Angels' Pawn (guild hunter) Read online

  As her skin sizzled under the delicious heat, she supposed she should’ve been giving serious thought to the lunacy of what she was doing playing with a vampire, who was, for all his charm, as lethal as a stiletto across the throat. But then again, most of her friends already thought she was half a nut short of a fruitcake. Why disappoint?

  She grinned against the pounding spray.

  Rules and regs, the intricacies of living an “ordinary” life—she’d tried it for the first nineteen years of her existence, and had almost paid with not only her sanity, but her life itself.

  A flash of memory and she was in that white-on-white room again, the straps biting into her arms, cutting into her flesh. The smell of disinfectant, the soft hush of rubber-soled shoes . . . and always, always—the screams, screams only she could hear. Later, them sitting there, judging her, as if they were gods.

  “The drugs keep her lucid.”

  “Are you sure she’ll stay on them once we release her?”

  “She’s going out on her brother’s recognizance. And Dr. Taj is, as we all know, a most well-regarded physician.”

  “Ashwini, can you hear us? We need you to answer some questions.”

  She’d answered their questions, said what she knew they wanted to hear. It had been the last day she’d ever pretended to be “normal.” So they’d let her out, let her go. “Never again,” she whispered.

  And the hell of it was, people still liked her.

  Her hand fisted. Not everyone. Dr. Taj wanted only the sister he’d known before, the rising star whose glitter matched his own. Who the hell cared if that star had been dying piece by slow piece as she tried desperately to hang on to a sky she’d never quite understood?

  It was the heat that wrenched her out of the abyss, as her skin began to protest its treatment. Flicking off the water with a grateful sigh, she rubbed herself down using the fluffy peach-colored towel that went with the elegant décor of the room. It would’ve been normal to head out into the bedroom in the matching robe hung on the back of the door, but Ashwini was a hunter. And, within the Guild, paranoia was not just accepted but encouraged.

  It was as well. Because when she walked out—barefoot, but otherwise dressed, her gun hidden in the curve of her lower back—it was to find the most dangerous being in Atlanta waiting for her.

  “Nazarach,” she said, stopping in the bathroom doorway. “This is a surprise.”

  The angel stepped out onto the balcony. “Come.”

  Sensing it would be suicidal to refuse, she followed him out into the summer air, the night heavy with the warm scents of the flowers that ringed the estate. “Janvier?”

  “I know his tastes well.”

  Ashwini’s hands clenched on the railing—a courtesy for guests, one she hadn’t expected. “Why am I here?” Why are you?

  Nazarach leaned his elbows on the railing, his wings relaxed but no less magnificent. “I asked for you on this hunt. Do you know why?”

  “I’ve done previous work in tracking down kidnap victims.” In most cases, those vampires had been taken by some hate group that planned to torture the “sin” of vampirism out of them. “I intended to do some background work on Monique tonight.”

  “Leave it. She’ll stay alive and unharmed until Callan gets what he wants.”

  “You sound very certain.”

  The angel smiled and it was like no smile she’d ever seen, heavy with age, with the shadows of death that twisted around her senses like razor-sharp thorns.

  “Callan,” Nazarach said, “didn’t survive my court by being without wit. He knows that while now Antoine plays politics, the oldest Beaumont will find a way to kill him if he harms Monique. So long as Antoine lives, Monique will, too.”

  “You could stop this feud,” she said, focusing on breathing, on staying alive. “All you have to do is give your support to either Antoine or Callan.”

  “Everyone needs to evolve.” A cool statement, one that held the chill winds of time. “Antoine is growing too settled—it may be time for the mantle to pass to Callan.”

  “I thought you liked Antoine.”

  “I’m an angel—liking someone is only one part of the equation.” His face turned toward her, his expression lethal in its very neutrality. “I asked for you because you bloodied an angel who tried to take you a year ago.”

  Chapter Four

  Her heart was a rock in her throat. “He was young and stupid—it wasn’t hard to disable him long enough to get away.”

  “You pinned his wings to a wall with seven crossbow bolts.”

  Swallowing the rock, she decided to hell with it. “Was he a relative?”

  “Even if he had been, I don’t abide lack of intelligence in those around me. Egan was punished for his idiocy.”

  Ashwini truly didn’t want to know what Nazarach had done to the slender angel who’d attempted to make her his playmate. But the wildness in her couldn’t help asking, “Because he tried to go after a hunter . . . or because he failed?”

  Another cold smile. “You should ask Egan—his tongue has regrown.” Rising from his relaxed position, he held out a hand. “Fly with me, Ashwini.”

  Even from a foot away, it felt as if he was wrapping her in a thousand ropes, strangling, crushing, killing. “I can’t touch you.”

  His eyes gleamed and she saw her death in them. “I’m so distasteful?”

  “You have too much in you,” she whispered, fighting for breath. “Too many lives, too many memories, too many ghosts.”

  That hand lowered, his expression intrigued. “You have the eye?”

  Such an old way of speaking. But then, Nazarach had seen empires rise and kings fall. “Of a kind.” She backed up, trying to find air in a world that suddenly seemed to have none.

  When Janvier’s hand came around her nape, she accepted the touch without startlement, as if something in her had known, had reached for him. One touch, and suddenly her throat opened, the summer air sweet as nectar to her parched lungs.

  “Sire,” Janvier said, his voice soft, his address one of respect. “Don’t destroy a treasure for a moment’s fleeting pleasure.”

  “Audrina was not to your taste?” the angel asked, his eyes never moving off Ashwini. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “My tastes have changed.” Janvier’s free hand came to rest on her upper arm. “Even if Ash isn’t cooperating.”

  Nazarach went motionless for a moment—and at that instant, Ashwini knew she’d fight the death he threw at them. Because she’d brought Janvier into this. He was hers to protect.

  But then Nazarach laughed, and the danger passed. “She’ll be the death of you, Janvier.”

  “It’s my death to choose.”

  Spreading out his wings, Nazarach smiled that cold, immortal smile. “Perhaps watching you dance with the hunter will be far more entertaining than taking her.” A minute later, he’d swept off the balcony and into the sky, a magnificent, haunting being with as much cruelty in him as wisdom.

  Ashwini tried to pull away from Janvier. The vampire held her. “So, you’re a sorcière.”

  Janvier, too, she thought, was old. “Witches get burned at the stake.”

  “Do you see my ghosts, Ash?” A quiet question.

  She was glad to be able to shake her head. “I see only what you show me.”

  Lips brushing her neck an instant before she broke away to spin around and face him. “Audrina?”

  “A delectable morsel.” His eyes went to her breasts and she realized her damp hair had left them rather well-defined.

  Had Nazarach considered that an invitation?

  Shivering inwardly, she turned to twist the damp mass off her neck and into a knot.

  “Beautiful,” Janvier murmured. “I could stare at your neck for hours. So long, so slender.” The languorous cadence of his voice stroked over her, into her.

  Even knowing that he was an almost-immortal who’d likely forget her between one heartbeat and the next, it took everything
she had to fight the urge to give in to the seduction of him. “Maybe you should go back to your delectable morsel.”

  “I chose a bottle of preserved blood instead.” Walking over, he stood beside her, staring out at the sky into which Nazarach had disappeared. “Seems I’m tempted by far more dangerous fare these days.”

  Ashwini considered walking away, then decided she didn’t want to tangle with the ghosts, not when she could steal a few more moments of blessed silence. So she stayed outside, shoulder to thigh with a vampire who might yet make her break all her rules about sleeping with the enemy.

  The Fisherman’s Daughter was exactly as advertised—a tavern that served beer, hard spirits, and hearty food. No fancy hors d’oeuvres and chichi décor for this place. It was all wooden beams and buxom serving maids.

  “Wenches,” Janvier said when she voiced the thought. “They’re always wenches in a tavern.”

  She watched him take a leisurely survey of the plump, silken flesh on view. “If I liked women, I’d go for the redhead.”

  “Hmm, too short. I like my women long and lean.” A smile that told her he was thinking thoughts that would undoubtedly make a lesser woman blush. “But, for a ménage à trois, yes, she’d do.”

  “Any man who tries to bring a third into my bed had better be wearing armor.” She played a silver throwing star in and around her fingers.

  “Possessive?” Janvier said, his tone dropping. “So am I.”

  Raising her head to answer, she froze. “Callan just walked in with a small Hispanic woman.”

  Janvier ran his foot up her calf. “A bit on the side?”

  “No. She moves like she knows how to use that gun hidden under her shirt.” Watching the two banter with the barman, she ate a chunky piece of fried potato. “Time to earn your keep. Charm your way into their circle.”

  “In that case, you’ll have to pretend to be my bit on the side.”

  “I can’t pretend to be harmless.”

  A thin line of blood marred Janvier’s thumb as he picked up the gleaming silver star she’d left on the table. He didn’t even flinch. “I’ve always been known to skate on the wrong side of the line.” Getting up, he slid the star into a pocket and began to amble toward the bar, his lazy, long-limbed stride catching every female eye in the place . . . including that of Callan’s enforcer.

  But the woman went on immediate alert the instant Janvier reached out to tap Callan on the shoulder. “Cal, that you?”

  The enforcer didn’t relax until her big, blond boss turned to give Janvier a back-slapping hug. “Damn, Cajun, you’re not dead yet?”

  “Why the hell does everyone ask me that?” Janvier said without heat before bestowing a dazzling smile on the enforcer. “Won’t you introduce me?”

  Laughing, the leader of the Fox kiss turned to the female vampire by his side. “Perida, this is Janvier. Don’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth.”

  Ashwini decided it was time to make her move.

  “A pleasure, darlin’.” Lifting the woman’s delicate hand to his mouth, Janvier went to kiss it.

  Ashwini put her own hand on his shoulder, squeezed. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Cher.” Janvier released a surprised Perida with a languid shrug. “So possessive you are.” Playful words, an intimate joke.

  Ashwini looked up in time to catch Callan’s eye. One glance and she knew he’d taken in her clothing, her stance, the scars on her fingers, just above her pulse. So it didn’t surprise her when he said, “Hunter.”

  “Vampire.” She leaned into Janvier, let him put his arm around her waist. The touch seared her, made her hunger for more. “We ready to go?”

  Janvier played his part to perfection, sending her a charming smile. “Callan is an old friend, cherie.” A quick squeeze, a cajoling smile. “Surely we can dally a little while? A drink, Callan?”

  The Fox leader nodded. “Figures you’d hook up with a woman who might one day hunt you down like a rabid dog.”

  “Already tried,” Ashwini said, deciding Callan would likely have that information within the hour in any case. “Three times.”

  Callan raised an eyebrow as Perida attempted to hide her surprise. “And will there be a fourth?”

  “Depends on how badly he pisses me off.” Sticking out her hand, she offered it to Perida. “Ashwini.”

  The other woman shook it, her hold firm, her eyes narrowed. “We don’t associate with hunters.”

  “And I don’t sleep with vampires.”

  That made Callan grin, and it was so open, so honest, Ashwini could almost believe he was the good ol’ farm boy he seemed. “Let’s sit,” he said, ordering wine from the bar.

  Ashwini offered Perida a fry as they sat down, knowing vampires could taste and digest a small amount of solid food. “It’s good.”

  The vampire took it. “Mmm. Almost makes me wish I was mortal.”

  “Almost,” Callan said, his eyes lingering on Ashwini’s scars.

  It was, she thought, a very deliberate reminder that he could survive almost anything she did to him, while she’d die a very final death. But that warning was clearly only on the periphery of Callan’s mind—it was Janvier he was interested in.

  “You still friends with Antoine?” he asked after taking a sip of his wine, the question as casual as casual could be.

  “Oui, I’m friends with everyone.” Janvier pressed a kiss to Ashwini’s cheek. “But this one, she doesn’t like . . . what is her name?”

  “Simone.” Ashwini ate several fries in a row instead of illuminating.

  Perida picked up the bait. “Why?”

  “Have you seen her?” Ashwini snorted. “Thinks the sun shines out of her ass.”

  Perida’s suspicious expression turned into one of pure dislike. “She’s a bitch, especially for being so pathetically weak. She makes like she’s got power. Bullshit.”

  Ashwini raised an eyebrow. “I thought she was on her third century. Can’t be that much of a lightweight.”

  “Age is relative.” Perida shook her head. “Only thing keeping that smug smile on her face is the fact she’s got Antoine on a leash.”

  “Antoine likes hard women,” Janvier said, an amused cast to his voice. “Remember that one he was with when we were at court together, Cal?”

  “That countess with six dead husbands.” Callan shook his head. “You’d think with age would come wisdom.”

  “Instead, mon ami’s got himself in trouble from what I hear.”

  Callan put down his wineglass. “Oh?”

  “Games, Cal?” Janvier raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “You know of Antoine’s difficulties—word is, you’ve got yourself a kiss.”

  “You know a lot for someone who’s passing through.” Cool words, guarded eyes.

  Janvier shrugged. “Keeps me alive. I’m staying clear of Antoine this visit—I don’t want Nazarach’s attention.”

  The leader of the Fox kiss picked up his glass again. “Where are you staying?”

  Ashwini answered for both of them. “We’re not. He promised me we’d be out of here tonight.”

  Janvier leaned in close, murmuring just loud enough that the others would hear. “Come, sugar, one night? I will make it up to you.”

  Ashwini scowled, let him murmur more promises before nodding with obvious reluctance. “One night.”

  “So,” Janvier said, turning back to Callan, “can you put us up, old friend?”

  “We were never friends,” Callan replied. “But . . . we could be.”

  Ashwini found herself relegated to the guest bedroom in Callan’s fortress of a mansion on the outskirts of Atlanta, while the Fox leader took Janvier aside for a “cigar.” Knowing she was under surveillance, Ashwini locked herself in the bathroom, checked that it wasn’t wired, then tried to figure out if she could make her way through the old-fashioned air vent. It would be a tight fit, she thought, but she could do it.

  “No time like the present.” Stripping down to a tank top and boxer shorts,
she turned on the shower, and used the cover of noise to unscrew the plate and get herself into the shaft. There was barely enough wiggle room that she could move. Good thing she didn’t have hips to speak of.

  Keeping a mental map in her head, she began to crawl through dust and piles of small, round, hard things that she preferred not to think about. Thank God she’d had all her inoculations. The first room she came to was empty; the second full of the murmurs of men and women grabbing something to eat. The third she almost bypassed because it was so quiet, but something made her stop, take a second look.

  The woman in front of the vanity was utterly and absolutely lovely. Hair that was stunningly close to true gold, eyes of electric blue, full lips and skin so smooth and flawless, it was almost translucent against the white satin of her thigh-length robe. And she’d only been a vampire a year.

  What would Monique Beaumont look like after a century of vampirism?

  Ashwini’s lips pursed in a silent whistle. Given that it took decades for most vampires to reach Monique’s level of physical perfection, the woman might just put the angels to shame. But right now, as she brushed her hair, it was a very human smile that flirted with those lush red lips. Nothing about her screamed “captive.”

  That fit with what Nazarach had said about Callan treating her well until Antoine was out of the equation. As if the thought had conjured him up, the door opened to reveal the vampire in question, his blunt masculinity at odds with the sky blue and cream décor of what was clearly a woman’s boudoir.

  “Callie,” Monique said, her tone husky with reproach. “It’s getting tedious to be confined to this room.”

  Locking the door behind himself, Callan leaned back against it, arms crossed, as Monique shifted around on her stool—to display the sleek length of one slender thigh. The gesture was sexual, but it was the look in the woman’s eyes that interested Ashwini. Predatory . . . but also, aroused?

  Feeling like a voyeur, she continued to watch as Monique ran her hand down her thigh. “Has my father agreed to your ransom?”

  Callan’s eyes locked on Monique’s fingers as she touched herself with slow, hypnotic strokes. “I haven’t asked for a ransom.”