Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1) (5 page)

Tanis is going to molt when he hears this shit.
“Your sources and information in trade for a … story on angels.”

Never in a million years is that happening.

Ionie hit him with a staggering smile then turned to face her editor. “We can send a photographer ahead and — ”

Jarrid shook his head. “No photos.”

Ionie’s attention whiplashed to him, her hands perched on her hips and her expression tight. The skin at her almond-shaped eyes pinched.

Ready for a fight
.

“Feature stories scream for pictures. If you’re shy, one of your friends — ”

“No photos.” Jarrid ignored her irate look.

Ionie turned away to plead with her editor. Jarrid zoned out, contemplating her. A flare of curiosity rose up within him. Her back was to him and he drew in a low breath and concentrated. He willed a spark of Grace to push past the outer shell of her body.

Angels were gifted with the ability to probe souls. Nephilim caught a faint glimpse. Jarrid took a moment to see the blinding white edges of her soul. He withdrew his Grace. She shivered as if a cold hand passed over her.

Then he waited for the Act of Contrition to punch him in the balls.

Nothing happened.

He blinked twice and she turned to him, puzzlement flickering across her face. He tilted his head, waiting for her question but she only frowned. Why wasn’t he consumed by the Act? He should be gritting his teeth right … about … now.

Now
…
.now
… .nothing.

“Let me grab some stuff before we head out,” she said before leaving the office.

Patrick blew out a ragged breath as if he’d held it through Ionie’s plea-bargaining. “I’m glad this worked out. She’s got a nose for news. If you are tracking those murders Ionie will be a big help.”

And end up a soufflé? No thanks.

Jarrid turned to follow his new assignment.

God of All, humans were a pain in the ass.
The first part of his mission was over. Ionie was the reporter Tanis had told him to find. Her soul confirmed she was an innocent. That information should please Cain’s holy protector complex.

Now Jarrid only had to keep Ionie close until he could dangle her in front of the Renegade.

• • •

Ionie zipped through the newsroom and made a beeline to her cluttered desk in the general assignments area. Mario, the grizzled reporter who worked the morning shift, wasn’t around, and she whistled her relief. Next to Mario, she was a newbie, yet she landed this story and he didn’t. Would he resent her when he found out? Should she be the one to tell him?

She sank into a chair. “God, why me?”

“Doubt he’ll answer.”

She flinched. The nephilim loomed over her. Her gaze traveled up his rock-solid mountain of a body and settled on his lightning-bright eyes hooded by long, black lashes. “Are you always so literal?”

His expression morphed into annoyance. “Yes.”

She leaned back and studied him, taking in the casual way his thigh rested against a chair. Her throat closed, smothering her clever retort. Jarrid angled his chiseled face to study items on her desk, and Ionie caught the awed stares of her passing colleagues.

One woman tripped over her own feet.

Another face-planted into a wall.

Jesus Christ
.

The half-angel was so handsome it hurt. Jarrid didn’t seem to notice the attention directed at him. Or maybe he didn’t care.

“You’re upset I won’t allow photos, but you still plan to work with me,” he said, his fingers sliding over a shriveled dictionary. “I want to know why.”

Blunt and to the point.

“I’m not upset.” Ionie snorted, a sound she hoped made her seem indifferent. “You’ve answered my prayers. I’m used to working obits, or chasing the occasional fire truck.”

He flicked his head at the desk adjoining hers. “You work with someone?”

“I don’t do partners.”

“Yet you will do me.” The simple statement, spoken in his sexy rumble, liquefied the marrow in Ionie’s bones.

“Uh,” she said. “My work takes on a whole new meaning when you say it.”

He leaned in, a smooth slide of firm muscle and taut flesh. She caught a whiff of his scent; she hadn’t noticed it before. Something nameless, celestial like the man — the being — it belonged to. She inhaled deep, lulled by his nearness.
Gorgeous
. No other word fit him better.

“Is there a problem?” Jarrid’s lips curved down. His tone held an edge she couldn’t place.

“Problem?” Mario’s smooth voice yanked Ionie from her trance. She shook her head and leaned away from the nephilim. “You okay, kid?”

What the hell am I doing?

Ionie strained to smile at Jarrid. The half-angel’s face presented a solid mask, obscuring any hint of his reaction.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Mario, this is Jarrid. He’s with the Eternal Order … and my new story. Jarrid, this is Mario Hernandez. He trained me on the graveyard shift.”

“Story?” The men exchanged handshakes. She could see Mario’s mind working behind his casual expression.

“On Patrick’s say so.” She suppressed some of her excitement. “I’m doing a feature on angel society.”

“Angels don’t seek attention. Why the switch?”

“Times change,” Jarrid said in a tight, controlled voice.

The older reporter narrowed his eyes at the flat tone. She didn’t blame him. “Doesn’t explain why the boys above have sent a nephilim. Aren’t you guys a bit high level for PR?”

The muscles in Jarrid’s arms ticked. “My work is classified.”

“I bet,” Mario said.

What the hell?

Ionie stared at her friend, then Jarrid. The corded line of his neck bulged with thick, throbbing veins. Her source appeared ready to pounce on the curious old coot. She slid off her chair. “We should get going.”

Neither man moved. Ionie reached out and touched Jarrid’s bicep. His arm shifted beneath her hand like she’d branded him. She removed her fingers before he decided to break them off.

No touching. Got it
.

Without a word, he marched from the office. With the weird question and answer session over, she grabbed her bag and hauled ass to catch up.

“What happened back there?” She jogged to keep pace with him, his long strides churning yards of polished marble floor in his wake. “Why are you acting like this?”

Jarrid turned on her with a scowl. “Your buddy is inquisitive.”

“Newsflash. He’s a reporter, like me. Nosey is what we do.” That didn’t help. Not the way Jarrid stared at her as if she’d sprouted horns. “You’re a big deal in Heaven, huh? If it’s a secret, you shouldn’t be hanging around journalists. We suck up secrets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“We keep to ourselves.” A tremor of annoyance filtered through the words.

“Not anymore.” The two of them standing in a newspaper lobby made the whole conversation seem ridiculous. Ionie stepped closer to Jarrid and angled her head to see his eyes. “Not many people can say they’ve seen, or met, an angel. Your kind might want to keep on the down low, but when you step out, you’re going to draw attention.”

His steady glare told her he didn’t believe a word. Or maybe he didn’t like what he heard. Or maybe he just liked glaring at her like she’d eventually shut the hell up.

Jerk
. Angels weren’t the only ones who preferred seclusion. Try tracking down the Fae. Those bastards were near impossible to get out in the open. She’d tried.

“Angels and nephilim are private. I get the cloak and dagger bull, but you came to me. This covert thing? You want people to answer your questions?”

He gave a microscopic bob of his head.

“First lesson? People are naturally curious, especially humans.” Ionie moistened her bottom lip. She hated the nervous response, but Jarrid held a remote control on her anxiety. “They may have questions for you, too. We’re drawn to the unknown like butter to toast, at least according to my grandma. I’ll help you. You’ll help me. Everybody gets what they need.”

Silver eyes dipped to her lips.

The gap between them sizzled like someone had flipped on a low-voltage current. Every hair on her skin saluted. She stared into his eyes and her heartbeat doubled. By now she should be nervous, but the hint of danger she sensed in him only brought an embarrassing rush of arousal.

Her face must have flushed apple red because Jarrid’s mouth parted. His now wide gaze traced over her features, lingering on her cheeks and lips. She should kiss him. Kiss him right in the middle of her workplace. Kiss him in front of Stan the desk clerk who took classified ads. One kiss on the nephilim’s too-full lips. One hard press … .

She licked her lip again. His gaze tracked her tongue. Before she could lean into his body and act on the impulse, he jerked back and stepped out of reach.

“What are you doing?” His voice was low, dangerous.

What
was
she doing? She’d almost pounced on a guy at work! She didn’t jump her sources. Another wave of heat seared her face and she stared at her feet. “So … we still have a deal?”

Jarrid didn’t reply. She chanced a peek at him. He looked pissed. His back was ramrod straight and his eyes glowed. Maybe she’d offended his angel sensibilities with her odd human reactions.

Wasn’t he half-Human?
Did he feel an attraction to her?

A miserable minute ticked by.

“We still have a deal,” he said. “First, you meet my brothers.”

• • •

The woman’s natural fragrance drifted on the air: oranges and grapefruit. Saul tipped back his head and flared his nostrils, drawing her scent deep into his lungs. A subtle metallic aroma lay under the fruity surface, pungent yet muted by her thick clothing.

“Damn, she’s fine,” Razor said.

Saul ignored his wretch of a partner. The new recruit bounced beside him like an attention-starved dog pound castoff.

Goddamned newbies
. With his gang spread thin trying to flush out one woman in a city jammed with thousands, he needed the extra hands, even if the vampire was a stone-cold idiot.

Two nights spent tracking this latest contender drilled into Saul’s nerves. The gothic archway concealing him and Razor was in Old Main, the only building close to the Wayne State University library she’d visited. Saul leaned against the limestone walls, his eyes centered on his prey.

The woman readjusted her backpack and giggled with her companions. “I’ll meet my aunt at the bus station tomorrow. God, I’m ready for the term to end.” His superior hearing caught her flower-soft voice.

Chestnut curls trimmed the woman’s knitted hat. She shoved aside a curl, revealing her neck. Saul counted the delicate kick of her pulse. A cutting hunger rocked him. He moistened his lips then bit down, denying his instincts
.

No snacking.

He had one job. Locate women with a specific blood signature. The Renegade gave Saul’s vampire gang the scent then ordered them to find females who matched. For Saul, the university held throngs of humans interspersed with Others. Razor had tracked their current prey before reporting his discovery. The fool should have grabbed her days ago.

“This chick is all curves,” Razor said, ogling the brunette. “I like my bitches with meat on their bones.”

Saul cursed under his breath. No way the shorter vampire had bitches, or anything resembling a living female. “She’s not to be touched, asshole. Drool on her and I’ll eat your heart.”

Razor shrank into a corner. “Whatever you say, Boss. Just talking shit.”

“Then stop.”

Night scaled the horizon as the streetlights flickered to life. A crisp autumn gust swaddled the woman’s body and she sank deeper into her wool jacket, muttering a curse as she hurried alone into the empty parking lot. The rhythmic tap of her boots matched Saul’s immortal heartbeat.

Car keys clanged in her gloved hand. Only two cars shared the lot. Saul dismissed the other clunker. He didn’t plan to be around when the owner arrived. He tapped Razor’s shoulder.

The woman patted her car roof. “Start for me and I promise to park you in a warm garage when we get home.”

Saul stayed in the shadows and shoved his lackey.

Let’s see how the moron does.
“Fetch.”

Razor tripped, righted himself, and moved forward. “Nice car.”

Saul wrinkled his nose, subtracting a mental point for the lame opening line.

Who made this ass a vamp?

The woman whirled on a gasp. Her gloved fingers fumbled with keys. “Th-thanks.”

A smirk creased Saul’s mouth. Suspicion on a victim’s face never got old.

“I’m Razor. What’s your name, baby doll?”

She managed an anemic smile. “Um, Veronica. Sorry, but I have to go. I’m meeting some friends.”

“Meeting’s canceled.” Razor’s reply slithered from his lips. The woman yelped before his palm covered her mouth.

Saul gave him a point for menace.

The vampire’s flabby gut crushed her against the car. Veronica struggled in Razor’s hold, desperation painting her face scarlet. Saul ticked another point in his thug’s favor. He viewed the two like a voyeur from his shadowed nook.

Veronica clawed and punched at her attacker. Saul’s gums throbbed. Vampires preferred a struggling victim.

“I can smell your heat, baby,” Razor said, his tone ringed with excitement. “I can taste you on the air.”

The thug trailed his bulbous nose down the woman’s neckline to her heaving chest. Her coat had opened, treating Saul to an unobstructed view of sweater-covered breasts. Razor wasn’t lying. Saul drew in the scent — her oxygenated blood, spiced with fear.

Delicious.

His hunger churned his organs like grain in a hand mill. Saul wanted her. He glanced across the parking lot. The location, isolated. No indication the second car’s owner would pop up. Veronica’s fighting scent drugged him. She’d resist. He’d punish her. They could play rough for days.

And the Renegade didn’t know she existed. Saul could drain her, dump the body, and start another search. His second row of fangs tore his gums.

Tempting, tempting.