There was something in his eyes.

A bright reflection of … a hard and ruthless warrior? Whatever it was in his eyes, it was of the angelic dominions.

He moved swiftly. His lips connected with hers. He bracketed her head with his palms, not pressing too roughly, but keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

It was a kiss. A strange, surprising kiss. Rough and fast.

Pyx had not been kissed before. And it was being issued by a Fallen one. To a Sinistari. How many ways of wrong was that?

Didn’t feel wrong. Felt kind of tingly and exciting.

Cooper swept his tongue across hers. A giddy sparkle radiated in Pyx’s belly—until he pushed her away and stepped across the room. Hand to a hip, he turned and gazed at her.

She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, forcing out her most pissed tone. “That’s not how you disarm an opponent?”

“Oh no?” He toed the blade and kicked it across the floor toward her boot. “Looks like it worked.”

Dear Reader,

Opposites do attract, and that makes writing, and thinking up new and interesting heroes and heroines so much fun. It’s not always easy. The hero of Fallen has no past. He’s an angel, and before he landed on earth, well, he spent a lot of time just hanging out in Heaven, imprisoned for his original Fall thousands of years ago. So where to begin with a man who has so much to learn, and the entire world before him?

One of my favorite qualities in a man is a childlike wonder—the ability to see the world as if for the first time, and Cooper is that man. I hope you’ll enjoy this entry in my Of Angels and Demons series. And so you know, this story is a part of the overall paranormal world that I write in, and I call it Beautiful Creatures.

For more information on my books and the characters within them, do stop by my website: michelehauf.com

Love Michele

About the Author

MICHELE HAUF has been writing for over a decade and has published historical, fantasy and paranormal romance. A good strong heroine, action and adventure, and a touch of romance make for her favorite kind of story. (And if it’s set in France, all the better.) She lives with her family in Minnesota, and loves the four seasons, even if one of them lasts six months and can be colder than a deep-freeze. You can find out more about her at: www. michelehauf.com.

FALLEN

MICHELE HAUF

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To any and all who like to marvel

and wonder at the world.

Prologue

Pyxion the Other had been waiting for a summons to earth too long to fathom the passage of time. Centuries had passed. Even millennia.

Now Pyx stood among the mortals on a busy street in a city that boasted the much-lauded, medieval Nôtre Dame cathedral. After a night of walking the world—for that is how the Sinistari gained knowledge and assimilated to the mortal realm—a fierce intuition had led Pyx to Paris.

Cars, trucks and two-wheeled motorbikes zoomed by dangerously fast. The air held a miasma of chemical smells and off-gases. The chatter of water in an ancient fountain seemed out of place tucked among the urban sprawl, the result of rapidly growing populations over the centuries.

Pyx had arrived from Beneath naked and in human form, and so with but a mental gesture, had adopted clothing similar to that which nearby mortals wore. Dark, slim-fitted jeans, boots with a good heel and chains, and a button-up shirt that sported a bloody skull diagonally on the shoulder. It got the looks. Mortals stopped to gawk as Pyx strode by, confident and head held high, jaw snapping at gum snatched from a vendor’s stand, which proved an interesting mortal treat.

Passing a mortal female chattering with another, Pyx nicked the pink cellular phone from her back pocket, without missing a stride. The small device had a touch screen and it fascinated Pyx. The learning curve was a snap thanks to small icons on the screen. Aiming the camera lens across the street, the demon took a photograph of a couple kissing; the man’s hands were hidden high beneath the woman’s short leather skirt.

“Have to get me some of that,” Pyx said with an agreeable nod. “Mmm, lust.”

Sinistari were notorious for indulging in mortal sin. And what Pyx saw going on between the man and woman sure looked like a lot of sin.

Tucking the phone in a back pocket, Pyx strode purposefully across a busy street and aimed for the garish display of colored flash decorating the window of a tattoo shop.

A street vendor had set up outside the tattoo shop, and Pyx leaned over to smell the fresh, seasoned meat turning slowly on the vertical rotisserie. Being consigned to Beneath had stripped away all sensations such as touch, taste and smell. It was all Pyx could do to wait as the vendor stuffed the savory meat into the soft gyro bread.

“Give me one with pomme frites.” Pyx pointed to the greasy fries that glistened with salt crystals. Speaking French was easy, for while walking the world the demon had assimilated all languages.

The vendor handed over a paper-wrapped lump of warm gyro bread, sliced pork, and deep-fried pomme frites. Pyx touched the vendor’s forehead with two fingers and shoved. “Keep the change, buddy.”

The vendor nodded and smiled widely at the large tip Pyx had added along with the price of food. Demons could put thoughts into mortal’s hectic minds far too easily in this day and age. It was one more sliver of unremarkable chaos added to the heap inside a mortal’s brain.

The first bite was spectacular. Grease oozed and bread squished. Savory and warm, it hit a wanting spot in the demon. A deep, achy spot that wanted more. Earth offered far and beyond the pleasure Beneath had offered, because Beneath had offered nothing. Nothing.

Pyx gobbled up the gyro and studied the tattoo flash posted on the window. The skull with the worms crawling through the eye sockets appealed.

“Oh, yeah,” Pyx muttered, nodding.

Or maybe, the skeletal angel with wings on fire. “That’s what I’m going to do to you, Fallen one.”

The demon tossed the empty food wrapper over a shoulder and it missed the trash by a long shot. “Watch out. I’m coming for you, Juphiel.”

But first, a little decoration for this plain mortal costume the demon had been given.

Striding inside the tattoo shop, Pyx nodded to the beat of the loud rock music and swaggered over to the grinning skin artist. Tugging up the shirt in the back, Pyx straddled the chair and sat through two hours of pain.

Wow! It hurt like a—Pyx had nothing to compare it to. Never felt anything like that before. This mortal costume provided pain and sensation the demon had never felt while in its adamant demonic form. But nothing was going to make this demon flinch.

When the tattoo artist finished and rubbed a cool ointment over the elaborate design, Pyx refused a bandage.

“You should keep it covered for twenty-four hours,” the artist explained in French. “It will not heal properly.”

Pyx ran a finger through the ointment, and then wiped it on the artist’s shirtsleeve. “It’ll be healed by the time I step outside your fine establishment. Now, how much? I’ve got places to go, things to see, angels to slay.”

The artist said it would be five hundred euros.

Pyx gazed into the artist’s eyes. “Paid.”

The man nodded. “Thanks. Hey, honey, you come back to Spider if you want another tat.”

“Honey?”

Pyx sneered and wondered briefly if the man was one of those homosexuals. He paid the demon no mind as he went about cleaning his work area.

Swinging about to study the tattoo in the mirror on the bathroom door, the Sinistari demon hissed at the image staring back.

A tall redheaded person with hair down to the elbows cast a startled look in the mirror. Curves rounded in at torso and out at hips and stretched the shirt across the chest. The clothing fit well, but it was disconcerting because the style was made for men. And what Pyx saw …

“A female? No freakin’ way.”

What in all of Beneath? Was this some kind of joke? The Sinistari demon always manifested as male once summoned from Beneath. As far as Pyx knew.

Pyx turned sideways and clamped both palms over the breasts stretching the cotton shirt. The tattoo artist gave her a questioning look.

“Yep, they’re real.” Her lips pouted a little too femininely when she made a face. Upon arriving, he—or rather she—had assumed the clothing so quickly, he—she—hadn’t noticed the extra curves.

“Problem?” the artist asked as he cleaned his tattoo gun with an alcohol swab.

Pyx swung and hooked a hand at her hip. “You think I’m a girl?”

“You got a problem with your sexuality, pretty demoiselle?” He smirked, revealing the tip of a gold incisor. “There is a group that meets down the street every so often. They talk about how they’re trapped in the wrong body.”

“I am not trapped. I am …” She looked in the mirror. Pretty, as far as mortal women went, she had to admit. She wouldn’t turn away from such a sexy looker, that was for sure. She? “… a chick?”

What, in the black sea Beneath, kind of joke was this?

Rolling her head and huffing, Pyx kicked the door open and stomped out from the small studio. The gyro vendor smiled and cocked his head toward her. She was still hungry—she’d never be full—but now her appetite waned.

She, she, she!

She’d been saddled with a chick body while here on earth to track a renegade Fallen who would be hot to track his muse and put a nephilim child in her belly.

Well, she wouldn’t let appearance keep her from being the best Sinistari ever. She could do this. She would do this. Didn’t want to risk being sent back Beneath because she wasn’t doing the job properly.

She’d have to accept the fact she may be a female for her duration on earth.

“Ugg.”

Tromping down the sidewalk in her shitkickers, Pyx now mused about the name the other Sinistari had given her while serving time Beneath: Pyxion the Other.

Apparently they had known something she had not.

“Joke’s on you, Pyx. Deal with it.”

Chapter 1

The dance floor thundered with hyped-up, sexually charged adrenaline. Cooper danced in the center, surrounded by hundreds of bodies that gave off a variety of scents from soft and powdery, to baby-can-we-do-it-right-now?

The sensory world was new to him, and he couldn’t get enough of it. The women in their slithery clothing and dangly jewels tantalized him like sweet treats as they bumped and slid up next to his skin. The mortal skin he wore felt it all; sexy fabric with beads and metal, human heat, sweat, muscle and hard nipples.

Promises of a good time flashed in the women’s eyes. Cooper took it in with a confident grin.

All the sensations he’d been denied for millennia were now his to dive into headfirst.

He couldn’t remember when he’d unbuttoned the white dress shirt to let it hang on his shoulders and expose his abs. The kilt was freeing. The combat boots were not so easy to dance in—but he was no twinkle-toes to begin with.

Didn’t matter. The women weren’t eyeing his dance moves; their blatant focus was from Cooper’s head to just about crotch level. Look all you like, ladies. He’d never been admired before. Vanity, thy name is Cooper Truhart.

The DJ had announced the song blasting over the speakers was called “Welcome to The World,” and Cooper appreciated the welcome, indeed. He intended to enjoy his stay here on earth. Everything about it was amazing.

Most of all, he intended to make this stay permanent.

This mortal costume he wore served him well. It had muscles in all the right places, and put him inches in height above everyone else. His hair was dark and spiky with some bits hanging over his forehead. The women loved it, and many had run their fingers through it, sparking an erotic sensation down his spine he wanted to feel again and again.

Despite the earthbound costume, he hadn’t lost all his supernatural strength. He could toss a car across the street if he found the need to do so. A fist to a mortal’s jaw could tear it off, so he held back from fighting for the thrill of it. It was a difficult urge to quell. The fight ran through his blood, but he wanted to change—to gain humanity.

Since falling, he’d not lost all his angelic abilities. He could flash across the world, landing in one city or the next in an instant. He possessed sensory skills that would blow the mortals off their feet—literally, and his vision was only now beginning to take on color after a long confinement parasongs away from this vivid realm.

He never wanted to return to the Ninth Void. It had been a drag.

The beat increased and he danced closer to the blonde whose short red skirt fought to draw his eyes up from the fuck-me pumps. He knew that was the slang term for the shoes because a few weeks ago when he’d arrived on earth, he’d walked the world, taking in knowledge of it all.

That night he’d assimilated the world, the mortal society, their economy, their travails and triumphs. He could speak all languages and understood most of what he’d learned—though the mathematics and daily-life accounting stuff gave him problems. It was a good thing he didn’t need to keep a checkbook.

He had experienced women across the world, in all shapes, sizes, colors and ages—and levels of sexual desire. Women wanted him, and he was no man to deny them.

Kissing. Ah, kissing! Was there anything finer? He’d kissed dozens in his fortnight upon earth, and had no intention of slowing down his quest for sensory exploration and fulfillment. There were so many varieties of kisses that he felt sure he’d never tire of trying new ways to make a woman squirm and giggle with delight.

He liked the blonde ones with the big breasts. But he also preferred the smart ones who could hold a conversation about something beyond the color of their nail polish or which celebrity was screwing whom.

This one shaking her red-spangled skirt before him looked a bit vacuous and maybe … stoned. He couldn’t understand those who chose to dull the sensory experience with drugs or alcohol. Life was meant to be lived fully and with a clear mind.

He turned and dance-walked his way to the center of the dance floor where he paired up with a redhead whose smile touched his innate desire to flirt. With a shake of her head she tossed her loose hair over a shoulder and curved her body against his to give him a hip-bump.

Nice. But not dressed like the others. She wore masculine clothes, jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and boots. Yet her sinuous movements told Cooper she was all woman.

And she smelled, hmm … like lunch. He’d noticed the same scent wafting from street vendors parked along the main tourist streets edging the river.

Cooper had eaten little since coming to earth. His interest swayed more toward the sensual delights than the succulent. Though the two experiences combined did have their appeal. This woman’s allure and savory scent captivated his desire. Cooper danced as close as he could get to her.

She tipped a smile over her shoulder at him. Wide blue eyes were surrounded by deep ruby hair that glittered under the flashing club lights.

Man, he loved seeing in color now. When he’d served the angelic dominions, earth and all its inhabitants and elements had appeared to him in black and white.

And the woman’s mouth. More rubies there, but he didn’t detect cosmetics on her pale, flawless skin. Her lips were naturally red, as if they’d been kissed soundly.

Tonight, he’d take this one home with him and learn exactly what style of kissing would have her begging him to do more than simply kiss.

“You’re lovely,” he said over the raucous music and shouts to “Rock it!”

She merely smiled and dipped a hip against his, while drawing her fingers down his bare chest.

Cooper could feel her touch all the way through to his spine. Sparkles of energy radiated through him. Life. Damn, it was so good!

With a flirtatious wink, the woman slipped away. Now she danced between two women, their breasts brushing and fingers teasing across exposed skin. Now there was a fascinating touch. Mmm …

Cooper let out a wanting moan, and dipped his head to maintain sight on the redhead until a couple danced before him. He scanned the crowd, but couldn’t spy her lustrous hair or those pouting lips.

Lost her. But he’d find her again. Women liked to tease. The night was young and he was in no hurry. The world was his and he wanted to hug it, suck it all in, and keep it forever.

And drink it. Time for a whiskey break.

Easing his way off the dance floor, Cooper strutted up the nightclub’s open staircase. Each step flashed red as his boot tripped the motion sensors. Twisting a glance over the dance floor below, he slapped a palm to his sweaty abs and nodded, satisfied.

Oh, yes, he’d find the redhead later.

“Whiskey?” the bartender prompted, recognizing Cooper from the last three nights.

“Three shots,” he said. “Line ‘em up.”

When he found a place he liked he returned. But most important, Cooper didn’t feel compelled to be in this particular city. That was a key point. Because the one annoying aspect about the Fallen was that once their feet had touched earth, they were compelled to find their muse.

A muse was a human female, descended from the Merovingian bloodline, whom the Fallen one sought to mate with to then produce a nephilim child, a hideous monster, that once unleashed, would spread chaos across the earth.

Cooper wasn’t into chaos or becoming some baby’s daddy right now. He just wanted to enjoy this exciting and intriguing realm.

How he’d come to earth from his imprisonment in the Ninth Void he had no clue. Someone had summoned him from his many millennia of seclusion.

He appreciated the summons. But he knew only danger waited for him.

Millennia ago, he had agreed to a pact, along with dozens more angels, to fall to earth and mate with its human females. After unfathomable time serving Puriel, the war master of the Power ranks, Cooper had been so ready to fall. Actually, it had been the angel Kadesch who had opened his eyes to humanity.

Juphiel (his angelic name, which he had no intention of using on earth) had fallen from the heavens, but had never seen Kadesch again. He’d only begun to teach mortals on earth his craft—a manner of creating beauty that Cooper still retained, thank the heavens—a short time before a great flood had swept him to the Ninth Void, a silent, cold prison where he’d existed in utter darkness awaiting final judgment for betraying Him.

“No more imprisonment or warring,” he said with a tilt of the shot glass. The whiskey burned down his throat. “I’ll never go back.” He slammed the glass on the bar and gripped the next shot glass. “All I have to do is find my halo and I’ll be home free.”

During an angel’s fall to earth, their halo fell away. Cooper knew if he could find the thing, he could cease this ridiculous quest he’d originally agreed to—a quest to find a muse.

So not going to happen. Because it had all been a lie.

And if what he’d learned the first time he’d walked earth were true, what usually happened to a Fallen immediately following mating with a muse was death. Death delivered by the one creature forged specifically to track the Fallen and slay them—the Sinistari demon.

He’d encountered a Sinistari since arriving on earth. The demons were a difficult kill, but not impossible. Now, Cooper kept one eye over his shoulder.

He would not go out without a fight.

“Not on my watch,” Cooper said, and tilted back the second round.

He growled with satisfaction at the drink’s toffee-malt bite, and eyed the back of the bar where the pool tables queued along the wall. He was familiar with the rules and techniques, but hadn’t attempted the game. He’d win. No sense in trying when he knew the outcome.

Just as he reached for the third shot a feminine hand grabbed the glass and tipped it back in a quick swallow. “Another!” she called, and the bartender appeared with the whiskey bottle. “Man, that stuff is good.”

It was the redhead who wore men’s clothing. She slapped the bar in thanks as the bartender topped off her shot, then tilted it back with more gusto than Cooper had performed.

She winked at him, then sauntered off into the crowd.

Crossing his arms and leaning against the bar, Cooper followed the sexy siren’s journey through the crush of dancing bodies. She stood as tall as him so it was easy to spot her in the crowd. She carried her head high and segued into a group that matched the music’s rhythm.

She caught him staring and blew him a kiss, her red lips puckering sexily.

Man, did he love the women.

The guy with the mousse-slicked white hair and silver hoop earrings was definitely not human. Vampire, Pyx decided, and in confirmation, he flashed fang when he leaned in to whisper into a mortal woman’s ear.

While mortals did not believe in those creatures they labeled paranormal, Pyx wasn’t so stupid. If angels and demons trod the earth then so did all the rest of the monsters and freaks.

Her job was to ensure a nephilim did not join the freak ranks.

“Let the games begin.”

It was dark in the bar, save for the frenetic lights flashing violet and red and bouncing off the corrugated steel walls. The atmosphere was disturbing. Frantic, alive and vital. After so much time spent Beneath she craved the activity. Adrenaline coursed through her system. Yet she needed to focus. And wonder upon wonders, the first nightclub she’d chosen had turned up the Fallen she was after. Go, Sinistari!

The Fallen had not said anything to her when she’d stolen his drink. She wasn’t sure how to take that. Not defending his property? A wimp? Or a gentleman who would allow a woman to do as she desired?

Either way, for some reason, said task had suddenly taken on new weight as she watched the pale-haired vampire eye another vamp across the room. That dude wasn’t here for kicks; he was following someone. She knew it because she was doing the same thing.

“Vampires,” she muttered. “I so don’t need this trouble.”

Pyx slapped a palm across the leather sheath she wore strapped under her left arm. The Sinistari had the ability to allow mortals to only see what they wanted them to see; the sheathed dagger was only for her eyes.

And yet her eyes didn’t stray from her two new marks. The bloodsuckers sent some kind of silent signal back and forth through the nightclub. The one farthest away in the balcony had his eye on a man at the rear of the room—the Fallen one. There were so many supernatural vibrations—vampire to vamp, angel to demon—Pyx had a hard time keeping them straight.

So she turned her focus to the prize. The Fallen wore a green-and-blue plaid kilt, of all things, and was currently advertising virility and sex appeal to the woman who slobbered over him. His dark hair was razored short and finger-combed. A white shirt fell open to reveal muscled abs and chest with a tease of dark hair. His legs were striking only because Pyx had never seen a man in a skirt wearing combat boots, and working the look so freaking well.

Seriously? She loved the diverse range of clothing in this day and age, but even she knew the man had daring.

Pyx could understand the attraction the other women were feeling. It was a new feeling, but a good one that centered in her belly and stirred even lower.

Hmm, all that just from observing the Fallen? A bit unsettling, but she marked it off as part of the job.

Even though she hadn’t had the opportunity to dabble in it yet, lust was one of her favorite sins. Sin fed her kind.

She wasn’t about to starve herself.

Pyx kept one eye on the vampires and another on the angel.

“Lucky bastard got himself a nice mortal costume,” she said. Her cowboy boots clomped along the narrow aisle between tables and bar. “Let’s see how much he likes mine.”

Cooper turned toward the redhead, startled he hadn’t noticed her approach. It was the chick from the dance floor. The same chick who’d boldly tossed back his shots and had sauntered away without so much as a thank-you.

But she had blown that kiss, which meant she was interested. His charms would prove irresistible to her once he kissed her for real. And she was walking toward him all intent and licking her lips—

Cooper’s Adam’s apple compressed against his spine. His shoulders slammed against the wall.

The redhead’s fingers squeezed about his throat. Cooper gagged. His feet left the floor. She was so strong!

“How’s tricks?” she asked. Her eyelashes were so long they tangled in stray strands of her hair. She smiled, not nicely, and in fact, rather wickedly.

Cooper couldn’t answer, or slip from her grip. What in Beneath? Were they making the pretty ones so strong now?

Jamming her knee into his bollocks, she managed to unleash an inner rage he’d thought long harnessed after his war days Above. He shoved her away and wrangled her arm, twisting it behind her back and slamming her chest against the wall.

“What kind of game are you playing, sweetie?” he hissed at her ear. “You shouldn’t damage the merchandise. Won’t make tricks any fun later on.”

She chuckled and elbowed him. He took the surprise poke to his abdomen with a gasped “Buh.”

Much as he enjoyed females, he wasn’t about to let one treat him this way. Not in front of the other women.

He managed to shove her into a nearby booth and she landed on the padded black vinyl, but not without pulling him onto the seat behind her.

Cooper eyed the bar. If anyone saw him wrestling with this woman, they’d suspect it was all his to-do, and not the sweet woman’s fault.

Sweet, his ass. She didn’t look capable of the wrestling feat she’d just performed. Too sexy. Too soft. Hair he’d like to tangle his fingers into. And did she smell like bubble gum? But for the strange masculine clothing she was a walking advertisement for all the sensual delights.

“You like it rough?” he said, sliding up to her and grabbing her wrist before she could slap him. “If so, you may be able to talk me into some rough stuff. But you gotta keep your knees from my crotch, sweetheart. That’s foul play.”

“I don’t want to have sex with you,” she said.

Cooper felt the sharp sting of a blade against his throat. Another new touch sensation. He cautioned himself from swallowing. “Whoa.” Not only was she tough, she was also fast.

This was his first taste of crazy since landing on earth. Interesting, yet annoying.

He wasn’t sure how much of a loose cannon this one was, and what her intentions were, so he placed his hands flat on the table to show compliance.

“I want to slay you,” she said. Again she granted him that wide, not-so-mirthful grin. “Where’s your muse, Fallen one?”

How could she possibly know what he was? Unless …

She couldn’t be. He couldn’t get a good look at the blade. He’d seen a dagger forged to kill Fallen once before—about five seconds before he had reached inside the Sinistari’s chest and ripped out its adamant heart. But this wasn’t right. He’d thought the Sinistari were male.

“You got it,” she answered his thoughts. “I’m your worst nightmare in the one form I bet you absolutely crave, eh? A pretty redhead with nice breasts?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetie.” He thought to wrangle the blade from her, but knew it could be his death. “Sinistari?”

“Surprise,” she singsonged. “You were expecting someone a bit more macho?”

“Oh, I think you’ve mastered macho.”

And he had only to stab his fingers between her ribs and rip out the hard, metal heart that, like his, never beat.

He couldn’t take her out in the club. Everyone would notice. And he guessed she’d put up a splendid fight.

“Could you put the blade away?” he asked calmly. “One thing I do know is that thing only works on me when I’m in half form.”

More specifically, when he was half human, half angel, and attempting to have sex with his mortal muse. Like that was ever going to happen.

“Sorry to break this to you, Red, but I’m not going to give you what you want.”

“You’re a liar.”

“We just met, sweetheart. And frankly, you don’t know anything about me and what I want on this earth. And how are you a female?”

She kicked back in the booth and put up one snakeskin-booted foot on the table. If she weren’t Sinistari, Cooper would find her attractive. Hell, he’d already been thinking about what he would do if she were naked and was allowed to unleash his arsenal of kisses upon her.

But not a Sinistari demon. No way in Beneath or Above. The Sinistari’s only task was to slay the Fallen. That meant him.

The pretty redhead with the bubble-gum smile and savory scent was the last female walking this earth Cooper wanted to touch, unless it was to rip out her heart.

And yet, one always kept their enemies close if one wished to draw breath the following morning.

“This is the way I was forged,” she offered, her elbow hooking over the back of the booth. She chewed the gum and snapped it loudly. “You don’t like it? Tough. Now, I don’t want to spoil your fun, and I am disappointed you’re not sexing up your muse right now, but tell me why vampires are following you.”

“Vampires?”

“You didn’t notice? Figures. You’re too busy picking out tonight’s sheetmate. There are two bloodsuckers in the club, and they are hot on your plaid butt.”

Cooper wasn’t sure how vampires played into the game between Sinistari and Fallen. Nor had he noticed, or would he notice, if a couple of vampires had been eyeing him up. They blended easily with mortals, and their kind could only determine one from another by a touch called the shimmer. An angel could connect to that shimmer, but only if he were searching for such a connection.

“You’re mistaken,” he said.

“I’m never wrong.”

“That’s funny, considering you can’t have been on earth more than a few days. Never hasn’t quite the impact.”

Twisting her hair about a finger, she nodded toward the balcony railing. “Look down there.”

He followed her pointing finger, but was wary she had not put away the blade. The Sinistari demon wielded the only blade that could pierce his solid glass heart and kill him.

Over by the balcony a man in a dark suit with dark hair and a neatly squared red tie cast his glance over the dance floor below.

“He’s not a vampire. How can you possibly know?”

“He smells like blood and I saw the fangs.

Besides, I can sense them the same way I can sense the Fallen. Vibrations, baby. He’s a vamp. There’s another one below. They’re doing the tag team thing. But whatever. If you won’t listen to me, fine. I’ll follow your wake when you leave the club. Did you, um … bring your wooden stake?”

She twirled her knife, smiling mockingly as she did, then tucked it away in the leather sheath strapped under her arm. How she had gotten past security with that thing was beyond Cooper.

“Guess not.” She snapped her gum and the tilt of her head dusted a swath of gorgeous hair over a shoulder. “So, Juphiel.”

“That’s not my name,” he corrected quickly. “Not here. Not on earth.”

“Yeah? Okay, I’ll play. What’s the name of the man I’m going to poke with my big pointy knife and rip the heart out of?”

Chapter 2

“You’re kidding me, right?”

The man was ten kinds of sexy. And Pyx had been on earth such a short time even one kind of sexy was intriguing. His gray eyes featured wild spots of color. Each time she looked at them she saw a new one, azure, green, violet—or it could be the club lights. The shadow of a mustache emphasized his lips. And his square jaw advertised power and strength, a warrior.

Warriors she appreciated, and could definitely waste some time admiring. Angels were warriors, but so not her type.

It wasn’t fair. He was the enemy. She existed on this earth to kill him, not admire him.

And don’t forget it.

“Cooper Truhart?” she said after he’d given her his name. “What kind of name is Cooper?”

“I was conjured to earth and landed on top of a car,” he said casually. A wink was followed by a dangerous melt-her-steel-heart smile. “You should be glad I didn’t go with Mini.”

“You don’t use your angel name?”

“I have no desire to defame my divine name as I walk this earth. You don’t like it, that’s not my problem. What is my problem, is you. If I can’t kill you—and I’m not into murdering women—then I’ll need to turn my back. I’ll be leaving now. Not that you’re not a peach to talk to, but demons are not my thing.”

“You’re not my thing either, angel boy,” she called as he slid from the booth and strode off.

The kilt hem hit at his knees, and revealed tight, muscled legs with dark hair. He scratched his hip and batted that same sexy wink over his shoulder at her.

Pyx nodded, but couldn’t find a smile. “Idiot. He has no clue about the vampires. Guess someone better keep an eye on the poor, lost fallen angel. Because if I don’t, he’ll never survive to find his muse.”

And why not kill her? Since when did angels discern the moral quandary between killing a male or female?

Curse the black sea Beneath! Why breasts and curves? If this was a joke on her for something she’d done or not done the previous round she’d been summoned to stalk the Fallen, she did not appreciate it now. Because, okay, she had slipped up then. Then, she’d not located the Fallen she’d been assigned to kill until it was too late—a nephilim had been born.

She would prove herself this go-around. Her pride—yet another necessary sin—demanded it.

Easing her way through the crowd, Pyx found Cooper standing at the top of the stairs looking over the dance floor below. She approached slowly, keeping shy of his peripheral vision.

What would an angel be doing in a dance club when he should be stalking his muse? Unless he was picking up women for practice?

Didn’t make sense. Pyx knew the Fallen could have sex with mortal women, but they didn’t receive pleasure unless the act was with a muse. Seemed like a waste of time to go through the motions with any old woman and for no reward.

Pyx, on the other hand, could do as she pleased. She could be with any man she desired.

“A man?” she muttered, still put off by the fact she was a she. “What the heck would I do with one of them?”

Though she had to admit she did notice the males more than the females. Good thing for her sexual assignment. But the sexiest man in the room was also her target.

Maybe the muse was in the room? The Fallen were compelled toward their muses. Hmm …

Well, if he were going to attract a hapless mortal destined to carry his monster baby, his current fashion choice did aid in his allure.

“Why a kilt?” she wondered as she stepped behind Cooper and leaned onto the railing right next to him. “It’s like a skirt for guys, right?”

“It lets my dangly bits dangle,” he answered. “It’s a freeing feeling. You should try it—er, oops. You’ve no bits to dangle.”

“Are you mocking me, Fallen one?”

He turned and slipped his gaze down her torso and legs. An assessing look that unsettled her.

“Do you have issues with your sexuality, then? Because it seems as if you’re not overly pleased with the mortal costume you wear. Usually chicks wear dresses, or something feminine when out clubbing.”

A deeper blue edged the man’s gray eyes, and they pierced Pyx right through the heart. Which was strange because her heart was metal and nothing could penetrate it. The burn she felt in her chest must be residual effects from the whiskey.

He snapped his fingers before her.

“I do not have issues,” she returned. “I’m perfectly fine with the bits I’ve got.”

“They are lovely bits.” Now his eyes strayed to the V in her shirt where her breasts rose in soft globes. “Plan to take those babies for a spin while you’re here on earth?”

Pyx clasped the shirt opening. “Meaning?”

“Well, I know you, Sinistari. You’re all about the sin. Lust, pride, greed, vanity and gluttony. If you’re in the mood, I can help you with the lust.”

“You’d sleep with a demon?”

He shrugged. “I find my own desires are immense. And I do like redheads. Care for a kiss?”

Pyx shoved her fingers through the hair she wasn’t so sure about. It was too long and silky. It hung in her eyes. She blew at the bangs dipping over her brows. She couldn’t look at Cooper. And his question put her off. What to say?

“Kidding,” he said. “I’d like to keep you at arm’s distance if that’s all right with you.”

“Fine with me. I only need to stretch to poke you with my blade. But we’ll worry about that when the time has come. Back to the vamps,” she said. “You going to amble on out of here without backup?”

“I don’t understand your worry. And yes, I intend to amble without a care. Not even for the demon.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”

“It’ll serve me well enough.”

“Why’s that?” He scanned the crowd, not looking at her.

“You leave first, and I’ll follow the vampires as they track you.”

“They’re not going to—Why am I arguing with a demon? Good riddance, Sinistari.”

He skipped down the steps in his clunky boots and landed on the main floor with a jump. Without a glance up at her, he then danced his way along the crowd and into the darkness toward the back exit door.

“Leaving without a woman on his arm?” Pyx tapped the railing. “Interesting. He’s freaked now. I’m sure of it. The angel has more than a demon on his ass. Just you wait, Fallen one, I’ll be tracking vamps on your wake in no time.”

Cooper went down the Metro stairs to the train. He kept one eye scanning his periphery and over his shoulder. Two dark figures followed him.

Vampires? He didn’t have bloodsucker radar. The demon would know for certain. Their earthly connection to those things could sniff out any paranormal by vibration alone.

He’d allowed the sexy, sexually confused demon to put stupid thoughts into his brain. He wasn’t being followed. And if he was, they sure as hell were not vampires. Maybe a couple of pissed-off mortals who’d been dumped by their women after Cooper had flirted with them.

Turning a curve in the long cement tunnel stretching underground toward the Metro station, Cooper listened as the probably-not-vampires closed in on him. He knew this was a longer stretch and made a left turn to the C line instead of walking straight toward his usual train.

Pressing his back to the wall, he waited.

On the slight chance they could be vamps, he had no wooden stake, not even a weapon, and he knew vamps weren’t so easy to take down. He was stronger than mortal men, but he wasn’t sure how his strength matched up with a vampire.

Earthbound or not, he still retained a few tricks up his sleeve.

The first man rounded the corner and Cooper swung out his arm, clocking the bastard across the throat. The man took it with a gasp and a growl, revealing fangs.

So the demon had been right.

Cooper tossed the vamp against his cohort, who shoved him back at Cooper. Both charged him, fangs extended.

He could flash out of here, but that wouldn’t be any fun.

Cooper set his shoulders and bounced on the balls of his feet. He welcomed the fisticuffs. And if he got the chance to bash up a few vamps, that suited him fine. He carried a lot of aggression stored in his bones and since he’d been on earth he had found little opportunity to let it out, save on that one now-dead Sinistari.

Slammed against the wall, Cooper choked out his breath as one vamp pummeled him in the gut. The other vamp drew out a dagger, which was cheating, really. And didn’t they know only one kind of dagger could kill an angel?

Maybe they didn’t know he was an angel? Maybe they were just jonesing for some blood? Not that angel blood would do either of them any good—it would freeze them solid, and then—kablam.

Out of all the people in the nightclub, Cooper suspected he had not been the most appetizing. There had been plenty of women with soft necks and warm, adrenaline-spiked blood. This had to be because he was an angel.

He kicked his attacker, but only landed high on his thigh. Didn’t move the bastard an inch. A flash of steel careened toward his shoulder, yet the blade suddenly soared backward, away from its target.

A sweep of red hair brushed Cooper’s cheek.

“Oh, enough, bloody enough!” He did not need to be saved by a woman!

Cooper bashed his forehead against a vampire’s skull. His brain reverberated in his head. The bloodsucker’s skull was hard! A shove of his hand—he didn’t touch the vamp’s chest—sent the creature flying away and crashing against the ceiling. The vamp dropped hard.

Pyx gripped the other vampire by the throat and slammed him against the cement wall. “Who sent you?”

Interrogation. Good idea, Cooper thought. Glad he’d thought of it.

The fallen vamp lunged, aiming toward Cooper.

He made a tight, straight spade of his fingers and shoved them into the vampire’s chest. The creature yowled. Cooper gripped the heavy mass of hot muscle. A gut kick sent the vampire stumbling backward.

Blood oozed over Cooper’s fingers and dripped onto the floor. The vampire whose chest was now empty of his heart ashed, as did the heart in Cooper’s hand. Slimy ash-drenched blood oozed in splats onto the cement floor near his boots.

The other vampire spat in Pyx’s face. She swiped the bloody spittle away and then pounded a wooden stake into the vamp’s chest. It took a lot of force to put a piece of wood through ribs and muscle. Pyx made it look as if she was spearing an olive with a toothpick.

Ash spattered into the air. The Sinistari shook off the gray dust and delivered a triumphant smile to Cooper.

“I do have a stake,” she said, then glanced at Cooper’s bloody hand. “Oh. That’ll work, too.”

Careening around the corner flew two more vamps. Or Cooper confirmed they were of the vampire persuasion when one jumped on Pyx’s shoulders and sank his teeth into her skull above her ear.

Cooper gripped the wood handrail and tore it from the industrial bolts securing it to the wall. He broke it in half and caught the charging vampire in the chest with it.

Pyx spouted every oath in the book as she struggled to detach the fangs and fingers digging into her scalp and throat.

Cooper twisted the thick wooden stake and kicked the dead vampire off from it. Ash dusted Pyx. The vamp gnawing at her skull inhaled a mouthful and choked.

Pyx smashed the vamp against the wall. “Suck on that, longtooth!” It released her, and she scrambled away the direction it had come. A new vampire appeared, saw his retreating cohort, and joined him.

Wielding the stake like a spear, Cooper threw it after the vamps and caught the tip at the back of one’s head. His strength had given the soaring wooden stake rocket power and it entered the vampire’s skull with ease, dropping to the ground in a clatter as the vampire became dust.

Cooper caught Pyx by the shoulder, and when she struggled to race after the final vampire that had gotten away, he twisted her arm around behind her back.

“Get your bloody hands off me!” she cried.

He released her and flicked the blood from his hand against the cement wall. Taking in the surroundings, he listened, confirming no mortals within hearing or eyesight. The bloodstains would raise questions. At least the vamp had ashed and hadn’t left a mangled body behind for someone to freak over.

“Let the longtooth go,” he said. “It’ll run to its master and tell them what a force we are to deal with.”

“It’ll return to its master and give him details,” she hissed.

“Details of what?”

“You!”

Wiping the blood from his hand on his white shirt, Cooper smirked. “They were following you too, sweetie.”

The shirt was a loss and the blood stank. He couldn’t walk around mortals with it in this condition. He shrugged it off, and balled it up. “I’m out of here.”

Pyx kicked the cement wall and growled in frustration. “You’re welcome!” she called in his wake.

She thought she’d saved him? Poor misguided demon.

But Cooper had no intention of hanging around to convince her of her mistake. The day had taken a very wrong turn. And he was not stupid. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the Sinistari as possible.

A schush and clatter signaled the arriving train. Cooper slam-dunked the bloody shirt into a trash can, and jumped onto the train, insinuating himself within the crowd.

It was after midnight. The club rush, both standing and seated, filled the train. Sure he was shirtless and sporting an ash-dusted kilt, but he didn’t raise any eyebrows from those with spiked hair, elaborate makeup or high-cut skirts that dared to show more than tease.

Cooper let out a breath. He’d never run from danger. He had once been the instigator of danger and chaos, and … death.

Those were innate characteristics he wished to change. And he would. He must if he wished to belong. Walking away had been the right thing.

Focus on what can be yours.

Now that his nervous energy had begun to relax, his senses opened wide to his surroundings. He liked the close quarters and the mingling of scents and bodies. A man could fall in love with someone if he closed his eyes and breathed the exotic spice of flesh, perfume and life. Humanity was a marvel.

The doors clattered shut and the car tugged into motion.

Bye, bye, vampires.

Seriously? Vampires? They couldn’t have known they pursued a Fallen one and a demon. Only vampires who would do that were stupid, or ash.

He noticed a smear of vamp blood down the side of his kilt, and turned so that thigh was concealed against the train wall.

A long slender body pressed along Cooper’s backside. She wrapped her arms about his waist and spread her fingers up his chest. The Parisians were so friendly.

Turning, he huffed when he saw Red smiling at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” He tried to shove her off, but it was too crowded. “Don’t press your bits against me,” he whispered by her ear. The man next to him smiled and waggled his brows. “You’re a crazy one.”

“There’s nothing else to hang on to. You don’t want me to fall on top of the old lady sitting behind me, do you?”

“Won’t happen. And don’t try that pouty, innocent look with me. Where do you live? You can’t possibly be going the same direction as me.”

“Nowhere. Only been here a day.”

He’d been here a couple weeks, but already he’d found himself a sweet little place tucked away from the world in the 16th arrondissement, yet still within Metro distance of all the hotspots. And in that time, he’d already slain one Sinistari in much the same method he’d employed against the vamp. Though Sinistari hearts did not bleed and were as strong as steel.

Much as he liked the feel of this female’s body warming up against his—and making things very hard—he didn’t want the trouble that accompanied her. Or the confusion over whether to slay her or to turn around and kiss her.

“They were after you,” he said. “I’ve had no problem with vampires until you showed up.”

“Says the guy who needed rescue from two vampires.”

“Rescue? Are you mentally unbalanced? Oh, right, you are.”

He flicked some ash from the shoulder of her men’s shirt that sported a design of blood and now some of her own black demon blood. She fluttered her lashes at him.

Not going to work on him. Not even when her pupils dilated, pushing the kaleidoscope perimeter of iris to a narrow band.

He averted his attention to the wounds above her ear. “You’re bleeding.”

“That’s the vampire blood.”

“No, sweetie, that stuff is black.”

She touched her head in a moment of panic. “Is it bad?”

“No,” he said under his breath. “You don’t feel pain?”

“A little, but it’s healed. Hope you can’t catch rabies from vamps. Ugg. That thing was hungry.”

“It’s all over your shirt. You’re not being very covert.”

“Didn’t know that was a requirement. You want me to take my shirt off, too? That’ll show ‘em how covert I can be.”

“I’ll give you all the attention you need if you play it cool around mortals and keep your shirt on.”

“Mmm …” She slid closer to him, and if he didn’t know better, he’d guess she was angling for some touch and man, did his body react. The brush of her shirtsleeve across his nipple did not preach patience.

But he did know better. She was Sinistari. She had come to kill him, not snuggle with him.

His stop was next. No doubt, she would follow him out no matter where he got off. The demon was like a tick. But she wouldn’t find nourishment from him because he had no intention of giving her what she wanted. If his muse were in the vicinity, Cooper intended to walk the opposite direction.

Just because a Sinistari had found him didn’t mean he was close to his muse. He’d actually landed on earth in New Jersey. Upon feeling the compulsion to stay there—and seek his muse—he’d immediately flashed across the ocean.

The doors opened and he nudged the demon’s hip with his. She took the signal, wrapping her arm around his back and leading him out onto the platform.

“I don’t need an escort,” he said as he plodded under the sorte sign toward the stairs.

The tick clung. At the very least, she was hanging on to him on the side of the blood smear.

Surfacing on the sidewalk in the center of the 16th arrondissement, Cooper sighted the distant lights twinkling down the always-busy Champs Elysees.

“You’re not coming home with me, so shove off,” he told her. “You are like one of those sad-eyed puppy dogs, aren’t you?”

“Fine. I don’t need to see where you go, I can track you by vibration.” She leaned against a metal street post and crossed her legs at the ankle. The cowboy boots pointed toward the sky. Drawing her finger along her lower lip, she looked up through her thick ginger lashes. “Nightie night, Cooper.”

That lip demanded a nibble. Or two. And those lashes. What would it feel like to brush his mouth over them?

Cooper huffed, and marched down the narrow cobblestoned street toward his building. This quarter of the city boasted homes from medieval times sandwiched between twentieth-century buildings. The eclectic mix appealed to his sense of craft and artistry.

He forgot about demons and vampires—until he thought of them—and he scanned all around him and searched the darkness in between buildings.

At the door to his building he punched the numbers into the digital security box, then jogged the three flights up to his apartment. Listening acutely before he closed the door, he reassured himself she’d not followed him. But then, before he did close the door, he heard the street-level door creak.

“You can’t sleep in the foyer!” he called down.

“Says who?”

Rolling his eyes, he slammed his door and stalked through the darkness to the bedroom.

The moon was high and it shimmered through the tall window facing the distant Seine. He kicked off his boots, then landed the bed on his back, arms spread. A pillow wobbled onto his face and he punched it away.

He’d thought his existence on earth would go easy if he kept a low profile and didn’t answer the compulsion to seek his muse.

Someone had different plans for him. And it wasn’t the Sinistari that worried him most.

Why in Beneath were vampires after him?

Antonio del Gado strode at a quick pace through the limestone halls of his underground sanctuary. Here in Paris he owned an exquisite mansion, the Hôtel Solange, which was underlined with a network of tunnels. The medieval and rococo centuries had been a time of necessity for secret escape tunnels thanks to the political maneuvers that tested the resilience of kings and their subjects.

During evening hours he lived aboveground, but when daylight reigned, he was forced below-ground.

Vampires could walk in the sun. Ninety-five percent of them. But the rare ones who had descended from an angelic race could not, only because their bloodline had not been rejuvenated with their ancestors’ blood for millennia.

Antonio was going to change that, for him, and for his entire tribe Anakim. He wanted the daylight, and he would not stop at anything until he had it.

Behind him he was flanked by Bruce Westing and Stellan the Pale. Bruce was Anakim’s Fallen hunter, and Stellan’s expertise had uncovered half a dozen angel halos over the past year. As well, Bruce had secured the eight paintings lined along the north wall in the dungeon, each of them depicting a different Fallen angel, complete with sigil.

Yet Antonio had no names to match to those sigils.

“You’re sure it was a Sinistari with the Fallen?” he asked as he entered his underground office. The cave walls were hung with medieval tapestries depicting scaled dragons and knights with bloody spears. “I thought you said he was with a female?”

Bruce shoved his hands in his front jeans pocket. He and Stellan stopped before Antonio’s marble-topped desk. “It was a woman,” Bruce said, “and I’m pretty sure she was Sinistari. She was strong, as strong as the angel.”

“But Sinistari are male,” Antonio said. Though, honestly, he hadn’t a proper description for the demon breed, only that they exclusively hunted the Fallen. “And why wouldn’t she have slain the angel?”

“Still missing a key ingredient,” Stellan offered.

“The muse,” Bruce said.

Antonio rocked backward in the richly padded office chair and put up his feet on the desktop. He eyed the painting Bruce had carried in from the dungeon weeks earlier. It featured an angel fashioned from blue glass with a sigil impressed upon its abdomen. The name to match the angel—Juphiel—had come courtesy of Zaqiel, a Fallen Bruce had encountered months earlier. Antonio had summoned Juphiel two weeks ago. It surprised him the Sinistari had only now shown on the scene. Though certainly, if the Sinistari were slacking, that would make his efforts all the easier.

“You’ve been following Juphiel, Bruce?”

“Yes. He hasn’t run into his muse yet. Doesn’t seem as if he’s looking for her, actually. Spends a lot of time in nightclubs, and during the day he wanders the Louvre.”

Bruce was not Anakim blood, thus, his ability to walk in daylight. Antonio trusted and needed him to be his eyes during the day.

“Stay on him.”

“I will. You know I never lose a mark.”

Bruce did like to go after the Fallen. Even though the angels were much stronger than a vampire, Bruce was wily and took pride in his daring. He was also warded to the hilt against angels and their associated ilk. Thanks to a blood grimoire, Antonio had all he needed to protect himself and his closest allies from the Fallen and Sinistari.

“You keep an eye on the Sinistari,” he said, glancing at Stellan. “She’s the greatest deterrent to our final goal.”

Stellan nodded and turned to leave, always aware of when he was no longer needed.

Bruce wasn’t so quick on the draw. He turned to study the painting of Juphiel. It had been painted using a computer, or so Bruce had explained to Antonio. Eden Campbell was the artist—as well as a muse. She was living with a former Sinistari now. Antonio kept her on his radar, but he didn’t want to approach her with a demon standing close by, former or not.

“Why are you lingering?”

Bruce shot him a gape. “Er, sorry, monsieur. It’s just the Fallen. I don’t know that he is the key to what we want to accomplish.”

“And what is?”

“Well, the muse.”

“Tell me more.”

Chapter 3

Pyx suspected the vampires were following the Fallen for a specific purpose.

When a Fallen one successfully impregnated a muse—meaning a Sinistari had not done their job—the resulting child was a nephilim. The nephilim grew to maturity in less than a week, and began to feed. On everything. Including people. The abominable creature gave new meaning to the term blood hungry.

It ached in her chest when she thought about it. She had been responsible for allowing a nephilim to walk this earth so many millennia ago. You failed.

Never again.

Could the vampires be after the resulting nephilim? What the vampires planned to do with the creature once they had it was beyond Pyx. But any creature that fed on blood must be of interest to vampires.

Flicking at the dried blood on her scalp, she dusted off the black crust. The wound had healed, but not her pride. She really wanted to lay some vampire ass flat for no other reason than that they had pissed her off. And she’d probably get a chance since they seemed very interested in Cooper.

“Cooper Truhart.” She snorted and settled on the steps out front of his building. “Stupid name.”

Like Pyxion was any better. The Other, even. Man, had that been a joke on her.

Beneath had been no ball of fun. An empty void of darkness run through by a mercury sea roiling with wickedness. Pyx had wandered aimlessly, never finding anything but sea and darkness. The few times she had met another of her breed they’d recognized each other by name. It was simply a knowing.

Her fellow Sinistari had sneered and berated her. They had somehow known she was different, ineffectual, though their true demonic forms were all similar and sexless.

Well, she could do the woman thing. Just watch!

Her feminine wiles seemed to have an incredible effect on the Fallen. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her in the club. And when she’d pressed against him on the Metro she had felt his exhale against her cheek. And though she knew an angel’s glass heart did not beat, she had felt something throbbing against her thigh.

“Wiles,” she muttered. “Whatever that means. I got lucky. But I’m going to start paying attention from here on out. I’ll be the best damn woman demon my Sinistari brethren have ever seen. No more sneers for me.”

Perhaps she could use her female status to her advantage. It was apparent Cooper was in no hurry to locate his muse.

That had to change.

She didn’t look forward to tracking him all over the world until he decided when was a good time to switch into Fallen-claims-his-muse mode. She had to prove herself.

But she couldn’t sleep out on the steps hoping Cooper would trip over her in the morning. Not that she needed sleep, nor did the angel.

Scanning her sight about the dark neighborhood, Pyx roamed up and down the brick-fronted three-and four-storied buildings. A residential neighborhood with narrow, cobbled streets and steel poles to prevent cars from parking on an even narrower sidewalk. It was charming, if she were to label it.

Though charm meant as little to her as experiencing touch for the first time—it was a nuisance.

Closeness to the mark meant everything.

She spied a sign with red writing, loger disponible. “Room available.” It sat across the street and around the corner from where she had determined Cooper’s apartment must be. Perfect.

Striding across the street, she approached the building. The foyer opened without a code, but she hesitated punching a button on the speaker box this late at night. Mortals were snoozing. It wasn’t that she had a problem punching all the buttons and waking them up; she didn’t want to interact right now.

Drawing her finger down the list of apartments, she found the one missing a name. “Third floor, apartment 12.”

The inner lobby door was locked. Pointing her forefinger, she shifted enough to grow out the long adamant talon from the top of her fingertip. She slid the talon between the door and frame, toggling it against the dead bolt. Her talon slid the solid bolt to the left, and with a shove, the door opened.

Pyx blew on her talon as if blowing the smoke from a gun—something she’d seen on a movie poster pasted in a video-shop window—then resumed complete mortal costume.

She dashed up the stairs to the third floor. Naturally, the apartment door was locked. No talons necessary this time. One kick loosened the lock in the wood door frame. Pyx marched inside.

The apartment was furnished sparely with modern glass-topped counters, unbleached pine wood, and a coffee table and leather furniture. It smelled vaguely of pine air freshener. The black leather sofa looked comfy. Pyx made a jump and landed on it with her hands clasped behind her head. She crossed her legs at the ankles.

“This’ll work. Furnished and everything.” She dug in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the iPod she’d nicked earlier. “Music in my hand. How cool is that?”

She played around with the small jewel-colored device. Lots of music. Movies. A pedometer? Why would anyone want to know how many steps they have walked? “Mortals are strange.”

The video camera proved intriguing. Zooming it about the room she recorded … nothing.

Searching the previously recorded clips, she clicked on one. It featured a woman with a blond ponytail standing in a kitchen making deli-meat sandwiches. She looked at whoever was holding the video camera and said, “I love you.”

The holder asked, “Is that all?”

“Yep. I just love you.”

“Aww.” Pyx flicked off the device. “Sweet as sin. But that sandwich did look good. I wonder if there’s food in the fridge.”

It had been hours since she’d eaten. Gluttony was definitely her favorite mortal sin.

Kicking off her boots, Pyx then wandered into the kitchen while itching at the fresh tattoo on her back. It had already scabbed and she could feel the new skin beneath. Mortal flesh was so freakin’ sensitive. She felt everything, even a breeze across her cheek.

She’d never experienced such novelty. Dancing in the club had overloaded her new-experience radar. She’d shut herself off to touch, but now, alone, she connected to it again.

She grabbed a shiny apple from an elegant glass bowl. It was cool and slick. Smelled, hmm … not how she expected fruit to smell. Kind of … oily. Before she took a bite, she realized it was wood. “Tricky.” She tossed it over her shoulder into the living area.

The fridge was empty, as were the cupboards. “How’s a demon supposed to survive in this realm without sustenance?”

The front door banged inward and someone clattered down the parquet hallway into the kitchen. A man wearing only blue-striped pajama bottoms, his tumescent belly hanging over the waistband, and his white hair tousled upon his head, eyed her up and down.

“What are you doing here, mademoiselle? This is not your apartment?”

“Of course it is.” Pyx sauntered over and laid her palm against his forehead. “And I paid you a month’s rent already. Remember?”

He nodded, shrugged, then nodded again.

“I think someone tried to break in. The lock is jammed on the door.” She removed her hand.

The man nodded. “I’ll have a look at it first thing in the morning. Do you need a new key?”

“Darn right I do. Talk about shoddy upkeep. I wonder, should I find a better place that has a more studious custodian?”

“Oh, no, I will see to it at first light. It was surely an isolated incident. This is a lovely building and our custodian is a gem.”

“All right, but if it happens again, I’m out of here.”

“So sorry to have disturbed you, mademoiselle …?”

“Pyxion. I’ll see you bright and early with a new lock. Good night, funny little man.”

“Bon nuit.” He shuffled out and tugged at the door a bit before finally getting it to click securely shut.

Pyx crossed her arms and smirked. Mortals. So easy to influence.

From this angle she could see the front of Cooper’s building and would notice when he left and could even see the light on in his apartment. She would keep the light off so he wouldn’t see her.

“If he goes near the muse, I’ll be right there, ready to kill him.”

Cooper poured a cup of green tea and sat down at the kitchen table before the laptop. He put his bare feet up on another chair and leaned back, shrugging his fingers through his hair.

He’d washed away the vampire blood. The smell of vamps put him off, and he felt sure now he’d sense the next one before he saw it because it was an unmistakable scent of dust, metal and ash.

The kilt was a loss, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need a closet of clothing because if he required a new shirt he simply imagined it on himself, and it became so. Nice trick of the trade.

What an interesting night he’d had. Vampires and Sinistari after him?

He’d hoped to spend more time in this world free of such trouble. But he wasn’t stupid. The Sinistari came with the territory when one chose to Fall. And he couldn’t argue with the chance to get out some aggression.

It had felt sweet to rip the vamp’s heart from its chest. Yet now, he felt a twinge of regret. He’d killed far too often when serving in the angelic ranks. Killing had been as natural as taking a breath. Smite this village. Slay that wrongdoer. All because he had been ordered to do so.

The stench of death had reeked on him; it had never been absent. And as an angel he’d not been attuned to the senses like touch, taste and smell. So the fact he’d eventually noticed that stench had screwed with his ideas of right and wrong.

Rather, it had become the catalyst to his developing a sense of right and wrong.

Angels weren’t supposed to choose sides. They were unfeeling entities that served Him without question. But Juphiel had changed. Another angel had allowed him to see that he had a choice. That is why he’d Fallen. Juphiel could no longer kill with abandon.

And yet, Cooper Truhart was still doing it.

Was it because death had been ingrained in his being?

“No, I will change. I must.”

With a gesture of his fingers, the laptop slid across the table to rest at the edge before him. He tapped the keyboard, thinking to type vampire in the search box, but figured that wouldn’t route him to any feasible answer on why the bloodsuckers were tracking him. Instead, he opened the email program and was pleased to find an answer to a message he’d sent to Eden Campbell two days ago.

He’d discovered Miss Campbell after an afternoon of searching the internet for halos and anything at all related to the Fallen. It was all myth and religious dogma to the mortals. They hadn’t a clue regarding the truth of it. Yet, he’d found a correspondence between Eden Campbell and Cassandra Stevens from months earlier that indicated both women were in the know. Eden had promised to send Cassandra a halo she had found because, as she’d written, it would give her hope. Eden definitely knew she had the real thing in hand.

Cooper had written to her, asking if he could take a look at her collection. He hadn’t given details like “Hey, I’m a Fallen and need to find my halo.” No, he didn’t want to scare her off until he could feel her out, sense if she might be worth trusting. A mortal may believe in halos, but in real angels? That was a long shot.

He clicked on the email. Campbell’s reply read: How did you get my email address? I don’t collect halos anymore. Do not contact me further.

Cooper sat back, and blew out a breath. “That’s it? No, ‘Sorry, can’t help you’? No, ‘I think I know of someone who can help’?”

He opened the file of saved emails between Cassandra and Eden and scanned them. “There.” He leaned in and began to type a reply.

What about MD?

MD were the mysterious initials Eden had mentioned in a post to Cassandra, a man who had helped her recently with the halos.

Hitting Send, Cooper hoped this trail would lead him somewhere.

Finding a halo on earth would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Only this needle was made of ineffable substance and had been lost on earth millennia ago. But if he could find someone who sought halos for a hobby, then he’d be ten steps closer to his goal than he was now.

By morning, starvation roiled Pyx’s gut. She picked up the cell phone she’d stolen, and scanned the address list. “No pizza delivery numbers.” Though a lot of spas and wine dealers were listed. She tucked the phone in a pocket and skipped down to street level.

A figure appeared in the big window on the third floor across the street. Cooper’s apartment. The sun was rising and she could plainly see the man standing in the window, gesturing she should come up.

Really?

“Don’t need to ask me twice.”

She rushed across the street. First the angel pushes her away and now he’s pulling her closer? Worked for her. Men had fallen for lesser reasons than a sexy woman.

And yet, angels had Fallen for that very reason.

Pyx smirked. “I can so work this one.”

He buzzed her in, and she navigated upward, following his scent instead of the angelic vibrations he put out. It wasn’t a particular odor she could compare to anything she had learned about the world, other than that it was simply and uniquely angel. And sexy.

“Bloody Beneath, Pyx, buck up. The angel is not sexy.”

The door opened to reveal Cooper standing in loose, dark jeans that hugged his hips. Cut muscles veed toward his jeans, pointing in a direction she couldn’t take her eyes from. Stunning, virile and—

Not sexy. Not sexy. Not … well … maybe.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, er—” She shrugged. “For food? Yes, food. Nothing else weird, or anything.”

“No, nothing weird,” he said with a secretive smirk.

His attire made her take stock of her own. Still wearing the same blood-smeared shirt and men’s jeans and boots. She needed to do some shopping to get a feel for what women wore, and then she could assume their costume with ease.

“You inviting me in?” she asked, feeling a bit sheepish, and that feeling was so new, she went with it and shrugged her elbow up against the wall, hands tucked in her pockets.

“Why not? You were lurking.”

“Yeah, but—” Had he been watching her? Hope not, because she was the one watching him.

Cooper strode down the hallway and called over his shoulder, “Ever hear the one about keeping one’s enemies close?”

“Who said that?” Pyx wandered after him. “Some guy who took a knife in the back while his enemy was hugging him? So what’s changed? Last night you were eager to put distance between us.”

“Call it a change of heart.”

“Didn’t think an angel’s hard glass heart was capable,” Pyx said, entering the kitchen.

The high ceilings lent a feeling of vastness. Glass-fronted cabinets and black granite counter-tops gave it a modern flair. Blue and green tiles backed the counter, and gleaming appliances sat here and there.

Most significant were the stained-glass windows over the sink. The doors leading into an adjoining bedroom were also intricate stained glass; the design touted flowers, trees and peacocks.

Cooper slapped a palm over his chest where Pyx knew his heart did not beat. “You pick up a lot walking the earth. Emotions. Ideas. Humility. You’ll learn soon enough.”

“Oh, I picked up a great sandwich last night and a tattoo.”

“A tattoo?” Cooper smirked and wandered to the stovetop where a delicious scent wafted. “I’ve got crepes with fresh bananas and Nutella. That’s chocolate hazelnut spread, kind of like peanut butter, but … not.”

“Sounds fancy. You going to kill me with kindness?”

“Perhaps. So show me the tat.”

Turning and lifting the back of her shirt, Pyx displayed her artwork. Pride prickled her ego sweetly.

“A burning angel, eh?”

“You got it. Can’t wait to see you burn.”

Cooper redirected his attention to the cooking. “Nice.”

Pyx plopped onto a kitchen chair and propped her boots up on another chair. She leaned an elbow on the table. “How’s a guy who’s only been around a few weeks afford something like this? You get a job as a gigolo in those nightclubs you frequent?”

He chuckled sarcastically. “Could if I wanted to. But, no. The owner of this apartment was looking for someone to watch it during the summer while she vacations in Greece with her lover.”

“Good for you. Haven’t had to sell your body yet. I got a place, too.”

“Did you?”

“Fully furnished. Rent is paid for the month.”

She took the iPod from her pocket and switched it to video. Scanning it around the room, she recorded, for the heck of it. Zooming in on Cooper standing before the griddle, she moved the screen up and down his bare back. The muscles flexed with his motions. His skin was tan too, which appealed to her in ways she couldn’t quite process.

“It’s in the neighborhood, actually.”

“In the—” With a dripping spatula in hand, Cooper dashed into the nearby bedroom and looked out the window. “The sign is down. You didn’t,” he said, marching into the kitchen.

She caught video of his frustrated huff, and the splatter of crepe batter that drooled down his pant leg.

“The place across the street? But I saw you last night. How did you …? So quickly? You stole that place.”

Pyx shook the iPod at his accusing shake of spatula. “Dude, it’s my nature.”

“Poor excuse. You want to fit in with the humans while you’re here on earth? You’re going to have to work on your morality.”

“Look at you, all high and mighty.”

His smile was neither high nor mighty. It was genuinely appealing. Pyx wondered if morals had given him that appeal. But then, she knew better.

“Cruising the clubs for booty doesn’t sound so moral to me.”

“It is the human condition to seek comfort in one another.”

“Comfort.” Pyx snorted. “So that’s what they’re calling it nowadays.”

He set a plate before her. A folded crepe hung over the edge. “You like bananas and chocolate?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never tried them.” She accepted the proffered fork and poked the delicious-looking delicacy. Brown, sweet spread oozed out. “You learned to cook in a few weeks? I shouldn’t admit it, but I am impressed. I thought the Fallen just stalked about looking for muses to bed.”

He poured batter on a wide griddle, his back to her. Every movement flexed the muscles. Strength, that was the appeal. Strength wrapped in warm human flesh that Pyx suspected would feel great if she touched.

“Did you hear me? I said—”

“I heard you,” he said, not turning around. “I choose not to dignify that remark with an answer.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those respectable angels who fell?”

“And you’re one of those annoying Sinistari.”

Touché. Well, if the shoe fit, she’d try it on and kick some ass with it. Thinking of which…. she needed some more feminine shoes. But the high-heeled travesties she’d seen looked like a form of torture she’d rather avoid.

Pyx forked in a mouthful. Nummy. Oh, man! Chocolate rocked. And bananas, too. All oozing together. What a divine creation. Oops. Divinity had nothing to do with this meal. This was all about sinful deliciousness.

Minutes later, Cooper joined her with a folded crepe and sat down. Licking the chocolate from his thumb, he then dug in heartily. Pyx had already downed half her breakfast.

“I wouldn’t think this combination could work,” she commented. “Bananas and chocolate?”

“Sort of like angels and demons breaking their fast together, eh?”

“Yes, sort of.” Was she seriously here, doing … this?

He didn’t seem the least disturbed by her presence. The angel should be. The guy was one stab in the heart away from oblivion.

Pyx devoured another gooey, hot bite of crepe, and while she chewed, drew out her blade and placed it nonchalantly on the table beside her.

The Fallen smirked. “I don’t intimidate easily.”

“I’m just setting it there. It’s big and gets in the way.”

“I have something that’s big and gets in the way.”

She caught his waggling lift of brow, but didn’t understand. Angels. They thought they were so clever.

With a flick of Cooper’s fingers her dagger slid across the table toward him. Pyx slapped a hand over the weapon and slid it back. “Fancy party tricks are for amateurs.”

He relented.

“So I understand you demons name your blades,” he prompted. “Something ominous like Angel Killer or Death Bringer. What’s yours called?”

She fingered the black steel hilt of the blade. Forged from materials unknown, the blade had been made before she had and then matched to her after she had been forged Sinistari from the earth’s metals.

“Joe,” she said, and forked in another bite of crepe.

“Joe?” The angel laughed. It was a deep, rumbly sound that made Pyx smile around a mouthful of banana. “Oh, that’s rich. I’m being pursued by the vicious demon Pixy and her faithful blade Joe.”

Pyx wielded Joe in a blink. She bent before Cooper a blink later, the blade cutting into the flesh under his chin.

“It’s Pyx,” she said sharply. “And I’ll thank you to respect my friend Joe here or he’ll get sloppy and spill angel blood on your fancy pancake.”

“You cut me, I will retaliate.”

She remained before him, testing the blade against his soft and easily damaged mortal flesh. His dark eyes challenged her to go for it. Draw the blade and spill blood. She could do it. She should do it to prove she wasn’t about to back down, no matter his disturbing charm.

The cut wouldn’t kill him; she had to pierce his heart to bring death. And the blade could not penetrate his hard glass heart unless he was shifted to half form, which usually only happened when the angel was attempting his muse.

Had she ever seen that color of blue before? It rimmed his gray eyes. When she’d been summoned she had initially only seen the world in black and white. Until she’d walked the world, taking it all in, breathing in its languages, customs and pastimes.

Wow. There was something in his eyes. A bright reflection of … a hard and ruthless warrior? Whatever it was in his eyes, it was of the angelic dominions.

He moved swiftly. The blade clattered on the hardwood floor before Pyx realized she’d dropped it. His lips connected with hers. He bracketed her head with his palms, not pressing too roughly, but keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

It was a kiss. A strange, surprising kiss. Rough and fast. But sweet from the chocolate that whispered from his mouth and into hers.

Pyx had not before been kissed. What was a kiss for? It didn’t fill the belly, or provide clothes, or gain material goods. And yet, it was definitely interesting.

And it was being issued by a Fallen one. To a Sinistari. How many ways of wrong was that?

It didn’t feel wrong. Felt kind of tingly and exciting.

Cooper swept his tongue across hers. A giddy sparkle radiated in Pyx’s belly—until he pushed her away and stepped across the room. Hand to a hip, he turned, head tilted downward, and gazed at her.

“What the hell was that for?” She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, forcing out her most pissed tone. “That’s not how you disarm an opponent.”

“Oh, no?” He toed Joe and kicked it across the floor toward her boot. “Looks like it worked. You’ve never been kissed before?”

“I just came to earth a day ago. What do you think?”

“I think.” He stalked over on his bare feet, his movements sensual and silent like some kind of wild cat Pyx had seen stalking the Tibetan forests during her walk of the world. Tilting up her chin, he brushed the hair from her face. “That means you are a virgin. A strange situation for a Sinistari to be in when she should be indulging in lust. Want another one?”

The sparkle still hummed in her belly. “Kiss?”

He smirked. “No, a crepe.”

“Neither.” Pyx jumped to stand and, arms arched out and ready to strike, she instead looked about. Not sure what to do. How to react. Joe lay against her boot. Bending for it would put her in a position not conducive to defense.

The angel had served her a move she hadn’t expected. And she was still processing the delicious taste of him, and the startling sensation of his mouth upon hers. It was a hell of a lot better than the crepe, and she had loved the crepe.

And the smile on his face bothered her. He felt he’d gained advantage in this round. Had he?

“I gotta go.” She swept up Joe.

“Giving up before you’ve cleaned your plate?” he called as she headed down the hallway.

“Not on your life. I want to make sure the vampires aren’t hanging around outside.”

“They’re not after me.”

“They’re not after me!” she shouted.

“If that’s what you want to believe. It’s day. Vampires don’t do sunlight, do they?”

Pyx didn’t turn to look at him. She knew he brandished a triumphant smirk like some kind of scalp claimed in battle. “Read your Stoker. Most vampires can go out during the day. I’ll be back.”

“I do hope you will be.”

She stalked to the front door and strode through, leaving it open behind her.

All right, one point for the Fallen. That meant she had to regroup and figure things out. Like how to play against someone who doesn’t know the rules.

And what, exactly, would her defensive move be should he lay another of those delicious kisses on her?

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