Temptation, Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 3 (3 page)

Only an idiot would bet on those odds.

“Key belongs to a strongbox Kyanna’s mother had stashed away in the floorboards of the attic where they used to live. The strongbox contained several journals Kyanna’s mom had kept over the years. We now have several angelic lines to follow up.”

Kyanna was more than a Guardian. She was also a Keeper of Secrets, charged with the safety of a precious family heirloom. A book—or several, by the sounds of it—that, among other things, tracked the lineage, both old and relatively new, of those of angelic descent, aka Halflings. It was her duty to teach those Halflings all they needed to know to survive in a world where everyone was out to either use them for their own purposes, or kill them outright. Overall, Gideon liked Kyanna. She was no-nonsense, compassionate and sharp as a tack.

Although, considering who she’d hooked up with, the poor girl had abominable taste in males.

“Then again,” Sebastian continued, beating a dead horse, “if you’d bothered to listen to any of the dozen or so voicemails we left, you’d already know this shit.”

Gideon set the soggy white carton aside. Apathy battled curiosity. It was a toss-up as to which was winning. “And?”

“We have confirmation of a first generation Halfling. A name and location.” Sebastian dropped the bombshell.

Gideon began to take interest at last. A first generation Halfling was huge. For more reasons than one. First and foremost, it meant an angel, one of those Heavenly creatures that were above sin and condemnation, had come down from the Heavens and had carnal contact with a human.

Naughty, naughty.

Second, and perhaps just as important, it meant the other team—and by other team, he meant Stolas, Prince of Hell, and all his countless minions—would be hunting this Halfling to the ends of the Earth and back again. Their intent, as Gideon and his comrades had learned via a very reliable source, was to breed this Halfling with a powerful demon to create the Chosen One, the fourth relic.

So far the score was one and one. Gideon and his brothers in arms had the Arc Stone. Stolas and his team possessed the Sword. The Chosen One and the Scrolls were still up for grabs.

Heaving a defeated sigh, seeing all too clearly where this was headed, Gideon scooped up the cartons of Chinese and settled at the table, conjuring his cup full of caramel macchiato once more. He was going to need a stiff shot of caffeine if he was going to have to deal with this crap. That, or something a hell of a lot stronger.

Sebastian braced his forearms on the table. “Her name is Maggie Michaels. We need—”

“Michaels?” Gideon interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up in shock as his head angled forward. Since angels didn’t technically have last names, Halflings were rumored to use their sire’s first name as their surname. Rumored, because Halflings were about as easy to find as the proverbial needle in the haystack of humanity. “Michael…as in…”

“We believe so, yes.”

“Holy hell,” Gideon whispered, leaning back in his chair. You could have knocked him over with a feather. Michael. At one time, one of Gideon’s best friends, now his fiercest enemy.

That lying, righteous, rat bastard hypocrite.

“Michael’s one of the most powerful Archangels ever created. If Michael is her father, then her bloodline has to be…
holy hell!
” Gideon breathed again, shaking his head, his breakfast of sorts turning to a rock in the pit of his sour stomach.

He shook his head again, barely able to wrap his mind around the very idea. The raw power pulsing in that Halfling’s veins had to be off the charts. And he would know if he ever got near her. That had been his little gift, once upon a time, from Lucifer. The ability to sense power. Power was to Gideon as lies were to Xander. There was no way to conceal power from him, no way to disguise it. If it was there, he’d know.

“If Stolas gets his hands on her, we’re screwed.” Gideon ran a hand through his hair.

Dear Lord, the consequences would be catastrophic.

“Exactly.” Sebastian nodded. “Which is why you need to get to her first.”

“Easier said than done. I mean, once I find her, how do you expect me to bring her back? Hell, take her anywhere? Especially if she doesn’t want to go willingly? It isn’t exactly like I can just shimmer her here.” He held his hands up and wiggled his fingers, a wordless reminder of his no-touch clause.

“For now, we just have to get somebody there, somebody who can protect her in case Stolas’s minions have found out about her too. But…these might help. Maybe.” Sebastian dug in his pocket and held up a pair of identical, hammered silver cuffs, one slightly smaller than the other. They looked average, certainly nothing special. Matching, ancient engravings covered both surfaces. A spell. Dark magicks. The cuffs hummed with power.

Sebastian held them out to Gideon. “Got these from Asher. Put one on your wrist. He’s pretty sure, if you can get the other one locked on her wrist, they will, for all intents and purposes, bind her to you…so long as you’re both wearing the cuffs, that is. They’re supposed to be like a homing beacon. You’ll be able to locate her anytime, anywhere; just focus on the link between the cuffs. If you shimmer, she’ll shimmer with you whether she wants to or not, no touching required. But there’s a catch.”

With Asher, there was always a catch, always strings attached. The guy was a regular Geppetto.

Sebastian went on. “She has to willingly accept the cuff and put it on herself. She can’t be forced to put it on, but once it’s on, her will is bound to yours.”

“Till the first time we shimmer, and she decides she’s had enough of playing tagalong and takes it off.”

“No can do. See this little slot?” Sebastian turned one of the cuffs on its side. The hole, located on the slim edge, was damned near invisible. “Once they go on, they don’t come off…ever…not unless you have the key.” Sebastian produced a small flat, oddly shaped piece of silver. It looked nothing like a key.

He dropped the key into the palm of Gideon’s extended hand. Lifting the key to the light, Gideon examined it meticulously. Just to be sure, he tested the lock. The key fit perfectly, the cuff sprang open. He put one cuff on his own wrist and, without using the key, attempted to remove the cuff. It didn’t budge, no matter how hard he tried.

His curiosity was kindled. Why would the Demon of Vengeance have a pair of cuffs like these? But then Gideon changed his mind. He didn’t want to know why Sebastian might feel the need to chain somebody to him. He figured this fell firmly into that
don’t ask, don’t tell
category.

With a shrug, he shoved the second cuff deep in his front pocket and then reached up to remove the silver chain from around his neck. He threaded the key onto the chain so it rested against the small, ancient silver cross that dangled there. He refastened the chain and dropped it beneath the collar of his shirt.

“Asher’s cuffs also come with a warning,” Sebastian said.

Gideon’s wary gaze met Sebastian’s. Help from Asher, a mercenary demon with a nasty reputation, always came with warnings as well. And a price tag. Usually a very steep price tag one was only willing to pay when one had no other choice.

That phrase, “making a deal with the devil”? Yeah, it had
not
been coined with Lucifer in mind. That was Asher, all the way.

“Asher said those cuffs work both ways, what binds one, binds the other.”

Gideon leaned forward, his brow drawing tight. “You mean, if I put those on the Halfling, she could force me to do her bidding?”

“He didn’t specify. You know Asher, everything’s a damned riddle.” Sebastian shrugged. “I’d just be careful if I were you.”

Gideon grunted. He was the one in possession of the key. Wasn’t like she would have the power here.

His loyalty to his brethren was the only thing keeping him from falling over the razor’s edge of a treacherous cliff, however precarious his balance was. He owed them that much. So he would take this last mission. For them.

He didn’t have to like it. He just had to finish this.

But once this was done, once the Halfling was secured, he was through. He’d go find this Maggie Michaels. He’d bring her back and leave her with Niklas or Xander, let one of their women take care of her. And then he’d end this pitiful excuse of an existence. He refused to return to Lucifer, whether the ruler of Hell would accept him back or not. And he feared if he stayed this course much longer that was exactly what would happen.

Oblivion—death for the soulless—was waiting for him, and he welcomed it with open arms. He refused to live another day longer than absolutely necessary, let alone another century unable to touch or be touched.

Oh, he’d go down like a warrior. He’d find the biggest, baddest nest he could, shimmer into the middle of it, and take out as many of the bastards as he could before he bit the big one. But he just couldn’t do this anymore.

He, more than anyone, knew you didn’t have to be alone to be lonely.

Pushing a hand through his tangled hair, he heaved a defeated sigh. “Tell me where to find the Halfling.”

Maggie took a sip from the cocktail in front of her as she listened to Gail complain about a particularly trying customer she’d had that day. An odd hum of energy buzzed through her veins. She did her best to ignore it and focus on the conversation. The small group of friends sat around a table in the corner of Angel’s Fall, the popular nightclub they occasionally visited on their rare girls’ nights out.

“Ugh! She sounds like the same woman who came into the bakery last week,” Molly said, setting her cocktail aside. “Tall, painfully thin, short dark hair, pinched expression, fiftyish?”

Gail leaned forward, nodding. “Yes! That’s her!”

“Some people,” Molly grumbled, slurping on her Long Island Iced Tea.

“I know, right?” Gail agreed.

The conversation went on all around her, but Maggie struggled to follow along. Something felt…off. The fine hairs on the back of her neck all but stood at attention. Her nerves vibrated with a strange…awareness.

Sweet Mary, what
is
that?

Please don’t be another angel. And please, please, please, don’t let it be him again.

She gradually became aware she’d lost track of the conversation, jumping slightly when Cori leaned close. Her shoulder brushed Maggie’s, and Cori hissed under her breath, “Mags, that tall guy over by the bar? The blond dressed all in black? He hasn’t taken his sexy stare off this table for the last fifteen minutes. And, girl, I think he’s been watching you!”

Maggie glanced over, a frown tugging at her brow. Who would stare at her of all people? And why?

As her gaze connected with his, she forgot how to breathe, her glass suspended halfway to her lips. She’d never seen this guy before. She sure as hell would remember if she had. He stood with an air of casual negligence, bracing one elbow against the bar, hip cocked, black biker boots crossed at the ankles. But there was an alertness in those stunning golden eyes. A watchfulness that said he’d already taken in every little detail around him, compartmentalized it, and dismissed anyone he deemed not as dangerous as himself.

In other words, everyone else in the bar.

And yet, just as Cori had noted, his glittering focus seemed fixed on Maggie.

Whipcord muscle gave definition to his tight black T-shirt and black leather pants. A pair of silver aviator sunglasses was tucked into the neck of his shirt. The lean muscles of his bare arms were encased in extensive tattoos. The guy was in his late twenties to early thirties, if she had to guess. His strong jaw and lean cheeks sported a golden five o’clock shadow, emphasizing the most alluring mouth she’d ever seen. Sensual, supple lips that curled up at the very edges. Just enough to make his grin seem a bit taunting, a little mocking and a whole lot sexy. His tawny hair was a little too long, a little too mussed, adding to his dangerous appeal.

But it was his eyes that drew her attention. Probably because they appeared to be locked on her, following every move she made. That hard stare was pure amber. Striking. Hypnotic.

Seductive.

He was midnight fantasies, the promise of uninhibited sexual gratification and forbidden sin all rolled into one. Temptation incarnate from the top of his tawny head to the tips of his big bad boots. He could very well have been the reason the walk of shame was invented.

She forced a swallow, quickly glancing down and away. Heat flooded her checks. And that tiny vibration of awareness from earlier turned into a relentless hum in her blood.

“Is he still staring, Cori?” Maggie asked her friend, careful to keep her eyes downcast and her voice hushed.

“Yep,” Cori replied, sounding a little too excited for Maggie’s comfort.

“Is who staring?” Gail turned in her seat, craning her neck, as did Molly.

“Oh God! Don’t look!” Maggie hissed, grabbing Gail’s forearm, tugging at her. But Gail looked anyway. No, on second thought, she didn’t look. She ogled.

“He is hawt!” Molly fanned herself, her wide-eyed attention glued on the guy. “And Cori’s right. He’s staring right at you, Maggie.”

She couldn’t help herself. Maggie glanced up again. He seared her with those unwavering eyes. He hadn’t moved one of those luscious muscles. Now that she was finally looking at him, really looking, she’d expected him to break eye contact. That was, after all, a normal human reaction, even if only for a second. But he didn’t. He just kept right on staring. He didn’t even blink.

Something about him had her instincts firing, her nerve endings tingling. Grudgingly, hating every moment of this, hating the ability itself, she opened herself up, opened her senses as she focused on him, preparing herself for the worst as her friends chatted on around her, oblivious to her little
gift
.

A blankness met her probe. Emptiness. Like a hollow shell with just the glimmer of something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Cocking her head, frowning, she focused harder. And still she came up puzzlingly empty-handed. She could sense neither good, nor evil in him. But neither was he a normal human.