Avenging Angel (The Fallen #4)(18)

He didn’t hear anyone else out there. He just smelled blood. Garbage. Stale cigarettes.

Flowers?

What the f*ck?

The faint scent wasn’t coming from Marna—but from the right. In the shadows.

Tanner edged closer, with Marna on his heels. A few more feet, a turn to the right—

A horrified gasp slipped from Marna. Tanner’s jaw locked.

It looked like the bartender wasn’t gonna be giving them any info. It looked like she wasn’t gonna be doing anything, ever again.

The redhead lay face down on the ground, and with his enhanced vision, Tanner could easily see through the darkness—and see the puddle of blood that surrounded her.

Tanner advanced carefully. His gaze swept the alley. No sign of anyone else, but . . .

Marna rushed by him. She knelt next to the bartender, reaching out to touch her.

“Don’t!” Tanner snapped.

Marna glanced back up at him, her eyes huge as her hand hovered in the air above the redhead. “She’s still alive.”

Knife wounds covered the redhead’s back and when he crouched next to her, joining Marna, Tanner winced at the sight of the bartender’s gaping throat. Her head was turned to the side, giving him a perfect view of that brutal damage. A desperate rasp escaped from her chest as she fought to breathe.

How the hell was the lady still clinging to life?

The finger of her right hand was trembling. Shaking so hard. And she was dipping it into her own blood. Dipping it and—

Writing?

Tanner stared at the splotches she’d made on the broken cement. He could see an A, an N. Was that C or G?

Angel.

She began to convulse.

“Someone’s coming for her,” Marna said, voice sad. She stroked back the bartender’s hair. “It’s okay,” she told the other woman. “An angel is almost—”

A woman shouldn’t die with that much terror in her eyes. Tanner reached for the bartender, ignored the blood and the growing scent of flowers in the air.

Flowers and f*cking angels. You could always smell ’em. No wonder he’d caught that scent mixed with the blood. An angel of death was coming to take the redhead away.

And she didn’t want to go. “Go inside!” Tanner snapped out to Marna as he tried to put pressure on the woman’s wounds. So many wounds. Too many. “Get an ambulance out here! Tell them we need help!”

“Tanner, you know it’s—”

Too late.

He turned his head. Met Marna’s eyes. Saw the glimmer of tears that she couldn’t hide. “She’s not dead yet, so it’s not too late.” He’d fought death before.

Fought, lost.

But still fought.

Marna scrambled to her feet and rushed back inside.

That floral scent deepened. The angel was coming, but now, hell, at least he’d gotten Marna away from the scene.

I don’t want the angel near her.

A tear leaked from the redhead’s eye. “You just have to hold on,” he told her. “Just fight a little longer and—”

Her gaze slid to the left. Widened.

Tanner followed her gaze. While he saw nothing, Tanner felt the distinct chill in the air. They weren’t alone.

He couldn’t see the angel of death walking in that alley, but she could, and the redhead was terrified.

Her hands dug into him as she tried to speak. But with most of her throat gone, there was no way he could understand the grunts and gurgles she made.

More tears fell. Her nails scratched into his skin.

“Stay away from her!” Tanner yelled at the darkness.

Her body was so cold. There was so much blood. Who’d done this to her? Why?

Because of what she knew? What she’d been minutes away from telling them?

Tanner felt the whisper of wind against his skin, and then—

Then she stopped groaning. Stopped crying. Stopped living.

The angel of death had taken her away.

Sonofabitch.





Marna rushed back through the bar. She’d grabbed a waitress and snatched her cell phone to make the nine-one-one call. Telling the dispatcher to come to Hell? Yeah, that had gone over real well. She’d wasted moments arguing with the dispatcher and trying to get her to understand that this wasn’t some prank.

A woman was dying.

Marna threw open the door to the back room, hurried forward, and—

Not alone.

“Why would an angel of death . . .” The voice—that freaking voice that she knew belonged to the blond vampire who’d wanted to drink her before—rose from the shadows as he stepped into the light. “Why would someone like you smell so strongly of fear?”

He glided forward in a movement that was way too fast, putting him between her and that back door.

“You need to get out of my way,” she told him, heart pounding fast from her frantic race through Hell and from her growing fear. “Someone’s dying out there.”

“Someone’s already dead out there.” He inhaled. “That much blood . . . not even a demon like Cadence could survive an attack like that.”

Cadence? Had that been the woman’s name? And he already knew that she was dead? But—

In a blink, he was in front of her. Smiling. Flashing those sharp fangs. “Why would you smell like such sweet fear?” he asked again, eyes narrowing. “Unless you had a reason to be afraid.” His hand lifted toward her neck. “Do you have a reason, angel?”