Saint Or Sinner (Bad Things Book 8)

by Cynthia Eden

  Malik was still staring at the open door. “Then I guess you have to kill me.”

  “I just had sex with you!”

  His head turned toward her. “You’ve never killed someone you had sex with?”

  Talk about insulting. “Right now, I’m tempted.”

  One dark brow rose. “I’ve made you angry?”

  “Pissed,” she clarified. “You’ve pissed me off.” When she got good and angry, he’d definitely know it.

  “I…apologize.” His words were so stilted and careful. Like he was trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. “I’m not used to any of this.”

  She wasn’t particularly used to lovers insulting her, either.

  “I don’t know what to say or do, not with you.” His gaze swept over her face. “I feel so much. I’m not used to that. The only time I could feel anything before—that was when I was close to you.”

  “You’re plenty close to me right now.” She put her hands on her hips.

  “I want to be with you again. Can we—will you be with me again?”

  Back to sex, huh? “Drunk on sin. Figures.”

  But his gaze hardened. “I’m not drunk on anything, but you.”

  That was—

  She heard the sound of breaking glass. Her whole body tensed, and she leapt for the bedroom door, putting herself between Malik and whatever—or whoever—was out there.

  But Malik grabbed her and with a strength that was more powerful than her own, he pushed her behind him. And he shook his head. “My fight. Not yours.”

  His wings swept out. He flew out of the bedroom—and toward the den.

  For a moment, she stared after him with a gaping mouth. He was her mission. That meant every fight he had was hers. But she did pause long enough to jerk on jeans and shoes. Then she rushed out to the den. And she found Malik standing perfectly still. His wings were nowhere to be seen. His broad back was in front of her, and he faced off against—

  No one?

  Her gaze swept the area. One of the windows had been broken by something. And that seemed crazy in and of itself. She figured the windows in that fancy place had to be reinforced. And as high up as they were—

  Malik bent to pick up something. Something square and dark that was in the middle of broken window glass.

  “Don’t touch that!” Josephine yelled. Jeez. Had the guy never seen even one cop show on TV? “It could be a bomb! It could be—”

  He opened the box.

  They didn’t blow up. Luckily. She made a mental note. The angel couldn’t follow directions. Josephine hustled to get beside him so that she could peer inside the box. And when she peered inside, she saw one long, black feather. Not a bird’s feather. Very different. Very distinct. Much bigger.

  An angel’s feather.

  Malik’s feather?

  “How’d that get here?” She looked at the window. In the pit of her gut, Josephine got a really, really bad feeling. If someone had tossed the box inside, that meant the someone could fly. She ran through the list of possibilities on that one…

  Shapeshifters…

  Gargoyles…

  The Fey.

  Oh, hell, no. She grabbed Malik’s arm. “We’re out of here.”

  “I’m being hunted.”

  “Yes, you are. By me. But we’re ditching this joint and heading out. Because when someone starts throwing shit in what has to be a twenty-fifth story, reinforced window, that is not a good sign.” Had magic been used to break the glass?

  He pulled the feather out of the box. “It’s not mine.”

  “Uh, good?” Bad? She wasn’t sure, but opted for bad. Getting an angel feather delivered had to be bad.

  “Another angel fell a few months ago. Luke tried to keep it quiet. The angel…the angel was killed before I could get to him.”

  “Before you could get to him?” That didn’t seem right. “What are you, the retrieval service for lost angels?”

  He swallowed. “We’re hunted when we fall. Torn apart. Our magic stripped away by our enemies.” He exhaled on a ragged breath. “The magic has been drained from the feather. I can feel it.”

  They were still standing in his penthouse. And the bad feeling she had was just getting worse. They needed to get moving.

  “One leads the charge. One thinks he can get greater power by taking it from us.” Rage seethed in Malik’s voice. “We don’t even have to fall. He can see in the shadows. He can see us.”

  Suspicion slid through her. “This magical, mysterious One…is he part of the reason you’re down here?” Maybe it wasn’t just all about the angel’s stalker obsession with her.

  A slight hesitation. “He has to be stopped.”

  She glanced toward the broken window. Then to the feather. She could see dried blood on that feather. “I know most of the bad guys out there.” A few, she knew intimately. This wasn’t the time to cover that part of the equation. “Tell me this fellow’s name.”

  “I don’t know his name. Just whispers. Stories. Fear that spreads.”

  “Uh, maybe I—”

  The glass on the windows and doors started to crack. The cracking was like nails sliding down a chalkboard. Her gaze flew around the room. Everything was breaking at once. Vases. The TV screen. Plates in the kitchen. And she’d actually seen something like this before. If she was right, she was staring at a spell. A spell that would send every bit of nearby glass shattering into chunks…and then flying right at them.

  Oh, shit. “We need to get out of here.”

  “He’s close. I will hunt—”

  “We’re getting out of here, or you’re about to be sliced to bits. We’re both about to be sliced.” She yanked the box out of his hand. Dropped it. “Leave that thing here.”

  “I need—”

  “It could be a magical homing device. I’ve used crap like that before, okay? And it’s worked on my targets.” Just as she’d used the glass breaking spell before, too. A spell that she’d actually gotten courtesy of good old Lawrence. Her hand locked around his elbow. “We’re getting the hell out of here. Now.”

  His jaw hardened, but he nodded. Malik took a step toward the balcony doors.

  “No way. Flying out doesn’t make us inconspicuous. Instead, it’s like shining a bright beacon that says, ‘Angel here. Come and get me.’” Josephine shook her head. “Let’s try staying under the radar a bit, shall we? At least until I can figure out exactly who we’re up against.” She grabbed his hand. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  He rushed away with her even as the glass kept giving ominous groans and creaks. Because he’d touched the feather, dammit, she was worried.

  When she’d been on the hunt for a rogue incubus—tally mark number sixteen—she’d used a set-up just like this one. Lawrence had worked his magic for her—the witch was a lot older than he appeared.

  The incubus had been fucking and killing his way through New York. He’d stayed locked inside his place and had all of his victims brought to him. Since the incubus hadn’t been in the mood to come out and play, Josephine had sent him a package, courtesy of a winged shifter who’d thrown it into the incubus’s twelfth story window. Curious incubus…he’d picked it up. Touched the, um, gift she’d left inside. As soon as he’d touched it, that incubus had been hers. The spell Lawrence had created for her had been activated and bam—the glass started breaking. The incubus had stood there, frowning in confusion, while the glass splintered.

  He’d still been standing there when the first chunks had hit him. He’d tried running then, but the spell had been locked on him. He’d had to wait, riding out the storm, until the glass stopped raining down on him. By that point, he’d been too weak to fight back against her.

  She yanked open the penthouse’s front door. Josephine ran into the hallway, dragging Malik with her toward the bank of elevators.

  “Who we’re up against,” he murmured. The fool fallen was smiling. “I like that you said it that way. Makes it seem like we’re a team.”


  “We’re not.” She pounded on the elevator’s down button.

  Creak.

  “Then why are you helping me? I mean, if we’re not a team—”

  Ding.

  The elevator had opened. Just in time. She practically threw the angel inside. “I’m doing this because no one else is getting credit for your bounty.”

  What could have been pain flashed on his face. That made her feel bad. Which she was, of course. But—well, badder than normal. She reached inside the elevator and punched the button for the ground floor. Josephine didn’t step foot inside the elevator, though.

  “What are you doing? Get inside!” Malik urged.

  When Josephine glanced over her shoulder, she saw that the shards of glass were already coming. They were locked on their target, all right. And they’d fly through walls. Through doors. Through anything that got in their way.

  Anything…except flesh. That was part of the spell that she remembered the most. The spell would break when blood touched the glass.

  This was going to hurt. But then, she’d known that, hadn’t she? When she’d first told Malik that he had to run.

  “I’ll find you,” she promised as the doors started to slide closed.

  “What?” He surged toward her. “No, no, you come with me—”

  She shoved him back. Hard. He blinked, seemingly stunned, confused. The doors closed and—

  The first shard hit her in the back. Hurt like a mother, but it wouldn’t kill her. Well, she hoped it wouldn’t kill her. Blood loss really was a bitch.

  “Josephine!”

  Malik’s roar reached her, even as more chunks of glass slid into her body. How could she still hear him? Shouldn’t he be going down—

  The elevator erupted. Exploded. Josephine had a fast impression of an enraged angel, and then he was grabbing her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, and then his wings—

  His wings closed around her just as the full barrage of glass hit.

  “No!” Josephine screamed.

  Chapter Seven

  “What have you done?” Josephine twisted in his arms. Her voice was thick. Husky. It almost sounded as if she was crying. Impossible, though. In all of his many years watching over her, Malik had never seen Josephine shed a tear.

  She shoved against his arms. “I smell your blood! It’s all around me!”

  That would explain why he felt so light-headed. Did she realize his tight grip on her was keeping him upright?

  “The glass has stopped! It’s done! Now let me go!” She drove her elbows into him, and he let her go. But as soon as she was free of his grip, Malik fell to his knees before her, unable to control his weakness any longer.

  “Your wings…”

  His gaze lifted to her as he knelt.

  Horror was clear on her beautiful face. He didn’t look around him. Malik knew what he’d see. The glass had sliced into his wings and feathers were all around him. Feathers just like the one that had been delivered in that damn box. Bloody feathers.

  “Malik…why?”

  It was so simple. Didn’t she get it? Didn’t she understand yet? “Because you’re worth more than the wings.”

  Her lips parted. And a tear slid down her cheek.

  No, no, Josephine didn’t cry. She didn’t ever—

  Josephine swiped away the tear. “We’re getting out of here. Now.” She grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet.

  But Malik swayed. So much blood loss. And his wings…they’d been cut so badly. So deeply. He couldn’t stand to look at the feathers around him.

  “Get in the elevator,” Josephine demanded. “The non-broken one. The one that still has doors. And don’t you dare think of jumping out again or I will knock that sexy ass of yours out cold, got me?”

  He was afraid that he might pass out on her right then and there. “You should…go.” Leave him. Before his enemies attacked again. He’d known they would come for him when he fell. Enemies who’d been waiting. Enemies who would do anything to take an angel’s magic.

  “We’re both going.” She shoved him inside the elevator. He slumped against the back wall and left a trail of blood in his wake. His eyes wanted to sag shut but he forced them open, and Malik saw Josephine slam her fist into the row of elevator buttons. The doors closed with a ding.

  “I…I need…” His words were hoarse. His wounds hadn’t closed yet. His wings felt as if they were on fire.

  “I know what you need.” She was in front of him now. Staring up at him with those deep, dark eyes of hers. Eyes that had haunted him for so long. Maybe forever. “So just take it, okay?”

  “Wh—” Her wrist was at his mouth. And there was something sweet sliding over his tongue. Something that, with one taste, he wanted. He craved. His hands rose, tightening around her forearm.

  It’s her blood.

  Distantly, he knew that. The sweetness on his tongue that tasted better than wine—it was Josephine’s blood. She was giving her blood to him.

  “Take what you need,” she whispered. Her eyes were still on him. He couldn’t look away. “It will help you heal so we can get the hell away from this place.”

  He shouldn’t take her blood. An angel wasn’t supposed to take a vampire’s blood. And a vampire was never, ever supposed to bite an angel. That sort of pairing was forbidden.

  But he wasn’t an angel any longer. He’d made the choice. Risks be damned. He was fallen. And she—

  Mine. Always mine.

  With every drop of her precious blood, he felt his need for her grow. His need for her blood. His need for her body. His need for her very soul. His need for Josephine. His. His obsession. His weakness.

  His.

  The elevator dinged again.

  “B-bottom floor.” Her tongue swiped over her lower lip. Her breath seemed to be coming faster. “But…keep drinking. Take what you—”

  Power was already flooding back through him. He didn’t feel the burn in his wings. Didn’t feel anything but raw desire for her. His tongue licked over her wrist, taking more precious drops of blood. Had she been cut by the flying glass? Is that where the injury on her wrist had come from? Or had she cut her own skin for him?

  “What the fuck?” A man’s sharp exclamation of surprise.

  Malik glanced over Josephine’s shoulder. A man in a black suit stood just beyond the open doors, gaping. Okay. So maybe Malik was covered in blood and half-dressed. Maybe—

  Without removing her wrist from Malik’s grasp, Josephine glanced over her shoulder. She stared at the man, and his face seemed to go slack. “You will keep everyone away from this elevator until we leave.”

  The guy blinked.

  “You’ll also make sure no one uses the other elevator because it’s, um, out of order.”

  In order to get to Josephine, Malik had beat his way through the other elevator’s doors.

  “And when we vanish, you will forget us.” A pause. “But you’ll remember the bit about the elevators. Safety first, hmm?”

  Another slow blink from the human. The fellow’s pupils had turned into saucers. But he nodded and lurched back around. “Hey! We got a broken elevator—somebody get maintenance!”

  Malik licked along her wrist again. Shivering, Josephine glanced back at him. His right hand held her wrist tightly against his mouth. His left snaked down to curl along her hip, and he jerked her closer to him, pulling her flush against his body.

  “Someone is healing very fast,” she said, her voice a little breathy and a whole lot sexy.

  He wanted her. Wanted to fuck her right there as he took her blood. Wanted to strip her and make her scream and moan and come right—

  What am I becoming?

  The question tore through the fog of lust—physical and bloodlust—that was trying to consume Malik.

  “Your wings are gone,” she whispered.

  They’d turned to shadows. He knew that. The better not to freak out the humans. His wings had been damaged, but not severed.

 
; “How much more…do you need?”

  Everything. He wanted to take and take. To bind her to him completely.

  But that was the fever, the lust, the craving talking. Controlling him. He still had the strength to resist those dark urges. Barely. Soon he wouldn’t, though. Soon, the darkness would take over.

  But he’d known that end would come. From the moment he’d made the decision to fall, Malik had understood what the end result would be.

  After one more, long lick—a lick that made her shiver again—Malik forced himself to let go of Josephine’s wrist. She didn’t move, though, but kept staring up at him. Then she asked, voice still soft and husky and sensual, “What does my blood do to you?”

  It healed him.

  Strengthened him.

  Addicted him.

  “It makes me want you even more.” His rough response was growled.

  “That’s what happens to me, when you drink. I want you even more.” She backed away. “But we have to get out of here. Now. We left a trail of blood and angel feathers upstairs. The paranormal who sent that spell after us is coming, and I want to know who I’m up against before we have a showdown.” She offered her hand to him. “You with me?”

  Always.

  His fingers curled around hers. They rushed out of the elevator, and he saw that the human male she’d spoken with before was shoving people away from the elevator bank.

  “I told you!” the guy snarled to the crowd. “We’ve got a broken elevator. Safety first people, safety first! Do you understand what broken means?”

  Humans gawked at Malik as he passed them. Probably because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He should do something about that. Angels could usually glamour up some clothes—they had to be able to do that. Make clothes appear that could fit around their wings. But for some reason, he couldn’t seem to pull up that power. Even though he felt stronger, what should have been a simple matter of basic magic just…

  Wasn’t.

  They burst out of the hotel’s front doors. A guy on a motorcycle had just pulled up—a guy wearing a battered leather jacket. A jerk who tossed Josephine a cocky grin.