabriel continued after he swallowed. “Killing is in your blood. It’s who you are. It’s an easy job. really. Kill one pesky human. I’ll pay you well and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “I’ll make sure you get your wings back.”

  A faint hope flared inside him, but he ruthlessly squashed it. There was no room for hope in his life. “Don’t need them.” He poured himself a large mug of coffee but offered none to his uninvited guest.

  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched as he carefully set the apple back on the counter. “I can make sure you’re off Heaven’s Most Wanted list. No more young angels trying to be heroes by taking you out.

  Like that would happen. He’d killed dozens of those young punks who were too stupid to realize they weren’t anywhere nearly as powerful as they believed themselves to be.

  “If it’s so important, why don’t you kill the human yourself?” In spite of himself, he was mildly interested. What human could be giving the archangel such problems? Maccus almost wanted to meet the man and shake his hand.

  “You know they are untouchable to angels.”

  Ah, there was the truth. Maccus was no longer considered an angel since he’d fallen, so he could kill without dire repercussions. Or could he? “Forgive me if I don’t trust your generous offer.”

  He didn’t trust Gabriel any further than he could throw him. Scrap that. He could throw him pretty far. He just didn’t trust him.

  Gabriel reached into the pocket of jeans. Without thought, Maccus manifested two knives and threw them. They slammed home with accuracy, pinning the paper he’d withdraw to his palm.

  “A little extreme, don’t you think?” The angel tried to yank the blades free, but they wouldn’t budge. When he frowned, Maccus held up his hands and the weapons flew back to him.

  “Cute trick,” Gabriel added as he carefully opened the bloodstained paper. “Now this is a contract stating that no angels are to touch you if you kill the person named here.” He laid the document on the granite countertop and flicked his hand over it, splattering it with even more blood. “It has my blood, my seal on it now, so it’s legal. All it needs is your blood to be binding.” The wound on Gabriel’s hand began to close.

  Yeah, like that was going to happen. Still, he was curious. “Leave it, and I’ll peruse the contract when I have time.”

  Gabriel’s shoulders bunched, and he began to glow. Never a good sign. Maccus sighed and set down his mug. The day never started right when his first cup of coffee was disturbed.

  A flaming sword came crashing down at his head. Maccus had a pair of swords in his hands, crossed them, and blocked the attack before the fiery blade got anywhere close. Muscles flexed in his arms as he shoved the angel back. Gabriel flew through the air, slamming into the wall. The plaster crumbled.

  Damn, it was going to take more than a coat of paint to fix the damage––another annoyance to add to the angel’s list of transgressions.

  Gabriel shook himself and stared. He’d shocked the angel with his strength. His former friend was used to being the baddest, and strongest, in any confrontation. Maccus simply set down his swords, picked up his mug, and continued to sip.

  The flaming sword disappeared when it was returned to the invisible sheath on Gabriel’s back. He rolled his shoulders, strode back to the counter, and tapped the document. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch.” In the blink of an eye, he disappeared.

  Using the tip of one of his daggers—he wasn’t stupid enough to touch it as a paper cut could lead to a binding agreement—Maccus turned the page toward him and read the angelic language, pausing when he got to the name of his intended victim. It wasn’t a man, as he’d suspected, but a woman.

  “Morrigan Quill.” He repeated it several times, letting it roll around his tongue. “What have you done, Morrigan Quill, to piss off an archangel?”

  …

  Morrigan knew someone had invaded her space. She didn’t call it home. She didn’t have one of those, hadn’t in a long time. Moving often was the only way to stay alive. These days she lived in short-term efficiency apartments that rented by the week or in ratty motel rooms, like the one she currently inhabited.

  Surging out of bed, gun in one hand and a knife in the other, she stood ready to defend herself. Depending on who or what had decided to pay a visit, she might need one or the other or both.

  The clock on the bedside table read 6:06. So, it was early morning rather than night. With the curtains drawn, it was difficult to see who was here, even with her enhanced senses. That made her suspicious. A human she’d be able to see just fine––yhis, was something, or someone, much worse. She could sense them with the same intuition that had kept her alive these past ten years.

  “Glad to see you’re not slipping, Morrigan. Still as sharp as ever.” The voice was cultured and smooth and made every fine hair on her body stand on end.

  “Sir.” This was Hades himself, ruler of Hell and her boss. As one of Hell’s bounty hunters, she was tasked with capturing any wayward demons and dragging them back.

  Even Hell had rules.

  She didn’t lower her weapons but motioned to the chair. “Please sit. What can I do for you?” Very early on in her career, she’d learned it was better to be polite to the Lord of the Underworld. Her stomach churned, and bile burned her throat. She didn’t like to think about the times he’d been displeased with her.

  He was a good-looking devil, with dark hair and lean build, and favored three-piece, suits. Custom, of course. After giving the chair with duct tape patching the cushion a dubious glance, he sat and waved his hand to the empty seat across from him.

  Keeping a tight grip on her weapons, she sat. Not that a knife or gun would do her much good against him, but it made her feel better, not quite so vulnerable.

  “I have a job for you.”

  Now, this was unusual. Her work details came from her immediate supervisor, Emmett, not from the big guy himself. “Sir?” The drapes were open a crack in the center, and sunlight began to seep in, allowing her to see him better. H
e was frowning. Never a good sign. Of course, it was no better when he was smiling.

  He tapped his fingers on the table. As he continued to beat out a rhythm, his fingernails elongated. The tapping became more like scratching. She swallowed heavily, and stayed perfectly still, not wanting to draw his anger in her direction.

  He was furious.

  “You will find and kill this man.” He snapped his fingers, and a picture appeared on the table. She glanced at it but quickly brought her attention back to Hades. He didn’t like to be ignored for even a second.

  “Not return to Hell?” Her job wasn’t to kill but to capture demons and have them deported from the world. If he was a human who’d made a deal with the devil but was trying to weasel out, then her job was the same—capture and deport. In all her years on the job, she’d never had to kill anyone. Injure, sure. Maim, she’d give him that. But she was a bounty hunter, not an assassin.

  Hades drove his hand down hard on the photo, skewering the image with one of his sharp nails. “Not this one.”

  Morrigan swallowed heavily, fighting hard not to lose the contents of her stomach. “Sir, I’m not an assassin.” Capturing a demon was one thing: killing on command was quite another. She’d never been trained for that, only how to defeat an opponent and detain.

  His smile made her blood run cold. “You are now, my dear. Do this, and your contract is complete.”

  She shook her head––not quite sure she heard him correctly. “Sir?”

  He reached out and caught her face in his hand. Her skin burned on contact, but she didn’t dare pull away. The stink of scorched flesh stung her nostrils, and she began to tremble.

  “Kill this man, and you’re a free woman.”

  It was something she’d never even dreamed would happen when she’d signed on for twenty-five years as a bounty hunter for Hades. It hadn’t been her debt, but she’d willingly paid it, never believing she’d live long enough to complete her contract. And if she died on the job, she forfeited her life and would spend eternity in Hell.

  Now here was a way out. It seemed too good to be true. And if she’d learned one thing when it came the devil, and dealing with demons, it was that if it seemed too good to be true then it usually was. There was always a loophole or some detail they didn’t tell her.

  Hades slowly released her and stood. “Do this for me, and you’re free. Fail, and you’ll spend the remaining fifteen years of your contract in Hell.” The smile he gave her wasn’t pleasant. “And if you’re still alive at the end of those fifteen years you’ll be free.”

  Yeah, like she’d be able to stay alive for a week on her own in Hell. All the bounties she’d returned over the years would know it was open season on her. If she failed, she’d spend eternity being tortured.

  “Do whatever it takes to get close to him.” He pointed at the picture and then ran his gaze over her body. She wanted to pull her legs up and curl into a ball, but it would do no good. He’d only make her stand, maybe even strip her naked so she would be even more vulnerable. “Anything,” he repeated.

  After making his position crystal clear, he disappeared in a puff of smoke. Coughing, she waved her hand in front of her face, gagged a couple of times, and swallowed heavily to keep from throwing up.

  I completely understand.

  She was to sleep with the guy in the picture if it allowed her to get close enough to kill him.

  Reaching behind her, she found the switch for the overhead lamp. The light flickered but stayed on. The paint on the walls was chipped, and the ceiling had a huge water stain in the center. The bedclothes were threadbare and as drab as the carpet and walls. This, was a five-star diamond resort compared to what awaited her in Hell if she didn’t do the job.

  Not willing to look into the face of the man she was supposed to kill, she picked up the photo and turned it over first. There was only a name on the back—Maccus Hunt.

  She slowly flipped it back around and studied his face. Black eyes glared back at her, as if they already knew what she’d been ordered to do. Jet black hair had been cut short on the sides of his head, but the center had been kept longer and was pulled back from his face and confined in a short tail.

  The image was only of his upper body, but peeking out from beneath the shirt he wore, she caught a glimpse of several tattoos. She picked up the photo and brought it closer but couldn’t quite tell what the images were.

  “What have you done to piss off Hades?” His name was strong, and it suited him. He wouldn’t win any prizes for beauty. His features were too rough, too rugged for that. But there was something compelling about him, something that made her take a second, and then a third, look.

  She was going to die.

  A sense of inevitability filled her. This man was no easy mark, no demon drunk on a furlough to earth so he could enjoy all its forbidden pleasures, no scared human trying to hide from the devil. This man was a warrior. It was written in every line of his body.

  Her only hope was to get lucky. Barring that, she had to pray that if she put up a good effort, Hades might take pity on her and not torture her too much.

  I’m totally fucked.

  Morrigan laid her head on the table and sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t cry, had lost that ability ten years ago when she’d lost her humanity and her life, given it up to save the only person she’d ever truly loved—her baby sister. Everything she’d been through had been worth it in order to save the then misguided eighteen-year-old. Kayley was now twenty-eight and out there somewhere living her life. That was enough. It had to be. It was all she had.

  The picture burned her fingers, and she dropped it on the table. The paper curled as fire licked over the edges. Shit. She should have known Hades wouldn’t let her keep it.

  When it disappeared, there was writing burned into the table. “New York.” As soon as she said the words, the letters faded. She had her starting point.

  She was in Chicago, so it wouldn’t take her long to get there. She’d be on the hunt by tonight.

  Morrigan headed to the bathroom to shower. Even though the flow was stingy, the water was hot. And luxuries like this might be far and few for her in the days ahead. She didn’t bother to look in the cracked mirror as she passed, not wanting to see the despair reflected back at her, nor the healing flesh on her face where Hades had burned her.

  After she stripped, she stepped beneath the spray, already planning what she needed to do before she could get on the road to New York. As she washed, she hummed AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the amazing staff at Entangled Publishing for making this book a reality.

  Thank you to Candace Havens for pushing me to be a better writer.

  Thank you all the amazing authors and readers that I am privileged to call my friends. Your support and encouragement means so much.

  About the Author

  Once upon a time N.J. had the idea that she would like to quit her job at the bookstore, sell everything she owned, leave her hometown, and write romance novels in a place where no one knew her. And she did. Two years later, she went back to the bookstore and her hometown and settled in for another seven years. One day she gave notice at her job on a Friday morning. On Sunday afternoon, she received a tentative acceptance for her first erotic romance novel and life would never be the same. N.J. has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

  Discover the Blood of the Drakon series…

  Drakon’s Promise

  Drakon’s Prey

  Drakon’s Plunder

  Drakon Unchained

  Drakon’s Past

  Drakon’s Tear

  Also by NJ Walters

  Night of the Tiger

  Mark of the Bear

  Pride of th
e Lion

  Howl of the Wolf

  Heart of the Serpent

  Flame of the Phoenix

  Lure of the Jaguar

  Alexandra’s Legacy

  Isaiah’s Haven

  Legacy Found

  Quinn’s Quest

  Finding Chrissten

  Damek’s Redemption

  Craig’s Heart

  Wolf at the Door

  Wolf in Her Bed

  Wolf on the Run

  Wolf from the Past

  Wolf on the Hunt

  Wolf on a Mission

  Wolf in His Heart

  Wolf in Her Soul

  Wolf of Her Own

  A Touch of Magick

  Dreams of Seduction

  Love in Flames

  Discovering Dani

  The Way Home

  The Return of Patrick O’Rourke

  The Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke

  A Legal Affair

  By the Book

  Past Promises

  and stay tuned for N.J. Walters new Forgotten Brothers series…

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