The Order Boxed Set (65 page)

And all around her, the white fire burned.

The Walker approached the invisible barrier that encircled her and the burning demoness. “Rosamund, call it back. You can do it.”

Could she? Did she even want to? But the flames were spreading, leaking out of the circle, crawling along the floor, up the walls.

She closed her eyes. Visualized the door. Pushed it closed. At first, it resisted. She gave a shove, and the door slammed shut.

When she opened her eyes, the fire was gone. In front of her was a pile of ashes—all that remained of Andarta.

Epilogue

“She’s an angel,” the Walker said.

They were back in Piers’ office at the Order. Everyone was there. And they were all staring at her. Even the goddamn cat.

“Hey, stop gawping at me like I’m about to sprout wings and a halo and start singing halleluiah!” Roz twitched her shoulders as if she could already feel the appendages growing.

“Really? An angel?” Piers asked. He sounded dubious, and who could blame him. He was also studying her as though she might explode. She scowled instead.

“Quarter angel, actually,” the Walker replied. “Her mother was the child of a fallen angel.”

“What happened to him?” Roz asked. Her mother had always said she was an orphan.

“He was hunted down and executed, along with your grandmother, but the child—your mother—escaped.”

“But who killed them?”

“The angels, of course. If you think the fae don’t like their blood being spread about, you should see what the angels do.”

“Actually, I don’t think I do want to see.”

“What sort of angel?” Christian asked.

“There are different sorts?” This morning she hadn’t believed in angels. Now apparently, there were different types. And she was one of them.

“What sort do you think?” the Walker said. “You saw the light, saw what she did to Andarta.”

“She’s an Avenger.” Asmodai sounded far from happy. “Shit, all these years…” He cast her a look of awe mixed with fear.

What the hell could put that expression on the demon’s face? “An Avenger? What’s that?”

“A Warrior of God, a Wielder of the White Flame.” Christian grinned. “Also known as demons-bane.”

Well, that sounded impressive. The white flame? Was that what she had locked behind the door inside her? It occurred to her that she could have done that fire thing to Asmodai at any time over the past five hundred years. If only she’d known. She bit back a grin.

She was an Angel. Who would have thought it? Problem was she didn’t feel particularly angelic. She glanced up to where Piers paced the room. He was still naked from the waist up, but the sigil was gone from his arm. He looked sexy as hell and suddenly, she wished this meeting over and done with. Piers glanced across and caught her watching him, and a slow smile curved his lips.

She forced her gaze away. There were still things she needed to know. And there would be time later, because she wasn’t going to die. At least not immediately. What a novel idea.

“How did you meet my mother?” she asked the Walker.

“I was the assassin sent to kill her.”

Piers grinned. “Well, that I find easy to believe.”

“And you weren’t tempted?” Roz asked.

“Once I’d seen her, I couldn’t—I loved her from the start. She was the purest person I’d ever met. So I lied, told them I’d killed her, and then helped her hide. Your mother was a latent. She had very little power. She could do some simple healing but nothing else. So she was easy to conceal. But you…” He got up and came to stand in front of her, his hand reaching out to stroke her face. “From the moment you were born, it was obvious you weren’t human. You glowed. We tried to keep you hidden, but it was almost impossible. We had to stay on the move—the angels sensed your birth and were hunting you. As soon as you were old enough, I taught you to hide the power. Lock it away, and after that things were easier.”

“And what about now?” Piers asked.

“They’ll have felt an echo of that power. They’ll know she still lives and will come after her. You must keep her hidden. But now I must go and tell my brother that Andarta has perished.”

Roz watched as he left, her brain processing the information. “Great, just great,” she muttered. So much for not going to die. That hadn’t lasted long. “Will I never run out of people who want to kill me? Just for once I’d like to go to sleep at night and not have to worry about waking up dead.”

Piers came across to where she was sitting. He sank down beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll protect you,” he murmured into her hair.

“You will?”

“Of course. You really think a bunch of asshole angels will get through me?”

She didn’t know. But maybe it was enough that he was there and wanted to protect her.

The truth was there were so many times since this whole thing had started that she could have turned her back and run for the hills. But she hadn’t and avenging angels aside, things hadn’t turned out so bad. She was free of the demon and had been reunited with her father—who loved her. And best of all, she had her very own hunky vampire protector. About time she showed him how grateful she was.

“Bedtime,” she announced. “Tomorrow, I guess I’m going to have to start living up to this angel thing. But tonight, well, tonight I want to be a little bit bad. So, goodnight, everybody.”

“Even me?” Piers asked.

“Of course not you—who the hell else am I going to be bad with? Let’s go, Lamont.”

He stood up, wrapped his big hands around her waist, and tossed her over his shoulder. Then he headed for the door.

“Hey wait.” She punched him on the butt. “Back up.” He stepped back and she grabbed the half-f bottle of scotch from the table. “Okay, let’s go.”

She managed to keep hold of the bottle and not spill any as he tossed her on the bed. Scooting up, she leaned back against the pillows, and took a deep pull before handing the bottle to Piers. He came down and stretched out beside her.

She’d faced a badass demon and sure death today.

Now for something even scarier.

Turning so she could peek up into his eyes, she held his face between her palms and remembered his words as he’d left her that morning. She could do this. “I love you.”

Piers leaned across and kissed her lightly. “I sort of guessed when you appeared and saved me from a fate worse than death.”

“Was it that bad?”

“I’d only been with the bitch two hours and I was ready to rip my own head off. Two thousand years—what the hell was I thinking of?”

“Me. Thank you, but don’t do it again.”

She snuggled up, wrapping her arms around his middle and laying her head on his bare chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of vampire.

“You know, I remember thinking at the start of all this that you make your bed and then you have to lie on it. And I have to say”—she wriggled against him—“this one is pretty damn comfortable.”

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her again. “And if you’re really lucky—you make your bed, and then you get to share it with your very own angel.”

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Acknowledgments

Once again to my fabulous editor at Entangled Publishing, Liz Pelletier, and her assistant Robin, for all their wonderful comments and edits. To all the great women at Passionate Critters for reading my stories and letting me know what they really think. And finally, to Rob, who puts up with me, and encourages me, and does a great job of hiding it when he’s totally fed up with me being in my imaginary worlds and filling the house with vampires and werewolves.

Bittersweet Darkness

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Nina Croft. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Previously released on Entangled’s Edge imprint — February 2014

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Select Otherworld is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by
Liz Pelletier

ISBN 978-1-62266-113-8

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition February 2014

To Rob, for all his endless encouragement and support.

Prologue

Faith sprinted through the narrow side street, the stench of decay filling her nostrils. Something tripped her in the stygian darkness and she cursed loudly, righted herself, and raced on. As she emerged into the bright lights of the main street, she skidded to a halt. Ryan slammed into her back, nearly knocking her from her feet.

“Which way?” she snarled.

“How the hell do I know?” Ryan sniffed. “Christ, what’s in those Dumpsters?”

She eyed up the rusty containers lining the alley. “Decomposing bodies, I’m guessing. You want to check?”

“Hell, no.”

She scanned the street for any sign of movement. At two in the morning, in this part of London, the streets were pretty much empty except for the bad guys. When nothing moved, she turned to him. “Aren’t you going to miss all this?”

Ryan had been her partner in the department for two years now, and she’d come to rely on him. He’d literally taught her everything she knew about being a good detective and now he was leaving.

He stared around their less than salubrious surroundings and grinned. “Actually, yes.”

“Then why go?” She didn’t get it. She could have sworn that—like her—he lived for the job.

He ran a hand through his already messy dark hair. Tall, at least six inches taller than her, he was a good-looking guy. She’d met a few of his girlfriends over the years, but never anyone associated with the job. Ryan had principles, including not hitting on his coworkers. Still, she’d considered him a friend as well as colleague, but over the last month—since he’d handed in his notice—she’d sensed his withdrawal, as though he were distancing himself.

“Let’s just say I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Ryan was going to work for a private-investigation firm, CR International, run by the enigmatic billionaire, Christian Roth. Her partner claimed he had signed a nondisclosure agreement and wasn’t allowed to talk about it.

“Can’t you stay until we solve this case?”

Ryan frowned. “Why does this one mean so much to you? It’s just another murder—they happen every day. We solve this case, and there’ll be a new one to work on tomorrow.”

In some ways, he was right. But there were murders and
murders
. If some scumbag drug dealer got whacked, she wasn’t going to lose sleep. But Julia Foster had been one of the good people, the people they were supposed to protect.

“Come on, Ryan,” she said. “She was fifteen years old and someone drained her blood and left her to die. And that fucker is still out there.”

For a second, she considered telling him the other reason why this murder had such significance to her, but even after all these years she couldn’t talk about that night. Though she might have forced herself to if she’d thought it would sway him, make him stay. But his mind was set, because she’d been chipping away at him for the past month and gotten precisely nowhere. She just wished he would share his reasons.

She opened her mouth to chip some more, because a good detective never gave up—Ryan had taught her that—when he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

As she peered into his face, he nodded toward the far side of the street. Something moved in the shadows of the tall building. They were chasing an informant who they’d been told might have information relating to their investigation. But for some reason—like the rest of her contacts lately—he really didn’t want to talk to her about this case. He’d scarpered as soon as he’d spotted them approaching in the bar.

“Okay, I’ve got him,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She took a deep breath and dashed across the street. The man glanced up, terror on his face as he saw her coming for him. He
really
didn’t want to talk to her.

Why? What was it about this case?

She was nearly across the road when a sharp pain stabbed her in the back of the skull. She stopped abruptly. For a second, she thought she’d been shot or bludgeoned. But there’d been no sound of gunfire and no one close enough to touch her. Then the pain came again, like molten metal poured into her skull, and she crashed to her knees.

Ryan called her name, but he sounded far away. She squinted, trying to focus, but everything was hazy. Darkness was closing in. Her brain filled with nothing but agony until her mind snapped and the blackness swept over her and sucked her under.

Chapter One

Two weeks later

“You do understand how serious this is, don’t you, Ms. Connolly?”

Faith was trying her best not to, but that probably wasn’t what the doctor wanted to hear.

“It’s Detective Connolly, actually. And does it make a difference?” she asked. “I mean whether I take it seriously or not. Will that improve my chances?”

He pursed his lips as though he wasn’t pleased with the question. “Probably not, though there is some evidence that excessive excitement and extreme emotions can exacerbate the condition.”

“Well, I promise not to get excited.” That shouldn’t be too hard. “How long before you get the results?”

“A couple of weeks, maybe less. I’ll hurry them through.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “You think you’ll have to operate?”

“At this point, I’m not sure we can operate. The test results will show us more.”

“And if you can’t?”

He shrugged. “Wait until we have the results. In the meantime, I’ll give you a prescription for some painkillers for the headaches, but if you get anything else—blurred vision, dizzy spells—I want you to come right back.”

She nodded. Right now, all she wanted was to escape the confines of the hospital.

As she came out of the main entrance and into the open air, she realized the doctor was right. She wasn’t taking this seriously. She was in denial. But a goddamn stroke? At thirty-two. Who had a stroke at thirty-two?

A brain aneurysm, they’d called it. A weakness in the blood vessels inside her skull. But worse, they believed that the minor attack she’d had was merely a precursor to something bigger. She had a time bomb in her brain, waiting to go off.

The tests she’d had today weren’t so much to see what was wrong, but to see what they could do about it. If anything.

She tried to make herself think about dying. But it didn’t seem real. All she could do was concentrate on living right now. Try and put it out of her mind and focus on solving her case.

Six weeks ago, the body of a young girl had been found abandoned on the embankment by the river. She’d been exsanguinated, drained of blood to the point of death. Puncture wounds in her throat, wrists, and thighs had made them speculate that it was some sort of cult death or vampire wannabes. Her team had been interviewing every weirdo in the city.

A little while later, a second girl, fifteen-year-old Jessica Thomas, had gone missing. She’d been found alive, but with the same wounds and totally traumatized.

Ryan had located Jessica, and Faith still had no clue how he’d done it. But there had been a woman with him that night Ryan hadn’t introduced to any of the team.

After her ordeal, Jessica had given an initial statement but now refused to say any more unless they took her to the mystery woman. Faith would love to, but unfortunately, she had no idea of her identity.

She had seen nothing of Ryan since he’d left. He’d taken her to the hospital the night she’d blacked out and been there when she woke, but she hadn’t seen him in the two weeks since. It was as though he’d cut his old life away and that hurt.

And pissed her off.

She’d believed they were friends as well as partners. And she’d been toying with the idea of forcing the issue. Going to see him, though she wasn’t sure where. He’d moved out of his old apartment without leaving a forwarding address. That only left his new place of work, CR International.

“Detective Connolly?”

She glanced up and came to an abrupt halt. A man stood before her, tall and lean and dressed as a priest. The latter nipped at her already frayed temper. Brought up as a Catholic until the age of twelve, she hated priests.

“What?” she snapped making no effort to hide her impatience.

“We’d like to talk to you for a moment, if you have the time.”

“We?”

He nodded to a black SUV parked by the curb. The windows were tinted and she couldn’t see inside, but as she stared, the driver’s door opened and a second man climbed down.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. Not tall, probably about the same as her five ten, but lean and he moved with the grace of a fighter. Ex-army? When he turned to face her, she realized he was older than she’d first thought. In his late fifties maybe, but still fit.

He strolled toward them, his gaze running over her, and she reckoned he wasn’t missing anything.

“This is Colonel Grant,” the priest said. “And I’m Father O’Brien.”

The colonel stepped up close and held out his hand. For a moment, she stared at it, and then she put her own in his. His grip was cool and firm.

Something occurred to her as she tugged free. “How did you know where to find me?” She hadn’t told anyone at work about the appointment. Her colleagues were unaware of her illness—there was some advantage to the blackout having taken place on Ryan’s last night on the job—he’d failed to report it. And she wanted it to stay that way. Otherwise, she’d find herself tied to a desk job until she got the all clear—if she got the all clear. No way was that happening while she had a murder to solve.

The colonel shrugged. “We work for the government, Detective Connolly. We have access to their databases. Your appointment came up, and we thought it would be a good time to catch you before you return to work.”

“Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?”

He shrugged again. “We believe some situations override the privacy of the individual.”

“Are you antiterrorist?” She glanced at him sharply. They were the only people she knew who had those sorts of powers. Could her case be involved with terrorism in some way? She was unable to see a connection, but at this point, she was willing to take any leads.

“In a way. But not exactly in the sense you mean.”

“Let’s all be as cryptic as shit,” she muttered. “Why don’t you guys get to the point? What is it you want? Because I’m presuming you want something.”

“At the moment, to talk to you. We thought it might be best to make our first approach away from the office.”

First approach? Sounded like they were going to make this a regular thing. She glanced at the priest—not if she had any say in the matter. On the other hand, she couldn’t deny a certain amount of curiosity. She spotted a coffee shop across the street from where they stood. “You can buy me a coffee, and I’ll give you ten minutes.”

The colonel followed her gaze. “We were thinking of somewhere a little more private.”

“You can talk quietly. And I need coffee.”

She’d been told no food and drink before the tests. Now she was feeling the distinct absence of caffeine in her system. But it wasn’t only that. Something about these guys put her on edge, despite one of them being a priest. In fact, if it wasn’t for the dog collar, she would never have placed him as a religious type. More likely another soldier. He had that alertness and way of moving. No way did she want to go anywhere alone with them until she knew who they were and what they wanted.

In the café, they found a booth along the back wall, which afforded them a little privacy. It was self-service and Faith sat herself on the padded seat opposite Father O’Brien while the colonel went to get the coffee. Neither of them spoke and Faith played with the sachets of sugar while she waited. She tried to ignore the way he studied her with his dark eyes as though he could see into her soul. Except she didn’t have a soul to see into.

The uncomfortable silence was only broken by the colonel’s return. He carried a tray, with not only drinks but also a toasted-cheese-and-bacon sandwich. Her favorite. A shudder of unease ran through her. Maybe coincidence—but she didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Do you know everything?” she asked.

“Not everything.” The colonel flashed her a slight smile. “We’re hoping you can fill in some of the blanks.”

She took a sip of coffee and a bite of the sandwich and sighed. “Okay. So shoot.”

But it was the priest who spoke first. “I believe you’re a Catholic, Detective?”

The question took her by surprise. Though maybe it shouldn’t have considering the man asking. “I was born a Catholic, but no, I’m not a Catholic now.”

“Perhaps, we’ll leave the religious aspect out of this for the moment,” the colonel said, the smile still playing across his lips. He was a handsome man in a stern older-guy sort of way. “We work for a division of the government that concerns itself with things of a…less than normal nature.”

Shit, she knew where this was going. Swallowing her coffee, she put down the mug and placed her hands flat on the table, ready to push herself up.

“Don’t go without hearing us out on this, detective. At least afford us that.”

Faith sighed but relaxed her muscles. “Look,” she said. “If you’ve had me investigated, you must know what I think of all that crap.”