On Midnight Wings

suspects he is hiding something from her, believe me, she’ll pry it out of him.”

“Then let’s hope he’s good at hiding shit. Ready to quit sitting on your ass and twiddling your thumbs?”

“What do you think, Zero-boy?” Merri snorted, rising to her feet. “But we should feed before we go. Looks like there’s any number of willing volunteers across the street.”

Silver looked up at the ceiling, regret on his face. Annie figured he was thinking about the tasty SB agents upstairs. “Okay,” he said, lowering his gaze to look at Annie. “Wait here, all right? We won’t be long.”

“I’ll order another beer, so take your time.” Annie lifted her mug and polished off her Abita, ignoring Silver’s frown.

Silver and Merri moved across the room in double streaks of pale skin and black clothing, of purple and black hair.

Neither Aunt Sally’s red-checker-aproned staff or the scattered handful of people chowing down on late night/early morning platters of pork ribs and grilled shrimp noticed their passage across the room and out the door—except maybe as a cool breeze or ghostly chill.

Still, Silver and Merri’s nightkind speed had nothing on Dante’s. And if he’d been truly awake the day her coldhearted bastard of a father appeared in the hall, James Wallace would never have stood a chance.

But Dante hadn’t been truly awake, he’d been fighting Sleep, struggling to keep from nodding off again, to keep his eyes open, but aware enough to shove her out of harm’s way at the last moment.

His blood, spattering hot upon her cheek, her lips.

Glistening so dark on his white skin.

Annie’s belly squeezed tight, killing her appetite. The yummy, comforting taste of beer and tangy barbecue sauce soured on her tongue. She pushed the plate away without even looking at it, her restless thoughts roiling, bubbling up and down, up and down, up and fucking down.

Steeping her in guilt.

Dante. Heather. Blood. Trank guns. The sharp smell of gasoline. You’ve reached the voice mail of James William Wallace, please leave a message. Dante. Heather falling, the gun skittering from her hand. The sound of a gunshot shattering the air—

Stop! Slow the fuck down and concentrate on what’s happening right now.

Sucking in a harsh breath, Annie tried to do just that, but her thoughts immediately slipped back to Heather and Dante and James Wallace. The coldhearted prick rat-bastard could be a fucking double agent working for the FBI and the SB for all Annie knew.

And he just dumped me on the sidewalk.

Something wheeled open inside of Annie, something as cold and empty and black as the belly of a plundered coal mine. Something endless.

She’d called the rat-bastard over and over in hopes of finding out where he’d taken Heather, in hopes of luring him back to New Orleans as she played the tearful, contrite, don’t-leave-me-all-alone-with- the-bloodsuckers-daddy-please daughter, but his phone had gone straight to voice mail each and every time.

He’s written you off. He’s got the daughter he cares about. Nothing new, right?

Right, and look where that got her—tranked, cuffed, and dragged away.

Maybe I’m the lucky one.

Percolating, her thoughts, bubbling hot and cold, up and down, loud enough to hear the perk- perk-perk echoing from the inside of her skull.

Needing another beer, a drink to drown out the goddamned bubbling noise, Annie waved at the waitress, then pointed at her empty mug once she’d captured the caramel-skinned woman’s attention. With a nod, the waitress beelined for the bar, returning a moment later with a freshly filled mug.

Annie swiveled around in the booth so she could rest her back against the wall and keep an easy eye on the tavern’s door. She rested a hand against her T-shirted belly and as she did, Silver’s words blossomed in her memory as bright and shining as his silver eyes.

I know it isn’t mine, that’s not what this is about . . .

Look, I can’t say I know what you’re going through—I don’t. But I do know that you don’t hafta face this alone.

She rubbed her belly reflectively. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough. With Silver’s help and Heather’s, maybe she could do this, could be a good mom.

The only question was: did she want to do this?

Maybe it was time to find out. Silver stepped back into the tavern. His silver eyes seemed luminescent, brimming with moonlight. He curled a let’s go finger at her.

My very own vampire knight.

Annie rose to her feet, leaving her beer untouched.

35 ANGRY LOA NEW ORLEANS THE WINTER ROSE

“WELL? IS THE DAMNED device working?” Mauvais demanded as he strode into the dimly lit wheelhouse. “Do you have Loki’s location?”

Phaedra looked up from her instruments, her beautiful and ageless cafe au lait face awash in the pale green light emanating from the navigation instruments, her lambent eyes glowing in the gloom.

Before she could reply, Mauvais observed with more than a little relief as he drew to a stop beside her, “The power is working again.”

Phaedra nodded. “For now.” She rapped her knuckles for luck against the cedar-planked wall before returning her attention to the GPS screen. “Looks like your Fallen guest is headed north. Maybe Baton Rouge. Maybe not. Too early to know.”

“North,” Mauvais mused, studying the moving blip on the green-lit GPS and the ever-shifting topography surrounding it. So many mysteries contained in one simple action—a fallen angel’s sudden and swift flight through the waning night.

So many mysteries.

Loki and his deadly feud with the Nightbringer.

Dante’s disappearance on the heels of his stunning revelation.

The shootout and fire at Club Hell.

Someone who didn’t know Dante would think he’d simply gone into hiding following the violence at the club, but Mauvais had never known the irritating and stubborn marmot to run from a fight.

No. And he would never leave members of his small household behind if—for whatever unimaginable reason—he had decided to hightail it from New Orleans.

Silver had played it smart by playing dumb. And it might’ve worked too, but for his reaction to Loki’s presence.

Mauvais had no doubt that Loki had plucked Dante’s location from Silver’s mind, along with anything else he desired to know. The young, purple-maned vampire’s defenses would’ve amounted to no more than an apple’s easily peeled skin beneath the sharp blade of the fallen angel’s power.

No, Silver had never stood a chance.

Not once Loki had shifted, his body shimmering, rippling, transforming, into Dante’s pale and lean-muscled form. Silver had been lost the moment Loki-as-Dante’s white hands had cupped his face and brushed heated lips against his mouth.

Let me in, mon ami. Let me in.