Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1) (20 page)

“The area along your shoulder blade is inflamed,” he said. “It will remain sore for several days and worsen as the bone begins to break through the skin.”

“Whoa! What bone?”

“Wing bone,” Jarrid said, a mere whisper of his usual tone.

Had everyone lost their mind? Ionie scanned his face, then the angel’s. She could have whacked both men with a tire iron and the impact wouldn’t have changed their expressions. They looked shell shocked.

“We all know Red Bull gives you wings,” she said, joking, “but I haven’t had any energy drinks today.”

“No, but you do have two wing buds growing out of your back,” Mason said. “Soon, you won’t need any Red Bull.”

A cold sweat broke across her body. Ionie waited for the assembled men to burst out laughing. She was ready for a joke. Any minute Jarrid or Tanis would slap her back, pointing at her while they wiped jovial tears from their eyes.

Any minute now.
She prayed this was a prank.

When none of the familiar faces changed, she thought her stomach would give up the ghost and she’d paint the floor with her last meal. Then she remembered.

“You said the bone was the second sign,” Ionie said. “What was the first?”

Jarrid touched her face with a trembling hand, his long fingers stroking the skin. “Your eyes.”

“Oh God, what’s wrong with my eyes?” she asked. A knot tightened in her gut.

“They’re rimmed in silver.”

• • •

Ionie’s new eye color shimmered as the first of her tears flooded the almond shapes. The confusion Jarrid saw when the tears crested, then slipped down her cheeks, brought a dull thud to his heart. He never planned for her to get hurt on his mission, yet she had. He was at a loss at how to fix this mess.

“I’m changing into an angel?” Ionie’s voice hitched on the words, sending a new flutter of guilt through him.

“We believe you already possessed Grace inside you. I didn’t know.”

Her gaze darted around the room. His brothers avoided her searching eyes. They studied the floor as if the carpet held next week’s winning lottery numbers. When no one spoke, she straightened her back and rose from the bed. Jarrid extended his arm to steady her, but she flinched away. He got the message: no touching the pissed off half-human.

Ionie scowled down at him. “Is it permanent?”

Tanis moved closer without crowding her. He pulled his broken wings against his back. “If we can find the one responsible for your Grace, I think the transformation will stop.”

Jarrid clasped Ionie’s waist as she spun, off balance, to face him. “But I thought … when we — ”

“It’s my fault the transformation started, but I didn’t put the power in you.”

“Then who did?” Her rising fury blazed back at him.

Time to lie. Again
. “We don’t know.” The words left his mouth, tasting vile. “We can track him, if you help us.”

He waited for her to lash out, to strike him with her fists, to scream every curse she knew. Ionie’s chest heaved with her broiling emotions, even as she struggled to remain in control. She speared him with a hard stare and he imagined a thousand questions filling her head, warring with her need to know something — anything — to make her feel better. God of All, he wanted to get her the hell away from Beleth and Heaven — and himself.

“You’re telling me an angel placed a mojo on me, and now I’m turning into one,” Ionie said, narrowing her eyes as she stared into his. “But you can find him and turn me back?”

“Yes.” The single admission didn’t feel like a lie because it wasn’t. Jarrid would track the bastard down. He’d make sure Beleth never laid a feather on Ionie. The asshole was dead, like the bloodsucker who worked for him.

“I’ll help you,” she said. A chorus of breaths expelled around him, reminding him the rest of The Order and the shape shifter watched.

“First, I want to go home and change,” Ionie said. “After I wrap my head around this I’ll need to call JP. She’ll be worried to death if I don’t give her an update.”

• • •

The Stronghold’s expansive garage stunned Ionie. Once used to house steel to construct auto parts, the room now displayed a collection of cars and trucks belonging to The Eternal Order. She marveled at the obvious wealth the assortment required. More than her meager salary could amount to in a million years.

She gawked at the closest car, unable to believe her eyes. “Is that a … Duisenberg?”

“You know cars?” Kas asked.

“I’m a Detroiter,” she said. She blazed a smile at him. “It’s in my blood.”

“That’s Jarrid’s baby. Model Y. 1927. Only one ever built.”

The other cars were no less stunning, but the cranberry-red Duisie outshone them. “Does he ever take it out?” She imagined zipping up Interstate 75 with nothing between her and wind rushing over her.

“Too much attention,” Kas said, shaking his head. “Jarrid gets enough weird looks without the extra flash.”

Discussing her lover made her turn. Jarrid leaned close to Tanis, his hands gesticulating.

What are they up to?
The rapid rise and fall of the angel’s wings signaled the men shared a heated conversation. She turned away.

If they fought over her demand to go home, she didn’t plan to get involved.
Angel Grace. Nephilim. Renegades.
She didn’t understand most of the crap they’d told her, but her gut didn’t lie. The Order hid something from her.

She leaned against a stack of tires. Weakened yet resolved, she concentrated on the one person she could count on.
I need you, JP
. The werewolf could smell a lie from fifty yards, a trait that made the blond a crafty crime reporter.

The wing bones near Ionie’s shoulders throbbed, dousing her in pain. She couldn’t stifle the small cry that escaped through her clenched teeth. Jarrid’s hands gripped her arms a second later.

“I told you to stay in bed.” He pulled her toward the garage exit.

She tugged on his hold, slowing his momentum to keep from being dragged out.

“Listen to me” she said, but Jarrid didn’t stop. “Get your hands off me. Now!”

Blazing silver glowered down at her, but she refused to cringe. His temper couldn’t match hers. How dare he order her around, scolding her in front of his brothers, dragging her through a garage.

Heat pooled in her hands.

I didn’t ask for this shit!
Her shoulders ached and her back slicked with sweat. Jarrid widened his eyes. She narrowed hers. Someone called her name. Ionie dismissed the sound. They could wait. First, she’d deal with the pompous bastard who still held her arm.

She raised her left hand, her fingertips tingling with heat.

He’s holding something back
. She was changing into a freak — a hybrid.
Jarrid’s fault.
He shouldn’t be alive.
Abomination.
A bastard.
Foul
. “Impure.”

Ionie flexed her hand, and then she shoved it forward on a cry. Searing heat flared around her fingers as she prepared to release the building energy. All she had to do was … was …

“Ionie?” Jarrid’s concerned voice drifted into her mind. She looked at him.

The nephilim watched her. She glanced to her right. Kas and Cain stood tense. Mason’s gaze fixed on her and he frowned. She lowered her hand and the strange warmth receded.

Jarrid’s massive body blocked her view of the others. “What was that about?”

“I … I don’t know what you mean.”

“You said, ‘impure’.” His silver gaze decreased to slits. “Why?”

Her skin flushed. She couldn’t believe what had come out of her mouth, or the nasty little phrases that popped into her head. Mortification rose under her downcast face. She’d never felt such powerful dislike of anyone like she’d experienced with Jarrid.

Abomination?
Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

“Can we get out of here?” Ionie wanted to go home. The Order’s garage felt too confining. “I’ll come back after I get some things. Then you’d better fix me. I don’t want to stay like this.”

After long seconds, Jarrid nodded and brushed past her. He spoke in a low tone to Tanis, then climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck. She hauled herself in next. A second engine rumbled to life. Kas, Cain, Nesty, and Mason squeezed into a black Chevy Escalade.

“They’ll drop the shifter at his cab, then meet us at your house,” Jarrid said, starting the engine.

Finally.
She was going home.

Jarrid heard Ionie’s sharp intake when he parked behind a white Excursion in front of her house. He glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s my friend’s SUV,” she said, exiting the truck. “I planned to call her after I packed up.”

His long strides had him at her front door before she made it up the concrete walkway. All his senses snapped to attention. Ionie’s soul could be tracked, and he wouldn’t fail at protecting her again.

He reached his arm back. “Key.”

“I can open my own door, thank you,” she said. He wiggled his fingers until she placed the jangling keys in his palm. The door opened with a soft click.

Ionie made to brush past him when a coppery scent flooded his nostrils. He clasped his hand over her mouth before he shoved her behind him. He pinned her with a hard stare until she nodded her understanding. Releasing her, he pulled his guns.

Jarrid ignored her hushed gasp and concentrated on the darkened foyer. He stepped over the splintered remains of a table and made his way deeper inside. Lopsided pictures lined the walls, some with shattered glass still protecting the happy faces underneath. He eased down without stopping his area scan and touched the wood floor. In the darkness he could see the blood on his fingers.

His assassin instincts kicked in. With a last glance at Ionie, he tightened his grip on his guns and half-rolled until he entered a small sitting room. His gaze locked on a large mass in the center. He aimed at the unmoving thing, cautious as he approached.

The woman’s throat was sliced to the bone. Sightless yellow eyes stared past him to the ceiling. Her half-formed snout was twisted out of place. He knelt down and lifted the woman’s clawed hand.

Was Ionie’s friend a Lycan?
He prayed the answer was ‘no.’

Jarrid spun in time to see a small hand flip the light switch.

Shit!
Ionie’s silver-rimmed brown eyes goggled as she froze. He sprang to his feet, prepared to cover her screams with his hand, when the first bullets ripped into his chest and leg. He raised his guns, blasting several shots into the adjacent room, his momentum slamming him into the wall near Ionie. He slid the light switch off, then shielded her crouched body as more gunfire exploded around them.

Busted plaster choked the air while he and their unseen attackers exchanged one barrage after another. He winced as another bullet sliced into the thick muscle of his bicep. Ionie crushed herself into his midsection and screamed. Out of the blue, he started to sweat. Staggered, his own Grace pulsed as her body heat spiraled with her rising terror.

“Ionie, you have to stay calm!” He shouted over the noise. “Your fear is charging your power.”

She shuddered, but the heat and his Grace pressed against his skin, seeking release. He had to get away from her before it struck out, hurting her. Swearing, he leapt up and shoved her into the corner. As he prepared to run into the other room, a loud crash boomed through the house.

“Jarrid!” Cain’s voice came from the foyer.

More gunfire muffled his reply. He caught the heavy thud of boots chewing floor as his brothers ran for cover.

“Fuck! Leave it to J-man to find a party!” Kas said then laughed. “Who’d you invite?”

“I have no goddamned clue,” he said, yelling over the noise. “Dial in!”

While Kas tapped the assailants’ minds, Jarrid crouched near Ionie. She appeared unhurt, but he didn’t dare get close enough to check.

Not yet.
He was juiced.

“Bloodsuckers!” Kas said.

Dead bloodsuckers
. “Drop ’em!” Jarrid said, slapping fresh clips into his guns.

The Order acted at once, exploding the adjoining walls with bullets. Plaster turned to dust and choked the air in a thick fog, but they kept firing. The walls gave way to screams as vampire limbs flew through the air in a shower of high-caliber ammo.

He turned away from Ionie, angling around the splintered remnants of a table, to shift closer to his brothers’ positions. Dust stung his eyes. He tried to locate Nestaron, Cain, and Kasdeja. Sparks from several guns told him they’d moved into the adjoining rooms for cover. He exhaled, then launched himself through a gaping hole in the nearest wall.

Chaos reigned in what must have been an open-spaced living room and kitchen. Jarrid squinted, cursing. The dust-clogged air distorted the faint light filtering through a broken bay window. If he wasn’t careful he could slice his team to pieces. Pinned in, he called on his Grace.

A pinion of light exploded the room in blinding luminescence. He stood up inside his energy sphere, his sight cleared of airborne debris, and walked to stand beside his fellow assassins, shielding them. Their eyes glowed with power and, in unison, raised their weapons. The remaining vamps cried out. Both sides opened fired. Protected by Jarrid’s shield, his brothers picked off the vampires with ease. The enemy bodies convulsed like broken puppets, bullets shredding them.

Jarrid lowered his guns. “Hold!” The room fell silent except for the harsh breaths of his brothers. Likewise, his heavy breaths resounded in his ears. He dimmed his soul, cramming his Grace within his body with haste.

The Act of Contrition kicked him in the gut. He crumpled, wishing the ritual would hurry the fuck up.

“Shit,” Nesty said.

Jarrid looked up, and then he, Cain and Kas leveled their guns to shred more bloodsuckers. Instead, Ionie’s tear-swollen eyes gazed into his.

• • •

Four killers stood before her, their hands gripping the biggest guns she’d ever seen, but Ionie had eyes only for one man. Jarrid, her handsome protector, crouched like a coil of menace in the white-flecked remnants of her living room. His brown-black hair fell in frizzy clumps around his shoulders, drawing her gaze down their muscled slopes.