Fucking men! Motherfucking men!

Amaya wanted to castrate them all. Maybe not all of them. Actually, just one. And he wasn’t even a man. He was a damn UnHallowed asshole.

“Fucking UnHallowed!” She punched the steering wheel. She hated taking the passive-aggressive route, but what choice did she have? Call him a douche for leaving her like she was some one-night stand he picked up in a bar? Pretend nothing happened? Either way, she wanted to stab him through his non-existent heart.

Boy, did she want to plant a dagger through his chest as he stood on the porch, all handsome and seductive. Just when she thought he had some humanity mingled with his acidic blood, he goes and proves her wrong.

That’s what you get for letting your guard down. For forgetting he isn’t a human with human feelings and…and…Who was she fooling? Who’s to say a regular guy wouldn’t have done the same thing, bail on her at the first inkling things were about to get deeper, about to go past the superficial where real emotions lay and bonds were formed. It’s not as if she hadn’t done the same to every man who wanted more than she was willing to give. Not on the first night, but soon thereafter. Get them before they get you…because everyone leaves. First her parents, before she had a memory of them. Then Braile, then Michael, and then her grandparents when they died two years apart. At least she had a chance to thank them for all they did before they left her.

Nothing lasts, not for me.

She shook her head to clear the thoughts away. “It doesn’t matter. Now that I’ve got him out of my system, it won’t happen again. The need to know is gone. Curiosity satisfied.” She tapped out a tune on the steering wheel and refused to acknowledge the elephant riding shotgun in the passenger seat.

Her curiosity wasn’t satisfied, not by ten thousand miles.

An hour later, she rolled into the parking lot and handed the keys to one of the valets, and strode into the building. She came to the gallery opening expecting to view some paintings, drink some wine, and rub elbows with some hipsters.

She didn’t expect to be greeted by heavy bass rock ‘n’ roll pumping from recessed speakers, or a good-looking guard in a nicely fitted black suit and white shirt stopping her at the glass entryway. She pulled out her embossed vellum invitation and handed it over. He took a cursory glance and motioned her through.

Amaya entered the white space, planning on keeping an open mind because she needed the distraction. Weird paintings, odd sculptures—tonight was a showing featuring a friend of Pilar’s. Tomorrow, she’d find something new to keep her occupied.

She rounded a pillar and halted. Performance art…okay. Nude performance art. Okay? She grabbed a glass of wine from a circulating waiter, sipped, and approached the first glass enclosed subjects. Two females—one African American, the other, Caucasian, face forward, unmoving except for involuntary blinking and breathing. A chime sounded and they pivoted to face each other. No words of greetings, no smiles on their faces. Just odd.

The giggling men walking around the glass enclosure didn’t share her sentiment. She moved deeper into the gallery. Not surprisingly, the next subjects were male. One Caucasian. One Asian. They faced away from each other. The Caucasian male was older, though still in decent shape. The Asian was lean and muscular and quite attractive.

She rounded a column into another part of the gallery. This time she wasn’t shocked when she saw the subjects. A couple kissing. Two females. Both Caucasian. No touching. Just kissing. The bell sounded and their positions changed. Now, they were cheek to cheek, facing away from each other.

Further into the gallery she strolled, around people drinking, talking, leering, commenting on the art. Amaya didn’t mind the nudity or the public display of affection. She did mind the patrons who reduced the art form they were invited to view into a peep show.

Deep, rich laughter filtered through her anger. She followed the sound to the next display. Two males holding hands. She paid no attention to the art, preferring to track the voice.

In a room full of people, she couldn’t tell who spoke. She headed to the next display. A male and a female, engaging in heavy foreplay. Amaya wasn’t a prude, but when the female dropped to her knees and started simulating a blowjob, she felt distinctly uncomfortable.

A quick glance around confirmed she wasn’t the only one aroused. Time to find Pilar and lie about having someplace else to be. Maybe there was a late-night movie she could catch. She needed something that would keep her out all night. Sleep was overrated and not as important for her.

Red shoulder length hair caught Amaya’s attention. Pilar was at the next display, talking to a man. From the back, he struck quite an impression. He was tall, at least six seven with broad shoulders, a ridiculously tight ass, and wavy blond hair that touched the collar of his shirt. The way Pilar tossed her hair back and laughed into his face, he had to be her business partner, hook up buddy. However, if that were the case, why was she trying so hard?

Amaya weaved through the crowd until she reached her friend. They were the same height, but Pilar had on six-inch heels and a chain-link mesh mini dress that made her legs seem two miles long. “Hey.”

“Oh hi! You came. I didn’t think you would.” Pilar hugged Amaya.

“I had some time to kill. It’s a great show. Tell the artist I loved it, but I’m going to head out now.” She squeezed Pilar in a tight embrace.

“Not to your taste?” the man said.

Amaya glanced over her shoulder at the couple engaged in heavy foreplay behind a glass enclosure. “It’s my flavor. Just not with an audience.” She looked up and met her reflection in a pair of shades. And rolled her eyes. Only pretentious assholes wore shades indoors and at night. Then his tee shirt caught her attention.

Keep Calm. I Have Arrived.

Oh Lord. He was one of those, God’s gift to mankind. She had to admit, he was painfully handsome with firm lips and a square jaw. A lock of hair fell across his forehead and she had a sudden ache to slide it away and tuck it behind his ear. An almost unbearable need to touch him seized her. She had to curl her hands and force them to remain at her sides.

Her gaze narrowed and she assessed the other patrons. They weren’t staring at the artists screwing their brains out. They were all staring at him. No. Not staring with passing interest. He had their rapt attention, though he ignored all and focused on her.

“Take off your shades,” she ordered.

“Amaya, don’t be rude.” Pilar gave a nervous laugh and twirled a lock of her hair like a teenage girl.

His eyebrows shot up at the mention of her name and he smiled as his gaze strolled down her body. Damn, dimples as deep as the Grand Canyon popped into his cheeks. “Amaya, I didn’t think I’d meet you so soon.”

Senses on guard, Amaya stepped back as he reached up and lifted his shades. Red circled jade irises. She reached for her blades, even though she couldn’t free them here. He dropped the shades back onto his face and raised his hands in mock surrender.

“In the words of Michael Jackson, ‘I’m a lover not a fighter.’” He took Pilar’s hand and kissed her palm. “It’s been a pleasure, next time it will be more private. Shall we?” he said to Amaya, and led the way out of the gallery. She followed, studying his cocky stride.

They crossed the street to a minuscule park filled with sleeping homeless. They wound their way to the center where the lighting from the sidewalk barely reached. He stopped at a dead tree with no one camping next to it.

“Which one are you,” she asked before he had a chance to speak, her hands on the hilts of her blades.

He executed a clipped bow. “I’m the naughty one, Tahariél. Please, call me Riél. All my friends do.”

There was something about this UnHallowed, something delightfully infectious. Raw, undiluted sexiness oozed from him. The size, the blond hair, the unusual iridescent jade eyes, the ruggedness, a modern-day Viking best described him. “We are not friends.”

“Not yet, but soon.” Hands on hips, he faced her with an easy nonchalance. The complete opposite of the other UnHallowed she’d met. They all wanted her dead.

“UnHallowed archangel or regular warrior UnHallowed?”

He winked. “Former Archangel of Purity.”

A wave of heat hit her right in her groin. Her inner muscles clenched and a ripple of pleasure cascaded through her body. She’d never, ever been this horny in her entire life. Hot need twisted her gut. She had to swallow down a needy moan, but she’d swear on the Bible she really did not want him.

Purity her ass, unless he meant pure lust.

She cleared her throat, and asked, “So, who told you about me?”

He smirked. “Does it matter? Let’s not waste time. Ask me the questions you really want answered.”

“Okay. What the fuck are you giving off that’s making me want to screw your brains out?”

He grimaced. “Sorry. Sometimes I can’t help it.”

All her muscles sagged in relief as the vice on her libido abruptly ended. “Don’t ever do that shit to me again.” Her chest ached as if she’d run a marathon. “What kind of freak are you? Is that how you get your load off?”

When he didn’t answer, she looked at him, and jumped back. The bastard had wings. Cream colored, fully extended wings. “Isn’t there a rule about showing your wares out in public?”

His wings flared and a tremor rolled through his feathers as he made a slow pivot. “These poor bastards are too drunk on liquor and lust to decipher reality from nightmare.”

She couldn’t argue that point. “So how come you don’t want to kill me?”

“How come you still have your hands on your blades? I’m unarmed and as harmless as a newborn.”

She snorted. “I doubt that.”

He scratched at his five o’clock shadow. “So, what’s the shit with you and Bane? Is it love or a long one-night stand?”

She gritted her teeth and gripped her blades tighter.

Hands in his pockets, he rocked on his heels. “Whoa. Touchy subject? I guess the honeymoon period is over, though I suspect there wasn’t much of a honeymoon with Bane’s narrow-minded ass.”

Amaya eased off her blades. “You and Bane are pals?”

“As much as any of the UnHallowed are pals.” He gave her a sly grin. “You want the scoop on him?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and weighed her options, then gave a mental fuck it. “Sure, why not. What are you willing to share?”

Riél rubbed his hands together like an inmate waiting for the prison doors to swing open. His wings vanished and he approached her. “You want me to share? I’m gonna need a drink to loosen my vocal cords.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the park.