PALLAS WAS RIGHT. This assignment is going to be hard as shit. The black-and-white photo did nothing for the beauty that shines from Lark Miller. She hasn’t told me her last name yet, but I already know so much about her from her file.

I know that she is clinically depressed and takes medication.

I know that she is estranged from her parents.

I know that she works as a tattoo artist above a bar down the street.

The file told me of her faults. Her shortcomings. Her sins. But her file failed to mention the sparkle of a sea of emeralds that twinkles in her eyes. The file never mentioned the way her smile lights up her entire face and breathes life into her soul. The fucking file never mentioned that some woman would cloud every single lesson and training I’ve ever received with just one look.

Just one look and I knew this FA would be the hardest damn thing I’d ever encountered.

“You’re an exquisite mystery wrapped in an elegant yet razor-sharp package,” I whisper as I reluctantly release her from my grip.

Her eyes flicker at my words. “A poet.”

My lips are on her forehead before I can stop them, and I press a chaste kiss to her soft skin. “Words are extensions of our souls. Some people have the ability to let them out. I am one of those people, and you are worth the words.”

She looks away and takes a deep breath. “Goodbye, Al the Poet.” The way she says the last words is her question for my last name.

I don’t even know my last name. “Just Al.”

A ragged sigh. “Goodnight, Just Al.”

I tear myself away from her and stalk away quickly to break free from her magnetic pull. Before I step into the hallway, I toss her a smug look.

“Be ready with that pretty little mouth open and waiting tomorrow morning,” I instruct with a smirk.

Her eyes widen, and I know her mind went straight where mine did. My cock hardens at the thought of her lips all over me and—

I slip out the door and close it behind me instead of clarifying my words. The moment I’m back in the hallway, I feel a great heaviness at the loss of her company.

Lark.

My assignment.

My weakness.

“This fucking sucks,” Omega grumbles from down the hallway. He’s leaning up against our door with his arms folded like a damn GQ model.

“Just wait until Lovenia shows up to fuck shit up,” I groan.

His eyes darken again as a smile plays at his lips. “Damn, man. Why didn’t I take her to bed sooner?”

She’ll be as much of a distraction to him as Lark will be to me. They spent last night and all of today together. I had to drag his naked ass out of her bed so we could catch a cab to downtown LA. He reluctantly went with me, but at least I got my partner out of there.

“Probably because she’s the devil’s plaything and you’re a fucking angel,” I laugh.

He rolls his eyes and steps away from the door so I can open it. “We’re not angels. Well, not real ones yet, anyway.”

I swipe the entryway light on to find an apartment identical to Lark’s, only dirtier. “Well, right now, we’re human, which means things are going to be that much harder. I’ve got your back though, dude. I still can’t believe Pedro is your assignment.”

Pedro was about two seconds from getting his head bashed right into Hell. Had it not been for the fact that Omega has to keep him alive for his assignment, I’d have killed him and dealt with the consequences. Lark, no matter how evil or wicked they claim she is, does not deserve to be taken advantage of by that thug.

Lark deserves better.

She’s a thug too—in a different sense, but still a thug.

“Dude, I’m fucking beat,” Omega whines as he stretches out on the dusty sofa that came with the apartment.

Human bodies suck. Now, we have to eat and piss and fucking sleep.

Not cool, Pallas. Not cool.

“Me too, and I have to get up early,” I grumble, already feeling annoyed at my promise to feed Lark.

My duty requires me to keep her alive though, and she looks like, if she turns sideways, she’ll blow off into the wind.

“Why? I’m not. Pedro is wasted, so he’ll be sleeping until noon at least,” he yawns.

“I need to buy some food. That girl across the hall is wasting away,” I tell him as I peel my shirt off and head toward the shower.

“I’ve got your back, man,” he calls out from the living room.

I’m going to need his back on this one.

As the shower starts, I take a deep breath. Then I step up to the sink and glance at myself in the mirror. In six years, I’ve done it only once before. I fucking puked all night long. It was a few weeks after I’d joined HEA, and I had already been weak to begin with. I promised myself never to look again, yet here I am, devouring the sight of myself.

“Hello, Hottie.” I wink at my reflection.

There’s no humor in my features. I feel lost in this human body. My stomach churns as nausea threatens to make me vomit. With shaking hands, I grab the edge of the sink and lean forward, never taking my eyes from the mirror. My bones feel brittle and achy. The human skin that covers my body begins to itch and burn. Finally, I break away from staring at those almost-black eyes of mine and stagger away from the mirror.

No answers.

Still just Al.

I’m a fucking creeper. I heard a noise in the hallway, so I’m peeking through the peephole like a Peeping fucking Tom. When I see a long mess of wavy, mahogany hair flash by, I growl and swing the door open.

“Where the hell are you going?” I demand before she makes it to the stairwell.

She freezes in her tracks. While her back is to me, I take a minute to admire her narrow waist in her long, flowing, black dress. Her arms are bare, and colorful tattoos decorate her skin. I want to see them all.

“I have places to go,” she grumbles as she pulls her bag higher up her shoulder.

The drug addiction.

Fuck, I forgot all about seeing that in the file.

“I’ll go with you,” I assert and strut over to her.

She spins wildly to face me. Her pert nose is slightly red, as if she’s been crying. Black, oversized sunglasses hide her green orbs from me.

I need to see them.

When I reach for her sunglasses, she swats me away angrily, but not before I steal them away. Bluish circles hang under her eyes like dark half-moons. The whites of her eyes are bright red. She has been crying.

What the fuck is her problem?

“Baby, I thought we were—”

She angrily shoves me away from her. “I am not your baby. I’ll never be anyone’s baby ever again!”

I’m stunned by her sudden violent behavior toward me. When I reach for her, she staggers backwards. Her eyes are wild, and she looks borderline manic.

“Let me walk you at least,” I murmur.

She shakes her head and stumbles toward the stairwell. I get more nervous as hell the closer she gets to it. Fuck this. After striding over to her, I scoop her scrawny ass into my arms. Ignoring her screams and punches against my chest, I bound down the stairs as if she weighs nothing. Once at the bottom, I set her back to her feet.

“You’re a big, crazy caveman lunatic!” she snarls, waving her hands franticly, both middle fingers pointed in the air.

“Cut the crap, Lark,” I bellow. “I just saved your unstable ass from falling headfirst down a flight of stairs.”

Her head snaps to mine and she pins me with a very serious glare. “Next time I’m about to fall to my untimely death, turn and walk the fuck away. Stay out of my life, asshole.”

“Not a chance, baby. You’re stuck with me for three months.”

Fuck.

“Well, I’m leaving this shithole in one. See ya!” And with that, she storms out of the building and steps into the hustle and bustle of the morning commuters.

I’m barefoot but at least clothed, so I stalk after her. She’s my assignment whether she likes it or not. I’ll just need to tread lightly when following her. There’s no way I’m letting one pretty little hair on her head get hurt on my watch.

As soon as I emerge from the building and instinctively turn my head left, I see her chocolate hair bouncing as she hauls ass down the sidewalk. Ignoring the disgusted stares at my bare feet from others, I trot after her to catch up. I stay about twenty-five feet back and slow my pace when she nears the end of the second block. When she hangs a right, her step is slower. Once I reach the corner, I peek around the side. The poor girl already lives in a shitty part of town, but she’s heading right to the fucking ghetto.

The drugs.

Damn woman. Why does she have to be so difficult?

When the street is clear, she glides across the road and I send up a silent prayer that no cars come out of nowhere. I watch her come to a dilapidated building and hesitantly approach the main entrance. She scans the crowd around her, and I duck behind a telephone pole when her gaze reaches me. Once she’s satisfied that nobody is after her, she slips inside.

After looking both ways, I race across the street toward the building.

“Hey, baby,” a used-up whore purrs from the sidewalk. Her body is grotesquely thin, and she appears to be wearing the same dress she’s been wearing for the past year. I can smell her stink from here and would bet my entire existence on the fact that she’s crawling with diseases. When she smiles a toothless smile at me, I shudder.

“Ten-dollar blow job just for you, sugar,” she grins and wobbles on her heels toward me.

“Not today, baby,” I breathe out in a rush as I fly past her and into the building.

She mutters something about it being half off, but I ignore her and quickly take stock of my surroundings. Fuck. Lark is nowhere in sight. The entryway is dark and dirty as hell. Trash litters the floor, graffiti colors the walls, and it smells like piss.

A dark-skinned little girl appears in one of the doorways and watches me with interest as I begin making my way down the hallway and peeking in any open doors. When I reach the girl, who’s no older than four, I squat down in front of her.

“Are you God?” she asks me pointedly.

I cringe at her question. It still gets me that kids seem to see right through us. We always have to be careful that they don’t blow our cover. Now that I’m in human form, it is easier to hide from them, but this one still senses something unusual.

“No, doll. Not God. Have you seen a pretty girl with pictures on her skin? Brown hair almost the color of yours?” I ask.

Her tiny mouth grows into the biggest grin. “Miss Lark? Yeah. She went upstairs to the Crack Room.”

Crack Room? Shit!

“Want me to show you? Momma is about to take me there. We love the Crack Room,” she giggles.

Lark, what are you doing?

“No, sweetie. Stay here. I’ll find it. Second floor?” I question, already striding toward the stairs.

“Right above my room.” She smiles, pointing up.

I nod and bound up the stairs to take my assignment far away from this dangerous crap hole where she’s influencing sweet, small children. This is worse than I thought. Pallas was right. These people are just our assignments. We shouldn’t get close to them because the Reapers have a nice vacation spot for them in Hell. They are not good people like the little girl downstairs. People like Pedro and Lark need to be wiped from this Earth.

The sound of voices spills out into the hallway once I reach the second-floor landing. One of the doors on the left at the very end is open, and light pours from it into the dark hallway.

The Crack Room.

Tiptoeing, I make my way over to the room and then peek inside. What I see is so damned confusing that I have to blink several times just to make sense of it. When I finally do understand what’s going on, I’m suddenly very angry.

Have I been duped?