That particular fallen might be gone, but Jameson’s assistant and unassuming-accountant-turned-evil-mastermind had taken over. Andrew Petrovsky was a master and Sandeen had become his puppet.
As far as evil missions go, hunting the fallen warrior Sierra could be worse. The last two months, he’d skulked around the club in a human male host, keeping his ears open for rumors about where the fallen could’ve been dumped. He’d had a lot of sex, but he’d rather have had it in his own body and not muted through some human skin bag.
Andy knew that and exploited it.
How the human had learned Sandeen’s treasured secret, he didn’t know. But by the time this mission was over, he would find out. Sandeen’s own sire couldn’t control him; no annoying human was going to.
Sandeen switched his attention to his “mission,” his half-assed efforts to find Sierra. He had pictures of what she looked like. As far as females went, she was attractive, but as far as warriors went, he wasn’t interested. Angels were more trouble than they were worth.
But she was fallen and therefore could be of great use to him.
He’d be damned—and well, he was, but still—if he found Sierra or any other fallen when Andy was watching. So he made it look like he was trying by trolling this club and getting into the torn fishnet stockings of the clientele.
The guy he was walking around in tonight was pleasantly dormant and not trying to fight the possession, thanks to the barbed wire tattoo he sported across his biceps. Allowing an archmaster like Sandeen inside him would promote him and he could earn blood droplets to be added to the design. Innocuous enough, but a powerful message to those in the know.
The tiered-disciple scenario and the way the club used tattoos to signify it irritated Sandeen. It was effective and maybe that was the annoying part. Demons were too mad, too power hungry to think of ingenious plots like this. They’d tear each other apart before they worked together for five minutes to take over the human realm.
Andy had kept the schtick going. A human. Disgust curled Sandeen’s lip and a cute girl with pink hair about to approach him hesitated. Sandeen switched on the charm. A little fucking would pass the time.
She sauntered over to the secluded booth and he leaned back, his arms slung across the back of the seat. The humans knew what these booths were for and he’d learned he didn’t have to work that hard if he picked an attractive enough host.
She slid into the booth, her hand stroking over his chest, her fingers tangling under the buttons. Her little black rose tattoo was visible thanks to the dip of her sweater. Sandeen sealed the deal by saying, “Be a good little human and show me what you can do.”
There it was. The flare of excitement mingled with trepidation. She would either lose her nerve because the thrill of mingling with the underworld was different than sucking it off, or she’d prove what a good little disciple she was.
She danced her fingers down the buttons of his shirt to the fly of his slacks.
Jameson, the damn genius.
Did this human know that the enigmatic millionaire owner who occasionally brought women up to his room was dead? The one she did all of this for, hoping to become one of his chosen few, was nothing more than a mascot. Andy ran the show, and he made it look like Jameson was still around. The lack of Jameson sightings only led to the mystery he’d cultivated while he’d been alive. Eventually, Andy would have to do something, and that something would likely give him more power.
Andy wouldn’t admit it, probably not even to the underworld, but Sandeen would bet every ounce of Numen steel he hoarded that Andy was somehow behind Jameson’s death.
By the time she’d undone the clasp of his pants, he was hard. This host’s biggest asset was his stamina. As the woman pumped her hand along his length, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Her warm lips wrapped around the tip. Wow. That was fast.
Using the pleasure as a temporary escape, Sandeen relaxed, but he couldn’t forget his predicament. He was forced to be the obedient servant. Andy knew too much and alluded to knowing more. It . . . chafed. Sandeen came from a world where strength was power and it only took a little brain capacity to dominate. It was how he’d survived. But with Andy, knowledge was power. He knew the secrets of their kind and Numen kind, on top of having all the technical ability of the human realm. That made him one powerful individual.
Somehow, he’d found out that Sandeen could use fallen blood to wander the realm in his own body. It was supposed to be the key to Sandeen’s freedom, but somehow Andy fucking knew.
Either Jameson had told him or Andy had spied on him. Had the daft fallen tested his own blood out on some demon in the club? Las Vegas was a city full of Andy’s spies, much less the club.
Andy was clever and Sandeen’s back prickled at the oddest times. He was being watched. His jaw clenched and one of his molars screamed. Sandeen eased the pressure. Go to the fucking dentist, he commanded his host. If the human wanted to join the underworld or whatever pipe dream Andy was selling him, there wasn’t a dental plan.
Sandeen opened his eyes. A burly bouncer wove his way through the crowd. Sandeen groaned. Another minute and the human with her talented tongue would be done.
The bouncer stopped in front of Sandeen. Sylphs, the imps of the underworld—like feral cats, the ones with weepy eyes, mangy fur, and frostbitten ears, only sylphs were crazier and complete shit at catching mice—dogged the man’s steps. They ran alongside humans, finding small ways to disrupt their life, those million little things that went wrong and affected someone’s mindset. Sylphs opened them up to despair, which made them weak inside and out.
They wouldn’t risk Andy’s wrath. Andy might not be able to see or kill the pests, but since he was partnered with an archmaster of Gerzon’s strength, the sylphs would die at Andy’s command.
“Boss wants to see you.”
Boss. Was that what Andy was going by now? Sandeen grunted and rolled his hips into the human’s mouth, prodding her to work faster. Whatever Andy had to say to him would suck the libido out of him faster than this woman’s ripe lips.
Sandeen held up a finger and closed his eyes before the sight of the bouncer in his black suit and black shirt and the earbud in his ear could sap the blood from his dick. He wound a hand through the woman’s hair and yanked.
She responded and the pleasure built, mostly from making the bouncer wait on his orgasm. He opened his eyes and erupted. She didn’t flinch, drinking him down. As far as climaxes went, it was weak as hell, but it also weakened Andy’s power play.
When she sat up, her cheeks were red, her lips puffy, and her eyes promised him anything. Damn. He could’ve had fun with this one. He handed her a cloth napkin and pushed his unused glass of water toward her before stuffing himself back into his pants and zipping himself up.
“Duty calls, my dear.” He gave her a wink and a smile. She glared at the bouncer. Everyone knew demons left them alone and it made them appallingly unattractive to much of the clientele.
The man pivoted and marched away. The dancers opened a path for him like they sensed his approach. Well-trained minions. Letting out a sigh, Sandeen followed. He hadn’t gotten anywhere in the last two months and it was time to answer for it.
The man marched down a dark hallway. The last time Sandeen had been here, he’d encountered a couple of Numen females. One was a warrior, and her stunning beauty had imprinted on his brain moments before she’d imprinted her fist on his face.
His flagging erection twitched to life. He had to quit thinking of her. Making Andy wait while he finished getting a blow job was a power move. Facing him with an erection wasn’t.
The bouncer’s beefy hand slapped a hidden panel. A whoosh revealed metal doors, and they crowded into the hidden elevator. The bouncer stood in the middle and flared his elbows, pushing Sandeen to the outer edges.
Sandeen chomped down on his irritation, pain from the sore tooth flaring. If he was in his own body, his height would’ve rivale
d this idiot’s. And unlike the bulky muscles that were likely fueled by drugs and heavy reps, Sandeen’s muscles had been honed out of necessity. This man wouldn’t last ten minutes in his realm. Daemon would eat the bouncer alive. Literally.
The doors opened to a dark floor. Light from an open office cast a dull glow, enough to see where they were going. Sandeen’s eyes adjusted. The elegant surroundings were familiar. Décor was minimal. Simple lines, only enough trim accents to keep it from being plain, and the lack of light added to the posh ambiance. It also let the customers partying below see shadows moving around so they could kid themselves that it was business as usual.
Fall From Grace’s business was far from usual.
He entered the office, cursing the weak human eyes as he blinked in the light. Andy sat at the head of a long conference table. The spot Jameson used to sit in. Empty chairs lined the table. Andy wore a perfectly tailored suit, likely acquired with Jameson’s money.
Andy barely spared him a glance. “Sandeen.”
“Andy.” The man didn’t go by Andrew. Andy threw people off, gave them the impression that along with his wiry build and nondescript looks, he wasn’t a threat, that he was quite the opposite, when in fact, he was a giant threat.
Sandeen wouldn’t care. He’d be more than happy to go about his business, but Andy had dragged him into it, and to fly under the radar, he’d act like a good boy and stall. Andy might forget that he was an archmaster, powerful in his own right, and the son of one of the biggest bastards in Daemon.
“You’ve failed.” Censure filled Andy’s voice, and for such an unimposing man, he could radiate immense rage.
“I just haven’t succeeded yet.”
Andy’s brow cocked and his eyes narrowed. The guy couldn’t kill him. But he probably had some corrupt Numen in his pocket who could yank him into the Mist and kill him. The Numen would likely die trying. Many had. But the possibility was there. Sandeen walked a tightrope of risk until he could figure something else out.
Sandeen had to give him more, explain why he’d been doing nothing and making it look like he was doing something. “Randomly asking around risks drawing Numen attention. The safe house Sierra used in town netted nothing. I’ve been working the crowd here, but no one has information on her.”
“You’re fucking around.” More judgment, but all truth. “You know as well as I do that they wouldn’t put Sierra anywhere near Las Vegas.”
“Neither would they put her anywhere near any of the cities her team has worked in before. You asked me to find a needle in a stack full of seven billion pieces of hay. I’m not an angel, but even Numen can’t work miracles. Those are for divine angels and I doubt they’d help me.”
Andy’s jaw clenched and anger flashed in his eyes. Was Andy angry at him or angry because he was right? “I got a tip that Winger returned covered in snow.”
“That narrows it down,” Sandeen said dryly.
An unholy glow burned in Andy’s eyes but nothing about it was supernatural. Sandeen came from a realm teeming with evil, but this human? He was a bad one. He expected results and Sandeen might find himself accidentally covered in angel fire like Jameson.
“Get the fuck out of Las Vegas, find some snow, and make sure it’s not near anywhere she’s ever been in her life.”
As if Sandeen had access to records that told him where Sierra had worked and stayed during her time on Earth.
Andy tapped on some keys in front of him. “I’ve set up a network that my spies can report to. Anything hits and I’ll get the information to you.”
“Looking forward to it.” Sandeen rose. He might as well drop this human sack and get back to his realm. He might want to mind his own business, but he wasn’t stupid. It was time to find a host who lived in a snowy climate.
“Sandeen.”
He met Andy’s steady, unconcerned gaze.
“If you don’t produce results, I might have to get a message to Zadren.”
Sandeen ground his molars together. Another flash of pain forced him to loosen his facial muscles. Zadren wouldn’t play games like Andy. Unlike the human, his dear old sire would kill him as soon as he set a foot back in his realm.
Snow piled on the sides of the roads but did nothing to detract from the postcard-perfect view of the town. Green Valley was mostly white, surrounded by green trees, but it had to be breathtaking in the summer.
“This place is cute.” Sierra had seen a lot in her time. She’d only been a warrior for the last twenty years, but they’d traveled far and wide for work. The beauty of a small Montana town in the mountains allowed the first pang of regret to infiltrate her heart. She’d always sat behind computers, only venturing out to get what she needed for work. Her teammates were the ones roaming among humans, pretending to live as them to hunt demons.
She’d been good at her job, but she’d done nothing but work. Trying to prove herself for a reason only she’d known. But everyone knew she’d failed.
Pushing away those memories, she concentrated on her new life. Clothing was the first item of business and Boone had said he didn’t mind paying. She minded, but her options were limited. The stubborn man bypassed the thrift store and parked on Main Street in front of a sports shop.
“They’ll have cold weather gear for sure. I think they have clothes. If they don’t, I’m sure they can help us order some and get it shipped.”
Just the anticipation of a shirt she didn’t have to tie was enough to keep her spirits riding high. This was it. Her new life. The fledgling steps of living as a human.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and smashed one of Boone’s black stocking hats on. “Ready.”
He glanced over, then did a double take. His lips twitched. “They’ll definitely have sportswear that fits.”
She wrinkled her nose and hopped out of the pickup that was much newer than she’d expected. The front was spacious and the back seat could fit three people. The vehicle gleamed silver with black accents and it was so completely Boone, she’d laughed when she’d seen it. Even Boone had seemed amused at her reaction, but there’d been a sense of loss too. She had no idea why a vehicle would cause it.
Hitching up Boone’s borrowed sweatpants so she didn’t flash the few people rushing between businesses and vehicles, she caught a glimpse of herself in a store window.
Laughter sputtered out of her. She looked like Dopey from the Snow White story humans loved. Her hat flopped over her head, her pants pooled at the tops of her boots, and the sleeves of Boone’s extra parka bunched around her elbows where she’d shoved them up.
“I look ridiculous.” She laughed. Joy spread through her and for once there was no dark cloud hovering over her head. It didn’t matter if anyone discovered her secret. It didn’t matter anymore. No, that wasn’t true. Her secret was a doozy, something her kind thought was impossible, and her father had kept the secret since her birth. But Sierra didn’t matter to Numen and that gave her unexpected freedom.
Boone’s lips twitched, but he tucked his head down and went to the door. He opened it for her. Did he mean to be a gentleman or was it so ingrained in him that he did it without thinking? He’d done the same when she’d gotten in the vehicle.
A bell dinged as she stepped in. A faint, musty smell wound around her. This building was older and had a basement. Without thinking, she cataloged the exits. Two main-floor doors, the one behind her and one straight through the store, and probably an office window in the back. There were two shoppers and an older woman behind the counter.
Her muscles eased and she turned her attention to the gear hanging on racks. The woman skirted the counter. “Boone, is that correct?”
He gave the woman the closest thing to a smile that Sierra had seen yet. “Yes, ma’am.”
His rumble wound its way through her. He should talk more. She could bottle it up and sell it and wouldn’t have to worry about money for the rest of her long life on Earth.
Her stomach roiled. She hadn’t thought of that. J
ameson had fallen decades ago and he hadn’t aged. She faced eternity blending in as a human. Her stomach threatened to heave again. She wished it’d quit doing that. She’d never been this skittish in her old life.
She’d faced and killed demons. She shouldn’t get nervous at the thought of renting an apartment.
Her gaze landed on Boone. He tipped his head toward a rack of coats in various shades of blues, pinks, and some purples. Women’s coats. Somehow she’d repay him. Instead of running and hiding, she’d earn her way through this world. But it started with accepting his charity.
Boone chatted with the woman, talking about weather and local events like sledding days and the kids’ show at the local dance school. The whole town turns out. Would he go?
Would she?
Being out in the world piled on more and more questions about how she’d live. One day at a time. One outfit at a time. She was fortunate enough to have help. She’d earn it and go from there.
She found a coat right away, discreetly peeking at the price tag. A deep gray ZeroXposur jacket that was on clearance. She shrugged out of Boone’s coat and took the new one off the hanger. The whole ordeal shouldn’t have upset her healed torso, but her chest was tender. Those exercises must really be working.
The store had a matching pair of snow pants, also on clearance. She didn’t try those on. The two other shoppers found what they wanted and left, the door dinging on their way out. Sierra found a discounted hat and gloves. Boots were just as easy to find. Apparently, last season’s fashions weren’t as desirable even in the middle of the mountains.
Sierra took her stack to the counter. “Thank you.”
The woman accepted her pile, but Boone scowled at the load. His gaze went to the rack full of coats with blues and reds and purples. “Don’t you want something less . . . plain?”
In Numen, angels wore pristine white robes. The realm was as bright as the souls of its inhabitants. It was rumored that in Daemon, the realm was smoky, dark, and their chosen color clotted blood. Black snow gear was more fitting for someone like her.
Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) Page 4