Amaya expected a bar. What she got was a skinny latte and a stale cheese Danish in a twenty-four hour coffee shop. Riél sat opposite her nursing a large chamomile tea and a chocolate donut. They eyed each other. Amusement danced in his strangely colored eyes—they glowed with a hypnotic inner light—while she studied him with a cool detachment all the other women in the establishment lacked.

They ogled him with open lust. A few were bold enough to brush up against him as they passed by. “Whatever you’re doing, you really need to stop. I’m embarrassed for them,” she hissed.

His perfect blond eyebrows arched in mock confusion. “I’m not doing anything other than enjoying the company of a beautiful woman.”

Elbow on table, she propped her chin on her knuckles and said, “Cut the shit. Your mojo doesn’t work on me anymore.”

A chuckle eased from him and she had the distinct feeling he wasn’t even trying. The reaction of the women around him wasn’t due to any angel pheromones. Throw any six foot seven, ripped guy who put every gorgeous model, actor, and human being to shame, their wet panty responses would be the same.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Just tell me, is it a one-time response to that ‘Oh me so horny’ mojo you have going on?”

“It is when your heart’s involved elsewhere.” He shared a knowing wink. “Shall we test it out?”

She gave him a firm no. Not that it mattered, but she did wonder who told him about her and Bane. “I tell my heart where to go and what to feel. Can’t have it go off on its own and get hooked on some riffraff.”

“Very wise.” He nodded, yet his unwavering gaze called her a liar. About what, she didn’t care to guess. Plus, she didn’t buy his play-nice routine. Time to push a little harder. “So far, all the UnHallowed I’ve met want me dead. Why are you different?”

“Sweetheart, if they wanted you dead…” His voice trailed away and he sipped his tea. “They want you contained, after they figure out what you are.”

“Contained?” That could mean several things, none of which she liked.

“Contrary to popular beliefs, we don’t enjoy killing humans. Your species offers no challenge. So instead of killing you, we’ll erase your memory in lieu of imprisonment or death.”

Hold up a damn moment. “Some of you kill humans, with impunity? Michael doesn’t come down and skewer you? Or at least send you back to Hell?”

Riél shrugged. “He could, but most of us don’t give a damn. Why care about the thing that got you banned?”

This was new info. “Explain,” she demanded.

That unholy light flared in his eyes and he leaned forward to whisper as if he had the juiciest piece of gossip. “It was all because of a woman.”

Amaya mimicked him. She leaned in and whispered, “All of you fell from Heaven because of some female? Who was she, Helen of Troy?”

He sat back in his chair with a frown. “No one you know.”

“Were all of you in love with her? Was she an angel? Unhallowed?” Amaya needed more info. He couldn’t drop that statement like a dog dropped a turd, and walk away from the stinking pile.

“Back to the killing of humans.” Riél returned to the previous subject. “Just because we don’t like to kill, doesn’t mean we won’t. Death would be a tactic of last resort if memory removal failed.”

She snorted. Fine. The prick didn’t want to tell her. At least she had more information than she ever had about that auspicious day. Daghony had tried and failed to remove her memories. And as Riél had said, if the UnHallowed wanted her dead, she wouldn’t be drinking a latte with one of them right now. And as far as imprisonment went… “Trying to put me behind bars would be deadly to the jailer.”

“No bars. We’d dump you in the shadows and you’d never find your way out.”

A chill zigzagged down her spine. She picked up her latte and took a gulp.

“As I said, the majority of us don’t give a damn about your kind. Those with less than tolerable abilities tend to keep to the shadows. Less mingling helps control their homicidal tendencies.”

Well that was a relief. “How many UnHallowed are there?”

“None of your damn business.” Though uttered in the most casual tone, she didn’t miss the underlying threat.

He might be sitting here, spilling information—not secrets—but his loyalty was to the UnHallowed. There would be no accidental slips. This meeting was calculated down to the choice of plastic silverware. She stretched her senses, searching for a trap. A little late to do it, but as the saying goes, better late than…no. The game she’d stumbled into was next level deadly. On this playing field, late could mean life or death.

“Okay.” She sat back in her seat. “What are the different classifications of angels?” Braile nor Michael had ever shared the info.

“Watcher is the lowest class. Next are the comfort angels, guardian angels, warrior class angels, archangels, the principles, the powers, the virtues, the dominions, the thrones, the cherubim, and finally the seraphim. The lower classes are the most populated. The upper echelon, a few angels hold multiple positions. Multiple titles. You don’t really do anything as a principle or a cherubim. Lazy bunch of assholes if you ask me.”

“How do you move up the ladder?”

Red consumed his eyes. “You’re asking a lot of questions. None of them about Bane.”

The questions she had about Bane could fill a hard drive. She gave a nonchalant shrug as if to say, whenever you’re ready.

He took a bite of his donut. A barista—female—came by and asked if he needed anything else. She completely ignored Amaya until he shooed the female away. Patiently Amaya waited for him to swallow his mouthful of donut and tea, and repeated the question. “How do you move up the ladder?”

“Like any job, through hard work, and dumb luck. A human dies and if they’re worthy, they ascend and are assigned a task.”

“What were you before you became an archangel?”

“A warrior, fighting demons and such. Then the humans came along and I became an archangel. Though, that’s not always how it happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes you’re born into it.”

She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her gaze. “Excuse me?”

“Occasionally, a human comes along whose soul is so pure, that purity is maintained throughout their lives. At the time of their death, they get a one-way ticket to the top.”

“How many times has that happened?” she asked, and wondered why red crept into his gaze.

“Once,” said in a tone colder than a Canadian winter.

Time to change the questions. “Do you regret the choice you made? Regret becoming an UnHallowed?”

A mixture of pain, anger, and—just a guess—hatred flashed across his features. His eyes were now a brilliant red.

And next question.

“Who fathered you?” He beat her to the punch.

Her jaw clenched, even though she knew he had to ask. Luckily, she had her contacts back in place. “As I told Bane, Richard Prince was my father.”

He gave a terse nod. “Guess it’s too soon to share the truly important stuff. Just know, the question will never go away.”

“What did the Rolling Stones say, ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’?”

He pressed his palm to his chest. “Touché. One of my favorite bands. I guarantee they’ll be rocking and rolling in the afterlife.” He finished his donut, wiped his mouth, and sipped his tea. “I was going to ask you an inappropriate question, I don’t think I will. I already have my answer.”

Now she wanted to know the question. He was baiting her and she had no desire to nibble.

“When are you going to ask me about Bane, Amaya?”

She waved at him. “You got something to say, my ears are wide open.”

Riél folded his arms and sat back.

“Fine. Does he live in the shadows or is there someplace else he calls home?”

“Maximum Effort Training Center. When in town, on this side of the shadows, that’s where you’ll most likely find him.”

“Why there?”

“It’s owned by Scarla.”

“Is she a Halfling?”

Riél waved a finger in front of her face. “Questions about Bane, no one else.”

That annoyed her. “Why are you in such a giving mood?”

“I like you.”

“And Bane?”

He shook his head. “Not so much. Watching him flounder because of you is more entertaining than anything else in my life.”

“Glad to be of service,” she snapped.

A smirk twisted his lips. “Don’t get salty because I take my fun where I can get it.”

“Is it only him you don’t like or is it all the UnHallowed assholes?”

“The lot of us aren’t very touchy feely. We tend to give each other a wide berth.”

That wasn’t true of the three that protected Scarla.

“Don’t you want to know his horoscope? Favorite color? If he’s dating anyone else?” he singsonged, staring at her over his cup.

A smidgen of jealousy took hold, though Amaya managed to keep her features neutral. She pushed away from the table and stood as Riél chuckled.

“It has been lovely meeting you, Amaya.”

“Same here.” She reached across the table and shook his hand. Together, they headed for the exit.

She paused on the sidewalk with one more question, but wasn’t sure it was worth the risk. Fuck it. He had helped her. “Darklings. Do you hunt them?”

He shook his head. “Like I said, lover, not a fighter.”

Hands on hips, she side-eyed him and bit out. “Let me get this straight. None of you UnHallowed fight Darklings, only Bane?”

Riél stared her down. “This isn’t our fight.”

She snorted in disbelief. “And you call the principles and cherubim lazy.”

His nostrils flared and his gaze narrowed. “The Maker released us, expecting us to fall in line, tow the company motto. It was too late. We fled Hell and never looked back. You can’t promise someone half of what you’ve taken from them and expect loyalty.”

She walked away, and stopped. “Last question. Why do you call Him, Maker?”

Red swallowed his eyes. “Because I refuse to call him anything else.”