Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1)

by Tricia Skinner

  “No, it’s fine.” God, her head hurt. “Why am I here?”

  “Tell me what you remember.”

  Her fingers snagged on a clump of matted curls on her cheek and she frowned.

  Two hours to get the damn things to obey. She blew a decimated strand from her nose. What do I remember? Getting ready for her date. JP insisted she dress to kill. Nephilim bait.

  Her cheeks warmed. “I met you at The Church. We danced.”

  He dropped his sterling gaze to her shoulders. A slow movement, as if he meant to memorize every inch of her skin. A tremor rolled up her back. Oh, yes. She remembered dancing. Jarrid had devoured her come-hither moves, his intent stare missing nothing she’d offered.

  “What else?” he asked. His rough voice sounded as sexy as ever.

  She rubbed her forehead. She’d been hot — too hot — despite her meager dress. Her body had burned for Jarrid to touch her, just once, anywhere he pleased. Her hormones had reacted like a heat-seeking missile, bent on blowing through his armor so she could get to the man beneath.

  She’d decided to slow down, afraid of scaring him off. Left Jarrid to powder her nose then she ran into … .

  “A vampire!” Ionie clutched her neck. The rest of the evening rushed to the surface.

  A vamp had followed her. Pressed her against a wall. Groped her legs with clawed hands. Oh God!

  He’d kissed her.

  She bolted from the bed before Jarrid could reach for her. Panic blindsided her and she stumbled into a wall.

  The vamp had dragged her to the alley.

  Oh, God! Sweet Jesus!

  Strong arms scooped her up and carried her into an enormous bathroom. Jarrid placed her before the sink. The image of the vampire’s hand tugging at her dress formed in her mind. Ionie vomited.

  Heavy fingers cupped her hair, keeping it from falling into the mess. Dry heaves shook her, but Jarrid’s callused fingers rubbed the nape of her neck. She rinsed her mouth when she’d finished, certain she’d purged everything — including her spleen.

  A light tap on her shoulder made her turn her head. An unopened toothbrush lay next to her hand. She almost cried at Jarrid’s thoughtfulness and managed a weak nod.

  After cleaning her mouth, Ionie studied her reflection. She touched her neck, seeking proof of the vampire’s bite. Her skin was clear. Relief settled over her.

  “He fed,” Jarrid said, dashing her calm.

  “Saul.” Tears stung her eyes. “He said his name was Saul.”

  A growl rose from the nephilim’s chest, his reflection warping as rage shook him. Ionie spun to face her protector. If looks could kill, Jarrid was Death’s first cousin.

  Her brain cranked out bulletins of warning.

  She should be terrified. She should run. She should call for help.

  Yet no shrill alarms rang out.

  While Jarrid warred with his anger, the oddest thought calmed her.

  He’s not a threat to me. She drank in the sight of his powerful muscles. He could crush her with his thumb. But he wouldn’t. This giant had a gentle side. He’d shown it only moments ago with his attentive handling.

  She took a step, then another, toward him. His eyes clouded like an unholy storm. He didn’t seem to notice her. Whatever went on in his head made him heedless of her presence.

  Did he blame himself?

  “Jarrid?” No answer. He clenched and unclenched his hands. Ionie drew closer.

  She had caused his distress. Part of her mourned the night they should have enjoyed. Dancing. Flirting. Laughing. She’d pictured it for hours before she’d driven to the club, reveling in the possibilities her seduction might reveal. Now, look at him.

  There he stood, her staggering half-angel with vexing emotions. She bit her lower lip. This wouldn’t do.

  Ionie expelled a soft breath. She placed her hands against Jarrid’s sculpted biceps. He dropped his head, a question behind his alluring eyes. The shift was enough to give her leverage. She reached up and touched her fingers to his jaw. His head turned into her palm. Now or never.

  Balanced on her toes, she pulled Jarrid’s face closer. His eyes widened as she surged upward, pressing her lips to his. She used her remaining bravery to swipe her tongue against his full bottom lip. When his lips parted in surprise, she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Delicious warmth greeted her, making her moan.

  He went rigid under her hands.

  • • •

  Rapture! No other word fit the sensation threatening to shatter Jarrid into a million glorious fragments. Through his dark fury, the soft, mesmerizing cushion of Ionie’s lips were a lifeline. Seconds before she kissed him, he had fastened on an image of her attacker. Saul.

  His fever for vengeance drowned with one kiss. What replaced it imprisoned his body in lock down.

  Ionie’s lips moved, her tongue a pink dart pushing inside his mouth, searching. Jarrid touched his tongue to hers, tentative and unsure. Her tongue lapped at his, coaxing him into a sensual abyss.

  He wrapped his arms around her small waist, pulling their bodies together. He engulfed her, yet remained aware not to squeeze too tight. His instincts urged him to grip her and never let her go. He hunched lower, needing her to keep touching him.

  Ionie did. Her gentle caresses disappeared, replaced by tugging fingers. They exchanged breaths, neither daring to part long enough to draw separate air.

  God of All!

  He would breathe for her, give to her everything she asked of him, and more.

  Jarrid had never touched a woman. Now he wanted to take full advantage of this rare gift. His palm splayed against the curve of Ionie’s back, and she arched her breasts into him. The lush flesh scattered his mind in an instant.

  So soft.

  He brought his hand up to cup one, and expelled a low groan. It almost filled his palm. He squeezed and his remarkable human moaned, her warm breath puffing the hairs on his neck.

  “Jarrid.” His name on her lips, a mere whisper, sang like a benediction.

  He gripped her ass, lifting her. Ionie wrapped her toned legs around his waist. Aligned as they were, he stared with wonder into her eyes. The pupils darkened with arousal, her lips kiss-swollen and wet. She gripped the back of his head as if willing him to kiss her again.

  Jarrid did. He put everything she’d taught him into his first, conscious joining with another person and kissed her, like the act would convey the explosion she’d set off inside him. Kissed her like his life would cease to exist without her. Kissed her like a man discovering the marvels of the universe.

  Human emotion. This was what he’d missed for centuries. No other woman could have awakened him, only one extraordinary female.

  Ionie wiggled in his arms and he thought he’d hurt her. He leaned back, ready to ask, but she moved again.

  Fuck! He almost went blind at the firm thrust of her body against his swollen cock. She ground against him, and his manhood pulsed. The sensations felt too good, too perfect. She rolled her hips over and over, rubbing her sexy body on him in a steady rhythm.

  Curious, he gave a slight thrust forward.

  She threw her head back. “Yes. Right there!”

  His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He focused on Ionie’s sweat-slicked body. He met her thrusts, breathing in her intoxicating scent. She thrashed and moaned, her fingers locked onto his neck and shoulders. Jarrid tempered his movements. Barely.

  Was anyone more beautiful?

  His balls were boulders between his legs, but he didn’t care. Something was happening. He bit down on her lower lip, fighting against an inexplicable tightening in his sac. He sucked on Ionie’s neck, kissed her shoulders and licked her salty skin.

  She cried out, tossing her head back.

  What did she …

&nb
sp; A surge of power slammed into him, derailing his thoughts. He gnashed his teeth to keep from screaming as an unfamiliar pressure assailed him. He panicked for a split second, thinking his Grace had discharged. Then all the stars in the world burst in his mind. His seed pulsed into his jeans in an unending rush.

  While his first orgasm rippled through him, he held on to Ionie, rooting himself. He could have soared into Heaven on the ripples.

  Gravity dragged him down too soon. His euphoria dimmed. He drew ragged breaths of air into his lungs. His Grace stirred, reminding him he had experienced what nephilim were forbidden.

  Jarrid succumbed to the dread now coiled in his heart. Nothing had changed.

  He was an assassin on a mission. Ionie was bait.

  God of All, what have I done?

  • • •

  A group of vamps spoke in hushed tones, waiting for Saul. He sensed their furtive glances without looking up from the tablet in his hand. He swiped his fingers across the flat screen, scanning one article after another.

  The Detroit News Online kept an archive of stories written by Ionie Gifford. Some were news briefs about body dumps he had ordered. It amused him to learn how they were connected. She had followed a trail that led back to him.

  The Renegade hadn’t yet arrived, giving him a few minutes to gather supporting evidence about the female he’d almost bled to death. She survived the attack. He’d sent his men to check the local hospitals, and the morgue. The Order saved her, and in return, he gained a second shot at bringing her to Beleth.

  He snapped the mobile device shut. Saul had to tell his partner he found her, but he hadn’t decided how to explain her absence.

  Should I mention the nephilim? He twined his fingers beneath his chin. The Renegade never mentioned he was on Heaven’s Most Wanted list.

  The door to the factory slid open, drawing the attention of the other vampires. The motley crew shifted, tensed, as each man watched Beleth enter. With his black wings, silver gaze, and pale skin, Saul thought he fit the image of a fallen angel too well.

  Unholy eyes fixed on Saul. “Report.”

  “The woman is Ionie Gifford. Mixed race. Works for the local paper.”

  Beleth expression turned skeptical. “Mixed race?”

  “Black and white. Human parents.”

  The news appeared to please the dangerous angel. Then the moment passed. “Where is she?”

  Good goddamned question. He replayed his options. The truth was out. That road led to his barbecue. The surprise factor — the assassins — might cut him some slack.

  “I won’t ask again, bloodsucker.”

  “She’s protected,” Saul said, crossing his arms. “Her friends are The Eternal Order.”

  Black wings fluttered behind Beleth, his voice rising from a low rumble to a ground-shaking howl. The assembled vamps cringed and tried to shield their ears from the Renegade’s angry bellow. Glass exploded from the few windows in their hideaway. The angel’s voice pierced their eardrums, causing blood to leak beneath their palms.

  Several of his men crumpled in agony. The pain was excruciating, but Saul managed to remain on his feet. Beleth turned his fiery rage on three vamps closest to him. Before Saul could shout a warning, the Renegade released a ball of light from his hands at the startled lackeys.

  He watched in silent horror as the men’s bodies exploded. Gristle, organs, and skin painted the area where they had stood. The survivors slipped on the slimy floor in an effort to get out of the angel’s line of sight.

  “How did they find her?” Beleth asked, his wings fanning glass shards into a mini whirlwind.

  “I don’t know.” He stared at the Renegade. Unease crept up his spine. One misstep now would be his last. “I couldn’t retrieve her, but I know where she lives, where she works. They can’t guard her day and night.”

  Beleth stalked over. Saul’s bravado wavered. The Renegade was as unpredictable as a vampire, and as ruthless as a demon.

  “I got close enough to confirm the woman contains Grace,” Saul said, hoping to halt his early demise.

  “Where?”

  “A nightclub.” He didn’t believe the morsel of truth too telling. “She gained access because of her associates.”

  Beleth turned away. The black wings swayed while he paced the floor. “Bring her to me. The Order is weak. You can exploit them.”

  The last thing Saul wanted was to face those oversized killers again. He gritted his teeth against the phantom twinge in his jaw. He would enjoy some payback on the half-breed who’d struck him. “You said The Order has a weakness. Like what? Silver bullets? A Candygram?”

  The angel raised his head to stare out a broken window. Winter banished every cloud, leaving a dozen stars dotting the black sky canvas.

  “Innocence,” the Renegade said, his voice distant. “The Order believes in honor. They see themselves as protectors of sacred law, the primary one being the protection of mankind.”

  Beleth turned, a smirk marring his face. “Humans are seen as innocents, despite all the mongrels have done to prove otherwise. Target humans. Force the Order into non-stop action. Make them so busy trying to protect those monkey children they’ll spread themselves thin.”

  The room reverberated with mumbled agreement. Vamps loved disorder. Saul pictured the Motor City in chaos. His crew could make the streets red and the river burn. A dark excitement threatened to overwhelm him. When was the last time vampires spread fear through a populace? Not since that minor war in the 1940s. Europe tasted delicious, as he recalled.

  A shadow fell over him, drawing his attention to Beleth. Wings held high behind him, the Renegade pinned him with a hard glare.

  “Fail in this, Saul, and I will enjoy your screams for eons.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jarrid placed Ionie on the edge of the marble vanity, even as she worked to control her breathing. After her bone-melting orgasm, the cold surface sent chills down her legs and up her spine. She peeked through her lashes expecting to bask in the warmth of her handsome partner. What she saw doused what remained of her arousal.

  Jarrid had closed his beautiful eyes and his body was rigid. The fascination she’d seen earlier vanished. Now, he appeared resigned.

  “You should shower,” he said, opening his eyes.

  She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.

  What went wrong? She glanced down. The front of his jeans showed evidence of his release. No performance problems there.

  “Talk to me.” God, she didn’t know what to do. She raised her hand to touch his arm, but he stepped out of reach.

  “I have to go. We’ll talk later.”

  Dread descended. Was she getting the brush off from a virgin half-angel?

  “If what we did upset you, let’s discuss it now.” Ionie raised her chin, summoning her fractured pride. She would not shed a tear in front of her would-be lover. “I’m not ashamed of what happened. It was beautiful and I’m glad I could experience it with you.”

  A stoic mask slid over Jarrid’s face.

  Don’t you dare lock me out. She tried to sift through her reeling mind. Virgin. Okay, he’s embarrassed. Angel. Did he break a vow of celibacy? We had our clothes on!

  “You think too much,” he said.

  She wanted to punch him. Of course she was thinking too much. He wouldn’t tell her why he was now Mr. Freeze.

  Jarrid reached into a cabinet and withdrew a single towel. He tossed it on the counter.

  “Shower. I’ll return when you’re finished.” With that, he retreated from the bathroom like a man eager to avoid a brawl. Ionie stared at the closed door, dumbfounded by what she’d witnessed. She sat on the counter for a few minutes, half expecting him to open the door and yell, “Gotcha!”

  He didn’t.


  • • •

  Jarrid tore down the hallway leading away from his bedroom. He was determined to put some space between him and Ionie before he did something he’d regret. Too late. He had crossed a big damn line. Where was his legendary code against mixing with humans?

  Sticking to the inside of your jeans, dumbass. The cooling wetness reminded him he needed to clean up.

  He cocked his head outside of Cain’s bedroom door, listening to the raucous noise drifting from the entertainment room downstairs. The rest of the team was watching a movie. Relieved his brothers were occupied, he opened the door and slipped inside.

  He showered fast, scrubbing away the scent of Ionie’s arousal. Afterward, he bundled his soiled clothes into a tight ball. He eyeballed his friend’s closet. Cain’s wardrobe outside of “work” tipped to humorous slogans on cotton T-shirts and sweatpants. He rolled his eyes, then considered his discarded clothes. Those were a problem. He couldn’t leave them for his brother to find, and he didn’t have time to put on laundry. Shit. He’d have to take them back to his room, which meant facing Ionie.

  Jarrid leaned against a wall and imagined the uncomfortable conversation. Most of his responses made him sound like an asshole. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling like a bastard for leaving her alone after they’d —

  He rubbed his temples. What exactly had they done? That wasn’t sex. He’d seen people screwing over the years. Allowing her to ride him clothed was a technicality, but he’d take it. He sighed. Remaining pure seemed simple, once upon a time.

  Pre-Ionie? He could have watched couples screw with the analytical eye of a scientist.

  Post-Ionie? He groaned and pictured the mocha-skinned beauty after her orgasm. Ionie was a sexual reservoir and he wanted to dive in and drown himself.

  Jarrid glanced down at Cain’s T-shirt, annoyed by the stupid slogan scrawled on the front. He slipped it on, picked up his bundle, and walked to the door. Ionie was a temptation, but he couldn’t afford to mess up now. The stakes were too high. He wouldn’t fail like his father. He headed back to his room.

  There was no place in his life for a woman, especially not one who was the key to getting him and his family from under Heaven’s boot.