Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1) (19 page)

Saul didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of it. He needed one human woman in a city of thousands.

A white Excursion slowed to a stop in front of the duplex, blocking the house from view. The driver’s door opened and a woman with short blond hair stepped out, her lean muscles outlined in her dark jeans. She skimmed around the truck to the mailbox, the jeans hugging her ass in an enticing way.

My sweet Ionie. You have hot friends
.

The blond paused at the mailbox, a manila envelope in her hand. She must have changed her mind because she turned to the house, flipping through keys.

A wicked idea popped into Saul’s head. He left his car, paused until he heard the house door open, and stepped around the truck. A curious scent made him stop. He inhaled again, drawing the aroma deep into his lungs.
Lycanthrope!

He spat on the ground. His ancient hatred of werewolves bubbled to the surface of his mind, shaking him. The beasts had caused him bitter losses during his long lifetime. Saul wasn’t a forgiving man. His fangs lengthened and he patted the knife at his side.

Then he knocked on the door.

The instant it opened, he put the knife into action. He slashed a jagged line across the surprised woman’s throat, ending her chance of squealing for help. He shoved her backwards, slammed the door, and stabbed at her vulnerable stomach.

The move didn’t connect.

The bitch struck out with clawed hands, tearing a gash down Saul’s face, neck, and chest. He cried out, her momentum toppling him to the floor. The woman released her ravaged throat to pummel her fists into his head. One savage blow connected, followed by another. The Lycan used her muscled thighs to pin him down.

He deflected several punches, but the enraged werewolf gripped his skull, trying to crush the bone with her bare hands. She snarled at him. Saul snarled back and swung his fist into her torn throat. The Lycan’s gold eyes flared.

“One of you dogs taught me that about three hundred years ago,” Saul said.

His victim weakened. He flipped her to the side, never relinquishing his death grip. Dark-red blood spurted from her throat, but for the first time in days, he had no desire to swallow a drop. Lycan blood tasted like decayed fur.

Saul managed to trap the woman’s arms beneath his knees. He glared down at her, a surge of triumph filling his body.

“I’d planned to fuck you,” he said, “as a calling card to your friend. Painting her house with your entrails will deliver the same effect.”

He increased the pressure in his hands. Blood bubbled out of the woman’s mouth and she coughed. Then her struggles ceased. Saul kept squeezing, refusing to chance the bitch regaining consciousness. Long minutes passed before he removed his hands.

The werewolf was dead.

Saul reached down and found the woman’s ID case in her pocket.

Janie-Paulette Young. Reporter. The Detroit News.

He glanced at the dead woman. “I love irony.”

Saul chuckled and pulled out a second identification card. The Michigan Drivers License showed a smiling female with golden eyes. He dropped it on her chest. “I’d hate for anyone to label you a Jane Doe.”

He stared at the final laminated card, his hand shaking. His satisfied grin vanished as his stomach plummeted.

Lieutenant Janie-Paulette Young. Detroit Police Department. Retired.

• • •

The Leshii touched Ionie’s slack face. Tanis and Cain stood nearby, braced for the shape shifter to tell them she was doomed. The shifter brushed hair from her forehead, clucking his teeth.

“Damn, Lois. I warned you about bloodsuckers.”

The angel and the nephilim shared a puzzled look.

“Where’d you say you dug him up?” Tanis asked.

Cain shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve worked with him in the past. Cab drivers are a good source of intel. I found him parked outside The Church. I thought it was divine luck.”

Tanis didn’t believe in luck. The shifter behaved like he knew Ionie. “Can you help her?”

The man turned his green-skinned head. Wisdom burned behind his steady eyes. “Your man said a vamp attacked her, but her condition isn’t due to a feeding gone wrong.”

No. That would be due to sex with a nephilim
. If Ionie didn’t pull through, Tanis would have a grief-stricken assassin to deal with. His wings flexed behind him. None of the team would escape her loss. “She contains Grace. We didn’t know until — ”

The Leshii’s fuzzy eyebrows connected in a stiff line. “Her Grace touched another.”

He gave a jerky nod of assent. No need to fill in the details. The shifter didn’t push.

“The name’s Mason.” The Leshii stood, his arms crossed over his chest. “If I’m gonna help her I need to know what’s going on.”

Cain cleared his throat, prepared to explain. Tanis held up a hand, silencing him. He shifted closer to the bed and the cracked cartilage along his wings trembled. He needed to rest the damn things, but they could wait. He stared down at the beautiful woman.
Who was she really?

Ionie was more than human, but he didn’t understand what she meant to Beleth. All he knew was she had a connection to the Renegade. He planned to follow the trail until he gripped his former commander by the throat.

He glanced at Mason. The Leshii studied him, waiting. Resigned, he told the shifter everything. When he finished, he lowered himself on a chair, his battered wings fanned around him like a sunken shroud.

“The two souls are natural enemies — one fire, one ice,” Mason said. “Jarrid and Ionie’s joining gave the souls an easy battlefield.”

“Tell us something we don’t know,” he said.

“The fire burns because its creator is close. It feels the pull of that angel’s Grace, and it wants to join it.”

Well, shit.
Tanis sprang from the chair, toppling it in his haste. “We can track the Renegade through Grace, but we’ve come up empty.”

The Leshii’s eyes gleamed. “You tried before the lovebirds came together.”

Cain moved, a blur of speed, and slammed Mason against the wall. “Stop talking shit and tell us.”

“Ease off, Cain.” Tanis shoved his son away. The man’s chest heaved, frustration marring his tanned features. Tanis turned his head and glared at the shifter. “As you can see, we’re way past patience, Mason. Speak.”

The Leshii’s deep chuckle surprised him. “Ionie’s power was dormant until Jarrid’s fueled it. Right now, her soul is changing. Her Grace will act as a beacon for the Renegade to follow. She’ll also be pulled to him.”

Tanis gasped.

God of All, could our prayers be answered?
We can track Beleth if he comes for Ionie, or tries to run?

“How? She’s flat on her back,” Cain said.

“You don’t have to worry, half-breed,” Mason said. “She’ll wake when the power inside her finishes its transformation.”

Tanis smoothed his hand down his face. That shit didn’t sound good. “What kind of transformation?”

• • •

Kasdeja and Cain paced the study in a silent arc. The scowls on their faces relayed the same disapproval Jarrid read on Nestaron’s where the other nephilim leaned against a bookshelf. They were in agreement on this bullshit.

Jarrid curled his hands into fists, then relaxed them. Once he’d heard Cain had found a shifter to care for Ionie, he had abandoned his hunt for Saul, eager to return to the Stronghold. He glanced at the Leshii. Mason slouched in Kas’ usual spot, the high-back chair doing little to keep his posture straight. Something about the guy sparked Jarrid’s warning bells.

Spark one. How does he know so much about angel powers?

Spark two. Why was he lounging outside The Church when Cain arrived?

Spark three. What did he want?

Jarrid shot him a dark glare.

“Don’t narrow those shiny peepers at me,” Mason said. “I’m older than you, better looking, and I’m the one with the answers. Show some respect.”

Heat rose along Jarrid’s neck. “I’m just trying to figure out how a cabbie knows so much about Grace.”

“Guess you missed the part where I said I was older than you.”

“So you say.” That was Kas’ stony voice. “You may have a century or two under those wrinkles, Pops, but that ain’t enough to earn shit with us.”

Jarrid eased his hand to the dagger hilt against his thigh. Mason raised a curious eyebrow. The shifter flowed from the chair, smooth as a Cobra before a strike, and blocked Kas’ path.

“Leshii walked the Earth before the first company of angels swarmed across it like a scourge,” Mason said, his tone icy. “We saw your mothers bedded and we watched your fathers slaughtered.”

Silence shrouded the room.

“We spoke the rights over the fallen and welcomed them to their graves. So you see,
boy
, I have earned more than you could hope to accumulate in a thousand more lifetimes.”

Jarrid unhooked his fingers from the hilt and gaped at the shape shifter. If Mason told the truth, the cabbie was older than Tanis. Kas, he noticed, hadn’t backed down from the info dump, but his brother visibly trembled. Jarrid sympathized. The Leshii witnessed the beginning of the nephilim. God of All. The realization anything existed before their creation gave shifters serious creds.

“If anyone asks for a ruler, I’m getting the fuck out,” Cain said, interjecting a groan into the tension-filled air.

“Mason, we mean no disrespect,” Tanis said. “We appreciate any information you give us to help our friend.”

Jarrid’s heart stuttered.

The mysterious transformation.
He’d learned about it when he’d returned. The wizened shifter had admitted he didn’t understand what physical or mental changes to expect in Ionie. Jarrid ground his teeth until his jawbones throbbed. Guilt ate his organs raw. This was his fault.

Ionie was better bait than they could have hoped, a living heat-seeking missile to the Renegade. Jarrid wanted to hit something. Beleth could also locate her without his vampire squad’s help.

He slammed a fist onto the chair arm. He had to focus. He shoved his conflicted emotions to the far corner of his mind, relying instead on his assassin training to guide him. “How do we use her to find our target?”

The blazing eyes of his brothers stared at him like he’d grown breasts. They had a mark to find. There wasn’t time for confusing the job with bullshit feelings.
Beleth
. He was all that mattered. Yet Jarrid smelled the crap he was brewing. So did the team.

Mason offered a warm smile. “Don’t worry, Superman. When she opens her eyes, she’ll be able to draw you a road map straight to his hideout.”

Softness cocooned Ionie’s body and she rolled onto her side. She pictured herself sleeping in Gram’s old four-post bed, the wood croaking when she snuggled deeper into the warm sheets.
Was it Saturday?
She had weekends off for the rest of the month, a reward from Patrick for her exclusive story on angels.

Angels? I didn’t write a story about angels.

Her fogged mind began to clear.
I’m going to write a story. Jarrid promised
.

Excitement rippled through her. She locked on the naked image of her handsome —
what? Lover? Boyfriend? All of the above?
She smiled.
Giant sex machine
. Ionie brushed hair from her face and opened her eyes.

The sparse room wasn’t in her grandmother’s restored bungalow. The walls were bare of the family pictures she grew up seeing. She shook her head, dispersing the fog. This was Jarrid’s bedroom.
Where was he?

Ionie placed her legs on the floor. She expelled a breath and struggled to stand. The room went vertical and she pitched forward with a yelp. Before she face planted on the floor, a thick arm wrapped around her waist.

“Going somewhere?” Jarrid’s deep timber reverberated up her spine.

“Where did you come from?”

“Nature called.”

Ionie melted against his broad chest. His strong heartbeat pounded in her ears. She shifted in his hold, eager to press herself further into his embrace. The movement caused searing pain to punch the air from her lungs. She pulled away and screamed, but Jarrid tightened his hold.

“Be still,” he said. His fingers stroked an area on her shoulder. She bit her lip.

Damn, that hurt!
He tugged the corner of her loose shirt aside. Ionie whimpered. Then his sharp gasp made her tense.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, fear locking her bones.

Jarrid cursed under his breath but she knew whatever he saw shouldn’t be there.

“Please, tell me,” Ionie said.

“I … it’s not possible.”

She swallowed and willed herself to stay calm. “What’s not possible?”

Ionie turned her head in time to see him tap his earpiece. “Bring Mason.”

Mason?
Her
Mason?

Several heavy pairs of boots thundered down the hall, coming toward the room. She managed to turn, her eyes fixed on the worried expression on Jarrid’s face. His silver eyes dimmed, their usual luster dampened by whatever concern he felt. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t want to know what would scare a nephilim.

Tanis entered first. The angel’s damaged wings made her wince. Cain was next, then Nestaron. When Kasdeja entered the room she almost slipped off the bed. Mason, her cabbie, walked in beside him.

“Mason?” Ionie blinked twice. “Am I dreaming?”

The Leshii winked at her. “I am the stuff of dreams, Lois, but this isn’t the time or place for flirting.”

“Say what!” She jerked upright. “I’m not flirting. What are you doing here? Why is everyone staring like I’ve grown two heads?”

Jarrid’s hand pressed against her arm. “Turn around, Ionie.”

She gaped at him. “Not until someone tells me what’s going on.”

Tanis moved to the bed, his head tilting as he studied her. She swallowed to dislodge the lump in her throat, but she turned her back to show whatever had freaked Jarrid out.

“The second sign the transformation has started,” the angel said.

“Second sign? Transformation?” Her head spun. “What the hell are you talking about?” She shrugged her shoulder away as Tanis reached out. He curled his fingers into a ball, stepping away.