CHAPTER 12
“The angel seems indifferent to finding his muse.” Bruce stalked the floor before his boss, the leader of tribe Anakim. Stellan stood in the shadows below the window that sifted in silver moonlight through the panes. “He’s more interested in beating on us.”
“You said he’s working alongside a Sinistari demon?”
“Yeah. Isn’t that remarkable?”
“As well,” Stellan said, “I’ve seen the halo hunter, Michael Donovan, in town. We cannot allow them to join forces.”
“But, we’re losing men to the angel. A freakin’ angel.” Bruce fisted a hand into his palm with a crisp smack. “We can’t risk approaching him again. Even with the wards, he’s too powerful. When he shifts, there’s no telling what power he has at hand.”
“What about the tracker?”
“It’s not working. Something went wrong. I think when the angel shifted the tracker got embedded too deep. I don’t know, but it could have been crushed.”
Antonio shook his head. He’d yet to look up at his men from his position before the granite-topped desk.
Here aboveground in the Hôtel Solange, he reigned over the Anakim tribe during the night. Yet he could only walk the day, as could those of his tribe, as long as he wore protective gear to keep the UV rays from his sensitive skin. It took less than ten seconds to burn his flesh and eat into his bloodstream. Thirty seconds later, he’d be one fried vampire.
That would change, Bruce knew, once a nephilim was born and the tribe could use that creature to strengthen their blood. Ancient bloodlines would be renewed with the infusion. They’d be able to walk in the day. Anakim would fear no enemy.
“Bring Michael Donovan to me,” Antonio directed Stellan.
“Of course, sir.” Stellan bowed his head and moved into the shadows.
“As well, kill the demon.”
The tall vampire remained in the shadows, but Bruce detected a catch to Stellan’s voice. “You want me to kill the Sinistari? You know those bastards are impossible to kill.”
“You said the demon was female.”
“Yes, but—” Stellan swallowed.
Bruce smirked. So glad he hadn’t gotten demon duty.
If Stellan argued, he’d appear weak for whining about his inability to kill a mere woman. “It will be done.”
* * *
Antonio rose and approached the far wall where the blood grimoire he used to summon the Fallen sat upon a lectern. It had a fancy name: Rituals and Invocations of that Which Join Above and Beneath. Bruce had not been in the room when Juphiel had been summoned and the crazy noise and flashing lights under the door had kept him out.
“Bruce, why is it so difficult to keep track of one fallen angel?” Antonio tapped the grimoire. “He is in Paris for a reason. The Fallen are compelled to their muses. She must be here. Somewhere.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a handle on it. I think I located the muse.”
“You had better get a handle on the muse, if you know what is good for you.”
“Yes, sir, monsieur. I’ll leave then?”
The lead vampire gave him a look that could only be construed as “get the hell out.” Bruce turned and left, glad to be away from the old vampire’s intense…existence.
He owed Antonio one for rescuing him from a vicious wolf attack. And the idea of being allowed to drink nephilim blood intrigued him. He already could walk during the day, but what other powers would he gain? He didn’t mind sticking around to find out.
* * *
Cooper intended to leave town to avoid his muse. But first things first. He looked up the Hotel Regina online and marked the address. Instead of flashing there he decided a walk in the fresh air would serve him better.
This was his farewell walk through a city he’d come to love.
The high moon glamorized the puddles on the sidewalk from the rain earlier in the evening. A crowd of youth ran past him shouting for one another to hurry to catch the Metro. One of the girls sporting pink hair and too much eye makeup slowed and cast Cooper a smile.
If she only knew the man who’d quickly looked away wasn’t even a man but something closer to a monster. Unless of course, she was religious and believed in angels. Then she might deem him divine. Mortals had a tendency to glamorize those things they did not understand. To find the heroic in even the darkest and most vile of creatures.
Funny how that worked. Would he do the same should he find his halo and claim his mortal soul?
Crossing the street to take a shortcut through a field of railroad tracks, Cooper noticed some action ahead.
Gorgeous garnet hair flashed as it caught the moonlight. That was definitely Pyx. She delivered a high roundhouse to her aggressor, sending him crashing against the brick wall of the Metro tunnel.
“Has to be a vampire,” Cooper muttered.
Yet he held back. Pyx wouldn’t like it if he rushed in when she was capable of handling one idiot vampire all by herself.
He winced as she took a skull blow and staggered, spitting black blood through the air. She did not relent, rounding on her hissing opponent and returning a bruising blow to the vamp’s jaw.
The demon was like a work of movable art; gorgeous, defiant, exquisite and kick-ass.
“We’re so different,” Cooper said. “Black and blue blood. Will we ever earn the red blood we desire?”
Because despite Pyx’s reluctance now, they had once both desired it. She had to be the angel he’d once called friend.
And if so, he wanted Pyx to bleed red. She deserved it. She didn’t belong in the demon realm. Sure, a female demon could kick ass and slay as well as a male. But the mortal realm had so much more to offer Pyx.
Like home and family. Dresses and pretty things to adorn her body. Food and walks in the park. Love. Cooper wanted her to have it all.
Which meant he’d have to sacrifice his chance at red blood. “Or else find another Fallen for Pyx to slay.”
He shook his head. It was unthinkable to consider putting another Fallen in his place so he could have his selfish pleasures. Much as he could get behind the halo hunter’s reasoning to slay all the Fallen and prevent the nephilim.
The vampire snarled and hit Pyx so hard, she stumbled across the rail tracks. Dazed, she stood there, gathering her senses. The bright headlights of the oncoming Metro train alerted Cooper.
Cooper’s glass heart clenched. He tracked the headlights; switched to Pyx’s dazed stance. “She doesn’t see it. It’s going to—”
He flashed to the rail track, right beside the vampire. Shoving the vamp forced him stumbling away from Pyx.
Cooper leaped before the train, which was twenty feet away and speeding fifty kilometers an hour. He wrapped his arms around Pyx’s shoulders. He felt the impact—twenty tons of metal to glass bone and human flesh—at the same moment he began to flash….
* * *
Sophia St. Michel worked at the coffee shop until it closed tonight at 11:00 p.m., according to the schedule hung above the register. It was only nine.
Bruce crept up the iron staircase hugging the cool, outside cinder-block wall to Sophia’s apartment. Below sat a small, contained courtyard, encircled by four-story rental buildings. Shadows concealed his movements, though he moved so swiftly and stealthily no one would notice.
Her back door was bolted and chained. He rammed a shoulder against the door. The metal chain assembly on the inside cracked the wood with little resistance. He slipped inside without opening it too far.
The door obviously wasn’t used, because he walked right into a hanger of clothing. Must serve as her closet. Rubbing a bit of silk against his cheek he inhaled the lingering perfume.
“Roses. I love the taste of a woman who smells like flowers. Too bad she ain’t around. We could have had some fun.”
Much as he’d like to sink his teeth into the muse’s neck, Bruce intended to remain in his leader’s good graces. Stellan was walking a fine line. That vamp’s days were numbered.
Bruce wasn’t one hundred percent positive this woman was the muse, so detective work was in order. Creeping through the darkness of her bedroom he eyed the vanity lined with glass bottles and girly stuff. Hanging over the mirror, a flowered scarf dangled red fringe. Women liked all that frippery. He liked taking that kind of stuff off women and tossing it over his shoulder.
Smirking, he prowled into the kitchen and spied a secretary desk against the far wall. That would have bills and papers, and maybe notes of interest.
Slinking between the kitchen table and the counter—most Paris kitchens were narrow aisles—Bruce lifted the rolling door on the secretary and poked about.
She sure as hell bought a lot of shoes. Owed two thousand euros on footwear alone from what he could determine. The urge to feel a spike heel pressed into his hip sent a shiver up his spine.
“I could hang around until later, greet her when she returns.”
He pushed the button on the answering machine, but the robotic voice reported no messages.
In the living room the sheer white curtains were drawn. An array of fringed pillows smothered a green velvet couch. Bruce plopped onto the couch and settled into the nest of feminine overload. His hand flicked a stack of books tucked beneath the glass coffee table and he tugged one out.
He read the title, “Angels and Demons: Of Heaven and Hell.” Inside were paintings by various artists of feathery winged angels and horned demons. “Stupid.”
He replaced the book, which shoved a red velvet-covered journal to the floor. Picking it up he opened it to a random page—and sat up straight.
“No kidding?”
A black ink design scribbled across the page. Bruce recognized the design, or rather the style of it. He paged through and noted a different design had been marked on each page, and beneath were notes about date, season, what she’d done that day.
“Bingo! These are angel sigils. The muse knows about them? She must have drawn these. Antonio is going to love this.”
He tucked the journal into his waistband and clapped his hands together. “This will definitely put me in the boss’s good graces.”