Angel Lover

by Tricia Skinner

  “Report,” Tanis said over the earpiece.

  “Target’s neutralized.” Kas released the other gun’s magazine. “Hostage safe.”

  Residual adrenaline pounded through his head.

  “Couldn’t get a clean shot.” He forced the words through clenched teeth. “Gratien was amped up on angel blood.”

  Tanis gasped. “Do you know who fed him?”

  “Renegades.”

  A heavy sigh pushed through the earpiece. “The enemy has switched tactics again.”

  “Gratien was out of his mind. Singing, spinning, all while that kid dangled like a flesh necklace.” He punched the armrest. “He was so damned scared. Complete fear block locked me out of his head.”

  “That innocent child is alive because you worked quickly.”

  “Didn’t do shit.” Kas’s pride crumbled. “Jarrid saved the kid. I was fucking worthless.”

  The angel’s anger ignited over the earpiece. “Never say you are worthless. Every member of the team has a special skill. Each of you has value.”

  Kas slid his hand down his face. “Reading minds didn’t stop a drugged-out bloodsucker. Bullets did.”

  His father could argue Kas’s self-worth until the Rapture, yet that wouldn’t change facts. Jarrid had the ability to cast an energy shield over himself and anyone within a certain range. Cain controlled the minds of his targets, for good or ill. Nesty possessed a devastating angelic gift, sonic resonance. He could crush, liquefy, or explode bones and internal organs with his voice.

  Kas’s gift, picking information from a target’s head, worked like a blind man watching TV. He got the gist of their thoughts, but no helpful images.

  “The enemy fed your informant. Why?” Tanis asked.

  Who knew why those assholes did anything? He considered the events that had led to him killing his source. Gratien had solid connections in the city. The intel he carried was dangerous. If the enemy had found out…

  An idea churned in his head like a bad burrito in his gut. “He found their location. They knew he’d share the info, so they made sure he was hyped up on enough blood to get himself in trouble. Maybe they thought Gratien would take me down. The Renegades knew he’d end up a corpse.”

  “They won this round,” Tanis said. “The next is ours.”

  After the connection clicked off, he sat shaking in his truck. Gratien’s death was on him, whether the Renegades forced his hand or not. Should have followed his instincts. Should have—

  His phone vibrated, and he frowned at the text message.

  “I can help you,” the message read.

  He texted, “Who’s this?”

  “A person who shares your goals.”

  His thumb paused over the screen. The number was local, but not one he recognized. He glanced out the window and studied the faces of the police. “Goals?”

  “You wish to find them. Meet me. One hour. Alone. Madagascar Bar.”

  Kas’s heartbeat skipped. Should he risk it? Could easily be a setup. He pictured Gratien coughing up blood.

  “Give me a name,” he typed.

  “Mariel.”

  Chapter Two

  A strong wind gusted over the rooftop of the office building across from the Fox Theater. On the street below, police officers tied off the area with yellow crime scene tape. The body of the vampire was quickly tagged and bagged. Mariel watched a television news crew question witnesses while a distraught human woman cuddled a sobbing child in the back of an ambulance.

  None of them had thought to look up.

  Her message on her smartphone awaited a response from the Nephilim Kasdeja. She glanced at Rahab and irritation moved under her skin.

  The Renegade’s back faced her as he stared over tree canopies and brick structures toward the vibrant downtown.

  “He won’t come,” she said, lowering her gaze to the Nephilim’s truck far below.

  Unhurried, Rahab flapped his obsidian wings, the feathers glossy in the dying evening’s light. “He will.”

  Seeing his glorious plumage brought an echo of longing. Angels were less than nothing without their wings.

  She checked her phone. “You seem certain.”

  “The Bound all seek a common goal,” Rahab replied, still facing the view. “But that one, Kasdeja, always wished to be more than he was. He will accept your request because he can do no less. He will be driven to it, and thus to me.”

  The odd explanation didn’t clear away her questions, but she kept silent. Nephilim were half angel, half human, the offspring of Renegades like Rahab. Why the Directorate had selected Kasdeja and the other three Bound Ones to train as Heaven’s assassins, and then set them on the task of hunting and killing their sires, made little sense to her, but she didn’t question the acts of political leaders. At least she’d once tried, until a day, long ago, when she’d led her friends to their deaths.

  Mariel closed off the memory before she relived the moment. The past could not be changed. Only the future now mattered.

  The phone shook in her palm. “He has agreed.”

  She quickly removed the surprise in her expression before Rahab turned. The Renegade didn’t like his plans second-guessed, least of all by her.

  “See, Mariel,” he said and offered a tight smile. “Doubt not that I know how the Nephilim think. You represent an option for the information he thought lost after he terminated his association with that vampire.”

  “The blood drinker who left the mansion?”

  Rahab’s smile spread across his angular face.

  She knew they’d fed him, which alone was enough to question their intelligence. The vampire would have been drunk with the essence of Grace in the blood. More than high, he’d have been lost in bliss and had difficulty focusing on reality.

  “Let us review your instructions for tonight’s meeting.” The Renegade crossed the roof and chose another corner to stand watch over the street below. “When you approach the Nephilim, you will disguise yourself.”

  Mariel stiffened and raised her chin. “Why?”

  She ground the other words she wanted to say between her teeth. Of course the Renegade found her appearance as disgusting as every other angel she’d met.

  To them, she was a walking nightmare, a thing.

  To them, she was the embodiment of failure.

  “He will assume you are yet another underworld figure seeking payment for information. He cannot be allowed to see”—Rahab flicked his hand to encompass her body—“you as you are, or he may not listen.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back and nodded stiffly. He made sense, but a chunk of anger lodged in her chest. “He will demand answers I cannot give.”

  “Yes, I am certain Kasdeja will ask many questions. Some you will answer. Others…” Rahab let the sentence drift.

  Mariel would lie. She always lied. Her gaze fell to the parked truck. Ten years working with the Renegades had taught her many skills of deception. One didn’t survive among the fallen angels without concealing everything. Emotions. Weaknesses. Dreams.

  She’d buried what mattered long ago and prayed no one learned the truth.

  “Yes, sir. I will do my best.”

  Rahab chuckled, a low rumble she’d rarely heard from him. “The Bound are particularly weak when it comes to women. We know two of the half-breeds have human whores. Even in your current state, Kasdeja will not suspect you are anything but a potential conquest.”

  Her equilibrium swayed as her blood pressure dipped. They wanted her to give herself to the assassin? She could not, would not, be used as a prostitute. “I do not believe he will find me attractive.”

  “Pray he does,” Rahab said, waving off her concern. “Seduce him with what charms you remember, but make sure he agrees to our offer.”

  Her gut knotted. She couldn’t defy a direct order from the deadly angel, or he’d have no further use for her…and then her goals would crumble.

  “Tell the Nephilim we are eager to see him and his bre
thren free from the Directorate’s sanctimonious hold.” Rahab faced her. “Offer him anything to join us. As a last resort, you may tell him there is a way to remove the agony from the Act of Contrition they suffer. Only we know the way.”

  Air rushed to Mariel’s lungs in a powerful gasp. “You know the Rite of Ascension? I thought only the Directorate had access to that knowledge.”

  The Renegade’s shining eyes flared.

  A warning chill raked her and cramped the nerves along her back.

  “Those misguided fools are not the all-knowing, all-powerful beings they project,” Rahab said. “Ascension is the ritual Heaven dangles above the heads of the Bound. Yet it is not the only method for undoing the Directorate’s binding that keeps them vulnerable. Ours is perhaps not as gentle, but it shall work.”

  “If you can accomplish that, why should I make the offer? Why not approach the Bound collectively?”

  Rahab’s head tilted as he regarded her.

  She held his frosty gaze. Unlike the other Renegades, Mastema’s second in command unnerved her. Where the Renegade leader automatically commanded obedience due his position, it was Rahab’s dark intelligence and cunning that influenced the organization’s goals.

  “The half-breeds are loyal to each other and to the angel who raised them.” A shadow of emotion flashed across his face then disappeared. “If you convince one to join our ranks, the others will follow.”

  “And Kasdeja is the weakest link.” She didn’t know the assassin, but he was Nephilim, and as such she instantly tainted him with the bias that surrounded the half-breeds. They were impure beings, and if he was the key to toppling his own team, a cancer cell embedded in healthy flesh, she loathed him for being weak.

  A veil fell over Rahab’s features even as his angelic power backlit his eyes. Mariel swallowed a tremor. What had she said to cause his Grace to charge?

  “Woman, listen carefully. None in the Bound is weak.” His voice was slow, deliberate, and cold. “That particular half-breed has killed many in service to Heaven. More than you. Possibly more than me.” The angel raised his wings until the tips hovered over his head like a cowl. “When he and his brethren Ascend, those four will bring forth the end of the Directorate and enable our triumphant return to Heaven.”

  Mariel skimmed her memories of Ascension. All angels were granted what was also known as the Favor of Heaven if they accomplished a truly miraculous feat. In the case of the Bound Ones, she suspected they’d have to set the head of every living Renegade on the floor of the Directorate’s council chamber before they were so rewarded.

  Yet if the Renegades could free them, it might secure the loyalty of the deadly assassins forever. Unbound Nephilim would be powerful and unpredictable. Was the world ready for such monstrosities?

  A breeze floated over her skin, pulling her out of her head. Rahab fanned his wings and hardened his gaze.

  “Kasdeja reads thoughts,” he said. “Be certain yours do not stray.”

  “And if he decides not to listen to me?”

  The Renegade’s chilling smile reappeared but he said nothing before he took to the sky.

  Chapter Three

  Kas parked his truck on the darker side of the one-way street. The Madagascar Bar was an upscale dive, a semirespectful hangout for underworld “entrepreneurs” who gathered there to brag and deal. Nestled in an old industrial area of the city, the bar was worn from disrepair and weathered like its neighboring structures. Weeds sprang from pavement cracks, and trash rolled along the street like urban tumbleweeds.

  He scanned the surrounding buildings, especially several unboarded windows. Vacant structures weren’t always vacant.

  The showdown with Gratien still nagged him. In the last year, the Renegades had increased their meddling in local matters. They’d sent their own Nephilim assassin, Cain’s twin, Abel, to knock off members of Detroit’s Council for Supernatural Affairs. Most of the underworld backed the Renegades’ plans to stick it to Heaven, which made finding informants to talk about the elusive bastards more than difficult.

  So Gratien had been silenced.

  Easing from behind the steering wheel, Kas unbuttoned his midthigh-length jacket to allow the night wind to rustle the fabric, showing off his weapons. Lowlifes tended to stay well back when they caught an eyeful of bullets and steel.

  Heaven’s Directorate had increased the pressure on the team, demanding progress in tracking the Renegades, so they’d hit their information network hard. Gratien had gotten the closest. Didn’t matter anymore.

  The bar’s entrance was little more than a door set deep into a brick archway. A polyester mesh with the name stuck on with duct tape flapped above his head. Kas paused, his gaze burning through the shadowy nooks and corners. The odd sensation of being observed settled against his back. This close to the bar, his power would pick up too many minds for an area scan.

  Kas pulled out his phone and typed. “Describe yourself.”

  Half a minute later, Mariel answered, “Why?”

  “Not a fan of surprises.”

  Another brief delay before her message came. “Tall. Short brown hair. Thin.”

  Milk. Bread. Eggs. She sounded like a grocery list. Crap.

  “What are you wearing?” He hit send, then reread the text. Jesus. She’d think he was a pervert. “Just the basics.”

  “Black.”

  A snitch of mystery. Probably junkie thin, missing teeth, wore smelly clothes, and had bad breath.

  He pushed through the door. Dim lighting didn’t limit his sensitive vision from picking out two werewolves, a vampire, and several humans. The clientele nodded in his direction, the silent greeting confirmed they had spotted his weapons.

  Kas knew the dive well and chose a table in the rear with a clear path to the entrance. The Madagascar held eight square tables and a classic jukebox, one of the reasons he came here. The sound from forty-five-rpm records beat the hell out of streaming music.

  He sat with his back to a wall and after a minute, a passing waitress took his drink order.

  The patrons at the two nearest tables picked up their glasses and bottles, then beat feet to another spot. Smart move. In a city where predators like dark elves and succubi worked side by side with their former prey, humans rarely had to worry about being attacked. That didn’t mean they couldn’t get caught by a rogue out for mischief.

  When his Guinness arrived, Kas drank deep.

  So what did this Mariel want from him? Gratien hadn’t been permanently dead for long when her text came in. Coincidence? Unlikely, but he didn’t know her. If she had useful intel about the Renegades, he’d listen. If she didn’t…

  Glass cracked, and he glanced at the shattered bottle in his hand.

  A werewolf waitress he knew too well glided over and whistled at the mess on his table. She picked up the shards. “Sorry, sugar.”

  Kas frowned. “For what?”

  “For who or what pissed ya off. Wanna ’nother?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Divine.” He tossed an extra twenty on her tray. “For the cleanup.”

  She winked and shot him a fang-filled smile. “If ya night don’t get better, my pack’s throwin’ a party at Leftie’s Place. You got my personal invitation.”

  Divine wasn’t a conventional beauty. Attractive enough to catch a man’s attention, but too much baggage lay beneath the ebony skin and gray eyes. “Maybe see you later.”

  His tentative acceptance earned a low growl. She winked again and then turned, sashaying her curvy hips in an extended invitation. Kas’s gaze lingered for less than a second. He’d slept with her once, but tonight he wasn’t in a playful mood. He returned his attention to the front entrance.

  And his eyes widened.

  A tall woman paused at the far end of the room and assessed each table of customers. Dressed in black, she appeared slim, but the hood of a knee-length cloak covered most of her body and head, and sunglasses hid her eyes. Sunglasses?

  The mirrored lenses reflected he
r surroundings. She took her time facing the werewolves and the lone vampire. Sizing them up or looking for a friend? Kas wasn’t sure, but he stood and used his almost seven-foot height as a beacon.

  The woman strolled past everyone and made her way to his table.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Shades at night.”

  Ho-ly hottie. Mariel wasn’t what he’d pictured, and the damned hood and the glasses didn’t help. He only glimpsed honeyed skin, sultry lips, and a pert nose. She definitely didn’t smell like she slept under a bridge. No, this woman was shower fresh and alluring.

  “Have you seen the shirt you’re wearing?” she replied, her smoky tone unimpressed.

  “This?” Kas dipped his chin and checked his tie-dye. “A classic. Dylan wore one.”

  “Then I recommend you return it to him.” Mariel gestured to the table then scooted around him to an empty chair. “Shall we?”

  Dissing his threads? The woman lacked fashion sense. The angle wasn’t the best, but she’d made sure the front door was in view, a sign of a pro. When she turned her head to look around, he caught about four inches of a scar between her neck and collarbone.

  “Make it a habit to meet strangers at dive bars?”

  Perfectly shaped eyebrows dipped. “I am not without skills, Kasdeja. I assure you I can protect myself.”

  He studiously kept his gaze on her sunglasses and not the scar. The width and thickness confirmed a time when she hadn’t protected herself well enough. “How’s that working out for you?”

  She touched the sides of the hood and tugged the material. The fabric pooled at her neck, hiding the scar, but it revealed short brown hair that softened her oval face and made her glowing skin striking. She could have passed for an Asian American: the woman was beautiful.

  Part of his body was pleased to make her acquaintance. Kas adjusted his position on the chair, easing pressure off his balls, and then signaled a waitress. “Want something?”