Fallen (9 page)

“This had better work.”

“Y
ou've been quiet since we left the rooftop.”

Cooper turned on the light in the bedroom with a flicking gesture. Pyx lingered in the doublewide doorway between the two rooms. The pocket doors were shoved inside the walls.

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just didn't expect to shift in front of you.”

The involuntary shift had felt weird, as if he'd stripped naked before Pyx. Normally stripping naked for a woman would have felt great. As well, it would have been a powerful, sexual thing.

Shifting to half form had exposed a side of himself he didn't wish anyone to see. On the rooftop he had felt shamed, and remnants of that shame still shivered across his mortal skin.

He'd revealed himself to Pyx.

And now he wondered what she had thought in that
moment as she'd stared up at his angelic half form. Had it offended her? Had it appealed to her? She was a demon; she could have only felt the urge to shove a blade into his heart. Yet he wished now she had seen beyond that urge and into him. The real him.

And why did it bother him what she thought of him? Did he have feelings for her?

Maybe.

No. She wanted to slay him!

Yet he wanted to connect with Pyx in a way he felt was not all right. They were two alike in this world. They should cleave together instead of trying to kill one another. But it hurt his brain right now to try and sort out this emotional stuff.

“That gun they used delivered some kind of electrical charge to shock my system.”

“Here it is.” Pyx handed him the weapon she'd claimed from the rooftop.

He examined the small injection gun. The barrel was glass or some kind of Lucite and he suspected whatever had been put in him was still there. “It set me off and I couldn't control the shift.”

“That's the first time I've seen an angel in half form,” Pyx said.

“You didn't slay any of my kind before the flood?”

She shook her head. “I was summoned to slay a Fallen but a week before the flood. Never did track that bastard down before the waters came.”

“Lots of Sinistari survived the flood,” Cooper noted.

“Yeah? Doesn't that figure. Pyxion the Other is always getting the short end of the stick. I got sent Beneath as the flood waters covered the land. Other Sinistari were Beneath. You can't imagine the razzing I got from them.”

“Because you didn't complete your task?”

“You got it.”

Cooper had only walked the earth a short time before the flood had come to sweep away him and his Fallen brethren and imprison them in the Ninth Void as punishment for falling. But he'd always thought all the Sinistari had been allowed to walk the earth following.

“I thought I heard about some great Sinistari warrior,” he said, “who stole hundreds of thousands of souls from the Fallen he had slain and tallied quite the number of kills.”

“Ashuriel the Black.” Pyx punched a fist in her palm. “He's no longer the great one though. He accepted his own mortal soul months ago after an angel kill. And get this, it was because he was in love with a mortal woman. Yuck. I hate saying that word.”

“Ah.” He knew what word troubled her. “Love will get you every time.”

“Not me.”

“Even the mightiest are not immune to love's seduction.”

The scent of her drew him, but he stopped himself from approaching her. He sensed she wasn't putting two and two together. That men and women could fall in love, have feelings for one another, even if they were not of this realm. Even one who was slightly confused about her sexual nature.

“So if you were unable to slay a Fallen,” Cooper asked, “does that mean you've no souls?”

“Nope.” She pounded a fist over her heart, where the Sinistari interred stolen souls. “Not a one.”

When the Sinistari slayed an angel they interred all the souls that angel had stolen by teaching the mortals the arts into its black heart.

Which meant, no psychopomp would be interested in Pyx. The vampire had won that round. Damn.

How to open her eyes to what was happening right here between the two of them? Or was it just him? No, he sensed some burgeoning emotion from her. A desire to connect that must be driving her insane, for her mission was not to connect but to kill.

Did he want to make it hard for her? Making her job easy meant surrendering. That, he would never do.

“Let me take a look,” Pyx said. “See what we're working with here.”

Cooper's shirt had been torn away during the shift. Her fingers probed along his spine and he stood straighter. It wasn't a gentle touch, more clinical. Still, he liked the feeling of their connection. Even if she wasn't into it.

“Lower,” he said. “Can you see a mark of entry?”

“No. Skin's flawless. You heal quickly, as I would expect.”

“Not as fast as I once did. There must be a bruise.”

“Maybe. It's discolored.” She pressed a fingernail into his flesh. “Right about here?”

“Yes. Have Joe help you.”

“What? You want me to…?”

“Yes, damn it, cut into the flesh. There's something in there. I can feel it rubbing against bone. Whatever a vampire wants inside me is not something I want to remain.”

She tugged out the dagger from her combat boot. Cooper roamed his gaze up her long, slender legs made for running, or wrapping about his waist. Oh, sexy siren in black silk and shitkicking boots. “Your dress is ripped.”

One copper brow arched over her kaleidoscope eye. She tugged the tear and it revealed skin to the top of her thigh. “Yeah, maybe hunting vamps in silk wasn't such a good idea after all.”

“I like it.” He fingered the black fabric that hung before her thigh.

“Hands off, horny angel. Lie down.”

“Ah? You want me prone and facing down?” He spread out his arms. “Helpless to whatever devious pleasures you decide to employ?”

“Whatever I do to you, it will be devious.” She tapped his shoulder with the tip of Joe. “Not so sure about the pleasurable part though.”

“I can mix pleasure and pain. You up for it?”

Her brow arched higher, a thin arabesque of deliciousness Cooper wanted to lick. But she was all business. “Turn over. You want pain, you got it.”

Cooper let out a groan as the blade cut through his mortal skin. He would not discount the pain for the mortal experience, though. She cut in the area where he felt the intrusion.

“Go deep. To the bone,” he said around a wince.

“Yeah, yeah. Masochist.” He felt her fingertip prod his insides.

For some reason it didn't hurt after the initial cut, but instead made him wonder at the demon touching him so deeply. She was inside of him. Tenderly. Cautiously. A man she labeled enemy. Yet right now he trusted her.

The mortal air had surely toasted his better judgment.

“So your wings,” she said, still probing about, “they were like stained glass, or something. But I suspect not so fragile.”

“Ineffable.” He cupped a fist under his chin and closed his eyes to the now tender touch.

“I understand each angel is unique.”

“In relation to the skill we master. I was a craftsman of glass. Despite popular belief, we did not fall simply to mate with mortal females. Some of us sought to teach mortals the arts. I taught them artistry in colored glass.”

“Deemed a sin at the time.”

“Yes, all artistic endeavors and crafts were. But not so much now, eh? I knew I was doing right at the time. Look at all the beauty in the mortal realm. Every stained-glass window you see is because of me.”

“I also understand when an angel taught mortals the creative arts, that mortal's soul was ransomed upon his death to the angel.”

“Yes, unfortunately. Because the mortal had sinned in the eyes of his peers so his soul could not rise to Above with death, but it was not destined for Beneath either.” Cooper propped his chin on a fist. “You ever wonder who decides what is sin and what is not? Some cultures believe eating certain kinds of meat a sin, others do not. So who is the ultimate judge of a sin? Not who you would expect.”

“Him?”

“Not at all. A mortal's sin is judged by his peers, which is such a shame.”

“Yeah, whatever. How many souls do you have within you?”

“Just the one.” He winced as the blade cut through muscles.

“Impossible. I've heard Sinistari tell about stealing thousands upon thousands of souls from one angel kill. You guys spread your creative mojo across the lands. You can't convince me you taught one single person the craft and it became what it is now.”

“Just the one,” he repeated. “He was a Mesopotamian potter. Ouch!”

“I think I found it,” Pyx said. She stood from the bed. Cooper saw her wipe blue blood down the side of her dress. “Can't get it out.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It's a small metal piece fused to your bone.”

“Carve it out with your big bad knife.”

“Can't.”

“Pyx. Come on!”

“I'm no surgeon!” She marched into the adjoining bathroom and Cooper heard the water gush in the sink.

He reached around to inspect the wound. It wasn't completely healed but he could not feel deep enough to touch bone. He wiped the blood on his jeans and sat up. Muddy blue stained his fingers. So different.

Would he ever earn the right to fit in? To belong on earth?

Why did he believe obtaining his halo would give him the right to live here? He wasn't like any other. His experiences were too vast and tainted by murder at command. Was it wrong to want what he'd never been designed to have?

“What is right?” he whispered. “What is wrong? Who's to judge?”

Could it be only his peers who would judge him? But he was no longer a peer to those angels still Above.

Rubbing his fingers along his jeans was like trying to erase his truths. The stain of their existence would never be washed away.

It felt wrong—it
had
been wrong—he'd committed sins against mankind.

“You okay?” she called out from the bathroom.

No. He wasn't sure what he was anymore. A fool for thinking he could have what He had gifted to the mortals?

“I don't understand. Why vampires?” he said. “And why me?”

“This is a guess.” Pyx appeared in the doorway, shoulder to the frame. “Maybe it's some kind of tracking device.”

“Why?”

“So they can keep an eye on you and when you've found your muse, can move in.”

“I'm not going anywhere near my muse.”

“They don't know that.”

“Yes, they do. That vampire, Bruce—the one who tagged me and left with his dramatic threat to return when you weren't there—he talked to me earlier today. He wants names of my fellow Fallen brethren.”

“Why?” She tugged at the torn skirt.

“Because the vampires are summoning we Fallen to earth hoping we'll find our muses, and…well, then I don't know.”

“I had a tussle with a vamp myself.”

“You did?”

“Yes, they're after me, too. Supposedly, I'm their greatest threat. And now it makes so much sense. If the vamps want you to find your muse, I could step in and slay you before you get a chance. So keep the Sinistari out of the mix and they get what they want.”

“Except I'm not going after my muse. This is ridiculous. I will not be bagged and tagged like an animal. Give me that blade.”

“Joe belongs in no hands but mine.”

“Then I'll use a kitchen knife.”

She flashed to the bedroom doorway, feebly blocking it with her narrow frame. Cooper could have easily pushed by her. But instead he slid a hand up her back and pulled her close, hip to hip.

Garnet hair fell over one of Pyx's eyes. She looked up at him with that one wide kaleidoscope eye and Cooper thought surely if his heart could beat, it just did. As the mortals liked to say, the eyes were a window to the soul. Yet though Pyx had no soul he saw in those myriad colors the promise of what could be.

“Did I tell you that you do the female thing well?” he asked.

“I'm trying.”

“Stop. I like it better when it's a happy accident with you. Look at you. Your hair all tousled and wavy. Most women would spend hours before the mirror to get it this way. And your style. It's I-don't-give-a-damn meets sex kitten. And your mouth.” He thumbed her lips. “You want me to kiss you, don't you?”

“You got
kiss me
out of my threat with Joe?”

He nodded and leaned in closer to her. She didn't back away. Challenging him or maybe stubborn. He figured stubborn, but he liked that about her, along with her crazy fashion sense.

And the element of danger.

“You smell like bubble gum again,” he said, tracing his nose along her tense jaw. “And demon.”

“What does demon smell like?”

“Sweet and spicy, and…warm.”

Her mouth parted and her breath hushed upon his lips. Prolong the moment. Read her easy compliance. Her daring to stand before him and not step away. Her quiet breath tickled his lips.

“Pyx?”

“Mmm?”

“You think this is wrong, the two of us?”

“You mean standing so close like this?”

“Yes, and having kissed already.” Drawing his lips along her cheek, but not quite touching, he sensed a shudder minutely move her shoulders. And she couldn't realize that her breast hugged his chest, her hard nipples teasing him. “It doesn't feel wrong.”

“It's wrong.”

“Then step away from me.”

“I, um…don't want to.”

“Then your only other option is to kiss me.”

“I could punch you. Or stab you with Joe.”

“Let's not draw any more blood tonight, shall we?”

He touched her lips with his, no pressure, just moving closer, taking in her apprehension, her growing confidence. The sigh of breath across his mouth felt surreal, dangerous, and prohibited. Breathe her.
Taste of bubble gum and heat
.