Ashes of Angels. Michele Hauf

that.”

      Antonio steepled his fingers thoughtfully before him. “I remember my mother used to tell me about the daylight. We lived below even before puberty gave me the blood hunger, so I have never, ever, known what it was like to feel sun on my skin.”

      That had to suck, big-time, Bruce thought. Even bloodborn vampires, like Antonio, didn’t come into their vampirism until puberty, which meant they were basically mortal, and could eat and walk in the sun, until the blood hunger changed them completely.

      “So many vampires can walk in the sun,” Antonio continued. “Why should I be denied light simply because my bloodline is ancient and revered? Am I damned? Are we not all damned?”

      He held up a silver chain, from which dangled a silver coil. It caught the torchlight and flashed brightly. Antonio closed his eyes, as if soaking in sunbeams.

      Bruce silently backed from his master’s office. At times like this, when he went all introspective and waxed on about his damnation, it was better to leave him to sulk.

      But his determination was renewed. No man should be denied the simple pleasures of life. Even if the sun would probably burn him after a few seconds, Antonio did deserve the pain of it, just once.

      Cassandra stepped down the stairs outside her loft in the building stairwell. Metallic flake demon ash sifted over her hands and cheeks as she did. It tingled and felt hot, as if real ash from a flaming fire.

      “It’s too pretty for demon remains.”

      Sam swiped the back of his hand across his chin. A blue line dashed where a cut had opened his skin. “If you know things about us, then you know the Sinistari were forged from the Fallen.”

      “I do. So he was originally an angel who Fell with you?”

      “Yes, but he was taken before his feet touched earth and was forged into Sinistari.”

      “That’s so sad, that something divine was made—” She stopped before saying evil. Because the truly evil ones were the Fallen. The Sinistari were the good guys.

      But how to label Sam? An evil angel bent on destroying his own? That sounded accurate, but when she caught more demon ash on her palm, she couldn’t decide if evil had just vanquished the real good.

      And only moments earlier she had stood in his arms because she’d wanted to. She had needed to feel safe. In the arms of her destroyer.

      The night could not get any stranger.

      It must be close to morning. She should be standing in the shower right now, washing away the day’s simple trials, like stressing over which silver piece to next work on and about leaving her date at the bar. She should not be thinking about running from angels, demons and vampires.

      Marcus would be pissed she’d left the Schwarz without him. Or maybe not. He had been talking up the redhead.

      “I’m tired.” She sat on the bottom step and toed the metallic demon ash. It glowed bright red and dispersed to talcum fineness, resembling a big pile of dust rather than ash. “Can we put off the vampire hunt until I’ve gotten some sleep?”

      “We’ll have to. The Anakim tribe doesn’t walk in sunlight.”

      “Just let me stay here and sleep a few hours. You return after you’ve killed all the vampires, Fallen and Sinistari.” She yawned. “Promise I won’t ditch you.”

      “I will give you energy.”

      “I don’t know how you can do—”

      Sam pulled her to stand and clutched her against his chest. He was so solid and there, and yet, not warm. Not cold, either. Almost as if he were a sculpture crafted from silver. Weird but strangely appropriate.

      Strong arms slid up her back and firmly caressed her against him. For the muscles strapping his body, she had expected any hug from him to hurt, but he held her as if she were fragile, delicate.

      He was doing something to her. She felt him radiate through her body. Not exactly heat or a tingle, but a feeling of satisfaction. No, not exactly that, either. She felt positive, and suddenly perceived an outcome that would see her the victor. Was it hope? If the halo was supposed to give a mortal hope, as her sister believed, then perhaps an entire angel could do the same.

      For the first time since this night had gone crazy, Cassandra thought about the sigil and realized it didn’t itch. Why was that? Did their closeness negate the irritant power of the sigil?

      Sam had come after her with mad lust in his eyes after he’d killed the demon. His silver wings … they had been gorgeous. Something she could never duplicate though she had tried. The sculpture in her bedroom was a pitiful replica of the real deal.

      Gorgeous, and yet a sign of very real danger she couldn’t defend herself against no matter what tricks she pulled out of her pocket.

      “How’s that?” he said against her ear.

      “Huh? Oh, great.” She pulled from him, following the skim of her fingers as they marked his smooth, tanned chest. “Ready for action, I guess. But do you intend to stalk about the city without any clothes? I mean, the no-shirt look works on you, but it’s snowing out, buddy. We don’t want to attract any more attention than you already do.”

      “I will need a shirt, yes. But you are not so tired now?”

      Cassandra assessed her muscles and bruised body, and realized she did feel kinda peppy. A flex of her shoulder didn’t sense the heavy exhaustion she’d just experienced. “What did you do to me?”

      “We have a connection, Cassandra, like it or not.”

      “Raising my hand for not. It’s a connection I don’t wish to complete, if you get my meaning.”

      “I understand there are reasons you cannot trust me.”

      “You got that right. You said you wouldn’t come after me, but then your wings popped out and—wham! I’ve never seen such malevolent lust in a man’s eyes before. You really scared me, Sam.”

      She tried not to meet his eyes, because she knew she’d find a pleading puppy-dog pout there. But it was impossible, and the moment she connected with his gaze, she fell into wonder. The true magic lived there, in his eyes. She felt powerless against it.

      “I understand I must earn your trust. I cannot simply demand it. And I will, I swear to you. But that does not discount me from the desire to mate with you. You are a beautiful woman, Cassandra. I would not be a man did I not recognize that.”

      “Good thing you gave me the repulsion word.”

      “The more often you use it, the weaker it becomes, so use it sparingly.”

      “If you keep your eyes on the vampires, and not me, maybe I won’t have to use the word ever again.”

      “It won’t be that simple. But I thank you for your trust, cupcake.”

      “You haven’t earned my trust yet, buddy. And what’s with the cupcake? Name’s Cassandra.”

      “I like the endearment. It is a common practice between mortals to name each other with sweet nicknames.”

      She rolled her eyes, realizing it was fruitless to get him to stop with the silly names.

      “Mr. Nelson on the first floor is about your size. Not quite so firm. He has a tendency to leave his clothes in the laundry room dryer for days. I’ll slip in and borrow a shirt.”

      Cassandra grabbed two button-up shirts and a pair of jeans, but felt squicky about taking a pair of Mr. Nelson’s boxers. She guessed Sam probably didn’t do underwear anyway. Or was that a secret hope?

      While the angel changed in the bathroom, she dialed up her sister.

      With vampires and Sinistari roaming the city, she did not want to endanger Ophelia, the pregnant muse her sister planned