Bittersweet Magic

The Order - 2

by

Nina Croft

For Rob, who doesn’t mind sharing the house with my imaginary characters

Prologue

The sharp tang of sulfur burned her nostrils as a portal opened, and Asmodai materialized right in front of her sofa.

Roz gave a squeak and a jump and spilled her drink.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that.” She licked scotch from her fingers then took a huge gulp while she gave him a quick once-over. After nearly thirty years, he still looked exactly the same.

Or maybe not.

She peered closer. He was smiling. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him smile before.

Tonight, he was in his human guise. Roz had seen him as both human and demon, and while neither was particularly comforting, at least in this form she could allow herself a small measure of self-delusion. Kid herself she wasn’t entertaining a demon from the Abyss in her living room.

He was tall, with midnight dark hair pulled into a ponytail and equally dark eyes, stunningly good-looking if you went for the total alpha male look—which strangely she did. Though this particular alpha male no longer had any effect on her hormones—thank God.

“What do you want, Ash?” she asked.

“No hello? No how are you?”

Her brows drew together, and she pursed her lips; he didn’t usually bother with social chit-chat. “What’s with the Mr. Nice Guy act?”

He chuckled. Another first. “Why, Rosamund, don’t you think I’m nice?”

“Hell, no.”

His smile broadened. “Let’s just say I discovered something recently, and it seems things are about to get interesting around here.” He cocked his head to one side and examined her as though she were some sort of specimen of scientific interest. The inspection made her want to squirm, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

After a minute, he shrugged. “Okay, down to business. I want you to find something for me.”

A wave of excitement washed through her, though she kept her face blank.

Roz was a Seeker. She hadn’t known that when she first met Asmodai five hundred years ago. In fact, she’d known almost nothing. Only that an angry mob of villagers had just burned her mother at the stake and were piling up the wood, ready to do the same to her.

Asmodai had offered her a deal—her life in exchange for thirteen tasks. It had seemed an excellent idea at the time, but she’d never expected it to take so long. She glanced at the sigil that wrapped around her upper arm like an intricate tattoo—the mark of her debt to the demon.

Now, at last, this would be her final task and once completed, she’d be free of the dark contract she’d made all those years ago.

“What and where?” She didn’t ask why—some things were best not known. Besides, he probably wouldn’t tell her anyway.

“A Key. As to the where—if I knew that I wouldn’t require you to find it, would I?”

Sarcastic bastard.

“I gave it to someone to hide,” he continued. “And they inconveniently died before telling me where.” He reached into his pocket, drew out a small wooden box, and handed it to her. “Here. This once held the Key. It should help you pinpoint the exact location.”

Roz stroked her fingers over the smooth wood, and a pulse of magic ran along her nerves. “You must have some idea.”

“Of course. It’s hidden somewhere within the Convent of the Little Sisters of Mercy.” His lips curved into another smile. “Looks like you’re going undercover.”

For a moment, his words made no sense. Then she frowned. “Let me get this straight. You want me to pretend to be a nun?”

“I think you would make an excellent Sister of Mercy, Rosamund.”

She swallowed the rest of the scotch and slammed the glass on the table. “Yeah, right. Of course I would.”

Not.

Chapter One

Roz had been right; she made a crap nun. But a deal was a deal.

Or way more appropriate in her present circumstances—she’d made her bed, and now she had to lie on the bloody uncomfortable thing.

She shifted on the thin mattress. What the fuck was in it? Straw, she was guessing. What was it about these people that had made them decide suffering was good for you?

She’d researched the place before she’d set up the job: the sisters lived by a creed she would never understand, devoting themselves to a life that was poor, chaste, obedient, and wholly dedicated to prayer.

Well, good for them. But not good for her.

This place was seriously doing her head in. She hadn’t had a cell phone signal since she arrived, she’d drunk the last of her stash of scotch last night, and now she’d even run out of batteries for her vibrator. And to top it all, the effort of pretending to be nice was rapidly eroding her will to live.

She’d better find this Key thing tonight, or she’d go completely insane. There was only one more area left to search—deep under the church in the catacombs.

Excitement rose inside her. The ten o’clock bell had chimed a while back. The sisters would all be in their cells, settling for the night. No doubt they’d be down on their knees, praying to a god who couldn’t be bothered to answer.

Roz glanced around her own cell. Ten feet by ten feet, bare stone walls, a flagged floor, and a small window, too high up to look through, with no glass, just bars. Now, in the height of the summer, it let in warm, lavender scented air. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like in the winter. A shiver ran through her just thinking about it.

Staring up at the ceiling, she forced herself to wait another hour, going over in her mind what she would do when she was free. In more than five hundred years, she’d seen Asmodai maybe a hundred times, but still he controlled her life totally. Told her what to do, where to go, when to disappear and give up her old life. In his own way, he’d kept her safe, taught her how to hide in plain sight, and warned her of the potential dangers.

Apparently, it wasn’t only humans who would hunt her down, but also other things. He hadn’t gone into details, just told her that under the Shadow Accords, the laws that bound the supernatural races, she was considered an abomination that could—and would—be killed.

Abomination.

Yeah, that was her.

Fuck them all.

She’d do this last task and she’d vanish, make a life for herself somewhere warm and sunny, away from the darkness.

When she was sure everyone was sleeping, she rose to her feet, brushing down the heavy habit and adjusting the headdress. She would be so happy when she could toss it in the bin. The sun had gone down, and she lit a candle—she’d pinched the batteries from the flashlight the first time her vibrator had run out—and quietly opened the door. The light flickered off the walls of the corridor, throwing strange shadows, never quite lighting the dark corners.

She understood better than anyone what lived in the dark places, but surely, this hallowed ground would keep the night creatures at bay.

After making her way through the convent, she headed toward the church, hesitating before the huge double doors. Placing her palm on the wood, she pushed. The door eased open a mere sliver, and she slipped through. For a minute, she stood just inside, breathing in the scent of beeswax and gazing around her. Candles were always kept alight in the church, and she could see clearly. The steps to the catacombs were at the far side of the nave, past the altar, but again she hesitated.

Something wasn’t right. There was a chill to the summer air. This was her tenth night here, and the atmosphere felt different. She told herself she hated this place, but in fact, the calm ambiance soothed her. Usually. But not tonight.

Swallowing down her unease, she hurried along the aisle between the wooden pews. At the far end, a locked oak door led down into the catacombs—she’d stolen the key from the Mother Superior’s office earlier that evening. The wood creaked as she pushed it open. Raising the candle, she breathed in deeply, filling her nostrils with stale, musty air. At the same time, a sense of excitement gripped her, because far below her, she could sense the presence of the Key. The stairs seemed to go on forever; she’d counted to fifty when a shrill scream cut the silence. Roz tripped and dropped the candle. It rolled down a few steps and sputtered out, leaving her in complete darkness.

Then the night filled with screams, transporting Roz back to that long ago time. Once again, she was in that stinking cell, the stench of smoke and charred flesh heavy in the air. Grief, fear, and rage all mingling in her mind.

She whirled around and ran up the stone steps, hands held out in front of her. Almost falling through the door, she stood for a moment. The screams were louder here, and coming from the living quarters of the convent. What the hell was going on?

She was halfway down the aisle, headed for the double doors, when the sound was cut off. Skidding to a halt, she raised her head, listening. She was about to move when the door swung open from outside. Some instinct made her dive for cover behind one of the broad stone pillars.

The faint stench of rotten eggs wafted in through the open doors. Roz peered around the edge of the pillar as a mass of hunched shapes surged into the church. They lumbered down the aisle, some upright, some shuffling on all fours. Half-hound, half-human, with crimson eyes glowing in the dim light. There must have been ten or fifteen of the beasts, and at their center strode a tall man. The creatures flowed around him like water.

Roz drew back. Hugging the cool stone, she breathed in the hot sulfur smell. A smell she recognized so well.

Demons.

She held herself very still as she waited for them to pass her hiding place, then edged around the pillar so she could watch. As the seething mass parted for a second, Roz caught a glimpse of one of the sisters clasped in a crooked, claw-like grip—Sister Maria, the youngest of the nuns. She was dressed in her habit, but the headdress was missing so her short hair stuck up in angry spikes. Her pretty face was blank, unseeing, as though she had zoned out of the horror going on all around her.

The group came to a halt at the front of the church by the altar, but then split up, most of them heading toward the catacombs.

Shit. Shit. Double shit.

It looked like they were after the same thing she was. And unfortunately, it also appeared like they had a hell of a better idea of where it was than she did.

Just three figures remained in view, plus Sister Maria, who was hanging almost unconscious from the arms of two demons. The man—at least he looked like a man—had dark hair, pale skin, and full lips. His eyes, green as emeralds, glittered as he paced the aisle.

Should she try to rescue the sister? But if she did, they would both die—Roz had no doubts about that. They had kept Maria alive for a reason. Roz could only hope it wasn’t to provide entertainment later.

At that moment, a loud yip of triumph filled the air. The man turned as the demons swarmed around him. One of them handed him a small package. Roz tried to make out what he held, but they were too far away. Anyway, she could guess—her key.

A slow smile curled the man’s lips. He shoved whatever it was in the pocket of his pants and strode toward where Sister Maria still hung between the demons. He tore her habit down the front, baring her to the waist. “Pretty,” he murmured, stroking his finger down over one small breast. “Unfortunately, I have no time tonight. Maybe if we meet again.” He spun her around, and at the same time drew a knife. Did he mean to kill the sister after all? Instead, he used the blade to cut a pattern in the skin of her back. Luckily, Sister Maria fainted at the first touch of the knife and hung lifeless.

When he’d finished, the demons released their grip, and she dropped to the floor. The man crouched beside her and slapped her face until she groaned and her lashes flickered open. “That’s a message. For Piers Lamont. And here’s the address. Make sure he gets it or I’ll be back to finish our business.” He dropped a piece of paper in front of her, and it fluttered to the stone floor.

“Is the place clean?” he asked his minions. The response must have been positive because he nodded. “Good.”

He waved a hand in the air and a portal opened in front of him. The demons swarmed through, vanishing from sight. He paused. “Oh, and tell Piers that Jack said hello. Tell him I’ll be in touch.”

Then he was gone.

Roz waited long minutes after the portal had vanished, before edging toward the fallen nun. Small whimpering sounds were coming from the woman—so she was alive, at least.

“They killed them all.” Sister Maria’s low voice was laced with despair. “They didn’t ask for anything, just killed them.” Pushing herself up, Maria winced in pain.

A flicker of regret washed through Roz at the thought of the nuns. But they were dead and beyond help. It was the living who mattered. “Lay still for a minute,” she said. “I’ll go check and see if everything’s quiet.”

“Sister Rosa? Please don’t leave me.”

Roz hesitated. It was dawning on her that she had failed. That someone else had snatched her prize from right beneath her nose. How many more years of servitude would she have to endure?

No. Goddamn it. She wouldn’t give up when she was so close.

Asmodai didn’t need to know she had failed—yet. Maybe this man, Piers Lamont, could lead her to the Key. Who could he be? What was his involvement in this world? At the least, she could snoop around. See if there was any way she could redeem this mess. She would go and deliver the message to Piers Lamont, and afterwards, decide where to go from there.

“Please, Sister Rosa.” Maria broke into her thoughts, her soft voice laced with pain.

Roz crouched down and examined the sister. The pattern cut into the skin of her back was a circle with a diagonal cross through it. Blood welled up in the cuts, blurring the lines, and she reached out a finger and touched the clammy flesh. Sister Maria flinched.

Roz contemplated the wounds for a few seconds. They were angry, puffy at the edges, and seeping blood. This was going to make traveling difficult.

Could she risk it? Asmodai’s warnings echoed in her mind. Don’t bring attention to yourself. But this was a necessity and nothing to do with the little mewling sounds of pain oozing from Maria’s clenched lips. It was just so that Maria wouldn’t be a total liability and could get around unaided.

Roz placed her palm against the bare skin of her back. Maria flinched again but then sagged under the touch as Roz sent the tiniest pulse of magic down through her hand.

“That feels so good,” Maria murmured. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. We have to get out of here.”

“Where will we go?” Maria asked.

“Can you remember what that man said to you?”

“That I’m to go to a Piers Lamont and give him a message. But shouldn’t we contact the Mother Superior, make for the convent in Ambersley?”

“Well, I for one am staying as far away from convents as possible for the foreseeable future. Besides, he said they’d come back for you if you don’t deliver the message.”

Maria shuddered. “Who were they? What did they want?”

“Maybe this Piers Lamont can tell us.”

The piece of paper lay on the floor, and Roz picked it up. It was an address in London, in the business district. “We need to go to London.”

“London?” Maria said as though the city was on another planet. Her shoulders slumped, but she gave a small nod. “Maybe this Piers Lamont is a man of God,” she murmured. “Maybe he can keep us safe.”

“Yeah, maybe he can.”

Or maybe he can tell me how to find my goddamn Key.

Chapter Two

“I am so fucking bored.”

Piers threw the sawed-off shotgun onto the desk and shrugged out of his long leather coat—a little incongruous in July, but necessary to hide the gun and a few other demon-blasting weapons he had concealed about his person.

“I take it you didn’t find anything.”

Piers glanced over to where Christian sprawled on the crimson sofa. He looked smug, but at least since coming back to the Order he’d lost the business suits and was dressed pretty much the same as Piers—black leather pants and a black T-shirt—just minus the weapons.

“Nothing. No sign. No smell. No dead bodies. The streets of London are clean.”

Christian grinned. “Don’t sound so disappointed. Anyway, Jonas was convinced something was going down.”

“Well, pity he couldn’t produce a few more details. What the hell do we pay him for anyway?”

Christian shrugged “I’m heading home. I just wanted to check in.”

“Yeah, go home. Piss-off back to your little love nest, and say hi to Tara for me.”

“She’ll like that.”

Piers was quite aware that Tara was not his greatest fan. But hey, he wasn’t out to make friends.

The shrill ring of a buzzer dragged him from his thoughts. He flung himself into the chair behind the desk. The light for reception was flashing and he pressed the button on his phone.

“Yeah.”

“There are two women wanting to see you,” Graham, his assistant, said.

“Good,” he replied. “I’m hungry.”

“Well, I’m thinking you might be staying that way.” Graham’s voice was tinged with amusement. Piers raised an eyebrow but reached over and switched on his monitor. He tapped a few keys and studied the reception area.

“Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Christian asked, coming to stand behind him.

“There are two nuns in reception.”

“They’re probably strip-o-grams or something. One of your friends has a sense of humor.” Christian leaned closer to study the screen. “Or maybe not.”

“Definitely not,” Piers added.

Actually, he had never seen anything less like a couple of strippers. The two women were bedraggled. One was positively drooping. They both wore black habits with headdresses framing their faces. The droopy one appeared to be around thirty with a pale, thin face and scared eyes. The other looked younger, though she also seemed to be the one in charge, squaring up to Graham and speaking rapidly.

Slightly below medium height, she looked well filled out, though it was hard to tell whether she was straight up and down or there were curves beneath the shapeless robe. Piers focused in on her face—broad at the cheekbones, pointed at the chin—which had a dimple in the center. She had flawless creamy skin, big brown eyes, and a rosebud mouth held in a tight line.

She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and waved it at Graham. Then she bit her lip and stepped back as Graham replied. Piers got the distinct impression of impatience—a mother superior in the making, no doubt. He’d gone through a nun phase once, but that was back in the Middle Ages. He’d found seducing them a challenge—it had been fun for a while.

Graham still held the phone to his ear. “What do you want me to do with them?” he asked. “They say they have a message for you.”

“Well, you’d better bring them down here then.”

He closed off the call and turned to Christian, who was now leaning against the wall, arms folded, a small frown playing across his face.

“I thought you were leaving,” Piers said.

“I’ll stick around.”

Piers raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can handle two nuns?”

“Hell, I know you can handle them.”

“But?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be handling nuns.”

Piers frowned. “Don’t worry. I’ll wipe their memories afterwards. They won’t remember a thing.”

“There are enough willing volunteers about. You don’t need unwilling ones. They’re nuns, for Christ’s sake.”

Piers narrowed his eyes on the other man. “Has anyone told you that you’re absolutely no fun anymore? Not that you ever were much fun.”

“Yeah. You.”

Finally, Piers shrugged. “Okay, I’ll be good. But I have to admit that I’m a little intrigued as to what brings a couple of nuns here.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s find out then.”

There was a light tap on the door and Graham poked his head around. “Your visitors.” Stepping to the side, he gestured for the two women to enter. “This is Sister Maria and Sister Rosa from the Little Sisters of Mercy.”

As the younger nun came through the door, a faint waft of sweet air followed her into the room.

Fae?

He glanced at Christian, whose brows were drawn together as though he sensed it as well. He must have become familiar with the scent after living with Tara for six months.

The fae liked to believe they’d wiped out all humans with mixed blood, but the truth was there were many who still held a trace. Some more than a trace, like Jonas, their resident warlock. And strangely, or maybe not so strangely, those humans with fae blood often turned to the church and became priests and nuns. As though they could somehow sense there was more to the world than what was immediately obvious, and God was the answer.

He studied her for a moment, but other than that faint, sweet perfume, she appeared wholly human. The scent filled his nostrils, and the hunger rose inside him. He licked his lips.

“Piers,” Christian said softly.

He turned his head so the others wouldn’t hear. “I’m good,” he murmured. “But you have to admit she smells delicious.”

Christian shook his head and stepped forward. “Sister Maria, Sister Rosa, I’m Christian Roth.”

The older one hung back. Up close, Piers could see the signs of exhaustion mixed with pain. The younger nun stepped forward. She wasn’t beautiful—Piers had known a lot of beautiful woman—but she was pretty. Even through the obvious fatigue, she was full of life, her face holding an innocence he seldom encountered. He ran his eyes over her figure, wishing he could see beneath those all-encompassing black robes. She was a good foot shorter than he was and peering down, he could make out the definite form of a pair of full, womanly breasts. All at once, it wasn’t only his hunger that was rising. He shifted, his leather pants suddenly way too tight, and Christian flashed him a dirty glance. Piers grinned; Christian wasn’t in charge here. He was.

“Good evening, Mr. Roth. But we’re here to see a Piers Lamont.” She had a low, sweet voice as well, that caressed his ears and sent prickles down his spine.

Her gaze had been downcast, but now she gave them both a swift glance, revealing eyes like dark chocolate. Her gaze shifted warily from Christian to him and widened slightly.

Great, she liked him. Well, she’d noticed him, anyway.

Piers elbowed his friend out of the way. “Welcome to the Order of the Shadow Accords. I’m Piers Lamont—how can I help you?”

…

Roz quickly lowered her lashes so no one would see her shock.

Holy crap.

Asmodai had told her that his mark would hide what she was. All the same, she had to fight the urge to turn around and run. Not that it would do much good. There was nowhere to run to; they were deep underground, and there had been armed guards at the elevator.

When she’d seen them, she’d had an inkling that this wasn’t a wise move, but it had been too late by that point. Even so, she’d never imagined things could be this bad.

The Order of the fucking Shadow Accords.

Asmodai had told her all about them as well. They were the ones who kept order in the supernatural world. They were also the ones who would kill her without a flicker if they found out what she was. Apparently, they considered her kind abominations. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor while she fought for control. The perfect end to a crappy twenty-four hours.

How many times during the long day had she considered whipping out her cell phone and calling up a taxi? But that would have given her away to Sister Maria, and she’d wanted to keep her cover in place while she worked out her next move.

So she’d tramped across country. It was sodding July, but up in the north where the convent was situated, it might as well have been winter. It had poured down for the entire walk from the convent to the nearest town, until her stupid habit felt like a ton weight and the rough material chaffed with every step. Three quarters of the way, Sister Maria had just about collapsed, and Roz had had to half drag, half carry her to the train station. It had taken more than four hours to make the sixteen-mile journey.

The convent obviously hadn’t been situated with convenience in mind—probably the opposite—and it had taken three changes of trains, countless delays, and fifteen hours before they finally arrived in London. Standing on the platform at Liverpool Street Station, the time close to midnight, she’d eyed up the bedraggled Sister Maria and decided that they were getting a cab the rest of the way.

She gave the address to the driver and settled back into the seat of the black cab as the city drifted past her. It was good to be back in London. She’d lived in many places over the centuries, always having to move on before the fact that she wasn’t aging started to strike people as odd. But she came back to the city whenever she could.

Between bouts of comforting Maria, who was close to breaking, Roz had been trying to work out what could be going on. Who had Asmodai’s Key and why? And how did this man Piers Lamont fit into the picture?

The trouble was, she had no clue about how the supernatural world worked. Asmodai had told her that her only hope of survival was staying under the radar, keeping to herself, not using her powers—except of course when he needed her to. Obviously, then her safety took the backseat. God, she’d been so hopeful this job would be the last and she’d finally be free of the bastard. Now it appeared she might fail, and who knew what he would ask of her instead.

When the cabbie had dropped them off, she’d been reassured by the tall office building, which appeared eminently respectable. She’d tried the door, but the place was locked up for the night. Eventually a security guard had noticed her, come over, and let them in. The nun thing had its uses.

A young man with dark red hair, pale skin, and a perfect smile sat behind the reception desk. It had been obvious that he knew Piers Lamont. His eyebrows had risen as she spoke the name. So here she was.

Someone coughed, bringing her back to the present. She’d been staring at the wooden floor for an age, but she didn’t want to look up. She’d seen some scary things in her time, but these two men sent shivers running through her. Still, she forced her gaze back to them.

The tall dark one was obviously making some attempt at hospitality. But Piers Lamont just appeared amused.

And gorgeous. These days she tended to stick with her vibrator if she needed sex, but she’d had a few hot guys in her time. None of them had come close to this.

Tall, he was dressed in black leather pants that showed off his long, lean body, and a black T-shirt that stretched over his broad chest. A shoulder holster fitted over the shirt, adding to the sense of menace—because, despite the lazy smile that curved his full lips, he was menacing. His dark blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, emphasizing his sharp cheekbones and midnight blue eyes. An entirely inappropriate heat flooded her as she stared at him.

His nostrils flared, and his smile turned predatory. “Just how can I help you?” he purred.

Quickly, she lowered her eyes again. She had to keep in character. So what would a nun do faced with the most gorgeous two guys she’d ever encountered, one of whom had the ability to make the word sex flash in big red letters in her obviously sex-starved mind? She was one sad case.

Shit. This was a complication she didn’t need.

Ignore it.

She clasped her hands in front of her, in a nun-like manner, which had the added benefit of stopping them from shaking. Though maybe a little shaking was expected. Or a lot. She risked another peek. The dark man had moved to the side and was leaning against the wall. The blond had perched on the edge of the desk, one long, leather-clad leg swinging. Just behind him lay a sawed-off shot gun. She made her eyes widen in fake shock as her gaze shifted back to his face.

“Sorry,” he said. “Is this making you nervous?” He picked up the gun and tossed it to the red-haired receptionist, who still stood just inside the door. “Take this back to the weapons room.”

Was she supposed to feel better? He still had a pistol at each side and a knife at his waist.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Yeah, thank you for nothing. She wished she had a gun, but she hadn’t taken one to the convent. It really hadn’t occurred to her that she’d need one among a bunch of nuns. How wrong could you be?

“Now, do you want to tell us why you’re here?”

“Could Sister Maria have a seat? She’s not too well, and we’ve had a long day.”

“Of course. I’m remiss as a host. Come this way.” He jumped to the floor and strode across the room toward a door at the back. He really had a great ass.

Roz forced her glance away and found the other man watching her, one eyebrow raised. Had he caught her eyeing up his friend’s butt? Well, even nuns were women.

She shook away the notion, put her arm around Sister Maria’s shoulder, and ushered her forward. The sister was at the end of her strength, both mentally and physically. She’d gone almost comatose at the sight of the two men. For the first time, it occurred to Roz to wonder what she was going to do with the nun when this meeting was over.

She’d assumed she would be able to leave her here. Had even considered sticking around herself to try and find out about the Key’s whereabouts. But no way was she staying any longer than absolutely necessary around the Order of the Shadow Accords. She wouldn’t have stepped into the building if she’d known what it housed. Sod bloody Asmodai and his Key.

She followed Piers Lamont into a sitting area; two huge black sofas dominated the room. He gestured to one of them, and she urged Maria over and gently pushed her down. Christian followed them and closed the door before leaning against it. He did that a lot. Laid-back but ready to move.

Sinking onto the sofa beside Maria, Roz smoothed her expression to blankness. She’d had a lot of time to think about what to say, and she’d decided to stick to the truth. Well, all except the minor detail that she wasn’t actually a nun.

“So?” Piers said. He’d taken a seat opposite her, his legs stretched out, booted feet resting on the coffee table in front of him. He appeared relaxed, arms resting along the back of the sofa.

“Mr. Lamont—”

“Call me Piers.”

“Mr. Lamont, last night our convent was attacked.”

“Attacked by whom?”

Roz was about to answer, when Maria beat her to it.

“By creatures from Hell.”

Piers raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth, and then closed it again as someone knocked on the door. It opened, and the young man from reception stepped inside carrying a tray. The divine smell of freshly brewed coffee filled her nostrils. Roz had to still her instinctive swoon toward him.

“I thought the sisters could do with some coffee.” A frown flickered across his face. “Do nuns drink coffee?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. If he took it away now she would probably scream.

He frowned at Piers, who grinned but removed his feet from the table so he could put the tray down.

Roz didn’t wait. She sat up and poured two cups of coffee, added cream and plenty of sugar, and handed the first to Maria. Her hands were shaking so much the cup rattled against the saucer. Roz pressed her fingers around the other woman’s, only letting go when she was sure the coffee wouldn’t be wasted.

She picked up her own, took a sip, and almost groaned. When she looked back, Piers was regarding her with amusement. “These creatures from Hell?” he prompted.

“They came last night,” Roz said. “To the convent while the sisters were sleeping. They were some sort of demonic beings.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“Well it stands to reason that if God exists, and”—she gestured to her robe—“I obviously believe that, then so does the devil and consequently Hell.”

“Very logical. Go on.”

“They killed them all. All except Sister Maria.”

“And yourself.”

“I wasn’t in my cell.”

“An assignation, perhaps? Meeting the priest behind the altar for a bit of fun?”

She gave him what she hoped was a stern expression. “I was praying.”

“Extra prayers. Did you have some wicked thoughts you shouldn’t have?”

She resisted the urge to throw her empty cup at him. Instead, she refilled it. The coffee had a wonderful, calming effect. She was beginning to relax. Obviously, Asmodai had told the truth—for once—and Piers Lamont couldn’t tell she was anything other than human. And if he’d bought her cover so far, and she was sure he had despite the teasing, then she was probably safe. Just give him the message, see if I can read anything into his reaction, and get the hell out of here.

“They brought Sister Maria to the church where I was praying.”

“What did they look like?”

She didn’t have to fake the shudder that ran through her. “They were monsters. Half-man, half-beast, with crimson eyes. All except their leader. He looked like a man.”

“Describe him.”

“He was tall, as tall as you. With dark hair and really green eyes—like emeralds.”

Shock flared on the handsome face and was gone. He obviously recognized the description.

“You know him?” Christian asked.

He pursed his lips. “I might. Let’s hear the rest of the story.”

“He sent the beasts down to the catacombs beneath the church. I think they were searching for something, and they found it.”

“Found what?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. “But it was small. One of them handed it to the man. He could hold it in his palm.”

“Then what happened?”

She glanced across to Sister Maria. This was going to be hard for her, but there was no help for it. “He tore Sister Maria’s habit and he cut her back. Said it was a message for Piers Lamont. He threw down a piece of paper with your address, and they all vanished.”

“Just vanished?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s see this message.”

She wasn’t sure how Sister Maria would feel about stripping in front of a couple of strange men. Well, any men really, strange or otherwise.

“Sister Maria, we have to show this man the marks on your back. Then he can catch the ones who killed the sisters. You want them caught, don’t you?”

The blank expression faded and she nodded quickly. Her fingers moved to the long row of buttons that ran down the front of the robe, but they were trembling so hard that she couldn’t unfasten them. Roz brushed her hands away and undid the tiny black buttons. There were hundreds of them, or at least it seemed that way. When they were undone to the waist, she pushed the robe down over Maria’s shoulders, leaving her in the thin shift.

Piers rose to his feet. Maria went rigid in her arms, but didn’t pull away as he came to stand beside her. He hooked his finger in the thin material and ripped it to the waist, then stood gazing down, his expression blank. She was guessing deliberately so. He’d recognized the man, and he recognized the sign; Roz would bet her last cold beer on it.

“What is it?” Christian asked.

“I’m not sure.”

He was lying. Maybe because he didn’t want to talk in front of them; she couldn’t be sure. But she had an ear for these things.

He reached out with one finger and touched the mark, suspicion flaring in his eyes. “You said this was done last night. It’s almost healed.”

Shit. “I think the man did something to heal the cuts. Afterward.”

“That was nice of him, but a little out of character.”

“Maybe not. He didn’t know I was there. He believed Sister Maria would have to make it on her own.”

“And the two of you didn’t think to go straight to your superiors?”

“He said he would come after us if we didn’t deliver the message.”

“Hmmm.”

Roz wasn’t sure if he was convinced, but it would have to do. Now, to see if she could get something useful out of this meeting. “So, Mr. Lamont, do you know what it was they came for?”

His gaze shifted from Maria’s back to her face, and she was caught in the stare of those wicked blue eyes.

“No.”

Yeah, he was lying. “Do you know who they were?”

“No.”

Definitely lying. But there wasn’t any way she could make him tell her. And she wanted out of here. All she could do was tell Asmodai what had gone down and hope that he wouldn’t be too pissed off. Maybe he could get some information from Piers Lamont.

“Do you need a place to stay?” Christian asked from behind her. “You’ll be safe here. We can get a room ready for you.”

Like hell, she was staying here.

“Thank you for your kind offer of hospitality. But our Order’s Mother House is in London. I think we would feel more comfortable there. If it’s all right with you, I’ll ring from reception and get someone to collect us.”

She caught a glance flash between the two men and held her breath. Piers gave the slightest of nods, and she relaxed.

“Okay, I’ll call Graham, and he’ll take you up. And thank you for bringing the message.”

Bowing her head, she peered up from under her lashes. “God led us here. You are meant to find these creatures of Satan and bring them to God’s justice.”

She thought she might have gone too far as amusement flickered across Piers’ expression. “Yeah, we’ll definitely do that.”

Chapter Three

Piers flung himself full-length on the sofa, arms clasped behind his head, as he considered the meeting. Sexy nuns aside, this was actually bad news. Really fucking bad.

“So, did you recognize the sign?” Christian asked.

The question interrupted his less than happy thoughts. “Oh, yeah.”

“And I take it the message meant something?”

“It did.”

“And are you going to share?” Christian’s voice held an edge of impatience.

“No.” Piers didn’t want to talk about this until he’d had a chance to decide what he wanted to say and what he really wanted to keep quiet about. “It’s nothing to do with the Order. It’s personal.”

Christian didn’t appear convinced. “Do you think you should have let the sisters go?”

“Hell, yeah—they didn’t know anything else.” Besides, they wouldn’t be hard to find—the Little Sisters of Mercy. Piers was planning a visit real soon.

“You’ve got that gleam in your eye,” Christian said. “Nuns are off-limits.”

“Since when? She was hot, and I think she liked me.”

Christian shook his head but dropped the subject. “I’m heading home.” He turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Well, at least you don’t look bored anymore.”

No, he definitely wasn’t bored.

…

Roz dialed the number quickly from memory. Ryan had been trying to contact her for the last twenty-four hours. He could give her a lift home and explain why he had been filling up her cell phone with increasingly urgent messages. It was well after midnight, but she reckoned Ryan wasn’t much of a sleeper.

The red-haired receptionist, Graham, was observing her closely, an amused expression on his face. Roz resisted the urge to tell him to piss-off. That would hardly be nun-like. Instead, she turned away to give herself some semblance of privacy and spoke quietly.

“Can you pick me up? I’m in the city—SA International—you know it?”

“I know it.” Ryan sounded sleepy. Maybe she’d woken him up after all.

“Good, I’ll be waiting outside.” She put the phone down.

“You’re welcome to wait in here until your ride comes.” Graham said.

“No, thank you. I think we could both do with some fresh air.”

He let them out through the big glass double doors and stood watching. It occurred to her that she should perhaps have told Ryan to pick them up somewhere else. Did she want this man to see who she was going with? But she was almost one hundred percent sure they’d bought her story. Otherwise, why would they have let them go? Hopefully, she’d seen the last of The Order of the Shadow Accords, and of Piers Lamont.

The night was warm and the streets deserted. They were in the business district and just about everywhere was closed down for the night. Some of the tension drained from her and she breathed in deeply; she loved the scents of London—car fumes and hot city streets—and the river, which wasn’t far from here. Leaning back against the glass wall, she wondered what she should do first when she got home, a hot, bubbly bath or a big glass of scotch. Maybe a big glass of scotch while in a big, bubbly bath. She’d give herself this evening off, and tomorrow she supposed she was going to have to contact Asmodai and tell him she’d failed. If he didn’t already know. She’d only failed once before, and the consequences hadn’t been pleasant.

“You lied.” Sister Maria spoke from beside her. “We have no mother house in London.”

Roz had almost forgotten the nun was there. She was such a quiet little thing. Though she had seen everybody she knew slaughtered only hours earlier; perhaps an element of quietness was understandable.

Roz cast her a sideways glance. Sister Maria seemed to be coming around a little, a bit of color returning to her cheeks.

“I know,” she replied, “but I didn’t want to stay there. What do we know about them really? Except that they’re somehow connected with the people who broke into the convent last night.”

“I didn’t like them. They felt somehow wrong. I don’t think they were men of God.”

Roz had a brief image of those sinfully wicked blue eyes. “No, I think you might be right.”

“So where are we going?”

Roz pursed her lips. The way she saw it, she had three options. She could leave Maria on the side of the road and drive off with Ryan, she could drop her off somewhere along the way, or she could take her home with her. Her mind baulked at the last option—she never took anyone home; her apartment was her sanctuary. But she couldn’t really leave her here. For one thing, through the glass walls, she could still see Graham watching them both from the reception desk. It would appear odd if she just left Maria. Why the hell hadn’t she arranged for Ryan to pick her up somewhere else?

She knew why, of course. She’d been rattled and not thinking straight. That she’d walked right into the lair of the dreaded Order of the Shadow Accords had totally shaken her. And then to have to confront the first serious case of the hots she’d had for over fifty years had shaken her further. She shifted as a wave of remembered heat washed over her.

“Well?” Maria asked.

“Sorry,” Roz muttered. “I was thinking of something else.” Yeah, six-foot-four inches of stunningly gorgeous man all wrapped up in black leather and totally out of bounds. “I don’t suppose there’s somewhere I can drop you off?”

She felt like a complete heel as fear flashed across Maria’s face. The sister reached out a trembling hand and rested it on Roz’s arm. “Don’t leave me. I don’t know why, but I feel safe with you. Tomorrow, I’ll think about getting word to the Mother Superior, but tonight I just want to forget.”

Oh well. She could share her scotch—there was enough for two—and tomorrow she could arrange transport for Maria to the mother house. It was actually situated in Devon. She’d hire a car and driver, make sure Maria got there safely. And that would be that. Way above and beyond the call of duty as far as she was concerned.

“You can come home with me tonight,” she said.

Maria frowned. “Home? Wasn’t the convent your home?”

“Well—” Luckily, at that moment Ryan drove up in a black SUV and pulled up beside them, saving her from any further explanations. “Our ride’s here. Look, Maria, it’s probably better you don’t mention what happened until you’ve talked to the Mother Superior.”

Maria bit her lip but nodded.

Ryan leaned across, pushed open the passenger door, and grinned. “Shit, Roz, what the fuck fancy dress are you wearing?”

Beside her, Maria flinched.

“Don’t say anything, Ryan. For once, just keep your smart mouth shut. And open the back door—Sister Maria is coming with us.”

“Don’t tell me she’s a real nun.”

Roz smirked. “I bet you never had one of them in your car before, did you, Ryan?”

“That’s the goddamned truth.”

Roz tugged open the back passenger door, ushered Maria inside, and climbed in beside Ryan. Leaning back in the seat, she closed her eyes only to open them when the car didn’t immediately move. Ryan was half turned in his seat, staring at her.

Christ, had he never seen a nun before?

He looked his usual scruffy self; his thick dark hair mussed from running his hands through it—something he claimed aided his thought processes. His long, lanky frame was dressed in jeans and a battered leather jacket. He had a lean, handsome face and a slightly crooked smile that gave him an endearing quality. He was a good-looking guy, but she’d never allowed herself to think about Ryan that way. They used each other, and in doing so Roz had exposed more of herself to Ryan than she had to anyone else in five centuries. She couldn’t allow him even closer.

“Are we waiting for something?” she asked pointedly.

“I need to talk to you.”

“So I gathered from the twenty messages on my cell.”

“You could have answered one of them.”

She shrugged. “I was a little indisposed.”

He peered over his shoulder at the nun in the back. “I’ll bet.”

“Just get us away from here, and you can talk.” She sighed inwardly. So much for her nice relaxing night. Ryan only came to her with the nasty cases. The ones where he had no clue.

Her unique talents enabled her to find things, including people. The first time that had happened, it had been by accident. She’d been watching a newsflash about a kidnapped girl, and all of a sudden, she’d had a vision, seen where the girl was being held, and known she was about to die. Roz had phoned the police but was met with disbelief, so she’d gone to the station and eventually managed to get an interview with Ryan, the lead officer on the case.

He hadn’t wanted to believe her either, but something must have made him take the chance.

After that first time, she’d promised to help with other cases, but only if he agreed to keep her input a secret, and only in life and death situations. Because if certain people became aware of what she was, her own life would be forfeit. Asmodai had told her that much.

She understood it was her way of payback. You didn’t become indebted to a demon and expect to live a decent, honest life. She’d done some bad things in her time. Nothing she couldn’t live with; Asmodai had always seemed to know what lines she wouldn’t cross, and if she didn’t always ask why he wanted the things she “found” for him, then she thought she could be excused a little self-deception.

The truth was, five hundred years ago, she hadn’t wanted to die, certainly not on top of some peasant villagers’ bonfire, and she didn’t want to die now. What she did crave was her freedom.

Ryan drove out onto the road and opened his mouth, but she butted in first.

“Not here. You can come to my place and tell me.” He knew where she lived—he’d dropped her off before—but he’d never been inside. Her home was private, but tonight she would share it with Sister Maria. Besides, she reckoned she was nearly done with this life; it was almost time to move on and set up a new identity for herself. It would have to be away from London, at least for a while.

After fifteen minutes, Ryan pulled up in the underground parking beneath her building.

“You’re really letting me in?” he asked as he grabbed a file from the side-pocket of the vehicle and climbed out.

She shrugged. “Well, we do have a chaperone.” She waved at Sister Maria, who half-clambered, half-fell out of the back of the SUV.

“You are going to tell me what this is all about, aren’t you?”

“Nope.”

They were silent as she led them to the elevator and pressed the button to the top floor. When the doors slid open, she fished her keys out of her bag and let them in.

Ryan whistled. “Nice.”

She strolled across the floor toward the sofa, tugging the headdress off then tossing it in the nearest bin.

“Jesus, that’s a relief.” She fluffed up her short hair with her fingers. “If I’d had to wear that thing one more day, I swear I might have gone seriously insane.” She glanced back to see the shock on Maria’s face. “Feel free to do the same,” she said. “Plenty of room in the bin.” Maria didn’t respond, just sidled around the edge of the room and watched her as though Roz had suddenly morphed into the antichrist.

“Make yourselves at home,” Roz said. “I’ll be right back.”

She strolled into the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her. Not bothering to unfasten the tiny buttons, she ripped the hated robe open to the waist and dragged it down over her hips.

Her shoes went next, then the scratchy cotton underwear followed them onto the growing pile, until finally, she stood naked in the middle of the room. She scowled as she glared at the sigil circling her right arm. The mark of her bondage. And here for the foreseeable future—who knew when she would be rid of it now her supposedly last job had gone so badly wrong.

After pulling some clothes out of the wardrobe—panties, jeans, a black T-shirt—she dressed quickly, ran a hand through her hair, and headed back into the living room. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving the nun and the detective alone together.

She needn’t have worried. Ryan was at the bookcase scanning the titles, no doubt trying to fill in the gaps he didn’t know about her, as though her reading material would do that. Maria was still standing exactly where she’d been, just inside the door. Her eyes widened as she took in Roz’s changed appearance.

“Sister Rosa?”

Roz shrugged. “No one by that name here. I’m Roz. Why don’t you sit down and make yourself at home.” She waved toward the cream sofa, and Maria hesitantly shuffled across and collapsed, hands clenched on her lap. The woman was so uptight.

“And you, Ryan. Stop nosing about—you won’t find anything.”

He picked up a book. “Salem Possessed: The Social Origins of Witchcraft. Interesting reading.”

“It is. Feel free to borrow it. Now sit down—you’re making the place look messy.”

Ryan glanced at the sofa but obviously thought better of seating himself too close to Maria and sank down onto the chair opposite, the file clutched in his hand.

Roz got a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and three glasses then sat beside Maria. She poured drinks, pushed one across the coffee table toward Ryan and handed a second to Maria, who peered at the amber liquid as though it were poison.

“Go on,” Roz said. “I won’t tell, and it will make you feel better.”

She swallowed her own in a single gulp and poured another. Sister Maria watched her then copied her, swallowed the drink in one go, and held out her glass for more.

Roz raised an eyebrow but topped up the drink and turned to Ryan. “Okay, what do you want?”

He glanced toward Sister Maria. “Is she okay to hear this?”

“She’s fine.” Besides, she didn’t think Sister Maria was taking much in. Even before the scotch, she’d been developing a glazed expression in her eyes. Now she was resting back against the sofa, her eyes closed.

Ryan placed the file on the coffee table and slid it toward her. “We have a missing girl, Jessica Thomas. Fifteen years old, disappeared about twenty-four hours ago as far as we can tell.”

Dread filled her. So many times, Ryan came to her too late, and the victim was found dead. She hoped that wasn’t the case this time, but twenty-four hours was quick for him to involve Roz, and she knew there must be something else. No doubt, Ryan would tell her when he was ready.

The file was light and when she opened it, she found a single photograph and a sheet of paper. She scanned it quickly; just bare details. The photo showed a pretty girl, slightly plump with dark hair and a sweet smile.

“There’s something else,” Ryan said. “She’s not the first girl to go missing. There was another last week.”

Roz glanced at his face. His expression was grim, and she knew this wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

“She was found dead less than forty-eight hours after she went missing.”

“How did she die?”

“Well, that’s the odd thing. Exsanguination. She’d been drained of blood. Real weird shit. Some of the guys think we’re dealing with a cult. Ritual sacrifice—witches or something.”

He gave her an odd glance, and a flash of anger tore through her. Ryan knew her better than anyone did. He was the first person she had opened up to in fifteen years of being Rosamund Fairfax. Then something like this happened, and he was looking at her as if she were some sort of monster.

It was fire-wielding fucking peasants all over again. No clue what they faced, so they just presumed it was evil. She gritted her teeth. “I’ve never actually sacrificed anyone,” she ground out.

“Hey, I never said you had.”

“You were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

A black cat weaved its way in from the kitchen, distracting her attention from Ryan. “Shit,” she muttered. Just what she needed. Her night off was turning out real great.

“Hey, nice cat,” Ryan said. “I didn’t know you had any pets.”

“It’s not a nice cat, and I don’t. It’s a nasty, mangy stray, and it can get the hell out of my house.” And perhaps it wasn’t the right time to mention that the cat wasn’t always a cat. She got up, stalked across the room, and opened the door to the hallway. “Out.”

It stared up at her with cunning green eyes then tiptoed out of the door. She slammed it behind the animal and took a deep breath. And another. Finally, she sat back down, picked up her drink, and sipped.

“Sorry,” Ryan said.

She glared. “What for?”

He grinned, showing slightly crooked white teeth. “Actually, I really have no clue.”

Roz sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Okay, maybe she’d overreacted. She refilled his glass as a peace sign and turned her attention to the photograph.

Resting her fingertips against the smooth paper, she willed herself to “see.” Nothing came to her. After a minute, she shook her head.

She was exhausted, and that never helped. There were also certain things she could do that would assist—but she’d only resort to those if all else failed. And certainly not in front of Ryan or he’d be back to thinking she was some sort of monster.

“You’ll keep trying?” Ryan asked.

“Of course.”

“I have a feeling we’re running out of time on this one.”

So did she. Exsanguination. She’d heard rumors over the centuries but never felt the urge to chase up answers. She wanted no part of that world. Or at least as little to do with it as possible.

“I’ll leave you then,” Ryan said. “I have to get back to work.”

“Okay. I’ll call if I find anything.”

Ryan stood up and placed his glass down on the table. He nodded to the sofa. “I think your other visitor has gone to sleep on you.”

Roz glanced at where Sister Maria was slumped in the corner against the cushions, her eyes closed, dark lashes shadowing her pale cheeks.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Roz said.

“I bet, and sometime you’re going to tell me about it, right?”

“Wrong.”

Briefly, she wished she could open up to Ryan. But how could she mix anyone up in her fucked-up existence?

After showing Ryan out, she went back to the sofa, touching Maria lightly on the shoulder. The sister let out a squeak then blinked. “Sorry, I’m a little jumpy.”

“No problem. Why don’t you take a shower and get some rest?”

She nodded but stayed where she was. “Who are you?”

“I told you—Roz. That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re a good person, Roz.”

“Yeah, of course I am. I’m a positive angel. Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.”

Once she’d gotten Maria settled, Roz puttered about the apartment, putting off the moment she went to bed. She was quite aware of why she was reluctant; the dream hovered on the edge of her consciousness. It didn’t come to her often now, only when she was tired or stressed. She blamed the damn cat—she’d known as soon as she’d seen Asmodai’s sidekick, Shera, in her kitty-cat form tonight that the demon wouldn’t be far behind. Ample cause to give anyone nightmares. Sure enough, as soon as her head hit the pillow she was dragged back to that long ago night…

Her mind refused to function. This wasn’t real. Her mother couldn’t be dead. But outside, the screams of agony had died to nothing. Through the high window, Rosamund could see the flicker of the flames against the darkness, hear their crackle over the mob’s cries. The sickly-sweet stench of roasting flesh drifted through the air. She gagged then rolled onto her hands and knees on the bare earth floor and retched. Her stomach was empty and the foul taste of bile burned the back of her throat.

Her strength was almost gone, eroded over the days of torture and the never-ending questions. But she dragged herself to her feet, leaning against the rough wall. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and prayed for courage. Though why would God answer her prayers now? Had he listened as her mother screamed for mercy?

Gathering the last of her willpower, Rosamund pulled herself up on the bars so she could see out of the small window. It framed the village green lit by flames. She averted her gaze from where her mother’s body appeared to dance in the flickering firelight. Instead, it was drawn to the second stake. The villagers were piling brushwood around the base, pouring oil over the dry wood.

People she’d known her whole life had just murdered her mother. Now they were preparing to do the same to Rosamund. Soon they would come and lead her out, tie her to that stake, and watch her burn.

Since the arrest, she’d clung to the hope that this wouldn’t happen, that someone would save them, that the people would see they were mistaken and her sweet mother was innocent. That hope perished amid her mother’s screams as the flesh roasted from her body. Now hatred replaced hope, and she allowed it to saturate her mind.

Releasing her grip on the bars, she dropped to the floor, her legs giving way so she collapsed to her knees. Her breaths were coming short and fast, panic threatening to overtake her. She slowed her breathing, clearing her mind of the fear and grief.

She’d done nothing wrong. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t. Her mother was innocent of everything they had accused her of. Her only crime: loving the wrong man, and she’d paid for that with her life.

But while her mother had been innocent of the accusations against her, Rosamund wasn’t. She didn’t know what she was. She wasn’t even sure what the word “witch” meant. Not what the ignorant villagers believed, that was for sure. Now, as she knelt in the filthy cell and waited for them to come for her—to punish her for a crime they understood no more than she did—the hunger for revenge rose inside her. Someone must pay for her mother’s death.

Something slumbered in the dark recesses of her soul, something she had always shied away from. Now she closed her eyes and focused her mind. She visualized a door, locked and bolted.

Under her breath, she began to recite the prayer that came to her mind.

“Lucifer, aid me in my hour of need...”

She woke with a start.

Stumbling to her feet, she crossed the room to where she’d left the file, needing something to distract her from the memories. She carried it back to bed with her, pulled out the photograph, and slid her fingertip over the young girl’s face, the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. Fear filled her mind. For a moment, she fought the sensation, then she closed her eyes and let it take her.

Terror saturated her every cell.

She was naked, but hot as though in a fever. Her throat ached where the monster had bitten her. Now he was back and panic clawed at her insides.

Frantically, she tried to scramble back. His harsh laughter filled the room as a hand wrapped around her ankle and dragged her toward him.

A whimper escaped her throat, and her heart fluttered as though trying to break free.

He licked up her leg almost as she’d imagine a lover would caress her. Then teeth sank into the flesh of her inner thigh, and she felt the spurt of her lifeblood. He drank greedily, sucking, swallowing, and for a brief while, her panic and fear faded. No pain. Just a tugging that pulled at places deep within her body, and the vague sadness that her life was draining away.

When he’d finished, he raised his head. Her vision was fading to blackness as she stared into his handsome face…

She recognized that face—the man from the convent. Jack.

A touch on her arm dragged her back to her own body. Roz sat up abruptly. The lamp was on, casting a crimson pool of light, illuminating the man who sat in the chair beside her bed. Although “man” was hardly the right word to describe him. Lucifer might not have answered her call all those years ago, but she’d gotten the next best thing.

“Shit,” she muttered, pulling herself up, tugging the sheet with her. She was naked and while she’d been naked in front of him before, that was a side of their relationship that had ended more than four hundred years ago, and one she had no wish to resurrect. A shiver ran through her at the memory of the pleasure and the pain. “Don’t you ever knock?”

“Your house is my house.”

Yeah, that was the goddamn truth. Bastard. He was smiling again. Why did that make her nervous? “You’re looking very cheerful,” she said. That wasn’t going to last.

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”

She supposed she’d better get this over with. Her body braced itself for the pain. Asmodai had never been one to smile in the face of failure.

“I didn’t get your Key thingy.”

“I know.”

“You know?” She frowned. “So how come you’re so happy?”

“The Key can wait. Tell me what happened at the convent.”

She gave herself a mental shake and started to go over what had occurred the night before. The tension was seeping out of her limbs as she realized that he wasn’t going to exact some terrible retribution. He really had mellowed, and she wondered what had changed. The love of a good woman? She almost snorted at the idea. What use would Asmodai have for a good woman? She shoved the idea aside and concentrated on telling her story. Occasionally, he’d stop her and ask a question. And just once, she asked one of her own.

“The man, Jack—do you know him?”

“No.”

“But did you know someone else was after this Key?”

“Maybe.”

Roz glowered at him. “And you didn’t think it would be useful for me to know that? That the information might just possibly have kept me alive?”

“I had no real worries on that score—you’re a born survivor. Besides, while I was aware someone was looking, I didn’t expect he would find it.”

“So how did he?”

Asmodai considered her for a moment. “The Key’s exact hiding place was passed down to each Mother Superior, though they didn’t know the significance. Shortly before I approached you, I found out that the current holder of that position had died without passing on the information.”

She remembered now. He’d told her the person who knew the whereabouts of the Key had died. However, he’d failed to mention it was the Mother Superior of the convent. “Some more information might have helped me if you’d told me a little earlier. I would have been on my guard.” Might have even taken that gun—not that it would have helped much against a hoard of demons.

He shrugged. “The death was sudden and the timing unfortunate, but the circumstances weren’t suspicious.”

She had no clue whether he believed that, so she continued with her story.

“You went to the Order?” he asked when she got to the part about coming to London.

“Well, I didn’t know it was the Order at the time. And I got out of there as quickly as possible.”

Finally, she sat back, exhausted.

Asmodai got up and wandered out of the room. He came back a minute later, carrying her scotch and two glasses. He poured them both a drink and handed her one. She took it with a frown.

“Have you been taking classes?” she asked.

“Classes?”

“How to overcome your demon tendencies and become Mr. Affability—or something similar.”

He laughed. Which was weird in itself.

“So what did you think of Piers Lamont?” he asked.

“That he was an arrogant asshole.”

His lips curled up in a slow smile. “An accurate assessment. But a handsome arrogant asshole, perhaps?”

“You think so? Well, you’re welcome to him. Enjoy.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think he’d have me. We haven’t always agreed in the past, though I helped the Order out recently, and you could say we now have family ties.” He smiled almost reminiscently. “You say Christian Roth was there?”

“He was.”

“Did he appear…well?”

She didn’t understand the question, so she shrugged. “I suppose.”

He sipped his drink and stared at the ceiling. Roz held her breath while she waited.

“You’re going to have to go back,” he said eventually.

“Go back where?” She was being purposefully slow, but she didn’t want to go back. Or maybe she did, but she knew she shouldn’t. An image of Piers Lamont in all his black leather gorgeousness flashed in her mind, and the muscles low down in her belly clenched.

“Why, Rosamund, I do believe you’re excited at the prospect of seeing Mr. Lamont again.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied automatically. She hated, really hated, that he could read her so well. “And I don’t want to go back. You said they would kill me.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not straight away.”

“Hah-hah.” She swallowed the last of her drink and held out the glass for more. “Well, that’s comforting. Not.”

But even as she argued, she realized she was going back. She remembered her vision. Jack was the key to finding the missing girl, and she was running out of time. Piers Lamont knew who Jack was; she would bet her last drop of scotch on that.

“Do you know what they are?” Asmodai’s question broke into her thoughts.

“Who?”

“Piers Lamont and Christian Roth.”

“I have no idea.” But excitement uncurled inside her. It was so very rare that Asmodai would tell her anything about the world he inhabited, the one she lived on the fringes of.

“Well, chances are you’ll discover that for yourself.”

Damn! He was one irritating demon. And he knew it. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to calm down. “You could always tell me. It would be nice to know what I was confronting…this time.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough. Piers was never one for personal restraint.”

She sighed loudly. He wouldn’t tell her, however much she asked, and she wouldn’t waste her time playing that game, so she satisfied herself with glaring at him. Unfortunately, looks couldn’t kill. At least not this particular demon—or he’d have been dead long ago.

Asmodai got to his feet and put his glass on the bedside table. He pulled something small out of his pocket and placed it next to the glass. “I doubt he’ll tell you anything. So that’s a bug. Hide it somewhere in Lamont’s office. I’ll get Shera to drop off the software. Find out what he knows and where my Key is.”

“No problem,” she muttered. “I’ll just stroll right in there and ask him. Maybe he’ll let me give you a call before he kills me.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “You’ll find a way. I’ve never met anyone quite so resourceful.” He turned to go but paused at the door. “One thing. He’ll believe he can mesmerize you with his eyes. Don’t disabuse him of that fact.”

Mesmerize?

“I have to look mesmerized? Just how do I do that?”

He shrugged. “Blink a lot, appear dazed, and agree to anything he tells you to do.”

Roz didn’t like the sound of that. Her eyes narrowed on the demon. “And is he likely to tell me to do something I might not actually want to do?”

Amusement flashed across his face. “I doubt it. But if I remember rightly, Piers had quite a thing for nuns at one point.”

“What sort of person has a thing for nuns? And what sort of ‘thing’?”

“I suspect you’re about to find out.”

“Have I told you recently how much I dislike your inability to answer questions?” He merely grinned. Something occurred to her. “Hey, how do you know he won’t be able to really mesmerize me? I don’t want to be mesmerized.”

“I don’t know for sure. But I suspect. Anyway, we’ll no doubt soon find out.”

“Great, just great,” she muttered. “And how—” She broke off the question. It was pointless anyway. The faint stench of sulfur lingered in the air. He was gone.

Afterward, she sat in her bed, gazing at the space where he’d vanished.

All her long life, she’d lived on the outside, trying to act human and to fit in. Sometimes, she’d succeed for a while, but always something changed, forcing her to move on. Start again.

And she was tired of it. And lonely. The truth was, she’d been lonely since her mother died. Five hundred years.

Would that change when she got free of Asmodai? Unlikely. She would probably lose the one person who really understood her. He might not have always been kind. Hell, he had never been kind, but at least she didn’t have to pretend with him.

Maybe it was time to face up to what she was. Or at least find out what she was and try and face up to it. Or run away from it. Or die from it. So she would go back to the Order of the Shadow Accords. Yeah, maybe they would try and kill her. But others had tried and failed. Her death wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

As she accepted that she would return, excitement flashed through her. She relaxed back against the wall and sipped her scotch as a vision of the ravishing Piers Lamont rose up in her mind.

If she was going to die, well, there were probably worse ways to go.

Chapter Four

Roz hesitated outside the glass double doors of SA International.

The truth was she really didn’t want to go inside. The main part of her brain was telling her that this was a super-sized mistake and one she would regret forever. But deep inside, a little voice told her she had no choice.

First, there was Asmodai. For some strange reason known only to himself, he’d been acting “nicely” recently. She wasn’t expecting that to last. The sigil on her arm itched as she thought of the demon. She had no option but to obey him until the terms of her servitude had played out.

But the other factor was Jessica Thomas. Roz couldn’t live with herself if she had a chance of helping the girl and she did nothing.

Still, facing up to her own particular scary monster was hard.

The Order of the Shadow Accords.

The organization set up thousands of years ago to police the supernatural world, including ridding that world of undesirables. Like her.

It had occurred to her over the years that she was relying on Asmodai for all her information. And he could be telling her whatever he considered would be most useful for her to hear. Useful to him, that was. She had no clue why he had saved her all those years ago. Maybe just a whim. She’d done twelve tasks for him since, but nothing of any significance until the Key. She had a feeling that was important. Which made it all the weirder that he had taken her failure so well.

She’d called Ryan that morning, told him she believed Jessica Thomas was still alive—for now—and described every single detail she could come up with as to her whereabouts, and then warned him she was coming in. She wanted to give him a description of “Jack,” though she somehow doubted he would be on any police files. Well, not ordinary police files anyway.

But she was betting Piers Lamont would know exactly who “Jack” was and could maybe tell her something that would help her save Jessica. All she had to do was maintain her cover, and she would come out unscathed. Probably.

Asmodai’s words came back to her. Piers would try to mesmerize her? Why? To do what? Well, there was only one way to find out.

Catching sight of her reflection in the glass, she winced. She was back in the habit, actually sown into the thing, as she’d ripped off most of the buttons in her rush to get out of it last night. She took a moment to adjust the ugly headdress—rescued from the bin—and smooth down the black robes. Her fingers checked for the bug in her pocket. If Piers didn’t cooperate, she’d plant it in his office, providing she got as far as his office.

There was a woman at the reception desk this morning. She glanced up and smiled, the smile fixing on her face as she caught sight of Roz, hovering just inside the doorway.

Roz forced herself forward, settling her face into a nun-like expression. “I’m here to see Piers Lamont.”

Something flickered in the woman’s eyes. Surprise maybe. “I’m afraid Mr. Lamont is unavailable this morning. Could I take your name and get back to you with an appointment?”

No. If Roz left now, she wasn’t sure she could make herself come back a third time.

“Please,” she murmured. “I’m doing God’s work. It’s important I see Mr. Lamont immediately. I was here last night—Mr. Lamont told me to return if I remembered anything, and I have…”

The woman bit her lip, but nodded. “I’ll try, but he might not be very… happy to be disturbed.”

Hard luck, Roz wanted to snap, but she kept her expression tranquil. He took ages to answer, and when he finally did, the receptionist winced.

“Mr. Lamont, there’s a… a nun here to see you.” She listened for a moment. “I’ll send her right down.”

As she replaced the phone on the desk, Roz noticed her fingers were trembling, but she managed to paste a bright smile on her face.

“You’re to go down. I’ll get someone to escort you, if you’ll wait just one moment.”

Roz waited, narrowly resisting the urge to tap her feet. Instead, she gripped her wrists and held them in front of her in a nun-like fashion. She kept her eyes downcast, only raising them as the elevator door across the way slid open revealing the young, red-haired man who’d been on reception the night before. Last night, he’d been immaculate. This morning, he looked as though he’d pulled on whatever clothes he could find the quickest. He was dressed in grey sweats and a T-shirt and his feet were bare. He smothered a yawn with his hand when he caught her watching.

His eyes widened slightly as he took her in. Then he gestured for her to join him in the elevator. “Hey, you’re back, Sister. Not sure that’s wise.”

Neither was she, but too late now; the doors were closing. “Really? Why is that, Mr.…?”

“Graham. Call me Graham. Well, shouldn’t you be in a convent or something?”

“I’m here to do God’s work.”

He shrugged. “Not a lot of that going on around here.”

I’ll bet. But she kept the words to herself and smiled serenely.

“Piers isn’t always at his best in the morning. So…” he trailed off. Roz got the distinct impression he was attempting to warn her about something, but his loyalty lay first with his employer. Then it was too late. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

“Good luck,” Graham said.

“You’re not coming with me?” All of a sudden, she didn’t want to be alone with Piers Lamont and his mesmerizing ways.

“Hell, no.” He sounded positively alarmed at the idea. His lips twitched as if he realized he’d been less than diplomatic. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” His brows drew together. “Hey, I’ve got to check—have you got a cross?”

“No.” She should have one, though, shouldn’t she? Who ever heard of a nun without a cross? “I lost it in the attack on the convent.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

She frowned, but he ushered her out of the elevator, and the doors slid shut behind her, leaving her alone in a bare corridor. She’d thought she was going to the same place as yesterday, but this was different. Had they come further down? She wished she’d paid attention—though did it really matter? She was deep underground, and she suspected she wasn’t going anywhere they didn’t want her to.

Slipping her hand in the pocket of her habit, she fingered the bug while she wondered what to do next. The place was deathly quiet. She glanced up and down the corridor and had almost persuaded herself to recall the elevator when the door opposite opened.

Holy mother of God.

Piers Lamont stood in the open doorway. He wore a pair of faded jeans. And that was all. They’d obviously just been pulled on, the button at his waist still unfastened. The denim looked supple and clung to his lean hips, hanging off the jut of his hipbones. The skin of his stomach was pale over ridged muscles and was dissected by a line of blond hair that disappeared into the loose waistband of his pants. She raised her eyes just a little and breathed in sharply.

His chest was broad and smooth, his shoulders massive. She peered a little higher, finally getting as far as his face. Blond hair hung loose to his shoulders, gold shading to silver. As she watched, he raked a hand through the strands, brushing them away from his face.

Asmodai had said he was handsome, but that didn’t do him justice. With his sharp cheekbones and sculpted mouth, he had the face of a fallen angel. A shiver ran through her; she didn’t believe in angels, fallen or otherwise.

His heavy-lidded eyes were watching her with an undefined expression in their dark depths. “You woke me up. I hope you have a good reason for that.”

She thought about pointing out that it was past ten in the morning and perhaps he should have been up anyway.

“What do you want, Sister Rosa?” His voice was like rough velvet.

What did she want? Right now—to stroke her hands all over that delectable body, to see if the skin was as silky as it appeared, to peel those jeans down his long, long legs and…

Whoa.

She dropped her gaze and shook herself. Was he mesmerizing her already? But she knew that wasn’t the case. No, it was just that she was a sad, frustrated woman who hadn’t had a man hold her in…well, longer than she could remember. Now she was paying the price.

A woman cannot live by vibrators alone.

She was just desperate, that was all. It had been too long. But she couldn’t allow her unruly libido to take control, however tempting this man might be. She was here to do a job.

Taking a deep breath, she swallowed and clasped her hands in front of her so she wouldn’t be tempted to reach out. She stared straight ahead, but that meant she was gazing directly at his chest, with those dusky, lickable male nipples—dark against his pale skin with little tufts of blond hair. She dropped her gaze. His feet were bare. He had long toes. Wasn’t that supposed to—

“Well?” He interrupted her wayward thoughts, and she shook herself again.

“I remembered something else.”

He studied her for a moment, head cocked, then stepped to one side and gestured to her to enter the room. “Come in.”

Roz peered into the shadowy room behind him; it was some sort of living room with large scarlet couches. She didn’t budge. She really needed to get to his office so she could place the bug.

“Could we not go to your office? I would feel more comfortable.”

“You don’t feel comfortable with me, Sister?”

She lowered her eyes, peeking up at him through her lashes. “I’m not used to the company of men,” she said demurely. Well, that was the goddamn truth. Sort of.

After studying her for a minute longer, he shrugged. “Give me a second.”

He disappeared and came back a minute later, tugging a T-shirt over his head. She sighed—it was a sin to cover that body but she supposed it was for the best. His feet were still bare and his hair still loose, but that was obviously all the concessions she was getting.

He didn’t speak as they waited for the elevator, and once inside, he leaned against the back wall, arms folded across his chest, his gaze wandering over her body as though he could see beneath the heavy nun’s robes.

Not for the first time, it pissed her off that the robes made her appear overweight. She wasn’t; she was curvaceous. She liked that word. But in the long loose habit, she just looked straight up and down. It was probably for the best.

Once out of the lift, she followed him down another corridor, one she recognized. Finally, he led her into the office they’d been in the previous evening. This time, she took the time to study it, searching for a suitable place to plant the bug.

Piers Lamont perched on the edge of his desk. “So, Sister, what is it you remembered that was so important it brought you from the safety of the mother house?”

“I’m sure you are a man of God and I am equally safe here, Mr. Lamont.”

“Are you? How…trusting. And please, call me Piers. And I will call you…Sister. So?”

She cleared her throat. “The man at the convent. He said his name was Jack.”

“Did he now? And you forgot to mention that?”

“I didn’t know. It was Maria who remembered. She was exhausted last night.” She still was—Roz had left her sleeping. “Does it help?”

“It confirms something I suspected. Is that all—or did Maria remember anything else?”

“Not remembered, no, but there is something else.”

She’d thought about this carefully. She had to find Jessica and soon, but she assumed, from the little Asmodai had told her, that the Order would not get involved with missing humans unless the case impinged on their world in some way. So she had to make it appear as though the two worlds were close to colliding. She’d stopped off on the way here and spoken to Ryan, worked with a police artist and gotten a rough picture of Jack.

“And?” His voice was tinged with impatience. He was probably thinking about his nice, warm bed.

“I saw a news report last night. There’s a girl missing—the police have one of those made-up pictures—”

“An identikit picture?”

“Yes. Of the suspect, and I recognized him. It was the man—Jack.”

“Really?”

She nodded. There was a risk here, that they might check up and find she was lying. But she considered the risk worth it.

Piers drummed his fingers on the table then picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Graham—did I wake you again?” His lips twitched as he listened to the answer. “I have a job for you. Check out a missing person.” He glanced across at Roz. “Do you have a name?”

“Jessica Thomas.”

“Jessica Thomas. Just get the details, and I’ll talk to you later.”

He placed the phone down and leaned back, his hands resting on the desk behind him as he looked her over.

“So that’s business taken care of. What shall we do now, Sister?”

Oh Lord, had she ever heard a speech filled with so much innuendo? She fought down the little voice inside her that was screaming, Take me, take me.

Instead, she smiled demurely. “I must be getting back to the mother house. Sister Maria is very anxious, and she likes me close.”

“I bet she does.”

He pushed himself to his feet, making her jump, and strolled slowly toward her, coming to a halt only inches away. She breathed in sharply, and her nostrils filled with a wild, musky scent that caused the muscles in her stomach to clench. Reaching out, he placed one long finger under her chin. His touch felt cool, and a shiver ran through her, but she didn’t object as he gently raised her head so she had no choice but to stare into his eyes. She had one quick peek and glanced quickly to the floor. The urge to close the space between them was almost overwhelming, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to concentrate her thoughts. The sweet metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, but the pain brought her back to herself.

His sharp indrawn breath sounded loud in her ears, and she glanced up quickly. His gaze was intent on her mouth, and she looked away from the hunger in his face.

Suddenly she knew what he was about to do—the mesmerizing thingy.

“Look into my eyes, Sister.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t looking into his eyes right then or he would have seen hers roll. How corny could you get?

She had to do this. She didn’t have a choice—she never had a choice, and she was starting to get pissed off at that. Carefully, she blanked her expression, raised her lashes, and gazed into his eyes. They were beautiful, so deep a blue they were almost black, and fringed with thick lashes.

For a moment, some dark force caught her, as though the very will was being sucked out of her. Her mind clouded, tendrils of mist wrapping themselves around her consciousness. Instinctively, she fought it, and the fog cleared slightly, enough so she was back in control of her own head.

She forced her mind back to Asmodai’s instructions and blinked a couple of times. Piers’ large hand hooked around the back of her neck and drew her closer. She didn’t fight. Hell, she might not be mesmerized, but she wanted this. Just one little taste, then she’d plant her bug and be out of there.

He was much taller than she was, and he lowered his head to lick the blood from her lower lip. At the touch of his tongue, heat shot along her nerve endings to pool at the base of her belly.

He straightened, and she caught sight of his eyes, glowing with hunger. “You taste so sweet.”

Fear slithered down her spine. She managed to keep it from her face; she’d had a lot of practice at hiding her emotions. What the fuck was he? But even as the question sounded in her mind, the answer flashed up in big neon letters.

Vampire.

She remembered her dream of last night—Jack drinking the blood of the missing girl. And she recognized what tied the two men together. They were both the same.

Holy crap, he was a vampire. Why the fuck hadn’t Asmodai warned her? He wouldn’t have sent her back here just to be killed, would he? Did he think her usefulness was over and this was his way of getting rid of her once and for all? But strangely, she didn’t believe that. She thought the demon, for all his wicked ways, had gained some slight affection for her over the centuries. Besides, from her dream she guessed the vampire, Jack, had drunk from the missing girl numerous times, and she still lived, or at least had as of last night.

She had to let him do this; otherwise, it would be obvious she wasn’t under his power.

Would it hurt?

Would she be able to maintain the pretense if he hurt her? She had to.

“Come here.” He dragged her closer. His hands gripped her shoulders then he lowered his head again and kissed her. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue pushing inside, filling her, and the heat in her belly burst into roaring flames.

Holy crap, but this guy could kiss. After the first thrust, she gave herself up to the sensual delight, the glide of his tongue against hers.

Her hips were pushing toward him and his mouth left hers.

“You like that?” he murmured. “You want more?” He laughed softly as his hands slid down the curve of her back to rest on her hips. He pulled her against him so she could feel the length of his erection pressing into her stomach, and moist heat flooded between her thighs. He breathed in. “Hmm, the scent of sex-starved nun—one of my personal favorites. But unfortunately, I’m afraid my brand of ethics won’t allow me to take you while you’re under my influence.”

Roz very nearly screamed. What did he mean? And what sort of vampire had ethics? Weren’t they evil creatures of the night, preying on the innocent? Well, she might not be innocent, but he didn’t know that.

“Sister, raise your head.”

She did as she was told. His eyes still blazed with hunger. She’d thought he was finished with her, but obviously, while his ethics wouldn’t let him shag her, they weren’t about to stop him from eating her.

One long lean finger ran down her throat, leaving a trail of fire. Fear churned inside her, and she forced her mind to blank as though she really was in his thrall. His fingertip rested against her racing pulse, and then he lowered his head and kissed her there.

A small moan escaped her lips as heat streaked along her nerve endings.

He stroked her with his tongue, tasting her, then with no other warning, he sank his fangs into the flesh of her throat.

She went instantly still, waiting for the pain. But there was nothing until the first tug as he drew her blood from her vein. She felt it like an arrow of pleasure straight to her groin.

His hands were stoking her back, shifting lower to the curve of her ass, fingers digging in, kneading her flesh in time with the tugging pull at her throat. A pulse was beating between her thighs. It was as though he was inside her, deep inside, and her muscles were clenching, tightening, pleasure spiraling.

Oh Christ, she was coming. Just from the tug of his mouth at her throat, his hands on her ass. Her body went rigid as he pulled her closer and rubbed his shaft against her, and she came in an explosion of pleasure so intense she almost blacked out.

When she came back to her senses, she was lying on the sofa across from the desk. She half-opened her eyes and peered up at Piers from under her lashes. He was staring down at her, a strange calculating expression in his dark eyes.

“Just what are you, Sister?” he murmured.

How the hell should I know?

The words hovered on her lips but she bit them back. Her throat ached, and she felt a little light-headed, but otherwise she was fine. In fact, she felt fantastic, her body still buzzing from what had to be just about the most powerful orgasm she had had in five hundred years. Wow. She closed her eyes as residual tremors of pleasure ran through her body.

She could sense him studying her; she had to pull herself together because she still had the bug to plant. She’d decided where—underneath the desk where the leg met the top—but she just needed a chance to slip it there.

So, how would a nun react to a mind-blowing orgasm?

She blinked a few times, then forced herself to sit up, ran a hand across her face. “What did you do to me?”

“Why? Did you like it?” He leaned closer. “Would you like to do it again?”

Cocky bastard. So sure of himself.

“I don’t know. I feel strange.”

He studied her for a moment. “You’re a little pale, but you’ll be fine. Come on, up you get.”

She pushed herself up and gauged how she felt. She was okay. Maybe just a little shaky, but she let herself sway as though she were unsteady. Reaching into the voluminous pocket of the robe, she gripped the tiny bug between her finger and thumb. A stumbling step brought her close to the desk, and she staggered. She rested her fingers on the smooth metal, bowed her head as though the effort was too much, and slipped the bug under the desktop.

And dropped it.

Shit. She bit her lip to stop the word from tumbling out.

“I feel faint,” she mumbled and sank to her knees, groping the cool floor until she found the bug. Gripping onto the edge of the desk, she attached it, and then dragged herself to her feet. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” she muttered.

“Sit down for a while, Sister.” Piers was watching her, his brows drawn together in a small frown. She needed out of there. Fast.

“I really must get back.”

After studying her for a minute longer, he stepped up closer. Placing a finger under her chin, he raised her head so she had no choice but to stare into his eyes. “You will forget what happened here,” he murmured.

Like hell I will.

“When you leave this room, you will remember only that you gave me the information and left.”

Yeah, like that’s going to happen.

She nodded serenely.

He stroked a finger down the curve of her cheek. “But when this…mess is sorted out, I’ll be paying a visit to the mother house, and we’ll get to know each other a whole lot better. Would you like that?”

Creep.

A knock at the door saved her from answering. Graham poked his head around.

“You called, Oh lord and master?”

Piers smirked. “I think the sister is ready to leave now. Would you see her out?”

Graham’s gaze went straight to her throat, and she narrowly resisted the urge to reach up and touch the wound. He entered the room and handed Piers a file—presumably relating to Jessica Thomas. At least she hoped so.

“No problem. Sister?”

Yup, she was ready to go. But as she turned to leave, Piers spoke. “Sister, we will meet again.”

The words sounded almost like a threat, and she swallowed down her nerves and curled her lips into the semblance of a smile. “If God so wishes.”

“Oh I don’t think God will have anything to do with it.”

A shiver of apprehension ran through her. Did he suspect her of something? Every cell screamed at her to run, but she kept her pace slow as she followed Graham out of the office. Her nerves held until she heard the door click shut behind her, when she almost sagged with relief.

Graham reached out a hand to steady her. “Are you okay, Sister?”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine. Mr. Lamont is just a little intense.”

Graham grinned. “Yeah, intense. Though I’ve heard him called other things.”

I’ll bet. Blood-sucking spawn of Satan probably fits quite well. “I’ll be fine as soon as I get some fresh air.”

They were silent the rest of the way, Graham only speaking again as he held the glass door that led out onto the street.

“Goodbye, Sister. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

Like never. “Perhaps. And thank you for your help.”

She knew he was still watching as she walked away. Christ, she could murder a drink, but she could hardly walk into a bar dressed in this outfit. She’d have to wait until she got home.

She was searching for a taxi when a black SUV pulled up beside her, and the passenger door was pushed open from the inside.

What the hell? Had Ryan followed her? She so didn’t need this right now. Then she spotted the bottle of scotch on the passenger seat, and she closed the space between them.

…

Piers watched as the door shut behind them. His body buzzed with her blood. Fae blood, if he wasn’t mistaken. Sweet as sin.

She must have a high proportion of fae in her background to taste so sweet. Or high fae. But the high fae didn’t consort with humans these days, so where had she come from?

Apart from the scent and the taste, there was nothing to suggest she was other than human. And she was obviously unaware of it herself. There was a mystery surrounding Sister Rosa, and one he would get to the bottom of—when he had more time. She would be safe in the convent until he was ready for her.

Would she dream of him?

She’d come apart in his arms so beautifully. Some women were incredibly sensitive to his bite; Sister Rosa was obviously one of them. Next time, he’d be buried deep inside her when he drank and she would probably spontaneously combust. His cock twitched; it liked the idea.

For a moment, he considered calling her back, asking her to stay, telling her he would protect her from the demons in exchange for…

In exchange for what? Her blood, her sex…her company? He was going soft. Except he was rock hard, straining at the fly of his pants. All hot and bothered because of one little nun.

He pushed the thought aside. First, he had to find out what the fuck that bastard Jack was after. He wasn’t expecting it to be anything good. And what had he taken from the convent?

He flicked through the file Graham had handed him. The identikit picture was on the top. He studied it for a moment—it was definitely Jack.

Had Jack been careless? Or was he sending another message?

He put the picture aside and read the notes. Jessica Thomas had vanished on her way home from school, two days ago. She was fifteen. There was a photo of a pretty, rather plump young girl. He wondered what she looked like now. Was she still pretty? Was she even alive?

It wasn’t the Order’s job to protect humans, at least not directly. But if the police had gotten close enough to get a picture of Jack, then they had to put a stop to this now, before the law got any closer.

He picked up his phone and started a search in motion. He wasn’t expecting it to be difficult—Jack had sent him the message because he wanted to be found.

The question was—why?

Chapter Five

“Get in,” Ryan said from the driver’s seat.

For a second, Roz considered ignoring him, but a quick glance behind her showed Graham still watching from just inside the glass doors. She couldn’t risk making a scene. Besides, there was that bottle of scotch. With a huge sigh, she picked it up, clambered into the passenger seat, and tossed him a filthy look.

“Are you following me?”

“Yes. Fasten your seat belt.”

She did as she was told, staring straight ahead as Ryan pulled out into traffic. She resisted the urge to put her hand up and check the wound at her throat. It was healing fast, but would still be clearly visible. At least the horrible headdress hid it from view. Ryan wasn’t stupid, and it would be difficult to persuade him that fang marks in her neck had nothing to do with his exsanguination murder case.

“Back in fancy dress, I see.” He broke the silence.

“I’m trying it out as an alternative lifestyle. I think I’d make a good nun.” She gave him her best guileless expression, added a serene nun smile, and then took a swig of scotch.

Ryan snorted.

“So why are you following me? I’ve made it clear that I’ll help you as long as you don’t bring attention to me. And this”—she waved a hand around the car—“is bringing attention to me.”

“Why? What are you hiding from? Maybe if you tell me, I can help make the problem go away.”

“Why would you do that?”

He cast her a quick sideways glance before turning his attention back to the road. “Because we’re friends. And friends look out for each other.”

Warmth stole over her as she realized that he actually cared. But she couldn’t allow that to matter, and she certainly couldn’t drag him any further into her fucked-up life.

“Thanks, but no thanks. My problems aren’t the sort you can make go away. I’ve just got to live with them.”

He shrugged but appeared resigned. “You heading home? I’ll drop you off.”

“Thank you.”

“So what’s your business with SA International?”

She’d known he wouldn’t give up that easily. “None of yours.”

“Come on, Roz. You can’t not tell me—why the outfit? Why this company? I did a search on them—they’re as clean as they come. Too clean, I’d say if I had a suspicious nature.”

With a rush of relief, she realized that he hadn’t connected her visit to SA International with his missing person case. And why should he? He’d first picked her up here before he’d even told her about the case—he wouldn’t see a connection.

“You do have a suspicious nature.”

“Yeah, so I do. But I couldn’t find anything. So tell me, what’s your interest? And where did you get a real nun from? I’m taking it that Sister Maria is actually a nun.”

“Yeah, she’s the real thing.”

“How is she this morning, by the way?”

“Fast asleep when I left. She’s had a tiring couple of days and it’s been a bit of a culture shock.”

“I’ll bet. So you’re not going to tell me?”

“No. So is that all that brought you here—just pure nosiness?”

“Mainly, but I also thought you’d like to know—we’ve put out that picture and we’re already getting some feedback. We’re narrowing it down to an area on the Isle of Dogs close to the river—which ties in with your description. I just wanted to make sure you’d be available when we get a real lead.”

“I’ll be available.” Something occurred to her. “If you can, make sure you go in during daylight. This guy likes the dark so you’re likely to find her alone in the daytime. You can get her out without worrying about any hostage situation.”

“Okay. Then we can set a trap and pick up this perverted son-of-a-bitch.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She gulped another slug of scotch and the warmth flowed through her body, mellowing her mind. She raised the bottle. “It’s good stuff.”

He shrugged. “I know your helping me puts you in some sort of danger. I don’t know what or how bad, because you won’t open up to me. But I wanted to say thanks.”

She squirmed in her seat. She wasn’t used to people thanking her. It sort of made her feel guilty. As though if they really knew her, knew some of the things she had done, they wouldn’t be thanking her. She remembered again the screams of the villagers that night.

Her mother’s death had not gone unavenged.

Do you want them to pay? Asmodai had asked her. And she’d nodded her head then watched as he had unleashed chaos.

It hadn’t brought her mother back.

“You’re not very good at accepting thanks, are you?” Ryan’s wry query brought her back from the past.

“Scotch, yes. And maybe a box of chocolates or a bunch of flowers.”

“You like chocolates and flowers?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?” She was going to add that she was normal, wasn’t she, but that might have been straining the truth a little far.

They were silent the rest of the trip, and Ryan dropped her off outside her apartment building. Roz let herself in, but came to an abrupt standstill just inside the door. A woman stood, leaning against the wall as if she had every right to be there. She wore a skin-tight black leather cat-suit—very appropriate—and an expression of disdain on her face. They’d never gotten along.

“Make yourself at home,” Roz muttered. She hated the idea of the woman entering her apartment.

Shera pushed herself languidly away from the wall and stepped toward her. A good eight inches taller than Roz, even without the four-inch heels, she peered down, a superior smile curving her scarlet lips. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks.”

“My Lord Asmodai instructed—”

“Tell me,” Roz interrupted. “Do you actually call him that to his face?” No wonder he had delusions of grandeur. Or maybe they weren’t delusions.

“Of course. My Lord—”

“And what does he call you?” She’d always wondered how close the two were. “Kitty? Fluffy?”

Shera gritted her teeth and thrust her hand out. Roz grabbed the proffered envelope. It contained a disk, presumably with the monitoring system for the bug she’d planted in Piers’ office. “Show yourself out,” she said to Shera. Not waiting for a response, she took her disc into the living room and closed the door behind her. She was eager to see if the bug was working and whether Piers was actually saying anything that might be of use finding Jessica.

The front door slammed. Good.

A big mirror hung on the wall. Roz tugged off the cumbersome headdress and twisted around so she could examine the side of her neck. Two neat fang marks marred the pale skin. But the wounds were closed and healing fast. A little shiver of pleasure ran through her as she remembered the feel of his big body wrapped around hers, his fangs lodged deep in her throat.

She shook her head to dispel the memory. A change of clothes was needed badly, but first, she wanted to get the disk set up. She powered on the laptop and was just slipping the disk into the drive when Maria appeared in the doorway to her bedroom. She was a mess, and Roz had to bite back a smile. Maria was wearing a pair of her sweats—way too big—and an equally too large T-shirt. Her short hair stood on end, as if she’d slept on it wet—which she probably had. She looked nothing like a nun. More like a homeless waif, the impression exacerbated by the lost expression on the woman’s face.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Have you contacted the mother house?”

“Not yet. I can do it now though—sort out a car to take you this afternoon.”

Maria bit her lip. “Would you wait?”

“Wait for what?”

“I’m not ready to go to the mother house. I won’t feel safe—I know I won’t.” She glanced at her bare feet and back to Roz. “I feel safe here, with you.”

Roz wondered how much she could tell the sister. The truth was she was probably safer here than most places, though Roz doubted Jack would follow her to the mother house. He had gone to the convent for a specific purpose—to get the Key. The Key Roz wanted.

Should she let Sister Maria stay? Usually she was happy on her own, but she found she quite liked the idea of company. For a while, at least. Soon she would leave this life forever—there would be time enough then to be alone.

“Okay, you can stay. For a while. But I’m going to call you Maria—none of this sister crap.”

Maria’s relief was almost palpable, and a smile flashed across her face, making her almost pretty.

“Thank you.”

Two “thank yous” in one day. That had to be a record. “Do you know how to make coffee?” she asked.

“I think I can remember.”

“Well, make yourself useful. There’s something I have to do—then we’ll have a chat.”

She loaded the disk and waited while the program installed. After setting it to type rather than audio, she watched as the dialogue printed out on the screen.

At first, it came up as man 1, man 2, but after a couple of lines, the program filled in the names. Man 1 was Piers Lamont, Man 2 was Graham, the receptionist. She checked the time—it was half an hour ago, just after she’d left.

Piers Lamont: Get Christian on the phone for me.

Graham: He’ll be sleeping.

Piers: Hey, I was sleeping and I’m awake. Get him.

Piers: I just had a visit from a nun.

Christian: What did she want?

Piers: To give me some information.

Christian: And are you going to share?

Piers: The information or the nun? I’m not sure Tara would be happy about that.

Christian: Hah-hah. The information.

Piers: She gave me a name, but one I’d already guessed. And the police are involved. There’s a girl missing and the police have a picture of the suspect. Our little nun recognized the man who attacked the convent. And it seems it’s not the first missing girl. The police have tied it to another murder case where the victim died by exsanguination.

Christian: This guy’s a vamp?

Piers: Didn’t I mention that bit?

Christian: So what are you going to do about it?

Piers: I’ll arrange a meeting. That’s what he’s after. That’s what this whole thing is about.

Christian: You want me in?

Piers: Yeah—you okay for tonight?

Christian: I’ll meet you over there.

[A minute’s silence.]

Christian: So how was the nun?

Piers: Delectable. Sweet as sin. There’s fae blood in there and a lot of it.

Christian: Is she okay?

Piers: What do you take me for—some sort of monster? She was fine, walked out on her own two feet. And she won’t remember a thing.

Christian: Good.

Nothing further came up on the screen, and Roz sat back in the chair and stared at the words. Fae blood? What did that mean? That she was some sort of fairy? No way! Asmodai had never mentioned the fae. But he was a secretive bastard, and she was on a need to know basis. Obviously, the demon hadn’t considered she needed to know the fact that she had fae blood. Or even that the fae existed.

She’d never known what she was. She had vague recollections of her father; he’d been around on and off up until she was about six years old. Then he had disappeared from their lives without trace. Her mother wasn’t the same after that, a shadow of the happy woman she’d been. She’d always sworn that he would never voluntarily leave them, and Roz had presumed he must be dead. He certainly hadn’t been around when the villagers had come for them.

Witch.

The word echoed through the years. Her mother had been a healer. The people had come to her for help and she had saved more than one wretched life. Only to be repaid with her death. Roz had inherited her mother’s healing skills and more, but what might she have inherited from her unknown father?

She sighed and sat back as Maria put a mug of coffee on the table beside her, and carried her own to the sofa.

“Okay,” Roz said, “we require a few ground rules, if you’re going to stay here.”

“I’m good at rules.”

“No habits—I find them depressing. No praying where I can see or hear—it upsets my digestion. Oh, and don’t contact anyone and tell them where you are. And no boys in your room,” she couldn’t resist adding.

She got a faint smile. Maria was recovering. “What am I to wear?” She hitched up the gray sweats. “Your clothes are too big.”

Bitch. Just because she was skinny, no need to rub it in. “Order some stuff off the internet—it will be here by tomorrow.”

“Really?” She pursed her lips. “I have no money.”

“Well luckily, I have plenty.”

“Who are you?”

Well that one was easy to answer. “I have no fucking clue.”

Maria winced at the swear word. “Well whoever you are—you’re a good person.”

No she wasn’t. But maybe she wasn’t all bad either.

She checked occasionally, but there was nothing from the bug through the afternoon and early evening. Ryan called, said they were investigating a few leads and he would let her know if they led to anything. Otherwise, the day had been pleasantly uneventful. She’d set Maria up on the desktop computer, internet shopping, and watched as she flicked through the sites as if starving. Then she’d settled on the sofa with a glass of scotch and a book, but ended up dozing on and off.

It wasn’t until after eleven that there was any further activity from the bug. Roz checked on her houseguest; Maria was curled up in the corner of the sofa, her head resting in one hand, her eyes closed. She still looked pale, with dark shadows under her eyes, but she had held up better than Roz would have believed. Obviously, the nun was made of stern stuff.

Roz shifted on her seat, so Maria wouldn’t see the screen should she awaken, and quickly read the information. It seemed as though Christian and Piers were in the office alone.

Christian: So you’ve found him?

Piers: It wasn’t difficult—I told you—he wanted me to find him. I’ve arranged to meet him at Mason’s, an abandoned warehouse on the docks, tonight.

Christian: You’d still like me along?

Piers: Hell yeah. You can be the voice of reason.

Christian: The two of you have history?

Piers: You could say that.

Christian: Is there anyone you don’t have history with?

Piers: Not many.

Christian: Okay. So about the nun…

Piers: What about her? I told you—she won’t remember a thing.

Christian: You planning on seeing her again?

Piers: Maybe.

Christian: You know, Tara thinks that deep down—admittedly very deep down—you could actually be a nice guy.

Piers: Don’t you two have anything better to do than talk about little old me? And she’s wrong. I’m not nice.

Christian: That’s what I told her. But she reckons all you need is the love of a good woman.

Piers: There is no such thing. Come on, let’s go get some guns.

Christian: Are we going to need them?

Piers: Probably not, but Jack could always manage to piss me off, so let’s be prepared.

Roz sat staring at the screen, but nothing else came up. She reckoned they’d left the room. No doubt, on their way to this meeting with Jack the vampire. Jack the other vampire. Was Christian a blood-sucker as well?

She had to decide what to do. Should she go along?

She read the conversation again while she tried to make up her mind.

So, Piers Lamont was not a nice man. And who was Tara? Was she totally deluded or just misguided?

She’d just decided to set off to the meeting place, but stay out of sight, when her cell phone rang. It was Ryan. They had a solid lead on the missing girl thanks to the picture she’d provided. He was heading over there now.

It took her only seconds to make the decision. Jack would be on his way to meet with Piers and Christian. It was perfect timing—she could help Ryan find the girl and maybe get a chance to search the place. If she got lucky, she might even find the Key. If he still had it in his possession, chances were he wouldn’t take it to any meeting with Piers.

She told Ryan to pick her up on the way through, closed up the laptop, and placed it on the table. Maria was still sleeping, and Roz tiptoed out of the room, pulled on her boots, grabbed her jacket, and left the apartment.

Chapter Six

Piers came to a halt at the entrance to the warehouse. The place was in darkness and as far as he could tell, it was also empty.

Jack was late. Hardly surprising; two thousand years ago, he’d been as unpunctual as hell. Piers couldn’t see how the intervening years locked in a tomb with a pissed-off demoness was likely to have improved his personality.

“You reckon he’ll show?” Christian asked from beside him.

“Hell, yeah. He wants something, and he’s not going to get it without letting me know what the fuck it is. He’s probably just trying to piss me off. He was always good at that.”

“Great,” Christian murmured. “Just what I need.”

Piers grinned. “Hey, I’ve mellowed since then.”

“Since when? Just how do you know this guy?”

He was just about to answer when a sound from above made him raise his head, just as Jack fell from above and landed lightly on his feet in front of them.

Stupid prick must have been hanging from the rafters. He’d always been a show-off. No doubt, that was how the police had picked up on him so quickly. He had no clue how to keep a low profile.

He was dressed all in black—the poser. So were Piers and Christian, but that was beside the point.

“Jack, how nice to see you again after all this time.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. His gaze shifted from Piers to Christian and back again. “Are you going to introduce us?”

“This isn’t a fucking party. Just tell us why we’re here and piss off.”

Jack smiled. “Still bitter, I see. Don’t you think you should have moved on by now?”

Piers opened his mouth to answer, but clamped it closed again. The truth was—he was no longer bitter. He had long ago come to terms with what he was. Hell, he loved what he was. But he hadn’t always felt like this. In the beginning, he’d been mad as hell, and bitter, and probably a little bit twisted. But it suddenly occurred to him that if it wasn’t for the vampire standing in front of him, he would have been dead for the past two thousand years. Maybe he should say thank you. He grinned and felt some of the tension drain from him.

“Jack, how wonderful to see you after all this time. I’d like to say I missed you, but it would be a lie. Now, what can we do for you tonight? Just say what it is you require of us and it shall be done.”

Beside him, Christian snorted.

Jack’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I somehow doubt that.”

So did Piers. “Okay, tell us anyway, so we can kick your ass and get the hell out of this depressing dump.”

Jack pursed his lips. “I’d like to talk to you alone.”

“Why?”

“Because what I have to say is private.”

Piers shrugged. He wanted this over with, and he wasn’t too worried Jack would try anything terminal. Right from the start, Piers had been stronger, and he’d spent the last two thousand years growing in strength while Jack had been incarcerated in a tomb. He turned to Christian. “Would you wait outside?”

For a moment, he thought Christian would refuse; then he nodded and stalked away.

“Now could you get to the point, Jack?”

“Andarta is awake.”

Why didn’t that surprise him? Maybe because it had been Andarta’s mark cut into Sister Maria’s back. Also, he’d known the spell he’d used to imprison Andarta and Jack wouldn’t be permanent, but the truth was, he’d forgotten about the pair of them. How the hell had that happened? At one point, his whole life had revolved around Andarta, the only time he had ever believed himself in love. Hell, he had been in love. But love was never enough.

“And I have the Key of Solon.”

Now, that was bad news. And that was presumably what Jack had taken from the convent. The Key was supposed to have been destroyed long ago.

“So she’s awake. What does she want?” he asked. Stupid question. His total annihilation, the subjugation of mankind, and no doubt, world domination. Same old.

“She doesn’t confide in me,” Jack replied.

“Now who sounds bitter?”

“At least I have good reason. But I can take a guess at your question. She wants the same thing she always has—to bring down the barriers between the worlds and rule the Earth.” He shrugged. “And you.”

“Me?”

He tried to sound surprised, but he wasn’t. Yeah, he was betting she wanted him—wanted him dead. She’d never been the forgiving sort, and he had betrayed her. But not until she had betrayed him, taken away his beliefs, his life, his chance of rebirth.

“Well, you don’t think I looked you up out of fond memories, do you?”

“So where is she?”

“Still confined to the Abyss. She’s regaining strength but doesn’t have the power to enter this world. Yet.”

Piers frowned. Why would Jack tell him this? “You’re being very forthcoming. Why is that? I’m presuming Andarta would like me dead—why tell me she’s still weak?”

Jack gave a short mirthless laugh. “She doesn’t seek your death.”

“No?”

“The stupid bitch wants you back.”

Piers stared at him, the words not quite making sense. Andarta wanted him back? Back as in “lovers”? Was it just a plot to get him close enough to finish him off?

“It’s no trick,” Jack said as though reading his mind. “I’m here to offer you a place at her side. Consort to the Queen.” Jack’s tone was bitter. But then, Andarta’s side was a place Jack had always aspired to, but he had never been more than a servant to her.

Piers paced the floor of the warehouse. He admitted it—he was thrown completely off balance. Plus—he still wasn’t sure he believed it.

“She said to tell you to remember that she’s always admired strength and ruthlessness. She knows you love her—”

“Loved maybe…a long time ago.”

Jack shrugged. “Whatever. Anyway, I’m here to tell you she is willing to forgive you—all you have to do is ask.”

Piers went back to his pacing. The truth was he didn’t know what to say. He had a flashback to that long ago time when Andarta had been his whole world. God, he’d loved her. No other woman had ever come close. An image flashed in his mind of the little nun, Sister Rosa. Why? Why think of her at this point? He shook his head.

“Tell Andarta I’ll think about it.”

“What’s there to think about? Don’t tell me you don’t still desire her. Don’t tell me you’re satisfied with your life—protecting these humans.”

That reminded him. “Are you aware the police have a picture of you?”

“What?” Jack sounded shocked.

“You’ve been careless. They’re hunting for you in connection with a missing girl. Two missing girls.”

“Really?” Then he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter—soon the police will be irrelevant. So what’s your answer?”

“I’d like some time to consider.” He thought for a minute. With the Key in her possession, Andarta would have been able to open the portal between the Abyss and here, however weak she was. Maybe she wouldn’t risk appearing until she had regained her strength, but he didn’t think that was it. “Have you given her the Key?” Jack glanced away, and Piers knew the answer was no. “You don’t trust her, do you?”

“Why the hell would I trust her?” Jack snarled.

“But you do love her.”

“Piss off.”

“Okay.” He’d had enough of this meeting anyway. He needed to think things through. He turned and walked toward the entrance, pausing in the doorway. “Just don’t let the police catch you. Get rid of the girl—make sure the police don’t find her, or we will come after you.”

“OOOO—I’m so scared.”

Piers ignored the comment and exited the building. Christian was leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He quirked a brow as he saw Piers. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Is it all sorted?”

“Hardly.” Piers pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed speed dial. “Carl? He’ll be heading back to wherever he left the girl. Follow him—if she’s dead, make sure he disposes of the body where it won’t be found. If she’s alive, keep her that way and take her back to the Order.”

He slipped the phone into his pocket and frowned. He still couldn’t believe it. Andarta wanted him back. How did he feel about that? The truth was he really didn’t know. His head ached, and he rubbed the spot between his eyes.

“Problems?” Christian asked.

He shook his head. “No. Yes... To be honest, I have no idea.”

Christian grinned. “You sound like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, a drink sounds good. Or two.”

…

Roz fastened her seat belt and stared ahead, trying to get her thoughts settled and on the matter at hand.

She couldn’t get her mind off the conversation between Piers and Christian. Asmodai had always told her that the less she knew the better, but he must have been aware that she would discover things through the bug. Did he no longer care?

There would be time to worry about that later. Right now, she had to concentrate on Jessica if she was to be of any help to Ryan. Her powers never worked when she was distracted.

Closing her eyes, she cleared her mind. “So, tell me what you know,” she said to Ryan.

“We had a whole load of calls after we went public with that picture of yours. Some cranks, but a few were obviously genuine, and we narrowed the area down to a section of the Isle of Dogs—which fits in with your description.”

“The smell of the river,” she murmured.

“Yes. And about half an hour ago we got a call saying someone had seen this guy leaving a house in the same area. That’s where we’re heading now.” He glanced at her quickly. “The team will be there. I couldn’t keep this to myself.”

Roz scowled. She’d expected as much, but she didn’t like it. “Just keep me away from them.”

Ryan reached into his pocket and handed her something. A pin-on badge with “Visitor” in big letters. Roz fixed it to her jacket and stared out of the window some more. They were driving along the embankment now, the river gleaming in the lights. It was close to midnight and the roads were quiet—mainly red buses and the odd cab, but they made good time.

“Will we be able to go in first?”

“Yes, I told the team to wait outside.”

“Good.”

Finally, Ryan pulled into a wide residential road, well lit with streetlights at regular intervals. The houses were tall Victorian terraces with small gardens out front so the buildings were set back from the road. He parked at the edge of the street between two cars. Opposite was a dark van, which she presumed contained his team. He punched on his radio. “Faith?”

“Yeah?”

“Anything happening?”

“Nothing. The place has been in darkness since we got here. We talked to the neighbor and she reckons there’s been no coming or going since she saw our guy leave.”

“Good. You stay put until you hear from me.”

“Okay, boss.”

Ryan turned to Roz. In the dim light, she could see the excited gleam of his eyes. She hoped he wasn’t going to be disappointed.

Please let her be alive. Sending up a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening, she followed Ryan out of the car, then stood for a moment on the pavement. Shutting her eyes, she pictured Jessica, and felt a faint echo resonate deep in her mind. Thank god. She was alive. But just.

Roz started walking and Ryan stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I haven’t told you which house yet.”

She pointed to the one on the corner plot. “There.”

“Shit, that’s spooky.”

She ignored the comment and headed to the house at a fast walk. The wrought iron gate creaked as she pushed it open. A gravel path led up to the dark blue front door with overgrown gardens on either side. There were no lights on inside, and she hesitated at the door. Closing her eyes, she felt again for the fragile flutter of the girl’s mind. Jessica was holding on tenaciously, but her life force was faint and growing fainter.

The door didn’t budge when Roz turned the handle. “Can you kick it in?” she asked

“I shouldn’t.”

“She’s dying, Ryan.”

“Stand back.”

He raised his foot and kicked out. And again. The door gave on the second kick, with a splintering of wood. Roz pushed past him and into a carpeted hallway. After concentrating for a second, she ran straight ahead. She hardly noticed Ryan switching on the lights as she hurried through a door at the end of the hall and into the kitchen. Directly opposite was another door, bolted from the outside, the bolts shiny and new. She slid them back and hesitated for a second.

The door opened into a narrow stairway that led down into the cellars, and she ran quickly down the steps. There were two doors at the bottom facing each other. The first led into a small room, empty but for a cot bed. She shut the door and turned to the other. This one was bolted, and she knew she’d found Jessica. She sensed Ryan at her back, but he didn’t speak. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. The smell hit her first—blood and fear. The room was in darkness, and she groped for the switch, finding it on the wall just outside the door.

The room was identical to the one opposite: small, the only furniture a narrow cot bed. But this room wasn’t empty. A young woman lay on the bed, asleep or more likely unconscious, her naked body curled tight into a fetal ball, arms wrapped around her knees.

“Jessica?”

There was no response, and Roz hurried across the small space between them. Ryan entered behind her, but she focused on the girl on the bed. The dying girl—her life force flickering, fragile and weak.

“Is she dead?” Ryan asked.

“No, alive—just.”

“I’ll call for an ambulance.”

She glanced around quickly. “Not yet, Ryan. Give me a moment.”

“Why? You’ve found her. You’ve done your part. Let us take over now.”

“I can help her. She’s dying, Ryan. There’s no time. Just trust me.”

He ran his hand through his messy hair, then nodded brusquely. “Do what you have to do.”

Roz perched on the side of the filthy mattress and rested her hand on Jessica’s forehead. Her skin was clammy and cool to the touch. Stroking back the long hair, she looked into the face she now knew so well. The eyes remained closed.

Placing her hands on both sides of the girl’s forehead, she closed her eyes and allowed her own life-force to flow into her. At first, she hit a brick wall.

“Come on, Jessica, you have to want this,” she muttered under her breath. She heard Ryan shift behind her but ignored him. Focusing all her power, she visualized it as a narrow arrow, and thrust it into the other girl. This time the healing energy flowed freely.

“Shit,” Ryan said, and Roz’s eyes flashed open.

Where her hands touched the girl, they glowed with a warm pulsing luminescence. She could sense Jessica absorbing the energy, her life force strengthening with each second. Finally, her lids flickered open.

“It’s okay, we’re here to help you,” Roz said quickly as Jessica’s panic flared.

The girl peered around her, her gaze catching on Ryan, and fear darkened her eyes.

“He’s a policeman,” Roz said. “He’s here to get you out, take you home.”

“The man, the…” Jessica cut off the words. “Is he gone?”

“He’s gone.”

“What did you do to me?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said from behind her. “What did you do to her?”

“Just woke you up.”

“You brought me back. I was so close. I wanted to go. I knew if I stayed he’d be back.”

“Well, he won’t, and you’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”

Jessica reached out a trembling hand and touched her lightly on the cheek. “Who are you? What are you?”

“Good question,” Ryan muttered.

“I’m Roz,” she said, ignoring the “what are you,” which she had no clue how to answer anyway.

As Roz rose to her feet, Jessica seemed to realize that she was naked. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest, peered around the room as if searching for something.

Ryan was wearing a short leather jacket over a blue shirt. He stripped off the jacket, then the shirt, and handed it to Jessica. “Here,” he said, pulling the jacket back on over his bare chest.

Roz whistled. “Nice look.”

Ryan had pulled his radio from his belt. “I’ll call the rest of the team in. We need to search this place. Obviously the fucker is gone, but we might get a lead. And we’ll get you to a hospital, though you don’t look as though you need it.”

“I feel fine,” Jessica replied. “I want to go home.”

“Soon.”

“Ryan, wait a moment.” Roz’s mind was working furiously. Ever since she’d entered the house, she’d sensed another presence. Not a person, but a thing. The Key. She was a Seeker—a name Asmodai had used to describe her. She found things. That’s what she did. And she was good at it. Now, she knew the thing she had been seeking in the convent was here somewhere, hidden by magic. Her magic was stronger, but once Ryan’s team came in, she would have no chance.

“I need five minutes,” she said.

He frowned. “What for?”

“It doesn’t matter, but believe me, it’s important.” Her freedom was at stake here. Excitement built inside her. She had another chance. The sigil on her arm itched as though aware its time was nearly up. Ryan still appeared doubtful, and she spoke quickly. “Jessica will be fine; just give me my five minutes or I swear, I will never help you again. I will disappear, and next time you’ll be on your own.”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “Okay. Five minutes.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated. It wasn’t in this room, and she strode quickly across the floor and out into the narrow stairwell. The other room. That was where the vampire had slept. The door had bolts and a brand new padlock on the inside as though he’d locked himself in.

Standing in the center of the room, she turned slowly—and found it. The Key was calling to her. Stretching out her inner senses, she felt for its hiding place. Without conscious thought, she allowed her feet to move.

Although she was drained from using her healing powers, she still broke through the spell with ease.

“Easy-peasy,” she muttered.

Her fingers felt along the edge of the bare bricks. One was loose and she tugged at it, broke a nail, and swore. Then the brick was free. Reaching into the gap, her fingers wrapped around a small package. Magic pulsed through her hand, along her arm, down her spine. Magic stronger and older than anything she had ever sensed in her life before.

She pulled the package out. Small enough to lie in the palm of her hand, and wrapped in dark red velvet. Slowly, she peeled back the material and revealed… a key.

Well, what had she expected?

“What did you find?” Ryan’s words made her jump and she wrapped her fist around the Key. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, right, of course it’s nothing. If you’re withholding evidence that would help us find this guy…”

“I’m not, and it won’t.” She turned to face him.

“I’m breaking about a thousand rules here—”

“Come on, Ryan, you broke them when you asked me to help, when you gave me that file. Don’t start following the fucking rules when you no longer need me. Because you know what—it will piss me off.”

A smile flickered across his face. “You’re right. And the truth is that without you we wouldn’t have found her. Not alive, anyway—we had nothing. So…” He shrugged. “Hell, I have no clue how you found her. I have even less clue what went on in there just now—but you saved her life.” He ran his fingers through his already mussed hair, suddenly looking exhausted. “You done? Can I please call in my team now?” But as he spoke, his radio buzzed, and he picked it up and listened for a moment. “You sure it’s him?” He listened for a moment longer then lowered the radio. “They’ve spotted the suspect,” he said. “He’s five minutes away and he’s apparently already got a couple of tails—and they’re not ours.”

“Crap,” Roz muttered. At a guess, that was Piers or someone else from the Order following him. She had to get out of there. She couldn’t let the Order see her here. “What are you going to do?”

“We’re getting the girl out. She’s strong enough to travel in the van. We don’t want her here if things go bad. I suggest you go with her. I don’t like this. We have no clue who else is out there, and I’d prefer you to be under police protection.”

“Sweet offer, but no thanks. I’m allergic to the police, and I can protect myself.” But could she? This time she wasn’t so sure. This was the dreaded Order of the Shadow Accords she was up against. Still, she was certain the police wouldn’t be able to do a better job. She glanced down at the small velvet bundle clasped in her hand—the Key to her freedom.

There was a good chance Piers was in the vicinity, no doubt with back up. He could even be watching the place right now if he’d traced where Jack was staying. If he saw her here and out of her nun’s outfit, he’d never believe it was a coincidence. He’d take her in to the Order, and she’d lose her prize so fast. She bit her lip. She’d prefer to keep hold of the Key, but until she got it to Asmodai, the deal wasn’t completed. There was no way to contact Asmodai directly; she had to go through Shera, and that could take time.

It would be too dangerous to hide the Key here—the house would doubtless be searched, and not only by the police. And she couldn’t take it outside in case she was caught.

What to do?

She glanced at Ryan, and he raised an eyebrow in query.

While she was reluctant to involve him, she reckoned there was zero chance of anyone dragging Ryan back to the Order for a full body search. The Key would be safe with him for a short while, and he would be safe with the Key. “Will you do me a favor?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

She almost smiled at the wariness in his tone. “It won’t hurt—promise.” She held out the small package. “Will you keep this safe for me? It will probably—hopefully—only be for a few hours. Then I’ll come and get it.”

“What is it?”

“Just a key.”

“A key to what?”

“I have no clue. It doesn’t belong to me. A…friend asked me to find it for him. It’s what I do—I find things. I just have to get in touch with him and arrange to hand it over. But I’d prefer it if no one knows I have it.”

He studied her for a moment, genuine concern in his eyes. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

She grinned. “No more than usual.”

“Okay. Give it here.”

She handed him the Key and watched as he put it in the inside pocket of his jacket and zipped it up safely. “Right, I’m out of here,” she said. “Will you tell your guys I’m coming out?”

He nodded, and she turned and headed for the stairs. At the door, she paused. “Ryan, if anyone does come asking about that key—hand it over. It’s not worth fighting for.” That was a lie, but it was her fight, not Ryan’s, and she’d hate him to come to harm over this.

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried up the stairs. At the front door, she peered out. The black van was still opposite. As she stood there, four men and a woman climbed down. It was time to leave.

She sauntered down the path as though she had no worries in the world. One of the men held open the gate for her, but no one spoke as she passed through. She presumed Ryan must have told them she wasn’t to be bothered.

Once past them, she picked up her pace and hurried down the road, expecting every second to be stopped. She took the first side road, in order to get out of sight and avoid bumping into either Jack or Piers, and then stopped and turned around.

The night was warm, and the scent of summer flowers drifted up from the gardens. She felt almost at peace. Hopefully she could contact Shera and set the meeting up sooner rather than later. She could get the Key back from Ryan, hand it over, and she’d be free.

Afterwards, she’d disappear. A momentary pang of regret hit her. She wasn’t sure what for, until an image of Piers Lamont rose up in her mind. Gorgeous and sexy and…probably wanting to kill her.

It was for the best.

She stood in the side road and watched as they led Jessica out and into the black van. It drove away, and she waited to see if anything else would go down, but the road remained quiet. She guessed Jack had picked up that something was wrong and changed his mind about coming home. Or whoever had been tailing him had finished him off. That would be nice, but way too convenient—things were never that tidy. But at least it meant that there would be a delay, hopefully a considerable one, before Jack discovered that his Key was missing. And by then, it would be safely in Asmodai’s hands, and she would be off somewhere warm and sunny with no demon to tell her what to do.

After half an hour, she decided the coast was probably clear, and she could head for home. She sauntered back toward the river. The streets were quiet, and she felt quite content as she strolled along. Jessica was safe, and she couldn’t believe what a weight that was off her mind. Just a little bit to offset all the bad things she’d done. Maybe she’d become a philanthropist, dedicate herself to doing good. Hey, she might even become a nun. She chuckled to herself, but the truth was she could become anything she desired. The world was her oyster, or her playground or…

She came out of her little daydream, to find herself confronted by two figures. For a second her heart stuttered; then she looked closer and realized they were nothing but young punks. Probably after her valuables, or her body.

They weren’t getting either.

One of them smirked at her. He couldn’t have been more that seventeen. What was the youth of today coming to?

She let her eyes drift down over them, very unimpressed. When she reached their faces, they were frowning as though she wasn’t behaving as anticipated. Well, what did they expect? She’d seen far worse than them already today—hell, she’d been bitten by a vampire only this morning. A couple of skinny punks weren’t going to spoil her mood.

“Hand us your cash,” the taller one said.

She smiled sweetly. “Just a moment.” Reaching behind her, she pulled the hunting knife from the sheath at the small of her back. It was a huge blade, the edge serrated, and she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and held it in front of her.

They took one look at the blade glinting in the streetlights and bolted.

Roz chuckled as she strolled on. The world was good.

Chapter Seven

Christian handed him a glass of scotch and sat in the seat behind the desk, sipping his own drink. “Isn’t it about time you told me what this thing he stole from the convent actually is?”

Piers rested his head against the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling while he decided just how much of his murky beginnings to reveal. He’d never told anyone at the Order of his life before he was changed. He gulped his drink in one go and held out his glass, then changed his mind and put it down on the table in front of him. “Hand me the bottle, and I might.”

Christian raised an eyebrow, but leaned across and handed him the bottle of scotch. Piers unscrewed the top and took a long drag. He sighed. “It’s a key.”

“A key to what?”

“It opens portals between worlds.”

“Which portals?”

“All of them.”

Christian stood up abruptly and held out his hand for the bottle. Piers grinned and handed it to him.

“How come I’ve never heard of it?” Christian asked.

“Probably because it’s a relic from a long time ago—from before the Shadow Accords. It was supposed to have been destroyed when the Accords were drawn up—before you were even born.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“Well, obviously not.”

“Why?”

Piers shrugged. “I wasn’t involved in the Accords when they were set up—I wasn’t particularly interested in bringing order to the world back then.”

“Really? You surprise me.”

Piers ignored the sarcasm. “But I did hear that the Key was to be destroyed. Most people weren’t keen on the idea—the Key is one of the ancient artifacts of power—but the fae insisted. Have I mention how much I dislike the fae? Arrogant bastards said that while the Key existed, there was always the risk that their enemies could enter the Faelands.”

“So what happened?”

“At a guess, someone must have hidden it instead.”

He thought for a moment, remembering back—it was more than a thousand years ago and as he’d said, he hadn’t been particularly interested in the brand new Order of the Shadow Accords and whatever crap they decided. But he had known of the Key. Andarta had been negotiating for it before they had had their little falling out. The Key had been an integral part in her plot for world domination—the crazy bitch.

Demons varied in their powers. Andarta was strong, but she had a weak point—her inability to open portals with ease. The effort drained her. That had been the one thing that kept her in check, limited her movements. With the Key, she would be unstoppable.

Something occurred to him. Something he’d forgotten. All those years ago, she’d been negotiating with another demon. He shook his head. “Do you know who had the Key back then? You’re going to love this.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“None other than Tara’s father—your brand new father-in-law.”

“Asmodai?”

“Yeah. Shit, could he be involved in this?” Piers ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of the separate threads.

Christian shrugged. “So Asmodai was in possession of the Key when the Shadow Accords were drawn up. He agreed to destroy it, but instead he hid it away.”

“No doubt, just in case he ever needed it.”

“And he hid it away in the convent that your friend Jack attacked a couple of nights ago.”

“He’s no friend of mine.”

Christian had been pacing. Now he stopped in front of Piers and studied him. Piers stared back. “So what is Jack to you?” Christian asked. “There’s something that ties the two of you together.”

Piers considered not answering—it was no one’s business but his. Then he realized that was no longer the case, and maybe it was something Christian needed to know. “He’s my maker.”

Shock flared on Christian’s face. “So he’s even older than you are?”

“Yeah. But he’s been…sort of out of it for the last couple of thousand years, so I’m not sure how strong he is.”

There were strong vampires and weak ones, and their strength also tended to increase with age. But maybe that age didn’t count if you’d been locked in a tomb.

“What does ‘out of it’ mean?”

“Locked away, no doubt sleeping like an innocent babe for the majority of the time.”

“You did that?”

“Yeah. You could say that I wasn’t too pleased about the change in my circumstances. In fact, it pissed me off. And you might have noticed, when things piss me off I tend to react.”

“So you were stronger than him, which means he shouldn’t be a problem. Just get him out of the picture. You have enough justification with him bringing the police down on us.”

“Well, I could do that, but it’s not actually Jack we need worry about.”

Christian sighed. “Who is it?”

“Andarta.”

“Andarta?” The shock was back with a vengeance. Andarta hadn’t been around for two thousand years but obviously, Christian had heard of her. Why didn’t that surprise him?

“Andarta, the goddess of war and pestilence, the demon queen?”

Piers nodded, and Christian was silent for a minute while he digested the information. “The Andarta who’s been missing for the last two thousand years?”

“That’s the one. Tucked up with Jack.”

The Andarta he’d once believed he loved beyond life itself. The goddess he’d been willing to lay down that very life for. Until she had betrayed him, ordered Jack to turn him, and made that particular sacrifice impossible.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Christian asked.

“I pretended to be happy about the whole thing, lulled them into an entirely false sense of security, and drugged them both. They were locked up tight in their cozy little tomb, warded by Andarta’s own magic, by the time they woke up.”

“Clever,” Christian said.

“Maybe. But maybe it would have been cleverer to finish them off while I had the chance. I somehow doubt she’ll be accepting any more glasses of drugged wine from me.” He rubbed his scalp. He hated rehashing the past. But then it was no longer the past—enough to give anyone a headache.

“Enough of Andarta. Right now, I’m hungry.” He pressed the comm unit on his desk. “Graham, get me the London address of the mother house of the Sisters of…” Shit, he couldn’t remember. “Whatever it was they were sisters of.” He could hear the tap of Graham’s fingers on the keyboard.

“There is no mother house in London,” he said a few seconds later.

“What?”

“The mother house is in Devon.”

“Really?”

“What is it?” Christian asked.

“It appears our little nun was telling a few untruths.”

“Why?”

“How the hell should I know? But I aim to find out. Graham—find her.”

…

By the time Roz reached home, it was after two in the morning. The apartment was quiet and in darkness, but Maria popped her head out of her bedroom as Roz collapsed on the sofa.

“Is everything okay?” Maria asked.

“Fine.” She grinned. “In fact, everything is great.” Though it occurred to her that she was going to have to break the news that she was leaving soon and it was time for Sister Maria to return to the convent. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that.

“You look tired,” Maria said. “Would you like me to make some coffee?”

What she really craved was her bed, but she needed to contact Shera first—set things in motion. And also check the bug. See what was going down at the Order. Whether they had heard about Jessica being found, and whether it mattered to them. “Yeah, I’d love a coffee.”

Grabbing her laptop, she sat cross-legged on the sofa waiting for it to power up. After sending an email to Shera, she opened the program, and a whole load of conversation filled the screen.

She read it quickly, knowing she would go back and read more slowly, but right now, she was fascinated. In the last couple of days, she’d learned more about the supernatural world than in the previous five centuries. But when she got to the mention of Asmodai, she stopped and reread. She could feel her eyes going round in amazement.

Asmodai was Christian Roth’s father-in-law.

The idea was staggering. That meant Asmodai had a daughter? Somehow, she couldn’t imagine it. Did he love her? He had certainly never mentioned her in all the time Roz had known him.

She continued reading. Until she got to the end, and shock closed down her mind for long seconds.

“Holy shit. Bugger. Crap.”

Maria placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of her, and the movement brought Roz back to herself. She blinked and slammed the laptop closed.

“What is it?” Maria asked.

“We have to get out of here.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing…yet. But we have to leave. Now.”

A fist pounded on the door.

Too late.

Roz glanced from Maria to the door, her mind working furiously. What to do? Go hide under the bed and pretend they weren’t here? Or let them in and plead ignorance?

Much as she liked the hiding under the bed option, she wasn’t sure they would take the hint and go away. No, she’d have to call their bluff. She peered down at herself and for the first time ever, wished she were wearing the habit. Did she have time to put it on?

The knock came again, louder. More insistent.

“Just a minute,” she shouted toward the door. “Maria, get in your room and don’t come out unless I say.”

“What is it? Are they back? Is it the man from the convent?”

“No. I think it’s the people we met in London. They’ve probably just got a few more questions for us. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll deal with it.”

Christ, she was a good liar.

But Maria’s face cleared of the panic, and she nodded. As she disappeared into her bedroom, Roz ran for her own, stripping off her clothes as she went. She dragged the dreaded habit out of the bin—again—and tugged it on over her panties and bra—no time for nun-like underwear. They were banging at the door again—no time for the headdress either—but then she wasn’t likely to have been wearing that in bed anyway. This would have to do. She still had her heeled boots on as well, but as long as they didn’t peek under her habit, no one should notice. And no one was going to peek under her habit. Were they?

She ran a hand through her hair and gave herself a quick glance in the mirror on her way out. Shit, she was wearing makeup—what sort of nun wore make-up to bed? Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t know anything about nuns. Except Asmodai had said Piers had had a thing for nuns. The pervert.

Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly to the door. When she opened it, Piers had his hand raised to bang again.

She faked a yawn, covering her face with her hand. “Mr. Lamont? It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing here?”

He stared down at her. A long way down—why did he have to be so tall? Or rather, why did she have to be so short? His eyes narrowed as he examined her small, bristling figure.

“What?” she said belligerently. She took another deep breath—belligerence was not going to help right now. “How can I help you?” she said, her tone conciliatory.

“Sister Rosa, have we caught you at a bad time?” It wasn’t Piers, but the man behind him who spoke, his tone tinged with amusement. It was Christian Roth, Asmodai’s son-in-law. She hadn’t noticed him until that point. And behind him two more men, both huge, bursting with muscle, and dressed in black leather. They’d brought a goddamn army, for two little nuns.

“Yes,” she snapped. “I don’t suppose you’d consider going away. Perhaps you could come back in the morning.” Yeah right, like that was going to happen. The blood-suckers would be tucked up in their coffins by then.

Piers stepped to the door but hesitated, a frown forming on his face. “Invite me in,” he growled.

For a brief moment, she considered ignoring the request. Weren’t vampires supposed to be unable to enter a home without an invitation? But she had no proof that the two other men were even vampires—there would be nothing to stop them breaking down her door, and she didn’t want things to get nasty. She’d bluffed her way out of bad situations before. She could do it again. Maybe.

“Come in,” she said grudgingly and stepped aside.

Piers strode by her, followed by Christian, who gave her a grin as he passed—she was glad someone was finding this amusing. But the expression settled her nerves a little. The two other men stayed out in the hallway. She followed Piers into the living room and studied him while he looked around.

“Go check if there’s anyone else here,” he said to Christian.

Christian nodded and started opening the doors to the other rooms. She had her back to him but she knew when he reached Maria’s because there was a little squeak. Quite restrained, really.

Roz whirled around as Christian appeared in the doorway, his hand around Maria’s upper arm as he ushered her into the living area.

“Roz, what’s happening?” Maria sounded close to panic.

“Hey, leave her alone,” Roz said. “She’s a goddamn nun.”

Piers’ eyes narrowed on her. “Is she?” His gaze left her to drift down over Roz in her habit. She glanced down and realized that half the buttons were undone, revealing the black lace of her bra. She pulled the edges together and glared at him even as the heat flushed through her. Was he still hungry? She felt a twinge of pleasure in her belly at the memory of what he’d done to her. How it had made her feel.

“And what about you, Sister Rosa?” he murmured. “Or is it Roz?”

She pursed her lips. “What about me? I may be having a brief crisis of faith right now, but Maria’s the real thing, so leave her alone.”

Christian released her.

“Go sit on the sofa,” Roz said. “These…gentlemen will be gone in a few minutes.”

“Don’t count on it,” Piers muttered.

She strolled across the room and picked up her mug of coffee, took a sip, tried to appear nonchalant. “So what brings you here? Barging in on two poor defenseless women in the middle of the night.”

“I want to know why you lied.”

“About what?”

“You told us you were going to the mother house.”

“So? Is that a crime? We are going to the mother house… tomorrow. It’s in Devon, and we were too tired. They keep this apartment for any of the sisters who have to stay in London.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She didn’t blame him; it was a pathetic story.

“You might as well tell us now. We have ways of making you talk.”

Roz rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe you just said that. That is so corny.”

“Maybe so, but it’s also true. Why don’t you sit down with your friend over there and we’ll be with you in a minute.”

Roz plunked herself down on the sofa and glared as Piers and Christian started a methodical search of the place. She was so glad she had given Ryan the Key.

Maria’s hand slid into hers, and she clutched tight at her fingers. Roz gave her a reassuring squeeze and tried to think what her next move should be. At least she’d contacted Shera—so Asmodai would hopefully guess she had his Key. If he believed that, he might make some effort to get her out of the Order’s clutches before they found out what she was and killed her.

Could they find out? A flicker of excitement burst into life deep inside her. What was she? Piers had said she had fae blood—but what did that mean? Maybe he would tell her before he killed her. Despite the danger, she felt as though she was on the edge of something wildly exhilarating.

Piers had vanished into her bedroom. Christ, was he searching in there? She was trying not to think about what he might find when he appeared at the door, a smirk on his face, her vibrator clutched in his hand. For a second, she closed her eyes. Unfortunately, when she opened them, he was still there.

“Now what would a nun do with this?” he asked.

“One of the sisters must have left it. The spirit is strong but the flesh is often weak, Mr. Lamont. We shouldn’t judge others.”

“And why was your hat in the bin?”

Her horrible headdress was dangling from his other hand. “I must have dropped it in my hurry to answer the door.” She kept her tone serene, but it was an effort, and he didn’t look convinced.

Her eyes narrowed as he put the vibrator into the inside pocket of his jacket and tossed the headdress back in the bin before disappearing into her bedroom. A second later, he emerged waving the file on Jessica Thomas, and she swore under her breath.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, flipping through the file.

She shrugged. “It was already here. One of the other—”

“Sisters must have left it,” Piers finished for her. “Why do I find that hard to believe, Sister Roz?”

“I have no idea, Mr. Lamont.”

Christian came back at that moment. “Nothing in here.”

“Okay, we’ll take them back to the Order, question them there. I don’t think it will take much to get them to talk.”

Maria whimpered, and Roz glared at him. “We’re not going anywhere with you. Just leave and we’ll come in the morning and tell you everything.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said, repeating his earlier words, and Roz glowered.

Christian came to stand in front of her. “No harm will come to either of you at the Order, Sister. You have my word.”

Staring into his grey eyes, she found no guile, no secret agenda, and she was pretty certain she could trust him. Her glance flicked to Piers. He was scowling at Christian, but he didn’t counteract the promise. “Okay.” She turned to Maria. “Come on, we have to go with them, Maria. But we’ll be safe.”

Maria’s huge eyes blinked up at her, but she nodded, took a deep breath, and rose to her feet. “God will protect us.”

Piers snorted in obvious amusement.

“No,” Roz replied, “but Christian Roth will. He won’t go back on his word.” She glanced at Christian. “Can I take my things?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Roz grabbed her bag and shoved in her cell phone. She considered the laptop for a moment. There was a risk that they might take it from her and find the bugging program. In the end, she decided that the chance of hearing something useful outweighed the risk, and she slipped it into the bag. “Let’s get this over with, and maybe we can come back and get some sleep.”

Christian headed for the door, but when Roz made to follow, Piers stopped her with a hand on her arm. A shiver ran through her body from the point of contact. “Wait,” he said.

Christian was at the door, but he turned as Piers spoke.

“Take Sister Maria down,” Piers said. “We’ll catch you up.”

Christian frowned. “Piers?” She heard the warning in his tone.

Piers just grinned. “She’s not at the Order yet, and I’m still hungry. You know how I get ratty when I’m hungry.”

Christian looked for a moment longer then shrugged. “Don’t take too long and make sure she remembers nothing.”

“Of course.”

Roz watched them disappear. Sister Maria gave her one last look, and Roz tried to smile reassuringly before the door closed behind them. She stood, biting her lip, before she forced herself to turn back to the vampire.

God, he was hot. The leather pants molded to his long legs and lean hips. The black T-shirt to his broad shoulders beneath the leather trench coat. She forced her gaze upward to meet his wicked blue eyes and the muscles in her belly clenched.

“Come here, Sister.”

Oh shit, he was doing that mesmerizing thing. He was going to bite her again. Why did her traitorous body tighten at the thought? Oh God, she wanted this. Her feet edged towards him almost as if she was in thrall. When she stood close enough to touch, he reached out and stroked a finger down her throat, hooked in the neckline of her robe, and ripped downward. The robe gave way, showering tiny buttons across the floor, and she had to force herself not to react.

Think “mesmerized,” she told herself and blinked a few times.

He parted the material. “Nice,” he murmured as he slipped his hands inside and cupped her breasts in the black lace. He rubbed over her nipples, and pleasure shot to her groin, turning her instantly hot and wet.

“Is the vibrator yours?” he asked. “I’d like to see that sometime. But right now, we don’t have the time.”

Turning her in his arms, he pulled her back against the long length of his body and she felt the inhuman strength of him. With his hands still on her breasts, he lowered his head and nuzzled her throat.

She peered down as his long fingers tugged at her nipples. Her legs went weak. As she sagged, one arm wrapped around her waist to hold her upright, then his fangs grazed her throat just before he sank them deep into her flesh. His free hand glided down over her belly while he sucked her blood. It shouldn’t have felt so good. But it did.

As he got into a rhythm, the tug of his lips mirrored the throbbing pulse between her thighs. She heard a whimpering and knew it came from her throat but couldn’t prevent it. She was so close. His fingers slid beneath the lace of her panties, through the curls, and found the sweetest spot. As soon as he lightly touched the swollen bud she came in a rush so intense, she screamed. He held her easily, massaging her clit as he drank, and the pleasure washed over her in waves.

She realized through a fog of pleasure that he’d stopped drinking, and his hand was gone from between her legs. She hung limp in his arms as he licked the side of her neck, kissed her once, and turned her in his arms.

He sucked his finger, and she felt it as a spasm in her belly. Oh god, he was sexy.

“You taste delicious, Sister. But now, we’d better get out of here.”

She didn’t think she could move. In fact, she wasn’t sure she would ever walk again. He considered her for a moment and then chuckled, grabbed her around the upper arms and threw her over his shoulder.

But at least he picked up her bag on the way out.

Chapter Eight

Piers tossed her in the back seat and climbed in beside Christian.

“Everything okay?” Christian asked.

“Oh, yeah.” He could feel the buzz of her blood in his system. So sweet. So powerful. His little nun was addictive stuff; he might have to keep her around for a while. At least until he’d gotten to the bottom of whatever it was she was up to.

He peered over his shoulders as Christian pulled onto the road. In the light from the street lamps, he could see her clearly. Her hands gripped the front of her dress, and his cock twitched as he remembered the bounty hidden beneath the heavy, shapeless robes. She was all woman, with full breasts and a tiny waist above the curve of her generous hips. And she was so responsive. He could still scent the perfume of her arousal on the air.

What sort of nun wore black lace underwear?

He was looking forward to finding out.

As though she could sense his regard, her lashes flickered open, and she caught his gaze. She blinked a couple of times, then closed her eyes again and turned her face away.

He stifled a yawn. It was three in the morning. Dawn came early at this time of year, and while he no longer had to sleep through the daylight hours, he functioned better if he did. And he needed to function to the best of his abilities if he was going to get the better of Andarta for a second time. The first time he had tricked her, taken her by surprise. She’d known he loved her and hadn’t expected treachery from him. Despite what she’d done.

For a brief moment, he considered the possibility of going back to her. Ruling at her side. But there was no way. He was a different person. While he would never under any circumstances consider himself a good man, he’d come to accept that he wasn’t evil either. He’d taken a long time to realize that, but now he had a code of ethics he lived by and lines that he wouldn’t cross.

The truth was, he’d done worse things as a human than he had as a vampire. How many had he sacrificed to appease the gods he now knew to be nothing more than myth and legend?

There were only a couple of hours of nighttime remaining. He’d put the nuns in the cells for the day—they might be more willing to talk freely after a few hours of imprisonment. He also needed to talk to Carl and find out what had gone on with Jack. He’d had a quick call to say that he’d followed him back to the Isle of Dogs, but that the police had staked out the house and Jack had made himself scarce. Piers had told Carl to stay at the house, see if he could get a chance to search the place once the police finished. It was unlikely, but maybe Jack had hidden the Key there. Without the Key, Andarta’s movements would be limited even after she had regained her full power.

They pulled into the parking garage beneath the Order. Christian turned to him, the engine still running. “I’m heading home,” he said. “Will you be okay?”

Piers glanced at him. “What? You think I can’t handle a couple of nuns?”

“I was thinking more of this Jack character.”

“I doubt we’ll see him or hear from him again tonight,” Piers answered. “I’m just going to have a talk with Carl and call it a night.”

“What about those two?” Christian waved a hand to the rear of the car. Piers followed his gaze. Sister Rosa or “Roz” or whatever her name was, was sitting upright now, her eyes wide open, though they narrowed when she caught him watching her. The other sister was slumped with her head on Sister Rosa’s shoulder, her eyes closed.

“We’ll put them somewhere safe tonight and interrogate them tomorrow.” He used the word interrogate on purpose. Hopefully, they would think about it through the long day. It might soften them up for the evening.

The thing was, he couldn’t for the life of him think of what their story could be. How did Sister Rosa fit into all this? Was she a real nun? He was beginning to believe it was doubtful. Though the other was obviously the real thing, and she believed Sister Rosa. He shook his head. No doubt, he would find out tomorrow night.

He climbed out of the vehicle, opened the back door, and reached inside to pull her out. She snatched her arm away. “I can manage.”

Shrugging, he stepped back while she scrambled out, still clutching her robe in front with one hand, her bag with the other. The second sister climbed out behind her.

Christian pulled away and disappeared up the ramp.

“Come on,” Piers said and strode toward the elevators. Once inside, he pressed the button for the second to lowest level, where the cells were situated. His living quarters were on the lowest level, and he briefly contemplated taking her there instead, but he needed time alone to think through what his next move should be. No, she’d be better in the cells for the day.

The level with the cells was not designed to be comforting. Rather, it was supposed to make the occupants contemplate some dire possibilities. The corridor was narrow and bare, except for strip lights along the ceiling.

He cast a glance behind him. She was obviously trying to pretend that she wasn’t intimidated by her surroundings, but her full lower lip was caught between her white teeth, and he could see the flutter of her pulse at her throat where the blood ran close to the surface. The other sister had shrunk in on herself and appeared even smaller, her pale eyes scared. He felt a flicker of something he thought must be guilt. The idea shocked him.

He came to a halt in front of a cell door, pressed his thumb to the lock panel beside it, and the door slid open. “You in here,” he said to Sister Maria.

“Will we be here long?” Roz asked.

He shrugged. “That depends.”

“Keep us together.” When he remained silent, she reached out and rested a hand on his arm. “Please. Can’t you see she’s terrified?”

Yeah, terrified about covered it; her whole body was shaking. He was officially a monster who terrorized nuns. It shouldn’t bother him. But it did. He nodded once, almost ashamed of himself for giving in.

He hustled them both into the cell. It was small, about ten feet by ten feet, a narrow cot the only furniture and toilet facilities through a gap in the wall opposite. They’d have to take turns on the cot. They didn’t do double rooms.

“Bag,” he said.

She clutched it tighter. “Can’t I keep it?”

“Let me see.”

Reluctantly she opened it and showed him the contents. A laptop and a cell phone. She would get no signal down here, so there was no way she could use either to make contact with the outside world, and he shrugged. “Why not.”

He stood looking down at her for a minute. The wound at her neck had closed, but he could still see the mark of his fangs, and his cock twitched at the memory. Soon, he promised himself.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the sex toy and tossed it onto the small cot. “Something to keep you company.”

…

Roz glared at the door as it slid closed behind his retreating back. Dropping her bag onto the small cot, she looked around their accommodation. Hardly five star—the place was grim, but she’d been in worse. Beside her, Maria was staring at the huge pink vibrator on the bed as though she had no clue what it was. Roz reached down and rammed it into her bag. Out of sight, out of mind—she really didn’t want to think about sex right now. Certainly, she didn’t want to think about mind-blowing orgasm number two at the hands, or rather the teeth, of Mr. Sexy Vampire.

She was in trouble. Big trouble.

“Sit down before you fall down,” she said to Maria. The other woman was clearly at the end of her tether, but at least she was still upright and wasn’t screaming.

Maria sank down onto the cot, wringing her hands together. “Thank you.,”

“For what?”

“For asking to stay together. I know I must be a nuisance to you.”

Roz was exploring their new home. It wasn’t much, but at least it had a toilet and a small sink. She ran some water and splashed her face. There was no mirror, but that was hardly surprising. Stroking her fingers down over her throat, she could feel the slightly raised scar where he’d bitten her. Already the wound was closed and healing. Maybe something in the vampire’s saliva? Ugh!

When she returned to the other part of the cell, Maria was in exactly the same position. Roz ignored her for the moment. Perching on the edge of the cot, she pulled her laptop out of her bag. She switched it on and tried her cell phone while it started up. There was no signal, which didn’t surprise her. And no internet reception on the laptop, which was hardly surprising either. He wouldn’t have let her keep them if he’d believed she could reach the outside.

Did he still believe her story? She glanced down at herself. The habit was ripped to the waist.

“Did he hurt you?” Maria’s question broke into her thoughts. She glanced up to see the sister’s gaze on the ripped habit.

“No,” she said. “He didn’t hurt me.”

Maybe she could find out at least some of what he was thinking. She switched the laptop to the monitoring system. While there was no internet signal down here, perhaps the bug would still work. After all, if it was capable of sending a signal out of the building, presumably it could also do so within the walls.

She held her breath waiting. Then it flashed up. “Hurray,” she muttered.

Piers: Graham. There are two nuns in the cells downstairs. I think they might appreciate some coffee. And send Carl in here.

Aw, what a sweetie. Not such a monster after all. I could almost love him for that.

Piers: Okay, so tell me what happened.

Carl: I followed him like you said. He went to a residential area on the Isle of Dogs, but when we got close, it was obvious that the police had beaten us there.

Piers: You saw no sign of the missing girl.

Carl: No. I didn’t go inside the house, but I’m guessing they got her out, either dead or alive, before we arrived.

Piers: And the police are still watching the place?

Carl: Yeah. They left a couple of guys outside. I can go back and try and get around them. Or take them out.

Piers: No, we’ll leave it for now. See if you can find anything about the girl, but otherwise, we’ll wait until Jack contacts us, as I’m sure he will. I’m heading downstairs—I’ll be at my place, but let me know if you hear anything.

Roz stared at the screen for a minute longer, but it remained blank. She slammed the lid down on the laptop. Hopefully, Graham would appear any moment with that coffee. She’d rather he didn’t see what she was up to. Besides, if Piers was heading to his quarters, there was unlikely to be any more activity.

Five minutes later, the door opened and Graham hovered in the entrance. “Sisters?”

He searched for somewhere to put the tray he carried. There was nowhere but the floor and in the end, he bent down and placed it beside the cot.

The scent of fresh coffee drifted up, comforting. There was also a plate of cookies, and she almost smiled at the incongruity of coffee and biscuits in the grim setting.

Graham appeared a little embarrassed. Roz didn’t see why she should attempt to put him at his ease, despite the cookies, and after a minute shuffling from foot to foot, he shrugged apologetically and backed out.

He hesitated in the doorway. “I’ll leave orders you’re to be brought food tomorrow.”

“Well, that will be nice. So at least you don’t intend to starve us, whatever else you intend to do.”

His pale skin flushed. Good. Then he was gone.

Roz sighed, but reached down and poured two coffees, adding cream and sugar to both. She handed one to Maria, put the plate of biscuits between them on the cot, and sat back against the wall with a sigh. As she nibbled on a biscuit and sipped the coffee, some semblance of peace stole over her.

Whatever would happen would happen. It was out of her hands now. In some ways, she found the notion comforting. She needed to decide what she could tell them, but she supposed she should wait and find out what they already knew. At least the whole mesmerizing thing should work in her favor. After all, if he believed her to be in his power, he was also likely to believe whatever she told him.

And if worse came to worse, she could throw in Asmodai’s name. If he really was Christian Roth’s father-in-law, that had to count for something. If she said he was also her…employer? Protector? Whatever…It might put them off killing her quite so quickly. Though Asmodai had told her that if she ever revealed her connection with him he would kill her himself, and she believed him. But Asmodai wasn’t here, and if he wanted to kill her he would have to get in line.

She ate another biscuit.

Through the long day, they dozed, taking it in turns to lie on the cot. As Graham had promised, food was brought at regular intervals. They were relatively comfortable, but the waiting was driving Roz nuts. She’d fastened her robe as best she could. Only about half the buttons remained, but at least she wasn’t flashing her underwear anymore.

As it hit ten o’clock in the evening, she realized the sun would be going down, which presumably meant that the vamps would be waking up. She wished she dared ask Graham, who had turned up with their evening meal—presumably, he worked the night shift. She was sure he knew all about what Piers was, and she was dying to question him, but it would be rather giving the game away.

Christ, she wished someone would come. But when the door finally slid open, it was a stranger who stood there. And he gestured to Maria, not her. Maria cast her a worried glance, but rose slowly and shuffled toward the door. Roz patted her arm as she passed. “Remember what I said—tell them the truth. You’ve nothing to hide.”

Maria nodded and the doors shut behind them, leaving Roz alone.

She hurried across and powered on her laptop—the batteries were getting low. But there was nothing going on in Piers’ office anyway. The screen remained stubbornly blank.

Damn, she wished she had some clue as to what to do.

…

Piers had decided to start with Sister Maria. She was probably going to be easy to break. Not that he intended to break her, but he would get to the truth. He’d asked Jonas, the most powerful warlock employed by the Order, to sit in on the interrogation.

Jonas had the appearance of a frail old man, but Piers was quite aware that that was through personal choice—Jonas was a strong believer that being underestimated gave him an edge. Piers was also aware that the warlock had his own reasons for working with them, but as long as those reasons didn’t go in direct opposition to the requirements of the Order, Piers didn’t care.

Jonas’s particular strengths lay in divining the future and assessing the truth—he could usually tell if people lied—which made him very useful at interrogations. He also did a nifty line in blood charms, which was how he’d come to the attention of the Order. He’d made the charm that had kept Christian’s wife, Tara, safely hidden for more than twenty years.

It was believed that all witches and warlocks had fae blood somewhere in their ancestry, which was what gave them their powers. But unlike his little nun, there was no sweet scent of fae arising from the warlock. It made Piers wonder just how much fae blood Roz had, and what powers lay dormant inside her.

Or were they dormant?

The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. The older sister was ushered inside. Her scared gaze darted from him to Jonas and then over her shoulder to the door, as if she were contemplating doing a runner. He almost smiled—he could have told her that there was nowhere to run, but he doubted that would have a calming effect. Instead, he strode toward her.

“Look at me,” he said in a low, calm voice.

She swallowed but lifted her gaze to him.

He allowed his will to flow out, wrap around her mind, and the fear and panic receded from her eyes.

“Tell me what happened when the convent was attacked.”

She spoke slowly, not hesitating, the events unfolding exactly as they had been told the first time. Piers glanced at Jonas. The warlock gave a small nod—as far as he was aware, she was telling the truth, at least as she saw it.

When she’d finished, he gestured to one of the upright chairs. Once she sat, he took the seat opposite and considered what else to ask. He didn’t think the sister had any information of interest, or that she was hiding anything. She was exactly what she seemed. Which didn’t help him much.

“How long have you been with the Little Sisters of Mercy?” he asked.

“Eight years.”

“And how long have you known Sister Rosa?”

“She came to the convent two weeks ago.”

Ah, now that was more interesting. “From where?”

“I don’t know. I presume she was sent from the mother house and that she was seeking to get closer to God through our enclosed order. The convent was the only one remaining where the rules of enclosure were still strictly adhered to. And now the sisters are all dead.”

“Did you know her well?”

“No. We kept to ourselves.”

“And since then?”

“Sister Rosa has been nothing but kind to me. She is a good person.”

Piers had his doubts about that. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Sister Rosa was up to something. And maybe it was time to find out what. He rose to his feet and crossed to the door.

“Thank you, Sister.”

The guard was still stationed outside. “Take this one back and bring the other.”

He sat back down and pondered what could be going on. Was Sister Rosa somehow involved in the Andarta thing? Or was she just caught up in the whole mess by chance and actually had a totally different agenda? Right now, he was leaning toward the latter, but that was partly wishful thinking. He hated the idea she was involved.

They’d heard nothing from Jack. According to Carl, the police were still watching his house, so it was unlikely he’d go back there. And the girl was alive and recuperating. He only hoped Jack had made sure she wouldn’t remember anything.

One day in the not too dim and distant future, their kind was going to have to make itself known to humans. But not just yet.

He turned to Jonas. “The next one is interesting.”

“Really? In what way?”

“I don’t know, but I hope to find out. She has fae blood, but I’m certain she doesn’t know it. Just let me know if you pick anything up.”

“Will do. You have me intrigued now. Things have been a little slow around here lately.”

“Well, the good news is—that’s about to change.”

“It is? Oh, goody. Are you going to tell me how?”

“Isn’t that your job?”

Jonas opened his mouth to answer, just as the guard ushered Sister Rosa into the room. She stood inside the door, hands clasped in front of her, her eyes downcast. The room filled with her sweet scent. Beside him, he heard Jonas’s sharp indrawn breath. The warlock could sense it as well.

Piers pushed himself to his feet and strolled toward her, his body tightening as he drew near. Christ, she had a powerful effect on him.

Halting in front of her, he reached out and placed his hand under her chin, forcing her to gaze into his face. She resisted for a moment and then the tension drained from her, and she stared up at him. Her eyes were magnificent close up, a deep, dark brown, but flecked with gold, and fringed with the thickest, sootiest lashes he had ever seen. For a moment, he was the one mesmerized. He pushed the thought aside. The time for fun would be when he had confirmed that she wasn’t part of some conspiracy to break down the walls between worlds and enslave mankind for all time.

He grinned as he pushed his will into her mind. “Sister Rosa,” he murmured. “Tell me how long you’ve been with the Little Sisters of Mercy.”

She fluttered those thick lashes at him. “Six years.”

That was unexpected. So she was really a nun? Why was he surprised? A nun with unusual taste in underwear and a vibrator in her bedside cabinet.

“And where were you before? Sister Maria said you’d only been with them a couple of weeks.”

“I was at the mother house in Devon.”

“And why did you move?”

She was silent for a moment as though she was unwilling to answer. Was he going to hear something interesting at last?

“My faith was being tested. I believed the enclosed convent would bring me closer to God.”

Hmm. It sounded feasible, but he wasn’t buying it. But she couldn’t lie, not while he held her mind. Maybe someone had gotten to her. Maybe Jack at the convent or…

“Piers…”

Jonas said his name quietly from behind, and he glanced over his shoulder. Jonas gestured for him to come closer, and Piers moved to stand beside him. The warlock turned so his back was to Sister Rosa and spoke quietly. “You do know that she’s pretending, don’t you?”

Shock hit him in the gut. “Pretending?” That theory hadn’t occurred to him at all. “How the fuck can she be pretending?” He kept his voice low. But how could she be—it wasn’t possible. The only “person” he’d come across in more than a thousand years who could resist his compulsion was Tara. And she’d turned out to be half fae, half demon.

Jonas shrugged. “I have no idea, but she’s having you on, my friend.” He gazed past Piers for a moment. Piers followed the look. Sister Rosa was staring at them out of those big brown eyes, appearing the perfect picture of sweetness. Hell. Was she pretending? Had she been pretending the last couple of times? When she’d given up her sweet blood and come so easily in his arms?

“Why?”

He’d been speaking more to himself than to Jonas, but the warlock answered anyway.

“I have no clue as to the why. Now the how—that’s another matter.”

“So tell me how.” He wasn’t sure he was going to like the answer.

“I can sense a great power. It was obvious as soon as she walked in the room. But it’s off, hidden and unfocused…” He shook his head. “Almost as if she’s unaware herself.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know what she is either.”

“She knows enough to pretend to your compulsion. Which means someone must have warned her about you.”

Who? Was she part of some intricate plot? He couldn’t believe how much he hated that idea. But if she was, then how did she fit in? Who was she working with?

How far would she go to keep up the pretense?

He was about to find out.

Chapter Nine

They’d finished their little conference, and he was heading back. Roz wiped the expression from her face as he approached, his eyes staring straight in to hers.

Oh, great, the mesmerizy thingy again. She could tell by the intense expression on his face. He had stunning eyes, dark blue like a hot summer day. All the same, she wished he wouldn’t stare at her with them. It was just as well she was a good actress. She wondered who the old guy was—he looked on his last legs.

She just had to get through these questions, and afterwards, she was sure they’d let her and Maria go. Why wouldn’t they? There was one good thing about the mesmerization—at least he’d believe her. Easy.

“Sister Rosa.” He came to a halt about a foot away, a small smile playing on his lips. What had the old guy told him? She flicked a quick glance his way, and the man quirked his lips as if amused. Damn. What was going on now?

“Yes,” she murmured in her serenest voice.

“Strip.”

Okay, she was going to presume she hadn’t heard that right. Self-delusion at its best, but all the same… “What?”

“Take off your clothes.” He enunciated each word slowly so she couldn’t even pretend not to understand.

Shit.

What was going on? Did he really want her to strip for some pervy purpose or was he testing her?

Double shit.

Why would he be testing her? Did he suspect she was pretending? How? Was she a crap actress after all? She had to make a decision quickly or he’d know she was pretending anyway.

She took a deep breath. It wasn’t as though she was ashamed of her body. She could do this. After all, this guy had given her the two most mind blowing orgasms of her life—maybe he deserved to see her. She wasn’t so sure about the old guy. But even as the thoughts were racing through her mind, her hand went to the row of small buttons running down the front of her robe.

Piers’ eyes widened as though she had surprised him. Then they darkened as her fingers plucked at the tiny buttons.

She waited for him to tell her to stop. After all, he was only doing this to prove a point—that she was under his will—wasn’t he?

But she reached the last button, and still he didn’t speak out. If he believed she was afraid of this, he didn’t know her. She pushed the sleeves down her arms and the bodice of the robe pooled around her waist, leaving her top half naked but for the black bra. His gaze played across her bare skin, lingering on the too full curves of her breasts. She could feel them swelling under his regard, her nipples hardening, pushing against the lace.

A small smile curved his lips.

Yeah, the bastard knew she was pretending. Goddamn it—it looked like she wasn’t going home anytime soon.

He hadn’t known the last two times, she was sure of it—so what was different? The old guy? Who was he? Or more to the point, considering where they were, what was he?

Piers was still gazing at her chest. How far would he make her go?

Reaching behind her, so her breasts thrust out toward him, she fingered the catch on her bra. Staring into his face, she whispered the word. “More?”

He nodded and her eyes narrowed.

She dropped her arms to her sides and scowled. “Well, if you want more, you’re going to have to take it yourself. Fucking pervert.”

She heard a choke of laughter from the old guy. But she ignored it, holding her breath as she waited for Piers’ reaction. Instead, a hiss came from the old man and her gaze shot toward him. He was staring at the sigil wrapped around her upper arm. She’d always told people it was a tattoo. Obviously, he recognized it as something else.

He stepped up close and lifted a hand. “Do you mind?” he asked at the last moment.

“Would it make any difference?”

He smiled, then stroked one fingertip over the intricate design.

“What is it?” Piers asked, his tone sharp.

Jonas glanced at him. “You’ve never seen one? I’m surprised. It’s a demon’s sigil. A sort of brand of indebtedness. And it’s old. Very old.”

“How old?”

Could he tell? It would give her away. Then what would happen?

“Five hundred years, give or take a few. Your little nun has been holding out on you.” He studied her. “Just what are you?”

Roz sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?”

“Actually, yes.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m Jonas, by the way. Piers failed to introduce us.”

She eyed up the outstretched hand, reached out, and slid her palm against his. As she wrapped her fingers around his, a little jolt of power ran through her from the point of contact, as though some part of her recognized him. He must have felt it too, as his smile broadened. She tugged free. “And what are you, Jonas?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“I’m a warlock.”

At his words, the air left her lungs with a whoosh. She glanced around, found the nearest chair, and dropped. For a minute she sat, contemplating the floor. He was a warlock. And he was openly admitting it here at the Order of the Shadow Accords. Where Asmodai had told her they would kill her, if they ever found out what she was. He’d told her they killed all people like her.

“Is that like a male witch?” she asked, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

“Witch, warlock…they’re just names given by people who have no real clue what they mean.”

People like her. Thanks to Asmodai. Roz could feel the fury rising inside her. She gritted her teeth. Asmodai had lied. He’d been lying to her for five hundred years.

“That fucking bastard.”

“Who?”

Piers had backed off and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them both. She clamped her lips at his question. She had to think things through. Decide what to do next. Sticking a dagger in Asmodai’s black, lying heart would be her first choice. Was it possible to murder a demon? She was betting there were people here who knew the answer to that particular question. In fact, she was betting there were people here who knew all the answers. No doubt, that was why Asmodai had lied—he hadn’t wanted her to know what was going on. It might have allowed her to think for herself and maybe reduced her usefulness.

Or did he have other reasons?

Beneath the anger, she felt a faint hum of excitement. Was she going to finally learn some of those answers? A shiver ran over her skin and she realized she was sitting there half naked. She glared up at Piers.

“Well, now you’ve had your bit of fun, could I get dressed?”

He shrugged. “Pity. That really is one ugly outfit but go ahead.”

She tugged the dress up her arms and held it together.

“So you were faking it all the time?”

She shrugged noncommittally.

“And you remember everything we did?”

“Well, I don’t remember me doing much, but yeah, I remember you sucking my blood, if that’s what you mean. Ugh!”

“Ugh? From what I remember, you enjoyed it a lot—both times.”

She gave him a scornful glance and sniffed. “I was pretending.”

“Of course you were.” The words came out as a rough purr that sent shivers running down her spine. “Would you like to pretend some more?”

Heat washed over her at his question, flushing through her body before settling low down in her belly. A little pulse started its insistent throb between her thighs, and she glanced away. Her hands fisted at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to bring her unruly body under control.

What was it about this man that affected her so badly? He was gorgeous, but she’d met gorgeous men before and they hadn’t made her lose her common sense or her grip on reality. Hadn’t made her forget everything but the urge to push him back against the wall and rub up against him like a cat in heat. Her breasts responded to the idea, her nipples tightening, sending darts of sensation shooting down to her groin. She’d rip that T-shirt from his body…

Someone coughed, and she looked up to find Jonas watching her. She shifted her gaze to the vampire, her eyes narrowing at the amused quirk on his lips, only slightly mollified as her gaze clashed with his. She recognized her own hunger reflected and magnified in the midnight blue depths.

“So, should I leave you two alone for a moment?” Jonas asked.

“Yes,” Piers said.

“No,” she snapped. She made a concerted effort to relax, her fingers uncurling, the tension oozing out of her shoulders, leaving her a little shaky. Too much had happened over the last few days. She was struggling to take it all in. But even if the Order didn’t automatically kill people like her, she also knew they weren’t necessarily on her side. Her only hope of living her own life, free from coercion, was to get Asmodai off her back. To do that she had to finish the tasks, and that meant handing him the Key.

What did he want with it? Piers had told Christian that the Key opened the portals between worlds. All worlds. But while Asmodai might be a lying bastard, she didn’t believe he was truly evil. He was a demon, and she’d come to see that he viewed the world, and the whole morality thing, differently from most people. All the same, she was pretty sure he wasn’t some megalomaniac monster intent on taking over the world and subjugating the whole human race. But what did she know? He’d successfully managed to lie to her for five hundred years. Could she really believe anything he said?

But what else could she do? She had to contact him to tell him she had the Key, so maybe she could ask. Of course, he had an irritating habit of ignoring her questions, but at least she would have tried. She bit her lip. How many times had she used that excuse over the centuries?

First, though, she somehow had to persuade these people that she wasn’t a threat, that they could let her go. How likely was she to succeed at that?

She looked up to find both of them watching her. “I don’t suppose you have something to drink around here?” She frowned. “Do you lot even drink?”

“Us lot?” Piers asked, amusement clear in his tone.

“You know, blood-sucking monsters. Or do you just drink blood?”

“We drink.”

“That’s a relief. Well, get me a drink, and I’ll tell you everything I can.”

“We could just make you.”

“What? You’d torture a nun?” He just stared at her, and she shrugged. “Yeah, you could, but it’s been done before, and I’m stubborn, and it would be long and drawn out and messy.” She tried her sweetest smile, the one that showed her dimples. “Wouldn’t a little drink be easier?”

His gaze narrowed on her lips, then he shrugged and turned to Jonas. “Go get something, would you? Any preferences?” he asked Roz.

She realized this would leave her alone with Piers but hopefully not long enough to lose her precarious hold on her control and physically attack him. And she needed a drink. “Scotch, if you have it.”

“I’m sure I can find some somewhere. Be good while I’m gone.” Jonas hesitated at the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll knock.”

She cast him a filthy look. “Hah-hah.”

For some strange, inexplicable reason, the room seemed smaller without him. And warmer. Not enough space to house the pacing vampire. He was just so big. She tried to ignore him, occupied herself with doing up what remained of her buttons, but a prickle running over her skin made her glance up. He’d stopped his pacing and come to a halt in front of her. His hands rested on his lean hips and he was scrutinizing her in a way that made her squirm.

She decided to go on the offensive. If she pissed him off enough, maybe he wouldn’t come near her. “I bet you do this all the time, don’t you?”

“Do what?”

“You know, mesmerizing women and having your evil way with them. Making them take their clothes off and God knows what else.”

He took a step closer, and she realized she might have made a tactical error challenging this man. She got the distinct impression that he was the sort who liked a challenge. Perhaps she would have been much better going with the meek and mild approach. But she wouldn’t have been able to keep that up for long—meek had never been her strong point.

He leaned closer, resting his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. His face was only inches away and she breathed in the cool, musky scent. “Honey, if I was the sort of man to do that, you’d know it.”

“I would?” Lord, she sounded breathless.

“Yeah, if I was the sort of man to take advantage, then darling, we’d have already fucked twice.”

“We would have?”

He whispered the words against her skin. “As it is, we still have that pleasure to look forward to.”

“We do?”

“Oh yeah, never doubt it.”

He closed the last space between them, and then his mouth was on hers. She had a brief flash of awareness to her brain that said she should stop this. Now. Somehow. Before she lost the will. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d lost the will long ago. But boy, could he kiss. Besides, the warlock would be back soon; surely it wouldn’t hurt to relax her guard for just a minute.

It occurred to her—not for the first time—that she was the queen of self-delusion. All the same, she couldn’t resist. Instead of fighting him off, she tilted her head back and opened her lips beneath his, groaned as the moist velvet of his tongue thrust languidly into her mouth. One hand came up to cup the back of her skull and hold her steady while he ravaged her mouth.

It felt so good. And when his other hand slid inside the open bodice of her robe to cup her breast, it felt even better, and she still didn’t fight him off. His thumb rubbed over the stiffening peak, and she groaned into his mouth. She craved the feel of him against her bare skin. How long had it been since someone had held her, made love to her? Too long, and she arched her spine and pushed up against his hand.

Her body was no longer under her control. In a brief moment of clarity, she realized it. Too long denied that most basic of needs, contact with another person, now it was clamoring for relief.

“Slowly, sweetheart.”

She didn’t want to go slowly. He made to pull away and her hands gripped into his hair and tried to hold him close.

“Jonas is back.”

It took a second for his words to register. For her to realize that the loud hammering wasn’t the pounding of her heart but someone knocking at the door.

Oh, shit, this was so embarrassing. Piers would love this. She’d been practically begging for it. Given a little more time, she’d have tossed him across the table and taken him by force.

But he didn’t look amused. He looked pensive, and she decided that was even worse. She didn’t want him thinking about her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She gritted her teeth. “Yes.” Apart from the frustration clawing at her nerves, she was fine.

He studied her a moment longer, then straightened. “Come in.”

The door opened and Jonas entered carrying a bottle of scotch. Nothing had ever been so welcome. Then she peered past him—he wasn’t alone. Just what she needed—more people to witness her total humiliation. Could the night get any worse?

…

Her pale, creamy skin was flushed, her breathing heavy, and her arousal scented the air. She wanted him. Badly.

Which was good, because she could have him. And hopefully soon.

As he watched, she pulled herself under control, though not before shooting him a glance filled with resentment. She didn’t like the way he made her feel. Why was that? It was obvious they’d be good together. Once they’d sorted out just who and what she was.

Could she really be more than five hundred years old? She appeared no more than twenty. And such a contradiction of sweetness and toughness. And she’d said she’d been tortured before. Where and who by? And why did he have the sudden urge to find whoever it was and rip him limb from limb?

That was unexpected.

And unwelcome.

He wasn’t in the business of protecting people, however much he wanted to fuck them. At least the thought had a welcome effect on his libido—his cock had been rock hard since he’d kissed her, but now the sting of desire subsided.

Tara entered the room behind Jonas and Christian, filling the space with her own exotic blend of sweet and bitter. “Tara, how lovely to see you. What the hell are you doing here?”

She grinned. “Lovely to see you too.” She sounded just about as sincere as he had. He studied her for a minute, searching for outward signs of her demon-fae heritage, but she still looked exactly the same—maybe even prettier. Living with Christian obviously agreed with her. Who would have thought it?

He had an inkling as to why Christian had brought her here today. To take care of the sisters perhaps, take them under her wing, protect them from his evil ways. Well, she could have Sister Maria, but Sister Rosa was his.

“Hey,” he said to Sister Rosa. “What is your name?”

“Rosamund Fairfax. Roz will do.”

Tara crossed the room and put the glasses she was carrying down on the table before holding out her hand to Roz. “Hi, I’m Tara. Christian’s wife.”

Roz grasped the hand almost gingerly and shook it.

Piers took the bottle of scotch from Jonas and poured out four glasses. He hovered the bottle over the fifth glass, and glanced at Tara.

Christian shuddered. “Don’t you dare.”

A teasing look passed from Tara to Christian. “I thought you liked me to drink.”

“Maybe when we’re alone and can lock all the doors, shutter the windows, lock away anything breakable…”

Roz was glancing between them, her expression confused. Piers decided to take pity on her.

“Tara is part demon,” he said.

If anything, Roz’s frown deepened.

“Don’t you know anything?” he asked.

A scowl replaced the frown. “No,” she snapped. “So why don’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. If she was more than five hundred years old as Jonas had hinted, where the hell had she been all that time that she understood so little of their world? “Demons tend to have a rather extreme reaction to alcohol—it makes them lose all their inhibitions. Demons can be quite restrained, but give them a drink and that restraint goes straight out the window—or wherever.”

“All demons?” she asked.

“Some more than others. The more powerful can control it and even the less powerful can learn—like people, I suppose. But Tara’s a little new to all this—”

She was studying Tara now. “Why? Why is she new?”

“Perhaps she’ll explain all that to you later, but for now, I think you’re supposed to be telling us something.”

It was Roz’s turn to shrug. “There’s not a lot to tell.”

“How about starting with who you are, what you are, what that thing on your arm means, and what the hell you were doing in a convent dressed like that when you’re no more of a nun than I am?”

“She’s not?” Christian asked. He sounded surprised, so obviously Jonas hadn’t had time to fill him in.

Roz pursed her lips. “I’d make a very good nun.”

“The hell you would.” Piers moved around the table, sat in one of the chairs opposite, and gestured to the empty seats. “You may as well all get comfortable—I have a feeling this is going to take some time.” While Roz had agreed to cooperate, he had a feeling that getting information out of her was not going to be a quick or easy process. Even now, he could almost see her brain working. She caught his gaze, and her expression turned guileless. She must be an excellent actress to stay unnoticed for so long. He waited until everyone was seated. “Well?”

Instead of answering, she swallowed her scotch in one gulp, reached across the table, and poured herself another glass. Finally, she took a deep breath.

“I told you the truth—well, some of it. I don’t know what I am.” She stared at the point behind his shoulder for a minute, and he curbed his impatience. He had an idea that she hadn’t told this story to anyone, and that intrigued him.

“A while back some people were going to kill me because of what they believed I was, so I made a deal with someone, and that someone saved me. But in exchange for saving me, I was indebted to him until I had done a certain number of tasks. Apparently the mark on my arm will vanish when I’ve completed them.”

How could she manage to say so much and so little at the same time?

“When was this?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “About five hundred years ago—1495, to be precise. And I was to be burned as a witch. They killed my mother.”

Even after all this time, he saw the pain flash across her face. But not only pain; there was rage there as well, and he’d guess it was the rage that had fueled her actions all those years ago. His little Roz was a maelstrom of emotions inside that serene exterior.

“Was your mother a witch?” he asked, as much to get a reaction as anything else, but instead of her anger, she looked thoughtful.

“At the time, I believed she was totally innocent—and really she was. She knew nothing. But she was a healer. People would come to her when all else failed, and she would help them. They repaid her by burning her alive. I listened to her screams.”

Piers remembered back to the night they had arrived. The scar on the other sister’s back—the healing had been much more advanced that it should have been. “Are you a healer as well?”

He thought she wouldn’t answer, and fear flashed across her face. She must have been warned not to talk of her powers, no doubt by whoever had saved her all those years ago. And she must have lived with that fear all these years, hiding what she was, blending in with the “normal people” but always on her guard. He saw resolve harden in her face. “Yes. But more than my mother. I can bring people back from the brink of death.”

He was guessing her mother must have had a touch of fae blood, as Jonas did. But Roz had far more than a touch. “Did you know your father?” he asked.

The anger flashed again. “I remember him vaguely. He was tall and blond, and my mother loved him madly. Then one day, when I was about six, he went away, and he never came back.” Her eyes hardened. “Bastard. He promised to return, and my mother spent her whole life waiting for him, swearing that one day he would come for us. Even when the witch-finder came at the end, even as they were torturing her, she held on to the hope that he would somehow save us. He never came.”

“Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe something stopped him.” Tara spoke, and Piers glanced across at her. The little demon-fae was blinking back tears. She was such a softy—amazing, really, when you considered who and what her father was.

“I believed he was dead,” Roz said. “I hoped he was dead.”

Her tone was harsh, but Piers suspected she was very likely wrong. “I somehow doubt that he’s dead.”

“Why?”

“I’m guessing your father must have been pure-blooded fae. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be immortal.”

Shock flared on her pretty face, her eyes stretching wide. “I’m immortal?”

“Well, how the hell else did you think you’d lasted all this time?”

She shook her head, clearly bewildered. “He told me…” She broke off and her expression hardened. “That fucking bastard. If I ever get near him again, I’m going to slice him into little pieces.”

“He?”

She clamped her lips together.

“I think maybe the sigil prevents her from speaking his name,” Jonas said from across the table. “It’s a protection method.”

“So what did he tell you? How did he explain the fact that you never died, never aged? How old were you when you made this deal?”

“Seventeen.”

So young. A child.

“He told me that he’d extended my lifespan, that I would live as long as I was indebted and bore his mark, but once I was free, I would age as normal and die as normal.”

“Can I see this mark?” Christian asked.

Piers glanced across at Roz and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged, swallowed the rest of her scotch, and pushed herself to her feet.

She loosened the front of the robe, flashing her underwear, then slipped it off one arm and turned sideways to Christian so he could see the mark.

It was actually very beautiful: an intricate, almost Celtic design that wrapped around her upper arm. “Can you tell who put it there?” Piers asked Jonas.

“I might be able to find out. We have some books in the library, which might help.”

“Okay, but later.” He had a good idea anyway, considering which demon he already suspected was involved with the Key, but he’d keep that to himself until he decided what to do with the information. “For now, let’s get on with the story.”

Roz tugged up her dress and sat down. This time Piers filled her glass. She peered at him suspiciously before muttering a thank you. Underneath the calm exterior, she actually looked a little shattered. Well, she had just discovered that she was immortal.

“After my mother died, I knew they were coming for me. I stopped praying to God at that point and asked for help from another source.” She gave them an almost defiant look. “I prayed to Lucifer. And while I didn’t get the devil himself, I got the next best thing.”

“And you made a deal?” Christian asked. His tone was expressionless, but she must have sensed some censure, real or imagined, because she turned to face him, her eyes narrowed.

“I was seventeen, I’d just listened to my mother die screaming in agony, and they were about to do the same to me. So yes, I made a deal. I didn’t want to die screaming, but more—I wanted them to pay. Can you understand that?”

“Yes,” Christian replied. “You could say I made a similar deal myself. You don’t think I was born like this?” He grinned with a flash of fang and some of the tension seeped from her.

“I made a deal. I signed my life away until I had done thirteen tasks. In exchange, I got to live and I got revenge—he burned the village, killed them all, and afterward…”

She broke off, and Piers had an inkling of what had happened afterward. He decided then and there that if he ever got the chance, he would help her slice her demon into little pieces. He kept his thoughts to himself; this was a demon, after all. You could hardly expect civilized behavior. Tara was not so reticent.

“All demons are bastards,” she muttered.

“What about the fae?” Roz asked, her tone curious.

“They’re bastards as well. They just aren’t quite so obvious about it.”

“Tara is also half-fae,” Piers put in. “She’s not too fond of her family”

Roz studied her; Tara appeared human, but then so did she. “Oh. Well, I’ve always known I wasn’t particularly nice. Now at least I can blame it on my father.”

“It doesn’t matter who your father is,” Tara said fiercely. “You’re you. Just because your father is evil doesn’t mean you have to be as well.”

Well, Tara would have to think that, wouldn’t she—considering who her father was? “Go on,” Piers said. “What happened next?”

“I just went on. The years passed, and I tried to blend in, moving on before it became obvious I wasn’t aging. It was hard at first, but grew simpler as the world got bigger and traveling farther and faster became easier. Every so often I’d have to do one of the tasks—”

“What sort of tasks?” Jonas asked. “What is it you do?”

“Mostly, I find things—I’m good at it. I’m a Seeker. That’s what he called me.”

“No wonder he saved you, if he knew that. Very useful. But I’m betting there are other things you can do.”

“Really?” Now, she looked intrigued.

“You have at least half fae blood. But it’s not only that; it’s your human blood as well. We tend to think that humans have no magic, but it’s more truthful perhaps that it’s just been forgotten. When it’s combined with fae-blood, fae-magic, it can awaken.”

“How would I find out?”

Jonas rubbed his hands together. “There are tests we can do, things we can try—”

“Things you can try later,” Piers suggested.

“But—”

“Jonas isn’t going anywhere,” he interrupted her. “You can spend as long as you like playing, but first, finish the story.”

She pursed her lips, but then gave a casual shrug. “A few weeks ago, I was given my last task. The thirteenth. Complete that and I’d be free.”

“And the task was?”

“I had to find something hidden in the convent of the Little Sisters of Mercy. A Key, but I don’t know to what.” She paused and sipped her drink.

Christian glanced at him, one eyebrow quirked. He reckoned Christian was having the same notion he was. Which demon knew where the Key had been hidden all these years? He pushed the thought aside as Roz continued. “So I got myself in there. I’ve become very good over the years at acquiring new identities, becoming different people. I became Sister Rosa, did a bit of creative stuff with their records, and I was in.”

“Bet that was fun?”

She tossed him a dark look. “It was hell. But I did it, and I was going to be free at last. Then on the last night, this creep, Jack, breaks in there, kills all the nuns, and steals my Key.”

“So you had no clue what this Key did, what it could do? And you just planned on handing it over to some demon to use for who knows what purposes?”

At Christian’s words, she turned and glared. “Yes,” she hissed.

“You could have gone to someone for help.”

“Who? He told me that I was an abomination, that the Order of the Shadow Accords would kill me if they realized what I was. I know he lied about a lot of things, but did he lie about that?”

Christian shifted uncomfortably. “Well…”

“In part,” Piers said. “The Order probably wouldn’t touch you, but under the Accords, the fae have the right to kill any with mixed blood. They ignore the people like Jonas—they prefer to pretend they don’t exist, but someone with half fae blood…yeah, chances are the Walker might want you dead.”

“Great,” she muttered. “Who’s this Walker guy?”

“He’s an assassin. Nearly killed Tara, his own niece, a little while back. So I doubt he’d balk at killing you.” Piers grinned. “So, let’s not tell him.”

“Good idea. Anyway, I needed my Key back, and you were my only lead. I thought you might take me to it, and so here I am.”

Piers had the distinct impression that there was something, if not a few things, that she wasn’t telling them. But the story made sense. One thing he didn’t like was the coincidence in two people searching for this Key at the same time when it had been safely hidden for a thousand years. But maybe it wasn’t coincidence at all. He poured himself another drink and studied her. She was back to impassive, the emotion gone from her features. She appeared so young and innocent. It was hard to believe she was more than five hundred years old, had lived countless lives. She’d been under the protection of a demon all that time and yet still retained a sweetness that was palpable. Mind you, she could also drink like a fish and was as tough and fearless as anyone he’d ever met. He still couldn’t believe she’d been faking being under his control—though she hadn’t faked those orgasms or her near desperation earlier. She wanted him.

“Do you sleep with this demon?” He wasn’t quite sure where the question had come from, but he leaned forward, waiting for the answer.

“Mind your own goddamned business.”

“I’m guessing no, and you know why?”

“No, and I’d really rather you didn’t bother me with your pathetic theories.”

He ignored her. “Because, darling, you wouldn’t have come on to me quite so strongly if you weren’t so desperate.”

“Piers, you’re a pig.” It was Tara who spoke. Roz was too busy glaring at him.

Hell, he’d been called worse things.

The truth was he’d almost forgotten the others were still in the room.

Christian pushed back his chair and stood up. “I think it’s time we left.”

Roz glanced around as everyone rose to their feet except him. “So am I free to go?” she asked.

Piers opened his mouth to say no, but Christian beat him to it. “Why don’t you stay here for a while, at least. As a guest of the Order.”

“Well, I’ve not been too impressed by the guest facilities so far.”

Christian glanced at him, one eyebrow quirked.

“She’s been in the cells.”

Christian shook his head. “Ever the gentleman.” He turned to Roz. “We have guest quarters above ground. They’re very comfortable.”

“And I’m not a prisoner. I can come and go?”

Well, you can come, and frequently, Piers wanted to say. On the other hand, going wasn’t an option. But maybe he’d leave that bit of information for now. “Why don’t you stay a while, work with Jonas, identify this demon, and we might be able to get him off your back without finding this Key. Jonas can also tell you something about what goes on here and maybe what you are and what you can do.”

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

“I’ll show you to the guest quarters,” Tara said. “Get you settled in.”

Piers almost protested at that—he wanted to get her settled in—but Roz was looking a little dazed. Maybe she needed time to adjust to what was happening, and he had things to do. Trying to locate Andarta, for one.

Roz nodded, her relief obvious. He got up and followed her to the door, halting her with a hand on her arm as she was about to follow Christian and Tara out. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “I’d like that vibrator back—any relief you get is going to come from me.”

She shot him a filthy look. “Piss off.”

Chapter Ten

Roz’s mind was reeling.

She was immortal.

The Order had no plans to kill her. They would never have killed her. But her father’s people might. Whoever he was. She’d told the truth; she only had the vaguest of memories of him.

She gave Tara a quick sideways glance. Tara was half-fae, and she reminded Roz of the few hazy memories she had of her father. He’d been blond, with green eyes, just like Tara. But maybe that was something all the fae shared.

Except her. She’d gotten her looks almost exclusively from her mother.

She swayed and balanced herself with a hand flat to the cool wall. There was too much to take in; plus she reckoned she’d drunk about half a bottle of scotch in there, and she was feeling the effects.

Lack of sleep.

Worry.

Scotch.

Relief.

All were milling together in her mind.

She had an overwhelming urge to lie down in a darkened room and pass out. Soon, she promised herself.

“Come on,” Tara said from beside her. “You look about ready to keel over.”

Yeah, that about summed it up.

She glanced at the other woman curiously. This was Asmodai’s daughter—it was hard to believe. Impossible, really. Tara was about her height—which was no height at all. She had bright blond hair cut in a blunt bob and grass-green eyes, which were returning Roz’s inspection.

She grinned. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“That I’m half-demon. I take after my mother. Come on, we’ll get you settled in the guest quarters, then you can have half an hour asking questions—I can see you’ve got tons. I was the same.”

They were heading toward the elevator when Roz stopped.

“Sister Maria—we have to go get her. She’s still in the cells.”

“We called down, and someone is taking her to the guest suite. She’s probably already there.”

“Oh, good.” Behind her, she could hear the murmur of voices and knew it was Christian, Piers, and the warlock. She really couldn’t take any more of Piers right now—she wasn’t feeling strong enough to counter his barbed comments. At the same time, some inner voice whispered that she couldn’t allow him to see her as vulnerable in any way, or he would use it. “Come on, let’s go.”

Tara glanced behind her and smiled as if she could understand exactly what was going through her mind. Maybe she could? What a horrible thought.

“They can be a little overpowering,” Tara murmured.

“They can be total assholes,” Roz countered.

Tara laughed. “Christian, not so much, but Piers….Yeah, I’d say asshole covers it. It comes from getting his own way too much.” She stopped by the elevator and pressed the button. The doors slid open and she gestured inside. “He needs someone to take him down a bit.”

“Well, don’t look at me.” She let out a sigh of relief as the doors closed and the elevator swept them upward. “So you’re a newlywed?” she asked.

Tara smiled. “Six months.”

“What’s it like being married to a vampire?”

Tara opened her mouth to answer, but the doors opened and she paused. They stepped out and directly into the guest suite. Through the tall windows opposite, Roz could see the lights of the city of London spread out. They were high up.

“We’re in the penthouse,” Tara said.

Roz gave her a sharp glance. “Can you read my mind?”

“No, but your face is very easy to read, when you stop trying to hide what you’re thinking.”

Roz rubbed a finger between her brows. “I’m too tired to hide. It’s been a busy few days.”

Tara reached out and rested her palm on Roz’s forearm. “You don’t have to hide from me. Whatever you are—it makes no difference. It’s what you’ve done that matters.”

Roz shrugged free and stepped away, moving closer to the window to stare out into the night. “Well, that’s a total bummer, because I’ve done some pretty bad things in my long life.”

“I’m betting not so bad.”

She swung around. “You know nothing.”

Tara shrugged. “Look at how you’ve taken care of Sister Maria.”

“I couldn’t get rid of her. Clung like a bloody burr.”

“Of course she did. That’s why you wanted to get her out of the cells just now.”

At that moment, one of the doors that led off the reception area swung open, and Maria stood in the doorway. Wearing a fluffy dark blue robe that covered her from head to toe, she was rubbing at her short hair with a matching towel. She looked almost like a normal human being, and Roz smiled at the thought.

“Hi,” Maria said. She even sounded human. Maybe there was life after the convent.

“You okay?” Roz asked and Maria nodded.

Tara stepped forward. “Hi, we haven’t met, though you’ve met my husband, Christian. I’m Tara.”

Maria took the outstretched hand and shook it a little tentatively.

Tara turned to Roz. “Why don’t you go shower and I’ll make some coffee. Afterward, you can ask your questions and then get some sleep.”

That sounded so good.

She stripped off the heavy habit for what she really hoped was the last time. Standing under the spray of scalding water, she let some of her tension drain away. Maybe freedom wasn’t beyond her reach, and she could come out of this with everything she’d dreamed of. And more.

She no longer had to fear that she would be killed for what she was. With that realization, a huge weight dropped away from her. She felt almost light, as though bubbles were rising up inside her.

Asmodai, the selfish bastard, had lied, and she understood why. He’d aimed to keep her under his power, and what better way than to make her believe that everyone else was out to kill her? That she had no friends anywhere in the world?

Well, what had she expected? He was a demon. He’d never pretended to be Mr. Nice-guy. But somehow, she had come to trust him, and it hurt to know that he had isolated her in such a deliberately premeditated manner.

Now, she would have to decide what to do. She still had the Key. Or Ryan did. Should she hand it over to Asmodai and gain her freedom? Or should she put her trust in these people, who she really knew very little about?

They claimed they wouldn’t have actually killed her themselves, but they wouldn’t have stood in the way if her father’s people had tried to do the job. She closed her eyes and tried to remember her father, but the memory remained nebulous. It was as though there was a curtain in her mind, hiding the memories. A curtain she couldn’t draw back. So she stopped trying. For now. Instead, she switched off the water and worked out what questions to ask Tara.

What she’d really like to ask about was Asmodai. But at the same time, she was unwilling to reveal who her demon protector was until she had decided what to do, whether or not to hand the Key over to him. Surely, that wouldn’t be so bad. After all, Tara and Christian were related to the demon. They could stop him doing anything bad with the Key.

She hoped.

Roz also wanted to know about the fae. Her father’s people. Who apparently were as bad as demons but better at hiding it.

And what else was there in the world? What other monsters were there, that she had believed were mere myths and legends?

After drying herself quickly, she pulled on a robe—hers dark red, going nicely with her pale skin. She rubbed a towel over her hair, ran her fingers through it, and went back into the lounge. The welcome scent of freshly ground coffee greeted her.

Tara and Maria were sitting, facing each other, on opposite sofas with a coffee table in between. A tray stood on the table, and Roz pounced on it. She poured herself a cup, added cream and sugar, and settled herself on the seat next to Maria, so she would be able to see Tara’s face while she talked.

“So,” she said. “Are you allowed to talk to us, tell us things?”

“You’re one of us now, and Sister Maria already knows about demons…I reckon she isn’t going to be telling any tales.”

No, maybe not. Maria would probably go back to an enclosed order and never speak again. “Okay then,” Roz said. “Tell me everything.”

Tara laughed. “I don’t know everything. I’m still learning myself.”

“So tell me what’s important.”

Tara thought for a minute. Took a sip of coffee and thought some more. “They’re good people. Here at the Order. They may come across as a little…” She hesitated as if searching for the right word.

“Bad?” Roz supplied for her.

“Yes, they may come across as bad, but they do a job that needs to be done.”

“And what is that exactly?”

Tara studied her, head cocked to one side. “What do you know?”

Roz shrugged. “Nothing.”

Tara laughed again, the sound musical. “Okay, I’ll start from the beginning.” She relaxed back against the cushions. “Years ago—more than a thousand, I think—demons and the fae pretty much did what they liked. The two don’t exactly get on, though demons are fond of fae women, which probably didn’t help matters. Anyway, they fought a lot, and there was a real danger that they would end up destroying the earth and all of mankind. So the Shadow Accords were set up.”

“Who set them up?”

“The vampires.”

There was a little squeak from Maria, and Roz glanced toward her. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open.

“Vampires?”

It occurred to Roz that no one had mentioned vampires to the sister before. It was bound to be something of a shock. She patted her arm. “I’ll explain everything later.”

Tara continued, “Obviously, vampires have a vested interest in the continuation of mankind.”

“Food?” Roz guessed.

“Exactly. They were also one of the more powerful factions, and from what Christian told me—”

“Was Christian alive then?”

Tara shook her head. “No. He’s actually about the same age as you—around five hundred, give or take a few years.”

There was another high-pitched squeak from Maria. This time, Roz ignored the sound. She would explain everything later. Or not.

“Now, Piers was around—”

“He was? How old is Piers?”

“I’m not sure, but Christian said he’s the oldest vampire he knows. So I’m guessing very old, but I don’t think he was particularly interested in politics back then. Or now, either. Anyway, they sort of forced the Accords on the other races.”

“But what did the Accords do?”

“They’re really a set of rules, but the main one is that the demons would remain in the Abyss, the fae would stick to the Faelands—which they were happy to do—and the vampires would make sure they did.”

“So the Order of the Shadow Accords was set up?” Roz asked.

“Exactly. The Earth was always the fighting ground, mainly because a demon can’t enter the Faelands and the fae can’t enter the Abyss.”

Unless they had a Key. But she didn’t speak the words out loud.

“Vampires can travel between worlds, but they’ve always been seen as neutral. The only other beings that can move freely are those with mixed blood, and it has to be strong. That’s why the fae had the right to kill those with mixed blood written into the Accords. It’s why they sought to kill me. Why my mother had to pay Jonas to make a spell to keep me hidden.”

“He can do that?”

“Oh yes, he’s a very powerful warlock, though he doesn’t come cheap. Anyway, I had to be hidden because I’m half-demon, half-fae—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Maria slammed her cup down onto the table and glared. Her gaze shifted between the two of them, finally settling on Tara. “You’re part demon?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” Poor Maria sounded bewildered. “I know I should believe in demons, and I did see those things at the convent, but…” She stared at Tara and shook her head. “You don’t look evil.”

“I’m not. I don’t think.” She grinned. “To be honest, I’m still learning what I am. But one thing I do know is that even demons have free will, and they can choose how they behave. What they don’t tend to have—at least not as humans see it—is a conscience.”

Maria tugged on the belt of her robe and then clasped her hands together on her lap. “I don’t know anything anymore. I mean, where does God fit into all this?”

Tara shrugged. “Again, I don’t know. Maybe a true demon could tell you.”

Maria shuddered, and Roz didn’t think she’d be chatting to any demons anytime soon. Not if she could help it anyway.

“Go on,” she urged Tara.

“Because of my blood, I can go to either the Abyss or the Faelands—so the fae see me as a threat.”

“What about the demons?”

“They don’t care who visits the Abyss—the more the merrier, as far as they are concerned.”

“Do you know your father?”

A closed expression came over Tara’s face. For a second, Roz thought she wouldn’t answer, but she shrugged again. “I only found out who and what he was about six months ago when I went to Christian to find my family. Christian was a private investigator. I didn’t know about the vampire thing back then. Hell, I didn’t even know they existed. I had a bit of a strange childhood, but I won’t go into that now. Anyway, I only met my father once, when he helped Christian fight off the fae. He saved my life, but he’d also done things I don’t think I can ever forgive him for.”

“What about your mother?”

“She died when I was born.”

Damn. It didn’t appear as though she was going to learn much about her father’s people from Tara. “So you don’t know any of the fae?”

“I met the Walker.”

“The assassin Piers mentioned.”

“Yes—he’s also my uncle, and he’s a complete bastard.”

Roz studied her. “Does it worry you? What your parents were? What you might be?”

“Sometimes, but Christian has made me see that I can be anything I want to be, and it’s pointless trying to hide what you are. You can maybe hide from other people but never yourself. Okay, your half hour’s up. One last question.”

Roz thought for a moment. “What else is there out there?”

“Everything. Everything you’ve ever heard of. All the creatures of your nightmares. You haven’t met Carl yet—he’s a werewolf.” She grinned at Roz’s no doubt stunned expression. “And on that note, I’ll leave you to sleep.”

She rose to her feet. Roz still had a thousand questions, but she didn’t try and stop her. Exhaustion was tugging at her mind. She followed Tara out into the hallway and waited while the elevator came. As she stepped inside, Tara turned to her.

“In answer to your question earlier: it’s fantastic being married to a vampire. You should try it sometime.”

“Ha. Never going to happen.”

She waited until the door closed then leaned her forehead against the cool metal as an image of Piers flashed through her mind. The taste of him flooded her senses, and she forced the image away.

Bed.

Maria was still on the sofa. She opened her mouth, but Roz held up a hand to silence her. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Maria closed her mouth and nodded.

But as she snuggled down in the wonderfully comfortable bed, her head on the cool cotton pillows, and closed her eyes, it wasn’t Piers she saw in her mind, but Jack. And he was furious. He was back at his house; she recognized the room. He’d come for his Key and it was gone. Rage filled him. But beneath the rage, she could sense his underlying fear.

He’d failed his mistress and she would not be pleased. She would devour him and spit out the pieces.

Chapter Eleven

The vision kept her wide-awake.

Roz lay, staring out at the night sky through the open curtains. She was exhausted, but sleep eluded her, and she was restless, unable to settle. Finally, she gave up trying and dragged herself out of bed. A short walk in the open air and she might be able to sleep.

Except, what was she supposed to wear? No way was she getting that hated habit out of the bin a third time.

The robe she’d worn the previous night was thrown over one of the chairs, and she pulled that on. But she needed clothes; she would have to sort that out tomorrow. They’d said she wasn’t a prisoner, so maybe she could go shopping. But in what?

There was no sound from Sister Maria’s room as Roz stumbled through into the lounge. But she did find a suitcase sitting by her bedroom door. Her suitcase. Anger flashed through her—she hated the idea of someone pawing through her things. But the anger didn’t last long. She had clothes. Proper clothes. After dragging the case into the bedroom, she opened it and tipped the contents onto the bed.

She found jeans, panties and a tank top, and got dressed. The tank top revealed the sigil, but they had already seen it so that was no problem. She felt almost human by the time she was finished, and she grinned at herself in the mirror. Almost human was as close as she was going to get.

…

Graham was at the reception desk when the elevator opened—though it wasn’t Graham who brought the scowl to her face. Piers lounged against the wall, next to the elevators, arms folded across his chest, a slight smile curving his lips.

“Tell me this is a coincidence,” she muttered. His smile broadened, and she glanced down at herself. “You haven’t got me bugged, have you?”

His lips twitched. “Now there’s an idea. Actually, I told Graham to monitor the elevator from the penthouse.” He pushed himself up from the wall. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

She shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. “I need some fresh air. I feel like I’ve been cooped up in a cell all day.” She pursed her lips. “Hey, guess what—I have been cooped up in a cell all day.”

Piers laughed. “I could use some fresh air myself.”

She needed to ease the tension in her brain, not increase it, and he was hardly relaxing company. “I won’t go anywhere.” She put her hand on her chest. “Nun’s honor.”

He laughed again. He had a nice laugh. Sexy as hell. The sound sent little frissons skittering down her spine. Maybe if he could refrain from talking and just give the odd sexy laugh, she might manage to put up with him. “Okay, you may come with me, but only on the condition that you don’t ask any more questions. Because I won’t answer.”

He considered her briefly. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

She looked him over; he was wearing his long, leather trench coat. “You know, it’s July. You probably don’t need the coat.”

He held it open to reveal a positive arsenal of weapons underneath. She counted at least three guns. Would he give one of them to her if she asked nicely?

“Okay, point made. But do you actually need all those weapons?”

“Yes. There might be demons out there.”

“Another good point. Right, let’s move it.”

He led her out of the main doors and paused for a moment. “Anywhere you’d like to go?”

“To the river. I love the river.”

She cast him a sideways glance as they strolled along toward the embankment. “So if you see a demon, you shoot it?”

“Mostly.”

“Seems a little harsh.”

“Most of them are low grade demons. It’s actually easier for the less powerful to slip through the gaps between worlds. They know the rules, they choose to break them, and they take the consequences. And while they have little power, they do have an enormous ability to cause havoc. And most have some exceedingly anti-social habits.”

“Like what?”

“You really don’t know much, do you?”

“Actually, I know a lot. I know how to fly a plane and sail a boat. I can speak thirty seven languages, I’m a certified diver, I’ve—”

He held up a hand. “Okay, I was wrong. But you know nothing about our world.”

“So teach me.”

“Honey, there are so many things I’d like to teach you, but the anti-social habits of lesser demons is pretty low down on the list.”

She ignored the innuendo. “Okay, tell me about the fae instead.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“That won’t take long. The fae can be summed up in two words…they’re assholes.”

“Come on, tell me. Pretty please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

He talked in his low, rich voice of times long past, before the Shadow Accords. He described the beauty of the Faelands, the sweet taste of fae blood, the wars that had nearly torn the Earth apart.

She realized she could listen to him forever. His words mesmerized her as his mind powers had not. They reached the river and strolled along the embankment, breathing in the scents and watching the lights glint on the oily black water. Occasionally, they would pass a homeless person, curled up sleeping. When they passed one man awake, a brindle dog at his side, Piers reached into his pocket and tossed him some coins.

“I like dogs,” he said when she cast him a surprised glance.

They must have walked for hours, but finally he halted, raised his head, and sniffed the air. “We have to go back. Dawn will be here soon.”

“Do vampires really go up in a puff of smoke in the sunlight?”

“Younger vamps—yes. I’d just get a really bad case of sun burn.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

They were silent on the way back, but it was a companionable silence. Surprisingly, she felt comfortable with the vampire. Or maybe comfortable wasn’t the correct word, but she felt safe, and that wasn’t something she could remember feeling since the villagers had come for her and her mother all those centuries ago. That was a long time to be afraid.

Would he try anything when they got back? She was aware he desired her, and part of her wished he would and she could forget everything in a few hours of torrid lovemaking. She was betting Piers was pretty good at clearing a girl’s mind of everything but him, even without the mesmerizing thing.

Back at the SA building, he held the door open for her and followed her in. After pressing the button for the elevator, he considered her for a moment, and she held her breath. She thought about making the first move, but wasn’t sure she was ready to reveal how much she craved his touch, so she waited. In the end, all he did was lean toward her and kiss her lightly on the mouth.

“I think I like you, Rosamund Fairfax. But right now, you’re exhausted. Go back to bed.” And he gently pushed her into the elevator.

His words warmed her. She’d known he wanted her, but liking was a whole different ballgame. She liked him as well.

Back in her room, she stripped off her clothes and crawled into bed. As she fell asleep, she could still taste his kiss on her lips.

…

When she next opened her eyes, it was three o’clock the following afternoon. She had slept for almost ten hours, and she felt amazingly better for it. Stretching, she stared up at the ceiling and considered what she had to do that day.

First, she had to get hold of Asmodai. She still hadn’t heard from Shera—she’d have to phone her and hope she wasn’t in kitty-cat form. Shera would contact Asmodai—she had never found out how—and arrange a meeting for her to hand over the Key. For a moment, she contemplated asking Ryan to hand over the Key for her. But she hated to drag him any further into this world. Right now, he could still get out of this mess unscathed, but not if he encountered Asmodai. Nobody ever came face to face with a demon and got away unchanged.

No, she’d retrieve the Key and hand it over herself. She jumped out of bed and pulled on the clothes from the night before. Maria was in the kitchen trying to make coffee.

“I heard you were awake,” Maria said. “I thought you’d like some coffee.”

“Thanks.” Roz took over. “I’ll sort out getting you back to the mother house today.”

“Will they let me go?”

“Of course.”

“Will it be safe?”

“Yes.” At least, she was 99 percent sure it would be safe, and that was better than could be said of most places. She had a memory of the vision she’d had the night before. Jack knew his Key was missing. But there was nothing to tie that theft to her or the Little Sisters of Mercy. There was no reason for them to attack the mother house—unless there was something hidden in the catacombs there as well, and how likely was that? “Yes, you’ll be safe,” she said with more conviction.

Maria bit her lip. “After all this…I just don’t know anymore. I’m not sure what I want, or what I believe.”

“Well, time in the mother house will help you see.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Unlike down in the cells, Roz found she had internet access and a cell phone signal up here. She checked the bug—but obviously, Piers hadn’t gone to his office the previous night, and there was nothing to show.

She managed to get a hold of Shera in the late afternoon. She said she’d contact Asmodai and get back to her with a time and a place. Roz told her to hurry, and she replied that she’d go as quickly as she could be bothered. They’d never been friends.

Next, Roz needed to coordinate with Ryan, and arrange to pick up the Key on the way to the meeting with Asmodai. She didn’t want it in her possession any longer than absolutely necessary, but until Shera got back to her she had no clue of when and where the rendezvous would be.

Finally, she called back just as the sun was going down and told Roz that Asmodai would meet her outside St Paul’s cathedral at midnight.

Why the hell did he always have to be so melodramatic?

She called Ryan, got his voicemail, and asked him to ring her back as soon as possible, then got herself ready. The night was warm; she wouldn’t need a jacket, but she pulled a flannel shirt on over her tank top. Glancing up, she found Maria hovering in the doorway of her room.

“Are you going out?”

She nodded. “I have to meet someone.”

“Can I come with you? I’m scared to stay here alone. These…people make me nervous.”

Very perceptive. Roz thought for a minute. But there was no reason why not. She could leave Sister Maria with Ryan while she met with Asmodai, or ask Ryan to bring her back here. He owed her a favor. Or there was another option. “Would you like me to sort out a car to take you to the mother house?” Ryan might know someone who would be willing to drive tonight. If this went down okay, Roz would be making herself scarce very quickly, and it might be best if the Sister Maria was safely away as well.

She looked unsure for a moment. Roz suspected the last few days had tested if not Maria’s belief in God, then her trust that he would keep her safe. But finally, she nodded.

“Okay,” Roz said, “but we have to wait for Ryan to call first.”

Her cell went off at that moment, and she glanced at the caller ID. Thank God. She could get this over and done with.

“Ryan, I need that thing I gave you. Can I come and pick it up?”

“It’s at home.”

“And where are you?”

“I’m at the London Bridge Hospital interviewing Jessica Thomas.”

“Pretty late for visiting hours.”

She could imagine his shrug. “She called in, said she was remembering—she’s been pretty unhelpful up to now.”

“So how long will you be there?”

“Actually, you could come and meet me, and we’ll go to my place from here.”

“Okay. There’s something else you could do for me. Sister Maria needs to get to Devon; would you know of someone who could drive her there?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, she’s feeling a little homesick for the convent.”

“I’ll make a few calls.”

“Thanks.”

They arranged to meet at the hospital outside the reception area; Ryan had an apartment not far from there. She had a couple of hours before she had to meet Asmodai. It was all working out perfectly.

…

“They’re heading out. Should we stop them?”

Piers stared into space for a moment. “No. Give them the illusion of freedom, but don’t lose them.”

He didn’t think she would run. They’d made a real connection last night. He’d liked walking with her, talking together. Always, in the past, he’d been a loner and kept his own counsel, but being with her had felt right. Maybe he was going soft. But if he was, he liked the feeling, and anticipated exploring it further.

All the same, connection or not, he wasn’t going to risk his little nun vanishing as he was sure she must be capable of. She’d lived for more than five hundred years and managed to stay invisible all that time. That required some talent.

So he’d have a couple of his men tail them. He’d had people watching the guest suite all through the day, but according to the reports, neither of the women had left the place. Now darkness had fallen and they were on their way out. But where?

His phone rang. It was Graham from reception.

“There’s a man on the phone. He says his name is Jack. He’d like to talk to you.”

“Really? You’d better put him through.”

He sat back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head, and tried to guess what the hell Jack wanted. He hadn’t expected to hear from him again so soon.

What could he have to say that couldn’t have been said at their meeting?

“What have you done?” Jack snarled.

Fury. Pure, unadulterated fury. The emotion sizzled down the phone line. Something must have happened since they’d last met, and whatever it was had pissed Jack off. The girl had been found, but the loss of one donor was hardly going to have this effect.

“I don’t know. Are you going to give me a clue?”

“Where’s my fucking Key?”

“Your Key? The Key you stole from the convent?”

“You know what Key I’m talking about. Where is it?”

“Do you really think if I went to the bother of getting this Key from you, that I would calmly hand it back?”

“If you want to ally yourself with Andarta, you will.”

Maybe it was time to give Jack the good news. “Well, you see—here’s the thing. I don’t.”

Jack was silent for a minute. “You’d turn her down?”

“Oh, yeah.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Now, why don’t you calm down and explain just why you think I have this Key.”

Piers could hear ragged breathing on the other end of the phone. Rage wasn’t the only emotion Jack was feeling, but fear as well. Bordering on terror. Andarta was never one to take failure well, and he doubted two thousand years imprisoned in a tomb would have improved her disposition.

“You should have handed it over straight away,” he murmured.

“Piss off.”

However much Piers loathed the other vampire, they had a close connection, closer than father and child. Jack had made him what he was. The transition had been against his will, and it had not gone smoothly—Piers had fought every step of the way. Back then, he would have preferred death to everlasting life. At that point, he had still believed in the gods, and that the only way his soul would be freed was through mortal death. And Andarta and her machinations had put an end to that possibility. Jack had been her servant, and she’d thought to make Piers another.

She’d underestimated him and paid the price.

“You have to have it.” Jack spoke again, desperation clear in his voice.

“Tell me what you know. Where was it hidden?”

“At the house I was staying in.”

“The one the police raided?” Piers asked.

“You know about that? So it was you?”

“No. I knew about the police raid—I warned you it was only a matter of time. They had your picture. So could the police have taken the Key?”

“No way. It was hidden—by a spell. I’m not a fool. Whoever found it must have used magic to break the spell and reveal the hiding place.”

“A witch or warlock working with the police? I don’t think so.” Piers was thinking furiously, though. “What else?”

“I questioned one of the police officers.”

“You did?”

“Don’t worry—he won’t remember.”

“So what did you learn?”

“There was a woman working with the lead officer on the case. She wasn’t police; in fact, the others had never seen her before. She went in first and came out before the officer. Are you going to tell me that’s she’s not one of yours?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Whoever has your Key, it’s not us.”

“Us?” Jack muttered. “I still can’t believe you’re working for this set-up.”

Piers didn’t bother answering. He sometimes found it difficult to believe himself. And he was eager to get back to whomever this person was who was assisting the police, because he was beginning to have a few ideas, and they weren’t making him happy. As soon as he got rid of Jack, he’d call his men trailing Roz and tell them to be extra vigilant.

“You know something,” Jack said when Piers remained silent.

“Well, if I did, I’d hardly be telling you, now would I?”

“Don’t you think you’ve had your pound of flesh—two thousand fucking years’ worth of flesh? So I turned you—if I hadn’t you’d be ashes and dust by now.”

“I know, and surprisingly, I’m grateful. That doesn’t change the fact that you turned me without my consent.”

“I had no choice. Andarta wanted you.”

“And what Andarta wants, she gets?”

“Yes.”

“Well, not from me.”

“It will hardly be my problem if I don’t get that Key back—she’ll finish me.”

“And I’ll cry—really I will.”

“Fucking sarcastic bastard.”

“You are aware that’s it’s my job to stop Andarta,” Piers pointed out reasonably.

“Yeah, but I figure you don’t want this Key loose in the world either. In the wrong hands…”

“Couldn’t get much wronger than you and Andarta.”

“You loved her once,” Jack said. “And better the devil, you know.”

“Jesus, were you always such a cliché?”

Jack was silent again. Piers considered putting the phone down so he could get back to the problem of Roz. But he suspected that Jack had more to say.

“Did you like the little nun I sent you?” Jack asked.

For a moment, Piers presumed he was referring to Roz, but then realized he must mean Sister Maria. Jack actually knew nothing of Roz. He didn’t even know there had been anyone else left alive in the convent that night. “A little too skinny for my taste.”

“But you kept her there?”

“And how would you know that?”

“You think I wouldn’t be watching that place. Besides, I left my mark on her. I can find her again.”

Piers’ senses went on alert. Now, he definitely needed to contact the people trailing Roz. He didn’t trust Jack. Maybe he believed he could snatch Sister Maria back and use her as some sort of leverage, but why would he think anyone would care about the sister? Or maybe he just didn’t like unfinished business and that’s what the sister was to him.

Either way, Piers couldn’t let him get near. Jack obviously had allies, powerful ones, if he was using magic. And a whole load of lesser demons at his call from the description Maria and Roz had given of what went down at the convent—though hopefully, he couldn’t bring them across without expending an enormous amount of power. At least not without the Key.

Jesus, this was making his head hurt.

He had questions to ask Roz, and if she did have this Key, she’d better hand it over. She’d definitely left that part out of her storytelling last night. Why? At a guess, she still planned to hand it over to her demon protector in exchange for her freedom, and he couldn’t really blame her. He’d probably do the same if he’d been indebted to some demon for more than five hundred years. But while he couldn’t blame her, he still wouldn’t let her get away with it. The Key was too powerful. In the wrong hands—and that was probably any demon—it could be a powerful weapon. Also, if the fae caught a whiff of the fact that it still existed, he was going to have to deal with them—and he hated dealing with the fae. He’d no doubt have that bastard the Walker on him again, as though the Order had nothing better to do than babysit a bunch of fairies.

There was only one fae—or half-fae, at any rate—that he wanted anything to do with right now, and that was Roz. He wondered who her father was. She bore no resemblance to any fae he’d ever met, though the majority of them kept to themselves in the Faelands. Then he dismissed the issue —it was unimportant. Her father was hardly likely to come into the picture. No, Roz was nothing to do with the fae; she was his.

The thought surprised him. But he liked her, and not just for the sweetness of her blood.

“You’ve gone very quiet,” Jack said. “What are you thinking about?”

Roz. But perhaps he’d rather not share that with Jack. “That perhaps it’s time we got you off the streets.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t just lock me up at our last meeting or…” He trailed off, probably deciding it might be better not to put the options into words.

Piers grinned. “I’m considering the ‘or’ at the moment.”

“Bastard,” Jack muttered. “You’ll have to find me first.” And he hung up.

Straight away, Piers called the crew who were watching Roz. “I need you to up the surveillance. Whatever you do, don’t lose her.”

“Too late, boss. She’s already given us the slip.”

“Shit.”

Chapter Twelve

“We’re being followed.” Roz had known it from the moment they’d stepped outside the building. “Don’t stop,” she muttered as Maria ground to a halt. Maria shuffled forward. “And don’t look back,” Roz added as Maria started to glance behind her. “We don’t want them to know we know.”

She’d spotted them straight away. It was difficult not to—they were really hard to miss. Piers should employ some nice ordinary people if he expected to follow someone without being seen. These guys looked like what they were—badass vampires—or maybe she was just starting to recognize the type. Perhaps she should have gotten Asmodai to meet her during daylight hours, though she was sure the Order must have employees other than vampires. Hadn’t Tara mentioned a werewolf?

Did Piers still suspect her of something, or was he just being cautious? Either way, she had to lose the tail and fast. They were in the business district, and the place was quiet at this time of night, so there weren’t even any crowds to mingle with.

She glanced into a large, dark window as they strolled past, trying to catch a glimpse of her followers. Something moved about two blocks back. Good—they were keeping their distance.

Up ahead she could see the entrance to an underground parking garage. She touched Maria lightly on the arm, and the sister jumped. She’d been calming down, but it was obvious that all it required was a little setback—like being followed by scary badasses—to bring her nerves to the forefront. And who could blame her? This was a big turnaround from living in an enclosed convent. “Just be ready to move when I say,” Roz whispered.

She walked past the entrance, risking a quick glance back—her followers were out of sight. Grasping hold of Maria’s wrist, she tugged her backward onto the ramp that headed underground in a continuous circle. Then she ran, taking them down to the lowest level and into the huge parking area.

Down here, the light was dim—just overhead fluorescent strips, and the place was almost empty of cars. Their footsteps sounded loud on the bare concrete floor. Roz kept hold of Maria’s wrist as she ran lightly across the large echoing area. She paused for a second behind a concrete pillar and peered back toward the entrance of the ramp. Nothing moved, and she continued. She found the elevators opposite but ignored them, following the rear wall until she found a doorway, which she knew would lead into the stairwell.

Pushing open the door, she sniffed the musty air then hustled Maria in front of her. The narrow staircase led upward, and she took the stairs two at a time. At the top were two doors, one presumably the entrance into the building, the other a barred double door. She was guessing it would lead into the street, but on the opposite side of the building from where they had come in. She lowered the bar and cautiously pushed the door. It opened into an alley. Up ahead a rectangle of light indicated a brightly lit street, but the alley itself was in darkness, shadowed by the tall buildings all around. A faint scent of decay permeated the air, presumably coming from the trash dumpsters opposite rather than anything more sinister. Roz could sense no living things present. She opened the door wider and slipped outside.

“Come on,” she said to Maria. “I think we’ve lost them.” Though it had been rather easy. Obviously, Piers hadn’t been too serious about keeping tabs on her. Or maybe he hadn’t expected her to make a run for it.

As she headed toward the brightly lit street, her cell phone rang. Although she didn’t recognize the number, she could guess who it would be. For a second, she considered ignoring the call, but then she shrugged and raised it to her ear.

“They were there to protect you.” Piers’ voice sounded soft. And angry.

“Protect me from what? I don’t need protecting. You said I wasn’t a prisoner, but you have me followed like I’m some sort of criminal.” She injected her voice with as much anger as she could manage. She wasn’t angry; she would have done the same in these circumstances. But it would be better if Piers believed she had lost her tail because she was pissed off rather than because she was up to no good. Which she was.

“What are you up to?”

Obviously, she hadn’t been convincing enough. “Nothing. I just needed some fresh air. Again.”

He was silent for a minute. It felt like an hour. Finally, he spoke. “If you have the Key, or know where it is, bring it here.”

Damn. How had he found out? Or was he just guessing? “The Key?”

“Roz, you won’t like the consequences if you become an enemy of the Order.”

“I don’t plan to become your enemy—I just wanted some space.”

“Well, you’ve had some. Now get back here.”

She sighed. “I’m on my way.” Without waiting for a reply, she ended the call and shoved the phone back in her pocket. That would give her half an hour or so before he realized she’d been lying.

They’d come out onto a main road now, and the occasional car drove past. A black cab appeared around the corner, and she hurried forward, her arm raised. The cab pulled up beside her and she opened the back door, motioning to Maria to climb in. “London Bridge Hospital,” she told the driver and clambered in beside her.

“Was that Mr. Lamont?” Maria asked.

“Yeah.”

“The vampire?”

Roz glanced at the back of the driver’s head, but she doubted he was listening, and if he was, he’d probably just think they were a couple of nutters.

“Yeah.”

She hoped Maria wasn’t going to lapse into hysterics, but she appeared quite calm. “I think he’s a good man.” She gave a small smile. “Even if he does make me nervous.”

Roz shook her head at the comment, though actually, she believed the same. Well, as good as a vampire could be. There had to be people willing to do bad things in order to keep the world safe. Maybe when this was over, she could be part of that.

One of the good things in her life had been helping Ryan. She’d make a great detective. Perhaps there would be a place for her at the Order, a job. After all, they employed Jonas, the warlock. Why not her?

But of course, she knew why not. After she had given the Key to Asmodai, she was likely to be a little unpopular around the Order. She’d told Piers she didn’t plan on becoming his enemy, but that was exactly what she would be when he found out. The idea upset her more than she cared to think about. Why couldn’t anything go right for her? She’d found a place—people who could help her discover who and what she was—and now she planned to do the one thing guaranteed to alienate them. She’d be on the run again.

And she was tired of running.

She rested her head against the seat and watched the streets of London flash by. For the first time, she considered not giving the Key to Asmodai. If she handed it to Piers, would he protect her from the demon’s wrath? Asmodai was not someone you lightly crossed. But the Order was powerful. Maybe they could keep her safe.

A wave of excitement washed over her. She might be signing her death warrant, but she’d lived a long time, and she was tired of not only running but of being alone. She didn’t want to be Piers’ enemy; she wanted to be his…Her mind hesitated, unsure of anything except the fact that she desired him. Like a hunger deep in her belly, a powerful thirst that needed to be quenched. She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his strong arms holding her, his kiss, his bite. What would it feel like if he bit her while he was…

“Roz?”

She blinked as Maria spoke her name. They’d pulled up at the hospital, and she could see Ryan outside the main entrance, a cigarette in his hand. He’d given them up years ago; things must be tough.

She paid the driver, got out, and strolled toward him. “Those things will kill you,” she said, nodding at the cigarette.

“Yeah.” He glanced past her, his gaze settling on Maria. He frowned, and she saw the flicker of recognition. “Sister Maria?”

She held out a hand to him and he shook it. “Hello, Detective Ryan.”

“Just Ryan will do. You’re looking a little more…secular this evening,” he said.

“I bought some clothes.”

“Nice. I’ve found someone to take you back to the convent. She drives a cab but is off duty tonight. She’s meeting us at my place after we’ve finished here.”

“Thank you.”

“Finish here?” Roz asked. “What’s there to finish?”

“There’s actually something I’d like your help with.”

She frowned. She really hoped there wasn’t another missing person already. “What’s that?”

“Go see Jessica Thomas.”

“What?” She hadn’t been expecting that. “Why?”

“Because she’s asking for you.”

“She doesn’t know me. Is she okay?”

Ryan sighed. “Physically, she’s fine. It’s her mind that’s the problem. She says she can’t remember, but she’s scared the whole time. Scared rigid, like if she moves, something will get her.” He raised the cigarette to his mouth, then gave it a disgusted glance, tossed it to the ground, and stamped on it with his boot. “I hate this case. I have no fucking clue what is going on—except it’s some weird shit.”

“So why does she want to see me?” Roz asked.

Ryan shrugged. “She got me here tonight by saying she remembered something, but it was a lie. Once I was here, she asked me if she could see the woman I was with the night we found her—that’s you.”

“But why?”

“She says you brought her back and took the pain away. I think she would like you to take the memories away as well. She’s told us all along that she remembers nothing, but I think she’s been bluffing—just doesn’t want to think about it. Now, she says she’ll try and talk about it but only if you’re there.”

Roz glanced at her watch. It was just after eleven. She had enough problems of her own, but how could she not help? Jessica was innocent in all this.

But she’d never tried to heal a mind. Perhaps she’d do more harm than good.

“You can’t hurt her more than she’s already hurt,” Ryan said, as if reading her thoughts. “She’s damaged goods, and as of this moment no one has a clue how to fix her.”

Roz rubbed her eyes and gave a quick nod. “Lead the way. But this had better be quick or I’m out of here.”

“I know you love to pretend you don’t care, but you can drop the act with me. I’ve seen the real you.”

She scowled. No one had seen the real her. Hell, even she didn’t know who the real her was. “I don’t care.”

“If you didn’t care, Jessica would be dead in that basement.”

There wasn’t really anything she could answer to that. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she stalked into the hospital, Ryan behind her. She halted inside the door as she realized that she had no clue where she was going.

She looked over her shoulder to see Ryan grinning at her. “Don’t laugh at me, Ryan. You should know that right now, I have absolutely no sense of humor.”

He wiped the grin from his face and nodded. “This way.”

Jessica was in a private room with a uniformed officer on the door. Inside was a single bed, a cabinet, and a couple of upright chairs. The girl lay on the bed, her head turned away, her whole body rigid.

“Jessica,” Roz murmured.

She hadn’t thought the body under the sheets could get any tenser, but it was as if she were made of stone. Roz glanced behind her at Ryan and Maria and waved a hand toward the chairs. For a second, Ryan hesitated, but then he went obediently and sat down. Maria followed him.

Roz walked around the bed so she could see Jessica’s face. Her eyes were open, but she was staring, unblinking, at the bare wall opposite.

Roz crouched down so she filled the girl’s field of vision, but there was no reaction. “Jessica, you asked to see me. I’m the one who found you.”

Jessica blinked, some life returning to her gaze—a flicker of hope. She struggled to sit. “You came.”

Roz straightened then perched on the bed beside her. “How can I help? What is it you need?”

“When you touched me, back in that room, it was like you chased away the dark. Now it’s back, and I can’t see through it, and I’m scared all the time.”

Roz bit her lip, wishing she understood more about her powers. She had always worked on instinct, but she’d had nothing else to go on. What if she damaged Jessica’s mind? But studying the girl, she realized Ryan had spoken the truth. Jessica couldn’t be any worse than she was now. Living in constant fear. Roz understood a little of what that could be like, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone else. “I’ll try,” she said. “But you must tell me if I hurt you. If anything doesn’t feel right.”

Jessica nodded.

Lord, where did she start? What was she supposed to do, and how would she do it? The questions and doubts were whirling through her mind, and she clamped them down. Closing her eyes, she searched for the place inside her where her power dwelt and found it at the very center of her being. A warm excitement filled her. This was a part of her that she had denied for most of her life. She’d believed it something bad, kept it hidden, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t evil. It could be if used wrongly, but it could also be a power for good.

She rested her fingers lightly on either side of Jessica’s forehead; felt the tension, the fear, the hope. “Relax,” she murmured. As she had all those years ago, she found the door in her mind. There was a key, but she didn’t dare unlock it. Instead, she placed a hand flat against the wood and felt the pulse of power.

Jessica’s eyes widened. Roz could feel the power flowing from her mind into the girl’s, pushing away the darkness, cracking open the walls, healing the pain and fear. Filling her with light.

Roz held nothing back. Always before, she had feared using her power, had believed it would be a beacon that would draw her enemies to her. Show her for the evil creature she was. Now, for the first time in her life, she felt whole, complete, at one with herself.

It was good.

Finally, she pulled the power back into herself and drew back from the door. From now on, she wouldn’t be ashamed of what she was; she would embrace it. She looked down at the girl and saw that Jessica was smiling. She smiled back.

“Thanks,” Jessica said.

“My pleasure. Do you feel better? Can you remember?”

A shudder ran through the girl’s body. In the photograph, she had appeared slightly plump, but that was gone. She was thin to the bone now. But her expression was serene.

“I feel better. Better than I’ve ever felt. I’m still afraid, but it’s not so dark anymore.”

“There are bad things out there,” Roz said. “But there are also things that stand in front of them, fight them off, keep the world a safe place. Most of the time. Can you talk to Detective Ryan now?”

Jessica nodded and glanced past Roz’s shoulder. Roz twisted her head and saw that Maria and Ryan were standing right behind her. An expression of wonder filled Maria’s face. “You’re an angel,” she murmured.

Roz scowled. “Piss off.”

Ryan laughed and it broke the tension. “That’s the Roz we all love.”

His words warmed her, but she kept the scowl on her face as she stood up. “Make it quick, Ryan. I’m on a schedule here.”

She sat in one of the chairs as Ryan questioned Jessica, letting the words flow over her without taking too much notice. She knew what Jessica would be saying—she had seen what the girl had gone through.

It occurred to her that maybe it would be better for the Order if Jessica didn’t say any of this stuff. That they must work hard to keep under the radar, maintain the lie that their kind was nothing but a myth. But it was too late now. And anyway, she doubted that anyone would believe Jessica. They would probably conclude that Jack was some sort of vampire wannabe freak rather than the real thing.

Eventually Jessica went silent. “That’s all,” she said.

Ryan sat back. “Nobody is going to believe this.”

Which was exactly Roz’s opinion, and just as well.

He sighed. “Oh well, it’s not often I get to write up a report about vampires.”

“Just don’t mention me in it.” He opened his mouth, but she continued before he could speak. “A deal’s a deal.”

“You know I won’t.” He rose to his feet and stretched. “Okay, that’s it for the night. I might think of some more questions tomorrow. But for now, I’m beat.” He looked down at the girl. “You think you can sleep now?”

“Actually, I’m hungry. Is there any food?”

“I’m sure they can find you some. I’ll send someone in.”

Jessica called to them as she opened the door. “Roz, will you visit me again?”

“Of course,” she lied.

After all, who knew where she would be tomorrow.

Ryan appeared deep in thought as they left the hospital, and from the expression on his face, his thoughts weren’t happy ones. She couldn’t help him there. A twinge of guilt jabbed her in the gut. She had gone to Ryan that first time, had brought him into her world, where he had no right to be. Now he was getting in deeper, and that could only be bad news for him. Tara had said that one of the functions of the Order was to keep their kinds’ existence a secret. So what did they do with people like Ryan who just got too close? Maybe nothing worse than a bit of that mind control. She could only hope.

The parking lot was almost deserted. She and Maria followed Ryan toward where his SUV was parked.

He was putting the key in the lock when something slammed into her from behind, and she crashed to the floor. The air left her lungs with a whoosh and all she saw were flashes of blackness. A small scream came from beside her—Maria. Roz tried to drag herself up, but a weight pushed her down into the ground, crushing her face so her teeth were rammed against the inside of her mouth and she tasted the sweet metallic tang of her own blood.

She stopped struggling, held herself very still, and the pressure eased slightly. A few seconds later, she was dragged to her feet, wincing as pain shot through her. She’d maybe cracked a rib in the fall, but it wasn’t too bad. She could still function.

They were surrounded. One man had a hold of Sister Maria, two held onto Ryan, and at least five others stood around, all dressed in dark jackets, the hoods pulled over their faces. But beneath the hoods, she could see the gleam of crimson.

A man stood in the center of the group. He was dressed in dark pants and a black shirt. She recognized him in an instant.

Jack.

Shit.

He leaned in close and sniffed the air around her. “Who are you?”

“Mind your own goddamn business.”

He studied her speculatively, and she braced herself for pain, but instead a slight smile curled his lips, and he nodded to the man who held Maria. He twisted her arm viciously behind her back, and Maria let out a little shriek of pain before she managed to bite it back. Her gaze held Roz’s, and an expression of acceptance filled her eyes. She fully expected to die here. In that moment, Roz decided that no way was that going to happen. Not if she could help it. She would die first.

She must have tensed because Ryan spoke from beside her, his tone urgent.

“Roz!”

Two men held him, gripped by his upper arms, though she’d felt their inhuman strength and knew they weren’t men. From the crimson glint in their eyes and strong stench of sulfur that hung around them, she’d guess they were demons. Blood beaded on Ryan’s mouth but his eyes were clear. When he saw he had her attention, he shook his head slightly. He was telling her not to do anything. It was good advice—they were way outnumbered. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax. If Jack had wanted them all dead, they would already be dead. He had kept them alive for a reason. She only hoped that reason wasn’t so he could feed on them all later at his leisure.

But she didn’t think so. She actually had a good idea of what he was after. She only hoped she could use that to save her friends. A shock ran through her at the thought. But she realized it was the truth—they were her friends, however much she tried to reject the idea. Ryan had been her friend for a long time. And Maria. She couldn’t deny that she was coming to care about her in a weird sort of way.

She nodded at Ryan, and some of the tension went out of his figure.

“So shall we try again?” Jack said. “Who are you?”

“My name is Rosamund Fairfax,” she replied. “And I’m a Seeker.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Really? Who do you work for?”

“No one. I freelance.”

“And you found my Key. Why were you seeking it?”

“Money. I was offered a great deal of money—”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know. In my line of work sometimes it’s better not to know.”

He pursed his lips. Was he deciding whether to push her? “So how did you find me?”

“I was at the convent the night you attacked.”

Shock flared in his eyes. “Go on.”

“After you left, I decided my only lead to the Key was Piers Lamont, and so I went with the sister to deliver your message. Afterward, I went to the police, said I had seen you with the missing girl, and gave them a picture.”

“So that’s how they found me,” he said, almost to himself. “I knew I hadn’t been careless.”

Well, bully for you. But she kept the words to herself. See, she was learning tact.

“So you have the Key? If you’ve handed it over already, I’m afraid things aren’t going to end well for you and your friends. Though I might keep you alive for a while. My mistress likes novelties.”

“Super. But maybe I’ll pass up on the introduction. I have the Key. Obviously, not on me. But if you let us go, I’ll get it for you.”

“Of course you would. Why do I get the notion that if I let you all go, you’ll vanish without a trace?”

“I have no idea.” She tried a smile. “How about if I promise?”

“Does your word mean anything? Somehow I doubt it.” He considered her for a moment. “You care about them?” He gestured to Ryan and Maria.

She gave what she hoped was a casual shrug of her shoulder. “Of course not. They were a means to an end.”

He smiled. And it wasn’t nice. “Give her to me,” he said to the man holding Maria.

The man shoved her toward him. She stumbled, but Jack caught her in his arms. He turned her so she was held against his chest, her back flush to his body, her face staring straight at Roz. Panic and fear filled her eyes.

Roz tried to take a step forward but couldn’t move.

“I fancied a taste that night at the convent, but I didn’t have the time. If you don’t care about her, it won’t worry you to watch me drain the little nun dry.”

He clasped a hand in Maria’s short hair, tugged her head to the side. Roz saw the flash of fangs before he buried them in the sister’s throat.

Maria convulsed in his arms, but he held her too tightly against him. She gave Roz one last pleading glance and clamped her eyes tight shut.

She’d felt Piers’ bite, endured the pleasure it could bring, but it was clear there was nothing pleasurable about this embrace. And she knew he would drain her, suck her blood until the life force left her. Maria’s struggles were weaker already.

“Stop,” Roz said.

Jack didn’t pause, but his gaze lifted to hers, and she was caught in that crimson tinted stare.

“You kill her, and I swear I’ll die before I give you your fucking Key. I mean it.”

His eyes darkened, but she saw him bring himself back under control. He stroked his hands down Maria’s arms then slowly raised his head. His mouth was stained scarlet, like some parody of lipstick, and he licked his lips with obvious relish.

As he released his grip, Maria collapsed to the ground. Roz struggled to free herself. “Let me go,” she snarled.

Jack nodded, and the arms holding her released their grip. She knelt on the concrete beside Maria and felt for a pulse. It was there, but weak and thready. Roz would rather not show her powers in front of Jack, but Maria needed her help. She sent out a little pulse of power, and Maria’s eyes flickered open.

“What did you just do?” Jack asked.

“None of your goddamned business.”

“Oh, I think everything you do is my business until I get my Key. But we’ll leave it for now.”

“So how do we do this?” she asked.

“You tell me where the Key is, and I let your people go.”

“Yeah, right, of course you do. Because you’re such a nice guy.”

Once he had the Key, they were all as good as dead—or wishing they were dead.

“Okay, but your friends stay with me until I have my Key.”

She couldn’t see any way out of that. What she needed was time to devise a plan. Her mind worked furiously. While she hated to leave Ryan and Maria with the vampire and his demon friends, what choice did she have?

“We’ll be all right.” Ryan spoke in a low voice from behind her. She scrambled to her feet and turned to face him. “Go do what you have to do. We’ll be fine.” He gave her a weak smile. “At least now I know I’m not going mad and that vampires do exist.”

“Or maybe you’ve gone mad and this is all in your mind.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? But I mean it—we can survive this.”

She somehow doubted that. She doubted there was any way they were all coming out of this alive. But there was a way she could survive; she could lie, arrange a handover, and just disappear. But even as the idea flickered through her mind, she knew it wasn’t an option. Mere survival was no longer enough for her. She wanted to live, but not at any price. How ironic that she should develop a conscience just when she really didn’t need one. But there was no going back.

She gave Ryan what she hoped was a comforting smile. “I’ll get you out.” She swung back around to face Jack. “I need twenty-four hours to get the Key, and I have to be alone,” she said. “I’ve left it with someone, but if anyone else goes near, they have instructions to destroy it.” That should give her enough time to work on her limited options. “When and where?”

Jack pursed his lips. “Give me your cell phone number—I’ll be in touch.”

She told him then did her best to give him a cold hard stare. “You hurt them again and the deal is off.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Maybe I’ll make it pleasurable next time—do you think she’d enjoy that?”

Sister Maria let out a little whimper, and Roz allowed the fury to rise inside her. Always in the past, she’d kept her emotions locked away. The last time she’d really given them free rein, she’d ended up making a deal with a demon. Now, they filled her mind like a rushing of wind. Over her head, lightning flashed. She stared up into the sky as the rumble of thunder sounded close by. Inside her, power stirred uneasily, but it was a power she had no clue what to do with, or how to harness, and she ground her teeth in frustration.

She looked down to find everybody staring at her. Ryan quirked a brow. Sister Maria crossed herself. Jack stared at her with narrowed eyes. “What are you?” he asked.

She wished she knew, really she did. “You drink one more drop of blood from either of my friends and you’ll find out.” She forced herself to take a step closer and poked him in the chest—this was no time to show fear. He felt like solid rock. “Got it?”

Chapter Thirteen

After they’d gone—sort of vanished in a puff of sulfur—Roz sank down onto the pavement. The adrenaline was seeping away, leaving her shaky and weak.

She was a danger to everyone she cared about. That was why she’d always avoided emotional entanglements in the past. How had she allowed them to creep up on her now?

It was probably because she’d believed that soon she would be free of the demon. She’d thought she’d be human, normal like everyone else. That was obviously not going to be the case.

She rubbed the spot between her eyes, trying to ease the tension. She had to decide what to do. There were options; she just didn’t like any of them.

The easiest would be to follow through with her original plan. Go pick up the Key from Ryan’s place and hand it over to Asmodai. She glanced at her watch—she would be late, but he would wait…probably. And once she’d handed it over, she would be free, and she could just vanish.

And Ryan and Maria would die.

And Asmodai would do God knew what with the Key, though that didn’t worry her so much as the Ryan and Maria part. Yes, Asmodai was a demon, but she’d come to know him over the centuries. While his morals were never going to be what normal people would consider, well, moral, she didn’t believe him to be evil. But that was beside the point. How could she run away and try and live a normal life with the blood of her friends on her hands?

It wasn’t an option. So what next?

She could go get the Key and hand it over to Piers. The problem was, while she was sure Piers would do what he believed to be right, she also suspected that what he considered right would be right for the Order and not necessarily right for Ryan and Maria. While he wouldn’t go out of his way to harm humans, as Jack would, she doubted that saving them was high up on his priority list. He’d take the Key and keep it safe. But Ryan and Maria would die.

Piers would probably even explain it away—they were dying to save the world. And Maria and Ryan might even see it that way. After all, they were a nun and a policeman—both, in their ways, were dedicated to saving their fellow men.

But after being alone for so many years, Roz had come to realize that it was individual people who mattered. Oh, she might have tried to deny it to herself, tried to pretend that she didn’t need anyone, but it was a lie. Without caring for the people who made up the masses, ideals meant nothing, and the whole world might as well go to Hell.

So it looked like option two was a no-go as well.

Option three: keep the rendezvous with Jack, hand over the Key, save Maria and Ryan, and disappear before anyone could find her. She’d have to sever all contact with her old life. No doubt, Asmodai would be after her, and with the sigil still in place, he would find her, and there was a good chance he would kill her for this betrayal. She couldn’t go back to the Order. She couldn’t work with Jonas and find out who or what she was. And she would never see Piers again.

Why did that hurt so much?

She’d known he was dangerous from the first moment she had seen him. Drawn to him, she had tried to tell herself that it was purely physical, but it went deeper than that. Now she’d never have a chance to explore just how deep.

But that was insignificant in the bigger scheme of things. Jack was evil, and she had no doubt that this demon he was working for was also evil. What had happened at the convent proved that. There had really been no need to kill all the sisters. Jack could have gotten in, found the Key, and gotten out without hurting anyone. But he hadn’t. And look at his treatment of Jessica. She’d learned from Piers that vampires didn’t have to terrorize their food. They didn’t have to kill them, either. Jack did it that way because he enjoyed it. God knew what pain and misery he and his mistress—whoever she was—would wreak on earth if they came into power. Or what their ultimate goal could be—but she was guessing nothing good.

Roz had always liked to think of herself as a total badass. But actually, she was really quite pathetic.

Shit.

She was running out of options.

A car drove past, catching her in its headlights. It slowed but then picked up speed. She was sitting on the ground in a hospital car park late at night. They probably thought she’d had some bad news or something. They’d be right.

Okay, last option. Very last. She’d keep the rendezvous with Jack, make sure Ryan and Maria were safe, and then she’d find a way to destroy the Key and everything and everyone in the vicinity. Unfortunately, that would include herself, because she couldn’t let the Key out of her sight. She couldn’t risk it getting into the wrong hands.

So it looked like this was it.

The end.

More shit.

But once the idea sank in, a sense of lightness flowed through her mind, easing the tension and conflict.

She’d lived a long life, and despite her hatred of being indebted to the demon, most of the time she’d been free to act as she wished. She’d seen and done some fabulous things: traveled to America with the first colonists, climbed the Inca trails, studied with the aborigines in Australia. She’d seen and done more than any human could ever hope for. She sort of regretted that she’d never get into space—a trip to the moon was on her to-do-list—but all the same, she’d lived a full life.

And now she was going to die a goddamn hero.

Hurray.

Well, sort of. She wasn’t completely resigned. There were other things she still wanted to do. Like get Piers Lamont naked and screw his brains out.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

But it refused to be dismissed. He’d be gorgeous, all long, lean muscle. And she’d felt him pressed against her—she was betting he was big. Probably huge. Her mouth went dry, and the muscles cramped in her belly at the thought.

She really shouldn’t torment herself this way. But then again—why not?

It was presumably her last night alive. Why shouldn’t she spend it making mad, passionate love with the vampire?

And she had to keep herself safe from Asmodai until tomorrow night. She couldn’t have him coming after her now, before she had done what she needed to do. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t follow her to the Order. She’d be safe there.

Well, as safe as you could be if your intention was to seduce a vampire.

She grinned, pulled out her cell phone, and hit speed dial.

“Any chance of someone picking me up?”

…

Piers stared at the phone. She’d hung up on him. Just given him the location and hung up. She’d sounded almost as tired as he was, though there had been something else in her voice, something he couldn’t identify.

What was she doing at a hospital? Was she hurt? He couldn’t believe the panic that had rushed over him when she mentioned the word hospital. She hadn’t said she was injured in any way, but then she hadn’t said much at all. At least she had called though. After the team lost her, it had occurred to him that she might just vanish; he would never see her again and he’d hated that. He’d been on edge all night.

He considered sending Graham to pick her up. He should really get back to work—try to find some trace of Andarta—but in the end, he decided to go himself. Because strangely, he wanted to see her, make sure she was safe. Protect her. Maybe even fight her demons.

And he needed the fresh air. He was exhausted and vaguely depressed. Since the call with Jack, he’d been working with Christian and Jonas, trying to locate where Andarta was hiding out. Jonas reckoned her magic was stronger than anything he could produce and so far, they’d found no trace of her. He also had Carl out hunting for Jack, but so far—ditto—no trace.

They needed to find the Key. Who could have taken it? Who else knew, other than Roz? She was the obvious suspect, and it was time she opened up a little and told him what was going on.

So how did he get her to understand that she wasn’t alone anymore? Maybe he should back off on the sex, let her see that he’d like to be her friend as well as her lover, talk with her, show her that she could trust him…

Since when had he sought friendship from a woman? Yeah, it was official—he was going soft. But he could do it. He’d never been good at waiting, but he reckoned Roz would be worth it.

It was past one in the morning and the roads were quiet. He drove along the embankment and then away from the river. When he pulled into the car park, he saw her straight away. She was sitting on the pavement, beside a black SUV, her head resting on her knees.

She peered up as he halted the car beside her, and his eyes narrowed. She’d been in some sort of a fight, her lower lip swollen and her right cheek grazed. He had a sudden urge to find whoever had done it and tear them apart. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down and think rationally.

He leaned across and pushed open the passenger door. She stood up slowly, as though something hurt but not too badly. She was dressed as she had been for their walk last night, in tight jeans, low on her hips, and a black sleeveless vest stretched over her full breasts. The vest stopped short of the jeans, leaving a strip of skin bare at her mid-riff. It also showed off the demon’s sigil.

“You all right?” he asked as she climbed in, her movements stiff.

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

She managed a weak grin. “You should see the other guy.”

“So what are you doing here?”

For a moment, she didn’t seem to understand the question, then she glanced at the building behind them. “The hospital? Oh, it wasn’t for me. I was just visiting a friend.”

“And where’s your other friend, Sister Maria?”

She shrugged. “She decided to return to the mother house, in Devon. I was helping her sort out a car and driver.”

“She couldn’t wait until morning?”

“She didn’t want to. It’s been a hard few days for her. She needed to be among friends.”

That sort of made sense. It didn’t explain why they’d had to give his men the slip. If she’d just asked, he would have arranged for a car and driver. It pissed him off that she hadn’t come to him for help. It also didn’t explain who she had been fighting with and why. And he had a feeling she wasn’t going to tell him.

“Do you have the Key?” he asked.

“No.”

Well that was definite. He decided to leave it for now. She’d rested her head back, and her eyes were closed. In the dim glow of the streetlights, she appeared exhausted.

“Quit staring,” she muttered, and he forced his gaze back to the road.

As he pulled up in the underground garage beneath the Order, he had a feeling she was going to bolt. But instead, she turned to him as he switched off the engine, and smiled.

“You fancy a drink?” she asked.

For a moment, he thought he’d misheard. “A drink?”

She curved her lips into a smile. “I’m a bit strung out. It’s been a rough night. I just need to relax, and I don’t usually drink alone.”

He was pretty sure that was a lie.

“Please, Piers,” she murmured. “Come keep me company. I’m not going to be able to sleep, and it seems a pity to waste the night.” She rested a hand on his arm, and he tensed beneath the touch. She was coming on to him. But why?

More to the point, why did he care?

Just take what was offered. But some inner voice whispered, why now?

All the same, he might as well go along with this, see where she was heading. He studied her as the elevator carried them upward. There was something different in her face. She caught him staring and smiled serenely, and his senses went on alert. That was it. She appeared at peace. Serene was not a word he would have used to describe her. When she wasn’t acting, she was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. But there was no conflict in her dark brown eyes now. And it came to him.

She’d given up. He’d seen it before. What he saw in her was acceptance. Whatever conflicts she had been battling with she had resolved. But what had she given up and why?

And why the hell wouldn’t she just talk to him? Tell him what her problems were and he could sort them out, make everything better. His temper rose as the elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened straight into the penthouse.

“I’m going to clean up,” she said. “Why don’t you get the drinks? Mine’s a scotch.”

“Of course it is.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, and he heard the water running. He thought about following her, but in the end, he crossed the room to the cabinet and poured them both a hefty shot of scotch. He swallowed his down, feeling the warmth hit his stomach.

He was hungry. He usually didn’t have to feed all that often—the older the vampire, the less frequency he or she needed to feed. And as vampires went, he was old. But he’d been using a lot of energy, and there was something about Roz that made his gums ache.

He remembered the taste of her, so sweet, and the heat in his belly dropped lower, pooling in his groin. His cock stirred in his pants, and he shifted uncomfortably.

He wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs into her pretty throat while he thrust his cock into her willing body. And something told him she was after the same thing. The thought cooled his blood.

Why? Was he such an asshole that he had to be the one doing the running?

Maybe.

But he didn’t think that was it. With anyone else, he would have taken what was on offer. But he’d decided he needed to back off with Roz and now—

“I wish I had something more suitable to wear.”

He whirled around at the sound of her voice. She stood in the doorway, dressed in nothing but a fluffy white towel, which left bare the tops of her breasts and the length of her legs.

“More suitable for what?”

He knew he sounded surly, and a frown flickered across her face.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

He should have known she’d take the direct approach. “Nothing.” Definitely surly.

She bit her lip and crossed the room to stand in front of him, holding out her hand. “Drink?” she said when he remained motionless.

He handed her the glass and watched as she lifted it to her mouth, swallowed in one gulp, then held out the glass for more. She licked her lips, and his groin tightened almost painfully. “Can I have some more?” Her voice was a low, husky drawl. “Please.”

He reached behind him for the bottle and poured her another.

As she sipped it, she watched him over the rim of the glass. She should have looked a mess—her lip was swollen and a bruise was forming on her cheek—but she didn’t. She looked totally desirable and that just pissed him off more. What the hell was wrong with him?

“What happened tonight?” he asked.

This time the frown stayed. “Nothing that need interest you.”

“Oh, but I am interested.”

“Well, it’s really none of your goddamn business.” The words were sweetly spoken but had a certain finality to them.

Turning away, she tucked the ends of the towel in more firmly before heading for the sofa. She reclined in the corner, curling her legs beneath her and gazing at him from beneath her thick lashes. She even fluttered them a couple of times.

Beneath that towel, she was naked. He knew it. The thought was driving him wild.

“Why don’t you come and sit down?” She patted the cream leather beside her.

Why didn’t he?

When he didn’t move, she shook her head. “Why are you being so difficult?”

“Why are you coming on so strong?”

“What? You don’t like a woman to take control?”

“I do.”

“Just not me?”

“I want to understand why the change. Yesterday, you told me to piss off. And now, tonight, for some reason, you want to use me.”

“Use you?” Her tone was incredulous. And really, he couldn’t blame her. Was he crazy? Why didn’t he just take what was offered and enjoy?

Because he wanted more than what she was offering. Maybe even more than friends.

He was being an idiot. He forced the idea from his mind. After all, what else was there? He’d never aspired to anything else. He took the three steps to the couch and sat down next to her, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something wasn’t right. He sat staring straight ahead and heard her sigh beside him.

“You know, I somehow assumed this was going to be easier,” she muttered.

He knew it. She’d intended to seduce him all along. This wasn’t some spontaneous gesture when she’d suddenly realized that she couldn’t resist him. She’d planned it from when he had picked her up. Hell, probably before that, when she’d phoned him. He was probably just a convenient male body she could let off some steam with. Like a toy. Like her vibrator. It didn’t matter who he was.

A movement beside him cut off the thought. She’d put down her drink and now she turned quickly on the seat, throwing one leg over his knee so she faced him, straddling his thighs.

She sank down so she rested on his throbbing shaft, and he had to bite back a groan. Reaching between them, she loosened the knot on the towel and parted the material, baring the length of her body. Then she leaned in close and kissed the corner of his mouth.

He couldn’t resist, and he didn’t move as she shifted even closer and slanted her mouth over his. For long minutes, he drowned in the kiss, trying to close off the questions that kept buzzing at his brain. Her tongue pushed inside his mouth as she deepened the kiss. He could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest, her nipples hard little points pressing insistently against him.

She rocked her hips, rubbing against his cock, and it felt indescribably good. But not good enough.

He glanced up and caught sight of the triumph on her face.

“Why?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Why what?”

“Why me? Why now?”

“But Piers, you told me if I required relief I had to come to you.”

And at the time, she’d told him to piss off. What had changed? Why couldn’t he leave it alone, just take what she was offering? Instead, he put his hands to her hips and lifted her off him, placing her gently on the sofa before passing her the towel, which had completely fallen off.

She clutched it in her lap, not bothering to try and cover herself. Her eyes were almost black, and she glared up at him. “So you don’t want me?”

“No.” God, that was about the biggest lie he’d ever told, but he realized while he desired her, he wanted to know what was going on more than he wanted a quick shag...Which was a first.

“Really? I somehow find that hard to believe, considering the bulge I can see in your pants.”

“Maybe I do want you. But I also want to understand why you’re coming on so strong.”

“Does it somehow injure your male pride for me to take the lead?” Her lip curled up in a sneer of scorn. “You know, you’re not still living in the Dark Ages. Things have moved on. Women are allowed to make the first move these days.”

He knew that, and he had no objection. Usually.

“Or maybe you’re scared you’ll be a huge disappointment after all the big talk.”

She nearly had him with that one. But he held his ground. She needed to talk to him. Tell him what she was feeling.

That brought him up short.

Since when had he been concerned about “feelings”? Obviously, this whole Andarta thing was getting to him. Andarta had been the only woman he had ever loved. But what did love have to do with anything?

He glanced at Roz and realized he wanted more than this from her. He didn’t know what, but definitely more.

When he didn’t answer, mainly because he was speechless, shut down by his own wayward thoughts, she rose jerkily to her feet. The towel fell to the floor, and she stalked completely naked to the front door.

Yanking it open, she stood to the side and gestured to the hallway beyond. She was gorgeous. For a moment, he admired her. Maybe she wasn’t today’s idea of what was beautiful, but to him she was perfection. He was insane. Totally fucking insane.

“Out,” she snapped.

He crossed the room but paused at the door. “Will you be all right?”

She stared at him as though the question made no sense. Then her expression cleared, and she smiled sweetly. “Yes, I’ll be all right. Because guess what? Thanks to you, I’ve got my vibrator, so I don’t need some dick who can’t make up his mind whether he wants me or not. Maybe the hot-cold thing works with some women but not with me.”

There wasn’t a lot he could say to that—at least not that would make sense. So he walked out the door.

It slammed behind him, and he heard something smash against the wood. He was betting it wasn’t the scotch.

He ran a hand through his hair. What was the matter with him? He could be in there now, lodged deep inside her, drinking her down, feeling her come apart beneath him. Or on top of him or…Whatever she believed, he liked women who knew what they wanted and weren’t shy about asking for it.

No, it wasn’t the fact that she was pursuing him that bothered him. It was why she was doing it. There was an edge of desperation to her actions, and he wanted to understand her.

He was still hard, and his balls ached for some sort of relief. But it was late. Dawn came early at this time of year, and when he made love with Roz, he wanted the time to enjoy it. Tomorrow night would be soon enough. Maybe if she had the day to think about why he’d acted this way, she would come up with the right answer. And maybe she might even share it with him.

On the other hand, if she didn’t, he reckoned it was only fair to let her seduce him. Otherwise, she might get a complex. Start thinking she was undesirable. No, tomorrow night, he would give in.

…

Roz stared at the closed door.

Well, that hadn’t gone as planned.

She glanced down at herself. She was naked and hadn’t even noticed. Where the hell was that stupid towel?

It wasn’t that he hadn’t desired her. She had felt him, full and hard, beneath her. Tasted the need in his kiss.

She realized how much she had relied on this to keep her from thinking. To blank her mind of the future, or rather the lack of a future. She’d decided what she was going to do. And she wouldn’t back down.

But she was afraid. In truth, she didn’t wish to die now any more than she had five hundred years ago.

It was just that now she had learned there was a price to pay to hold on to that life. And this time the price was too high.

But she’d needed someone to hold her. More than that, she’d wanted Piers to hold her, to make love to her, to make her feel she was not alone through the last hours of this last night.

But the truth was, she was alone. As she had always been alone.

She went to the bedroom and crawled into bed, dragged the pillow into her arms, and hugged it tight. For the first time since her mother had died, she curled up in a ball and cried.

Chapter Fourteen

Roz must have managed to sleep eventually. She woke feeling terrible, then remembered why and felt even worse.

How were Ryan and Maria feeling right now? That blood-sucking bastard better not have touched them.

Thinking about blood-sucking bastards brought back the scene with Piers, and she pulled the pillow over her head and groaned. At least she would never see him again. Hopefully she would be long gone before he got up out of his coffin—or wherever it was he spent the daylight hours. Why didn’t that thought make her happier?

After showering, she dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt, sneakers on her feet just in case she had to run. Then she sat and sipped a cup of coffee while she decided what to do first. The truth was she needed help, and she had very limited choices. Before she left, she checked her cell phone. There were three messages from Shera. Asmodai must be looking for her. What a surprise—but he’d have to wait. It would do him good.

She took the private elevator down to the reception area. The place buzzed with activity this morning, but it was nine o’clock, the start of the working day for most ordinary people—and the people milling about appeared very much like ordinary human beings.

The woman from the other day was behind the desk. She didn’t appear to recognize Roz in her normal gear, which was hardly surprising—people tended not to see beyond the nun’s habit. It was what had made it such a good disguise.

“I need to see Jonas,” she said. She realized she didn’t have his last name. What was she supposed to say—Jonas the “warlock”? She had no clue whether this woman was aware of what went on below ground…Though she had known Piers, and she’d been wary of waking him during the day, so chances were she knew of the Order.

Roz hoped she could help, because if she couldn’t then she was going to have to contact Tara. And she’d rather not do that, because Tara would tell Christian and Christian would tell…

“I’m afraid Jonas is not in the building right now.” She gave Roz a dazzling smile that was all on the surface.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“He’s probably at the Crooked Hat.”

“The Crooked Hat?” Where the hell is that?

“It’s a public house in the East End. Jonas lives there when he doesn’t stay here.”

“Okay, can you give me the address?”

“No problem, Ms. Fairfax.” So she did know who Roz was. The woman scribbled an address down on a notepad by her desk and handed the paper to her. She glanced at it before shoving it in her pocket. “But Mr. Lamont left orders that if you wanted to leave the building, then Carl would take you wherever you would like to go.”

“Carl?”

Didn’t she remember Tara mentioning a Carl? Wasn’t he a werewolf? She was almost tempted to let him take her just so she could meet him. She’d never met a werewolf before, and today would be her last chance. But she could do without being lumbered with a bodyguard she would no doubt have to lose at some point during the day.

“He’s head of security here. I’ll call him for you.”

Roz smiled. “No, don’t do that. I’d much rather take a cab.”

The woman opened her mouth but Roz didn’t wait for her to speak, just turned around and strode out of the building. She half-expected someone to stop her, but she was out on the street without anyone trying.

It was a gorgeous day and she tried not to think about the fact that it was her last. Instead, she headed off at a fast walk and managed to pick up a cab a couple of blocks down. She gave him the address of the Crooked Hat.

The journey took forty minutes, mainly because the traffic was so busy at this time of day. He finally let her out in a pretty rundown area—a mix of residential houses and small businesses. The Crooked Hat was a pub, with a sign over the door showing a wizard’s tall hat, slightly bent in the middle. The pub appeared no better than the rest of the area, the dark red paint peeling off the door.

She pushed through. For a moment, she stood just inside while she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The place appeared deserted, but then someone moved behind the long bar that ran the full length of the far wall.

A young man, polishing glasses, glanced up as she approached. “We’re closed.” His tone was sullen, and Roz didn’t waste her time with a smile. Instead, she kept on coming until she came to a halt by the bar.

“I’m here to see Jonas,” she said.

“He’s not here.”

She reached out with her Seeker power and sensed the warlock’s presence somewhere close. “Yes, he is.”

“How…?” His mouth snapped shut, and he studied her for a moment. “You’re from the Order?”

”Yes.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but if it would get her a meeting with Jonas, she was quite willing to let the young man believe.

“He’s through the back.” The bartender waved toward a door in the wall opposite, but as she turned to look, the door opened and Jonas emerged. He approached with a slight frown on his face.

“Rosamund, how nice to see you here, but also a little…unexpected. You should have called; I would have met you at the Order.”

“I wanted to talk to you in private.”

He quirked one iron-gray brow. “You did? How intriguing. You’d better come through.”

She followed him back through the door and into a comfortable sitting area.

“Can I get you anything, coffee? A drink? You’re a little pale.”

She decided to get straight to the point. “Tara told me you sell spells. I’d like to buy a spell.”

He sat back in his chair and clasped his hands on his lap as he studied her. The silence stretched until she thought she would scream.

“What sort of spell?”

She shrugged. How was she supposed to know what sort of spells there were? “One that goes bang.”

“You want to blow something up?”

“I want to destroy something.” There was no other way. However hard she’d searched for alternatives—she failed to come up with anything that would keep the Key from the bad guys and free Ryan and Maria.

“Something ordinary or something magical?” Jonas asked.

That one she could answer. “Magical.”

He studied her for a moment. “Is Piers aware you are here?”

“No, and I’d rather he didn’t know.”

“Will this endanger the Order?”

“No.” Well, she hoped not. If her plan worked, it would help the Order, though she supposed handing the Key over to Piers would help them more. But she’d already decided that wasn’t an option. “I can pay, whatever your price. I have money.”

“But I already have plenty of money.”

Damn. She was hoping he’d be motivated by greed. She didn’t know him well enough to guess at what else might persuade him to help her. “So what can I give you?”

“Blood.”

“Blood? You’re not a vampire, are you?”

He laughed. “No, I’m not a vampire. Many of my spells require power, and there is power in blood, especially fae blood that is given freely.”

“How much blood?” She needed to be able to function for the rest of the day, but so long as the amount wasn’t debilitating, he was welcome to her blood. She didn’t have much use for it herself.

“Little. You will hardly notice.”

That sounded almost too good to be true. “And can you do it? Can you make a spell?”

“I can. What you are asking for is relatively simple. Now you must tell me the details.”

…

Half an hour later, she had the spell in her pocket. She could feel the pulse of the magic. Jonas had bandaged her wrist afterward, but she could still feel the sting of the cut. He’d told the truth—he’d taken only a small bowl of her blood, whispering words of magic as it dripped from her wrist, drop by precious drop.

The phone rang. Jonas picked it up and listened. “Are you aware that Carl is parked outside?” he asked her afterward.

“No, but it doesn’t surprise me. Is there a back way out?”

He rose to his feet. “This way.”

He led her through a door at the back of the room. It opened into a narrow passageway and at the end, there was another door that led to the outside and an alleyway, presumably at the rear of the bar. She turned to him as he held the door.

“Will you tell Piers?”

“He will know you came here, but my work comes with a confidentiality clause. Besides, I only work for the Order; they don’t own me.”

“Good.”

“I’m thinking we won’t meet again. A pity—I would have liked to help you discover your powers.”

Me too. “I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.”

He studied her, his head cocked to one side. “I’m thinking that perhaps your death at this point is also not meant to be.”

“That would be inconvenient to my plans. I have to do this. I can’t see another way.”

“Well, good luck.”

And she walked away.

…

Ryan’s apartment was a pit. Did he never do any housework? She stood in the center of his living room and reached out with her magic. The Key called to her, and she found it easily in a drawer in his bedroom, hidden beneath his boxer shorts.

For the first time, she examined it closely. Such a small thing to cause so much trouble. It appeared to be an ordinary, old-fashioned key of plain black iron. But if she concentrated, she could sense the pulse of magic. Old, powerful magic.

Jonas had told her that more blood was required to bind the spell to an object. She took the Key into the kitchen, found a sharp knife, and pricked the ball of her thumb. After squeezing a few drops onto the Key, she whispered the words that would start the spell.

Now, she need only speak the final words and the thing would self-destruct, hopefully taking Jack with it.

It was still before noon—she had most of the day to get through. She should do something momentous, but instead, she crawled into Ryan’s unmade bed, cuddled the pillow to her chest, and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

…

Piers awoke as the sun went down. He came instantly awake, a sense of anticipation bubbling inside him.

He still had the Andarta problem to solve, but without the Key, her movements were limited.

He frowned. If Roz didn’t have the Key, who did? Roz was a Seeker, so maybe the Order should employ her. They could get this demon off her back, and she could work for them and find the Key—if she didn’t already have it. He could keep her close by while he worked out just what it was that intrigued him so much.

Oh, the taste of her blood, so sweet, was a big part of it. As was that delectably curvaceous body. He’d been an idiot last night; he should have taken her, bound her to him by whatever means possible. He would put that right; it was first on his to-do-list. Take Roz to bed and show her how great they could be together.

His good mood didn’t last for long.

“What do you mean she hasn’t been seen all day?” Piers didn’t even attempt to hide his temper. He’d been on his way up to the penthouse when Graham had waylaid him with the news that Roz was not in the building.

Graham appeared unfazed by his foul mood. He’d seen it before. “She left this morning. Hasn’t been seen since.”

“Get Carl and meet me in my office now.”

He paced the room while he waited for them to arrive. Where the hell had she gone this time? And why? He was betting she was still pissed off with him and this just a way of getting him back for leaving her last night.

But he didn’t know. The fact was—he knew very little about her. Except he wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted anything or anyone in a long time.

Hell, last night, he’d backed away because it meant more to him than a quick shag. Now he wished he’d dragged her down to his underground lair, fucked her brains out, then chained her to the wall.

He ground his teeth together and smashed his fist into the desk.

“Ouch,” said a voice behind him.

Piers turned to see Carl lounging against the door, arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t even heard the werewolf come in. Graham hovered behind him as if reluctant to join them. “Where the hell is she?” Piers snarled. “You were supposed to go with her if she left the building.”

“Unfortunately, you never told her that. Look, you never said she was a prisoner. She was gone before I knew she was leaving. If you hadn’t wanted her to go out alone, you should have given more specific instructions.”

He was right. That didn’t make Piers feel any better. Maybe she was in danger. Who had she been fighting with last night? Could the demon have found her, taken her? Could he be punishing her even now for failing to get the damn Key?

After last night, he should maybe have considered the possibility that she would run. She hadn’t been particularly pleased with him, but still he thought she would stick around. And he still didn’t believe that she wouldn’t come back. She was just sulking.

“I followed her to The Crooked Hat,” Carl said, “but she gave me the slip. Where she went after that, I have no clue.”

“She went to see Jonas?”

The other man shrugged. “I presume so. He’d left by the time I realized she wasn’t coming out through the front door.”

“Is he in the building yet?”

“Yeah,” Graham replied. “He arrived just before dark. You want to see him?”

“Hell, yes. Get him in here.”

Graham looked relieved to have an excuse to get out of there. “I’ll go find him.”

Maybe Roz had just gone to see the warlock to find out about what she was, but Piers suspected there was more to it than that. What could she have possibly sought from Jonas? Shit, why hadn’t he stayed with her last night?

“There’s something else,” Carl said, interrupting his thoughts.

“And are you going to tell me what that is?”

“You asked me to investigate the woman who was working with the police. The one who helped them find the missing girl.”

“The one at Jack’s house?”

“Well, from the description, I’m pretty certain it was your friend, Rosamund.”

The information should have surprised him more than it did. “She’s a Seeker. She must have helped the police find the girl. She probably even gave them Jack’s description. Why the hell didn’t we put this together sooner?” It made perfect sense now. “Christ, she does have the Key.” She’d lied to him. Why did that hurt? Why had he believed her?

She must have found it that night at Jack’s place. But she hadn’t had it with her last night. He was sure of that. So, the question was, where was it and what did she mean to do with it? He was guessing she still planned to hand it over to her demon master and gain her freedom. And could he blame her?

Hell, yes.

She should have brought it to him. He would have kept her safe, found some way to pay off her debt to this demon. And if it was Asmodai—as he suspected—he was going to beat the shit out of him. Or get Tara to do it.

He hated that Roz hadn’t trusted him enough. From what she’d told him, he reckoned she’d gotten too used to taking care of herself. She didn’t know how to ask for help.

Or maybe that whole show last night had been her way of asking. Or her way of saying good-bye. He ran a hand through his long hair, pressing his skull, trying to make sense of it all. To work out what she was doing, where she could have gone.

“I take it you’ve tried her cell?”

“She’s not answering,” Carl said. “I’ve left messages, but so far nothing.”

“We’ll just have to hope that we can find her before she hands it over.”

The door opened, and Jonas slipped into the room, Graham behind him. The old man’s expression was blank. Was he hiding something? And if he was—would he tell? Piers was quite aware that the warlock had his own reasons for working for the Order; it gave him access to things that might otherwise have not been available, but despite that, he believed Jonas wouldn’t work directly against them.

“Roz came to see you this morning. Why?”

“That’s between us.”

Piers flung himself into the chair behind his desk and tried to work out the best way to get Jonas to talk. “Are you aware that she has the Key?”

“She does?” Jonas came farther into the room and sat down on one of the upright chairs. He stroked his chin as he considered the information.

“I think it’s time you decide where your loyalties lie,” Piers said. “We employed you here at your own request, but I won’t have people working for me that I can’t trust.”

“I want a place on the Council.”

Piers studied him. He should have known the warlock was after something; Jonas never did anything without good reason. “Swear a blood oath of loyalty to the Order and the position is yours,” he replied.

“Done.”

“Now what did Rosamund ask of you?”

“To make a spell of destruction.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe she wants to make sure she is free of this demon for good,” Piers mused out loud.

“Well, she’ll certainly be that.”

Piers glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“She’ll be dead. The only way to trigger the spell is up close and personal. And the spell wasn’t for a demon—well, not purposefully, though it might take one out if he were very close by. It was for a magical object.”

“The Key? But why?”

“Maybe, as you say, she wants this demon off her back. But if she has the Key, why not just hand it over to him and complete the period of debt? It was what she always planned to do.”

“Conscience?”

“Maybe.”

Piers thought back to last night. There had been an edge of desperation to her. Had she known even then what she planned to do? He had a feeling there was more to it than getting the demon off her back. She had lived with the threat of the demon for five hundred years. Why would she suddenly decide to kill him now?

What else had happened last night? She’d left here with the nun and come back without her.

He turned to Graham. “The Little Sisters of Mercy. They have a mother house in Devon. Get them on the phone for me.”

Ten minutes later, he slammed the phone down. He’d been put through to the Mother Superior when he’d said what he was phoning about. She’d asked what he knew about the convent and had claimed that Sister Maria had definitely not turned up last night.

So the sister had vanished between leaving here and when he had picked up Roz.

It had to be Jack.

The vampire must have found them after she had slipped his men. Must have taken the sister and was using her as some sort of leverage. It made sense. The Key for the sister. And he’d no doubt been right about the conscience. She was going to get the sister away from there and then destroy the Key and herself with it. Shit. He turned to Jonas.

“Can you find her?”

The warlock shrugged. “Probably. I have her blood.”

Piers regarded him for a minute. The fact was, if Jonas hadn’t intended them to find Roz, he would never have come here tonight.

“You always meant us to go after her.”

“Of course. I’ve never come across one with such raw power. I’d hate it to go to waste.”

“Is the spell you gave her real?”

“Oh yes. I don’t give out bogus spells; it would ruin my reputation. If we don’t get to her, she will die and destroy the Key and anyone within a ten meter radius.”

“Well, you’d better find her then.” He pushed himself to his feet and strode around the desk to stand in front of the werewolf. “Get as many of your men as you can and meet me in the weapons room.” He turned to Graham. “You get hold of Christian, tell him we could do with his help—sooner rather than later.”

He was going to have to save the stupid little bitch.

And she’d better be suitably grateful.

Chapter Fifteen

The condemned woman ate a hearty meal.

She’d slept for a good eight hours and woken up starving. There was absolutely nothing she was going to even attempt to eat in Ryan’s fridge, but there were cold beers, so she phoned for a pizza and sipped a beer while she waited.

The pizza was delicious, though it was slightly spoiled by the fact that Jack called while she was half way through it. Enough to ruin anyone’s appetite.

“One a.m. On the embankment by Tower Bridge.”

He didn’t give her a chance to say anything, just cut off the call. It was up to her now. She knew they were unlikely to let Ryan or Sister Maria go if they could get away with killing them off or keeping them for snacks. She had to persuade them that course of action really wasn’t in their best interests. Jonas had thrown in what he referred to as “a few cheap tricks” for the price of her spell. She was hoping it was enough.

Her appetite had gone with the phone call, and she put the rest of the pizza in the fridge. Maybe Ryan would be hungry if—or preferably when—he got home later.

She decided to walk to the meeting. It was a good hour, but really, what else did she have to do? It was a beautiful evening, warm and balmy, and at past midnight, the streets were quiet. She headed toward the river and then walked along the embankment, remembering her walk with Piers the previous evening. She’d never do that again, and regret niggled at her mind.

The water looked deep and dark, and the occasional boat chugged past her on some pleasure cruise or heading back to its moorings. Everything seemed so ordinary.

It was hard to believe anything bad could happen on a night like this. Though it had been July when her mother had died. A beautiful summer evening. Not a good month for her.

The tall towers of the bridge loomed just ahead. Glancing at her watch, she realized she had fifteen minutes until the meeting. Perching on the wall that ran along the embankment, she went over in her mind one last time what she would do. What she would say. She’d always reckoned she was a good actress—in fact, back in the nineteenth century, she’d been pretty famous for a short while, before she’d had to change her identity. Now she was going to test that acting. There were a few holes in her story, but if she was convincing enough, she might just avoid slipping through them.

She felt their approach before she saw them, like the threat of an electric storm. The atmosphere prickled with energy, throbbing with power. Asmodai had told her that it took an enormous amount of energy to open a portal between the Abyss and the Earth. That was no doubt why the Key was so valuable. She fingered it in her pocket. Such a little thing to hold so much power.

To the right of her, the air shimmered as though the world was splintering. She’d seen it a few times now—first when Asmodai answered her prayers—but the sight still filled her with a sense of awe. For a second, the black gaping maw of the portal stood empty, and then Jack stepped through. He appeared way too happy for Roz’s liking, a smarmy smile pasted on his face as he caught sight of her. Maybe tinged with a little relief. He hadn’t been entirely sure of her. That fact might help her later.

He was followed by a clutch of demons, similar to those that had attacked the convent. Half-man, half-beast, with very little intelligence reflected in their crimson eyes. Soldiers, she guessed—just hired muscle.

Through the swarm, she could make out Ryan and Maria. The breath she hadn’t realized she was holding oozed out of her in a sigh; they were still alive. Then her teeth clamped together as the group parted and she got a better look at them.

Ryan’s face was a mass of bruises, one eye almost shut, and he was holding his left arm clutched against his chest. The other wrapped around Maria’s shoulders, supporting her. He caught sight of Roz, and relief flooded his face. Another one who hadn’t been entirely sure she would turn up. He’d probably put his keen detective mind to work and deduced that if she had failed at her side of the bargain, their end was likely to be messy and unpleasant.

Roz turned her attention to Maria; there was no sign of any damage, but despite that, she looked worse than Ryan. Her shirt was ripped, so she clutched it to her chest, and her skin appeared pale, almost white. Bloodless.

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

Without giving herself time to think, she stalked toward Jack. He just stood there with that asinine grin on his face as she pulled back her fist and punched him in the nose. She put all her strength behind the blow, but he hardly swayed under the force. She did manage to split his lip, though, and a bead of blood welled up. He licked it slowly, and his eyes narrowed.

“I told you not to touch them,” she said.

“It was just a snack. She’s alive isn’t she?” His tone was laced with amusement.

She wanted to rant at him. But what good would that do?

Maria’s eyes held a blank, dead expression, and black hatred welled up inside Roz. Sometime very soon, she was going to make Jack pay. She was just sorry that his death would be a quick one and she wouldn’t be around to gloat afterward.

She turned away from him as a wave of power rippled through the air. A woman stood poised in the entrance to the portal, pale against the darkness.

Her head rose as though she was sniffing the night. Long blond hair, eyes so dark they appeared black, and pale, pale skin, almost luminescent and marked with swirling runes that pulsated with power. She was both beautiful and repellent. Roz’s skin prickled and she had to fight the urge to shuffle back as the woman stepped out.

Jack’s boss, she presumed.

She was a demon, that much was obvious; Roz could feel it in the power that thrummed in the night air. Asmodai had told her that there were many different kinds of demons, some more powerful than others. Some were merely scary monsters, like Jack’s friends, with little potential other than carnage. Others had incredible powers. Asmodai had never admitted it, but she’d always gotten the impression that he was one of the more powerful creatures of the Abyss. Maybe because he was such an arrogant bastard—she couldn’t imagine anyone telling him what to do, and he must have gotten that attitude from somewhere.

The woman looked around her, her gaze locking on Roz, and a cold, hard lump of fear formed in Roz’s gut.

“I am Andarta,” she said.

Roz shrugged. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “The Key,” she said. “Give it to me.”

“Let them go, and I will.” Roz waved toward Ryan and Maria.

A slow smile curled her beautiful lips. “Jack’s taken a fancy to your little friend. I think he’d like to keep her. So why don’t we just take the Key and you with it?”

Roz curled her upper lip and rolled her eyes. “You think I’m that stupid?”

Andarta’s gaze ran down over her, then back up to her face, and Roz had to fight the urge to squirm.

Pure evil.

“I don’t actually know. In fact, I have no clue what you are. There’s fae in there, I think, but you’re shrouded, hidden…”

“Does it matter? Could we get back to the point of this meeting?”

“So tell us how bright you are. Give me a reason not to take the Key and hand you over to Jack.”

Roz took a deep breath. Let the lies begin. “There’s a spell on the Key. If I don’t remove it then it will go bang when it leaves my person.”

“Really? A spell?”

“A big powerful one.”

Andarta turned to Jack. “You believe her?”

He shrugged. “Where did you get the spell?”

“A man I met at the Order. Jonas—he’s a warlock.”

“She’s telling the truth—about the warlock at least. I’ve heard of him—very powerful.”

Andarta let out a long-suffering sigh. “Let them go.” She waved a hand at Ryan and Maria, and the demons around them parted.

Roz strode across, trying to appear confident. She came to a halt in front of Ryan. “Is she okay?”

“No. That bastard—”

“Could I have my Key now?” Andarta interrupted.

God, the woman was impatient, but she’d have to wait a little while longer. “No. They need to get away first, and thanks to your asshole friend there”—she waved a hand in Jack’s direction—“she’s not in a condition to walk anywhere.”

Jack took a step toward her. Roz whirled to face him and snarled. “Back off, or I will destroy it.”

Roz usually went to amazing lengths to hide her powers. Now, a little show might do some good, help with the next part of the plan. She reached out a hand. Ryan flinched and she realized that beneath his show of strength, he was terrified. It made her think more of him. “Let me help,” she said.

She rested a hand on his bruised cheek and allowed the magic to flow through her and into him. His lashes lowered for a moment. When he raised them, some of the terror was gone, and the bruises began to fade. She shifted her touch to the arm cradled across his middle. She could tell by the way he held it that the wrist was broken.

“You tried to protect her?” she asked, nodding at Maria.

“Yeah, for all the good it did her.”

“You tried, and that’s what matters.”

“You really believe that?” He glanced behind her. “We can ‘try’ all we like and it will make no difference.”

Roz didn’t answer. What could she say? Instead, she sent out a pulse of magic and healed the fracture, saw the last of the pain clear from his eyes.

“What are you?” he asked.

“Yes, what are you?” Andarta added. Her impatience had faded, and now she studied Roz as though she might be something interesting after all.

“I’m a witch,” Roz said. She realized as the words popped out that she’d never actually said them aloud. “Let me look at her,” she said to Ryan.

He still held Maria tight against his side. Her eyes were closed now, and she hadn’t reacted in any way to their conversation. Reaching out, Roz touched Maria’s cheek lightly. Her lashes flickered up, her eyes dead.

Roz could do this. After all, she’d helped Jessica; she could help Maria. Closing her eyes, she searched for the door, and this time she found it easily. Her palm rested on Maria’s forehead, and she sent the power down, like liquid light along the connection between them. For a minute, nothing happened; there was no answering spark from Maria.

Roz pressed her fingers harder into the other woman’s forehead.

“Come on, Maria,” she muttered. “Don’t let the bastard get the better of you. He’s an insignificant piece of shit scum, not worth it.”

Soft laughter drifted up from behind her; at least Andarta found her amusing.

She felt a small flicker of response from Maria and flooded her mind with warmth, sending her power into the other woman’s mind. She could sense the fear and pain, but it was more than that—a deep, dark despair, the loss of everything she had believed in. Had Maria prayed to her God? At what point had she accepted that he wouldn’t save her?

Where had Maria’s God been when she needed him against the demons from Hell? Roz understood how she felt—she’d been there, but it was worse for Maria. The sister had devoted her whole life to that God and in a short time, she had lost everyone and everything she held dear. And now she had lost her faith.

“There are other things to believe in,” Roz whispered. “There is evil in the world, but there are also beings who fight that evil, who keep the world safe.” She thought of Piers but didn’t think he would make a good God substitute for Maria. “You can help others, Maria. Don’t let the bad guys win.”

Maria’s eyes opened, and there was someone home. Halleluiah.

“Welcome back,” Roz murmured.

“Are you telling the truth? Are there people out there, fighting for us?”

“Of course. Now, you two have to get out of here. Go as quickly as you can.”

“We can’t leave you,” Ryan answered.

“You have to get Maria away. She’s still weak, and you can’t help me.” She gave him a smile. “Don’t be so worried. I have a plan and you being here won’t help—they’ll just be able to use you against me, and all this will be wasted.”

He gave her a long look before nodding once.

“Good.” She turned to Maria. “You must go to the Order. Tell Piers what happened. Tell him…” She shook her head. Hopefully, she didn’t have to tell him anything else. He would know. Soon both she and the Key would be destroyed.

She hoped he felt guilty for spoiling her last night alive. He should, the bastard.

Lowering her arm, she stepped back. “Go.”

Maria paused as she passed and kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you—you’re a good person, whatever you may think.”

“Yeah, yeah.” But she couldn’t prevent a small smile creeping over her face.

Ryan hugged her. “Keep safe.”

She watched as they hurried away along the embankment, then closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Turning, she surveyed the small group. On to phase two.

Ryan and Maria needed a few more minutes to get clear of the area. She shoved her hands in her pockets, tried to appear cool, and strolled over to where Andarta stood beside Jack. The lesser demons formed a semi-circle around them, but as she drew closer, they shifted to form a ring, which circled her inside them.

She halted just in front of Andarta and looked up. Why the hell was everyone taller than she was? “I want in,” she said.

“In?”

“To be part of what you’re doing. I want a place in your new world.”

“And why would we want you?”

“You saw a little of what I can do, and I’m also a Seeker. I can be of help to you.”

“Hmm, you have power, that’s true. You healed those two with no effort whatsoever. But the problem is, I don’t trust you. I don’t understand you—why give over something as valuable as the Key for a couple of humans who’ll be dead in a few years anyway?”

She shrugged. “I’m loyal to my friends. I could be a good friend.”

“And you seek to be friends with me? Why?”

“I need your help.”

“In doing what?”

Roz unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it down off her shoulder to reveal the sigil wrapped around her upper arm. “I’m enslaved to a demon, and I’d prefer to be free.”

Andarta pursed her lips. “A powerful demon, but I think we can get rid of that with a little effort. Now show me the Key.”

Roz reached into her pocket. She peered over her shoulder; Maria and Ryan had vanished. They’d be safe by now.

Phase three.

The part she really wasn’t looking forward to.

…

“Well, we can be pretty sure she’s somewhere close by,” Christian said.

“What?” Piers had been thinking about what he was going to do to Roz once he found her. He had a few options; it was which one would come first he couldn’t decide upon. Christian was driving, but now he slowed the vehicle and pulled up at the side of the road. Through the side-mirror, Piers could see the black van with Carl and his men pull in behind them.

He glanced up ahead as Christian gestured toward the couple who were heading their way. Sister Maria he recognized immediately even without the habit, but the tall man beside her, helping her along, he didn’t know.

They saw them at that moment and came to an abrupt stop about fifteen meters away. Piers climbed out of the car. Sister Maria obviously recognized him. She spoke quickly to the man and hurried up to them.

Piers examined her closely; she had a bite mark on the side of her neck, her skin was pale, but otherwise she appeared unharmed. The man had an impressive set of bruises that were healing fast, fading as Piers stared.

“Mr. Lamont—” Sister Maria began.

“Where’s Roz?” he interrupted her.

“We need to call the police, get back-up,” the man beside her said. “I’m Detective Ryan of the Metropolitan police.”

Piers turned to him. “Do you really think the police can help here, detective? Now where is Rosamund?”

The detective opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, but they didn’t have time for this. Christian stepped forward. “We have to get Roz first. Afterward, we can call the police, if they’re needed. I can assure you we’re better equipped for this than the police. You’ve seen what we’re up against.”

The detective studied the group. Christian stood beside him at the front, Carl with four of his werewolves behind, and Jonas looking frail and old in the middle. The magic had exhausted him, but he’d insisted on coming, and Piers hadn’t tried to dissuade him. The warlock might come in useful, and this was to some extent his fault. He claimed he couldn’t reverse the spell, but it was still better he was here in case magic was required.

“Go get her,” Maria said. “She’s by the bridge. She gave us time to get away, but they’ll kill her—or worse.”

Piers didn’t believe there was anything worse than killing her. Death was final. But he didn’t bother explaining that to the sister. Religious types tended to have some weird ideas on the subject of dying, though he suspected Sister Maria’s beliefs might have undergone a radical turnaround in the last few days. He looked a little closer and saw that she was holding the ripped pieces of her shirt together at the front. He removed his coat and handed it to her, revealing the firepower beneath.

“Hope you’ve got licenses for those,” Ryan said. “Though come to think about it, I don’t think it’s possible to get licenses for sawed-off shotguns.”

Piers didn’t bother replying. He glanced around. The night appeared quiet, but he preferred not to involve any more humans in this. Time to get it over with.

“How many with her?” he asked.

Ryan answered. “A guy called Jack, a whole load of these monster things, and a woman—I don’t know her name; she just turned up tonight.”

“A blond woman?”

“Yeah, with these weird marks on her face.”

“Shit.” Andarta. She must be getting stronger.

He could feel something building up inside him and realized with a flash of shock that it was panic. Jack and a whole bunch of lesser demons they could deal with, no problem. Andarta was another matter entirely.

“Come on.” He had a feeling time was running out. “Carl, your guys take on the lesser demons. Christian, you take Jack.”

“And you?”

“I’m going to save Roz, then go after Andarta.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter Sixteen

This was it.

The end.

A fine sheen of sweat formed on her forehead. Any minute now, it would roll down her face and probably drip off the end of her nose. What a weird last thought.

She tugged the Key out of her pocket, and the metal snagged almost as though it didn’t want to come. But it did—no magical reprieve there. Was she still hoping for a happy ending? She’d believed she’d given up on them long ago.

She dangled the Key in front of her. Jack reached for it, and she edged away. “Wait, I have to remove the spell first. Otherwise…poof.”

He cast her a dirty glance, but he did step back. No one wanted to go “poof.” Andarta was watching her, her face expressionless, but at least she didn’t appear suspicious.

“So you’ll take me with you, let me be part of this?”

“Of course. I said so, didn’t I?” Andarta sounded just a mite irritated.

“So you did.”

And of course, demons never lie.

She dug into her other pocket and pulled out a pin; she needed blood. Then she had to speak some words. For a second, her mind went blank. Crap, she couldn’t remember the words.

Panic threatened to envelop her mind, drag her down, and swallow her up. Under her breath, she muttered a calming mantra and slowly her brain cleared.

She could see the words in her head, crystal clear. Raising the pin, she looked around her one last time. And stopped. The pin poised in mid-air.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

A group was running down the embankment toward them. Piers led the way and it was his words that hung on the night air. Did he know what she meant to do? Well, he was too late.

“It’s not too late.”

The guy was a fucking mind-reader.

“Roz, you don’t have to do this.” He came to a halt meters away, weapons drawn. “Trust me.”

Oh, God, she wished she could.

“Piers?” Andarta spoke softly from beside her, but Roz couldn’t drag her eyes from Piers.

“Come on, Roz, put the pin down— you don’t have to die.”

But somehow she couldn’t seem to move. Her arm locked in place, the Key gripped tight in her fingers, so she could feel the cold metal against the burning heat of her skin.

“Die?” Andarta spoke into the silence. She darted forward. “Lying bitch,” she snarled. “You meant to kill us all?”

She grabbed for the Key. Roz tried to hold on, but the woman had inhuman strength—probably because she wasn’t human—and the Key was ripped from her fingers. Andarta leapt for the open portal. Roz made to follow; she could still work the spell if she could catch the demon.

“Get back,” Piers yelled.

If she followed Andarta now, there was a chance. But she thought for a microsecond too long. Andarta vanished into the portal and it closed behind her. At the same time, someone grabbed Roz from behind, digging hard fingers into the flesh of her upper arms. As she struggled, the hold tightened, so she went still in his grasp and was drawn back against a hard body.

Jack leaned in close to her, so she felt his cool breath against her throat, and she braced herself for his bite.

It didn’t come. Instead, he whispered into her ear. “So you want to come with us, do you?”

“Er, no. Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll stay. And as your girlfriend seems to have abandoned you, I’m thinking—so will you.”

“She’ll be back. As soon as the Key is safe.”

“Really? I doubt you mean that much to her.”

“Maybe not. But she’ll want you dead. And so do I. I preferred your friend—you’re a little mouthy for my tastes—but I’ll make do.” Putting his face close to her skin, he sniffed. “And you do smell sweet.” He turned her so she once again faced Piers. “Back off and lower the weapons. Or she dies now.” He leaned a little closer and whispered just to her. “Instead of later.”

The coolness of a blade pressed against her throat. Roz held herself very still.

Piers lowered the shotgun he carried and stepped back. “Let her go, Jack.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t fucking let her go, I’ll rip you limb from limb. If you do, I might just let you live.”

“Like I believe that. No way.”

“Look, you’re stuck here—I’m guessing you don’t have the power to open another portal. So come on, Jack, I give you my word. Let her go, and I’ll let you live.”

Piers might let him live, but Roz certainly wouldn’t. She had plans for Jack—painful plans.

“Why would you do that? What does she mean to you?” Jack paused and Roz could almost hear his brain working. “Shit. You love her.”

Piers ignored the comment and quite rightly—it was a ludicrous idea. “The Order offered her protection,” he said.

Well, what had she expected? A declaration of true love? Never going to happen.

“Christ, you do—you’ve got the hots for her. Andarta is going to love this.”

Roz’s mind was working furiously. Could she break free? Maybe elbow him in the side? She shifted her arm to see if there was any leeway in the hold, but his grip tightened.

“Stop wriggling, bitch, or I’ll knife you right here.”

“That would be a bit stupid—you’d lose the only thing that’s keeping you alive right now.”

His fingers dug in cruelly. Had she hit a sore spot? Did Jack not like being called stupid? Maybe she could get him mad enough to do something even more idiotic. She’d always been good at getting people mad. “But from what I’ve seen so far, intelligence isn’t one of your stronger points. Maybe you’re useful for beating up little girls and nuns but not much use in the brains department.”

“Shut up,” he snarled. Then he gave a short, triumphant laugh. The air straight ahead shimmered, and a new portal opened.

“Shit,” Roz muttered. Andarta hadn’t abandoned him after all, though there was no sign of the demoness. Jack started dragging her toward the black gaping hole. She so did not want to go there.

Behind her, she heard the click of guns being drawn.

“Don’t shoot,” Piers said. “You might hit Roz.”

Aw, maybe he did care after all.

She started struggling. What the hell if she got hurt? It was better than ending up down in the Abyss, and she wouldn’t let herself be used as some sort of hostage. Not that she really considered anyone would give up much for her. But it was a nice dream.

She’d rather die now than end up down there. But she was pretty pissed off that they’d ruined her plan. She’d been going to die doing some good—destroying the Key and ending the wicked Andarta’s dastardly plot for world domination.

Now, she was just going to die.

Shit. Crap. Bugger.

She struggled some more, and felt the blade slice into her skin. Not deep enough to do serious damage, but it stung. And he didn’t slow down.

They were almost on the edge now. If she peered over, she would see the shadows waiting to pull her in, swallow her. So instead, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Piers standing, gun hanging from his hand, raw frustration etched on his gorgeous face.

“We’ll get you back,” he shouted. “Just stay alive. We’ll come after you.”

Yeah, right. Great advice. Though she had a suspicion that a few hours—maybe even a few minutes—in Jack’s company, and she might not be thinking it was such a good idea. No, she reckoned that a little time down in the Abyss with Jack and she might be thinking that death was a pleasant alternative.

They were on the edge now. All around her the lesser demons were streaming past, spilling into that break in reality, disappearing into the shadows. Then there was just her and Jack. He obviously couldn’t resist one last gloat at Piers.

“Maybe I’ll send you a little piece of her every so often, just so you know—”

His words were cut-off abruptly. Beside her, he stared up in horror. A figure swooped down from the air and kicked Jack in the face so the two of them tumbled back away from the portal. Jack’s grip loosened, and she scrambled away on all fours just as an arm wrapped around her middle and scooped her up. Then she was in the air and flying.

She held herself very still. It would be really stupid to fall now when someone had gone to the bother of saving her from a fate worse than death—and probably eventually from death as well. She couldn’t see the face of the man who gripped her hard against his chest, holding her with an easy strength, but she knew who it must be.

She was alive, and she really hadn’t believed that was going to happen. And she was flying. Actually fucking flying. She could hear the swoosh of huge wings beating the air. She threw back her head and laughed. Behind her, the demon chuckled.

They were high up above the city now, hovering and looking down; the figures were small, sticklike, the lights winding along the river, the roads, and the streets. Then they were falling. Fast, and she closed her eyes and clamped the scream in her mouth.

He landed lightly, close to where they had taken off, and released his hold. For a second she swayed, but righted herself and turned to face her savior.

“Damn, and I thought it was Superman, come to the rescue.”

Asmodai grinned. “Unfortunately not. Are you disappointed?

“Hell, no. In situations like these, I’ll take any help I can get.” She considered him for a second. “Just remember—no one asked you this time, so if you’re expecting me to find anything else for you, you can go whistle.” She shrugged. “But—thank you. I really believed I was a goner.”

“Just protecting my property.”

She curled her upper lip in what she hoped was a scary snarl, but the truth was, once again she had lost the Key, and she was still alive, which meant she was still indebted to the demon. But things could be worse.

“She’s not your property.”

The growled words came from behind. Roz whirled around to find Piers only a foot away.

“Really?” Asmodai murmured. “And whose is she then?”

“Er—actually, I’m no one’s property.” On the other hand, she wouldn’t mind loaning herself out to Piers for a limited amount of time. Just until she got rid of the inconvenient itch. And got her Key back. And maybe worked out just why she found him so fascinating. She looked up to find him staring at her, his gaze intent.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

She glanced from him to Asmodai. The demon had a knowing smirk on his face.

“In case you’re interested—nothing happened last night.”

He quirked a brow but very sensibly said nothing. She decided to get off the subject and searched the area. “What happened to Jack?”

“Carl has him.”

She found him at that moment, in the center of a small knot of huge men. She recognized Carl, the werewolf, still looking boringly human. Would he shift if she asked nicely? Maybe now wasn’t the right time.

“What are you going to do with him?” she asked.

“He’s no use to us. What do you think we should do with him?”

She thought about Jessica, who had suffered at his hands. Of the first girl he had kidnapped, who hadn’t survived and had no doubt died in terror, alone in the darkness. Of all the others he had taken and would take again if he were freed. She’d come to see the line between good and evil as blurred, but some people were firmly on one side or the other, and Jack was evil. Then she thought about Sister Maria and black hatred rose up inside her. “Kill him.”

Piers studied her for a moment. “For you, my sweet, anything.”

She watched as he strode across. He spoke quietly to Carl, who released Jack and stepped aside, leaving the vampire standing alone.

Piers drew the sawed-off shotgun from the holster. He didn’t speak to the other man, didn’t gloat, just raised the gun, and blasted Jack through his heart. The vampire collapsed to the ground. Piers holstered the weapon and leaned down over the body. He gripped Jack’s head between his hands, rested one booted foot on his ruined chest, and twisted.

Jack’s head came free of his neck with what seemed a very loud crack followed by a disgusting slurping sound. With the head still gripped in his fists, Piers carried it to the portal and tossed it down. Two of the other men dragged the body and it followed the head.

Piers strolled back to them. “Close it,” he said to Asmodai.

Asmodai waved a hand in the general direction of the portal, and the doorway vanished.

“I’ve been hankering to do that for a long, long time,” Piers said, wiping his hands down his leather pants.

“Is that how you kill a vampire?” Roz asked.

“Heart and head,” he said. “You think you might ever use the information?”

“You never know.”

“We’ve got to get out of here before the police arrive,” Christian said. He turned to Asmodai. “Are you coming?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, I’d like to keep an eye on my investment.”

Did he mean her? Of course he did. But right now, she just couldn’t get worked up.

She was alive. Jack was dead.

And Piers was sorry about last night. Well, she’d have to wait and see just how sorry he was and just how he meant to make it up to her.

Very sorry, she hoped.

Chapter Seventeen

Piers was silent on his way back to the vehicles, but he walked close beside her, and she could sense his occasional sideways glance. She was unsure of his mood, though some strong emotion was rolling off him in waves.

Two vehicles were parked around the corner, a black van and a SUV. As they drew closer, she could make out Maria and Ryan sitting in the front seat of the van, and relief rushed through her.

Ryan saw them and jumped out, running toward her. He wrapped his arms around her in a big hug, and for a few seconds she relaxed against him, glad they were all alive and in one piece.

“Hey, you’re alive.”

“I am, and virtually untouched.” Though she could still feel the sting of the knife wound at her throat. “Are you two okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.” He stepped back but still held her loosely. “Thanks to you.”

She shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“Don’t lie. You could have just left us, but you didn’t.”

She shrugged again. She wasn’t good at accepting thanks; they made her twitchy. Sensing Piers tensing beside her, she glanced sideways at him. He was staring at the point where Ryan still held her, and his upper lip was curling into a snarl. She shifted and stepped back, freeing herself. “Come on, we have to go.”

“Actually, I have to get back to work,” Ryan said.

“Will there be people looking for you?” Christian asked.

“Not yet—yesterday was my day off, and I didn’t have any plans, except sleeping.”

“And maybe some housework?” Roz suggested.

Christian ignored the comment. “Then you come back to the Order with us. You need debriefing.”

Roz sniggered at the word. “Sorry,” she said when everyone turned to look at her. “I’ve never actually heard anyone say that. ‘Debriefing’—it’s sort of…” She trailed off and shrugged. It wasn’t her fault none of them had a sense of humor.

Ryan appeared undecided. She’d rather this didn’t get physical, and she was sure the debriefing thing wasn’t optional for the detective. Though she supposed Piers or Christian could just mesmerize him into going with them. She’d rather they didn’t do that to her friends either. “Wouldn’t you like to know what this is all about?” Roz said, sure that would tempt Ryan.

“You mean they’ll tell me?”

“Why not? You know a lot already.”

“Too much?” he asked, and she realized he believed his life was in danger. Hell, maybe it was. She glanced at Piers and Christian. Piers just looked impatient to be off.

Christian answered. “You won’t come to any harm at our hands, Detective. But we do have to decide how to deal with the fact that you know about us.”

“Deal?” He turned to Roz. “You trust these people?”

“Yeah. If they say no harm, then they mean it.”

Roz believed that, but she’d bet he might come away from the place minus a few memories. Probably best not to tell him, though—most people didn’t like the idea of anyone screwing with their minds.

“Can we go now?” Piers said.

Carl and his men had already climbed into the back of the larger van. Sister Maria was still seated in the front, though a quick glimpse showed that some of the color had returned to her face. Ryan got in beside her, and Christian got in the driver’s seat.

“I’ll make my own way there.” Asmodai said. “But first, I need to give a few people a heads up that Andarta has the Key. As soon as I’m done, I’ll meet you at the Order.” He took to the air. That just left her, Piers, and the Warlock for the second vehicle.

“Can you drive, Jonas?” Piers asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, get in, then.”

…

Piers ushered her into the backseat and climbed in beside her. He was trying to keep a tight grip on his emotions. Mainly because he wasn’t sure what they were yet, and until he was, maybe he’d better keep quiet about them.

He could smell the sweet scent of her blood, and it was driving him insane—a reminder that he had come so close to losing her tonight. He forced down the urge to hold her. Instead, he turned slightly so he could see the dark streak of blood down her throat where the knife had nicked her skin.

Hell, he’d seen the knife jerk in Jack’s hands, and he’d thought she was dead.

He couldn’t resist any longer. Reaching for her, he grabbed her by the upper arms, and hauled her onto his lap. He expected her to put up a struggle, but instead, she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and burrowing her head in his chest. All the tension went out of her. Then she was shaking.

He held her tight and just let her get through it.

After a few minutes, she raised her head. “Sorry, I thought I was okay—I don’t usually lose it like that.”

He liked the fact that she let herself go with him. She acted so tough, but underneath…well, he wasn’t sure what was underneath; she kept it so well hidden. He was sure no one else knew either.

She was clearly coming down from the adrenaline high.

His gums ached with the urge to feed. He reined his hunger in, but lifted her chin with one finger, bent his head, and licked his tongue along the line of her throat, cleaning the blood, lapping at the small wound.

She made a small sighing sound, and her head went back, giving him better access. “That feels so good.”

“We have a chemical in our saliva that helps heal wounds.”

She lowered her head and regarded him. “That was more information than I wanted right now.”

An unpleasant thought occurred to him. “Have you slept with Asmodai?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“I take it that’s a yes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I can quite honestly say that I have never slept with him. Now, if you’d asked me if I fucked him—well, that’s a whole different thing. And still none of your goddamn business.”

“And if I’d like it to be my business?”

She opened her mouth, no doubt to shout at him some more, but snapped it shut again. He’d actually managed to silence her. She stayed that way for what seemed like an age, staring out of the window.

“I was seventeen and a virgin. They’d burned my mother at the stake, and I’d just made a deal with a demon. He slaughtered those who had killed my mother, and he took me on the ground with the flames all around us and their screams still in my ears.”

Fury rose up inside him. “Bastard—I’ll kill him.”

She smiled. “No need. And in his way, he was good to me. I haven’t met many demons but I suspect things could have been far worse.”

“Was that the only time?”

“No. And he didn’t rape me then or later, if that’s what you think. I was scared, alone; he had saved me. I know it sounds pathetic, but I wanted him to want me. And in his way, I think he came to like me a little. ” She glanced at him suspiciously. “How long have you known it was Asmodai?”

“I didn’t until tonight. I just suspected from his involvement with the Key.” He bit back the urge to ask if she had enjoyed it, because that was just sick. He had to put it out of his mind. “Just tell me it’s over.”

“It’s been over for centuries. He changed. Can demons become nicer? He’s sort of mellowed in recent years; he seems different…”

“He was in love.”

“What?”

“He fell in love with Tara’s mother. I guess it brought out a softer side. Then she died and he reverted a little.”

“Anyway, there have been a few other men over the years, but I tend to steer clear of relationships. I can do without sex.”

“Hence the vibrator.” He thought for a moment. “You wanted to sleep with me last night.”

She shrugged. “Only to take my mind off the fact that I was about to die, and sex is no big deal.”

“No?” She was lying. He was sure of it. Or at least he hoped. “Tell me, how long has it been since you had sex?”

She pursed her lips. “Fifty years, give or take a few.”

He bit back the grin that tugged at his lips. Inside he was high-fiving, and he realized that he wanted sex to be a big deal for her. At least he wanted sex with him to be a big deal. “You like sex, so if it was no big deal you’d be getting it regularly. I’m guessing you don’t have sex because it is a big deal.”

“Just don’t push it,” she snarled.

She was getting defensive; he was definitely getting through to her. “What if I want to push it?”

“Save it. I’ve had a rough night, and I’d like to relax. Hey, look, we’re nearly back. I’m for a long hot bath, a glass of scotch, and my bed.”

“And I’m for a couple of hours of earth shattering sex and mind-blowing orgasms. Sure I can’t tempt you to join me?”

…

Crap.

Roz sat there with her mouth open, her nipples hard, and her sex hot and swollen with need.

The weird thing was if he’d tried to woo her with sweet words, told her he’d cared, she could have sneered and walked away.

But who could walk away from the offer of earth-shattering sex and mind-blowing orgasms? It would take a stronger woman than her. Did that make her shallow?

No, just scared of emotional commitment and desperate for sex.

She suddenly realized that the car had stopped and that they were back in the underground parking area beneath the Order. Or above the Order.

Somehow, Jonas had gotten out of the driver’s seat without her even noticing. Piers had that effect on her. He was dangerous. And sexy as hell.

Of course, she could just stay here. Sex in the backseat of a car with Piers. And it would avoid having to wait. She wasn’t sure she could wait. She turned to suggest it just as the van pulled up beside them, and she swore. Maybe they could just stay very still and pretend they weren’t here.

When they didn’t move, someone knocked on the tinted window. Piers sighed and reached across to open her door. She scrambled out, and Piers got out behind her. Roz was aware of little other than his tall form against her back. He leaned in close. “Multiple mind-blowing orgasms,” he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down through her body and turning her insides liquid.

“So are we meeting in your office?” Christian asked.

She tried to make sense of the words as she glanced back over her shoulder. Piers was watching her out of heavy-lidded eyes. “Well?” he asked.

“Multiple—as in more than one?”

“Lots more than one.”

She nodded once, and he released his breath.

He turned briefly to Christian. “Later. We should wait for Asmodai anyway. Call me when he gets here.” Then he put his hands around her waist and tossed her over his shoulder. For one second she considered complaining, but only one, and then she relaxed. She could feel the bunching of his muscles as he moved. He was hard like steel.

“Where the hell are you going?” Christian asked.

Piers paused. “I’m going to debrief Rosamund.”

Roz sniggered again, burying her flaming face against his back and screwing her eyes up tight as she passed the small group.

She didn’t open them until Piers gripped her around the waist and tossed her away. She let out a little yelp as she landed on her back on something soft. She lay in the middle of the biggest bed she had ever seen, in the center of a room with no windows and dark red walls. The sheets beneath her matched the walls, as did the mound of pillows beneath her head.

Piers loomed over her, his eyes dark midnight blue. He unbuckled the shoulder holsters and dropped them to the floor. He did the same with the weapons belt at his waist. Then he pulled the black T-shirt over his head, and her breath caught in her throat.

He was spectacular. Roz came up on her elbows so she could see him more clearly. If he was putting on a show for her, she wasn’t going to miss any of it. His skin was pale, almost glowing with a luminescent sheen, satin stretched over the swell of muscle. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his chest smooth except for a sprinkle of fine golden hair between his pale, almost flat nipples.

His belly was lean, and another strip of golden hair bisected the ridged plane disappearing into his waistband. The black leather pants were a stark contrast to his pale skin. They rested low on his hips, and she could see the bulge of his erection pressing against the zipper.

Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she swallowed. She rolled over, came up on all fours, and crawled toward him, stopping at the edge of the bed and coming onto her knees in front of him. She looked up the line of his body, meeting his dark gaze, then reached out and stroked her finger along the length of his erection beneath the soft, supple leather.

He groaned and his head went back, his hands fisting at his side. She liked that, and she stroked again, loving the tension that stiffened his body. The zipper was right in front of her, and she toyed with it for a second, but she didn’t want to put this off any longer. After flicking open the button, she slowly lowered the zipper. He wore nothing underneath, and his shaft sprang free, almost vertical against his belly. She sat back on her heels and admired him in wondrous silence.

He was beautiful, thick and long, the head flaring and blushed pink with blood. Wet heat soaked her core at the thought of all that thrust inside her. Her hand came out, and she wrapped her fingers around him—his flesh was cool to the touch, and she squeezed so he let out another groan.

She wanted to taste him, and her head came forward, her lips parting, but he stepped back and pulled free.

“Later,” he murmured. “Right now, I need to be inside you.”

“You do?”

“Well, it’s a little hard to hide.”

He kicked off his boots and stripped off the leather pants.

Roz was impressed. She’d worn leather pants a few times, and she’d never managed to get out of them quite that quickly. It must be all the practice.

She was still kneeling on the bed, fully clothed. Piers was naked. It didn’t seem fair and besides, she was slowing things down. Grabbing the bottom of her T-shirt, she dragged it over her head and tossed it to the floor. Her bra quickly followed. She kicked off her sneakers, rolled onto her back, and wriggled out of her jeans and panties.

There, they were even.

For a second, Piers stood staring down at her, his eyes glowing with power, his hot gaze raking over her body. Then he knelt on the bed over her. She scooted back, and he crawled after her, stalking her like some great beast.

Her insides melted, her nipples tightened, and a throbbing pulse beat between her thighs. She arched her back, offering her breasts, and he lowered his head, took one swollen peak between his lips, and suckled. The pleasure shot straight to her groin and a small gasp escaped her. She threaded her fingers through his long, silky hair and held him close as her kissed her other breast. Her thighs fell open, and he shifted so one knee slid between and pushed up against her. The sensation was indescribably good, but she needed more, and she needed it soon.

If she didn’t have him inside in the next few seconds, she would go seriously insane. Might even bite him. She fisted her hand in the hair at the back of his head and tugged, and he raised his head so she could stare into his face. The expression in his eyes nearly made her come.

“Okay, enough foreplay,” she muttered. “I need you inside me.” He chuckled, and she tugged at his hair again. “Are you going to bite me?”

“Would you like me to?”

Roz had a flashback to coming apart in his arms. She wanted that again while he was deep inside. She nodded, and he smiled, revealing his fangs, as though to let her see exactly what he was. No secrets. No nasty surprises.

Then he was kissing her cheek, her lips, her ear, licking, tasting, nibbling his way closer to her throat, and despite the fact she knew there would be no pain, every nerve was taut waiting for his bite.

“Relax.” His soft voice sent shivers rippling through her. “I’ll tell you when.”

He shifted so his hips rested between her thighs, and she could feel his erection nudging at the core of her body. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, and she fought for control. His hand moved between their bodies, and he opened her with skillful fingers. The tips slid over her swollen clit, and she let out a little yelp. His hands moved to grip her shoulders and hold her down—was he expecting her to fight?

“Now,” he said and in one fluid move, he pushed inside her, filling her. At the same time, he lunged, his fangs piercing her throat. And she came.

She arched her back and screamed but was held in place by his firm grip on her shoulders, his mouth at her neck, his cock lodged deep inside her.

He started to move, withdrawing almost all the way before thrusting hard into her, and all the time she could feel the dragging pull of his fangs tugging at places low down in her body.

She was out of control. Her hips thrusting with his, her legs wrapped around his waist, and she lost all concept of time and place. The pleasure was building again, spiraling.

He raised his head, releasing her throat, and his eyes glowed crimson, his mouth stained with her blood. Holding her gaze, he thrust into her, his hips grinding against her sensitive flesh, and she came again.

Each time she came back to herself, he repeated the action, spilling her over the edge. Finally, almost with relief, she felt him tense above her as he found his own release.

Afterward, he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she lay sprawled over his long, hard body, totally boneless. She might never move again.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“Oh yeah. Let’s do that again sometime.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” She could hear the grin in his voice, but she ignored it, too sated to be bothered to answer back.

Piers stroked her shoulders and back, drawing lazy circles on her skin, soothing her, and she drifted off into sleep.

…

“Tell me everything,” Roz said.

He rolled onto his front, rested his chin on one hand, and smiled. “Everything?”

“How you became a vampire? Why Andarta wants you so badly…?”

“Well, obviously because I’m irresistible.”

“Obviously,” she said dryly.

Actually, he was pretty irresistible, but she wasn’t going to agree with him; he was already big-headed enough. “Tell,” she urged.

After studying her for a minute longer, he shrugged his agreement. He pushed himself up and bunched the pillows behind him, then sat back and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his side.

“A long time ago, in a faraway place…”

“Where and how long?”

“Actually not that far away. Northern France, and just over two thousand years.”

“Wow—you’re old. And French. Double wow.”

“I was a priest, a druid—”

“A priest?” She sounded incredulous. “You were a priest?”

“Yes, I was a priest, and the most powerful druid of the time. I worshipped the Goddess Andarta, and she answered my prayers and came to me in human form.”

“Ha. I’m betting Andarta was never human.”

“In ‘human form’. I never believed she was anything other than a goddess. You could say I worshipped her. And she came to care for me.”

“Aw—that must have been sweet.”

He grinned. “Sweet it was not. But she loved me, and I…”

“You?”

“I loved her, as much as I was capable of loving. Anyway, she loved me, and she hated the idea of me growing old and leaving her. Do you know anything of druid beliefs?”

“A little.”

“I believed that I would be reborn, and if I lived by the proper ways, I would be reborn stronger and more powerful, until my powers would rival the gods themselves. Andarta didn’t want me to die. She sought to give me eternal life.”

“How?”

He cast her an amused glance. “How do you think?”

“She wanted you to become a vampire? But how could she do that? I thought you had to be bitten by another vampire; or is that just myth?”

“No, it’s true. And that’s where Jack comes in. Jack was indebted to her, I’m not sure how or why. But he also loved her, still does…well did, probably right up to the moment I pulled his head off.”

“Aw, poor Jack.”

“When I refused her offer of eternal life—I had no wish to become a drinker of blood—she trapped me, and Jack changed me by force.”

“I guess you weren’t too happy about that.”

“I wasn’t. But I got my own back. I couldn’t destroy Andarta, but I made sure she was out of action for a long, long time.”

“And Jack?”

“Yes, I gave them a nice cozy space together.”

“And they’ve been there since. So I’m guessing she’s not too fond of you anymore.”

He gave her a look she couldn’t quite identify. “She wants me back.”

Shock hit her in the gut and her gaze flew to his face. “She what?”

“She sent Jack with a message, telling me there was a place by her side.”

“And were you tempted?” She gave him her best evil-eyed stare. “Think carefully what you say here.”

“Tempted? Hmm, what was the offer? Consort to a goddess, rule at her side for eternity. What do you think?”

She thought Andarta had better keep out of her way. “She’s not really a goddess, any more than I’m a witch.”

“But you are a witch—you just didn’t know what one was before. In truth—I feel nothing for Andarta now. Except maybe a little grateful. I’d be dead long ago if it wasn’t for her machinations. And all-in-all, I’ve enjoyed what I am.” He turned to her and appeared serious for once. “I was never a good person.”

“Not even when you were alive?”

“Maybe less so then. If you’ve read about druids you must know something of what we were like, what we did.”

“There is very little substantiated evidence for what they actually did—maybe you could write a book on the subject.”

“Perhaps. Anyway, we believed human life was sacred, so what better way to honor the gods than to take that life?”

“Ugh. You performed human sacrifices—like the wicker man?”

“Just like. They were usually criminals, people who had been sentenced to death, but I wasn’t too fussy.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think less of me for it?”

“Probably. But I’ve done things myself that I’ve known were wrong.”

“But you did them for survival.”

“That’s really no excuse. Since when is my survival more important than anyone else’s?”

“It is to me.”

Since her mother’s death, she’d felt as though there was no one who cared whether she lived or died. She was useful to Asmodai, but that was probably all she was to him. Now here was this beautiful man—well maybe not man, but definitely beautiful—and for some strange reason he cared for her. One day soon, she would ask him why. It wasn’t in her nature to just accept things without questioning, but right now she was going to bask in the glow.

Just for a little while.

Surely, she could allow herself that.

“But I haven’t performed a human sacrifice in two thousand years.”

“How about eating them?”

“Most survived; some even enjoyed the experience.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Look, I’ll never be a good person, but I’ve come to terms with what I am, and I have my own set of codes that I don’t cross.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“You’re lying in my bed, naked. I think that makes it your business.”

She peered under the sheet and grinned. “So I am.”

“So you are.”

His voice sounded different, and she glanced up at his face. His eyes were hot and hungry. Her skin suddenly felt too sensitive for the covering, and she peeled it off, wriggled down in the bed, and saw his lips curl in a slow smile that revealed one sharp, white fang.

At the sight, her muscles tensed, and that insistent pulse throbbed between her thighs. He came up over her, and his mouth drifted down over her body, kissing her breasts, then lower, until his cool breath ruffled the curls at the base of her belly.

He shifted beside her so he could kiss the inside of her thigh. “You know you have a vein”—he kissed her again— “just here.” He licked her skin, and the breath caught in her throat. Glancing up the length of her body, there was a question in his eyes.

She nodded and held herself still as his fangs punctured the flesh of her inner thigh. Heat flooded her, soaking her core, and she let her head fall back and gave herself up to the rhythmic tugging. One hand slid up her thigh, easing between the folds of her sex. Her whole body jerked in response as his finger pushed inside her. Then withdrew, and in again, so he was moving to the rhythmic tug of his mouth. Roz could feel the heat building inside her, then he stroked the pad of his thumb over her clit and she came in a slow wave of pleasure that rolled over her, sucking her under.

When she came back to herself, he was lapping at the small wound. He caught her gaze. “Thank you.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “It was my pleasure.”

Chapter Eighteen

Roz was dozing, snuggled up against his cool, hard body, when the shrill ring of the phone jolted her awake.

Piers picked it up and listened.

“Your old boyfriend’s here,” he said as he put the phone down.

“Asmodai?”

“Yeah. They’re all waiting for us.”

“Damn.” But they had to get up at some point, and sooner rather than later. Dawn was only a few hours away and presumably, Piers would need to sleep. And there were things to do, people to see.

“Do you have to sleep during the daytime?” she asked.

“No. When I was younger I had no choice; I had to sleep. Now, I can choose, but it’s better if I rest.”

She tried to imagine what it would be like to live in perpetual nighttime. “Do you miss the sunlight?”

“No. I was always a creature of the night, even when I lived.”

She had a lover. A vampire lover.

And she guessed she was in love. She was trying not to think of that aspect too much, in case she scared herself off. It was funny to think that she trusted herself less than she trusted Piers. But she knew what a fucked-up mess she was. And she’d lost too many people she cared about.

But Piers had lived for two thousand years; surely he was a safe bet for a while longer. He could take care of himself.

She glanced down at the small wound on her inner thigh. At least it had stopped bleeding. There was another at her throat. She’d look like a pincushion if they weren’t careful. How often did he have to feed? Would he feed from other people? She wasn’t sure she liked the idea.

She made a mental note to go talk to Tara at some point. She presumed vampires followed the same rules—sort of.

Her glance strayed to her upper arm, where the sigil still showed, like black ink against the pale skin of her arm.

“How well do you know Asmodai?” she asked as she searched the floor for her clothes. Somehow they had become scattered around the room.

Piers was still lying on the bed, amazingly sexy with the sheet just covering his thighs—like some Playgirl model. His streaky blond hair was loose about his shoulders. Now he sighed, running a hand through it. “Better than I’d like to,” he answered.

He pulled himself up and off the bed. Roz stopped what she was doing and watched—she couldn’t help herself—as he stalked naked across the floor and opened the wardrobe. He selected a pair of jeans and dragged them on, the soft denim clinging to the long lines of his legs. He rubbed a hand across his bare chest as he considered the contents, then took a blue shirt off the hanger. He pulled it on but left it hanging open. It was the exact same color as his eyes. Had he worn it on purpose because he knew she’d be mesmerized? Maybe the casual clothes were an attempt to appear more approachable, less scary.

He smiled as if he could read her thoughts and flashed her a fang-filled smile. Maybe he didn’t care how scary he was after all.

“You can’t read my mind, can you?” she asked.

“Not your mind, no. But your face—when you don’t attempt to hide what you’re feeling, well, your face can be very expressive.”

“And what’s my expression right now?” She wasn’t sure she was going to like this.

He shrugged. “You want me. And you can have me. But first…”

“First, we’ve got to see a demon.” She tugged her T-shirt over her head and smoothed it down, then found her jeans in the open doorway and pulled them on. Finally, her sneakers, and she was ready to go.

Piers was buttoning his shirt—pity.

…

They didn’t talk as he led the way from his apartment up a couple of floors in the elevator and along the corridor to his office. He could sense the people inside, and he had an almost irrational urge to turn around and go back.

He could still feel the buzz of her blood in his system, taste the unique sweetness of her. She’d opened for him more than he’d expected. He guessed she was feeling vulnerable right now, but who knew how long that would last before she turned back to her prickly self.

But they needed to decide on their next move. Andarta had the Key, and he had no doubt she would use it and would likely move fast. They had already taken enough time out.

What would be the first target? Earth or the Faelands? He was betting Earth, but all the same, he had to organize a meeting with the fae and let them know a demon had the means to open the portals to their world. They weren’t likely to be happy. Totally pissed off, in fact.

He hated dealing with the fae at the best of times. Fucking fairies, with their purity of blood crap that they spouted at every opportunity.

Also, he wanted to get the meeting with Asmodai over with. Then Roz would be free of the demon. As demons went, Asmodai was one of the better guys—at least when he made the effort to be—but he was still a demon and would have his own agenda.

Would he free Roz? And what would he ask in return? Because there was no doubt he would require something. Piers just hoped it was something he was free to give because he was giving it anyway—to hell with the consequences.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“What?” she said, sounding almost like her old belligerent self. No doubt she was prepping herself for the coming meeting.

“Just this.” He leaned down—a long way down—and dropped a quick kiss on her slightly parted lips. “Let’s get this over with.” And he pushed open the door, feeling the rush of power from inside shiver across his skin. Too much power.

Christian was leaning against the far wall, Tara beside him. Across the room, Asmodai sat on the sofa—in his human guise—but he wasn’t fooling anybody. He watched Tara, a hungry, hopeful expression on his dark face.

Graham stood on the far side of the room, as far from the demon as he could get. Beside him, Carl leaned against the wall, and next to him was Roz’s policeman—Detective Ryan—with a slightly dazed expression on his face.

Roz ignored the demon and crossed to Ryan. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine—I think. What is this place? No one would tell me anything.”

“We have to decide what we’re going to do with you first,” Piers said, coming to stand beside her. He rested an arm across her shoulder. He hadn’t worked out what the relationship was between the two of them yet, but he wanted the policeman to know the score. Roz didn’t pull away, which pleased him.

“Shit, are you two a couple?” Ryan looked between them, his gaze lingering on the arm across her shoulders. Piers gave it a squeeze and stared the detective in the eye. He felt Roz stiffen.

“Cut the macho shit,” she growled, and he had to bite back his smile.

“Answer the question, Rosamund.” Asmodai’s voice came from behind them, low and dark, and energy rippled through the room. A palpable shiver ran across her skin, and Piers tightened his hold. “Are the two of you a couple?”

Piers released her shoulder and swung around. “What’s it to you?”

“She belongs to me,”

“Not for much longer.”

“And how do you work that out? I don’t see my Key anywhere—I’m presuming Andarta has it?”

“Yeah,” Roz replied.

“So the debt is not paid.”

“Why did you ask her to steal it anyway?” Christian asked.

“The Key was mine. Roz wasn’t stealing it, just collecting it for me.”

“I think it’s debatable that the Key is yours.” Piers said. “After all, you did swear an oath to destroy it. But that’s a discussion for another day. For now, tell us why you want it at this point, when it’s been hidden for so long?”

“I never needed it before. Unlike Andarta, I can open portals without the Key…But recently I came up with a use for it.”

“And that would be?”

He glanced at Tara and shrugged. “Does it matter now?”

“Humor me.”

Asmodai leaned back in his seat and stretched. “Is the room still bugged?” he asked Roz.

Bugged. They’d bugged his office? When? How? What the fuck had he said?

“I reckon so.” Roz’s gaze flicked to Piers. She bit her lip when she caught sight of his no doubt outraged expression.

“You bugged my office? When the fuck did you bug my office?”

She grinned. “The first time you did that mesmerizy thingy, you know, ‘you are in my power’—not.”

“I can’t believe you bugged my office.” He scrutinized her. “So, did you hear anything interesting?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Thank God for that. Had he discussed her with Christian? What had he said?

“Well, perhaps you could remove it now,” Asmodai said. “I’d prefer there to be no record of this meeting.”

Piers shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as Roz crossed the room and bent down to reach under his desk. She came up with a small black disc. “You want it back?” she asked Asmodai.

“No, destroy it.”

She dropped it to the floor and ground it under her heel.

Piers shook his head. “I can’t believe you bugged my office.”

“Get over it,” she muttered, then grinned. “It was so easy.”

“My mind was on other things.” He leered at her breasts, and she giggled.

“Can we get on?” Christian said and turned to Asmodai. “So talk.”

“I planned to offer the Key to the Walker in exchange for something.”

“Something?” Roz asked.

“My daughter’s cat.”

Tara stepped forward. “Jamie?”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“Her cat?” Roz frowned. “You were swapping the Key for a cat?”

Piers took pity on her disbelief. “A while back, the fae wanted Tara dead. We managed to change their minds, but they required a hostage for her good behavior. And Jamie was no ordinary cat.”

“He’s a shape shifter,” Tara said. “And he was my friend.”

“Wow.”

“Anyway,” Asmodai continued, “It occurred to me that the Key in the wrong hands—and I would ensure that the Walker was aware that Andarta was interested—”

“Wait a minute,” Piers interrupted. “Are you saying that you knew Andarta was after the Key?”

“She approached me with a very generous offer. Which I declined. She’s a mad bitch—always was—I’ve no wish to see her gain in power. Anyway, as I was saying, it occurred to me that the Walker would consider Andarta with a key to his kingdom a bigger threat than my daughter, and he would release the hostage he’d taken.”

…

Roz was finding it hard to follow the conversation. Maybe her mind had been befuddled by too much sex. She pressed a finger to her forehead and she tried to make sense of what Asmodai was saying.

“Just wait up here one moment. Am I missing something? You were going to swap the Key for a cat?”

Asmodai glanced toward Tara, then back to her. “I thought it would please my daughter. She’s not too fond of me right now.”

“And this cat was a shape-shifter? Is that like a werewolf?”

“Not really,” Piers replied. “Werewolves are born human and become weres when they are attacked by a werewolf. Shape-shifters are born. They are one of the immortal races, though pretty low down in the pecking order. They are usually tied to some other supernatural being.”

“Jamie was mine,” Asmodai said. “I gave him as a gift to Tara’s mother.”

“And you were going to hand the Key to this Walker guy—”

“Actually no—I was going to offer to destroy the Key in exchange for the shifter.”

“Right. This is the same Walker who’s Tara’s uncle?”

“Yeah. He’s a fae assassin,” Piers said. “And a complete piece of shit. He was going to kill Tara—his own niece.”

He didn’t sound very nice. What sort of person would kill his own flesh and blood? “Why?”

“They’re very into purity of the blood,” Piers said. “Plus, because of her mixed blood, Tara has the ability to move anywhere—the Abyss and the Faelands—and they see that as a threat. The fae are only good for one thing—”

“And what would that be?” Asmodai sounded vaguely amused, and she looked at him. Yup, a smile was curling the corners of his mouth, and his dark eyes were filled with laughter. What was he up to? What else did he know?

“Eating—they taste real good—and that’s it,” Piers said. “And while all the fae are assholes, the Walker’s the biggest asshole of the lot of them.”

Roz thought about it. “Oh right. Well, I can see why he wouldn’t want the Key in the wrong hands. You think he would have gone for it.”

“Oh yes. Plus, I had something else to offer him.”

“You did? What?”

“His daughter.”

The words made no sense. “You have his daughter.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“No.” Piers shook his head and turned to stare at her, a look of horror in his eyes. “No. No. No. Please tell me that what I’m thinking right now is not the truth.”

Asmodai laughed aloud. “It’s almost worth my plans failing just to see the expression on your face, Lamont.”

“Piss off.”

Okay, she might be slow, but she wasn’t stupid. For long minutes, shock held her silent. “This Walker guy is my father?”

“Yes,” Asmodai answered.

“You’re sure? Because my mother never called him the Walker, she called him Finn.”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

She reached behind her and fumbled for a chair, stepped back, and sank down before her knees gave out. Everyone in the room was staring at her, with vastly differing expressions. Asmodai appeared amused, as did Christian. Piers looked outraged, but then she had the biggest fae asshole in the world for a father. Did that mean he wouldn’t like her anymore?

Tara’s brows were drawn together as if thinking the whole thing through; then her face cleared and she smiled. “Hey, so your father is my mother’s uncle, which makes us…cousins on my mother’s side, sort of.”

At least the relationship was only on Tara’s mother’s side and Roz wasn’t related to Asmodai—that would have been too creepy.

It was weird; Roz had never even thought about finding her father. Up until recently, she’d presumed he was dead. And since she’d found out that he was actually fae and immortal, she’d been too busy to think about the possibility of him still existing somewhere.

Besides, she hated him. He’d abandoned them. If he’d stayed and protected them, her mother would never have died that night. Roz would never have made a deal with a demon. What would her life have been like?

Her mother had always sworn that he would return for them one day. Had been convinced that he had some reason for staying away.

Maybe it was because he couldn’t stand the sight of a daughter with her mixed blood. But she could remember him vaguely. He’d loved her, she would have sworn to that.

Nothing made sense.

Except one thing.

Asmodai was a bastard.

He’d known who she was and hadn’t told her. And he’d planned to hand her over to the man who had tried to murder his own niece because she had mixed blood. She’d believed Asmodai had come to care for her over the years. But he would do this to her? Hand her over to what would likely be her death?

She got up on slightly shaky legs and strode toward him.

He stood as she approached, a puzzled frown replacing the amusement.

Bunching her fist at her side, she drew back her arm, and punched him as hard as she could. Too late, she realized it was the same hand she’d used to punch Jack, and her knuckles were already bruised. “Ow.”

He reached up and touched his lip. “What the hell was that for?”

“You bastard,” she said. “Have you known this all along?”

“I knew you were half-fae, but I only discovered who your father was recently when we met again.”

“And you were going to hand me over to him?”

“I considered it more as an introduction.”

“An introduction to the man who nearly killed his own niece because she had mixed blood.”

He raised a brow as though he hadn’t made the connection. “Even the Walker wouldn’t kill his own child.”

“You reckon?” Suddenly all her grievances against him welled up inside her. “And another thing. You lied to me.”

The amusement was back. “I did?”

“You told me everyone would want me dead. When really it’s just…” She hesitated, hating to put it into words. “Just my father.”

“Actually, I doubt he’ll kill you,” Christian said.

“Really?” How she wished she believed that. “And why is that?”

“He desired Tara’s death because she had demon blood as well as fae. And you said your father stayed with you until you were around six—that hardly sounds like the actions of a man who hates you.”

“So why did he leave, why abandon us like that?”

“My guess is, he got caught up in one of the demon wars, probably couldn’t get back. From what you told us, the timing would have been right. We’ll find out at the meeting.”

It seemed inconceivable—she had a father. He was real. Suddenly, she was filled with the urge to see him, ask him why he had left them. Face him with the consequences of those actions. “You’re having a meeting with him?”

“We’ll have to,” Christian said. “We have to warn the fae that Andarta has the Key. I’ve already sent a message that we need to meet.”

“I’m going with you to the meeting.”

“Actually, you’re not going anywhere near that bastard,” Piers said.

Roz whirled around to face him. “Don’t you start thinking you can order me around,” she snapped. “I’ve had enough of that from him.” She jabbed a finger in Asmodai’s direction. “I want this over and I want this gone.” She waved her arm with the sigil in his general direction.

“You still have one more task to do.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that, and I don’t agree.”

“You don’t?”

“If I remember, the task was to find the Key. I found it. Now get this thing off me.”

He pursed his lips. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do it.”

He smiled. “You are so sexy when you’re angry. I’m tempted to keep you just for the entertainment value.”

Piers strode up to stand beside her. He also jabbed a finger in the demon’s chest. “You ever touch her again, and I’ll rip you limb from limb.”

“You’d fight for her?” Asmodai sounded intrigued by the idea.

Piers snarled, flashing one sharp white fang, and the humanity bled from his eyes, leaving him pure monster. She wasn’t impressed—well, maybe just a little bit.

“Yeah,” Piers growled, “and you know what—I’d win.”

“Maybe here, but—”

Roz stamped her foot, and they both turned to look at her. “No one is fighting for me. You.” She pointed at Asmodai. “Stop winding him up. And you.” She turned her attention to Piers. “Just remember if anyone kills him, it’s going to be me. Which might happen very soon if this mark does not disappear by the time I count to ten.”

Chapter Nineteen

Roz held her breath as she counted.

As she hit nine, Asmodai pursed his lips and gave a casual shrug. And just like that, it was gone. Before her eyes, the sigil faded from her skin. After five hundred years of enslavement, she was free. She could go anywhere, do anything, live her life without the fear that the demon would ask her for something she wasn’t willing to give.

A smile tugged at her lips as a sense of lightness filled her. She launched herself at Piers, wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and hugged him tight. His arms came around her and pulled her close. When she tugged free, he was smiling down at her.

“Wow!” she said. “I’m free.”

“I wasn’t that bad.” Asmodai’s tone was vaguely offended, laced with amusement. He gave her a sly smile, his gaze shifting to Piers. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”

She sniffed. “I really don’t remember.”

“Get that slimy grin off your face or you won’t be having any more times with anybody,” Piers said. “Good or otherwise.”

Asmodai laughed, but then the laughter faded from his face. “You do know there is a chance we won’t stop Andarta. With the Key, she can go anywhere, anytime, and take a whole army with her.”

That sounded bad.

“Does she have an army?” Christian asked.

“I don’t know—she never had any problem getting followers.”

“Well why don’t you bugger off and go find out?” Piers said.

Asmodai thought for a moment. His gaze flickered to Tara and away again when she gave no sign of responding. “Okay. And I’ll see if I can’t find out where she’s hiding.”

“Good. Off you go then.”

Asmodai stepped closer. He took Roz’s hand and ignoring Piers’ dark stare, raised it to his lips, and kissed her palm. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Rosamund. We will meet again.”

And he was gone.

“We’re off as well,” Christian said. “We’ll arrange the meeting for as soon as we can.”

Piers grimaced. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Tara came over and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry about the Walker. He won’t harm you. We won’t let him.”

That wasn’t the point really. Roz didn’t want a father she had to be protected from. Better none at all than that. But she gave Tara her best smile, which seemed to do the trick. Tara kissed her again, squeezed her hand, and backed away to where Christian waited.

As the door closed after them, Roz dropped to the chair behind her. It was sinking in after the initial euphoria—she was free. She rubbed her arm where the sigil had been, almost expecting to see it come back.

“So what’s happening?” Ryan asked, dragging her from her preoccupation with a non-existent mark. She’d almost forgotten Ryan was there. “Can I go as well? Or is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Apart from her and Piers, only Ryan and Carl remained. She reckoned Carl was keeping an eye on the detective.

Piers leaned back on the edge of the desk, arms folded, and studied him. To give Ryan his due, he never flinched, just faced the vampire squarely.

“Well, we have a few options.” Piers grinned. “The easiest is—we kill you.”

“Call me cautious,” Ryan replied, “but I think I’ll hear the rest before I go for that one. I’m presuming that there will be something that will appeal a little bit more.”

“Maybe. We can wipe your mind and send you home, and you’ll have no memory of us or this place or what happened here.”

“Marginally better, but I’m not sure I like the idea of you doing anything with my mind.”

“It won’t hurt, and it won’t do any permanent damage.”

“Nah, still don’t like it. You got anything else on offer?”

Piers smiled, revealing the tip of one white fang. Roz got the impression it wasn’t meant as a reassuring smile, more of a let’s-see-how-tough-this-cop-is sort of smile. “You can come and work for us.”

“He can?” Roz asked.

“I can? And do I want to?”

“Well the money is good, and you get to see a lot of action.”

“Why? I mean why take me on? I get the impression you guys don’t have a very high opinion of us mere humans.”

“Hey, we keep you safe from the big bad monsters.”

“Yeah, but I’m thinking that’s a by-product of what you’re really doing, and if you keep us safe it’s more in the way of protecting your food supply than through any… niceness.”

“You don’t think I’m nice?”

“Shit no.”

That’s why she liked Ryan so much. He told the truth. Piers didn’t seem bothered. She guessed he didn’t really think of himself as nice anyway. He certainly didn’t look nice. He looked…hot.

“The truth is,” he continued, cutting off her distracting thoughts, “one day soon, we’re going to have to come out to the world. It’s only a matter of time, and we have to start working toward that.”

“And how do I come into this?”

“We’ve been discussing it, and we’d like to start liaising with government organizations, security forces—get a feel for the best way to move forward, and we’d prefer some actual humans involved in that process.”

“Again—why?”

Piers flashed her an annoyed glance. “Is he always this inquisitive?”

“Yup. It’s what makes him a good detective.”

“Mr. Lamont, if you’re recruiting for someone to be on your side against my own people, you’re looking at the wrong man.”

Piers pushed himself up and paced the room a couple of times. Roz guessed he was deciding how much to tell Ryan—but what did it matter if they could just wipe all the information away? Then she realized that perhaps he wanted to persuade Ryan to work with them rather than resort to coercion and threats.

“We might seem human, but never presume we are. We don’t think the same way. There are some within our…community who would like nothing better than to remove the threat you humans pose by enslaving you all.”

“I don’t think it would be that easy.”

“No? Well, let’s hope you’re never proven wrong. In the meantime, there are others of us who would prefer not to go that route, and we’re looking for any help we can get. So Detective Ryan, would you like to come and work for us and help save mankind from the coming revelations that the monsters are real?”

“Can I think about this?”

“Until you decide to leave.”

“So let me get this straight: you can kill me, you can mind-fuck me, or I can come and work for you. And I don’t leave the building until I pick one of those options?”

“Yes.”

Ryan turned to her, but Roz didn’t want to influence him in any way, so she kept her expression neutral.

He ran a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m knackered. I’m going to check up on Maria, and then I’m going to sleep. I’d appreciate it if someone could show me to a bed.”

“I’ll take you,” Carl said.

Ryan looked the man up and down. It wasn’t possible to tell that Carl wasn’t human, but he gave off an energy that was almost palpable.

“And just what are you?” Ryan asked. “How do you fit in with this lot? I don’t see any fangs.”

“I’m a werewolf,” Carl replied.

“Yeah, of course you are.” He turned to Roz and she nodded slowly. “Shit. I’m going to bed.”

He stomped from the room. Carl shrugged and followed him, leaving her alone with Piers.

“There’re two hours until dawn—you want to go for a walk?” he asked.

Suddenly, she was filled with a longing to be outside, to revel in her newfound freedom. “Yes, please.” Taking her hand, he led her from the room to the elevator and pressed the ground level. The doors opened straight on to an alley that ran alongside the building. They were silent for long minutes. The night was warm, and they headed toward the river.

They reached the river without saying a word and walked along the embankment, the salty smell of the water mingling with the fumes left over from the day. It reminded her of the other night when they had walked here. But everything had changed. A sense of peace stole over her. It was hard to believe that there were other beings, other dimensions. They had existed all these years while she had lived in ignorance. But that was what slavery was, keeping people in ignorance of their options.

Somewhere out there, she had a father. Had he abandoned them? Or had he somehow been prevented from coming to their aid? She wanted desperately to believe the latter, but at the same time, she was scared to let herself hope. She’d hated him for so long for letting them down.

And somewhere else, Andarta was plotting the downfall of the human race, and a few other races if she had her way. Roz shivered in the warm air.

“Are you okay?” Piers asked, squeezing her hand.

She halted, tugged free, and leaned against the wall staring out over the dark water. “Yeah, I reckon. Just a little overwhelmed.” She sighed. “I’ve got a dad, and he’s a bastard, and you hate him.”

“He doesn’t like me much either.”

“Great, just great.”

“Hey, but no worries. Andarta might just get us all first, and you’ll never have to meet him.”

“There’s something to aim for.”

Piers moved up behind her, resting his hands on the wall on either side of her head. Her back pressed lightly against his front, but he didn’t touch her anywhere else, and they stood in companionable silence. Only hours earlier, she had been facing certain death at her own hands. Now, the world seemed full of possibilities, which was strange when you considered that very soon they might all be dead. But maybe it was better to die free than to live a slave.

How different the world looked when you were five hundred to when you were seventeen. She had no wish to die. Whatever she had with Piers—it was too new to put a name on—she wanted to explore. And he felt something too. He could have left her to die, and the problem of Andarta and the Key would have been gone. Instead, he’d saved her. He hadn’t asked for anything in return, and no one had ever done anything close to that for her since her mother died. She was all sorts of warm and fuzzy. It probably wouldn’t last, but she’d make the most of it.

A small boat appeared from under the bridge and chugged past them.

“The city never really sleeps,” she murmured.

“I know. That’s why I like it here.”

“Me too. I love this place. I’ve lived all over the world, but I always come back to London when I can.”

“Will you stay?” he asked.

“Would you like me to?” She held her breath waiting for his answer.

He leaned down and nuzzled the side of her throat, nipped her ear lobe with his teeth and a ripple of remembered pleasure ran through her. “Yes.” His hands slid up her arms and he turned her to face him.

“I’ve been alone for so long, I’m not sure that I’ll be any good at anything else. But I’m willing to try.”

“Me too.”

“Of course, that’s presuming that any of us are still alive at the end of this. And I’ve got to admit, the last time I tried any sort of real relationship, it didn’t exactly have a happy ending.”

“Andarta?” she asked.

“Yeah, but I’d rather not talk about that bitch any more tonight. Tell me about your father. What do you remember?”

Roz thought back over the long years. She had memories of him, but she wasn’t sure they hadn’t been distorted through time.

“He was beautiful, like he glowed.” Closing her eyes, she pictured him. “Those early years, he was with us constantly. He used to teach me things.”

“What sort of things?”

“The door.”

“What door?”

Excitement was bubbling inside her. She’d forgotten that part. “There’s something inside me. A…difference. My father told me I must hide it away or bad people would find me, and they would kill my mother and me. He helped me build a wall with a door, and he taught me how to close the door, how to lock it tight.”

She glanced up to find Piers staring down into her face as though he could see into her soul and unlock her secrets. “Jonas will help you see if it’s safe to open your door.”

She shivered. “Maybe. Anyway, one day he was gone. My mother always swore he would be back, but he never came. Not even at the end.”

His grip tightened on her arms. “I’m glad you made that deal with Asmodai. I’m glad you stayed alive.”

She realized something and a surge of happiness flowed over her. “Me too. And I’m glad Jack turned you into a vampire.”

“So am I.”

He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, still swollen from his kisses, and the slumbering desire woke inside her. She flicked him with her tongue then shifted one hand to the back of his neck beneath the silky hair and pulled him down to her for a long, slow, drugging kiss. His tongue thrust inside, filling her as he pushed her back against the wall, his body pressing into hers so she could feel the hardening length of his erection against her stomach. Liquid heat flooded between her thighs, and she rubbed up against him.

Only the blare of a car horn as it drove past them broke them apart, and he laughed softly against her hair.

“Let’s go back,” he said. “Dawn will be here soon.”

The sky was growing pale in the east when they re-entered the building. He hesitated at the elevator. “Stay with me. I need to sleep.”

Exhaustion tugged at her mind, and her lids felt heavy. “So do I.”

Inside his apartment, he stripped her clothes, and made slow, savage love to her, stretching out the tension until she was begging for release. Only then did he tip them both over the edge.

Afterward, he lay beside her, propped on one elbow. “I know you’re not particularly good at doing what you’re told, but could I ask one thing?”

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

“If you wake before me, stay inside. The building is okay, it’s warded, but don’t go outside.”

“Okay. I’ll stay inside.”

His eyes narrowed. “Wow. That was easy.”

“I’m feeling mellow.”

“Yeah, great sex will do that.”

“You’ll have to make sure I get plenty then.”

He leered. “I will.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close and she snuggled into him. His body felt cool against the warmth of hers, but soon she drifted into a sleep. Her last thoughts were—make the most of this because, chances are, it’s not going to last.

Chapter Twenty

The elevator opened directly onto the rooftop. Piers stood at her side, her hand clasped in his as though he sensed her nerves. Christian and Tara were behind them. The Walker had agreed to meet, and he would be here in a matter of minutes. Her insides churned with a combination of fear and anticipation.

As Roz stepped outside, Asmodai appeared out of nowhere, and she jumped. He was in his demon guise, nearly seven feet tall, huge black wings furled at his back. He tossed her a bundle. “Put it on.”

Roz pulled free of Piers and caught it. She shook out the material and found a black, velvet cloak, full-length and hooded. Obviously, Asmodai wanted her hidden. But why?

“You ashamed of me?” she asked.

A smile flickered across his lips. “Let’s just say, it might be better to get the bad news out of the way first.”

“He’s right,” Piers said. “For once.”

Wrapping the cloak around her, she pulled the hood over her hair. “It’s hot in here.”

“I don’t think it will be for long.” He gestured across the rooftop to where a group of faint figures was taking form.

Asmodai stood on one side of her, while Tara came to stand on the other. She slipped her hand in Roz’s and squeezed. Piers and Christian stood in front—the not-very-welcoming committee. Tension radiated from them, and the air thrummed with suppressed power.

The figures glowed with a pale luminescence that faded, revealing two men and a large gray cat. Beside her, Tara let out a small cry, tugged her hand free, and ran forward. She scooped up the cat and rained kisses down on its face. A low growl trickled from Christian, but Tara merely tossed him a grin.

Roz had almost been scared to look. Now she forced her attention to the two men. They could almost pass for human: tall, slender, both with silver-gilt hair down to their shoulders and long faces with pale skin and sharp cheekbones. They were hauntingly beautiful, and the air around them filled with a sweet subtle scent.

They were also almost identical, but she knew immediately which one was the Walker. She recognized him from those long ago memories, and she took an instinctive step forward. Asmodai stopped her, a hand on her arm. She threw him a filthy look but held herself still. Piers glanced back over his shoulder, and she nodded once. An expression of sympathy filled his eyes. He really didn’t like her father, and she was guessing the feeling was mutual.

Christian and Piers moved forward.

“Hey, Walker,” Piers said, “nice to see you’re still trying to blend in.”

Both the fae wore tight black pants tucked into long black leather boots and loose white shirts, and both wore swords at their sides.

The Walker ignored the comment. His crystal green gaze moved over their small group, not pausing on Roz, but narrowing when they settled on the demon beside her.

“Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” Piers waved a hand to the second fae who stood silent, his gaze fixed on Tara.

“This is my brother, Fallon, the leader of our people and the girl’s grandfather.”

Tara stopped cuddling the cat and stared.

“He wished to see her for himself.”

Fallon stepped forward. “I would talk with her while you conduct your business. Only if she wishes it.”

Tara nodded, and the two stepped away.

“Don’t go out of sight,” Christian said.

“She’ll be safe,” the Walker replied. “Now for this business. Why have you summoned me? And why is he”—he gestured toward Asmodai—“here?”

“Well, he is sort of family now,” Piers said. “And he is involved in this.”

“This?”

“We might have a small problem,” Christian said.

“A huge one, actually.”

“Speak it then.” The Walker’s tone was impatient.

So far, Roz wasn’t impressed. She could feel the fear rising inside her. But she wasn’t sure what she was afraid of. That he wouldn’t recognize her, that he wouldn’t acknowledge her. Or that he would, and he would hate her, want her dead…

“Andarta has the Key of Solon,” Piers said.

The Walker had been pacing the rooftop, but now he swung around to face them. “That can’t be. The Key was destroyed as part of the Accords.”

“Not exactly. It seems that the fact of its destruction might have been exaggerated.” Piers glanced back at Asmodai, who shrugged.

“I lied,” he said. “The Key was never destroyed, merely hidden.” He stepped closer and spread his wings, blocking out the starlit sky. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What is the Order going to do about it?” the Walker snarled, his hand resting on his sword.

Christian and Piers stepped closer to the two.

There was way too much testosterone on this rooftop. The air throbbed with power until Roz felt as though it must explode.

The Walker glanced across to where his brother stood with Tara. They were close together, but were looking their way. Fallon made a cutting motion with his hand and some of the tension eased out of the Walker.

“Much as I’d like to make my displeasure a little more concrete, I won’t risk a fight where my brother might be hurt.”

“How about if we promise not to touch him?” Piers said.

“Piers,” Christian snapped.

Piers shrugged. “Okay, no fight.” He glanced over his shoulder at Roz. “Probably for the best anyway, under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” the Walker asked. “Is there something else I should know?”

“Later,” Christian said quickly.

“So, do you know what Andarta plans?”

“Same old,” Piers drawled. “Take over the worlds, enslave all other races, wreak havoc and destruction.”

“And have you a plan to stop her?”

“We haven’t quite worked that one out yet. This meeting was more in the way of a heads up.”

“Then I should get back and warn my people, prepare them for invasion. Thanks to your incompetence.”

“We think they’ll attack Earth first,” Christian said.

“So?”

“We’d like you to help.”

“And why would I do that? Why would I lift one finger to help? I’d stand by and watch all humanity die with a smile on my face.”

“Why do you hate them so much?” Asmodai asked.

“None of your business, demon.”

“I have a few theories. Well, only one actually, but it’s a good one.”

The Walker clamped his lips together and whirled around, heading toward where his brother still stood with Tara.

“You blame them for the loss of something you loved,” Asmodai called after him.

He stopped walking but didn’t turn back. “You know nothing.”

“I know more than you think.” Asmodai turned to her and held out a hand. “Rosamund?”

The Walker’s back stiffened, every muscle locking tight, then he turned. His face was expressionless. Roz took the demon’s hand and allowed him to pull her forward. She reached up and pushed the hood from her face. She still had no idea how this was going to go down, had no clue what he was thinking.

She bit her lip, tasted blood, and saw Piers turn toward her. He stepped closer, grabbed her free hand, and pulled her away from Asmodai.

She wasn’t sure whether he was aiming to comfort her or staking a claim. It didn’t matter; at his touch, strength flowed through her. She stood up taller, not that it would do much good. Among this lot she was a midget.

“Rosamund?” The Walker’s voice was soft, disbelieving.

She nodded, and Piers’ hand tightened on hers.

“You’re alive?”

“Obviously.”

He appeared dazed. “All this time, I believed you dead.”

“And I believed you had abandoned us. Left us to die. That you didn’t care.”

“I cared.”

“Then why?” All the old resentment rose up inside her and the words came out almost as a scream. She pulled free of Piers’ hold and squared up on the fae, hands on her hips. “Why did you leave us? Why didn’t you come back?” She’d always tried not to think of her father, tried not to remember him, as his betrayal carried too much pain. Now the suppressed rage of all those years came spilling out. “She died screaming your name.”

His face blanched of the little color it held. “I’m sorry.”

She could see from his expression that he was, but it wasn’t enough. “Then tell me why.”

“I left because there was a war on and I had no choice but to answer the call of my king.” His gaze flickered to his brother. “But I gave your mother a ring—a talisman—that she could use to call me, told her that if she needed me, I would come.”

“Fat lot of good that did. She called to you over and over but you never came.”

He swallowed. “I was a prisoner. There was a great battle, and I was captured and awaiting ransom when I got the call. I begged them to let me go, promised on my honor to return, and they refused. In the end, I killed the guards and broke free, but it was too late. I got there to find the village destroyed and two stakes all that remained. I found her ring among the ashes and presumed you had both died.”

His voice was filled with remembered horror, and some of the tension inside her loosened. He hadn’t abandoned them through choice. He had cared. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to forgive him completely. He should never have left them so vulnerable. He should have taken them somewhere safe. No doubt, he’d been too ashamed of their mixed blood to take her to his people.

“You survived,” he said. “How?”

“After my mother was dead, they were coming for me. I called for help and someone answered.”

“Someone?”

“I saved her,” Asmodai said, his tone smug.

The fae’s eyes narrowed on the demon. “At what price?”

“Nothing I wasn’t willing to pay.” That wasn’t quite true, but there would be time to go into details later.

“You lay with a demon?” His tone held barely suppressed horror.

“Yeah, get over it. I’m five hundred years old—you expect me to still be a virgin?”

“But a demon.” He glanced at Piers, who stood at her back. “Still, things could have been worse.”

Why did she think things were going to get a whole lot worse, very quickly? She bit back a grin at the idea, as Piers came up behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her back against the length of his body. She stiffened for a moment, before relaxing against him. There was no point in putting this off, and her “father” had better get used to the idea. From the horrified expression on his face, it looked like that was going to take some doing.

“Let go of her,” he snarled. “Do you mean to use her as a hostage for my good behavior? Even you wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“I might, if I had to, but in this case I don’t.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, nuzzling the side of her neck. Okay, so her father needed to know, and she wasn’t ashamed of Piers, but she had an inkling he was being an asshole.

“But don’t think I’m any happier about this development than you are,” Piers said. “I’d have run a mile if I’d realized who she really was.”

Roz elbowed him in the gut.

“Hey, I might have run, but I would have let you catch me…eventually.”

She pulled free. “Lay off winding him up. I thought you wanted his help.”

Piers sighed. “We do. But come on, Walker, tell me one thing. I get you had to leave them, but why not take them somewhere safe? Why not take them to the Faelands where they could be watched?”

“There were reasons.”

“Which were?”

“Nothing I wish to go into right now. But Rosamund, believe me, I was never ashamed of you or your mother. I loved you both. Give me the chance, and I’ll prove that to you.”

“The chance?”

“Come back with me now. Let me show you my world, my people.”

Roz searched his face. He appeared to be genuine. Maybe what Piers had hinted at was right. He should have tried harder. He should have kept them safe. She suspected he carried around a great weight of guilt for not doing that.

But she also knew that her memories of his love had not been lies. That he had cared for her back then. Could that emotion have survived over the intervening years? This was the man who would have slit his own niece’s throat just for some purity-of-the-blood shit ideals. The man who had just claimed he would stand by and watch humanity die with a smile on his face. It came to her then why he felt that way. “That’s why you hate them, isn’t it—because they killed my mother?”

He gave a sharp nod. “I failed your mother, but I promised myself that I would keep the rest of my people safe at any cost.”

“And you’re the type to hold a grudge,” Piers said. “You blame the demons for keeping you away. You blame the humans for killing her.”

“And I blame the vampires for not keeping better control. If you had done your jobs the war would not have broken out.”

“So basically you hate everyone except the fae. I suppose that explains a lot.”

“But I’m half-human,” Roz said. “So where does that leave me?” Unless witches weren’t human. But her mother had certainly looked human. Acted human—for the most part.

“You’re my daughter,” he replied. “But you’re not half-human.”

“I’m not?”

“Come back with me, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Why not now?”

“This is not the place to talk of such things.”

“Come on, Walker, spit it out. What do you know?”

“Not here and not now.”

His tone was resolute. But much as Roz desperately wanted to discover what he could tell her, she wouldn’t go with him now. She had an idea things were going to go bad at any moment, and she wished to spend the intervening time with Piers. If they came through this alive, there would be time to get to know her father, to talk of her mother, to visit his homelands.

“When all this is over, then I’ll come.”

“You do know that with the Key, Andarta will be virtually indestructible?”

“Yeah, I know.”

After studying her for long moments, he reached up, lifted a chain from beneath his shirt, and pulled it over his head. A white gold band was strung on the chain. For a second he held it in front of his face, then he offered it to Roz. “This was the ring I found in the ashes. If you need me, hold it in your palm and wish. I will hear you.”

She took the chain from him, dangled it from one finger, watched as the light glinted off the curves. She remembered it on her mother’s finger, and bit her lip. Her mother had worn it every day and night, had never taken it off. She’d been wearing it the night she died.

“And will you come this time?” She hadn’t realized the bitterness she still harbored until the words slipped out.

Pain flashed across his face. “I will come.”

A cell phone went off behind her, and she jumped. Christian answered and spoke in low tones. When he looked back at them, his expression was grim.

“That was Carl. There’s been a demon attack at an army base in Surrey. Everyone slaughtered. It’s begun.”

“We must go and prepare for war. I will talk with my people, see if they are willing to fight beside you,” the Walker said. “If we survive this, we will renew our acquaintance. Until then…” He took the chain from her and lifted it over her neck. “Try not to think too badly of me.”

“You know,” Piers said, “I never thought I’d say it—but under that cold, mean, twisted exterior, there’s a soft, fluffy guy.”

“Piss off, Lamont.” He gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “I hold you responsible for her welfare.”

“Er, actually, I’m responsible for my own welfare,” Roz butted in.

Both men ignored her. “I’ll take care of her,” Piers replied.

“Good—now we must go.”

Fallon left Tara’s side and came to stand beside him. The mist gathered, and they were gone.

“Oh well, at least we know where you got that pigheaded streak,” Piers said as the fog faded.

“I have a pigheaded streak?”

“A mile wide, sweetheart. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

She bit back a smile—it was the first time he’d said he loved anything about her; even if it was her pigheaded streak, it made her feel all tingly.

Piers glanced around the rooftop, his gaze settling on Tara. “Hey, he left the cat—he must be mellowing.”

He was right; Tara still held the big gray cat in her arms. She put him down and the cat was gone, replaced by a young man with tousled blond hair and a big grin on his face.

Roz rubbed the ring that hung around her neck. Would the Walker come if she needed him? She hoped she would never have to test him, but she suspected in the time to come they were all going to be tested.

A few days ago, she’d had nothing. Now, she had a father, a lover, and the possibility of a whole new life, with people who understood her, were like her. Of course, on the down side, there was a good chance that the world as she knew it was going to end any moment.

Oh well, nothing was ever perfect.

Chapter Twenty-one

A week passed.

Piers received regular reports, and it was clear the chaos was escalating. Thousands had died, and the humans were beginning to see a pattern. The religious types were talking about Armageddon. The rest had no clue. The demon attacks left no survivors so there were no witnesses, but that couldn’t last.

Asmodai had brought back news of a vast army building in the Abyss. Andarta was gaining support, but Asmodai was amassing his own army of followers. The Walker had returned briefly and promised to come to their side once his people had organized their defenses. So far, there had been no attacks on the Faelands.

Within the Order, their focus was on finding Andarta, but anytime they got near, she simply opened another portal and vanished.

The only good thing to come of this was Roz.

When she wasn’t in bed with him, which unfortunately was too much of the time, she was working with Jonas, learning to harness her power. But they were hitting a brick wall. She had a hidden core that they couldn’t touch. Locked up tight deep inside her.

They were working on that now, which was why he was up here alone on the rooftop—Jonas had sent him out, claiming he was a distracting influence. He liked the idea he could distract Roz.

With a start, he realized that the boredom and restlessness that had plagued him recently was gone. He’d always been a loner, had never been good at relationships, but for the first time since he’d become immortal he wanted to try. It was still new, but they had something special. He just hoped they would have the time to explore it. If Andarta had her way, the whole world would descend into disorder.

Once he had reveled in chaos. Now he’d hate to go back to the way things had been before the Shadow Accords.

He grinned. He was turning into a nice guy. But the truth was, he wanted to be the sort of man Roz would admire. Roz was a good person, one of the purest he had ever met, and the amazing thing was she didn’t even realize it. He knew she liked him, but he wanted more. And soon, because he was beginning to realize that this could very well be the end. There was no way they could stand against Andarta and survive. So time was slipping away. He wasn’t sure what happened to immortals if they were finally killed, but he suspected he was soon to find out.

So each time he held Roz in his arms, he willed her to speak the words. So far, she’d remained stubbornly silent. Christ, how many times had he dumped women because they were about to say the L word? The only L word he’d been interested in was lust. Now, he silently urged Roz to say it. Just once and he could accept whatever was going to happen. Mind you, he hadn’t said it to her either, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured—or maybe he was just a coward.

After all, his one and only foray into love hadn’t exactly ended well. Then again, while Roz believed she was bad, Andarta had been the real thing. Pure evil.

As though the thought had conjured her up, a portal opened, and there she was.

For long minutes, he just stared. He could look at her objectively and admit that she was probably the most beautiful woman in the world. And she did absolutely nothing for him. Long blond hair hung like a silken cloak around her shoulders, her eyes were dark—almost black—her skin pale and flawless, marked with swirling runes of power.

As she took a step toward him, he had to hold himself still so as not to back away. She would see that as a sign of weakness.

She came to a halt in front of him. “Piers.”

“Andarta. What do you want?”

Her lips curved into a seductive smile. “What have I always wanted?”

“Death, destruction and the subjugation of just about everyone?”

“Well, those as well. But I want you, Piers. I’ve always wanted you.”

“I would have thought two thousand years locked in a tomb with only Jack for company would have cured you of that.”

“I have to say, at first I was angry. But I came to realize that I’d behaved all wrong. I should have known you would react badly, but I loved you so much and couldn’t bear the idea of you dying.”

Piers studied her closely. Was she telling the truth? Or was this some sort of ploy to trick him?

She reached out with one slender hand and stroked down his cheek with her fingertip. “We were good together. We could be good together again. You have no loyalty to these people. Join with me, and rule at my side.”

She was wrong. Once long ago he had been loyal to no one but his gods, but now there were people he would fight for, die for. He kept his expression blank.

“I love you, Piers. All I want, all I do, is to win back your love.”

How he had longed to hear those words. Unfortunately, not from this woman.

“Tell me what I must do to make you see that.”

He turned away, strode to the edge of the rooftop, and stood staring down at the city below. At the people going about their lives unaware they hovered on the edge of darkness. Andarta would bring that darkness and cover the whole world in despair and madness. She gained power from the suffering of others. He’d always known that, even when he’d loved her. He had no love for her now. He hated her and all that she stood for. But he kept those opinions locked inside. Christ, after two thousand years he was finally learning restraint.

“You’re quiet,” she said from behind him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You’ve taken me by surprise, that’s all. I assumed you would hate me.”

“I could never hate you. Everything I do is for you.”

Jesus, it was dawning on him that she was telling the truth. He really wished she wasn’t, because a plan was forming in his mind. And he wished it wouldn’t. He wished it would vanish along with Andarta.

Earlier, he’d thought that he wanted to be the sort of man that Roz would admire. Well, here was his chance. But his whole mind recoiled from the idea. He’d accepted that this could very well be the end of the world as any of them knew it. Now, from the looks of things, he just might have it within his power to stop that.

But at what price?

Was he willing to pay it? A vision of Roz filled his mind. He wanted to give her a wonderful life. He knew she was becoming attached to him, but maybe if he went now—before her feelings became any deeper—she would get over him in time.

Pain hit him in the gut. Why now? Why was this happening to him now? He had the chance to be different, to change.

Or he had the chance to save the world.

He could do this for her. All it required was words. He swallowed; his mouth dry. Then he swung back to face Andarta. He had to get this right, make her believe a mixture of truth and lies. “Tell me something.”

A frown flickered across her beautiful face. “What?”

“Would you rather rule the three worlds alone—”

“Four worlds,” she interrupted. “Heaven will be next. With the Key, nothing will stand in my way.”

Shock punched him in the gut. He forced it aside and continued. “Or would you rather rule the Abyss with me beside you?”

She went still, every muscle locking. “What are you saying?”

“Give me the Key, and I’ll be at your side.”

She studied his face for long minutes as though she could see into his soul. “Why? Why would you?” Her words held an edge of desperation, and he knew what his answer must be, though the words lodged heavy in his throat.

“Because I care for you. I’ve always cared for you—you know that—I worshipped you. But I’ve changed. I’ve come to care for other things, other people, as I never did before. For the last years, I’ve dedicated my life to protecting this world. I can’t turn back from that now.”

“You always did have an over-developed sense of duty.”

Had he? That wasn’t the way he remembered things. But he could use it, if that’s what she believed.

“I want to be with you again,” he said. “I yearn for things to be the way they were, but not at any price.”

She moved to stand next to him, rested a hand on his arm, and he only just prevented the revulsion from showing on his face. “So what are you suggesting?” she asked.

“We give the Key to the Order to be destroyed, and I will rule at your side in the Abyss. There are enough worlds to conquer there.”

“The idea of ruling Heaven doesn’t appeal?”

“I told you—not at any price. I’m being honest with you, Andarta. Ask too much of me and I will come to hate you.”

“And you don’t hate me now?”

Christ, she was being coy. He knew he had her. Who would have thought it? He forced himself to rest his hand on hers and squeeze her fingers. “I don’t hate you.” He should lie and tell her he loved her, but so soon after thinking that word in connection with Roz, he couldn’t do it.

She gazed up at him through narrowed eyes. “You won’t trick me a second time.”

“I know.”

“You would take my sigil, bind yourself to me?”

He’d been expecting it, but all the same, everything inside him revolted from the idea. He couldn’t force any words out, but he managed a brisk nod.

“For two thousand years.”

Shit. “That seems fair.”

“I know, whatever you say, that you don’t feel as you did long ago. But once we are together, you will remember the love you bore me.”

Yeah, of course he would. Like never. “Give me a day,” he said.

“I’ll give you until dawn.”

And she was gone. He should feel euphoric; he was about to save the whole goddamn world. Instead, a strange pain filled his chest. Just like his heart was breaking.

…

“I can’t do it,” she ground out for about the fiftieth time that night.

Jonas scowled. “Of course you can. You locked it. You can open it.”

Jonas was convinced that there was something locked up tight inside her. Some essential part of her being. She’d like to argue with him, but deep down—actually not that deep—she knew he was right.

Meeting the Walker had awoken a lot of old memories, and one of her earliest was her father, telling her to lock the light away. Lock it away or the bad people would find her, and they would kill her and her mother. So with the help of her father, she had locked it away. How had they done it? She couldn’t remember, and she couldn’t undo it.

And did she really want to? What had been so terrible that it had to be buried so deep?

It was where her healing powers came from. Because however tight it was locked down, just a little trickled out.

She reckoned she needed a chat with the Walker. Glancing down, she caught sight of the ring she still wore around her neck. Maybe she should call him.

She bit her lip and knew she wasn’t ready yet.

Soon.

“Come on, Rosamund, one more time.”

“I told you—I can’t!”

“Am I interrupting something?” Piers’ voice came from behind her, and she whirled around to find him leaning against the open doorway. Her insides melted. He was smiling that slow, lazy smile, though his eyes were guarded, and she went instantly alert.

“She has power, and she refuses to use it,” Jonas said, his tone disgusted.

“I don’t know how.”

“I thought we might take the rest of the night off,” Piers murmured, his gaze traveling down over her body so the melting bits started to smolder.

“You did? Can we do that?”

“Sweetheart, we can do anything we like. I’m the boss.”

Beside her, Jonas snorted, but all her attention was on Piers.

They’d grown closer over the last week, but Piers had been phenomenally busy, and their time together had been snatched moments. She grasped his hand and didn’t look back as he hurried her out of the room. Piers didn’t talk on the way and once the door to his apartment was closed behind them, he dragged her into his arms and kissed her, not giving her a chance to say a word. She didn’t care.

She kissed him back, her hands sliding into his hair.

He stripped her quickly. When she was naked, he turned her, placing her palms against the wall. His lips nuzzled her neck, and a wave of liquid heat poured through her body. He kissed his way down her spine, and flames shot along her nerves, all meeting in her belly.

Piers fell to his knees behind her. His big hands kneaded her buttocks. She felt his cool breath against her skin, his mouth tasting her, his tongue licking, his teeth nipping at her flesh as though he could devour her. A moan of demented pleasure trickled from her tightly clamped lips.

His moist tongue traced the line of her ass to her sex. She felt him push inside her, and only his hands holding her kept her from falling.

He parted her legs further, and his fingers replaced his mouth thrusting into her, rubbing until her hips jerked in time to his movements.

His fangs grazed her inner thigh then plunged into the vein as the pad of his thumb caressed the tight little bud at the center of her being. She came in an explosion of color behind her closed lids and kept on coming as he sucked at her vein and his thumb massaged her clit.

Finally, when she thought she would go mad from the pleasure, he swiped his tongue over the small wound and withdrew his fingers from her sex.

As her legs gave way, he rose to his feet and picked her up in his arms. She was naked and he was fully dressed, and she clung to him as he carried her through and laid her on the bed.

He stripped quickly, his erection huge, and a ripple of residual pleasure ran through her.

She welcomed him with open arms. He came down onto her and into her in one fluid move, and she gasped as he filled her. Then she let her mind go blank as the wildness of his lovemaking swept her away.

Afterwards, as pleasure still racked her frame, he kissed her and smoothed the hair from her face until she drifted away into an exhausted sleep.

Twice more in the night he woke her and made love, until her body ached with the overload of pleasure. After the third time, he spoke the first words since they had entered the room.

“I love you.”

She was sure she heard, and she wanted to answer him, tell him she loved him. But she was drifting into unconsciousness…

When she woke again, a sense of wellbeing rolled over her. She reached for Piers but found him gone.

Instead, on the pillow beside her, lay the Key.

Chapter Twenty-two

In a flash, the wellbeing was gone, replaced by a sense of nothingness. Roz hadn’t realized, but Piers had been there lodged in her mind, and now he was gone.

She grabbed the Key and scrambled out of bed. Her clothes were scattered on the floor by the front door, and she pulled them on. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was just after five. Dawn. Maybe that was all it was—Piers was asleep. But where? Why not in his apartment? Her mind hunted for answers but came up with nothing. Besides, she usually knew when he was sleeping; he was still in her mind but muted. Now where he had been was a great big empty place.

She ran out of the apartment and stood for a moment, unsure where to go. Who to go to.

Christian would be at home with Tara. No doubt, Jonas would be at The Crooked Hat.

In the end, she took the elevator up to reception. Graham was at the desk. He glanced up, his smile fading as he caught sight of her face.

Did she look that bad? Obviously, she did.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Have you seen Piers?”

He shook his head. “No, but I can page him if you like.”

“Please.”

She gripped the edge of the desk while he pressed a few numbers. “He’s not answering.”

Roz had expected nothing else, but still a shaft of fear shot her in the gut, so she swayed. Suddenly, she realized something. Last night, he’d been saying goodbye. The bastard. He’d been making beautiful love to her and all the while, he’d known it was for the last time.

But why? What had happened? Where had he gone?

She shook her head, forcing her mind to function. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get him back.

“Is anyone else around?” she asked.

“Jonas.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m here,” he said from behind her.

She turned slowly. He was watching her, with something in his eyes that looked suspiciously like pity.

“What has he done?” she asked.

“Do you have the Key?”

The thing was still clenched in her fingers. She raised her hand to show him. “How?”

“He’s enslaved himself to Andarta in exchange for the Key and her promise to stay in the Abyss.” The voice came from behind her, and she turned to see Christian standing there.

“We have to get him back.”

“It’s too late. He wears her sigil.”

She couldn’t bear the thought of Piers in slavery. He’d make a shit slave. Would Andarta hurt him if he defied her? Why had he done it?

Christian answered her unspoken question. “He did it because he knew she would win otherwise.”

“How do we get him back? How do we get him away from her?”

“We don’t.”

“We can kill her.”

“If she dies, those bearing her sigil will also perish.” He came to stand in front of her. His face held pity but also resolution. “This is what he wanted. His grand gesture. He did this for all of us. The best thing you can do is accept it and live your life.”

Yeah, like that was going to happen. “You’re his friend—you can’t leave him there.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. He loved her once. Perhaps he still does.”

The memory of his words drifted through her mind. I love you. And she knew he didn’t love Andarta. He loved her.

Christian’s expression softened. “Do you think he would have done this if we could think of another way? For the past week, we’ve been searching for a means to defeat her and we’ve come up with nothing. The attacks that have been happening were only the beginning. Millions would have died, the rest been enslaved—”

“Instead it’s only Piers.”

“Yes.”

She had to get away. Think this through. There had to be a way. Someone who would help. She looked at Jonas, and he shrugged. His loyalty was to the Order.

Around her neck, she could feel the ring her father had given her. He hated Piers. He’d probably love this. But he claimed to care for her, and she also guessed that her father held the answer to unlocking her own powers. She remembered enough to know that it was with his help that she had shut them away when she had been little more than a baby. She wasn’t sure what he could do, but if she was going to outwit Andarta, she needed every bit of help she could get.

“What shall I do with this?” She held up the Key.

“We’ll hand it over to Asmodai, and he can destroy it as he should have all those years ago.”

“Well, perhaps someone should watch him this time. Here.” She gave the Key to Christian and walked away.

She needed to do something before she contacted her father next, and she headed to the elevator. The doors slid open, revealing Ryan and Maria.

They appeared very chummy, and was that guilt that flashed across Maria’s expressive features as she glanced up and noticed Roz? She shifted a little distance away from the detective.

“Not gone back to the mother house yet?” Roz asked.

“I may not go back. Tara has offered me a job here. She runs a refuge for people who have been damaged by contact with this world. She thinks I could help.” Maria shrugged a little helplessly. “I’ve seen so much now. I can’t go back and hide behind the convent’s walls. I must do what I can to help.”

“Good.” She glanced at Ryan. “And what about you? Have you decided?”

“Yeah. I’m staying as well. It’s that or let these fuckers mess with my head—not going to happen. I told Piers and Christian last night. I just have to work out my notice and then I’m moving in.”

“I’m glad. They need good people like you.”

“Forget the good. They just need people. This place is full of monsters.”

“Including me.”

“No, not you. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not a monster.”

She realized this could be the last time she saw her friends, and she couldn’t even say goodbye. Finally, she moved aside so they could pass and stepped into the elevator.

“Look, I have to go, but I’ll see you both later.”

“Will you?” Ryan asked.

Roz ignored the comment and jabbed her finger on the button to close the doors. She made her way up to the roof where they’d met with her father the last time. Sitting on the low wall that ran around the edge, her legs dangling, she decided how best to approach him. She required information as much as anything. Christian had told her there was no way to save Piers. But did she believe him?

The sun was high overhead. Down below she could see tiny figures scurrying along the streets, hear the blare of car horns. Once, she’d desired nothing more than the chance to live a normal life among these people. Now, she accepted that would never be and she wasn’t upset at the thought.

Always before, she’d been alone, hiding what she was. This last week had shown her what it could be like to be among friends. Loved ones. Piers. She couldn’t give up on him. She pulled the chain from around her neck and rubbed at the smooth metal. It felt cool under her fingertips.

“Come,” she whispered. “Father, come to me.”

For a minute, nothing happened, and a sense of despair hit her. She didn’t know what she expected from him, but he was her only hope. Everyone else here was on Piers’ side. They wouldn’t go against him.

A mist formed in front of her and her father materialized.

“Rosamund.” His expression was guarded, and she realized he must already be aware of what Piers had done.

“You knew?” she asked.

“He came last night and told me.”

“Seems he told everyone but me,” she said, not trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

“He knew you would ask him to stay, and he had made his decision. You should be proud. I’ve always hated Lamont, but what he has done will save countless lives.”

“We have the Key now. There has to be a way to get him back.”

“The only way he can be freed is by mortal combat. And only then if she accepts the challenge and is killed. Asmodai could maybe kill her, or perhaps even Christian. But she’d be a fool to accept a challenge from them. And Andarta is no fool—except obviously in her feelings for Lamont.”

“If we just kill her…?” Christian had told her that Piers would die along with Andarta but she wasn’t sure she believed anything anyone told her anymore.

“Any who bear her sigil will also die.”

Damn. There went that idea.

“I won’t let this happen,” she said. “I won’t just walk away and get on with my life.”

“It’s what Lamont wanted. A chance for you to find yourself. Come with me to the Faelands. Let me show you our world, our people. You could be happy there.”

“Yeah, like you’ve been really happy, haven’t you? Tell me—have you had one peaceful day since my mother died?”

He looked away briefly. Then back to her. “No. But your mother is dead, and I blamed myself. Piers is alive, and this is not your fault.”

But she suspected that it was her fault. She suspected that Piers had done this for her, to give her the life she had never known. I love you. His words whispered through her mind. “Do you really think I can be happy knowing Piers is in servitude to that bitch?”

“They were lovers before.” He shrugged. “Perhaps he won’t find it so unpleasant.”

“He’s not the same man he was back then.”

“I can’t help. I cannot even enter the Abyss.”

“But I can.”

She’d been before, but always with Asmodai. Somehow the rules that kept the fae out hadn’t worked against her. Was that somehow tied to her hidden powers? Now, she needed to persuade the demon to take her again. And help her find Piers and Andarta. And afterwards?

“You cannot mean to face Andarta.”

She ignored the comment and moved on to something else. “Jonas says I have power.” A wary expression entered his eyes, and she continued, “A power he doesn’t recognize, that’s been locked away. Can you help me unlock it?”

“There’s nothing. He’s mistaken.”

“No. I feel it inside me, sleeping. And sometimes I have a memory of when I was very young. You taught me how to shut something away. I know it’s not just a dream.”

“I can’t tell you anything.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“No, I can’t—not if you want to live.”

She understood then that he wouldn’t help her, and despair formed into a hard lump in her stomach. “I want to live, but not at any price.”

“I’m sorry. Now, I must leave you—I am to stand witness as the Key is destroyed.”

“They’re doing it now?”

“Soon,” he said.

“I’ll see you down there. I need some time alone to think.”

“There’s nothing to think about. Forget Lamont.”

She couldn’t do that. Shit. She was going to have to challenge Andarta, demon of death and destruction, to mortal combat. She was crazy. But she couldn’t see another way. Maybe one last time, she’d try praying.

…

She’d thought she would have to go through Shera to arrange a meeting with Asmodai, but when the elevator doors opened on the reception area, he was waiting. Of course, he was here to destroy the Key. She stepped aside, and he entered to stand beside her.

“Down,” he said.

She pressed the button. “Can I have a word with you afterward?” she asked.

“What about?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

He shrugged. “Why not? I heard about Lamont. I’m sorry.”

“You are?” That was good. Maybe he’d be more amenable to her request.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about. To know he’s still alive and you can do nothing to help ease his burden.”

“Is that what happened with Tara’s mother?”

“I was banished to the Abyss after the last demon wars. She couldn’t follow, and she wouldn’t go home for fear of what they would do to her child. She perished making sure Tara was safe.”

“Well, I’m sorry as well, then. We’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?”

He nodded as the doors opened.

They found Christian with Tara in Piers’ old office, both studiously ignoring her father. Obviously neither of them had forgiven him for nearly killing Tara.

Christian didn’t make small talk, just handed the Key to Asmodai.

The demon wrapped his fingers around the metal, held it in his fist. “So much power.”

“Do it,” Christian said.

Asmodai appeared to weigh it up for a moment then glanced across at Tara. “You know, this is the one thing that could have saved your mother.”

“What? How?” Roz could hear the shock in Tara’s voice.

“She perished because she couldn’t enter the Abyss. When it was clear the war was over, I went to find this, to give it to her. I was on my way to the convent when I was taken and banished. With the Key, Lillian would have been able to follow me. I could have protected her, kept her safe, kept you both safe.”

The Walker rose to his feet. “It must be destroyed.”

“Why?” Asmodai said. “The Key has great power, but it’s not intrinsically evil.”

“You think we’ll let you keep it?”

“No. And I have no more use for the thing.” He took a step toward the other man and held out the Key. “It was only ever the fae who demanded it be destroyed. But perhaps instead, you can keep it safe, and maybe one day it may be used for good rather than evil.”

“You aren’t worried the fae will invade the Abyss?”

Asmodai grinned. “No—you’re welcome. But just make sure you call before you drop in.”

The Walker turned to Christian. “And the Order will allow this?”

“I don’t see why not. We never wanted the Key destroyed.”

“We did, but times change.” The Walker gave a brief nod of his head. “I will take the Key.”

As Asmodai handed it to him, his eyes widened, then he slipped the Key into his pocket. “I must go and inform my brother.” He stepped up close to Roz and took her hand. “Come and visit soon. There’s a home for you with us when you are ready.”

She gave in to the urge and hugged him. Just one time. She reckoned she wouldn’t get another chance. Then he was gone.

“Well, that’s over,” Christian said, taking Tara’s hand in his. “We’re going home.” He looked weary. And sad. Piers had been his friend, so obviously, he wasn’t going to like the way things had turned out. But she guessed Piers hadn’t given him a choice. Piers was good at that. He’d also gotten way too used to people doing what he told them. That was about to change.

When they were left alone, she turned to Asmodai.

He frowned. “What is it?”

“I have to say goodbye to Piers.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He looked at her, and she filled her eyes with the despair she was feeling. “You’ll get over this,” he said. “You hardly know the man. Believe me—he would have pissed you off sooner rather than later. Piers Lamont is an asshole.”

Maybe, but he was her asshole.

“I don’t care what you think. I’m asking for your help. Take me to him.”

“To the Abyss?” He sounded shocked at the idea.

Roz gnawed on her lip. She could do this. Closing her eyes, she willed the tears to come. It wasn’t as though she was faking. She felt like crying, but tears had never been easy for her. She blinked, saw the shock flare in his eyes as a single tear slipped over the edge, and rolled down her cheek.

“Please,” she whispered, “if you ever thought anything of me, help me. Just a few moments to say goodbye.”

“Andarta will kill you if she knows you mean anything to him. Do you think he made this sacrifice just so you could throw your life away?”

“I’ll stay hidden. She won’t see me. Just get me a few seconds with Piers, and afterwards, I’ll leave.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I must be crazy.”

And she knew she had won.

…

She’d always quite liked the Abyss. It wasn’t like humans depicted Hell. It was dark, but the air was cool and crisp. Overhead, the sky was full of stars, and a half moon hung low against the horizon, casting its dim light over a landscape of mountains and deep rugged gorges.

She followed Asmodai out of the open air and into a wide tunnel that led under the mountains. She fought the sense of claustrophobia; she’d hated small spaces ever since she’d been locked in that cell.

Finally, when they were deep underground, Asmodai halted and turned to her. “You stay here until I’ve spoken to Andarta. I’ll try and get Lamont away from her. But you’ll have seconds at the most.”

But Roz wasn’t listening. She was staring past him into the huge cavern beyond. Her eyes were drawn instantly to Piers. He wore black leather pants, but his chest was bare and around his upper arm twined a demon’s sigil. She pushed past Asmodai and ran toward him.

“What the fuck happened to hiding?” Asmodai muttered and hurried after her.

She skidded to a halt in front of Piers. His eyes widened, and an expression of horror flashed across his features.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He turned to Asmodai. “What the hell is she doing here?”

“She cried,” Asmodai said.

“Shit. Which part of ‘take care of her’ did you not understand?”

Roz ground her teeth together. “I do not require taking care of.”

“Are you insane?”

She opened her mouth to answer as every muscle in his body appeared to lock solid. He stared over her shoulder. She didn’t have to look; she knew who must have joined them, and a shiver of revulsion ran down her spine.

“Are you the reason he’s refused to touch me?” The voice was soft but tinged with malevolence.

“No,” Piers snapped. “I told you, I just don’t like being forced. And the deal was I’d be at your side, not on top of you. I never said I would fuck you.”

“It was implicit in the deal.”

“Maybe to you.”

“It’s her, isn’t it? You’re in love with her.” Andarta’s voice filled with disbelief.

Bitch. Roz stepped forward—time to get to the point of this meeting. Her throat was dry, and she swallowed. She could do this.

“Andarta, I challenge you to mortal combat.”

“Are you goddamn crazy?” Piers whirled around to face Asmodai again. “For fuck’s sake, get her out of here.”

“Too late,” Andarta purred. “I accept.”

Shit. This was it. “When?”

“Why not right now? Perhaps once you’re dead, Piers will be a little more amenable.”

“And perhaps he won’t,” Piers growled. Panic was forming on his face. Obviously it was sinking in that he had no control over what went on here. He shook his head as though trying to make sense. “Don’t do this, Andarta. Let her go, and I’ll do anything you ask. Just let her go.”

“Too late; the challenge has been accepted.”

“I’m sorry,” Asmodai said. “I didn’t know she was going to do this. She said she wanted to say goodbye, tell you she’d wait for you. She cried, goddamn it.” He took a deep breath. “We’re going to fight, I take it? But you know you’ll also perish if Andarta dies outside a challenge?”

Piers ran his hands through his hair. “To be honest, after a few hours with that bitch, I think death is preferable.”

Roz realized they meant to fight Andarta. No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. But even as the fear crowded her mind, a circle of crimson flame formed around her and the demoness. Too late.

“Only one of us comes out of this circle alive,” Andarta said, her tone making it clear she had no doubt who that would be.

This was it. Roz backed away instinctively until the heat of the fire burned her skin, and she could go no further.

The weight of Piers’ stare drew her gaze sideways. He stared at her and his eyes filled with despair. “Why?”

“Because I never told you I loved you. And you sneaked away. And I’ve been happy this last week. And I couldn’t bear the thought of going on with my life all the while knowing that you were here with her because of me. I’m sorry.”

“Well, ‘sorry’ is not fucking good enough. Look out!”

The first bolt hit her in the arm, and red needles of pain shot through her. She swayed but managed to keep her feet.

She had no clue how to fight back. What was she supposed to do? Just stand here while that bitch tore her into little pieces? She’d do anything for a gun right now, but Asmodai had told her long ago that weapons didn’t work in the Abyss.

She was an idiot. What the hell had she been thinking?

That for once, just once, someone would hear her prayers and answer. That somewhere deep in the core of her there was a power. A power trapped inside. A power she had no fucking clue how to release. And even if she could, chances were she would still lose to the demoness.

Andarta seemed to grow until she towered over her, beautiful and oozing malevolence. Roz had never felt so small, so insignificant. The demoness extended her hand almost casually, and fire burst from her fingertips. The blast zapped Roz in the shoulder, whirling her around and slamming her to the floor. She lay for a moment, trying to catch her breath and control the pain that burned along her nerve endings. This was nothing. Andarta was playing with her. Things would get much worse before the end.

Piers was close by; she could sense his fear and despair. She’d made things worse. She should have known that. He’d blame himself for her death.

She struggled to her hands and knees, bracing herself for the next bolt. Andarta smiled as she stretched out her hand.

Then the smile froze. She lowered her arm, her eyes narrowing on something behind Roz. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Christian and her father had entered the chamber. They’d halted just inside. The Key was clenched in the Walker’s fist, and shock was stamped on both their faces.

“You can’t stop this,” Andarta said. “The challenge has been accepted.”

Ignoring her, the Walker strode over to where Asmodai stood beside Piers. He turned to the demon. “Get out. Now.”

“Why?”

“There’s no time for explanations. Just get out, or you die.”

Asmodai looked from the Walker to Roz and back again. Some expression flickered in his eyes, wonder, awe. She didn’t have time to analyze it because he whirled around and vanished from the chamber.

What the hell was going on?

The Walker reached out a hand toward her. He murmured something and inside her, the door was flung open.

“Fuck.”

The word came from Piers. He was staring at her. She peered down and saw her skin glowing with a pale luminescence. White light blazed out of her, lighting up the cavernous chamber, flaring off the black walls. She turned slowly. Andarta stood motionless, her eyes stretched wide.

Roz threw back her head as the power streamed through her, bathing her in raw energy. She was on fire but didn’t burn, the tongues of white flame licking over her skin.

Focusing her mind on Andarta, the light poured out from her. The demoness screamed, as the flames engulfed her body.

Shock held Roz immobile. What had she done? But she couldn’t stop it now. In panic, she turned to Piers, but the fire hadn’t touched him. He huddled against the wall, his hand shading his eyes. Christian stood beside him.

And all around her, the white fire burned.

The Walker approached the invisible barrier that encircled her and the burning demoness. “Rosamund, call it back. You can do it.”

Could she? Did she even want to? But the flames were spreading, leaking out of the circle, crawling along the floor, up the walls.

She closed her eyes. Visualized the door. Pushed it closed. At first, it resisted. She gave a shove, and the door slammed shut.

When she opened her eyes, the fire was gone. In front of her was a pile of ashes—all that remained of Andarta.

Epilogue

“She’s an angel,” the Walker said.

They were back in Piers’ office at the Order. Everyone was there. And they were all staring at her. Even the goddamn cat.

“Hey, stop gawping at me like I’m about to sprout wings and a halo and start singing halleluiah!” Roz twitched her shoulders as if she could already feel the appendages growing.

“Really? An angel?” Piers asked. He sounded dubious, and who could blame him. He was also studying her as though she might explode. She scowled instead.

“Quarter angel, actually,” the Walker replied. “Her mother was the child of a fallen angel.”

“What happened to him?” Roz asked. Her mother had always said she was an orphan.

“He was hunted down and executed, along with your grandmother, but the child—your mother—escaped.”

“But who killed them?”

“The angels, of course. If you think the fae don’t like their blood being spread about, you should see what the angels do.”

“Actually, I don’t think I do want to see.”

“What sort of angel?” Christian asked.

“There are different sorts?” This morning she hadn’t believed in angels. Now apparently, there were different types. And she was one of them.

“What sort do you think?” the Walker said. “You saw the light, saw what she did to Andarta.”

“She’s an Avenger.” Asmodai sounded far from happy. “Shit, all these years...” He cast her a look of awe mixed with fear.

What the hell could put that expression on the demon’s face? “An Avenger? What’s that?”

“A Warrior of God, a Wielder of the White Flame.” Christian grinned. “Also known as demons-bane.”

Well, that sounded impressive. The white flame? Was that what she had locked behind the door inside her? It occurred to her that she could have done that fire thing to Asmodai at any time over the past five hundred years. If only she’d known. She bit back a grin.

She was an Angel. Who would have thought it? Problem was she didn’t feel particularly angelic. She glanced up to where Piers paced the room. He was still naked from the waist up, but the sigil was gone from his arm. He looked sexy as hell and suddenly, she wished this meeting over and done with. Piers glanced across and caught her watching him, and a slow smile curved his lips.

She forced her gaze away. There were still things she needed to know. And there would be time later, because she wasn’t going to die. At least not immediately. What a novel idea.

“How did you meet my mother?” she asked the Walker.

“I was the assassin sent to kill her.”

Piers grinned. “Well, that I find easy to believe.”

“And you weren’t tempted?” Roz asked.

“Once I’d seen her, I couldn’t—I loved her from the start. She was the purest person I’d ever met. So I lied, told them I’d killed her, and then helped her hide. Your mother was a latent. She had very little power. She could do some simple healing but nothing else. So she was easy to conceal. But you…” He got up and came to stand in front of her, his hand reaching out to stroke her face. “From the moment you were born, it was obvious you weren’t human. You glowed. We tried to keep you hidden, but it was almost impossible. We had to stay on the move—the angels sensed your birth and were hunting you. As soon as you were old enough, I taught you to hide the power. Lock it away, and after that things were easier.”

“And what about now?” Piers asked.

“They’ll have felt an echo of that power. They’ll know she still lives and will come after her. You must keep her hidden. But now I must go and tell my brother that Andarta has perished.”

Roz watched as he left, her brain processing the information. “Great, just great,” she muttered. So much for not going to die. That hadn’t lasted long. “Will I never run out of people who want to kill me? Just for once I’d like to go to sleep at night and not have to worry about waking up dead.”

Piers came across to where she was sitting. He sank down beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll protect you,” he murmured into her hair.

“You will?”

“Of course. You really think a bunch of asshole angels will get through me?”

She didn’t know. But maybe it was enough that he was there and wanted to protect her.

The truth was there were so many times since this whole thing had started that she could have turned her back and run for the hills. But she hadn’t and avenging angels aside, things hadn’t turned out so bad. She was free of the demon and had been reunited with her father—who loved her. And best of all, she had her very own hunky vampire protector. About time she showed him how grateful she was.

“Bedtime,” she announced. “Tomorrow, I guess I’m going to have to start living up to this angel thing. But tonight, well, tonight I want to be a little bit bad. So, goodnight, everybody.”

“Even me?” Piers asked.

“Of course not you—who the hell else am I going to be bad with? Let’s go, Lamont.”

He stood up, wrapped his big hands around her waist, and tossed her over his shoulder. Then he headed for the door.

“Hey wait.” She punched him on the butt. “Back up.” He stepped back and she grabbed the half-full bottle of scotch from the table. “Okay, let’s go.”

She managed to keep hold of the bottle and not spill any as he tossed her on the bed. Scooting up, she leaned back against the pillows, and took a deep pull before handing the bottle to Piers. He came down and stretched out beside her.

She’d faced a badass demon and sure death today.

Now for something even scarier.

Turning so she could peek up into his eyes, she held his face between her palms and remembered his words as he’d left her that morning. She could do this. “I love you.”

Piers leaned across and kissed her lightly. “I sort of guessed when you appeared and saved me from a fate worse than death.”

“Was it that bad?”

“I’d only been with the bitch two hours and I was ready to rip my own head off. Two thousand years—what the hell was I thinking of?”

“Me. Thank you, but don’t do it again.”

She snuggled up, wrapping her arms around his middle and laying her head on his bare chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of vampire.

“You know, I remember thinking at the start of all this that you make your bed and then you have to lie on it. And I have to say”—she wriggled against him—“this one is pretty damn comfortable.”

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her again. “And if you’re really lucky—you make your bed, and then you get to share it with your very own angel.”

Acknowledgements

Once again to my fabulous editor at Entangled Publishing, Liz Pelletier, and her assistant Robin, for all their wonderful comments and edits. To all the great women at Passionate Critters for reading my stories and letting me know what they really think. And finally, to Rob, who puts up with me, and encourages me, and does a great job of hiding it when he’s totally fed up with me being in my imaginary worlds and filling the house with vampires and werewolves..

About the Author

Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of nine-to-five work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain.

Nina writes all types of romance, often mixed with elements of the paranormal and science fiction.

www.ninacroft.com

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