Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1)

BOOK: Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1)
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Angel Bait
Tricia Skinner

Avon, Massachusetts

This edition published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

www.crimsonromance.com

Copyright © 2013 by Tricia Skinner

ISBN 10: 1-4405-6515-5

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6515-1

eISBN 10: 1-4405-6516-3

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6516-8

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

This is a dpgroup exclusive.

To Jon, my sweetheart, and to Rowan, my little angel.

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

About the Author

Also Available

Acknowledgments

I’m thrilled for this opportunity to thank a few people for their help and support on my road to publication. Every pep talk, thumbs up, constructive feedback, shoulder to cry on, free drink, free lunch, chocolate cookie, or confirmation that my sanity wasn’t compromised, made it possible for
Angel Bait
to find a home.

To Jon, my husband, thank you for keeping me on course. I love you. To Rowan, my son, I hope seeing your mommy’s book one day inspires you to follow your heart and dreams.

To my family — Madeline, Jimmy, Natalie, Patrick, Frances, Lawrence, Katie and Logan — I send thanks for the enthusiasm you showed for this book long before a contract appeared.

Thanks to the FF&P Mud Puddle for great critiques, and bonus appreciation to my good friends and super supporters Paula Millhouse, Amber Belldene, and Celia Breslin.

Cathy Yardley, thank you for rocking my plot and teaching me to write like lightning.

Huge thanks to Suzanne Frank, director of the Writer’s Path at Southern Methodist University. You believed in me and never stopped.

Dr. Janet Harris, you were a lifeline. Thank you.

Thank you, Michele Mrak, Gary D. Swaim, and Rosa Sommers of the Department of Graduate Liberal Studies at SMU.

Thank you to my friends at The Guildhall at SMU, especially Rene Archambault, Brad Hansen, and Du Ngu.

Annie Seaton, thank you for the “tweaks.”

Finally, a million thanks to Jennifer Lawler and Terese daly Ramin at Crimson Romance. Thank you for seeing something in “my boys” and giving my book a chance to shine.

CHAPTER ONE

In a nondescript alley on Detroit’s lower west side, the autumn night concealed Jarrid like a second skin. He clenched his jaw, stifling a yawn, and for the tenth time since he’d set watch he wondered how in hell he’d pulled such a lame assignment. Annoyance nibbled at his patience. He wouldn’t question Tanis’ orders, but his boss had to know this job was beneath an assassin with his experience.

Stay focused.

He slid his finger down his shoulder strap to touch the first dagger, then its twin, nestled deep in the harnesses along his sides. He expelled a quiet breath. Bored or not, he had a job to do before he could leave this stinking hole and return home to the Stronghold.

“I ain’t paying them shit!” The target jabbered into a cell phone, ignorant of his impending visit. The high-pitched voice reverberated in the narrow space, loud enough to attract unwanted attention.

What an ass.
Jarrid surveyed the area again. He didn’t need a bunch of tourists snapping pictures.

He straightened, his back resting against the cold bricks behind him, and studied the man. The target’s clothes cast him as Joe Businessman. Chintzy gold cufflinks. A ho-hum tie. From the shoulders up, though, the man was a dark elf, just like the current US Secretary of State. The target’s long, white hair flowed thick around his ebony neck and was tucked behind elongated, pointed ears.

Hello, YuL of Elven
. At least this soon-to-be dead guy piqued his interest. Usually dark elves preferred to conduct their money laundering in third-world locations with slipshod law enforcement. This one had made friends in high places. Then he’d betrayed them, which made the elf Jarrid’s problem. Too bad the job included an interrogation clause. Talking meant he had to listen to them beg, see them shit themselves, watch them cry.

Thank you, no. I’ll pass
. He’d rather kill them clean and move on.

All Others and humans knew the Eternal Order enforced angel law, and most species who dared to deal with Heaven stayed out of trouble. Not this prizewinner. Jarrid glared at the fool who’d tried to wheedle out of a bargain with Heaven. Not surprising, the angels weren’t big on forgiveness.

“Oh, right. I’m supposed to bend over and take it?” YuL dragged a hand through his hair. “Look, I want to make a new deal. Tell Azriel I have information. I’ll trade it for the money I owe.”

This better be worth my time
. Jarrid rolled his neck, cracking away the tension worming into his muscles. He corded his back like a cat until his body relaxed.

The elf shoved the phone into his pocket and muttered to himself. Jarrid stepped from the dark hiding place between the two abandoned buildings.

“Jesus Christ!” YuL slammed back against a wall, his mouth a gaping sinkhole.

“I get that a lot.” Jarrid stepped closer. “I don’t think he’d appreciate the comparison.”

He shifted his leather coat, flashing the arsenal attached to his body. Curved daggers sheathed near his rib cage. Two Desert Eagle Mark XIX’s strapped to his hips and a belt of bullets around his waist. Another dagger secured to his thigh.

Jarrid advanced.


Ke a’tu mul-dab ven
,” YuL said.

The magical chant struck Jarrid in a low rush of air. He grabbed the elf, lifting him off the ground, and eyeballed him. “You trying to piss me off?”

Swirls of mist rose around his feet, covering his legs and boots. The mist thickened and rolled up his body, wavering. Then it darkened.

“Globe of darkness? Seriously?” He fought a grin and released the elf. Some elves trained in dark magic, and this idiot had obviously paid attention in sorcery class. The unmistakable sound of scuffling slipped inside the now-opaque globe. Did the elf have a weapon?

Jarrid sighed and closed his eyes, focusing on the half of his nature impervious to parlor tricks. Grace, his angelic power, sparked inside him. He opened himself to the coolness inside his body. Then the first twinge of pain surfaced, tingling under his skin like a thousand needles hooked to an electric generator. He ignored it and opened his eyes.

“Oh, God. Oh, shit,” YuL shrieked.

Yeah, he got that a lot too. With his power revved up, Jarrid knew his silver eyes glowed like two solar flares in the middle of a black hole. The mist dwindled to a thin smoke. He stepped out of the inky sphere and stood over the man now cowering against the wall.

“If you’re done with the bullshit, we have business to discuss.”

“Please, man.” YuL clasped his hands together like a church goer. “Let me go. I’ll pay what I owe.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.” Jarrid slid a curved dagger from its sheath.

The elf shrank away from the blade. His legs crumpled and he slid down the wall. “Don’t kill me. I … I have information.”

“Which is the only reason you’re still breathing.” Jarrid crouched in front of the trembling elf. “Tell you what. Give me the info and I’ll make this painless.”

“No, wait.” The target’s eyes goggled. “Th-there’s a Renegade in town. He’s hired some bloodsuckers for muscle.”

Every muscle in Jarrid’s body stiffened. That one word knocked his heartbeat right out of sync.
A Renegade? No fucking way
. He narrowed his gaze. “Name?”

“Didn’t catch one,” YuL sniveled. “I was at The Church when I heard two vamps bitching about some chick. They were pissed they hadn’t found her yet.”

“Tell me about the woman. Why does he want her?”

“I … I don’t know. They said she published something in the newspaper. Honest to God, that’s all I got.” The elf rubbed a shaking hand across his face.

Jarrid hadn’t had a lead on a Renegade in over two hundred years. The elusive fallen angels could hide better than a rattlesnake in tall grass. “How do you know a Renegade is involved?”

“Come on, man. One flat out said, ‘at least the Renegade pays well.’ I put two and two together.”

Jarrid remained silent, but chaos cranked his mind. The chance there’s a Renegade in his city was so remote, so improbable. Yet if the elf spoke true, the tip meant one more score to settle. And one giant step closer to Ascension.

He turned the idea over in his head. Ascension would only be granted if he attained something considered more valuable than him remaining under Heaven’s heel. Would a capture force the ruling angel Directorate to reward his team?

A fragile thread of hope connected to another, and another, until his heart and mind grabbed hold. He had to find the Renegade, minus interference from the angels. But the information was vague at best. One woman in a city of millions? Where the hell would he start?

“Anything else?”

YuL shook his head. “I swear that’s all I got, man. I didn’t know who they were talking about, but I know Renegades hold a special place with you angels.”

“I’m no angel, you piece of shit.” He’d never been considered pure enough by those pricks to count as anything more than a half-breed. That’s all the nephilim were to them. Half-angel and half-human. Abominations.

Color drained from the elf’s face. “I was gonna trade the info for what I owe. I can’t believe they sent an assassin after me.” YuL cupped his hands together. “Christ, I don’t owe that much. Please don’t kill me, man. Please.”

He ignored the hysterics and tapped the earpiece concealed by his hair. “Intel retrieved.”

If the elf’s info was solid, the next few days would be crucial to tracking the outlaw and snuffing the bastard. A familiar hatred bubbled under his skin and Jarrid’s grip tightened on the dagger’s hilt. He was here because of Renegades — the former Watcher angels who’d impregnated human women to create their half-breed race. Now, he was forced to serve Heaven.

Since his mother’s death.

Since his own imprisonment.

Since the angel sent to kill him spared his life.

The elf scrabbled backwards against the piss-stained wall. “Just let me go. I won’t tell a soul.”

“By decree of the holy host, YuL of Elven, you have broken a sacred covenant with Heaven and have been deemed unworthy of forgiveness.”

Jarrid buried the dagger deep into the elf’s heart. Confused orange eyes stared at the dagger, and then at him as if they tried to memorize the face of death. Finally, the spark behind those eyes slipped away.

“Your life is forfeit.”

YuL’s Adam’s apple bobbed twice then stilled.

Extracting the blade, Jarrid rose and considered the body slumped on the wet pavement.

“You can’t fuck with Heaven, pal. It has bigger dicks.”
He shrugged and stood at parade rest, bracing himself for the aftermath of another completed mission. After two, maybe three breaths, white-hot pain flash-fried his veins, making his body sway. Then it flambéed his internal organs.

BOOK: Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1)
13.69Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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