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Shax’s whiskey-addled brain had decided lingering in the bushes outside the angels’ dorm was a great idea. He was pretty sure he pressed his luck being so close to the gathering, but he couldn’t stop himself. The lure of angels singing had proven too great, at least to his drunk-ass self. Shax hadn’t heard angels sing since his banishment to Hell.
A deep voice dismissed the angels after the last note faded. Must be Michael’s. Something about the voice struck a chord in the recesses of his mind. Shax dug deep into his memories without luck. Michael was Lucifer’s brother. Perhaps he merely sensed a familial resemblance.
The only sounds remaining in the courtyard outside the dorm were the whistling breeze in the leafless trees, the hooting of an owl, and the scratching of some small beast sensing his feline presence. He lifted himself onto his four paws, ready to leave, and stuck his nose out of the bushes. Caution had always been his friend, and it did not let him down this time, either.
Kheone rushed out of the building. Her face was slack with grief, and glistening tracks of her tears caught the meager light from the lamp in the middle of the courtyard. She collapsed onto the bench and hugged her knees to her chest, heaving with silent sobs.
The angel looked up into the crystal-clear night sky, staring at the stars, a vignette of anguish painted in muted grays, blues, and browns. Her pain called out to him. Before he could stop himself, he squeezed out from under the bush and padded over to her.
Shax sat at the edge of the sidewalk and stared at her. “Meow.”
She started and grabbed for her boot knife. As her gaze locked on him, her shoulders relaxed. Her hand came away empty.
“Well, hello there, machka.”
He blinked at her. She had called him that last night, too. When he did not immediately approach, she uncurled from her huddled position and slowly put her legs down. She held out her hand and clicked her tongue, making the summoning noise people had been using for thousands of years on the domestic feline.
Shax strutted over to her in his best cat fashion and twined himself around her ankles.
She scratched behind his ears. “Aren’t you a brave kitty?”
“Prrr,” was his only answer.
Kheone scratched under his chin and ran her hand down his back. He purred and occasionally meowed when she stopped giving him attention for a moment, mimicking actual cats. It was important his disguise held up to inspection, after all. Certainly, it wasn’t because he enjoyed the affection she was lavishing upon him.
The door to the building opened again, and Shax dashed under the nearest bush. Kheone sighed and turned to deal with the interloper.
A slight angel stumbled outside, their hair mussed and eyes red.
“Yes, Emric?” Kheone asked.
They sniffed. “I, um, I just... Never mind. It can wait.”
“I’m heading inside. The bench is all yours.”
She smiled at them, a thin, tired line.
“Thanks, Kheone.”
Kheone reached out and grasped the smaller angel’s hand. She gave it a squeeze and headed inside. The other angel took her place on the bench, allowing the sobs to escape, unlike Kheone. Shax left before this growing knot of bothersome compassion led him to comfort another Goddamned angel.
Using the bushes as cover, he slunk away, only daring to walk in the open once the building was between him and the angel. Keeping his cat form, Shax made haste for the edge of campus. Knowing Michael, he likely spelled the boundary of the university to detect demons after the events of this morning.
He needed to get the taste of compassion, of grief, out of his mouth and out of his mind. Neither should occupy any of his attention, and the fact they did so now was beyond annoying. After all, his heart was notorious for leading him into trouble.
Shax summoned a cab to take him to the Power and Light District. The pulsing beat of dance music escaped into the bitter night, and even this early, drunk people staggered around. He hated dance music, but the need to quash the bee in his bonnet, which would not shut up, was more urgent. This place seemed perfect for leaving troubles behind. Strolling into a club, Shax sidled up to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila as the opening salvo against the urge to return to Kheone.
The first drink burned on the way down. The second settled the buzzing in his brain.
“Another,” he shouted at the bartender.
He finally relaxed and took stock of his surroundings.
Sex perfumed the air, as intoxicating as the tequila. Young couples ground their bodies together on the dance floor, hands roving over curves and muscles. Lips met, and pairs would sneak off to darkened corners to fool around in the shadows. A couple exited to the alley behind the club and returned disheveled a short while later.
Grinning, Shax slouched on the bar stool. Lust, seduction, indulgence, and excess were familiar territory, the closest feeling he had to a home. He wasn’t the only one trying to silence a bee in his bonnet tonight.
A curvaceous brunette wedged herself next to him, her shoulder grazing his arm. Her liberally applied flowery perfume overwhelmed the earthy undertones of desire. She turned her pretty face up to him, a shrewd smile on her full, pink lips. Shax returned the smile with his best dead-eyed stare, hoping to scare her off. She simply widened the smile and signaled the bartender.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said.
The man poured her the same well-brand tequila Shax was drinking. She slapped a credit card on the bar.
“Let’s start a tab. I’ll pay for his next drink.”
She downed the tequila like an old pro, although she looked twenty-two, tops.
“That’s not necessary.” Shax kept his voice bland, not wanting to encourage her any further.
“Not a problem. It’s my soon-to-be ex’s credit card. Found out today he cheated on me. Came here to blow his money, blow off some steam, maybe blow something else, too, while I’m at it.”
Shax couldn’t keep himself from laughing, his steely facade crumbling at this epitome of Midwestern womanhood trying to get a pity-fuck out of him. She was fearless, and he understood exactly where she was coming from. When his ex had cheated on him thousands of years ago, he’d led an entire village to ruin after weeks of wine-fueled debauchery, leaving only ashes and broken things in his wake. He was pretty sure he’d been the basis of the Greek god Dionysus. It was the last time he had cared about anything until—
He pushed away the thought. Shax hadn’t planned on company, but who was he to refuse a gift when one fell into his lap? He gave in to the swirling sensuality of the club.
“Another round, then, to toast your imminent freedom.” He waved the bartender over. “Limes and salt, too, please.”
The woman tossed her long, brown locks over her shoulder and gave him a seductive smile, and she stuck out her hand.
“I’m Daisy.”
He matched her smile and took the outstretched hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. She shivered, and her smile broadened.
“Shax.”
“Like the basketball player?”
“Sure.” Shax shrugged. It didn’t really matter. He would likely never see the woman again after tonight. She could call him Jesus for all he cared.
The bartender slid a saltshaker down the bar and brought two more shots of tequila with lime wedges on the rims. Shax licked the back of his left hand between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes telling her there were other things he would rather be licking. Her gaze followed his tongue, her own darting out to lick her lips. He had her if he wanted her; she had made that clear from the beginning.
Shax dusted the wet spot with salt from the shaker and passed it to the woman.
“Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
She clinked her shot glass against his. They licked off the salt and downed the tequila. Biting into the sour-bitter lime, the woman shook off the burn. Her smile faded as a blonde woman approached, a disapproving glare on her otherwise lovely face.
“What are you doing?”
“Making new friends. Making Wade pay.” She giggled at her play on words, the tequila working its magic.
A sigh escaped the blonde’s red lips as she focused on Shax, judging him and finding him wanting. She leaned in to whisper to the brunette. Dammit, he had already forgotten the woman’s name. His keen ears caught every word.
“You don’t know this man. He could be—”
She cut off her friend and turned to him. “My friend wants to know if you’re an ax murderer.”
Shax laughed. The blonde was cautious and distrustful, listening to the little voice in her head saying he was bad news. She was smart.
“I have never murdered anyone with an ax.” He kept his voice serious but let his amusement show as a small twist upward on his lips.
It was not a lie. He had never killed anyone with an ax. Shax preferred to use his dagger or his bare hands in a pinch. And most of those he had killed had been much less human than these young women. Lucifer didn’t waste his most talented assassin on humans. He much preferred tempting them to killing them, proving humanity’s unworthiness.
“Then I’ll buy you another round.”
“This is a bad idea,” the blonde hissed to her friend when she thought Shax wasn’t listening.
“If you don’t like it, go find somewhere else to be.”
She dismissed her friend by waving the bartender over and turning to Shax.
“Fine. Come find me when you’re ready to go.”
The blonde huffed off.
“Another round,” the brunette announced loudly. The bartender studied her, then turned his attention to Shax.
“Last one for a bit,” he said conspiratorially. The other man nodded and poured.
Her pretty pout disappeared when he took her hand. His long experience suggested she would be a much more effective distraction than an entire bottle of tequila. Staring into her eyes, he stroked the delicate skin with his tongue and smiled as she shivered from the intimate contact. After dusting the area with salt, they downed the shots quickly. Shax took the lime from his glass and pressed it to her lips. She bit down and swallowed, leaning in and grabbing his hand.
“Dance with me,” she said.
Tugging with more strength than he expected, she led him out to the dance floor, where they added their own notes to the lust permeating the room. Shax lost himself in the rhythm, in her touch, in the scents all around, and the buzzing in his brain fell blissfully silent.
The brunette inched closer with every song, taking advantage of any opportunity to touch him. He let her, barely admitting to himself he liked the touch of another being. She pressed her entire body against his, pupils dilated and nearly breathless with desire. Resting her lips close to his ear, her breath tickled his skin.
“I know someplace a little more private.”
Got her. Not like it had been difficult. The woman was primed for his seduction, looking to pay back her boyfriend. Revenge sex was one of his favorite kinds, the raw emotion adding a certain spice to the experience. And with the horrible buzzing gone, Shax was in the mood to indulge his carnal impulses.
His smile told her all the things he’d like to do to her in private. Blushing, she clutched his arm and led him past the restrooms. After a quick check over her shoulder, she opened a door marked Employees Only. A set of stairs led down into a basement hallway, and she hurried into the last room on the right.
“I used to work here. This room isn’t used for much, and it locks. We won’t be disturbed,” she said, pulling the door shut behind her.
In answer to her unasked question, Shax took her in his arms, pressing their lips together. Soft and pliable in his hands, he breathed in deeply. Her scent of flowers and sex chased away the fingernails on a blackboard memory of Lucifer’s compulsion.
Her fingers untucked his red t-shirt and slid underneath, playing lightly over the tight muscles and sparse hair. They danced around to his back and up, clinging to his shoulders. He shivered when they crossed all that remained of his glorious wings. The elaborate tattoo of cardinal-red angel wings was a reminder of when he had served God. Upon his Fall and bondage to the Prince of Darkness, they had become bat-like and leathery, the shame of it a curse. When those wings had burned off in his Second Fall, this tattoo had replaced them. God only knew why.
Shax trailed hard kisses down her neck as he worked the zipper of her lacy, electric blue minidress. Brushing first one strap off her shoulder, then the other, he tugged the dress down, letting the slight garment drop to the floor. She stood before him in a lacy bra which showed off her considerable cleavage nicely, the sparkly pendant she wore nestled between her breasts, and a thong to match. He ran his fingertips along the edges of the bra, and she shivered in anticipation.
“Oh, God,” she moaned.
“God has nothing to do with it.”
He slipped off his jacket and tossed it off to the side. A loud clink drew his attention to a silver coin spinning on the floor next to him. Shax blinked, and the hunger he had experienced a moment ago vanished like fog in the sunlight. Kheone. His stomach sank as his crap life flooded back, the haze of lust lifting, leaving him with only the angel on his mind.
The brunette—he tried once more to remember her name, but it was long gone—took a step toward him, a slight frown dampening the desire present a moment before. He held up a hand.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I can’t. I—”
She reached out to him, cupped his cheek.
“Oh, come on, now. I very much think you can.”
Shax spent a long second considering her offer. He could, he realized. He just didn’t want to.
Retreating a step, he shook his head. “Sorry, sweetheart, not going to happen.”
Her face reddened at the rejection, and she snatched her dress up from the floor. She yanked it on.
“Creep,” she said under her breath as she stormed out of the room
Shax picked up his jacket and the one-inch coin with a resigned sigh. The coin had done its job, reminding him why he was here and who was calling to him. He had a mission to complete and a promise to keep. How in the Nine Circles of Hell was he going to find who had killed Serel? He was no detective, and luck rarely favored him. He was a git for making that bargain.
Instead of heading into the club, he found a side exit and staggered back to his motel. The cold air of a Midwestern winter soon sobered him up. Goddammit. The whole point of this excursion had been to get drunk enough to forget these wretched feelings. A demon with feelings was a dead demon.
He passed through a quiet, darkened business district, the workers gone for the night. The echoey tap-tap of high heels on concrete drew his attention, and a rich tinkling laugh drifted through the black night, sending shivers up Shax’s spine. In a blink, he transformed into his cat form and climbed the nearest tree, freezing in place. Two figures walked down the sidewalk arm-in-arm, one petite and curvy, wrapped in a silvery fur coat. The other was a middle-aged man with gray at his temples and a slight paunch. They stopped under a streetlamp, and Shax got a good look at the woman. He fought the urge to vomit as his stomach turned.
Aeshma.
Looked like his luck, what little of it there was, had run out.
“This is me,” she said, stopping at the black sedan near Shax’s tree. “Thank you.”
“Always happy to provide a safe escort for a lady,” the man said.
He stepped closer, leering down at the beautiful demon. She ran her fingers up his arm, gazing at him with a faint smile on her perfectly pink lips. With inhuman speed and strength, Aeshma grabbed the man by the throat and pinned him to the tree with a single hand. A sneer replaced the siren’s smile.
“Make a sound, and I’ll rip out your throat.” Ice coated the words, colder than the surrounding February night. “Nod if you understand.”
The man nodded.
A large figure emerged from the car, holding the rear passenger door open. The interior light illuminated another massive form in the back seat and a smaller one at the wheel, though Shax could not make out their faces.
“Good,” Aeshma said. She pulled out a small knife and held it to the man’s pinky. The steel blade glinted maliciously under the streetlamp. “Now, you can get into the car, or we can see how fast you can type with only nine fingers.”
“Jesus, lady, I’ll come with,” he rasped.
Disappointment flitted across her face. “Ugh, now it’s too easy.”
She moved her hand from his throat to his cheek, caressing it with her palm. The man sagged against the tree until, with a quick flick of her wrist, she severed his pinky. Aeshma slammed his head against the tree, silencing him before he could scream. He crumpled into a heap at her black stilettos.
Aeshma motioned to the bodyguard, who waited by the car.
“Put him in the car.”
The bruiser lifted the man from the ground and shoved him into the back seat. The door slammed behind them, leaving the Duke of Lust alone on the street. She bent down and picked up the severed finger. Aeshma lifted her head, her stony stare sweeping the street, and her eyes met Shax’s. She held the knife to those perfect lips and licked the blood from the blade. She slipped into the front seat, and the car drove off.
His bad luck drew Hinndal to him in St. Louis, put Kheone directly in his path at the museum, and, now, Aeshma. He didn’t need this bullshit in his life. He had spent the past year keeping well away from any angels or demons, and it was for nothing. Just fucking great.
Shax dropped out of the tree, human once more, and headed toward his motel.
Could he still run? A wry chuckle escaped his lips. If a Duke of Hell and the Archangel Michael were inhabiting this city at the same time, there was nowhere he could go to escape the consequences of their eventual showdown. If he stayed, he might be able to guide the outcome in his favor. Somehow.
And he had a promise to keep.