Ritz Carlton Ballroom
Cleveland, Ohio
1:05 a.m., Dec. 24
No. Touching. The humans.
Finn turned sharply away from his target, his physical reactions completely outside normal bounds. He’d been a demon for more than six thousand years, and had been among humans a good portion of that time but this—this was different. Everything felt fresh, new, and, well…his. Like he was walking through a miracle of inestimable proportions, and he was a part of that miracle.
He took two long strides through the crowd before he brought his heart rate down to an acceptable level, but his breath was coming too fast, too unevenly. Around him, the mortals parted with open mouths and startled eyes, and he smoothed his passage with a gentle touch to their minds, their surprise turning to pleasure, their confusion shifting into a kaleidoscope of comfort and reassurance. They murmured to him as he passed, a lilting cadence of warmth and contentment.
He wished he could convince himself so easily that all was right in the world.
It wasn’t, though. He had less than twenty-four hours to complete his mission; there was no margin for error. For the sake of the Syx, he needed to be more careful.
Finn felt Dana Griffin’s gaze tracking him across the wide hall, and he frowned anew. When he’d first heard her shout in the freaking North Pole, realized she was going to try to help him—a mortal, helping him—he’d been drawn to her. At least long enough to impress on her mind to get the hell away from danger. Now that strange attraction was happening again. A human female! He wasn’t that guy. Stefan was that guy. And some of the other demons too. But he—he simply couldn’t. Mortal females were not for him.
But when he’d seen Dana Griffin in her cage, when he’d spoken to her…his body had responded almost before he realized it, his blood flush in his veins, his skin warming, his hand reaching out to touch—
Forbidden! The ancient edict rang in his head with horror and indignation. The children of Earth were not the playthings of his kind. He more than anyone knew—
A crack of pain shattered across his senses, and Finn tightened his jaw. Time to get this party started. The human was important to him, but strictly to help him accomplish his mission.
Finn moved toward the auction table set up in the corner of the large ballroom, cataloguing his impressions of Dana Griffin.
She was what most humans would consider beautiful: tall and lean, with long dark hair and expressive features—large eyes, a gentle mouth, and fair skin that easily showed emotion. But the softness ended there. She seemed almost unreasonably capable, harshly efficient. Her eyes betrayed both intelligence and wariness, and her aura shone far stronger than those of the mortals around her.
She could also clearly suppress her reactions with a skill to rival the demon horde, which was troubling. Not only was she ignoring a significant level of pain that he could sense was racking her body, she was also resisting her physical and emotional response to him.
Which shouldn’t be possible. Mortals were normally oh so manageable.
Most importantly, the woman was highly protective of Lester Morrow, though she definitely wasn’t his assistant. More like…
He frowned. More like she was his security detail. But while she’d had no thought in her head about this list everyone seemed so hot for, she almost certainly remembered Finn in some small way from the wolf attack, even though she shouldn’t.
How was that possible? Dana Griffin wasn’t warded with a blessed icon, and she wasn’t Connected. But…what was she?
His blood fired, even as caution whispered in his ear. If the archangel suspected for a moment that Finn could be distracted from his assignment, he’d be hauled out of this ridiculously frigid city and back to Vegas in a heartbeat, instead of being given this opportunity for redemption. But he would not miss this chance. He’d get what Michael wanted, this list that apparently Lester Morrow had. And then he’d get out.
“Champagne, sir?”
Finn stopped, turning to a serene, white-jacketed older woman who proffered him a tray of tiny glasses filled with sparkling liquid. “I’m sorry?”
“Champagne. With our compliments, sir. As long as you’re not driving, we’re not carding.” She smiled at him as he picked one up, his fingers closing around the slender glass stem as gently as if it were a baby bird. He lifted the flute to his lips, felt the sweet slide of liquid roll over his tongue, and it hit him—as it still too often did.
Earth.
A place of light. Of magic. Of pleasure and pain and endless possibility.
As if for the first time, Finn turned to take in the sweep of people surrounding him—the joyous cacophony on the small stage, as glowing horns and rich wood instruments shifted in the bright ballroom light. The rustle of expensive satins and lace, the hiss and rush of whispered voices, sudden laughter, and carefully phrased taunts and invitations. The wafting perfumes and colognes, the aromas almost too much in a confined space to someone with his sensory capabilities, vying for precedence over each other. The views from the towering windows of a city alight with expectation. And over it all, the delicate, bubbling froth of a drink meant for the gods.
Finn made his way through the crowd, soaking it in. Was this what it had meant to be Fallen? To be able to sense what humans felt, experience the power of their bodies, the tumult of their emotions? At every turn, he knew their pain, their passion. Their endless, thrumming desire. Gone was any hope of peaceful contemplation, gentle detachment. Now, in its place, was the thrusting, clamoring, soul-consuming pulse of life.
In the cold, remote bolt-hole where the Syx had been banished after every job, he’d wondered what it was that he had lost. It had been this…this!
“Fallen,” he whispered. And he could remain one permanently. Every one of the Syx could, if what the archangel said was true. If he didn’t fail.
Finn’s pulse started thrumming again. He’d find Lester Morrow and secure his list, and deliver it to the archangel. Even if it required him to use Dana Griffin to do it.
He frowned, recalling the woman’s initial response to his appearance in front of her makeshift cage. She’d appeared…distressed, even before he’d begun working on her. Distracted. Uncertain.
Dark temptation stirred in his veins, and his mouth curved into an involuntary smile. Perhaps he could find some way to put her at ease.
No.
“I want to free that woman,” he said tightly as he reached the auction table. He reached out with his mind as the sticklike young woman with a halo of yellow hair blinked up at him, her glossy lips parting in a startled moue of surprise.
“You wish to m-make a donation?” she stuttered, and Finn eased up further. Like any of his kind, he could influence mortals subtly, planting suggestions in their minds that they thought were their own. But modern humans seemed far more susceptible to his touch than he realized. Too pliant, too…open to manipulation. He’d nearly knocked out the doorman who’d given him the information he needed about the gala. He’d have to be more careful with Dana Griffin.
His lips twisted, recalling the delicate flute he’d cradled in his fingers. So simple, so precious. So fragile and perfect. It had been a long time since he’d needed to be gentle about so many things at once. But, such was the beauty of Earth.
“Right, yes. A donation,” he said. “To release the…to free Ms. Griffin.” Finn gestured back to where Dana stood eyeing the roof of her cage, her entire body radiating suspicion and anger.
And then…something else. Finn straightened. A shiver of darkness rolled through him, and he tensed, suddenly aware. He wasn’t alone here.
Demons on the dance floor? No, not quite. Finn’s eyes narrowed as he took in Dana Griffin again. No one was around her, unless you counted the small knot of human males that had drifted toward her cage, which he didn’t. Nobody of any strength was in this room. Outside these four walls, however, it was a different story. If the rogue Fallen the archangel had pitted him against had a brain in his head, he’d have seeded every back alley of this frozen city with demons.
It didn’t matter. Dana would take Finn to Lester Morrow, and he’d complete his mission. Then, at the crack of midnight, he would ask and he would receive. Within a mere twenty-four hours, he could prove his worth at last…and maybe, finally, be forgiven of a sin so dire, he couldn’t even remember it.
He was not going to fuck this up.
“Ah, in case you didn’t know…” The woman in front of him blushed. “Ms. Griffin’s bail is currently at ten thousand dollars.”
Finn smiled. If she led him to both Lester Morrow and the rogue Fallen, Dana Griffin was worth far more than that.
While the brittle blonde fumbled through her papers, Finn pulled out a checkbook thoughtfully provided by the mortal in Room 304. His abrupt arrival at the hotel had stunned the room’s only occupant, a doctor who’d given up his ID, his money—and his night, as Finn had convinced him to fall into a deep and blissful sleep. Lee Schaeffer would wake up with a dream no one would believe, minus one healthy donation for which he would be reimbursed with change, but he would survive Finn’s visit to this frozen metropolis.
The rogue Fallen and his demons would not, if Finn had anything to say about it. Which, for the next twenty-three hours or so, he did.
Finn bent down to write out an amount that had nothing to do with the number the woman pointed at with trembling fingers. He handed her the check.
“Oh! That’s very generous of you,” she breathed, her voice still tremulous. Finn sighed. Despite his best efforts, his very presence had succeeded in frightening this one too.
Poor humans.
At least Dana Griffin had managed to hold her own with him. So there was some hope.
As he turned away, Finn’s mind returned to the mortal’s full lips pursing in annoyance and her unyielding, wary eyes. Dana Griffin, it seemed, bore many secrets.
He wondered how many she would share with him when he finally had her alone.