by Cynthia Eden
“You fell in the middle of my brother’s battle.”
Right, because Sam’s brother was the Azrael—Az. The dark fallen angel who’d sent Brandt on a fast trip to hell. The night that Marna lost her wings, Brandt had been intending to kill Az. He’d been the target. Only when the dust from that battle cleared, Az had gotten away, and Marna had been the one to fall.
No. She hadn’t fallen. Tanner knew that. Not really. She’d just never been able to go back home.
Because Brandt had taken her wings with the slice of his claws.
“I owe you,” Sam told her, “and I’ll make sure my debt is paid.”
The wind howled and the Fallen vanished.
In the silence that followed, Tanner was certain of only one thing. He’d be seeing Hell that night.
“Stay close,” Tanner told her as they headed past the two bouncers stationed outside of Hell. Demons, Marna knew that from just a glance. The guys looked at her and immediately stepped back.
Maybe they realized what she was, too.
When they entered the bar, the blasting music hit her first. The darkness came second. It took Marna a moment to be able to see anything, but then her eyes adjusted and she saw the bodies. Couples hidden in corners. Vampires . . . drinking from the prey they’d penned against the walls.
Her hand rose to her throat. She’d heard stories about vampires. Some had drained angels dry because they wanted a taste of power. It seemed that angel blood might be the new delicacy of choice among the undead.
Marna sure didn’t want to be on their menu.
She’d be steering clear of the vamps. Marna inched forward and bumped into Tanner’s back. He turned around and frowned down at her.
It was crazy, but she wanted to grab on to his arm and hold tight. This place with its darkness and the evil that she could feel in the air around her . . . she didn’t want to be here.
Marna licked her lips. “H-how are we going to do this?” They were near the bar now, and that was most definitely not your average alcohol in those decanters. She would not be drinking tonight. “I mean, we can’t just walk up to the first demon we see—” She’d already seen at least ten. “We can’t walk up to him and demand information.”
Sure, she was new to the whole wing-less scene, but she realized that wasn’t the way the paranormal world worked. These guys weren’t going to share their secrets out of the goodness of their hearts. From the look of things, goodness was not a key word for any of them.
“Relax.” Tanner wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Why did that make her feel better? “I know how to work this crowd.”
Okay, so having the cop shifter with her wasn’t such a bad thing. She just wished that she didn’t—
“You smell good.”
A vampire was in her way. Tall, blond. Big fangs. Hungry eyes.
And, for some reason, the guy seemed familiar to her. But Marna couldn’t quite place him.
He inhaled and those hungry eyes of his widened with pleasure. “Sweet . . . fresh flowers . . .” He licked his lips. “And fear.”
Her heart slammed into her ribs. The vampire couldn’t find out what she really was.
Or I’m dead.
“Smells so good . . .” The vampire took a step toward her and lifted his hand. His gaze seemed to burn through her. “I just want a taste. Just one taste.”
Tanner grabbed the vamp by the throat and lifted him a good foot into the air. “In a second, you’re gonna be tasting my fist as it’s shoved down your damn throat.”
The vamp was gasping for breath. Vamps had to breathe, just like humans. Their hearts still beat. Their lungs still worked. When a human became a vampire, he only died for a moment, and then was reborn as a bloodsucker. That momentary death was the way the virus spread.
Vampires are mistakes. How many times had she heard that line, coming from the powers-that-be upstairs?
Now the vamp was clawing at Tanner’s hand, but the shifter wasn’t letting him go.
“She’s not on the menu, asshole,” Tanner growled. “Remember that.” Then he tossed the vamp back against the bar.
There was no missing the fury that tightened the vampire’s face. “Shifter. You think you can tell me—”
In a flash, Tanner had his claws at the guy’s throat. “I was playing nice before, but if you want me to cut your head off—right here, right now—I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”
Blood trickled down the vamp’s throat. Tanner’s claws had already sliced through the skin. The vampire wasn’t moving now. The whole bar was watching, waiting.
“Off . . . ” the vampire said slowly, “the menu.” His Adam’s apple scraped against Tanner’s claws as he managed to whisper the words.
“Good fucking vamp.” Tanner stepped back and dropped his claws.
Everyone stopped watching. They went back to blood drinking and making out in their dark corners. She guessed that this crowd liked to see death. If there wasn’t a show, they weren’t interested in watching.
Marna rubbed her arms. While those in the bar might like the danger, she didn’t. She’d seen death for centuries. Wouldn’t it be a nice change to finally see something else?
But maybe happiness was something only humans got to experience. Not the cursed. Not the paranormals.
Not me.
The vamp crept away. He tossed a few fast glances over his shoulder.
A shiver shook Marna’s body. She could have sworn that she’d seen him before. “You think he’s going to stay away?”
“I think if he doesn’t, he’ll be minus a head.” Then Tanner put his arm back around her. She tried not to flinch, but his claws were still out, and she couldn’t see a shifter’s claws without remembering agony and terror.
Tanner pulled her flush against him. His head lowered and his lips brushed against her ear. “Don’t act afraid of me. Don’t pull away.” The words were barely breathed against her.
Did she feel the lick of his tongue on the shell of her ear?
She shivered again, but Marna wasn’t feeling fear right then. Well, she wasn’t afraid of him. All the others in the room, yes, they scared her.
“Let them think you’re mine,” Tanner said, still in that same low whisper. One that she could suddenly imagine in the dark. Would he talk that way if they were alone? His voice low and growling?
Would he sound the same if they were tangled in sheets? Naked?
Stop.
“’Cause if they think you’re mine, they’ll know to stay the hell away from you.”
She turned her head a few inches. Looked up into his blazing eyes. “I can . . . take care of myself.”
She was an angel of death. She didn’t need him.
Except . . . why won’t my touch work? Why couldn’t she still kill? Sammael killed at will. Why couldn’t she?
“I can smell your fear. Smell it with a shifter’s nose that’s ten times stronger than a vamp’s.” He inhaled, like he was sampling her scent. “Fear smells too good to supernaturals. To many of us, that scent is pure temptation.”
To the monsters who liked fear and pain. But Tanner wasn’t like that, right? Wasn’t he the cop? The good guy?
His brother Brandt had been evil, twisted, but Tanner was supposed to be different. That was what he’d told her, when she first woke after her attack. Over and over, he’d promised he was different.
Lie? Or truth?
Right then, it didn’t matter. She needed him. Marna forced her body to soften and slide against his. His arm tightened even more around her.
“Better.” His voice was more growl than anything else.
His body seemed so warm and hard against hers. Shifters were usually big, muscled, and they’d been known to be some of the deadliest of the paranormals.
So why was she feeling safe with him?
Tanner led her the last few steps to the bar. “Human clubs . . . paranormal dives. They’re all the same.” He slapped his right hand down on the count
er but kept his left arm firmly around her. “You want information, then you always go to the one source in the place who knows every single thing that happens.”
The bartender, a woman with long, curly, red hair and demon-black eyes, strolled toward them. Her eyes widened a little as she looked at Marna and a soundless whistle slipped from her lips. “Don’t see too many of your kind.”
Her nails—blood-red and wicked sharp—tapped on the bar. Then her gaze slid from Marna to Tanner. The bartender stiffened, but did a good job of keeping any emotion from slipping across her face.
“I’m sure you see all sorts here,” Tanner said, voice thickening a bit with a drawl that seemed to come and go as he pleased.
Tricky shifter. Was that slow drawl supposed to make him seem harmless? Nothing could pull off that lie. Maybe it was just supposed to make him seem a little less lethal? More good old boy?
“Right now,” Tanner continued quietly, “I’m wanting to know if you can give me some information on those . . . sorts . . . that you might see.” He kept his hold on Marna, but he leaned toward the bartender.
The redhead lifted a brow. “Information ain’t cheap. You know that, cop.”
So she realized who and what Tanner was? Marna didn’t know if that was good or bad. But either way, Marna decided she needed to step up her game. She wasn’t just going to stand there. “What kind of payment do you want?” Marna demanded. Not that she had any money on her . . .
The woman’s dark eyes glanced her way. “The kind that will get me out of this shithole before I turn up dead in a dark alley.”
Dead—like the shifters?
“You know,” Tanner said.
A little shrug lifted the bartender’s shoulders as she grabbed for a glass and began to fill it with a gleaming, gold liquid. “I know two shifters got to meet the devil the other night. Just a few streets away . . .” Her gaze was back on Tanner, but she said, voice whispering now, “And from what I hear, that devil looked a whole lot like the lady you’re holding so tight.” She shoved the glass toward him.
He didn’t drink.
“It wasn’t me,” Marna said. They weren’t going to pay the demon bartender just for telling them a story that was pure bull.
“A lost, blond angel, with shadow wings streaking from her back . . .” The bartender sighed. “Yeah, because there are so many folks like you running around the Quarter.”
Shadow wings streaking from her back. Marna stiffened. “I don’t have wings.” Was that hard, angry voice really hers?
The lady poured another drink. This time, she pushed the glass toward Marna. “Not the real thing. Not anymore.” She smirked. “What’d you do to fall?”
Marna leapt up, ready to jump right across that bar. Nothing. I shouldn’t have been forced here. I—
Tanner pulled her back even as the bartender let out a little gasp and slammed back against the glasses on the wall. “Don’t touch me!” the redhead cried out and this time, she didn’t keep the blank mask on her face.
Fear.
So someone was finally afraid. And it isn’t me. Right then, Marna was too angry—too pissed, as Sammael would have said—to be afraid. I didn’t fall. I didn’t break the rules.
But she was still in hell.
Pissed. Being angry was much better than being afraid. Fear was for the weak. She didn’t want to be weak. “Better watch it,” Marna said to the redhead as she shook off Tanner’s hold. “I hear the monsters in this place love the scent of fear.”
The bartender swallowed as she pried herself off the wall of glasses. She glanced around and flushed when she realized that others had seen her.
Even in Hell, it was hard to miss a scream.
“Meet me out back,” she told them, grabbing up another glass and a bottle of gold liquid before turning away. “You can tell me what you’ll pay, and maybe I’ll tell you what I know.”
“There’s no maybe,” Tanner said.
The redhead kept walking away from them. “Then make the price high enough.” She disappeared through a pair of swinging, double doors.
And she left them in Hell.
Cadence LaVert kept a smirk on her face until she entered the back room of Hell. Then she tightened her fist around the glass in her hand, and it shattered.
Sonofabitch.
That angel had almost touched her.
No fucking way. Cadence wasn’t ready for death. She’d screwed up too many times. Nothing good waited for her on the other side.
Before she bit the dust, she had to make some kind of amends.
Maybe for the lover she’d murdered.
But he’d had it coming. Trying to beat her, trying to hurt her. Bill hadn’t realized just what he’d been dealing with.
Before he’d died, he’d known. She’d made sure of it.
Cadence lifted the bottle to her lips and gulped. She barely felt the burn as the liquid rolled down her throat.
Ten thousand? Would that be enough cash? She knew about the cop shifter. The guy who tried to play good with the humans but who was really just as fucked up as the rest of the supernaturals in New Orleans.
He had some cash, she was sure of it. He could give her the money. She could split town, and the world would keep right on going.
As if she’d never even existed.
A sweet scent teased her nose. Freaking flowers. That angel.
“I told you to meet me outside!” Cadence swung around.
No one was there.
Just boxes. A rat scurrying around. Dust.
Her heart was racing. She’d made a mistake. Been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But when she’d gone to that alley, she’d never known what was going to happen. She’d just needed to make a purchase. Needed to buy a few drugs to get her through the night.
Demons needed drugs. As far as Cadence was concerned, that was a simple fact. She had to use her drugs. Otherwise, she couldn’t shut out the voices in her head.
One of those voices had made her kill her father when she was twelve. The voice had told her that daddy wanted to do bad things to her. Such very, very bad things.
She’d stopped him. He hadn’t been able to hurt her.
The same voice had told her about Bill’s dark side. How he liked to hurt women. To hit until you couldn’t move. She’d ignored the voice at first.
But the voice had been right. Her bruises and broken bones had proved its truth soon enough.
The voice was quiet tonight. The drugs were still in her system. The drugs muted all the voices that wanted to whisper to her about the wicked things in the world.
I’m wicked.
She’d gotten the drugs from the alley. Seen the death that waited for those two panther shifters.
I saw what you did. She’d never be able to forget that night.
Now it was time to collect and get out of there. The shifter and his angel should have made it around to the back of Hell by now. She could slip out, make her deal, and get away.
Cadence dropped the bottle. It spilled on the floor, a long, wet stain, and the rat scurried toward it. Cadence grabbed her bag. There’d be no missing this shithole for her.
She yanked open the back door. Slipped out into the night. The air was hot. Always was, down in this freaking pit. Maybe she’d go someplace up north. Someplace where it actually snowed. She’d never seen real snow. Wouldn’t that be a kick?
Careful . . .
That whisper came from her own mind. The voice was waking up. Dammit. No. Not now.
Cadence shoved her hand into her bag. She had a few more white pills left. They’d shut up the voice. Buy her more time.
Blood. That horrible whisper again.
She couldn’t find the damn pills.
Blood on the dirty bricks. Blood on the ground. Can’t scream. Can’t—
Her fingers closed around one small pill. She shoved it in her mouth and swallowed. Her hands were shaking, but that wasn’t new. When the voice screamed so loud in her mind—or even when
it whispered—her hands trembled.
But the pill was in her body now. Her heart rate began to slow. The drug always worked fast. After a moment, the voice fell silent.
It was just her now. Alone in the night.
Cadence sucked in a few quick breaths. Where was the shifter? He’d better show up and get ready to hand over some serious cash. ’Cause if he wanted to hear all the juicy bits that she had to share, he’d need to—
“Hello, Cadence.”
She stiffened. Impossible. That voice—it belonged to a dead man. She knew. She’d put Bill in the ground herself. Dug the grave and dumped his sorry ass inside and left him in the middle of the woods.
“Why don’t you come here . . . ” Bill’s voice said from the darkness, “and give me a kiss, baby girl?”
Her blood iced. That was Bill’s voice. When she turned, she saw him walking from the shadows. Bill. With his balding head, his tattoos, and the slightly crooked smile that had disarmed her from the first moment she met him.
I didn’t see the monster. That smile had blinded her.
Bill had been human. She’d thought that meant he was safe. Too late, she’d learned how vicious humans could be.
Bill stalked toward her. Cadence didn’t move. She couldn’t move. “B-Bill?” What the hell? Had he turned vamp on her? That was the only thing that made sense. He must’ve been a vamp before she buried him. Tricky asshole. And here she’d been feeling all guilty for murdering the guy.
His arms grabbed her and pulled her tight against him. “I’ve missed you,” he said. His hands hurt. That was nothing new. His hammy hands always liked to hurt her.
She hadn’t missed him.
Then she realized that he didn’t smell the same. Not like stale cigarettes and old beer. Not even that musky scent human males always seemed to carry.
She pushed away and stared up at him as terror clawed its way through her.
Run.
The voice in her head was back. Too late.
She didn’t see the knife, not at first. But Cadence felt the blade as it sliced through her skin. Sliced so deep that it stole her breath as it cut open her throat.
Blood flew around her, splattering onto the old bricks. Onto the dirt. She tried to scream, but couldn’t.