by Sylvia Day
“You are far more valuable and desirable to me now than you were then.” His forehead dropped lightly to hers. “Because now you’re mine. Totally and completely. As I am yours. With all my faults and traits that annoy you.”
Catching him with a hand at his nape, she took his mouth in a deep, lush kiss that curled her toes and quickened her breathing.
“I love you.” The words were spoken against his lips, her hands clutching him with the strength of all the joy inside her. It was too much sometimes, overflowing and clogging her throat with tears of gratitude. She was embarrassed by the strength of her feelings for her mate. He was in her thoughts at nearly every waking moment and many of her sleeping ones as well.
“I love you, my dearest Vashti.” He crushed her naked body to him. “I know you’ve given me considerable leeway with Ice, against your better judgment. I think it’s time I repaid you by listening to your counsel and reining him back.”
She adored that about him, too, his sense of fairness and ability to bend when appropriate. “You deal with him, I’ll deal with Torque’s problem, and tonight we’ll drop off the map for a couple days. We’ve both been working hard lately. We’ve earned a break.”
Wrapping his hand gently around her throat, he smiled. Eyes bright with sensual promise and affection, he murmured, “With an incentive like that, I’ll make damn sure I’m home early.”
“We’ll see how cooperative Ice is with that. He might have his ass hidden in the most out-of-the-fucking-way place imaginable.”
He arched a chastising brow for her ribbing, but vowed, “Nothing could keep me away.”
“Better not.” She turned away and wiggled her ass at him. “Neither of you wants me hunting you down…”
By noon, Vashti was sashaying into Syre’s office with a memento from her latest hunt in hand. The vampire leader wasn’t alone, but she felt no hesitation in interrupting. The woman with him was one of countless human females who’d caught Syre’s eye and lost it just as quickly. It didn’t matter if they were forewarned or not; they never believed he was completely unattainable until they experienced his dismissal firsthand. He was a passionate man, but physical enthusiasm was no sign of deeper interest. Syre had lost his wings for love, then he’d lost the woman he had given them up for.
“Syre.”
He glanced at her with the heavy-lidded gaze that drove women crazy. He stood with arms crossed and his hip canted into the short built-in bookcase behind his desk. Dressed in black tailored slacks and black silk tie paired with a crisp white dress shirt, he was both elegant and devastatingly attractive. His inky dark hair and warm, caramel-hued skin made him exotic in a way that was impossible to classify. Eastern European, some guessed. Syre had been favored once, much loved by the Creator. It was why, she believed, their fall had been punished so harshly—he’d had a very lofty perch to tumble from.
“Vashti,” he greeted, his voice as throaty and warm as whiskey. “Things go well?”
“Of course.”
The blonde who’d been overstaying her welcome shot daggers at Vash, as most of his lovers did. They mistook the connection between her and her superior officer as something far more than it was. Their relationship was personal and priceless, but it wasn’t intimate or romantic. Vash would give her life for Syre’s in an instant, but the love she bore him sprang only from respect, loyalty, and the knowledge that he would die as readily for her.
She gave the woman a sympathetic smile, but spoke bluntly, as was her way. “Don’t call him; he’ll call you.”
“Vashti,” Syre admonished in a warning tone. He was too much of a gentleman to make the clean breaks that would spare him a lot of messy confrontations.
She didn’t have such qualms. “He wanted you, he had you, and you had a good time. There’s nothing else beyond that.”
“What are you?” the lovely blonde shot back. “His pimp?”
“No. That would make you a whore.”
“Enough, Vashti.” Syre’s voice cracked like a whip.
“You’re so jealous,” the blonde hissed, her perfect features contorting from her frustration and hurt. Her emotional spillage contrasted sharply with her pristine, perfect exterior. Her sleek chignon, fashionable pillbox hat, and tidy feminine suit were so cool compared to her heated response. “You can’t stand that he’s with me.”
Sadly, the woman couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Vash would give up everything but Charron to see her commander happy again. If it would have made a difference to do so, she would have pointed out what a striking couple they made—the regal blonde and the debonair dark prince. But the heart Syre’s mortal wife had awakened in him had died along with her.
“I’m trying to save you from weeks of humiliating yourself,” Vash said as kindly as possible.
“Fuck you.”
“Diane,” Syre said firmly, straightening and moving to catch her by the elbow. “I’m sorry to have to end our pleasurable association so abruptly, but I can’t allow anyone to speak to Vashti in that manner.”
Diane’s cornflower blue eyes widened and her painted mouth formed an astonished O. She stumbled along beside him as he led her out of the room. “But you allow her to talk to me the way she did? How can you?”
When Syre returned, alone, his handsome features were grim. “You’re in a mood today,” he said curtly.
“I just saved you from a week or more of begging and pleading. You’re welcome. And you need a mistress.”
“My sexual proclivities are none of your concern.”
“Your mental well-being is,” she shot back. “Find someone whose company you enjoy and keep her around. Let her look after you a bit.”
“I don’t need the complication.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated.” She dropped into one of the seats in front of his desk, her hands smoothing her sleek khaki pants. “I’m talking about a business arrangement. I don’t understand it myself, but there are some women who can have sex just because it’s fun. Set one up in a nice place and give her an allowance.”
Syre shook his head. “You are becoming my pimp.”
“Maybe you need one.”
“I’m insulted by even the concept of fucking a woman who feels obligated to comply.”
Her brow arched. “There isn’t a woman alive who would find it a chore.” Even she, a woman who was happily mated to the love of her life, wasn’t immune to Syre’s sexual appeal. He was the kind of man that hit a woman right between the eyes every time she saw him. Sensuous, seductive, hypnotic.
“You will cease talking about this.”
“No, I won’t. You need someone to care about you, Samyaza.”
The use of his angelic name thrust home her seriousness. His gaze sharpened and narrowed as he sank into his chair behind the desk. “No.”
“I didn’t say love you. Care about you. Someone to make you coffee in the morning, just the way you like it. Someone to watch a rerun on television with you. You know, just someone who’s around who knows you and wants good things for you.”
Leaning back, he set his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingertips together. “I’ve been asked to explain you at times. Explain what you are to me. I haven’t come up with the right answer yet. You are my second, but you’re not merely a subordinate officer to me. We’re more than friends, yet I don’t view you as a sister. I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I am aware of your beauty as any man would be, yet I’m not interested in sleeping with you. You are the most important woman in my life and I’d be utterly lost without you, but I would never want to cohabitate with you. What are you to me, Vashti? What gives you the right to discuss such personal matters with me?”
She frowned. Categorizing what they were to each other was something she’d never done. For her, their relationship just…was. She was an extension of him in many ways.
“I’m your right hand,” she decided, then she tossed him the object she held.
He caught it deft
ly, his reflexes quick and agile. “What is this?”
“Half of a charm I took off Asmodeus’s lackey. I left the other half on the pile of ashes she turned into when I killed her. When it was whole, it bore Asmodeus’s sigil.”
“You’re taunting him.”
Vash shook her head. “Three in two weeks? That’s not a coincidence. He’s allowing, maybe even encouraging, his underlings to toy with us. We’re a prize—angels who were thrown away like garbage.”
“We have enough enemies as it is.”
“No, we have jailers—the Sentinels and their lycan dogs. The demons are possible enemies, if we don’t correct them. We have to take a stand.”
“This isn’t the way I would see things handled.”
“Yes, it is. That’s why you put me in charge of dealing with demon annoyances.” She crossed her legs. “You can shake on a truce with your other hand. I’m the hand that flips them off.”
A commotion in the hallway pushed her swiftly to her feet. Vash moved to the open doorway with preternatural speed, beating Syre by a mere millisecond.
What she saw froze her blood.
Raze and Salem carried an all-too-familiar body into the house, making a beeline for the dining room, where they laid him on the long oval table.
“What the fuck happened?” she snapped, entering the room and staring at Ice’s motionless body. The minion’s skin was burned black in places and blistered all over. Blood soaked his T-shirt and stained his jeans to the knees. Tears in his clothing revealed the clawing marks of lupine paws.
His hand reached out lightning quick, caging her wrist. He opened bloodshot eyes. “Char…help…”
For a moment the room spun, then everything drew inward, coalescing in frigid clarity. “Where?”
“Old mill. Lycans…Help him…”
Yanking one of Raze’s blades free of the scabbard on his back, Vash spun on her heel and raced into the gloaming.
CHAPTER 1
Elijah Reynolds stood naked on a rock in the woods surrounding Navajo Lake and watched his dreams burn along with the decimated outpost below him. Acrid black smoke plumed into the air in wide, thick funnels that could be seen for miles.
The angels would know a rebellion had begun long before they reached the ruins.
Around him, lycans yipped with celebratory joy, but he felt none of it. He was cold and dead inside, his life as he’d known it scorched to embers in the smoldering devastation that had once been his home. He excelled at one thing: hunting vampires. Doing what he enjoyed came from working for the Sentinels—the most elite of all warrior angels. That indentured servitude, while chafing, was a small price to pay to do what he loved. But very few lycans felt the same, which had led to this result. Everything that mattered to him was gone, and what was left was a battle for independence his heart wasn’t invested in waging.
But it was done and couldn’t be undone. He’d live with it.
“Alpha.”
Elijah’s jaw clenched at the designation he’d never wanted. He glanced at the nude woman who approached him. “Rachel.”
Her gaze lowered.
He waited for her to speak, then realized she was doing the same in reverse. “Now you want to follow orders?”
Her hands linked behind her back and her head dropped. Irritated by her lack of conviction, he turned away. He’d told her a revolt was suicide. The Sentinels would hunt them, exterminate them. The lycans’ one purpose for existence was to serve the angels; if they no longer did that, they no longer had a place in the world. But she wouldn’t listen. She and her mate, Micah—Elijah’s best friend—had incited the others to this act of sheer fucking stupidity.
He sensed the approaching male lycan before he heard him. Turning his head, Elijah watched a golden wolf step into view, then shift midstride into the form of a tall, blond man.
“I’ve rounded up those with self-preservation instincts, Alpha,” Stephan said.
Which confirmed Elijah’s suspicion that some had fled the battle without considering the brutal days certain to lie ahead. Or perhaps some of the smarter ones had returned to the Sentinels. He wouldn’t hold it against them.
“Montana?” Rachel asked hopefully.
He shook his head, reminding himself that he’d promised Micah on his deathbed that she’d be looked after. “We’d never make it that far. Sentinels will be breathing down our necks within hours.”
One of the Sentinels had flown away during the conflict, blue wings spread wide as she raced to report the uprising. The rest had stayed and fought, but the razor-sharp tips of their wings had offered too little protection against the size of the Navajo Lake pack, which had needed thinning for months. Seriously outnumbered, the Sentinels had fought to the death, knowing that’s what their captain, Adrian, would do and expect. During the weeks that Elijah had been a member of Adrian’s pack, he’d seen for himself how tenacious and committed the Sentinel leader was. Only one thing could split Adrian’s focus, and even she couldn’t dull the angel’s killer instinct.
“There’s a network of caves near Bryce Canyon.” Elijah turned his back to the Navajo Lake outpost for the last time. “We’ll hole up there until we’re organized.”
“Caves?” Rachel asked, scowling.
“This was no victory, Rachel.”
She flinched away from the undercurrent of anger in his tone. “We’re free.”
“We were hunters and now we’re prey. That’s not an improvement. We kicked the Sentinels when they were already down. They were outnumbered twenty-to-one, taken by surprise, and lacking Adrian, who’s dealing with so much shit right now his head isn’t fully in the game. This was a one-shot, one-kill deal.”
Rachel’s shoulders went back, thrusting her small breasts forward. Nudity was nothing to a lycan; flesh or fur, it was all the same. “And we took it.”
“Yes, you did. Now trust me to handle the rest.”
“This is what Micah wanted, El.”
Elijah sighed, his anger swallowed by a tide of regret and grief. “I know what he wanted—a home in the suburbs, a nine-to-five job, carpools, and play dates. I would do anything to give you that dream…to give it to any other lycan with a wish for the same…but it’s impossible. You’ve dumped a task in my lap that I failed before I began, because there’s no way for me to succeed.”
And they couldn’t know what that failure cost him. He would never say. He could only make the best of what he had to work with and try to keep those who were now dependent on him alive.
He looked at Stephan. “I want teams of two sent to the other outposts. Preferably mated pairs.”
Mates would protect each other to the death. In times like these, when they would be hunted while separated from their pack, they’d need all the support they could get.
“Notify as many lycans as possible,” he went on, rolling his shoulders back to ease the tension in his neck. “Adrian will cut off outside communication to and from all the outposts—cell phones, the Internet, snail mail. So the teams will need to tackle the task directly, face-to-face.”
Stephan nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
“Everyone needs to withdraw whatever money they’ve got socked away before Adrian freezes their accounts.” As “employees” of Adrian’s aviation corporation, Mitchell Aeronautics, their stipends were deposited in an employee credit union that Adrian had complete access to.
“Most have already done that,” Rachel said quietly.
So, she’d thought that far ahead, at least. Elijah sent her off to gather the others; then he turned to Stephan. “I need the two lycans you trust the most for a special assignment: Find Lindsay Gibson. I want her whereabouts and status.”
Stephan’s eyes widened with surprise at the mention of Adrian’s mate.
Elijah struggled through the driving urge to find Lindsay himself, a mortal woman he considered a friend, the only one he had left now that Micah was dead. In so many ways, she was a mystery. She’d stumbled into their lives without w
arning, displaying skills no mere human should possess and garnering the Sentinel leader’s attention in ways Elijah had never witnessed or heard of.
Unlike the Fallen, who had lost their wings because they’d fraternized with mortals, the Sentinels were angels above reproach. The sins of the flesh and the vagaries of human emotion were far beneath their lofty stations. Elijah had never seen a Sentinel show even a flicker of desire or longing…until Adrian took one look at Lindsay Gibson and claimed her with a fierceness that surprised everyone. The Sentinel leader protected her life with more care than he did his own, putting Elijah in charge of her safety despite knowing that he was one of the rare, anomalous Alphas that were swiftly weeded out of the lycan packs.
It was during the course of his protection of Lindsay that a friendship had developed between them. Their easy camaraderie ran deep enough that they would die for each other. I’d take a bullet for you, she had told him once. Not many people had friends like that and Elijah had none now but her. He may have become the lycan Alpha, but Lindsay’s safety wasn’t a concern he’d ever relinquish. She had gone missing under the Sentinels’ watch, and he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew she was okay.
“I want her found and safe,” Elijah said, “by whatever means necessary.”
Stephan nodded. The unchallenged acquiescence gave Elijah the first hope that they just might have a chance in hell of surviving after all.
“Fuckin’ A.” Vash eyed the hazmat suit she held in her hand and felt a shard of icy fear pierce her gut.
Dr. Grace Petersen rubbed at one bleary eye with a fist. “We’re not entirely sure how the disease is transmitted. Better to be safe than sick—trust me. Bad piece of business.”
Pulling on the suit, Vash forced her mind to clear out the rising panic. She focused on reviving the scholarly skills and mindset she’d been sent to earth with as a Watcher. It had been a long time since she’d approached anything without the warrior’s mindset she’d cultivated as a vampress, but this was a battle she couldn’t fight with her fangs or fists.