Angel of Darkness (The Fallen #1)(65)

Her blood was dripping on the ground.

Did she really think he was just going to stand back and watch?

His fingers began to shake, so he balled them into fists. The wind kicked up and blew against his face.

“You’re weak!” Mike snarled, that gun still up. “Can’t take much more of this before you go down.” He fired again. Missed her. Aimed. Fired.

Hit.

This one grazed her arm. Slowed her a bit. More blood flowed. She was halfway to her target.

Mike smiled. “Now!”

Then his buddies stopped watching. Their hands dove into their satchels, and they all came up with bottles.

“Burn the bitch!” Mike ordered.

They started throwing the bottles right at Nicole. She swatted them away. More bottles flew, some with burning rags in them.

No!

Not just her fight—theirs.

Keenan flew off the porch. He grabbed her in his arms and turned so that when the Molotov cocktails hit, they crashed into his back. The bottles rained down and a fire sprang at their feet.

Nicole screamed, and he saw the fire eating at her shirt.

The hunters had been prepared this time.

“Special brew, bitch! Somethin’ I picked up from a voodoo shop down here! Somethin’ to burn a vamp right to ash!”

Keenan held her tight and raced forward, shoving through the fire that circled them. Once they made it past that line of flames, they crashed onto the ground. The fire was on him, eating at his flesh, but he barely felt the pain.

Not like when I fell.

Nothing would be like that fire.

He rolled Nicole and slapped at the flames on her clothes. She was crying, thick tears rolling down her cheeks. Angry red blisters were all over her.

But his skin was already healing.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, the rage making his voice lethal. “I’ve got them.”

He’d always known some humans deserved death. Deserved to scream and beg for mercy.

He wouldn’t give mercy this time.

He kissed her cheek. Tasted her tears. The scent of blood and fire filled his nose.

“Nicole?” Fear had his gut clenching.

But she nodded. “I-I’m ... okay.” Bleeding, bloody, burning, but alive.

Until the next attack. With Az breathing down her neck, she wouldn’t survive many more hunter attacks.

And the bastards were laughing as she bled and ached.

“I’ll kill them for you.” A simple promise. Right, wrong. It didn’t matter anymore. He brushed a shaking fingertip over her cheek. “I’ll kill them.” He was on his feet. He ran toward Mike and the bastards with him.

Mike and his men were already on their bikes, revving their engines. Trying to get away.

Mike’s motorcycle flew away in a hail of gravel. Two others followed him.

No, they wouldn’t get away.

Keenan lunged forward and caught one bastard around the neck and yanked him off the bike. The man’s head—minus helmet—slammed into the ground.

Keenan jumped on the bike. He locked his hands around the handlebars and leaned in low as the motorcycle leapt forward.

You’re not escaping.

He’d hunt the bastards down. He’d take them out.

Nicole would be safe.

The roar of his rage was the only sound he heard.

Death.





“Keenan, no!” Nicole was on her feet, her arm throbbing, her side aching, her clothes—still smoking—and she shouted as loud as she could.

But Keenan didn’t stop.

She knew he wouldn’t, not until ...

I’ll kill them for you.

Was this really what she’d done? Turned an angel into an assassin?

Her breath hissed out at the pain as she hurried to the man on the ground. She needed blood. She’d have to take his. Donating was the least the guy could do for her—he’d tried to burn her alive.

She dropped to her knees, reached for him, and realized, too late, that he was dead.

His horror-filled eyes stared up at her. His mouth was wide open while his face was frozen in a mask of pain and terror.

Her hands ran over him. No broken neck. No broken bones at all. No wounds, no blood, nothing.

But still very, very dead.

As she stared at him, trying to understand what had happened, a new scent teased her nose. Wild, musky, like an animal.

“You really are just a baby to this game, aren’t you?” A male voice asked, one with a hint of Mexico purring beneath the words. “Querida, you don’t even know what I am, do you?”

Slowly, carefully, she turned her head to the right. A man walked from the woods. His shoulders were pushed back, his pace slow and steady, and a wide grin stretched across his handsome face.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Square jaw. Cruel lips.

A face she’d seen before.

Mexico. Carlos.

Prey that had become hunter. Nicole jumped to her feet and felt the lash of pain sweep over her. “What ... what are you doing here?” Dumb question. Like the others, he was there to kill her.

Because of what she was.

He smile widened even as his gaze raked her. “That looks like it hurts.”

It did. She wouldn’t stop hurting until she drank and healed.

“Off to stop them, isn’t he? Off to kill them ... for you.”