Soul Surrender (18 page)

I
barged through the back door to Buckley's dressing room to find him shirtless and pressed against one of his rogue “angels.” Angels. Ugh. The thought of one of these broads being labeled as such made my skin crawl.

She was in her costume—except for the fact that her rhinestone bra was on the floor by my feet instead of covering her taut nipples. I lifted it with magic, not wanting any of her bodily fluids to come in contact with me, and waited, tapping my toe with her brassiere in midair.

“Eh-hem.”
I cleared my throat pointedly. Neither Buckley nor the brunette showed any signs of modesty. She giggled and bounded forward, breasts bouncing with the movement. She snatched the bra from my figurative grasp and slipped out the door with one last wave to Buckley.

“Angel.” His eyes lit up and chestnut hair curled around his ears. He brushed it out of his face with one hand and leaned against the counter. His lingering gaze brushed up and down my body, and I folded my arms in front of me. “Jealous? I assure you that Brittany has nothing on you, my love.”

“I'm not jealous.”

“I see your grasp of your magic is coming along nicely.”

“I'm also not here for small talk.”

Pushing off the counter, his muscles clenched with the movement, and his six-pack abs rippled. He grabbed a shirt from the floor and slipped it on, slowly buttoning it over his tanned skin. “Well, then, what can I do for you?”

That was a damn good question. I swallowed, turning my backside to him, and lifted my shirt.

He chuckled from behind me, his slow saunter clacking against the floor. His palm slipped onto my hip, gliding across my stomach. “Now, I'm always in the mood for this.”

His erection pressed into my ass, and the itch flared inside of me. I needed someone's life force soon. But not his—not Buckley's. “Not that,” I said, bumping him back a step with my butt. “This.” I pointed to the cross scar on my back. “You never explained yourself that night. What is this? And why would someone want to rip it off of me?”

I looked over my shoulder to find him examining it with a tilted head. “It's just a burn mark, Angel.”

“Don't fucking lie to me. And don't call me Angel,” I said through pursed lips. “It's not just a burn mark and you know it.”

He sighed as I tugged my clothes back into place. “Fine. It was part of a spell. You know they require odd ingredients sometimes.”

“Oh, I know. Like the tears of an angel,” I said with enough bitterness to make my voice crack.

“Well, the burn from a holy relic was needed to complete my spell.”

“
What
spell?”

“That night at the club—I made it so you and I could have, well, relations. Without putting my life expectancy at risk.”

An angry flush rushed my cheeks, flaming them. I closed my eyes and, with a deep breath, continued. “You wanted to fuck me without dying. So, that's the spell you created?”

He nodded, green eyes watery and eyebrows turned down. Regret, perhaps? I didn't expect Buckley to be the contrite type.

“And? Did everything go to plan?”

“I—believe so.”

I waited, tapping my foot. Catching my lip between my teeth, it took every ounce of willpower not to lunge at the piece of shit right now.

“There was one little thing . . .”

I arched an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“The spell was supposed to counterbalance a succubus's life-stealing force. Only—you mentioned that night that you got energy from me, yes?”

I thought back and nodded. “Yes. I did—a surprising amount of energy considering what a piece of shit you are.”

His head flopped to the side and he sent me an exasperated look. “Is that really necessary?”

I lengthened my neck, scowling. My stance was a challenge. We both knew he was a piece of shit—he just didn't like hearing the truth.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I didn't lose any time off my life. In fact, according to my crystals, it looks like I gained life. . . .”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “The same way I've managed to keep myself alive for centuries. Magic.”

“Uh-huh. Magic you don't want to share with the likes of me, right?”

His grin was dazzling, and for all of a moment it made me forget how much I hated him. Dimples so deep, sparkling green eyes, wavy chestnut hair. My chest tightened. “You're already far too powerful, my love. I can't have you learning my secrets on top of this new magic you've acquired.”

“Fine. You gained life instead of losing it. What does tha—” I froze, lifting my gaze to the mirror. My voice rasped in my throat, and excitement and panic rose all at once. Genevieve—she got pregnant after I touched her. And Buckley gained years after we had sex. “Are you—are you telling me that I gave you life? Instead of stealing it?”

My breath was shortened, and it felt reminiscent of a panic attack. I leaned in, resting my weight on his shoulders, and his large hands wrapped around my waist.

“I'm still not positive. But I believe so, yes.”

“I have the power to give life,” I whispered. “Why?”

“You must have always had something in you. From the start, you've been an anomaly. But, my spell—” Buckley caught my chin between his fingers, lifting my eyes to his. “Monica, angel. Breathe. Breathe with me.” He inhaled slowly, deeply, in an exaggerated way, willing me to mimic the breaths. My racing heart relaxed to its regular beats, no longer feeling as though my pulse might break out through my neck at any moment. “There, that's better.” He scooped a hand into my hair, running his fingers through the strands. “As I was saying, my spell was meant for a succubus. You, my angel, are so much more. You have different origins. And I think that affected the outcome.”

“And you had no idea this would happen? With that spell?” I shoved his hand off my hair.

“None. Whatsoever. You must believe me.”

And I did. Though he had never earned my trust, I believed him. Despite my every attempt to get his hands off me, he cupped my face with the other hand, circling his thumbs over my cheeks. “Monica.” His voice was low and husky. “You are not safe. I know that you already know this, but angel, I don't think you truly understand it. You are
not
safe.”

I swallowed. “I do understand that. Believe me, I do. In the past year and a half, I've been stripped of my powers, stabbed, captured, and poisoned. Buckley—I know.”

“Then start acting like you know, goddammit.” He dropped his hands and turned away. He wiped his hands down his face, and in the mirror's reflection I saw his concern. I always thought his feelings for me were more selfish, but perhaps I was wrong about him. Maybe he did love me in the only way he knew how—by smothering. By controlling.

“John,” I whispered, but didn't dare go any closer. He might love me in his way, but he was still more dangerous than the most venomous snake. “I'm okay.”

“You're not okay.” His voice cracked, and he turned to face me. “Even more so because of that fucking spell I put on you. Before this, you were a target, yes . . . but now you're a walking bull's-eye, Angel.” He swallowed. “Don't you get it? You thought you were hunted before?” He snorted an ironic laugh. “Once word gets out about this, you'll be number one on Heaven and Hell's most wanted list. It's too fucking powerful.
You'll
be too powerful.”

“So . . . we don't let the word get out. Right?”

His was freshly shaven, and I could still smell the sweet musk of shaving cream on his skin. He ran a hand across his jaw. “Run away with me. Between the two of us, I can keep you safe.”

What would a life of running with Buckley be? Constantly using glamour and masking my power. Changing appearances every couple of decades. I traced worry lines around his mouth with my eyes, followed the downward slope of his eyes and frown. “No, Buckley. I belong here. And Lucien needs me right now.”

He nodded and sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“Do you know anything about where Lucien could have gone? Anything at all would help.”

He walked over to a wardrobe in the corner. A spell slipped quietly from his lips, and the wardrobe lifted. He tugged at some floorboards and raised a small metal box. With a flick of his hand, the wardrobe rested back on the ground.

“Right after the show,” he said, setting the box on his makeup counter, “I did a little research of my own. Within the box, I found this.” He scooped something out of the box and held it in his palm for me to see.

T
he silver piece was dull from years of wear but still managed to glisten under the florescent lighting. “It's a Guardian's symbol—for an angel sent to Earth to protect humans,” I said with a shrug.

“That's right,” Buckley said, and dropped it into my palm. I gasped and pulled my hand away, but the silver grazed my palm regardless.

Nothing happened. No burning; no sizzling pain. I bent to pick it up, touching it with just the tip of my finger. “It doesn't burn me—if it's a Guardian's medallion, shouldn't it?”

I lifted it and held it to the light. Celtic knots and designs swirled in the filigree behind the main design. “And it's Irish . . .” I faded off, staring into the coin, no larger than a quarter. “It's Lucien's, isn't it?”

Buckley lifted a brow. “I assumed you would know.”

I let loose with a sigh. “I'm learning that there's a lot about Lucien I don't know.” The words caught in my throat and left a bitter aftertaste on my tongue. He really never trusted me with any information, did he?

Buckley cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, it's clearly no longer holy, else it would have burned you. And it was found in the box immediately after Lucien's disappearance. So, wherever he went, it couldn't follow.”

“Look.” I pointed to the center of the eye where the silver formed a pupil. “It's small, but isn't that a rune? And it looks like some sort of darker magic.”

Buckley leaned in close as I held up the pendant. His breath was hot on my hand, and I shivered as he turned his head to me, lips dangerously close. “Yes, I think that's exactly what it is.”

I swallowed, stepping back. “So, Lucien was sent somewhere that dark magic couldn't be transported. Somewhere . . . holy?”

Buckley nodded slowly. “That makes sense. If he had been sent to Hell, his clothes would have been left behind.”

“Holy. Why are they summoning him somewhere holy?” A freezing thought washed over me like ice water. “Fuck. Because we can't go after him there.”

“Then you realize, the perpetrator . . .”

“Must not be a demon.”

Buckley paused, then shook his head and waved his hand back and forth. “No, no. We are getting ahead of ourselves. It could be a demon who hired someone to do the dirty work.”

“But—but even that doesn't make sense. If it is a demon arranging it, then how would they kill him? How would they question him if he was somewhere holy?”

Buckley's eyes turned down and a frown creased his face. “I don't know. But—I know there are only a handful of magicians in Vegas who know how to summon a demon. And any Hell-bound creature physically would not be able to summon something into a holy space or relic.”

“What are we waiting for?”

“We?” Buckley stepped back, leaning his weight on the back foot. With a tut and a shake of his head, those pouty lips quirked up. “No, no, no, Angel. I have a show to do. Unless you want to stick around—join the rogue angels? We could go afte—”

“No, thanks,” I sneered. “I can go on my own.

Lean but muscular shoulders crunched to his ears. “Very well. Have it your way.” Turning to his makeup counter, he grabbed a pad of paper and wrote down a list of names, passing the list to me.

“Thanks.” I looked the pad over. A few of the names were familiar—one I knew from my problems about a year ago. Rhea. The magical jeweler from the Hawaiian Marketplace.

I tucked the list of names into my purse and headed to the parking lot, where Drew was leaning against the hood of my car. I stopped in my tracks, taking a moment to absorb his new, massively muscular body. With outstretched legs crossed at the ankles, he looked casual but still guarded all at once. Moisture gathered between my legs and my sex swelled. Something low in my stomach twisted. I had the power to give life as well as take it. I swallowed. Which meant—if that was true—there was nothing to stop Drew and me from being together.

He turned, hands clenching as he saw me.

“Wow,” I said, strolling over to him. “I don't see you for months and now it's becoming a twice-daily thing.”

The bags under his eyes were blue and swollen. “I can't babysit that wolf, Monica. You need to find a better place for him to spend his days.”

My breaths were short and sharp. And I was fully aware of how heavy with need my breasts were. “Not sure I can. What's going on over there?”

“He told Genn he could smell her baby and that it's going to be a girl.” Drew dropped his head into a hand. “And then he started sniffing the customers and guessing what drinks they wanted.”

I groaned. “Oh, no. Did anyone walk out?”

Drew paused before cracking each knuckle one by one. “No.” The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Can you believe it? They all loved it! Couldn't get enough of it, actually.”

“That's . . . good, then, right?”

“Except that it annoys me. And
I'm
the proprietor.”

“Well, you're gonna have to get over it. Grayson is here for a while. Think of him as the puppy that followed me home.” I chuckled.

“That's not funny.”

I unlocked my car door, scanning the lot for Drew's car. “How'd you get here?” I slid into the driver's seat.

“I walked,” he grunted.

With a tip of my head, I gestured for Drew to get in. He did, and slammed the door beside him, crossing his bulky arms. My gaze landed somewhere below his seat belt, and my mouth watered for a taste of what was under that white T-shirt.

Fuck. I snapped my gaze to the steering wheel, turning the key in the ignition. Get it together, Monica. I wasn't even sure this whole giving-life thing was true yet. I needed a test dummy before risking Drew's life.

I cleared my throat, throwing an arm behind Drew's headrest and backing out of my parking spot. “Wanna help me find the summoner that stole Lucien?” I finally made eye contact and he was smirking, leaning over the console with a glitter in his eyes.

“Will Grayson be joining us?” He raised an eyebrow.

I shook my head no.

“Then, yeah. Let's go.” He reached across my chest, snatching the dangling seat belt I had yet to fasten. Tortuously slow, he stretched the belt along my chest, taking his time to glide over my breasts until he clicked the belt into place. “Gotta keep you safe,” he said in a voice so low, it was practically a whisper.