Fallen (13 page)

Both men looked to Pyx, who had entered without notice and asked the question. She swept a thick chunk of wet
hair over her shoulder and leaned over the table toward Donovan.

Donovan glanced to Cooper, who remained poker-faced. So the whole world felt they could waltz on into his home without knocking? He'd never felt less in control than right now, and it was not a good feeling.

Pyx looked Donovan right in the eye. “Er…” he stated uncertainly. “My girlfriend is a vampire.”

Pyx sneered.

“Stranger things have happened.” The halo hunter made a show of glancing from Cooper to Pyx. “Like a demon and an angel getting together.”

“He's not mine,” Pyx said quickly.

“Nor is she mine,” Cooper added gruffly. “But how did you know she's demon?”

“The eyes,” Donovan said. “That wild riot of color. Never seen it on a human before. Very specifically Sinistari. Although…” He thought about it, looking Pyx over. “The last guy I met with eyes like that was really…”

“You spend too much time gazing into people's eyes,” Cooper interrupted, because the man knew too much and he had no intention of letting Pyx learn all of that right now, “you'll soon enough fall under a vampire's persuasion.”

“Already happened,” Donovan said with a smile. He itched his neck where the bite marks had left a raised red welt. “My girl does it once in a while. She gets a kick out of it.”

“I don't trust this guy.” Pyx gripped Donovan's arm and wrenched it around behind his back. “The vampires sent you, didn't they?”

“No! And why would they if they've a tracking device on him?”

“That's a guess,” Pyx provided. She took out Joe and
shoved the tip under Donovan's chin. “You lying or telling the truth?”

“The truth! I want to destroy the vampires as much as you do.”

“I said nothing about destroying vampires,” Cooper hissed.

“But it would be a fun time,” Pyx commented. She released Donovan and sat on the kitchen chair, slumping and putting up a boot on another chair. Noticing the painting, she leaned in to study it. “Who made this?”

“There's a muse who dreams angels,” Cooper said. “She's the reason he's here. She's not putting those pictures out for the whole world to see?” he asked Donovan.

“Eden was showing them at a gallery in New York until someone bought all of them. And that someone was Antonio del Gado. He's gathering information on the angels any way he can. You'd better be careful.”

“There's not a vampire alive who can tempt me with anything,” Cooper said.

“Not even your halo?”

Cooper met Pyx's querying gaze. He averted his eyes away from the question she had no right to ask.

“Awkward,” Donovan finally said. “So I should go now. Don't want to interrupt anything like a date between the two of you.”

“It's not—” Cooper and Pyx both spoke at the same time and both stopped when the halo hunter cast them a smirk.

“Yeah, right.” Donovan eased around Pyx. “I'll check in with you after my girl gives me a report.”

He thumbed the throwing star stuck in the table, then nodded to Pyx, and offered a hand to shake to Cooper.

Cooper stared at it, then shook, and held firmly. “We're
not finished yet. In fact, we've only begun. Where you staying?”

“The Regina. You can find me there, or call my cell.” He handed him a business card. “You cooperate with me, and I promise you can look through my collection of halos. Deal?”

“Cooperate?”

“Help me take down the vamps.”

“I'll consider it.”

Donovan prowled down the hallway, and Cooper left him to close the door on his own. He eyed Pyx who didn't seem too curious over the man.

“Halo hunter?” she asked.

“Yes. I won't even ask how you know.”

“Did you walk the world at all after you were summoned, Fallen one?”

He shook his head and went into the bedroom, calling, “I'll get you a towel. You're soaked bone-deep.”

When he returned from the bathroom she stood in the bedroom, admiring the stained-glass pocket doors. Rain glimmered on her pale flesh like moon drops. He bet it tasted like sweet summer.

She tapped the window where violet glass segued into a curve of green that represented a leaf. “The windows in this apartment are crazy gorgeous.”

“So we're not going to discuss the halo hunter?”

“We will.”

He approached her and spread out the towel, pressing it to her shoulders. “You like? I enhanced them a bit.”

“How?”

He took her hand and led her to the outer bay window that curved and looked across the right bank. He'd not touched these windows yet, because he wasn't sure if the
building's owner would notice the changes from the street and protest.

But who could protest beauty?

Skating the fingertips of his left hand over the glass, Cooper drew wide arcs and dancing lines. In the wake of his touch bloomed gorgeous color. It seeped into the glass and where he wanted the colors to change, lead stripping cracked into the glass and formed.

“How do you—” Pyx asked, but stopped. With a sigh, she nodded. “Beautiful.”

“It's my skill,” he said.

“That's right, you said you taught mortals this craft.”

“Just the one.” He rapped his chest. “Only one soul inside this angel's heart.”

“Right.” She touched the window emblazoned with violet lilies and emerald stalks of grass in the Art Nouveau style Cooper appreciated. A warrior who could dance and create beauty
and
rip out hearts without blinking an eye. “You make me want you, Cooper.”

“I didn't do anything to you, sweetie.”

“I'm not so sweet.”

“You like to think you're tough.”

He stroked the hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. One kiss meant no turning back. Because he'd stepped over the need to linger at her mouth. Now he wanted all of her.

Cooper crossed his arms over his chest, but didn't step away from her.

“You are tough,” he said. “But you were made that way. Forged of metal and costumed in silken human flesh. But in there? Your mind? You're a newling learning the world, trying new things, making mistakes and winning emotion and compassion and even trust.”

“So are you.”

“Exactly. Here on earth we're just people, Pyx, trying to make our way.”

“We're more than that. Why is it so easy for you to overlook differences, to think of yourself as one of them?”

“Because I want to be one of them.” He leaned against the windowsill, and put up a leg on the bench. He sighed. “I told you, I don't want my halo for the weapon. I want to claim my mortal soul. I want to become like them.”

“You think the halo hunter has your halo?”

“It's a possibility.” He scanned the street outside. “I should have followed him.”

“He'll be back. And you know where to find him. You just wanted to be alone with me.”

“I did. Ah, Pyx, mortals fascinate me. Not a one the same as the next.” Cooper tilted his head back against the window frame. “I know it won't matter to you, but you need to know why I fell.”

“It won't matter.” Pyx nodded. “But go ahead.”

“I admire the human race,” he said. “I have always wanted to be one of them. I put myself no higher or lower than the common man, yet in angelic vestments I am deemed higher.”

“Not anymore. You've fallen from His grace.”

“True.” He flicked a look out the window, but didn't cast his eyes so high as Above. He wasn't privileged to look that high now. “Wanting a human soul is a selfish act.”

“No more selfish than falling to have sex with human women.”

“That wasn't why I fell.”

“It's your story. It works for you.”

“It's not a story. It is what I desire. But lately I've been thinking how selfish it really was. Who am I to deserve
the soul He gifted only to them? What right do I have to take one for myself?”

She approached and leaned against him. It was interesting to watch Pyx as she became less hard and more interested in actual emotions and the feelings of others. “You're not trying to take anything that wasn't already there. The soul has always been in your halo, hasn't it?”

“Yes. I would ransom immortality for a human soul,” he said wistfully. “Only problem is, there's a demon on my ass with blood in her eyes.”

“I bet it's a sexy ass.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. The taste was bittersweet, lingering not long enough to savor. “I won't kill you tonight, Cooper. Promise.”

He had to give her credit for at least trying to be compassionate. And what the hell? He was considering her offer. Because he did desire her. And if his days on earth were numbered, then he had no intention of living them unsatisfied.

On the other hand…

“You know how angels work? Sexually?”

“You have to wear this human costume, because in angel form you are sexless. Same with demons.”

“Yes, but you know the muse is the only woman who can give me the ultimate pleasure?”

“You can take none from me?”

“I get delicious pleasure in making you happy, and it is enough to satisfy. But no orgasm, I'm afraid, with any but my muse. Unless, of course, I found my halo and ultimately, my soul.”

She worried her lip, considering what he'd said. “So you don't want to do this?”

Cooper chuckled. “Oh, I want to do it. I just wanted you to be clear on a few things first. You are so fine.”

A curl of his fingers brought her into his embrace with
out Pyx taking a step. He wanted to feel her against his skin, but it still wasn't right.

She didn't want this. She hadn't sunk into his arms like she had earlier. She was nervous. This closeness was merely a ruse. A means to ingratiating herself to him—to soften him for the kill.

“Leave, Pyx,” he whispered.

“But—”

“You want this for the wrong reasons. Unless and until you change your mind, this won't happen.”

“Oh. So until I come over to your team, you mean, and let you call the shots. I see. Typical male.”

“You have no idea what the typical male is like.”

“Nor do you realize what you're allowing to walk away from you.” She turned and strode out of his apartment.

And a painful ache opened in Cooper's chest. She was right. He was making the mistake, not her. But he didn't know how to do this from her point of view. He was the man. He needed to be in control.

The door slammed, and Cooper winced.

Had he just lost what he'd never had in the first place?

“T
he 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.”