Wicked Fire: Angel Fire, book 2

by Johnston, Marie

  Mother had commented on how much she read as a senator. Much like lawyers, senators spent copious amounts of time studying their kind’s past to form their decisions for the future, to settle disputes, and to uphold or change laws.

  An intrigued “hmph” drifted toward him. Felicia tucked a scroll back in place. “I think this room, or at least this portion, is dedicated to lineage.”

  He hadn’t even peeked at the scroll in his hand. Flipping it open, he read the scrawling script. A lot of “son of” and “daughter of.”

  “Same,” he said. He went to the next wall and Felicia did the same. This method wasn’t the most thorough, but they didn’t have days.

  After a few minutes, Felicia declared the room a bust and they snuck to the one next door.

  Analysts’ recordings of fifteenth-century humans. As interesting as those times were, they found nothing of use.

  Each room they went through, he looked for any spot with restricted access or scrolls that were more ancient and brittle looking.

  Three searches later, Felicia huffed and tossed a scroll back. “The human practice of blood-letting.” She anchored her hands on her hips. “The irony being that if you or I were a senator, we’d know exactly where to look.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve heard archivists are quite territorial and it’s their little way of exerting their power over the senators.”

  She brushed stray strands of hair that had escaped her braid off her forehead. “Makes sense. Another room?”

  “I have all day.”

  “It’s still better than being stuck in my apartment.”

  It was. More freedom and the illusion that they were being productive.

  He stopped to listen before he opened the door. Felicia piled into his back, expecting him to have opened the door by now. Growling, he listened harder, the act increasingly difficult with the lush curves pressed against his backside and the blood roaring between his ears.

  A male voice from down the hall carried on the draft. Felicia stilled, a sharp inhale tightening her body.

  He didn’t spare her a glance as he listened. Were they going to come in here? Walk by? Or bypass them altogether?

  “…It’s here somewhere.”

  Jagger concentrated. The voice was vaguely familiar.

  “That bastard is up to something…”

  The sound was getting stronger. Jagger leaned back and pushed the door as shut as he dared. The sound of a click would be too loud in the nearly silent building, and his intuition begged him to remain undetected. The movement caused him to bump against Felicia.

  She stumbled and he shot her a warning stare, mouthing, “Quiet.”

  Her face was pale, her eyes wide. A slight tremor traveled over her body.

  The angels were coming closer. With the door not quite closed, he snaked an arm around Felicia’s waist and pulled her to the side, pressing them both against the shelving.

  “…best guess is that it’d be in the miscellaneous room, where it can get nice and lost.” This from a female.

  A reply came that he couldn’t make out. Felicia hardly relaxed in his hold. Without using her arms, she managed to cling to him.

  “It’d better not be fucking lost,” growled the male.

  Felicia jerked and turned her face into his shoulder.

  This male scared her. Not just scared. She was terrified, her body shaking. And the fact that she was seeking comfort in him rather than stomping away to deal with her feelings in solitude scared him almost as much.

  “We must figure out a way to send messages. You cannot risk returning to the realm again, Stede.”

  “I’ll decide what I can and can’t do. I can still come here and it’s an advantage that manipulative fallen doesn’t have.”

  It was his turn to tense. Stede was the interfering enforcer they’d learned was working with his father, who was obviously the manipulative fallen. He’d fled the realm when Director Vale had announced the conspiracy to the senate a couple of months ago.

  And here he was.

  Looking for a contract, like they were.

  The other male spoke, his words growing fainter as they passed. “It’s possible a contract such as the acquisition of metal is stored in a more secure spot.”

  He missed Stede’s reply, but the direction they were going must be to the contract room. He eased away from Felicia, his chest tightening when her arms fell limply by her side. She closed her eyes and leaned against the shelves, her chest rising and falling like she was trying to steady her reaction.

  Everything in him demanded he check on her well-being, but they’d been handed an unexpected boon. Stede was back and maybe looking for the same thing they were, but he was also with someone else, another angel who resided in the realm and was aiding Stede.

  The door had proved silent earlier. He inched it open far enough to stick his head out. The backs of the two angels were disappearing, but he memorized the image. Stede was the shorter, stockier one, with dark hair and wings the color of an approaching rainstorm. The female was fair, her wings as pale as bleached stone. She was a few inches taller, and the dignified way she carried herself, with a deferential stoop to her posture as if she unconsciously recognized that Stede was her superior, told Jagger a lot. She was not a senator, but more of an academic. Perhaps she worked in the archives or was an analyst. He’d run the description past Odessa.

  Before one of them could catch him watching them, he ducked back and eased the door all the way closed, wincing as the faint click echoed much too loud for his liking.

  He stood in front of Felicia and set his hands on her shoulders. “What is it?”

  Her lower lip trembled as terror rippled across her face. She sucked that lip in, but not before he’d caught her reaction.

  “Was it the one called Stede that you recognized? Or the female?”

  Her voice was a ragged whisper. “Stede. He sounded just like that night.”

  In the hallway, he’d been speaking low. Gruff. Angry. Just like he would’ve been speaking the night he attacked Felicia. The perfect tone to yank a traumatic memory to the forefront. “You didn’t get a good look at him that night?”

  She shook her head, eyelids shut. “It was so dark.”

  His interrogation was done. There was nothing he could do for her. If he hunted down the two angels, it’d be two against one, since Felicia was in no shape for a confrontation. The academic with Stede might not put up a huge fight, but Stede would be a formidable opponent. And—he hated himself for it—but knowing Stede returned to the realm occasionally and seeing who he worked with was the leg up they needed to get ahead of his father for once. Did Father—Jameson—know that he was being double-crossed?

  Was he concerned about it?

  Jagger wouldn’t look that deep into what he was feeling.

  Gathering Felicia to him, he murmured the same phrase over and over. “You’re safe. You’re with me, you’re safe.”

  * * *

  Felicia pressed her fingers to her temples and paced to the other side of the mansion. Urban was outside checking the perimeter and Jagger was perched on the settee, his glorious wings out and draped over the back.

  He watched her. Who knew he could be so patient? Not only had he talked her off the panic-attack ledge at the archives, but he’d also cut their search short, gotten them back to the mansion, and waited for her permission to inform Bryant of what they’d overheard.

  She chewed on her index nail as she walked. That voice rang through her head like a church bell striking twelve every minute.

  In a second, she’d been transported back to her sixteen-year-old self, trying to hold in all sounds of agony, scared shitless that Odessa would suffer the same fate if she was too weak.

  Eleven years had passed, but today it was like not even an hour had gone by. His voice was in her head.

  Stede. That was his name. She had that now.

  Why hadn’t she jumped into action and taken him down? She’d had t
he element of surprise. This time, she was the one lurking in a dark room and could pin him to the ground like he’d done to her. She even had a knife and Jagger had angel fire. An eye for an eye. In this case, a wing for a wing.

  Instead, she’d been useless. Stricken with nausea and trying not to fall to the ground and cry.

  But she’d come across Stede before. Why hadn’t she known him then, when she could’ve called him out in front of the entire senate?

  The answer came too quickly. To deal with Stede, she’d have to confess to everyone what had happened. Her private horror would be horribly public. And as always, the hidden fear that no one would believe her dogged her desire to tell the world.

  But Jagger believed her. He’d held her. Comforted her. Cared for her. She’d worked so hard to be independent and become the opposite of a victim and when her moment had arrived, she’d cowered in Jagger’s arm and had a hard time feeling remorseful.

  The memory was too clear.

  A shudder shook her body.

  This sucked.

  She hit the end of the hallway and strode back, her athletic shoes slapping on the marble floor. “I know we have to tell Bryant.”

  “I’ll report that we need to make another trip. As far as Stede…”

  He was leaving it up to her. Honor-driven Jagger was willing to follow her lead. But if her lead meant hunting the bastard down and shanking him, would he still be as chill?

  “I want to find him, and I want to kill him. But…” She stopped pacing and hugged her arms around herself.

  He rose and closed the distance between them. “But what?”

  Maybe it was his gentle tone. Or the concern in his eyes. She was getting used to seeing the real Jagger, the one who let his feelings show and die for those he swore to protect. When all that was aimed her way, it uncoiled a tension inside she didn’t realize she had. A natural defense she’d built up against his earlier self and everyone else.

  “But he also terrifies me and I want to do nothing but hide.” She blinked back hot tears. She couldn’t cry, not around him. When she cried, she wanted to be held, but she was always alone unless she went out and found company for the night.

  That couldn’t happen. Not with him. She couldn’t take his rejection.

  He put his hand on her shoulder and ducked his head to peer into her eyes, like he needed to determine how badly she was hurting on a scale of one to ten. His worry for her overflowed and her tears spilled over. Right now, it was a ten.

  His arms came around her and she was pressed into his broad chest. A sob escaped her. He held her tighter.

  It all poured out. Holding in her fear at the archives, the resurgence of her past clogging her head, and the helplessness of being two steps behind and not in a place to do a damn thing about it.

  She cried and he held her. At some point, he swept her off her feet and took her into the guest room, closing the door behind him, a gesture she was grateful for. Urban or his replacement didn’t need to witness this. But aside from lying on the bed in his embrace, nothing else happened. Except something major happened. She had someone during one of her breakdowns. It wasn’t just someone, it was the male who’d gone out of his way in the first couple of months to make her feel like gum on his shoe. He’d softened the last couple of weeks, enough to make her wonder, What if?

  She’d hit on him that first time because he was hot. Not just sexy, but irresistible in a way that made it difficult to take her eyes off him. That surfer quality he had conflicted with the steely glint in his bedroom eyes. When he brushed his light hair back, she’d expected a casual smile full of flirtation, but his expression had been heavy with caution, reserved. The whole package was catnip.

  It still was, but she didn’t have the energy to pursue the feeling. His heat surrounded her with his wings acting like a downy duvet. Her cries lessened until she only sniffled once in a while. He was on his back and she was curled into him.

  She dozed off. In any other situation, she would’ve been horrified. Falling asleep with red puffy eyes and crusted tears and snot was more intimate than wandering around with her bra off. Almost as vulnerable as having her wings out around him.

  She didn’t know how long she napped, but she wasn’t surprised when he untangled himself from her and quietly left. Without his warmth, the ache in her back grew stronger. Her wings would have to stay in. She’d been exposed enough the last few…hours?

  She rolled over. The chill from a new spot on the bed highlighted how alone she was. It’d been nice while it lasted, but she’d pull on her big-girl strap-on and forge ahead.

  The door whispered open and clicked shut. She’d been around Jagger enough to know his footsteps.

  She craned her head around. He had a glass of water in one hand and a wet rag in the other.

  He lifted a light brow. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She lifted herself into a sitting position. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t wake up now.” Accepting the water, she took a long drink. Next, he handed her the cloth. He’d used warm water. Thoughtful. Pressing the cloth to her face, she relaxed into it. “Ohmigosh, this feels so good.”

  The bed dipped as he settled on it. She wanted to curl into him. How had he known to do this? His ex? Certainly not his mother.

  “My, um…” It wasn’t like Jagger to be tongue-tied. She lowered the cloth. His eyes were tortured, his gaze far away. He swallowed and looked down. “My father used to do it for me when I’d get nightmares. He seemed to know when I needed a warm rag or a cool one.” His smile was nervous. “I hope I chose correctly.”

  The father he was supposed to forget about. The one that was enemy number one to the realm. “I’m sorry.”

  He caught her gaze. “I’m not. Being forced to try not to remember a parent is unrealistic to say the least. I wasn’t allowed a grieving process, and Mother…” His chuckle lacked all humor. “Well, you can imagine.”

  “Her washcloth was always cold?”

  A laugh burst out of him. “Ice cold.”

  She dropped her head onto his shoulder. He didn’t comment on the damp cloth seeping through his shirt. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her. His heat seeped into her, soothing. Until it went beyond comfort. A tiny flame ignited in her belly and she was too aware of his muscles under her cheek.

  He dipped his head. Was that a soft kiss against her hair?

  “Thank you.” She didn’t want to break the moment but had to express how she felt. Having him with her was better than dealing with it alone. “I just needed a moment.”

  “I’m glad I could help.” His deep voice rumbled next to her ear. She scooted closer. He hugged her tighter.

  He stroked her face with his hand and tipped her face to look up at him. “You know what I get jealous of humans about? How easily they can express their emotions. I know many have issues, but even so, compared to us, they’re downright hysterical. Up here, well, it’s like if we’re not farting rainbows, something’s wrong with us.” His gaze deepened. “But we weren’t designed to be like that. We’re not faultless beings. We have a higher duty, but we’re still living creatures.”

  “It’s why I left.”

  His attention flicked over her shoulder, like he’d be looking at her wings if they were out. “I understand. This wasn’t a good place for you.”

  “It’s a little better now.”

  She held his gaze, couldn’t look away. Then he cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers. He was twisted to the side, but without breaking contact, he turned until he was coming up onto the bed and she was lying back. His weight settled over her.

  As if they had an unspoken understanding that this was going to end with him naked and inside of her, they worked in harmony to strip themselves down. She skimmed her fingers over the feathers. Strong and healthy. She was grateful hers were hidden.

  Once he was bared, she took a moment to admire his body and he did the same, his gaze sweeping over her breasts and down to the ju
ncture of her thighs. She couldn’t get enough of the view. Defined chest. Hard muscles. Washboard abs even while reclined. Powerful legs. His wings were taut behind him and the only part of him that rivaled their tension was his thick erection.

  It would’ve taken more than a stupid rumor to get her to leave him.

  “The next time we do this, your wings are going be out.” His gaze brooked no argument.

  Her lungs tightened. No, she’d never done that.

  But Jagger had already seen them and he’d just demanded they be out—next time.

  He didn’t dwell on it, pushing her back and spreading her legs. None of his moves were hurried. They were deliberate, as if they had all day. And they did.

  Pressing a kiss to her belly, he held her eyes. Somewhere deep in her mind, a warning clanged. Maybe they were going too fast. Maybe she should wait until there was more time between her breakdown and going to bed with someone.

  That part of her mind needed to shut up. This was Jagger and he was going down on her.

  He used his thumbs to part her folds, and when his soft tongue licked over her clit, she bucked her hips. His wings canopied over him, her legs were on either side of his wide shoulders, and it was the most erotic sight possible.

  She went off sinfully fast. Her climax arched her back and she dropped her head until she was staring at the ceiling, trying to silently gasp and moan through the orgasm.

  Soon they’d have privacy and she could scream and plead for more. Because for such a fast orgasm, it was the most powerful one she’d ever had.

  He prowled up her body and settled his weight over her, but he didn’t push inside. Again, like they had all night.

  He paused at her breasts, giving each nipple more attention than they’d ever had until she was writhing and arching again. How could she get worked up again so soon?

  “Jagger, I want…” Should she have used his real name? It didn’t feel right. Had his ex cried out Julian in her passion? If so, Felicia didn’t want to remind him of that. This moment was between them. A shared pain that no one else understood.