Winged Passion Read online

Trick’s cock still throbbed. He hadn’t expected—or wanted—this erection. Even worse, Seraphina had kissed him with such ferocious control; she hadn’t lost her head to lust at all. Cool, calm, methodical; it had fucking sent him wild. It was only when his hand had reached her hip that he’d realized she’d been playing him. No woman with eyes like hers melted for a man she didn’t like.

  For a man like Trick.

  He’d almost been fool enough to fall for it.

  Time to get your head in the game. No more weakness. No more pity. He’d taken Z on because he felt sorry for him, and look where that had got him. Into a huge fucking mess, where he was now lumped with some kind of damn valkyrie.

  Back to business.

  “Get your things and come back to the guild.” Trick waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll set you up with a room and work out what your first job will be.”

  Something far, far away from him.

  Seraphina stared down her nose at him for a few seconds, then nodded, turned on her heel, and left.

  The silence after her departure was deafening.

  He strode back to the other side of his desk and collapsed in his chair. Rubbing a hand over his face, he exhaled slowly, trying to re-arrange his scattered thoughts. Kissing an angel was stupid—kissing Seraphina even more so. But he’d wanted to know what Heaven tasted like, just for a moment, before it would be forever out of his reach.

  Amazing, he thought. It had tasted amazing.

  *

  He caught up with Dru in the stone-lined hall. She’d been waiting for him after Seraphina had vanished. “You didn’t bring your guard dog with you?” he asked, looking for the hulking angel who had attached himself to Dru’s side.

  She gave him a flat stare. “If you mean Az, no. He’s back in the Human Realm. Why? You fancy him?”

  Trick rolled his eyes. “You know well and good it was you I wanted to fuck. Not some pretty angel-boy.”

  So. Seraphina knew Z, and Z knew both Az and Seraphina. Clearly, they’d all been buddies back in Heaven. Wasn’t that great?

  Now this asshole Az was Dru’s mate, when Trick had spent years wanting her, willing to take the risk of dying in her arms. Except now when he thought of kissing her—like he’d done every day since he’d met her—it was no longer her mouth that Trick imagined. His mind conjured a set of plush, dark plum-colored lips, ripe for the taking.

  This isn’t good.

  The idea behind the slave-branding was that she wouldn’t forget him. Not the other way around. But the tart and sugary taste of ambrosia lingering on his tongue made it a tad difficult.

  Stop by the mess hall and get a Coke or something. That would wash away the flavor. And he could do with the sugar hit.

  “Come now.” Dru patted his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. “We both know you had a crush on me purely because I was unobtainable.”

  “So was your sister, but I didn’t want to bang her.”

  That comment earned him a dark stare before Dru walked back toward the main hall, the flickering lights sending shadows dancing across the fine contours of her face.

  The thing was, Peony looked almost exactly like Dru—from the white-blonde hair, to the gray eyes and the golden skin. The only differences between the twins were their personalities and their ability to kill: Peony could do it with a single touch, whereas Dru had to use her claws. But no matter their similarities, he had never felt the slightest pulse of attraction to the guild’s former medic. He’d just wanted the assassin. Which had told him it wasn’t simply a physical thing.

  He hadn’t wanted a healer; he’d wanted a killer.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” Dru demanded when he caught up. “Sending Peony to the Mortus. She could have died.”

  “She didn’t. And she’s their goddamned queen now, so I think it worked out pretty well, don’t you?”

  It had been one of his luckier moments, that was for sure. He’d taken a gamble and won.

  If he’d sent Dru to the den, it’s likely she too would have killed the king, but would have walked away afterward, leaving a high body count and the Mortus in turmoil. They would have eventually hunted her down, and then there would have been a bloodbath.

  Peony, however, tried to see the best in people, and was compassionate enough that she’d want to help the demons she lived with, even if they were evil. Trick had figured she had a chance of surviving, at least. He hadn’t expected her to thrive.

  “I still want to kill you for it.” Dru stopped walking. “She’s trapped there, you know that?”

  He frowned. “She’s their queen, she can do whatever she fucking wants.”

  “She’s been bound to Hell. She can’t leave. At least not yet.”

  Bound to Hell?

  He rubbed his chin. “Sorry to hear that, but it’s not like anyone could have predicted that would happen.”

  Only the Hell-lords were bound to their realms. How on earth had Peony managed such a feat? Although...the power she would have gained from doing it...

  A little shiver ran down his spine.

  Better that he avoid her for the next hundred years or so.

  At least.

  “Are you done chastising me?” he asked.

  She growled under her breath. “For now.”

  The admission made him grin. She’d forgiven him—at least a little bit. And that was a good thing, because while he had lusted after her enough to earn himself a reputation as a love-sick puppy, he’d valued her dry wit and friendship more. It was the latter he’d missed most since she’d left him.

  Uh, left the guild.

  “Good.” He nodded. “Let’s go get a drink while we wait for Seraphina. I have some gossip to fill you in on.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know I don’t listen to gossip.”

  “No, you just make it.”

  A deep, throaty laugh filled the hallway, making him smile. Dru wasn’t prone to mirth, so he gave himself a mental pat on the back.

  “Anyway, it’s about Sylvester. He’s gone and hooked up with someone.”

  Their resident thief, Sylvester, was also their current—and reluctant—medic, since it had proven rather difficult to recruit demon healers. Turns out, there weren’t too many of them around.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Really? Do tell.”

  “Oh, I’d love to.”

  For now, despite the shittest month in recent memory, everything was back to where it should be.

  And he was happy.

  Chapter 6

  “Are you sure you need to leave?” Yael asked, for the tenth time in the past hour.

  Seraphina glared at her fellow Dart while she packed a suitcase full of clothing. Her other case was already full of weapons. She hadn’t been able to fit the rocket launcher, but she figured Trick would have one if she needed it.

  She glanced up. “My answer has not changed in the past ten minutes.”

  “We will find another way around the contract—” Yael paced her bedroom, striding from one rose-gold-painted wall to the other.

  “How? Are you willing to sign your soul over to the guild?”

  Yael’s mouth snapped shut.

  As I’d thought.

  Seraphina focused on the space around her. She’d miss this room, she supposed. It wasn’t the first one she’d claimed at the mansion; she’d abandoned that after Paschar’s visit. She couldn’t handle sleeping in the place where he had betrayed her. But this space Seraphina had made her own—from the paint color to the carpet, it was lush warm tones, highlighted with aquamarine throw cushions and bedspread.

  “If it was the only option available to us, I would have signed my name,” Yael said eventually.

  That took a little too long.

  She shook her head, and reached for another shirt, this one the color of sunflowers.

  Seraphina had done what needed to be done. She’d sold her soul, so that Z could remain free. He’d had enou
gh bad luck in his life, and now that he was healthy again, he deserved a second chance. What’s more, as the keeper of a piece of Heaven’s Heart, it was better that he wasn’t enslaved to a guild of mercenaries, who would use him for it the moment they knew.

  Trick wasn’t above using someone for his gain—look what he’d done to Dru’s sister.

  Thinking of Trick made Seraphina’s lips throb. Repressing the scorching memory of his kiss, she firmly shoved a shirt into her suitcase. It’s just a physical reaction. It means nothing.

  “Surely—” Yael began.

  Raze strode into the room. “Enough.”

  Thank you. She sent the thought to the other Dart, who briefly bobbed his head in acknowledgement.

  “But—”

  Raze crossed his arms over his chest. “Yael, we have spent over two weeks trying to think of a loophole; this is it. Badgering Seraphina for her sacrifice will not make it go away.”

  “But that’s what I am saying. She doesn’t have to make a sacrifice at all if we think a bit more.”

  “It has already been done,” she said.

  Yael’s head whipped around. “What?”

  “I signed the contract two hours ago. This is not preparatory packing, this is me leaving.”

  “But we hadn’t decided—”

  “You hadn’t. And we’re done discussing this.” In Heaven, Yael had been assertive and to the point, and always ready with a joke, but since their fall, he’d become arrogant and kind of rude. She wasn’t sure if he’d always had those traits and just suppressed them, or if this was a new development. Either way, she didn’t answer to him.

  She never had.

  “Fine.” Yael strode out of the room, his mouth set in a thin line of anger.

  Raze placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “He feels guilty.”

  “He’s hot tempered,” she replied, shoving the last item of clothing into her suitcase. She’d left her Prada, Saint Laurent and Versace gowns behind. She doubted she’d have the space—or proper storage facilities—for them. And it wasn’t like she was going to have to win clients over now; that would be Trick’s job.

  She’d just be weapon that delivered the death blow.

  She was okay with that.

  Killing demons is what I was born to do. What difference does it make if I get paid to do it or not?

  Money, after all, paid the bills. And in this case, earned her freedom.

  Ten million dollars. That’s what Z was bought for. A pittance, really. But Raze can’t buy the debt off, I have to earn it.

  And most assassination jobs didn’t pay that well—not for demons, anyway.

  “I’d ask you if you were certain this is the right course of action, but you have already made up your mind.” Raze stepped aside as she dumped her suitcase on the floor.

  “A decision had to be made.”

  And she didn’t have much to lose by making it. Only Raze knew about Paschar, and he wasn’t going to tell anyone. Even if she got back into Heaven—if they managed to find all three pieces of the Heart—her name had been sullied. Her life as she’d once known it was over. It was better to embrace her future, no matter how bleak. Being an assassin wasn’t too different from being a soldier.

  Probably.

  Possibly.

  Maybe?

  “You could have waited and discussed it with us first.” Raze’s reprimand was gentle, but she flinched nonetheless. He’d been Dina’s second-in-command back in Heaven, and she’d always valued his opinion.

  First Yael, now Raze. The only one who hadn’t scolded her yet was Azrael, but he was off in Hell with Dru, doing God-knew-what.

  “I discussed it with Z,” Seraphina said. “His thoughts were what mattered.”

  The other angel had been fully prepared to sacrifice his future and happiness and go back to Trick, to earn off his debt. But that had been stupid, and Seraphina had been more than happy to point that out. It hadn’t taken a lot of persuasion to get him to agree; he wanted to stay with Peony—the Mortus queen and his lover.

  “It is done now,” Raze said. “If you need our help, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  The corner of her mouth turned upward. “We work for rival guilds now. That would be bad business.”

  He shook his head, storm-colored eyes serious. “I would never put business before friendship.”

  She allowed a full smile to bloom. “How did you get so filthy rich, then?”

  “I am neither friends with the stock market nor the dead.”

  “I’ll accept that. I had better get moving.” She picked up both cases.

  “So soon?”

  “I need to stop by a store on the way and grab some supplies.”

  Raze pulled her forward into a hug, trapping her arms by her sides, the suitcases banging into her legs. “Take care of yourself. Don’t lower yourself because you don’t feel worthy. Don’t let that asshole win.”

  She pulled away from the embrace. “I won’t.”

  Seraphina knew that Raze wasn’t talking about Trick.

  He meant Paschar.

  *

  “You’re back!” The statement was made with the same amount of glee as if the speaker were a miner and Seraphina a brick of gold. Considering Dora Broome had made an obscene amount of money from Seraphina the last time they’d done business, the analogy was probably close to the truth.

  Seraphina swept out a hand, taking in the whole magic shop. “How could I stay away?”

  The store was cluttered with knick-knacks, candles, crystals, and containers. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, while small tables and chests of drawers were scattered throughout the room, turning it into a small labyrinth. A stand next to her advertised ‘The real way to detox’, with a cluster of what looked like teabags perched in a copper bowl.

  “I am going to ignore that sarcasm. And you don’t want that tea unless you want a case of diarrhea to remember.” A short, elderly human, Dora was remarkably spry and nimble for her age. She was also a witch Crone, and owner of Cat on a Broomstick, the best magical goods store in northern America.

  “Who says it was sarcasm?”

  The store was fascinating to Seraphina. On her first visit here, she’d been impatient and worried about Z, but she’d seen the results of witchcraft and knew that some humans had powers to rival angels and powerful demons. And this place was a hub of information about human magic.

  Dora stopped a few feet away from her and tilted her head to the side like a bird. She rubbed her eyes. “That’s a whopper of a brand. Wait a minute.” She dug around in her dress—which had a surprising number of pockets—and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. Popping them on her nose, she smacked her lips together. “That’s better.”

  “That’s better?” Seraphina echoed.

  “It was blinding me. Whoever gave you that kiss has a bit of juice.” Dora’s eyebrows waggled over the bridge of her glasses. She then grabbed Seraphina’s arm and drew her deeper into the store.

  “Funny you should say that,” Seraphina muttered. “That’s exactly what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

  Chapter 7

  Trick wondered how long it would take Seraphina to set her affairs in order. Hopefully a few days. That kiss had left his lips stinging and his body primed for sex, which was unfortunate, because he wasn’t about to get any, not anytime soon.

  Sleeping with Seraphina was a terrible idea.

  Too bad his mind had stuck on the thought.

  Back in his office, he quickly checked his email, scanning through the job listings: ‘Cleaner wanted for Spora demon’; ‘Elimination of cambion requested’; ‘DEATH TO ALL HEATHENS’. Out of interest, he clicked on the cambion message, since until a week or so ago he had employed three. Now he only had one.

  Samuel McCoy?

  Trick didn’t know the guy. Delete.

  He might run a guild chock-full of killers, but he didn’t believe in picking on th
e weak or those just trying to get by. Most cambions were targeted because of their genealogy, not because of anything they’d done. It’s why he’d bought Dru and Sylvester. The fact he’d taken a chance on them in a world that hated them, made them more loyal to him than the average employee.

  Dru hates you now.

  To be fair, he wasn’t sure how much she’d liked him to begin with. That’s what made her moving in with her angel-boy lover all the more unbelievable. She hadn’t given Trick a chance, and she’d known him for decades. Then she’d met that Az guy a couple weeks ago and suddenly it was time for Happily Ever After.

  He’s her mate.

  Yeah, well, that changed things up a bit.

  Anyway, it’s time for you to move on. Stop being bitter. Life’s too short and all that.

  In his case, life was too long for that. He already held one mammoth grudge, and he didn’t have room for any more.

  Suddenly, there was a low chime, like the tinkling of bells, and his skin itched.

  Someone was trying to teleport in.

  Lowering the wards around his office with a clap of his hands, he kept his face blank as his guest appeared in front of him.

  The visitor had an enormous body, ebony-dark skin glinting blue in his office’s lighting, and splayed wings with feathers as white as snow, threaded with thick veins of gold.

  An archangel.

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  Leaning back, Trick kicked his feet up on his desk, clasping his hands behind his head.

  The angel’s upper lip lifted in a sneer. “Guild master.”

  He smiled. “Uriel.”

  Heaven currently had fourteen archangels. Over the millennia, there had been more, and there had been less, but for the past four thousand years, it had been fourteen. Hell, on the other hand, had three Hell-lords, followed by numerous demon-lords, dukes, and ‘custodians’.

  Trick, however, was a force of nature all on his lonesome. And he didn’t answer to Heaven’s enforcers.

  “That’s Archangel, to you,” Uriel snapped.

  Trick opened his arms wide, in a mockery of welcome. “Come now, your reign of terror does not extend here.”

  “’Reign of terror?’ Trust you to see it that way. We are doing God’s will.” Uriel looked as if he were about to spit on the floor, but caught the icy glint in Trick’s gaze and seemed to reconsider.