Refusing to dial down the heat of his gaze, he asked, “What is it you expect to happen?”
“A repeat of what happens each time we face each other like this. We got too close, Knight.”
She watched his face for the grin she was sure would follow her confession. That grin did not appear. Rhys was acting like a gentleman again, when something far more lethal resided within him.
“Do we stand here, or would you accept my offer for shelter?” he asked. “I promise no monsters will bother you there.”
“Are there so many monsters in London that walk in daylight?”
“Far too many of them to count.”
“Humans, you mean. Mortals.”
He didn’t deny the remark.
Avery nodded. “Very well. I accept.”
“Hypothetically?”
“Actually.”
He said, “Good. Follow me.” He turned from her, took two steps, then turned back. “You might want to pocket the blade first. Your host for the night might take exception.”
“And if we meet more unwelcome guests along the way?”
“That’s doubtful. I’ve cleared the path.”
“I don’t need a protector,” Avery said. “I think you know that.”
“I do know that,” he agreed.
Avery heard him add beneath his breath, “But maybe that’s exactly what I’m going to need. Protection. From you.”
His confession, an acknowledgement of the unnamable thing growing between them, made Avery’s nerves blaze. The only hope she had was that they’d soon find her wings, and then her deep-seated attraction to this Blood Knight wouldn’t matter.
How often, though, had she thought that same thing? That he would no longer matter to her. It had been so many times, in fact, that by now she should have believed it.
“Is it far?” she asked, not quite ready to move in any direction.
“Yes,” he said. “Time to move, angel.”
He stopped again to look back at her. “It would be nice to have a name, so I can introduce you properly.”
“Names have power.”
“Real names do. Somehow I very much doubt anyone knows yours.”
“You can call me Avery.”
“Avery,” he repeated in a deep, gravelly tone. “A form of old English?”
It meant battle in old English, but she didn’t clarify that point. She merely liked that it started with the same letter as her original name.
“All right, Avery, come along. Night is waning.”
Avery wasn’t sure she liked him using one of the monikers she had chosen for herself. Vowing to find another name that wouldn’t sound so provocative when Rhys said it, she moved up behind him.
Be careful, her mind warned. You are falling under his spell.
And what a spell it was. Following him gave her an impressive view of Rhys’s commendable backside. In her defense, angels weren’t immune to physical perfection any more than humans were.
His pants were tight enough to skim his long legs and lean, muscled thighs. The black coat swung with each stride. Boots that should have made sounds on the pavement didn’t—another indication that Rhys wasn’t like most of the others in this overcrowded city.
Light-streaked brown hair brushed his collar in a shiny mass of thick strands that Avery envisioned running her fingers through if he were to ever pin her to a wall again. She almost wished he would. After admiring all of this from the beginning, she liked it more now. Rhys was a walking advertisement for the beauty of the supernatural. How many years had she loved him?
Sacrilege.
Treacherous thoughts.
What she wanted to do to this Blood Knight, and with him, produced a warning flutter deep in her belly and an ache between her leather-clad thighs. While times with the Weres had suited her on occasion for a rough-and-tumble, bedding this Knight would be the end of her. He would be a great lover. All that power and calm might entice her to give up and give in.
And in the end, he might not want her. Once he knew the score, the true beginnings of his kind and who his Makers really were, that golden sheen he radiated might dim...and she would have been the cause.
Have to get out before that happens.
Don’t look at him. Get this over with.
That’s what her conscience said. Her body wanted no part of that. Her body wished for hot sex on a cool night, on a rooftop high above the city where the stars shone brightest. Hell, she almost rubbed her hand between her thighs to ease the ache building there, knowing that nothing temporary would satisfy the spot that needed this Knight most.
Lovers. A damaged angel and an immortal Blood Knight. The heavens would shudder if they weren’t already, and if anyone up there was watching this play out.
“Are you coming?” the object of her desire said over his broad shoulder.
Not coming yet, she wanted to tell him. But Rhys, who had also lived forever, wouldn’t have missed the double entendre in that remark, and all bets would have been off for pursuing her quest, at least for a while.
* * *
Rhys let the heat of Avery’s thoughts roll over him. True, he couldn’t hear what she was thinking in ways that made sense, but feeling the direction her thoughts had taken was doable. This angel talked a good game. Still, all he had to do was turn and open his arms to get what he wanted. One small move for such a big reward.
And then what?
She would leave without giving him those answers, and he’d go back to his former watch alone and none the wiser.
Who the hell knew what she was really after?
So he kept walking. Down one street, then two, he led her, much like a man with a shadow. She didn’t speak to him again, and the silence was filled with wayward energy that had nowhere to go.
Down three more streets and they were back to the place where he had kissed her. Glancing at that brick wall caused a thrill. Remembering the way she had stood there, half naked, baring herself to him in order to prove a point, caused a rustle in the fabric of his being. He couldn’t shed the shock of the sight of those tattooed wings and what they hid.
“We’re here,” Rhys announced, waiting for Avery to catch up.
Big blue eyes outlined in black were on him.
“Up there.” He pointed to the top floor of the building beside them. “Penthouse.”
“Safe because...?” she asked.
“No creature in London would mess with the immortal that uses it from time to time. In his absence, an Alpha lives there. A werewolf–cop combo is a dangerous mix of both things.”
“Another immortal also uses it?” she said.
“A brother.”
She nodded, said, “I suppose you mean St. John.”
Hearing the mention of another Blood Knight, spoken through Avery’s lips, gave Rhys a start. This was a healthy reminder that the angel did know a thing or two about the Seven. That reminder was disconcerting.
Christopher St. John, long a fixture on London’s ancient vampire scene, had recently left the city, bestowing the right to his penthouse apartment on the wolf that had helped him bring down some very bad vamps. How the hell did Avery know about that? He planned to ask her as soon as they were off the street.
“You don’t have anything against Weres, I hope?” Rhys asked.
“Nothing at all,” she replied with a hint of wryness in her tone.
“There’s an elevator inside.” He waved at the door to the building, a heavy dark green chunk of wood bearing an intricate Celtic design. “After you.”
He wasn’t entirely sure if Avery would go through that door and sighed with relief when she did. Careful to keep a polite distance, he followed her, glad four specially designed lead-lined walls would contain all that light for
a few short hours and confuse the creeps who seemed to be after her. She was strong enough, he gauged, to handle the creature-proof walls.
They shared the small elevator without looking at each other, though the tension of it filled the small space. Neither of them spoke until the ornate gate opened and Rhys gestured for her to exit into the grand room beyond.
The penthouse was a wide expanse of uninterrupted loft space, and just the sort of thing Rhys preferred. Cavernous ceiling. Gray slate floor. Stone covered the lead walls, in places decorated with rare framed art from St. John’s extensive collection. Several pieces of fine furniture that weren’t too modern for an ancient being’s sensibilities were strategically placed.
Avery went right to the bank of glass that covered one entire wall, as if looking out at the view of the streets and buildings below them would help her breathe easier. Claustrophobia seemed to hound all immortals, though everyone, mortals and immortals alike, needed some kind of safe house and time spent indoors.
“Is he here? The wolf?” Avery asked with her back to him.
“Yes,” a deeper voice than Rhys’s replied. “The wolf is, in fact, in residence tonight.”
Rhys noticed that Avery didn’t bother to turn around. Maybe, in this instance, she did actually trust his take on the matter of a host.
“It isn’t my preferred form of greeting, that wolf thing,” continued the large man entering the room. “I trust you’re a friend?”
“Avery,” Rhys said, “I’d like you to meet Detective Inspector Ellis Crane, the Alpha of London’s rough-and-tumble West End pack.”
When she turned, Crane said, “Avery...” and stopped there as his appraising gaze met hers. “Welcome. Any friend of Rhys’s is a potential friend of mine.”
“Potential?” she asked.
“Friendships have to be earned and not freely given, don’t you think?” Crane replied.
She nodded in agreement. “Your particular skills would aid nicely in your job as a DI.”
“You’re alluding to the special senses inherent to my species. And, yes, they’re quite a boon. Have you known many Weres...Avery, is it?”
“I have known a few Weres. And yes, Avery is the name I go by these days.”
Crane faced Rhys. The Were’s practiced cop face was free of all expression and standard fare for a DI, but Rhys easily understood what the detective was silently asking.
“She would have to tell you more, if she wants to,” Rhys said. “I know little about her, other than she has solicited my help. We need a night or two here, if you’ll agree to that. It seems others in this city are as interested as I am in her sudden appearance in London.”
“Vampires?” Crane asked.
“And Shades.”
“As a reminder, I am right here,” Avery said from her place by the windows. Directly to Crane, she added, “I’m interested in why you came up with vampires right off.”
“We’ve had an uptick in bloodsucker populations lately, which isn’t necessarily anything new for this time of year. However, Rhys also mentioned Shades, and that catches my interest.”
“Why?”
“We rarely see them nowadays,” Crane replied. “I haven’t caught sight of one for ages. Maybe a year or longer.”
“These few appeared, at least superficially, to be tagging along with the vamps,” Rhys explained. “Hot on vamp coattails, anyway.”
Crane looked again to Avery. “Does that make sense to you?”
“Not much makes sense these days,” she said noncommittally. “And neither of those two species will deter me from my objective for coming here.”
“But you know why they might be interested in you?” Crane pressed, in the kind of tone that perfectly suited one of London’s lead investigators.
Avery nodded. “Darkness covets light.”
“And you are that light,” Crane said.
Rhys swore beneath his breath, afraid Avery was going to disappear, if not now, then as the good detective resumed the interrogation.
Crane had pegged her as something special, and that was a no-brainer, especially for a fine-tuned cop used to reading people. But if the detective thought he could probe a grounded angel, especially this one, and get her to dish on the details of her background, Crane had another thing coming. Like the only Blood Knight in the room, he had met his match tonight.
Stepping forward to break up any added buildup of tension, Rhys said to Avery, “Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?”
She shook her head. “Just a place to curl up, if the offer for time here still stands.”
“It does,” Crane said. “I’m on duty tonight and was on my way out, so feel free to make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” She turned back to the view.
“Extraordinary,” Crane said as he moved past Rhys, toward the elevator.
“What is?” Rhys asked.
Crane paused long enough to say, “Meeting her in person like this.”
Shots of an unfamiliar emotion struck Rhys like a sucker punch to the gut. “Whatever do you mean, Crane?”
“There have been stories about a stranger like her.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Still here,” Avery said from across the room. “And for the record, Detective, my hearing is as good as yours. Maybe better.”
Crane shrugged. The look he gave Rhys when he continued to the elevator left Rhys sensing he had missed something important about his guest.
When Crane had gone, Avery said over her shoulder, “I use them from time to time for recreation.”
“Cops?” Rhys said.
“Wolves.”
He really didn’t like the picture his mind was conjuring up that accompanied her statement.
“What does that mean, Avery?”
“Sex. Among other things, that’s what they’re good at.”
Now he really didn’t like the images hurling through his mind. Anger welled up. He didn’t appreciate being tied to terms like jealousy and possessiveness.
“I see,” he said.
“I doubt if you do.” Avery turned to him. “Weres relate to anger, scars, and being separated from the rest of the world by things beyond their control.”
“Things such as being a completely different species?”
“Yes.”
“Like you.”
Her eyes were very bright in the dim light. “Yes. Like me.”
“All right. I get that,” Rhys said.
“Do you?”
He threw her own question-for-a-question tactic back to her. “Would you care if I did or didn’t understand?”
“More than you know,” she said.
Her answer surprised him. Rhys found himself by her side without knowing how he got there. He didn’t touch her. He lowered his voice. “Would you care to elaborate on that?”
“Is this another interrogation?” she returned wearily.
“Just the one question, then, because it might help me to understand.”
“Understand what, Rhys?”
“Why I can’t seem to get enough of you. Why I’ve been mesmerized from the first sighting of you. And why I feel the need to protect your ass, when you’re obviously capable of protecting yourself.”
His hand was on her arm, on the black jacket she had slipped back into after he had relieved her of it in a moment of passion. She met his gaze. The connection, blue eyes to blue eyes, immortal soul to immortal soul, caused his next move. There was no way to stop it, Rhys told himself.
He took her hand in his, pressed her palm to his chest, absorbed the shudders of desire that small touch caused. Flames of greed licked at him, proving he hadn’t passed his own test. He wasn’t able to separate this willingness to help Avery f
rom his unexplained feelings for her.
Wanting so much more, without daring to act on those desires, Rhys waited, counting the seconds ticking by, until she spoke again.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was hushed, throaty. She didn’t break contact by averting her eyes.
Sheets of gleaming white hair curtained the sides of her angular face. Against the black jacket, the long, straight strands looked like a physical metaphor cementing the dark-versus-light theory taking shape in Rhys’s mind. That contrast also illustrated the dichotomy between good and evil that wasn’t always cut-and-dried or easily explained. White spilling over into black, and vice versa.
“What are you sorry about?” he asked, keeping her hand pressed to his chest, feeling her heat burn all the way through his clothes to leave a fresh print on his flesh.
“You,” she said. “I’m sorry for doing this to you.”
“Making me want you? Is that what you mean?”
She shook her head, dispersing the waist-length silken strands that Rhys wanted to run his fingers through. His body ached for the next intimate touch, and to feel her breath on his face. This lust for her wasn’t usual. He realized that. He just wasn’t sure what it was or where it had come from.
“Sorry for...” he gently prompted.
“For your life as you now know it,” she whispered, and Rhys’s heart, beneath her hand, inside his chest, thudded with a warning about what she was going to say next.
Chapter 12
Avery swallowed hard, stifling the words she had been about to speak. Something else nagged for her attention, tearing it away from Rhys and the scary moment of closeness they were sharing that had been leading to a confession.
Turning her head, she said, “Hell, they’re here.”
Rhys stiffened and looked past her. “They?”
“Vampires.”
The apartment was soundproof, but Avery didn’t need to hear the vamp chatter to sense them. She felt those monsters’ foreign presence as if she stood on the street watching the parade of bloodsuckers arrive.
Something else. Something more...
“He’s there, too. Damn it, we’ve led them here,” she said.
“Who, Avery? Who else is here?”
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