Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1)

by Tricia Skinner

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck, Nesty. What about?”

  “Your wardrobe.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ionie prepped herself for the attack lurking on the other side of JP’s front door. She placed her homemade gloves, lovingly knitted by Grams, in the side pocket of her bag. Next, she crammed the purple box containing her life-sustaining chocolate into the bottom. She zipped her coat up to her neck and shoved the ends of her loose hair in the collar. Satisfied, she pressed the doorbell.

  The cacophony of barks sounded like unleashed hellhounds. Heavy paws clawed the wood door, eager to get at the visitor trespassing on their turf. She rolled her eyes. Every Saturday morning the same scene played without fail.

  Her best friend’s voice slipped through the barrier. “Bowie. Echo. Down.”

  Ionie adjusted her cloth armor and waited for JP to get her adopted ‘children’ under control. Not that the clothing would offer much protection against the slobbering beasties. The door opened and she slid into the house before the first furry mass knocked her into a wall. A second muscled body followed, pinning her and cutting off her escape. She grunted while two Great Danes lavished her with wet kisses.

  “Yuck. Doggie germs.” The affection continued, but she would survive, once JP stopped laughing. Bowie and Echo were as tall as ponies and almost as heavy. Her friend had adopted several of the gentle giants to form her pack.

  “Girls, let the fragile human go,” JP said, humor alighting her eyes. “They dent easy.”

  “Gee, the fragile human thanks you.”

  Echo lifted her snow-white head, her Caribbean Sea eyes shining with intelligence. Ionie stroked the dog’s thick neck, taking time to scratch behind the floppy ears. Pure white fur scrunched under her fingers. The dog leaned more weight into her and Ionie bent over, leaving a soft kiss on the snout.

  “Hard to believe she’s deaf.”

  JP grunted her agreement. “Echo is gifted. She doesn’t need ears to hear. Her eyes see everything.”

  Bowie whimpered and nudged Ionie’s left hand. “Yes, missy, I know the routine.” She released Echo and scratched the other Dane behind the ears. Bowie soaked up the attention, her tail spinning like a propeller.

  “You hear everything, don’t you girl?”

  JP stroked Echo’s back. “They’re inseparable. I’m the pack’s Alpha bitch, but these two are my Lieutenants.”

  After a few more scratches, JP dismissed her babies and led Ionie to the kitchen. Three more Great Danes lounged on the floor like fleshy speed bumps. JP signaled with her hands and the dogs left the room.

  “Wish I could wave my hand and have people obey,” Ionie said.

  “That reminds me. How was your date with the half-breed?”

  Ionie crinkled her nose. “Is that politically correct?”

  “Don’t know, but it’s what nephilim are, girl.”

  She didn’t want to call Jarrid and his friends half-breeds. The term seemed rude and bigoted. They were biracial, like her.

  “Was he hot?” JP placed a coffee mug on the counter beside Ionie. The steaming contents gave off wisps of fragrant smoke. “Any spit swapping? Did he take you to Heaven on a scream and a prayer?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “We were on business.”

  “Business,” the werewolf said, casting her a sly grin. “I bet you got busy.”

  “Now you’re turning perv on me.”

  JP tipped her head back, howling. A chorus erupted within seconds. Ionie released a tortured sigh.

  That’ll teach me to befriend a werewolf.

  “The girls in advertising described him,” JP said. “The word ‘delicious’ popped up. Sounds like I wouldn’t be able to resist rubbing my fur against his feathers.”

  She shook her head. “He doesn’t have feathers.”

  Why clear that up? Oh yeah, because Jarrid is also half-human, and I was the perv drooling on him last night.

  “I need more coffee.”

  JP arched a trimmed eyebrow. “You haven’t touched the first cup yet.”

  “Oh.” She stared at the yellow mug against her palm. “Right.”

  The canny Lycan pulled up a bar stool and sat down. Serious yellow eyes deciphered more than expected. “What did happen at dinner?”

  Ionie fumbled with the box of chocolates she’d placed on the table. God, did she have to say it out loud? How do I explain I was foaming at the mouth for a super hot half-angel, but he got spooked? She grabbed her coffee and took several deep swallows.

  “I may have made him, uh, uncomfortable,” she said, swiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

  “Ouch. What did you do?”

  “It wasn’t what I did, JP,” Ionie said. “It’s what I wanted to do. I think he picked up on my attraction. He didn’t like it.”

  A high whistle pierced through the kitchen. “You made a pass at a nephilim?” JP slapped her on the shoulder. “That’s my girl! Knew you had it in you.”

  “Had what?”

  “You got a touch of Lycan in you,” JP said, beaming with pride. “You lock on your prey, make him sense you, get him curious and afraid at the same time. Then bam! You take him down. Yep, you could have some wolf in your family tree.”

  The notion made Ionie laugh. The kind of laugh one made when fantasy was much better than reality. She wished she had anything as remarkable as JP in her bloodline, but no. I’m nothing like Jarrid.

  The thought swirled in an empty space deep inside her. She’d always wanted to be special, or at least treated like she was, but her life was Reader’s Digest normal.

  “I don’t know a ton about angels, but they’re pretty strict on the sex stuff,” JP said. “Maybe your boy had no clue what to do with your signals.”

  The comment brought Ionie’s eyes up, her attention in sharp focus. “Say what?”

  Her friend grinned, showing off spotless white canines. “Maybe your guy freaked because he’s a virgin.”

  Ionie felt her eyes go bowl-shaped.

  Get. The. Fuck. Out!

  “Angels don’t mix with anybody,” JP said. “The rare time I came across one, the damned thing was like an iceberg. They’re emotionless, kid, like they never learned what feelings are or how to use them.”

  Ionie hung on every word from her friend’s mouth. The werewolf threw a lifeline and she grabbed it.

  “Jarrid’s a half-breed. He’s got a jumble of human emotions in him, like a puzzle box.” JP sipped her coffee, her expression thoughtful. “I bet he’s never opened the box more than a crack. Imagine how confusing he must find you. If I were him, I’d be curious, confused, and pissed off.”

  Ionie leaned in, sliding her coffee mug aside. “Why pissed off?”

  “He’s built like a tank and wet dream sexy?” JP asked. Ionie bobbed her agreement. “And he has no idea what to do with a woman? I’d be plenty pissed.”

  Jarrid, a virgin? Ionie slumped in her chair, boneless. He’d been stationed in Heaven until sent to Earth.

  Damn, she hadn’t asked when he’d arrived in Detroit.

  Was he raised by angels? Her heart clutched, aching for him. She rubbed the center of her chest. No one should live without feelings.

  Did anyone love him? Had he ever wondered what an emotion was, but no one explained? Until he found me.

  “Uh oh. The danger-brain-at-work look,” JP said, nibbling a piece of chocolate.

  Ionie captured her loose hair with her fingers, twirling the ends. “Jarrid said he’s here to investigate some stories I wrote and needed my help. Me, not a cop. Sounded hokey to me, but after what you’ve added, maybe he set it up. What if he wants to be around people, experience stuff for himself?”

  The werewolf scratched at her jaw. “That’s one hell of a leap, girl.” />
  “Why else would he come to me with such a weak ass story?”

  “The real question is, why he’d go to you at all?” JP raised her platinum eyebrows. “He chose you out of all the people in Detroit. Part of me wants to praise his good taste. Another part wants to let the girls sort him out.”

  Ionie choked on her coffee. “I’ll bring him by so the gang can give his crotch a good once over.”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll leave enough for you to enjoy.”

  She felt blood surge to her hairline.

  “I’ll pretend something about his story doesn’t curl my fur the wrong way,” JP said. “He can’t know you want to get in his pants, or he’ll die of embarrassment. Men like him need to appear like they know what’s what.”

  She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Where to start? How much time did she have? What did he want to know? A headache scratched at her temples.

  “The most powerful emotion is love,” JP said. “Give it to him in doses. Don’t spell it out like you’re a damn school teacher. Hit him between those sexy eyes of his. Let him feel longing, want, desire. Make his blood go volcanic so all he can do is follow his human instinct.”

  “Can I pull it off?” Her head hurt.

  JP’s lips curved with cunning. “You leave the details to Momma Wolf. I got this.”

  Ionie knew the look. It was JP’s wolfy look. The look that said she’d scented prey.

  • • •

  The phone call to Ionie went smoother than Jarrid expected. Her excitement over visiting The Church swept aside the after effects of their abrupt end to dinner.

  The nightclub’s No Unchaperoned Humans rule tweaked her interest throughout the brief call. The policy didn’t keep hordes of warm-blooded hopefuls from lining the sidewalk for half a city block, desperate to seduce, beg, or bargain their way into the building.

  Ionie received an all access pass, courtesy of him.

  He spent the afternoon scrutinizing his plan with the team. They agreed the location would send rumors flying, snagging their target’s interest before the outlaw showed. The ‘using Ionie’ part didn’t set well with anyone except him. He kept his eyes on Ascension — and remaining in The Order. How she wielded such influence over the brotherhood of ancient assassins, he didn’t know.

  The team plotted and strategized and contemplated for hours. Tanis and Kas hunched over computers. Cain and Nesty scanned street maps and building blueprints. Jarrid wanted all ingress and egress zones monitored.

  The one anomaly was Ionie. She’d insisted on meeting him at the club, declining his repeated offers to pick her up. She claimed she had things to do — girl stuff — so he didn’t push. The Order needed her cooperation.

  Jarrid stood naked in his closet, eyeing rows of clothing.

  Cain t’sked his teeth. “Armani is so last century, bro.”

  He hoped the sight of his bare ass would keep the visit brief. “Armani knew how to hide a shoulder holster with style.”

  “True fact.”

  Jarrid pulled on his boxer briefs and socks. He strapped a leather sheath to each thigh then slipped in daggers. A waistcoat of flat-handled knives went around his angled midsection before he yanked on loose pants. After tugging on a black shirt, he slid his arms through the shoulder holster and added his favorite birds of prey, the Desert Eagles. Near invisible slits concealed more daggers across his chest. He covered his arsenal with a leather trench coat.

  “Hey, The Matrix called,” Cain said. “Neo wants his clothes back.”

  Jarrid chuckled and checked the bathroom’s floor length mirror. He dressed like the team did — dark and deadly. Yet for the first time, he cared if his appearance would frighten someone. How would Ionie react? Cain mirrored him except for the added touch of a torso-hugging dark red t-shirt.

  “She’s going to flip her lid when she sees us, man.” Cain shook his head. “We look like killers.”

  “We are killers, moron,” Jarrid said, his tone flat. He lived in a fraternity of assassins, bringers of death. He couldn’t begin to hide what he’d been born to do.

  What if he could have had another life? If Heaven hadn’t labeled him an abomination, where would he be now? Cities of this age didn’t care what race a man was born, only how he lived his life. At least that’s what the majority on the planet believed.

  He wasn’t an idiot. Bigotry and ageless feuds broiled, spilling over when one sect took new offense at an old wrong. Still, a balance existed, but Heaven remained as far from equal as any place could get.

  Cain looked bored. “Yeah, I’m fucking bad ass. I still don’t like the idea of Ionie being afraid of us.”

  Jarrid stopped fussing with his coat to consider him. His brother showed a deeper understanding of humans than he’d learned in centuries. “Why do you like her?”

  “She sees us,” Cain said, as if the words held magic. “To her, we’re only men.”

  “You think she understands us.”

  “No. When she finds out the truth, it’ll change things. Right now, she looks at us and sees people who aren’t different from her. It’s refreshing.” Cain nailed him with a sad expression. “I care for you, bro. My loyalty has always been yours.”

  Jarrid nodded, confused by the sudden change in his brother. Cain didn’t need to explain this shit.

  “Ionie trusts us, and weird as this sounds, I think she sees something in us — in you, especially — that it’s a gift. So, I will personally gut you with your own daggers if she gets hurt.”

  Jarrid moved fast to stand nose to nose with his brother. “What did you say?”

  “Remove her from the mission,” Cain said. His face pinched, straining to remain calm. “We don’t know why the outlaw wants her, but I’ve never known one to do a damn thing for the good of mankind. She trusts us. I won’t see her hurt, or killed.”

  The air punched out of Jarrid’s lungs. He stumbled back, gaping at his brother. “Who the fuck said she’d get killed? Ionie is under my protection!”

  “We have zero intel on this guy,” Cain said. He planted his feet and crossed his arms. “What are his habits? His weaknesses? His allies? Is he in Detroit, or was that bullshit from an elf afraid to die?”

  Fuck! Jarrid slammed his fist into the closest surface, punching a jagged hole deep into the wall. He didn’t need reminders of the risk to Ionie.

  Cain mussed his hair. “God of All, she has no idea she’s even being stalked.”

  “She won’t leave my sight,” he said, shaken by the vehemence of his conviction. “We get in, leave a trail, get out. Ionie stays here until we take out the mark.”

  “She’s agreed to leave her life behind? Simple as that?” Cain asked, crossing his arms.

  Jarrid adjusted his coat, patting the side pocket for his keys. “Ionie’s life changed the second a Renegade showed an interest in her.”

  • • •

  Saul parked his car in front of The Church and stepped out, casting what he knew was a savage look at the half-Fey valet who took his keys. He could smell the rainbows and butterflies in the boy’s blood. Shit, he hated the Fey. Fairy blood smelled delicious, but tasted like swamp water. How can people so attractive on the outside taste like sewers?

  He spat on the ground and checked his watch. Only midnight. His fangs ached for a meal. He’d settle for Scotch.

  He’d avoided Beleth for two days. He dispatched his team across the city with a mandate to find the woman who wrote the newspaper crime briefs. Saul didn’t have enough men to grab every female journalist in Detroit, but his roughnecks worked with the scent the angel had provided. Yet the woman eluded them.

  He paused to scan the almost naked females crowding outside the venue. Most beckoned him, shouting promises of a night he’d never forget. He nicked his tongue against a fang, swallowing the cop
pery burst invading his mouth. No time for treats tonight. He needed information to locate one bitch to stay alive. No amount of sex or blood would sway him.

  Saul pushed past the Lycan bouncer and entered the darkened club. His eyes adjusted to the neon gloom.

  The Church was tri-level. The first floor served as the main hub for drinking, dancing, and high-class hookers. On the second level, humans were scarce. He looked up through the glass wall. Most of the floor’s occupants would be Other, minor movers in the city’s various power circles. The third level was encased in mirrored glass. VIPs on the other side staring down their noses at the rabble.

  He had never been on the third floor. I’ll own that sweet spot one day. He had plans. Detroit’s vampire population lacked a single, powerful leader. The race drifted in fractured packs like those flea-monger werewolves.

  While tricky, vampires could be united under one ruler. The list of potentials was short, and would grow shorter once he killed them off. That’s why he partnered with Beleth. The Renegade would soon command an army of Heaven’s warriors.

  With that kind of muscle behind him, Saul intended to be the only vampire standing. He only had to catch a specific woman before the angel deep-fried his balls.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Winter wasn’t Ionie’s favorite time of year, but she admired the clear sky yawning above her. The stars sang down, making her smile. She sighed and extended her near-bare legs out of her car and wobbled on the six-inch heels. She cast a quick glance around to see if anyone noticed her inelegant moves.

  Why did I listen to JP?

  She adjusted her ankle-length camel coat to block the wind. Thank God, the nightclub wasn’t located close to the river. She concentrated on walking so her knees wouldn’t knock together.

  Think balmy. A Jamaican beach with the sun blazing overhead. She’d dressed to kill, but parts of her were in danger of frostbite. This better work, or so help me, JP, I’m going to haunt you!

  The coat blocked the worst of the cold, and she sighed gratefully, the air clouding around her. Her teeth chattered. She increased her pace, then glanced at the crowded line ahead. Jarrid would meet her near the front doors, but she didn’t see him. She kept walking past other bodies huddled together for warmth. The club drew hordes of humans eager to check the place out. From her vantage point, all they’d catch was a cold.