I checked my phone for Pam’s text. “That’s the address Pam gave me.” I smiled. “Close your mouth before you swallow some flies.”
Tyrius snorted and leapt off my shoulders, landing gracefully and soundlessly on the ground. “Nothing wrong with a little protein snack.”
My pulse quickened as we crossed the street and made our way towards the elegant Tudor home. My boots crunched on the gravel path that separated a garden of rose bushes, lilies, and tall maple trees before leading to the main doors of the house.
No cars were parked in the driveway as I stepped up to the impressive double doors, Tyrius at my heels. I pressed my finger on the doorbell, which was in the form of a lion’s head. In another time, I would have taken a few minutes to admire the gardens and the home’s architecture, but tension had manifested into a pounding headache.
“Stop fidgeting. It makes you look nervous,” said Tyrius, sounding like my grandmother.
I glared at him. “I’m not.”
“Uh, Rowyn?”
“I’m not fidgeting!” I hissed.
The cat quirked a questioning brow as he stared at my hips. “You think it’s wise to bring a death blade—the weapon that kills angels—to an angel-born house?”
Blood drained from my face. “Shit.” Panic jerked me into motion as I flung my death blade from my weapons belt. Turning on the spot, my chest contracted as I desperately threw my gaze around to find a spot where I could hide it. There. I leapt to the large green ceramic pot spilling with white impatiens and red geraniums and shoved my death blade in the soil until it was covered.
“There, that should do it,” I said, stepping back and putting my hands on my hips, just as the front doors swung open.
A man stepped from the threshold and I jerked to a halt. I was expecting to see Jax’s mother, having mentally prepared a clever one-liner should she have attempted to slam the door in my face. But this was a male, and something told me by his dark hair and eyes as well as the harsh looks of him, he wasn’t Jax’s father.
The man towered over me and I needed to arch my head back to see all of him. Gray peppered his temples, staining his otherwise dull black hair, which was cut short but without style, and he held himself with confidence. His long, hawk-like nose and permanent frown were cemented to his lightly wrinkled face. He wore a pair of gray slacks with a black business shirt, which fit him perfectly. Through the collar of his shirt, I spied a P-shaped birthmark on his neck. The archangel Michael’s sigil. He was from House Michael. Just like Jax.
“Yes?” said the man, his voice slightly mocking at the sight of us.
Tyrius snickered. “Is it me, over have we just stepped into an episode of Downton Abbey? He’s a bit dingy for a butler, but who’s judging.”
The cigarette and lighter in his hand told me otherwise. The man lowered his brows in annoyance. Maybe a family member or a friend?
The man’s eyes rolled over me, very slowly, his eyebrows rising with each inch. “Who are you?”
“She’s the Mother of Dragons,” Tyrius intoned, “and I’m—”
“My name’s Rowyn, Rowyn Sinclair,” I said quickly before Tyrius got the door slammed in our faces. A slight twitch in his brows told me he’d heard of me. “I’m looking for Jax. Is he here?” I raised my head trying to see past the man’s large shoulders, but all I saw was wood paneling.
The man’s gaze was cold and intense. His eyes were a dark brown almost black, and the more I stared back, the more I realized he wasn’t blinking. That was creepy.
And I hated the smile that twitched on his thin lips as he said, “Rowyn Sinclair. The Hunter. I’ve heard a lot about you. And none of it paints a pretty picture. There are some pretty crazy things said about you.”
“Well, I specialize in crazy.” I met the man’s cold gaze as Tyrius snorted. “Is Jax here? Yes or no.”
He leaned against the threshold and gestured with his hand. “He’s here. You can wait in the den while fetch him.”
I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “He’s here? Here… in this house?” My pulse hammered in my chest. Jax is alive!
“Yes, that’s what I said,” replied the man, enunciating every word as though he were speaking to a small child.
Relief had my knees wobbling and I struggled to keep my emotions from showing. Jax was here. He was alive and safe. But then why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he called Pam?
I smiled down at Tyrius and made my way forward—
The man stuck out his foot. “Not the baal demon. Mrs. Spencer is allergic, and she won’t have them in the house. Just you.”
My temper flared as I was tempted to kick his foot out of our way. “We’re a team. He goes where I go.”
The man stiffened in repugnance. “Not here, it doesn’t. Like I said, no animals.”
Tyrius flashed the tall man his tiny pointed teeth. “I promise I won’t shed.”
The man ignored Tyrius. “You can either wait outside or come in without the demon. Your choice.”
I’d made up my mind to wait outside, but Tyrius brushed up against my leg, interrupting my answer.
“It’s fine,” the cat said dryly and then glanced up at me. “I’ll wait for you here. I think you guys need to talk privately anyway,” he winked and sat on the step. “But if you need me, just give a holler and I’ll hear it…” his eyes fixed the man. “This animal has very good hearing.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle the laugh that threatened to explode out of my mouth and followed the stranger in.
I gasped. The outside was remarkable, but the inside was stunning. Miles of crafted wood paneling extended in every direction, all polished and glowing. A grand, double sided staircase split the house in half. And I smiled imagining Jax sliding down the banister as a child.
The walls were decorated with paintings and warm wainscoting. All the furniture looked like a nineteenth-century design, elegant with lots of wood detail.
Following the man, I stepped into a room left of the staircase. It had a very masculine feel, with lots of brown leather sofas and chairs and dark polished wood, which stood out handsomely against the white walls. An antique Persian carpet in deep shades of wine, blue, and gold stood out against the dark wood floors.
At the end of the room was an enormous limestone fireplace, which was empty at the moment but could have been suitable for roasting a deer. Light spilled through tall windows, bathing the room in a golden glow.
Over the mantel was an enormous portrait of a light-haired beauty in a blue gown. Mrs. Spencer? No. Her face was round and youthful. It was a girl, around eleven or twelve, and she had the same eyes as Jax—
“Wait here,” said the man, jerking my attention back to him. “And don’t touch anything.” He turned on his heels and disappeared around the corridor.
And don’t touch anything. Right, because all Hunters were thieves. So, of course I had to touch everything now.
Smiling, I crossed the room to the bookcase and ran my fingers along the edges. Sighing, I grabbed a small statue type carving of a man with a sword. Not a man, but an angel. I set it back and ran my fingers over the spines of books, wondering what it must be like to own such a fine library.
My mind went to Jax. I wasn’t sure whether to punch him or kick him when I saw him.
My eyes fixed on a picture frame. There was Jax, maybe ten years old and beside him a girl about the same age and wearing his face. Gillian, his twin sister. She looked just like him, but in a feminine sort of way. They were so cute together, laughing freely in the way all children do. And I felt a pang in my chest. She had died not long after the picture was taken.
My eyes darted to the walls where more pictures of Gillian looked back at me. There must have been fifty frames, and they were mostly Gillian. She was everywhere—baby pictures, when she and Jax were toddlers, birthdays and trips—but it was obviously mostly her.
“This is a shrine,” I whispered under my breath, the hairs on the back o
f my neck rising. I felt wrong just standing in this room, like I’d stepped into someone’s private memory—
“Rowyn Sinclair, what a surprise,” came a woman’s voice, melodic but firm.
I spun around. A beautiful woman with hair the color and texture of honey tied at the base of her head in a heavy, low knot stood in the doorway, regal and icy. She wore fitted black pants with a matching top. She was fit, the sort from working out for years in the gym, and shorter than me, even with her heels giving her two inches more height. Thin lines creased her forehead and around her large green eyes. A glass of red wine was clasped in her hands, her fingers bejeweled with every possible precious stone. Her eyes were fixed on me. Jax’s eyes. The face was older, but it was the same face as in the portrait above the fireplace.
Yup. I was looking at Jax’s mother, and her expression was one of pure disgust.
9
I wasn’t sure I liked the way she was staring at me, as though I were a rat standing on her expensive Persian rug.
“Mrs. Spencer,” I said in way of greeting, my tongue feeling fat and useless in my dry mouth.
Mrs. Spencer took a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving my face while regarding me in that same, pinched way like I was a stain in her beautiful home. “So, you’re the Hunter?” She crossed the room and lowered herself into the leather armchair nearest me, no doubt in an attempt to intimidate me. She was so close I could smell her perfume and the wine on her breath.
She didn’t slam the door in my face, but she might as well have. “Yes.” Jax, where the hell are you?
I felt her furious gaze and smelled something reminiscent of cigarettes. “I met your parents once,” she said, and I stiffened as she gave a little laugh. “Not much there, I’m afraid. Your father was as dull as paint and your mother wasn’t much to look at. They didn’t have much to offer their House or the Legion. Not that it matters now.” She smiled at me, her teeth brilliantly white and perfect. What the hell is this?
“She was tall, just like you, but ordinary and plain.” Smiling, Jax’s mother took a sip of her wine, and red blotches marred her face. “You look just like her.”
I wanted to slap this woman. I faced the full force of her stare and matched it with my own. Jax’s mother personified the terrifying elegance that seemed bred into the wealthy founding families.
I wouldn’t let her intimidate me. I didn’t care how much money she had. That meant nothing to me.
Mrs. Spencer surveyed me from head to toe. Her perfectly formed mouth tightened, and I could see through her eyes she didn’t like what she saw. Next to her elegance and perpetually unruffled self, I probably looked like a monkey in human clothes.
Her eyes lingered on my fingers and then a sly smile formed on her face.
The flower pot. I blushed and shoved my hands in my pockets, having forgotten to wipe the earth from them after I’d shoved my death blade in the flower pot. Crap. So much for first impressions.
The woman’s perfect lips widened into a smile at the sudden embarrassment she saw on my face. She leaned forward, her smile disappearing as her eyes narrowed. “I know what you are, Hunter.”
I swallowed. “That’s nice.” The woman’s intense stare was unsettling. I could see real hatred there, hatred for me. I wasn’t sure I liked the way she was saying Hunter either, like the word itself was a disgrace.
“There’s demon in you, Hunter,” said Mrs. Spencer, and I felt my stomach clench.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said quickly, seething inside.
Her smile widened at my sudden discomfort, delight sparkling in her eyes. “Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean.” She leaned back in a graceful, confident gesture as though she’d just won some battle between us. “It’s all over the community. Word travels fast in our world. You should know that, Hunter. Secrets never stay secrets.”
My bravado did a swirl down the crapper. In the sudden silence, I could hear my heart thumping against my ribcage like a manic drumbeat. Had Jax told his parents?
It was clear the woman hated my guts. Yes, I was part demon, or something very close to it, but I was also part angel. That secret wasn’t for Jax to tell, and I felt resentment spike through me.
I had thought of ways to tell the council, to tell them what the archangel had done to me and the others. But I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Seems I wouldn’t have to now.
The secret was out, and it was out badly if I were to guess by the hostile expression permanently tattooed on this woman’s face.
All my life I’d been shunned by the council and the other angel-born. All because I was different. Because I was Unmarked. But this was worse. Way worse. I was part of the creatures they were sworn to kill, their sworn enemies. Demon essence pounded through my veins.
Now that my secret was out, would the council hunt me?
I looked at her and bit my lip. Tears of frustration welled, but I forced them away. Angry, I gathered myself and straightened. I would not be ashamed of what I was.
I was going to embrace it.
Looking straight at Mrs. Spencer, I smiled at her defiantly. “So you know,” there was no point in denying it now. “Big freaking deal.”
Mrs. Spencer’s pretty features twisted in what resembled a snarl. “Why are you here?” It sounded like an accusation. “Louis tells me you’re looking for my son. Your contract with the council is fulfilled. There’s no reason for you to come here to my house. So, what do you want from my son?”
I stiffened as Mommy Dearest silently watched, evaluating. My head hurt, and taking a slow breath, I looked up. I opened my mouth to tell her to shove it up her rich, upper-class ass just as Jax strolled into the den, followed by the man I assumed was Louis.
Jax looked at me and for a moment I forgot where I was. Damn he was pretty, so very pretty.
He sauntered into the room with that same fluid grace, but there was a hurried edge to his movements, as though he was uncomfortable, nervous. He was just as handsome and mesmerizing as ever, though his perfect face was pinched in worry. He wore casual jeans and a snug t-shirt, which showed off his muscled chest and arms to perfection. Even in the brightness of the room, I could see dark circles below his eyes, a stark contrast against their vibrant green. There was a darkness in his gaze that I’d never seen before, and it made him look older. Such pain lingered there—and exhaustion.
He raked a hand over his dark, golden brown tousled hair. He looked thinner than I’d remembered, and there was a tiredness to his eyes and face, as though he hadn’t slept in days.
Our eyes met and my heard jumped into a gallop. All my thoughts dissolved like dew beneath the morning sun. Damn he is beautiful. There was no shame in thinking it.
Jax ran his eyes over me in a way that made my ears burn. “Rowyn?” he said as he closed the distance between us. I inhaled his musky scent that was just way too pleasant to be legal. “What are you doing here?”
My face heated. I raised a brow, not sure I liked his tone. “Talking antiques with your mother,” I snapped. “What do you think?”
“I would like to know why a Hunter is in my home,” said Mrs. Spencer, her glittering eyes fixed on mine. “Especially this one. She is rude, foul and repulsive. I’ll have to have the carpets cleaned once she leaves.”
Ouch. I clenched my jaw as my hatred for this woman thundered through me.
Jax launched into a volley of what sounded like really fast French. He kept his voice low, but there was no disguising the anger in it.
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Spencer impatiently, waving a hand to her son. “So she saved your life? We’ve all heard the story, dear,” she said as she and Louis shared some secret smile. “But don’t forget it was her job to keep you alive. If you died, she wouldn’t have gotten paid. It’s all about the money for those Hunters. That’s how Hunters are.”
My blood pressure spiked as Jax cast a nervous glance at his mother and then turned back to me. “You shouldn’t be here.”
>
A low growl escaped me, not sure if it was directed at Mrs. Spencer or Jax, maybe both. “I came because I—Pam was worried.” My temper flared like gasoline thrown on a bonfire. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here. My mistake.” I hated having an audience around me when I felt and looked like a fool. “Screw this,” I seethed, yanking my hands out of my pockets. “Now that I see you’re alive and well, I’ll be going.”
Temper flared in Jax’s eyes, and as I made to move, he grabbed my arm and said, “Rowyn, you don’t understand.”
I yanked out of his grip and placed my dirty hands on my hips, not caring that everyone would see the dirt on them. “Start explaining then. What’s going on?”
“Louis,” ordered Mrs. Spencer, waving her empty glass at the man who’d answered the door like he was her servant. Obligingly, Louis took her glass, moved to a small bar area and poured her another full glass of red wine.
I looked at Jax while Louis gave his mistress her wine. “Why haven’t you called Pam?” I said, voice low so it wouldn’t tremble. “She’s freaking out, you know. She came to my apartment. She’s the reason I came here looking for you.” I sighed waiting for him to answer. “Well?”
Jax opened his mouth and then closed it, clearly struggling to find a way to tell me something.
I looked into his eyes. “What?”
Jax shook his head and exhaled loudly. “I can’t talk about this right now.”
My eyes traced his face. “You look tired. What have you been doing, Jax?” By the alarm that flashed in his face, I knew I was on to something. “You shouldn’t be doing it alone.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
I narrowed my eyes, peeved. “We came all this way to check up on you. The least you could do is call Pam back and tell her you’re all right—”
“We?” Jax titled his head.
“Me and Tyrius.”
Jax looked behind me as though expecting to see Tyrius. “Where’s Tyrius?”
“Outside by the door where I left him,” I said, feeling a stab of guilt as I threw a glare at Louis. “Apparently, animals aren’t allowed in this precious establishment.”
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