Jesse chuckles warmly. "That's me. Jesse, the archangel."
"Awesome," I say and breathe, hoping I don't look as disgusted as I feel.
"I'm going to get rid of my sweat. Make yourself at home. There's wine and cheese on the table over there."
He points toward a wall, but it isn't a wall at all. It's floor-to-ceiling windows.
The curtains are open, and I can see the glow of lights coming from the wall and beyond to the Nephilim Academy. It's lit up and shines so bright I'm reasonably sure the structure is visible from space. It's my first time gazing at the Academy with my own eyes, and I gasp at the sight. It's like magic, and for a brief moment, I forget why I'm here.
But I recover. Because I know the truth. Fucking angels. Nothing good comes out of the Academy. It's a place filled with angels and half-angels who believe they're better than everyone else and aren't afraid to show it.
Out here in the Halo, despair leads to drugs, alcohol, and things that make my toenails curl. An image of my mother comes to mind, but I push it away. I need to stay alert and focused on the task at hand. Steal the gem at all costs.
"Mira?" His deep voice seems to penetrate my heart.
I turn toward him and see he's waiting for my response. "Sure. Whatever you want."
"Great." He disappears into the bedroom.
Strangely, he's pleasant. More importantly? What the hell is he doing outside the wall? At night, it glows and reminds me of what I believe an actual halo might look like. If I look too hard, though, I can see the traitors hanging from metal spikes, but I force myself not to look at them.
Instead, I focus on the coffee table. The box is still there. Jesse didn't move it. I want to believe it's because I have him off-balance somehow, but that's highly unlikely. Jesse is probably one of the vicious angel Warriors. That would explain why he has the jewel. He's guarding it.
And if I get caught stealing it? I shudder, my gaze returning to the wall and the dead and dying hanging there.
A ping interrupts my thoughts.
It's another text from Fileze. You there yet?
I quickly answer him back. Yeah. Gonna sign off for the night. Don't worry. I'll get the jewel. You'll have it by morning.
Once my phone is off, I set down my bag beside the box and walk to the windows. I stare at the scenery, lost in my thoughts. Then notice the cheese platter. I take a piece and chew slowly.
It's good. Creamy. I pour myself a hefty glass of wine—liquid courage.
When it's gone, I retrieve the vial of poison from my purse and pour it into the remaining liquid in the bottle. I have no idea whether the poison will work on an angel, but since Fileze knew the truth when he gave it to me, I'm hoping it does what it's supposed to. Immortal or not, surely, there must be something that can weaken them. Or at least put Jesse to sleep.
That's the thing about angels. No one knows their weaknesses except, of course, for their need to seek pleasure outside their kind.
I roll my shoulders back. "Time to work, Mira." I move to the bedroom door and listen. The shower is still running, and the bathroom door is closed.
On my tiptoes, I head over to the coffee table. Stare at the box only a moment before opening it. Inside is a jewel.
The jewel, I think. It's azure like the clear ocean, but that isn't what's impressive. Within the faceted gem is a light so bright it almost hurts to look at it.
I clamp the box shut and pick it up, dropping it in my bag. Then head for the door. "Easy peasy," I whisper.
With my hand on the knob, I pause. Glance around the room once more. Fileze never told me what the jewel looked like. Why hadn't I thought about that before? The one in my bag might be the one he's after, or it could be completely worthless.
Dread fills my guts. Because stealing the jewel is too easy. No question about it. If the gem is worth millions, like Fileze said, then Jesse wouldn't leave it out. Not with a total stranger wandering the premises. Right?
There has to be a catch.
Cameras?
Probably.
My brain tells me to run. Take the stairs, get the hell out, and never look back. But it's too late for that. If I get caught, I will hang on the wall, like so many other traitors to the angels.
My heart beats so fast I can hardly breathe. I remove the box from my bag and return it to the coffee table. Sit carefully on the couch and debate what my next move should be. I can't call Ellie. Doing so would put her in danger too.
Understanding flows through me like a belligerent ghost. Fileze gave me this job because he never intended for me to walk away from it. I'm not here to steal a jewel, but I'm here to get caught. He sent me on this job to die.
Asshole.
I have two options. Run, which is a terrible idea. Angel Warriors are excellent trackers. My fingerprints are on the box. There isn't a place in all the world I can go that he won't find me.
I'm already dead. My only hope is to plead for my life. Ask Jesse for mercy.
This leads me to option two.
I make a rash but necessary decision.
Without thinking too hard about what I'm going to do, I remove the awful heels. Unzip my dress and let it slide to the floor. Pick up my bag and walk into the bathroom.
Either way, tonight is my last as a member of Fileze crew, but it may be my last, period.
I have one shot. Do angels have pets? Would I rather be beholden to an angel than die? I'm about to find out as I walk through the enormous bedroom and carefully open the bathroom door.
The air is steamy and smells like Jesse. Without meaning to, I shiver with pleasure.
The mirrors and the glass on the shower door are fogged over. I place my bag on the counter. Steel myself for whatever comes next.
Jesse's head is visible, his blond hair darkened by the water, his eyes closed.
"Jesse." His name comes out with a stutter. But it's no use being afraid. If I'm to die, at least I can say I did everything in my power to prevent it.
"I wondered how long I would have to wait before you came to find me." Jesse's voice is secret and erotic. His eyes open. They are intense. Hungry. Like the dawn determined to defeat the night.
"Mind if I join you?" I wait, suddenly losing my nerve. He can kill me with the flick of his hand.
"Of course." Jesse holds out a hand to help me in. So gentlemanly.
"Can I wash your hair?" I ask, clamping my teeth together so they won't chatter. My knees are knocking, and my thighs shake, but my core is the biggest traitor. Because I'm wet down there and wanting. Angels expect humans to worship them. My hope is he'll see I'm trying and go easy on me.
"That would be nice." He hands me the shampoo. I squeeze some into my hands and rub them together. There's a bench in the shower, and I step up, so I'll be able to reach.
He holds onto my elbow, keeping me steady so I don't slip.
I grin at his thoughtfulness. "Thanks."
"No problem." He turns around, and I put the shampoo in his hair, massaging my fingertips into his scalp.
He sighs. "You're good at this."
"I'm so glad you think so." I keep my words soft so that he won't hear my fear.
He turns around, letting me see his face. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted while his hands find my waist.
Jesse looks like a god. If Eros, the god of love, sexual prowess, and dirty thoughts, had a child with Artemis, I'm quite confident Jesse would be him.
His long lashes are wet and clump together. He licks his full lips. Strong shoulders are attached to his sculpted arms and a perfect back with muscles in all the right places.
"Rinse," I say. My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat.
He puts his head under the water. His eyes open briefly, and his fingers trail across my flat stomach.
A white fire ignites within and tracks his fingers.
Jesse gives me a lopsided grin and closes his eyes, quickly washing out the suds. Then he helps me down from the bench. Places me under the water and gets my hair wet.
"Your turn," he says.
I'm thrown off balance by him. Hope turns to optimism. If he likes me enough, then he might keep me. Then again, he might use me and then kill me. But I have no choice except to try and make him like me enough.
"You have the most beautiful hair, like spun gold," he says thoughtfully. His fingers tangle themselves in my hair as he works to get it all wet.
"Thank you," I say, crossing my legs as a jolt of need spreads along my abdomen.
"Uncross your legs," he commands softly, his eyes focusing on my most sensitive spot.
"Sure."
His eyes turn dark with need, and his cock, which is already enormous, jerks and grows.
"Turn around," he orders gently.
I do as he asks, thinking he intends to take me in the shower.
Instead, he squirts shampoo on his hands and begins washing my hair.
A soft moan escapes at the feel of his fingers in my hair, massaging in the soap. Biting my bottom lip, I work not to moan louder. It's been forever since anyone touched me in such a tender way.
Remember, he's a damned angel, I try to tell myself.
Out loud, I say, "That feels amazing."
He chuckles. "Haven't you had someone wash your hair before?"
"This is my first time." I keep my eyes closed, thinking, if I die, then this isn't the worst way to go.
"Put your head under the water." He moves me into the spray so that I'm facing him once again.
I close my eyes, too nervous to look at him. Maybe he has a water fetish? A zing of worry rushes through my veins. A few months ago, I got caught doing something criminal. They waterboarded me for a good fifteen minutes before they freed me—a terrifying experience. I bite down harder on my lip, praying he isn't like that.
Not that it matters. If I'm his pet, I'll be required to do whatever he asks. My hair has fallen into my eyes. I lift my hands to push the strand out of my face. Before I can accomplish my task, his mouth is on mine.
Lips soft. Urgent. Needy.
Surprised, I let out a noise. I want to resist, but it's useless. My body doesn't give a fuck what my brain thinks is right. He presses his tongue in my mouth, and I swirl it with my own. Suckling, drawing him in deeper.
His hands cup my face, and he pulls me to him so that his hardness touches my stomach. With one hand, I wrap my fingers around his shaft, sliding up and down, circling.
We're both panting and kissing. He bends down and presses a finger between my folds as his mouth trails hot kisses down my neck, and his thumb rubs my tender nub. "Fuck, Mira. You feel so good."
I release his hardness and cling to his shoulders, unable to help the sounds coming from my throat. All fear is replaced by hungry desire.
Holy hell, I'm hot for him in a way I don't understand.
Unable to concentrate on anything but his finger, I cling to him, my nails digging into his skin as my orgasm crests, and I shudder my release around him.
What the ever-loving hell am I doing?