by Addison Fox
A man with inherent weakness, enslaved by the manipulation of those weaknesses.
“You two look awful cozy for a pair that was fighting in the lobby a little while ago.”
Evangeline wondered how the man knew what had transpired. “How’d you know something like that?”
“I got eyes.”
“Full of crazy and drugs.” She spat the words back, unable to contain them. When the man amped up the bouncing on his feet, the gun shaking even more in his palm, Rafe laid his hand against hers in silent warning. Belatedly, she remembered his instructions on how he could be killed, but the words were already out of her mouth. Too bad she’d never been all that good at taking orders. “You’re just some little minion, doing someone else’s business. If Chaos is so all-important, why’d he send you to do his dirty work?”
The narrowing of their assailant’s eyes indicated she’d struck her mark. Clearly this minion had never considered his place in the pecking order.
Or the raw power Rafe Stavros could wield to take him down.
“Thanks for the assist, darling.”
Before she could levy any additional taunts, Rafe lashed out, fire expanding from his arms with the simplest flick of his wrist. A terrible cry went up as the flames reached the Hunter, his hands flying up to shield his face. The move was enough to distract him and Rafe used the moment to leap on the guy and disarm him of the gun that still wavered in his hand.
The wicked-looking piece fell to the ground and Evangeline watched it, her gaze darting between the gun and the struggling men on the ground. Rafe had the physical advantage, but the Hunter likely had addiction and a quick high on his side. He fought like a demon—even if he wasn’t fully imbued with one’s power—and scratched and clawed at Rafe as they rolled on the ground.
Sparks flew off of Rafe’s body, a clear sign he looked for another opportunity to unleash his fire. Where she’d been protected when pressed up against him, she suddenly sensed she might be in danger if the two of them weren’t touching. Which was likely the problem with the Hunter. As long as their bodies touched, Rafe’s fire couldn’t harm him.
She needed a distraction.
With a loud war cry, Evangeline leaped for the gun, scrambling around the two men through the finely mowed lawn. She reached, stretching for the gun, wrapping her fingers around the heavy piece. The metal was warm in her hand and slightly wet from the other man’s sweat. Shaking off the urge to scream in disgust, she focused on maintaining her grip. The handle fit to her palm, a fit that instantly brought back memories of her childhood. Bad people had come to her parents’ door, their own guns in hand, demanding any number of things.
She’d always believed the gun was the signifier that they were bad and she hadn’t necessarily changed her opinion since.
Backing away, she focused on Rafe and off the weapon. The moment she was free of him, she screamed her position. “Rafe. I’m away. Do it now!”
His gaze briefly connected with hers before he pushed the man off with a thick grunt. Those broad shoulders bunched with effort and he kicked with his legs, using his body’s full momentum to push off the threat.
The moment Rafe was free, he ignited, his entire body a wash of flame. Evangeline watched—captivated—as that fire stole over his opponent in a wash of reds and oranges.
The blaze consumed the captured man, who was screaming in agony as Rafe’s fire coated his body. It was only when Rafe stumbled back, his hand extended for the gun, that Evangeline understood what he wanted.
She checked the safety, concerned she was handling things properly. Unsure of the exact protocol and afraid to injure Rafe, she bent and tossed the gun lightly across the grass, the muzzle pointed away from him. It landed with a soft thud and without going off.
The flames ceased immediately, vanishing as if they never were. The blaze that consumed the Hunter vanished as well, even as the fire left an imprint on his body. Without second-guessing himself, Rafe retrieved the gun and ended the screams with a lone, merciful shot.
The gun fell from his hand, its thud on the ground considerably harder than hers. Before she could even question it, Rafe turned from the dead man and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
“Rafe, it’s—” He pulled her close, pressing her head against his chest.
“It’s not okay. You shouldn’t have seen that.”
“Rafe, I’m fine.”
Hard shudders racked his body and she ran her hands over his back, making circular motions across the broad expanse. The motions didn’t soothe as much as gentle, his heaving chest slowing beneath her ministrations.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you okay? You’re so shaken.”
“I’m... It’s not.” He stumbled over the words, the reaction so unlike the man she’d observed for the past year Evangeline had to wonder at the transformation. “It’s not okay.”
“He was trying to kill you.”
“My fire isn’t for killing. It’s not meant to torture another.”
“Rafe. He was going to hurt you and he clearly felt no remorse.”
Rafe bent his head, pressing his forehead to hers. “I couldn’t let him hurt you. There were other ways for me but I couldn’t let him touch you.”
“Shh. Shh, now.” She continued to rub those circles over his back, desperate to soothe the remorse that now gripped him. The minutes passed and she became aware of a buzzing around them. Gabe’s voice was louder than the rest as he gave out orders to several people, his security team descending en masse. She assumed they worked for him as she recognized a few on the staff quickly covering the body before lifting it onto a gurney.
“That was close.”
Rafe lifted his head but kept his arms tight around her. “How did he get on the property?”
“We don’t know.”
“And earlier? The demonstration in the lobby?”
Gabe frowned, his lips pressing into a narrow line before he spoke. “We don’t know that, either.”
“So they’re here. They have access and they’ve come to do battle.” Rafe spat the words, his fingers flexing against her shoulder.
“We don’t know that.”
“You know we do, Gabe. Troy and Victor were the advance warning system. We came looking for them and we exposed ourselves.”
Although she understood the brothers’ need to talk to each other, the mention of her former employees had Evangeline piping up. “What about Troy and Victor?”
“They were shills. And they played us. We thought their goal was to get inside the Archangel. It was really to draw us out.”
“When? Where?” Her mind whirled with the possibilities. “I only fired them two days ago. I know they haven’t been back on the grounds.”
Rafe dropped his arms and the moment he did he took any sense of warmth and comfort with him. “Gabe and I went looking for them last night.”
“You were with me last night.”
“After. We went after.”
She wasn’t sure why—it certainly wasn’t the date—but something about Rafe’s answer stuck in her belly with all the finesse of razor blades. “You were so convinced I was hiding something you went after what you believed to be my connection.”
Rafe remained silent, his dark eyes pleading with hers. Gabe wasn’t so delicate. “Yes, we did. And we’d do it again. We need to protect ourselves.”
“And in protecting yourselves, you made yourself more vulnerable to attack. Hell, you’ve brought the enemy to your door.”
* * *
Evangeline’s parting shot still rang in his ears an hour later as he paced Gabe’s office. Images of the burning Hunter filled his thoughts, a strange, flaming complement to Evangeline’s words. Gabe had remained strangely silent, pouring them each a whiskey a
nd then settling into the large couch that dominated one wall of his office.
“The bastard was right there. Waiting for us. Stalking us, really.” Rafe had long emptied the glass and continued to pace with the heavy crystal in his hand, torn between throwing it and hitting himself in the head in frustration.
“He got on the grounds without incident,” Gabe agreed. “Strolled right on through the promenade entrance.”
“He wasn’t in the database of suspicious persons?”
“Nothing. Walked in pleased as punch. Tossed a few dollars in the slots and then headed on out to the grounds.”
Rafe stared into the bottom of his glass, the slightest remnants of amber liquid coating the bottom. To hell and back, they had a freaking problem.
“Walk me through the wind again. Nothing showed on the cameras? You couldn’t see me or Evangeline? Couldn’t see us fighting against all that demonic force?”
“Not a thing. Evangeline happens across the statues and attempts to flag down security. Moments later she vanishes out of vision of the screen and the hallway looks calm and even.”
“So we’re dealing with an alternate dimension.”
“Alternate. Parallel.” Gabe drained his own drink. “It’s the same reason your rotisserie act the other night on the grounds didn’t show on the cameras. Our power isn’t human, yet it’s not divine. It simply exists in its own place.”
Rafe wasn’t sure he bought the whole parallel universe thing—he was who he was—but something in Gabe’s tone had his temper flaring. He considered his brother his closest ally, but the past few days had found them at odds more often than not.
“If you have something to say to me, get it the hell out.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“You sure? Because you’ve been a stubborn pain in my ass ever since the other night, poking at me about my Rejuvenation. You think I asked for this?”
“Hell no.”
“Then what do you have to say to me?”
Gabe marched to the sideboard and poured another few fingers of whiskey. He downed both of them in one long swallow, his subtle wince proof he wasn’t quite as stoic as he pretended to be. “I think you were careless. Which, I’ve already told you.”
“Careless how? We run a business.”
“Your regeneration was upon you and you couldn’t make it back to the penthouse.”
“I was entertaining clients and doing my job.”
“No, you pulled the usual Rafael Stavros bullshit, which is that no one else can do your job. You’re too gods-awful important that no one can replace you. Or help you. Or offer you any support.”
Each word seemed to be ripped from his brother’s throat by some otherworldly force and Rafe couldn’t do much but stand there and take it. And wonder at the vitriol that sat beneath Gabe’s litany of sins.
“You think that’s what this is about? Some dumb streak of pride?”
“You tell me.”
He’d come back to his brother’s office expecting support. A caring moment or two as he worked through the reality of what he’d done to kill Chaos’s minion. He hadn’t expected a drubbing that hit far too close to home. “How long have you felt like this?”
“A while. It’s been building. You’re the face of the Archangel and you do it well. But hell—” Gabe broke off and rubbed at his shoulder where it met his neck. “Hell, Rafe. You put yourself in the line of fire. You’re a public figure and you cut a swath across the property each and every damn day. It’s like you’ve been doing everything in your power to draw their notice. Their attention.”
“And now I did.”
The realization sat heavy on him, whispering through his mind as part accusation, part truth. He had been out and about as the public face of the Archangel. And while they’d managed to stay off the Hunters’ radar, Rafe well knew the threat was out there. All the Hunters needed was one break—one clue that there were Helios living in Las Vegas—and they’d make their move.
Only this was no longer about him and his people. Now it was about Evangeline, too. Because they might not know how to fight him, but a human female would be an easy mark.
Chapter 8
Evangeline plucked at her uniform—cargo pants and a tank—and tried not to feel like an interloper in the refined, rarified office environment of the Archangel. She’d not felt like going back to work, even after Rafe and Gabe deposited her in the lobby with her crew, so she’d wandered the property instead.
Through the casino, intrigued by the patrons, some of whom screamed in triumph while others groaned at another loss. She smiled at the couple obviously on their honeymoon, kissing lavishly each time they had a successful spin on the roulette wheel. She’d even watched in fascination as an older woman managed three slot machines, her cane and her purse as effective a deterrent to anyone wanting the machines as the evil eye she shot anyone who got too close.
From there she’d headed toward the restaurants, forcing herself back down the entertainment corridor. The statues were positioned where they’d started, either replaced by some supernatural force or put back by the ever-grumpy Arturo and his team. Either way, everything was where it belonged.
Her gaze drifted next over the holiday installations, pleased with the even distribution up and down the hallway. She’d not thought of them in the midst of their escape from the wind tunnel, but now that she looked, she was happy to see they were unharmed. Large trees—a mix of pine and fir—all complemented by more of her poinsettias, along with acres of tulle and ribbon.
It was almost Christmas.
And how had that happened?
Aside from its impact on her installations, she’d barely registered that the holidays were upon them. But once she did think about it, the change was more than obvious. Music blared through the casino, a mix of what usually played, along with odes to Santa Claus, being good and filling one’s stocking. Outfits had changed, too. Women wore a few more sparkles and there were more pops of red and green in people’s clothing.
Even the entertainment had changed. The hotel’s choir had begun making stops around the casino and shops, taking requests for any number of holiday tunes while storekeepers had all decorated their storefronts with a mix of fake snow, glittering snowflakes, and more subtle hints of red and green.
“Evangeline.”
His voice was quiet when he spoke her name, but she didn’t miss the question underneath. “Yes?”
“I’m surprised you’re here.”
She turned to Rafe, bracing herself for the sensual assault that always managed a one-two punch each time she was in his presence. It was odd to realize something had changed this time. The attraction was still there—an entire army of butterflies, bats and a few hammerhead sharks had taken up residence in her stomach, but they were matched by something else.
Empathy.
Dark circles rimmed his eyes and it was hard to ignore the bleak, winter-cold look that had settled deep in his eyes. That liquid silver, so tempting and alluring, seemed to have frozen over, replaced with a cautious, wary light she’d never seen before.
And in protecting yourselves...you’ve brought the enemy to your door.
Her own words echoed in her mind. They’d kept her company over and over as she’d walked the grounds, a harsh reminder of how she’d behaved. She’d lacked compassion. Worse, she’d attacked his pride at a moment of deep vulnerability.
Rafe might be many things, but he wasn’t a malicious killer. The sheer agony that had painted his features after he’d killed the intruder was solid proof of that fact. Yet she’d pushed him anyway, poking into a wound that had run raw.
“You shouldn’t be here. Go home for a few days until things settle.”
“Settle?”
“Gabe and I are working on a plan. We�
��ll have this handled in a few days.”
“Rafe, there’s nothing to handle.” Although she kept her voice low she was well aware of Rafe’s coordinator sitting across the lobby. She gestured to his office, then walked on as if that were point enough. Since he followed, she waited until the door closed before she picked up where she’d left off. “Chaos knows where you are. His minions know where you are. The battle’s begun.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“You sure?”
“For starters, Chaos can’t be everywhere. Hence needing the minions in the first place. Second, his choice in soldiers leaves a lot to be desired. When word gets around about Bruce—” He broke off, his eyes clouding once more. “Bruce was the man from earlier. Once word gets around to his friends how swiftly we dealt with him, there isn’t going to be a group lining up to be next. Chaos’s minions are going to go into retreat.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, but I have some mighty favorable odds.” When she said nothing, he simply shifted gears. “You were spotted walking the grounds before. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Of course I should have.” Whatever trepidation she might have had entering the main concourse once more had faded at the throngs of people milling around her. None had paid her any mind, yet they’d been there. Fully present. “It wasn’t like before.”
“How?”
“The people vanished before. A nifty trick, to be sure, but also a tip-off to what I should expect if it happens again.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Aren’t you?”
Their questions were stilted and more than a little awkward and she struggled to find the right words. She’d been harsh earlier and while she’d never worried much about speaking her mind, it also weighed on her that Rafe was coming off the adrenaline rush of a kill shot.
She hadn’t missed the layers of remorse and sadness and shock that had painted his features ghostly pale as soon as he’d ended Bruce’s life. Whatever Rafe was—and she was still struggling to fully process that—he wasn’t a killer. And even acting in self-defense, the act of taking a life weighed on him.