Wicked Fire: Angel Fire, book 2

by Johnston, Marie

  “Humph.” Ted’s grunt was more of that’s too ludicrous to even be false than all-out disbelief.

  “This job means a lot to me.” And she didn’t want to lose it, even if she was only an on-call instructor. Then she’d have nothing. She’d have to live on the streets or move back home, and since her home had been demolished, that left the streets. She’d die before she was homeless in her own realm, giving those of Numen even more reason to look at her with disdain. They would just wonder why she wasn’t whoring her way through life, not why she’d rather be alone in the pristine alleys of her realm.

  But she wasn’t bitter.

  “It means a lot to me too.” His lips flattened and he peered over his shoulder. “But if you’re bringing him around, then he’ll need to work.”

  “He’d be glad to.” He’d have to, and she’d relish every ounce of angst it would squeeze out of him.

  “How’s Sasha?”

  His smile warmed her heart. Humans had such short lives—to them, mating for life didn’t mean eternity. Happily ever after was easier to attain for fifty years than it was for five hundred.

  “Good. And you know I’m gonna mention Crabby Pants over there.” Ted lifted his fist. Jagger’s arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his forearms flexed as if he planned to fly off the wall and tackle Ted. Her bodyguard would be in for more of a fight than usual if he did.

  “Tell her I said hi.” She tapped her fist against Benson’s. “See you tomorrow.”

  Lifting a cool brow at Jagger, she crossed toward him. Her back ached. The years were adding up. She was beginning to doubt that she could do this for as long as it took to capture Jameson and the angels responsible for trying to overthrow the realm. Without the reprieve of being in her own place and letting her shattered wings change position once in a while, she might destroy her range of motion altogether.

  Tonight. The door would be locked, blocked, and the window fully covered, but she’d have to let it all hang out. Didn’t mean the idea of being at her most vulnerable around Jagger didn’t chafe.

  Chapter 4

  “He wants me to do what?” Jagger shook his head like he was getting water out of his ears. He was walking back to Felicia’s place, his body primed for conflict, but there were no people or cars out of place. Was his father still in town or back in Vegas? Was he using surveillance of the two-legged or electrical variety?

  “Laundry. Clean pads. Sweep.” The vexing female was taking ample pleasure in the details.

  “Is he jealous?”

  She rolled her eyes so hard her ponytail swung. “You can do anything that’s not leaning against the wall, looking like a predator around a bunch of kittens.”

  The kids. Right. He had worries about one kid in particular. “The quiet one. What’s her name?”

  Felicia’s full lips scrunched at his one-eighty in the conversation. The pause was oh so satisfying. “Claudia?”

  “It’s her mother.”

  He waited to say more until they were in her building and safely ensconced in her apartment. She must’ve sensed from his tone that it wasn’t a subject that could be discussed in public.

  He flipped the dead bolts on her door. One was native to the door, the others were additions. She’d never answered him when he’d asked if she’d installed them. She was filling a glass of water when he finished. “She’s dogged by sylphs.”

  Her head whipped around, eyes flaring. “Claudia’s mom?”

  He dipped his head. She was back on those painkillers again. Throwing them back, she put the glass to her mouth and drained it in one gulp. He couldn’t rip his gaze away from the flex of her neck muscles. His last long-term relationship, the one Felicia had ruined, had been with a petite female. She’d been an entirely different kind of feminine. Soft curves thanks to extra padding and the lack of hard muscle, and a pouty countenance that had bordered on annoying. She had wielded her attributes like a weapon.

  The thunk of the glass preceded her “We need to do something.” She wiped the corners of her mouth, another move he had a difficult time looking away from.

  “I can let Director Vale know.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t wait for it to get worse. Claudia was quieter than normal today. Sad. Those little bastards are affecting her mom’s behavior. It could be any second before she’s weak enough for an archmaster to possess her.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “How did I not know?”

  “Have you been trained to stop demons in this realm?”

  Her flat look was less than complimentary.

  “I’m serious.” He hadn’t meant to be insulting and that surprised even him. “Angels come and go from this realm, thinking that just because of their place of birth, they’ll sense when a demon is nearby. As if Daemon’s creatures haven’t been concealing themselves for centuries. They’re getting harder to hunt.”

  Interest reflected in her eyes. After what he’d seen this afternoon, he had no doubt she’d make a good warrior. His feathers would be ruffled if they were out. Why’d she have to be good at…everything? But then he recalled her innate resistance to following orders, a trait that would exclude her from making a squad.

  “Harder how?” Her curiosity was intoxicating. Not only that, but there was no animosity for once.

  “There’s a special technique to seeing them. Basically a thousand-yard stare, and when they’re visible, it’s like a 3-D hologram. Look one way, you can see them; look another, and they’re gone. The archmasters are getting stronger, submerging into the human more completely.”

  “So, they’re, like, having the sylphs do more of their dirty work to prep the host?”

  “No, they’re just getting that strong.”

  “Well…aren’t we?”

  He’d never imagined talking shop with Felicia—and enjoying it. He couldn’t let her get to him. He leaked arrogance into his voice. “Of course. Now back to Claudia’s mom. We can ascend and inform the warriors.”

  Her expression clouded and she shifted her shoulders. “I’ll call Ode. Or better yet, you can.”

  “Talk to your sister? Why?”

  “To ask her to hand the phone to Bryant, who is probably in bed next to her.” She snorted. “Or on top of her.”

  “I do not need that image of my boss in my head.”

  “Whatever. But if he doesn’t prioritize Mrs. Washington, I’m going to.” She sauntered to her room. How could such a powerful woman sway her hips like that? “I’m not going anywhere else tonight, FYI.”

  “Oh, good. Because I’m only on the third season of Game of Thrones,” he called after her. Wasn’t she going to have dinner?

  “They all die,” she said as she disappeared into her room.

  He glared down the hall at her closed door. The next best thing was to pace the room. Boredom was going to kill him before any demon got a good shot with angel fire.

  As he was flopping onto the couch, a moan propelled him back to his feet. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he listened hard. Where had that come from?

  A sharp gasp was next. Was that from Felicia’s room?

  He crept closer. A soft hitch in her breath came through the door, the next moan louder still.

  He pounded on the door. “Felicia, are you okay?”

  “Leave me alone” was her strained reply, pain lacing every word.

  He tested the doorknob. Locked. “What’s going on?”

  “What makes you think something’s”—her voice caught—“wrong?”

  “Damn it, Felicia. What the hell are you up to?” His imagination went haywire. Was she digging out her weapons to go after Mrs. Washington? Had someone gotten in and was holding her hostage?

  “Nothing.” Now there was anger.

  “Those moans weren’t nothing.” He hated the door blocking him.

  “Moans. Wanting to be alone.” A small grunt. “Figure it out.”

  A flush swept through his body like he’d been doused in angel fire. She was…pleasuri
ng herself? The picture of her baggy shirt ridden up past her breasts while her legs splayed open, her elegant hand inching down her belly… A tent erupted in his shorts. Good thing he had a door between them.

  She let out a tiny yelp.

  He blinked. None of her noises were like any his partners had ever made. “You sound like you’re hurting.”

  “That’s me. A real masochist. L-leave me alone.”

  He tried the knob again. Rattled it. Dropping his hand, he glared at the plank of wood. He could break it down to ensure she was well. But if she was— He couldn’t risk it. Seeing her bare legs and keeping the same level of antagonism toward her was difficult enough. “Swear to me you’re all right.”

  “Jagger.” Damnation, she sounded on the verge of tears.

  “Swear it or I’ll break this door down.”

  “I’m all right,” she said in a ragged whisper. “I’m no worse than I’ve ever been.”

  His exhale whooshed out of him. Game of Thrones it was then. He adjusted himself in his shorts and tried not to question why he was satisfied with only Felicia’s word.

  * * *

  Felicia awoke with a start, her heart pounding. The echo of a sinister voice grating next to her ear died away. “Don’t make a sound…”

  Those fucking nightmares. She scrubbed her face.

  A hard rap on the door startled her into jumping out of bed. The sudden weight on her wings took her breath away and she hit her knees with a gasp.

  “Felicia!”

  Jagger. Always him. He couldn’t leave her alone. Cool relief poured through her back with the weight off her wings. She usually took getting out of bed slowly, letting her ravaged back adjust to gravity.

  “I’m fine!” Pressing her hands into the floor, she rose in increments. She was naked. Another reason she was grateful he hadn’t beaten the door down.

  “What the fuck is going on? And don’t say you’re…” An angry huff came through the door. “Don’t say you’re masturbating.”

  She choked on a laugh. Almost made last night’s agony worth it. “Maybe I’m just stiff from a shift at a job I’ve been away from too long.”

  She’d have to wait until he was in the shower before she morphed her wings in. It wouldn’t be as bad as unleashing them after weeks of being confined, but it would hurt.

  “I can tell a not-truth when I hear it.”

  She sighed and looked heavenward. Old habit. The belief that there was a higher power watching out for her had faded long ago. “Look, sometimes a girl just aches and needs a little privacy.”

  “And painkillers.”

  “Yep.”

  “Fine. I’ll be in the shower.”

  The bathroom door clicked shut. She stayed put until the shower kicked on, then gave him another minute.

  Biting her lip, she concentrated on morphing. Something she used to play at with her sister had become an excruciating mental exercise. Not only was the skin and muscle around her wing joints permanently damaged, but the bones sheered by an angel-fire-covered blade had never healed properly, making the folding required for morphing the wings a painful challenge.

  Sucking in a breath and puffing it out, she completed the transition. Her misshapen wings were again invisible and her back looked perfectly human.

  “Fuck me,” she muttered. She tossed on a baggy shirt and went to the kitchen for breakfast.

  She opened the fridge, then leaned back to look around. Was she seeing things?

  Inside, a plate covered in plastic wrap sat on a shelf. Piled on it were spaghetti and meatballs. Six, like she always took. Two full servings of noodles and her carby reward for hitting the bags for hours. A glass of chocolate milk was next to it.

  “I thought you’d come out for dinner.”

  She whipped around and immediately wished she hadn’t. Slicked-back, damp hair made his sharp features more savage. His chest was bare and dude, he was ripped. Those low-slung shorts of his didn’t help prevent her staring. The fridge door shut behind her and she jumped.

  Spinning back around, she opened the door again and gathered the plate and the glass. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He was right behind her. Her ass was sticking out in the air and if she was on her game, she’d wiggle the hell out of it. But her “restful” night hadn’t exactly been that. She needed another week of wings-out shut-eye.

  She kicked the door closed with her heel. Yep. He’d been watching her.

  Did he realize she taunted him so mercilessly because he was unable to hide his reactions?

  He followed her to the counter. She drained her milk while warming up her food. He took a bowl out and prepared himself cereal. The smell of her shampoo rolling off him did nothing for her nerves.

  Good thing she was better at hiding how he made her feel.

  Maybe in another lifetime they would’ve been the star couple of Numen. The children of senators, her with her big aspirations—whatever those would’ve been—and the handsome warrior.

  But his father had fallen and his mother was as cold as an Antarctic winter. Her own father had been murdered and her mother had killed herself.

  And Jagger despised her and thought she was worthless. Now they were just two firsthand witnessed to why mating for life didn’t work.

  “Yeah.” Jagger answered his phone while wiping a drop of milk from his chin. “No. I understand. I can handle it.” He paused, his jaw going tight. “No, ma’am. I understand, but it’s a few sylphs. I can take care of them and her.” His gaze flicked up at her. “Besides, she has her own skills. It’d be good training. They may send more after her.”

  That was a turn of events she hadn’t seen coming. She didn’t know who was on the other line, but Jagger wasn’t running her down. Not only that, he sounded like he was going to be proactive in his duty to protect her.

  Her heart rate kicked up. She could learn how to fight demons. Right now, she could only fight the host an archmaster possessed. But the actual demon? Yes, please.

  He clicked off. “That was Dionna. I notified her instead of the director since they were just sylphs.”

  She carried her plate to the table. “Don’t you wonder why we weren’t given a better way to communicate with each other? Like, telepathy or something?”

  “Probably because we were created several millennia before mobile phones were invented.” Then he surprised her again by agreeing. “But some mental connection would’ve made this job easier.”

  She rolled noodles onto her fork. “I guess for balance, then the demons would also be able to communicate telepathically.”

  He cocked a brow but nodded. “Why aren’t you a warrior?”

  She paused with her fork stabbed into the middle of the plate. Her trust in Jagger only went so far. Only three people alive knew what had happened to her. Odessa, Bryant, and the bastard who’d mutilated her. There had been a fourth, but the intruder’s partner, the one who’d held Odessa down, was dead, thanks to Bryant. If Felicia were a whole angel, she’d hunt down the knife-wielding male who had hurt her, but she wasn’t there yet.

  “As you know, just because we’re born in privilege and grow up in gilded mansions doesn’t mean our lives turns out perfectly.”

  He pushed his bowl away. “Well, we all know what happened to me. What about you?”

  She couldn’t casually turn the conversation about, so she was blatant about the topic change. “What did Dionna say?” She shoved a forkful of noodles into her mouth to punctuate her point.

  He watched her. There was so much of his mother in him. Felicia was old enough to remember going to the senate with her father. Chanel Hancock had frightened her. Frigid, golden eyes. Bony countenance. Frosty demeanor. She was never hostile, but never warm or welcoming either. The longer Felicia was around Jagger, the more she thought the same of him.

  It’d explain a lot.

  But not this plate of leftovers and that glass of milk he’d left for her. Those had nothing to do with protection.
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  “She said she passed the information on to the director, but a team wouldn’t get to Mrs. Washington as soon as she’d like. The warriors are short staffed.” And, he didn’t have to say, their realm was in a state of alarm after the attack on her sister and the death of her father.

  “But she okayed you taking me?”

  He nodded and he picked up his bowl, twisting in his chair to face her. His expression was serious, his gaze knowing. “And, Felicia, with something like this, you will listen to me and do as I say. I won’t ever train you in the ways of Daemon if you don’t follow my lead.”

  “Yessir.” Oops. Her usual flippancy escaped, but she meant it. She wasn’t stupid about fighting, or about demons.

  His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t challenge her. Maybe he was starting to see the pool of bullshit she swam in.

  Chapter 5

  If this male didn’t feast on her like she was the finest dining in the realm, she would’ve gotten rid of him long ago.

  Chanel clamped her hands around Mateo’s head, burying her fingers in his crown of rich, brown hair. She was about to come, but if he moved one millimeter, she’d slip away from the precipice.

  “Just like that,” she gasped. She hated the noises she made during sex. In the throes of passion they called it, but this was only a release. She hated sounding needy.

  Mateo grunted but she didn’t loosen her grip until she blew apart. Her body tightened, nearing a painful point since she was always wound as tight as a winch, then release blew through her.

  She ground against his face, shouting into the silence of the room. Only when she’d toppled over the crest and milked out every drop of pleasure did she release her hold on the young male between her legs.

  He crawled up her body. “You called out his name again.”

  She shot her lover a dirty look, hating the reminder. That was all Mateo ever mentioned of it. You called out his name. It must hurt his feelings. “Then make sure you fuck me hard enough that I can’t remember it.”