Angel Fire: Angel Fire, Book 1

by Johnston, Marie

  “Over there,” she hissed.

  He glanced over his shoulder. A sizable, empty room had an entire wall made out of glass. That must be the overlook. The area was dimly lit from another hallway that angled in the opposite direction.

  This spot was just for watching the happenings in the bar and on the dance floor. Partiers would know he was there, but be unable to clearly identify him, heightening the mystery. Hearing no movement, the three of them drifted toward the room.

  They had just stepped clear of the passageway when a door opened in other the hallway. They all spun toward the sound. Bryant stepped in front of Odessa.

  “Come. I’ll show you the updates,” a cultured male said.

  Bryant bristled. The male sounded just like all the senators he’d ever dealt with.

  As the two shadows approached, another male said, “Somehow, I don’t think that we’ll get that far.”

  The males entered the viewing room and stopped. One male was as tall as Bryant, with shoulder-length dark hair pulled back at the base of his head. He wore an excellently tailored suit, and arrogance poured off of him. His expression changed from surprise to that of a wolf guarding his kill.

  The other male was a possessed human, a handsome young man who could blend in anywhere. Bryant envisioned the archmaster inhabiting the body, like a wicked holographic image. Both the demon and the host wore a huge grin, only Bryant could see the fangs of the master over the teeth of the human.

  The male was aiming his smile toward Harlowe. “We meet again.”

  She didn’t return the grin. “Sandy, isn’t it?”

  The host shrugged. “Close enough.”

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” The tall man smiled congenially at Harlowe; his resemblance to Jagger was in the way he held his chin high and his shoulders back. Jagger got his light coloring from his mother. “Was your first visit here so memorable you had to come again? And so soon?”

  The man didn’t panic, scream, or brandish a weapon. He’d just found three Numen in his personal space and he rolled with it.

  “Jameson Haddock?” Bryant asked. The man dipped his head. “Or should I should I call you James Hancock?”

  Jameson’s features pinched, and for the first time his smile faltered. “You must have me confused with another. I am fallen, yes. Is that why you’re here? To make sure I’m receiving no aid from former loved ones?” His expression hardened. “I assure you, all who knew me in my former life have shunned me.”

  Aw, poor guy. Bryant’s sympathy for Jameson didn’t exist. “Have you seen a friend of ours? A watcher named Magan?”

  The sly bastard didn’t react. He creased his brows in mock confusion. “No other Numen have approached me since I fell. Part of the deal, and all that.”

  “You would’ve approached her,” Harlowe said, frustration in her tone. “And killed her.”

  Jameson’s mouth curved like a Cheshire cat. “Now my dear…warriors, I assume? My wings have disappeared; therefore, I would not be able to see a watcher if she came up and bopped me in the nose.”

  The archmaster was content to watch the interplay. Out of the two, Bryant wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.

  “Want me to test that?” Harlowe snarled.

  Jameson threw back his head and laughed. The demon next to him continued to grin.

  “You knew what we were when we were here,” Odessa pointed out.

  Jameson’s sharp gaze landed on Odessa, trying to see her clearly around Bryant. “My lovely lady, you and your friend made a stunning presence. I was only acknowledging you, even thinking of heading down to buy you both a drink.”

  He was smooth.

  Bryant wanted to keep the male talking and get his attention off Odessa. “Your clientele seems very fond of black rose tattoos.”

  The grin faded.

  “My guests like all kinds of ink. It goes with the theme.”

  “Do your guests like being possessed?”

  Jameson took a placating breath. “As you can see, I no longer have wings. Therefore, it is no longer my issue whether or not humans are possessed.” He spread his hands. “I wouldn’t know anymore, now would I?”

  Harlowe jutted her chin toward the human. “But you’re buds with Sandy, here?”

  “There’s no such sanctions against demons revealing themselves to me.” Jameson rolled one shoulder and straightened his tie. “Demons are under no such restriction regarding contact with me. Sometimes I find their company…refreshing.”

  Bryant suppressed a growl. They would get no answers, other than the club’s owner was indeed Jameson Haddock, formerly known as James Hancock. If he and Harlowe hurt Jameson, and he wasn’t guilty of Magan’s murder, their wings might be on the line—although fallen were a gray area. It was possible the human host could get injured if Harlowe yanked Sandy into the Mist. Plus, he still had Odessa to protect.

  “What are you up to, Hancock?” he asked.

  Jameson’s face clouded over. “It’s Haddock. I’m surviving. Quite well, I might add.”

  “I can see that.” How was he doing so well?

  He’d get no answers there, either. They’d have to gather evidence to present to the senate, who could then order Jameson’s eradication. Would it be enough to get the hit called off of Odessa and her sister?

  “Someone wants my mate dead.” Bryant tried a different approach. “Her boss was already a victim and your club seems to be a common factor in each instance.”

  Astonishment crossed Jameson’s flawless face. “I can’t imagine such a thing. And in Numen, no less.” A faint smile ghosted his lips as he eyed Odessa. She stiffened.

  Either the male was a good guesser, or he knew Odessa was the analyst being hunted prior to their arrival.

  “Indeed,” Bryant replied smoothly. “We have some concern that her sister is in danger as well.”

  Jameson cocked an eyebrow.

  The info surprised him. Interesting.

  “We have them both under protection,” Bryant continued. He had one last way to confirm this was James Hancock. “Warriors of my own team, as a matter of fact. You may know one. We call him Jagger.” There was no change in the male’s humoring expression, so Bryant pushed on. “It’d be in your best interest if there was no threat to my family. Their protectors would die for them, and I have no plans to see that happen to Jagger— Oh, I’m sorry. You may know him as Julian.”

  Color leeched from Jameson’s face as Jagger’s real name registered. All the pieces connected. Jameson Haddock was indeed Jagger’s father.

  Jameson spoke evenly, but murder rippled under his expression. “I’d hate to see that as well.”

  “Well,” Bryant said, reaching back for Odessa’s hand. “We’d better be going. No worries, we’ll come out the way we came. No one will know you had Numen visitors.”

  “Wait.” Jameson took a step forward but stopped when a six-inch blade appeared in Harlowe’s hand. “Julian? He’s well?”

  “He’s a fine warrior.” Bryant stressed the last word out of spite. Jameson might be fallen, but he’d been a senator for centuries. His son becoming a warrior would be a slap in the face, no matter how fine an angel he was.

  Jameson blinked, stunned. Bryant might even feel a little guilty about using Jagger to get to the fallen angel, but it was for Odessa and Felicia’s benefit. If Jameson was behind any of the attacks, he’d be less likely to encourage they keep going if it put his son in danger.

  Chapter 25

  “I’ve heard a disturbing rumor.”

  The voice that came from the host sitting in front of Jameson in his meeting room should’ve been that of a normal human man. Not when Gerzon let his guttural grunt bleed through just like his features. He was accustomed to Sandeen using that trick. He assumed it was because it bothered the males. They felt like they were hiding behind an inferior bag of skin.

  Gerzon’s true form was not as pleasing to the eye as Sandeen’s. Where Sandeen could be mistaken fo
r an angel except for the ink-black wings, short horns, and fangs, Gerzon could not. His eyes were reptilian, for one, his horns much more prominent, for another, jutting out from his head like two engorged phalluses. Jameson wasn’t clear since the image overlay was faint, but Gerzon’s wings looked like they were covered in scales instead of feathers. Quite the contrast from the paunchy older man Gerzon wore like an ill-fitting suit. When Gerzon was done, he’d go back to his realm, removing his energy from the body and leaving it wherever it fell.

  “What rumor would that be?” Jameson asked, not liking where this was going.

  He was recovering from the angels’ visit in his home. He’d had Odessa Montclaire, rather Lady Vale, in his vicinity and could do nothing. Killing her might not solve the problem of his secret plans getting out. Her mate and his entire team knew about him, but it’d make Jameson feel better since she was the one that started this headache in the first place. As soon as they had left, Gerzon had called Andy, demanding to meet with him.

  Jameson managed to maintain his composure and hustled Sandeen out. The other male had acted amused, like Numen dropping in on him and announcing they knew exactly who he was and what he was up to was no big deal. And it might not be to Sandeen. That archmaster had his own master plan.

  Gerzon’s visits were always trying. Negotiating with a demon was an exercise in patience and fortitude. Today, it was even more annoying. He wanted to sit and ruminate over the information Sandeen had traded with him.

  The handy tidbit of using his blood to keep angels from transcending to Numen, or shuttling anywhere else in the human realm, did no good until he could coat some weapons with it. And find an angel to use them on.

  He’d had three right in front of him. Jameson kept his hands from clenching.

  “The rumor,” Gerzon snapped, “is that you needed extra protection for the club because some angels showed up. They’re on to you.”

  Dammit. Unfortunately, he needed Gerzon’s assistance. He couldn’t take on the angelic race with nothing but a scythe covered in his blood. He couldn’t protect his club with humans because they couldn’t sense angels. He needed at least sylphs. He’d ordered Zanda to up demon protection around the club, thinking he had more time before Gerzon came slithering by.

  “Gerzon.” Jameson relied on his years of politics. “You didn’t expect to not run into a few snags, did you? It was just a couple of female Numen looking for a good time at the wrong club.”

  The host’s lip curled as Gerzon growled. “You asked for more protection around the club. Said there was fighting and you couldn’t have police involved.”

  “Basically. An archmaster participating in my club’s…offerings…sensed them, otherwise I wouldn’t have known,” Jameson lied effortlessly. “I needed more sylphs patrolling the area. The symasters are for if we run into trouble. I would take an archmaster if you’re offering.” Jameson knew he wouldn’t. Gerzon was too greedy for power.

  “You mean when the two angels go back to Numen and tell the warriors there’s a demon-infested club in Las Vegas?”

  “I have someone taking care of them. My main goal is to get more demons protecting the club, not just participating in its festivities.”

  Gerzon regarded Jameson. The demon knew he was hiding something but was probably deciding if it was that important to him.

  “Who was the archmaster?” Gerzon finally asked.

  “He left pretty quickly. My assistant didn’t catch his name. He was sampling my guests and was upset when the angels interrupted an entrée.”

  Gerzon grunted at Jameson’s response.

  “I invite you to do the same,” Jameson offered, rising, prompting Gerzon to as well. “However, I encourage you to remember that we don’t need police presence, so keep the violence down.”

  Baring his teeth, Gerzon let his image fade away so Jameson saw nothing more than the pathetic-looking man. “I always find someone who enjoys it.”

  Riiiight. Jameson smiled and clapped Gerzon on the back, then showed him out. When Andy heard the door shut, he came out to check on Jameson.

  “Have you any orders for me, sir?”

  Still facing the door with one hand on the knob, Jameson nodded. “Call Kenton. Tell him we need to meet.”

  Did that traitor plan to take out his son? What the fuck did Bryant Vale call Julian? Jagger?

  Had the boy changed his name after— Jameson forced the thought out of his head. What was done was done.

  “Right away, sir?”

  Jameson smoothed his hands down his suit jacket. “No. Tomorrow.” He had to let his feelings out first. Treacherous emotions. They made it hard to get work done.

  “Very well, sir.” His diminutive assistant promptly went back into his office to complete his task.

  Jameson strode down the hall to where his apartment was. Not even Andy was allowed in it. Just his flavor of the week, although Lindy had claimed more than a week and Jameson was in no hurry to see her go. He’d be done with her eventually, but for now he found her skills useful.

  Lindy was wandering around his place getting ready. He’d promised her a dinner out. He intended to keep his word.

  Eventually.

  She glanced toward him, wearing nothing but a lace Wonderbra and matching boy shorts. Stopping in front of the table, she smiled at him. “Oh, hey. I was just picking out a dress for tonight.”

  Need pounded through Jameson, matching his anger at the turn of events. Fuck Odessa and her stupid analyst brain; fuck Bryant Vale and his righteous duty; fuck Gerzon and his demon manipulation; fuck Sandeen because the male was crafty; and fuck Kenton for hiding the fact that Julian was part of the problem that would be “taken care of.” And fuck that watcher who had people she’d never met looking into her death. His own family knew where to find him and hadn’t even tried.

  “Bend over,” Jameson snarled, ripping open the fly of his pants.

  * * *

  “Is this how you usually feel after a fight?” Odessa ran up the stairs. Bryant struggled to keep up.

  His team was catching up on some rest before they reconvened to figure out their next move. Bryant had to meet with Director Richter first, after he got Odessa settled. She entered her room and turned to talk to him while walking backward.

  “How do you feel?” he asked warily.

  “Like I have all this energy.” She held her hands up as if sparks were going to fly from her fingers. “And nothing to do with it.”

  “It’s just adrenaline. We planned for a fight, but all we got was a conversation that went nowhere.”

  “What do you do with it?” She was shifting from foot to foot.

  “Each warrior is different in how they process after an encounter. Some workout, some spar, some…” Have sex. Some warriors went out for a good fuck, and he used to be one of those—ages ago.

  Odessa fingered the collar of her shirt, eyeing him like he was a triple scoop chocolate cone and she’d been eating nothing but broccoli and diet pills for weeks.

  Aww hell. He couldn’t have sex with her now. She was hyped up on adrenaline and he didn’t want her to feel taken advantage of.

  “I need to meet with the director.” It sounded lame. Even to his own ears.

  She gazed at him from under hooded lids. “Now?”

  Yes.

  He couldn’t get the word out. It was in his mind. Say yes. Just say it. He had a duty. Duty first.

  The way she was looking at him… He’d never had anyone look at him like that. Not even before the injury. He had seen it in other couples, even among humans, but never directed his way. It gave him hope. Was there a chance Odessa would want him after she didn’t need him?

  “Bryant.” She stalked close to him. Standing on her tiptoes, she licked the rim of his twisted ear. He had thought all the nerve endings destroyed, but whatever was left, her hot tongue hit.

  He was hard as a rock and aching for his mate. If she felt the same way, he couldn’t leave her to suffer.

&
nbsp; The director would have to wait.

  * * *

  Jameson ignored the rest of the restaurant on his date with Lindy. Her red lips closed around her wineglass as her gaze drank him in. She crinkled her nose. She wasn’t a wine girl, but she wanted the whole fancy package tonight and after what Jameson had done to her body, he provided.

  Swirling the wine, she watched the blood-red liquid circulate. “Are you going to tell me what earlier was about?”

  Jameson stared at her cherry-red lips. That color still lined his cock after the limo ride on the way to the restaurant.

  She gave her head a quick shake. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

  Lindy seemed slightly embarrassed and he realized how she must feel, like nothing but a piece of ass. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him. It’s what women to him usually were. He enjoyed them, and liked to make them feel good, but their overall well-being was never his priority.

  Once again, Lindy didn’t fit his usual type.

  “I’m divorced.” It was the only term she would understand, but what he went through was so much more. “My family quit speaking to me.”

  She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Earlier, someone gave me some information about my son.” Jameson took a drink of his wine. Lindy was right. It was atrocious, just like its price. He much rather preferred his whiskey if he was going to pay that much. “I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

  Her eyes warmed. “He’s doing well?” She sounded apprehensive, like she worried the answer would be no, or he’d quit talking, or both.

  “Yes. Rather well. His career choice isn’t what I’d expected.”

  “He’s grown?”

  Ah yes. Jameson looked like he was in his early thirties and while she might know some of his world, she didn’t comprehend it.

  “I’m older than I look,” he said with a little smile.

  The waiter arrived with their first course. He set the plates up with a flourish and stood back awaiting their approval. Jameson nodded at him and watched Lindy’s reaction with amusement.