Angels of Darkness

“So you’re done here. You could leave,” he said.

“Yes.”

“But you haven’t.” His fingers clenched on the counter’s edge again, hard enough to crack the tile. “Radha, when I kiss you—I’m assuming you want me to. I’ll assume that’s true until you tell me it’s not. You understand that? I can’t hold back with you. I’m only doing it now because I have to be sure. I have to be absolutely sure.”

So he wouldn’t hurt her again.

“I’m sure,” she said.

He didn’t hold back. But he came slowly, so slowly, holding her gaze with every step. Her heart thundered as he bent his head toward hers again.

“I’m only surprised that you held back,” he murmured.

So was she. Breathless, she said, “I didn’t want to take advantage of you again. I want you to be sure, too. But as soon as you kiss me, all bets are off.”

“All right, then.”

He framed her face with his hands, his callused palms cupping her cheeks. Her breath shuddered. His lips opened over hers, hot, immediately searching. Finally. Joy swept aside the need, sweet and light, and she laughed against his mouth. Marc. She felt his smile, the curve of his lips, then he licked lightly into her mouth and desire came crashing back, stronger, hotter. Moaning, she rose onto her toes, trying to get closer.

No waiting. She needed him now. Now.

Her fingers fisted in his hair. The table skidded back as she pushed off it, leaping onto him. Her legs wrapped around solid muscle at his waist. So long and lean. So hard everywhere. Clinging to him, mouths fused, she rubbed against his aroused length.

His groan fueled her need. She deepened the kiss and tasted him, vanilla and wet heat. Rough hands dropped to her thighs, his fingers spreading over bare skin.

She tore her mouth from his, panting. “Higher.”

His hair disheveled by her fingers, eyes shining with need, he carried her to the table again. “Slower.”

Foolish man. He could try.

He set her on the table, the surface cool against the backs of her thighs. Deliberately, Radha lay back, spreading herself out before him.

She grinned wickedly. “Did you like the ice cream?”

Without giving him the chance to reply, she formed the illusion: a scoop of vanilla at the juncture of her thighs, melting from the heat of her flesh. Marc, kneeling between her legs, holding her open and gently lapping. She made him taste it, sweet and cold.

His body stiffened, gaze fixed on the scene before him. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet hers. His voice was low and rough. “That’s how I’ll satisfy you this time.”

God, yes. Her back arched, offering her entire body to him, his to feast from.

“But you’ve got it wrong.” He stepped between her legs, through the Marc kneeling in her illusion. “When my tongue’s on you, I could never be so dainty.”

And he wasn’t. Not when his mouth found hers again. Not when he slowly kissed his way down her body, learning every inch and coming back for another taste. Not when he knelt, unleashed his hunger, burning her alive.

But she wasn’t satisfied, not just by that. And not by sucking her fingers into her mouth, casting tactile illusions that made him stiffen and groan while he fed from her. Not until he was solid against her tongue, shuddering as he shouted her name—without a single illusion between them, just pleasure that was perfect and real. Not until he said dazedly, “I’ll never last a year.”

Then was she satisfied. But only for now.

CHAPTER 5

The coroner would have probably been too easy.

Special Investigations hadn’t been able to send Marc everything he’d asked for by the time he’d arranged to meet Dr. Richard Brand at the county morgue, but they’d come through with a substantial background. The info on Brand had been squeaky-clean—not even a speeding ticket to his name, or an indication of a payout from Bronner in his financials. For a man of sixty, that perfect record was a hell of an accomplishment, and enough to raise Marc’s suspicions a little more. Demons with fake identities often kept their backgrounds spotless.

At four o’clock in the morning, no one was around to question how Marc and Radha traveled from Riverbend to the county seat without a car. Silver-haired and robust with health, Brand met them at the morgue’s receiving doors. His mind was shielded.

For a moment, Marc considered blasting through those mental blocks to see if a demon lay beneath. He held out his hand instead.

Beside him, Radha tensed and stepped forward, leaving behind an image of the suited Special Agent Bhattacharyya. Demon or not, Brand wouldn’t see the crossbow she called in, her slick movement, or the bolt she held an inch from the man’s temple when his hand extended to Marc’s. Ready to fire, if Brand attacked.

He clasped Marc’s hand, shook. Warm skin, not hot like a demon’s, not cold like a vampire’s.

Human.

Damn it. Marc glanced at Radha, and with a sigh, she backed down and returned to the position that her illusory double stood in.

Through wire-rimmed lenses, Brand studied Marc’s face. “You’re not cold enough to be a vampire. What are you?”

If the man already knew about vampires, no harm in telling him the rest. Especially since Marc might have reason to work with him again in the future.

“A Guardian,” he said, and when Brand looked to Radha, she formed her wings and added, “Me, too.”

“Guardian,” Brand repeated softly, his gaze tracing the arch of her wings before she vanished them again. “My grandfather always said you were out there. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.”

“Your grandfather?” Marc asked.

“Abram Bronner.” The man must have seen Marc’s surprise. “He didn’t tell you.”

Some of the lines on the man’s face weren’t just age, Marc realized, but grief and exhaustion. “He said you took a payout.”

“Ah, well.” Turning, Brand preceded them inside and down a short corridor, hard-soled shoes slapping against the concrete floor. “He probably said that to protect the family, so that no vampire could use us against him if they decided to challenge his leadership. We always protected him in return—a Brand tradition, with one of us always in position to help keep the community hidden. My granddaughter would have been next, to her dismay. After tales of Guardians, she was more interested in becoming one of you . . . and especially when she heard that one came to town a few months ago. That was you? My grandfather said you killed the demon.”

He’d slain a demon shortly afterward. He wasn’t convinced it was the demon who’d murdered Jason Ward.

“I was here for a bit,” Marc said. “I took a look into Jason’s coffin, made certain he had been a vampire.”

Brand shook his head. “I’ll admit, the one time I ever really became angry at Jess was when I found out she’d been telling the Ward girl that her brother had been transformed. Teasing her with it, I think, knowing the girl wouldn’t believe her.”

Jess . . . ? Marc put it together. “Jessica—she’s in high school and drives a Cherokee? She’s your granddaughter?”

“Miklia’s friend?” Radha’s surprise echoed his.

“That’s her,” Brand said. “And I was angry at first, but after Jason was killed, I kept the truth from the Wards. By then, though, Miklia knew what he was . . . there was no one else for her to go to but Jess. And Jess