Angel of Darkness (The Fallen #1)(45)

He kept thrusting. Keenan surged inside her, filling every inch of her sex. “Yes ... good ... so ...” His voice rumbled around her, then he stiffened, his muscles locking, and the hot tide of his release filled her.

She licked his throat and caught the drop of blood that slipped down his neck. Her hands were free—when had that happened?—and she wrapped her arms around him.

His body shuddered against her as his hips pushed forward. Keenan’s head lifted. He stared down at her with glittering eyes.

I didn’t mean to bite. I tried to hold back.

But sometimes, there was just no fighting what you were.

She stared up at him, and, for an instant, the light seemed to dim around him. Dark shadows spread behind him, stretching out, up. Strong, thick shadows of black that curved from his back.

Like wings.

Fear whispered through her even as she pulled him closer. Her hands slid down his back, over the rough ridge of scars where wings had once been.

No more.

Because she didn’t see those shadows anymore. They must have just been a trick of the light.

You will die within ten days. The only question is ... by whose touch? The angel’s voice pushed into her mind.

By whose touch ...

Keenan’s strong hands were on her. Stroking. Caressing.

It only took one touch to kill.

And it only took one touch to bring pleasure. This time, Keenan had brought pleasure.

But what about next time?

She closed her eyes and pressed closer to him.





Carlos Guerro stared at the demon before him. The bastard had tried to kill his cousin. He was so tired of the supernaturals thinking they could destroy his kind.

First his mother. That damn vampire had seduced her, then ripped her throat wide open as he drained her.

Then Carlos had watched his pack fall.

Now, for this * to come hunting in his part of Mexico, so soon after that bitch vampire and her boyfriend had killed two of his men ...

You’ll suffer. This one wouldn’t die easily. Carlos would make sure of it.

The demon was begging now. Crying. Pleading. That was the way it always was for them at the end.

No one wanted to die.

Too f*cking bad.

Carlos smiled at the demon. “You really thought you could hunt here ... that you could come after a coyote shifter—”

The demon’s head jerked up and horror filled his eyes. “II didn’t know—”

Didn’t really matter. The coyote shifters weren’t the bitches of the paranormal world, and it was time people started to learn that lesson.

The members of his pack—those still alive after that last slaughter by the wolves in LA—had come home to regroup. And to start hunting. They’d been busy killing anything and everything that came at them.

Proving our strength. They weren’t going to wait to be hunted. They were the hunters.

The demon’s hands dug into the dirt. They’d made him dig his own grave. Easier to clean up that way. “I didn’t want her!” The demon screamed out. “I was supposed to kill the f*cking vampire!”

Carlos pulled back the shovel he’d been about to slam into the demon’s stomach. “What vampire?” An image flashed in his mind. The woman with the devil-black hair and the too-pale skin. The woman who’d whispered so temptingly in the bar, then taken him outside.

He’d known what she was, of course. And he’d been planning to rip her throat wide open ...

Then her lover had arrived.

The demon—he’d said his name was Elijah—glanced up, blinking bleary eyes. Getting the demon to make sense was hard. He seemed more than half out of his head. Probably from drugs. Some demons screwed around too much with them. If he was lucky, they’d all OD and head straight back to hell one day soon.

If he was lucky.

Elijah’s jaw had gone slack.

“What. Vampire.” Carlos lifted the shovel to the demon’s throat. The weapon’s placement was just a threat. He wouldn’t make the killing blow this way. Carlos liked to be far more hands-on.

Behind him, his cousin whispered his name.

He ignored Julia. This wasn’t her call. She’d just been the bait.

“W-woman ... with black hair ...” Elijah’s body weaved. “Sh-she was h-here ... before ... supposed to kill her ...”

Same vamp? Different? Did it even matter?

No.

Time was up for the demon.

“She took up with ... f-f*cking angel ...” The demon laughed and blood dripped down his chin. “Angel and a bl-bloodsucker ...”

Carlos dropped the shovel. “What?”

“He could see me,” Elijah muttered, scratching his eyes. “I knew it—one look ... he could see everything ... Can’t let ’em s-see ...”

Fucking lunatic. “There’s no angel.” Mierda. If only there was ... In LA, he’d stumbled onto an Other secret. A very, very powerful poison.

Angel’s Dust. A potent mix that, when ingested, destroyed demons. It didn’t matter how powerful the demons were. Even level tens would die when the poison worked through them. No cure—just death.

Only one problem ... Angel’s Dust had to be made from pure angel blood, and there weren’t a whole hell lot of angels walking around these days.