Razr

  Isla started to reach for it but pulled back at the last second. “May I?”

  “You can touch the ring, but I can’t remove it.” No, the only way this particular piece of jewelry could come off his finger was if he was dead or his finger was severed.

  She smoothed her finger over the stone. “Yes,” she murmured. “We do have its mate.”

  Excitement shot through him. Excitement, and a whole lot of hope. He’d been waiting decades for this moment. Get ready, Heaven, because I’m coming home. “Then I can have it?”

  The three Wardens glanced at each other, and then, in a coordinated move, they formed a circle around him, each about ten feet away. Beneath him the ground began to glow with an eerie green light and the ice-blue gemstone he’d been hunting for a century appeared before him out of thin air.

  It was as beautiful as he remembered, its oval shape and smooth, polished surface reflecting light and unpredictable angles onto the grass.

  “You can hold it,” Galen said, “but it cannot leave this circle.”

  Too relieved and enthralled to question Galen’s words, Razr reached for the apple-sized diamond. The moment he came into contact with it, a sense of comfort washed over him. Comfort and joy and vindication. He wished he could have punished the evil bastards who had stolen it and the two other Gems of Enoch and murdered their hosts, but there would be time to hunt them down later. Right now he had to take his prize to his superiors and get his wings and powers unbound. After that, he could bond the gem to another human host and then finally, finally, he’d have access to its powers again.

  But wait... Had Galen said the stone couldn’t leave the circle?

  Dropping his hand, he rounded on the Warden. “This diamond belongs to me. I have the right to take it.”

  Isla laughed, and he swore she’d just gotten taller. No, she had gotten taller. She now stood half a head above Galen who, at around six-five, was as tall as Razr. “We are bound by laws you can’t even begin to understand, fallen.” The emphasis she’d put on “fallen” made him wonder if she meant it as an insult...or if she knew he was lying. “You might be the original owner, but we made the storage contract with the one who gave it into our care. It is not our place to hand it over to you.”

  Son of a bitch. He ground his molars in frustration. His stolen property was right in front of him. His waking nightmare was within inches of being over. And these museum guards were going to keep it from happening. For the millionth time, he wished he had the full use of his powers. He couldn’t even channel the gem’s powers without a host to amplify its energy.

  But he did have friends. Friends in very low places...and friends in very high places. If he took his case to the angelic court, they could grant him an army of angels to help him reclaim his property—which was really Heaven’s property. These dhampires wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “I can come back with a hundred angels,” he warned. “A thousand. You can’t keep what is rightfully mine.”

  Galen barked out a laugh. “A million. It wouldn’t matter. As Isla said, we’re bound by laws beyond your ken. The things we store are beyond your reach. But you are welcome to try. We haven’t seen much battle recently.”

  “Or ye could stop being a fucking dobber and find the current owner yer own damned self,” Rhona suggested. “Everything ye need to know is at the tip of yer fingers.”

  Could it be so easy? Hastily, he palmed the diamond and closed his eyes. In a flash of light, an image popped into his mind. A female. A stunning female with long silver-blue hair and eyes the color of the stone in his hand. Her pale skin was flawless and brilliant, as if she’d walked through a cloud of diamond dust. More information came at him like a data download, and within seconds he knew where she worked and where she lived.

  Smiling, he opened his eyes. And then he casually tried to pocket his diamond and walk away. The Wardens even let him.

  Probably because the moment he stepped outside the glowing circle, the stone melted away and he was struck by a bolt of lightning.

  Still, electrocution and third-degree burns aside, it had been a pretty good day.

  Chapter Four

  It turned out that Jedda Brighton had some damned impressive credentials in the fields of gemology and mineralogy. According to Razr’s cursory research on the wealthy recluse, she’d gone to the best schools, she owned her own business in the form of an outlandishly upscale London jewelry store that dealt exclusively in rare and exotic gemstones, and she was world-renowned for her uncanny ability to locate pockets of valuable minerals deep in the earth.

  All of that information was public knowledge. What wasn’t public knowledge—at least, human public knowledge—was that her jewelry store was a front for the underworld dealing of cursed and enchanted gems.

  Which meant that she was, almost certainly, a demon.

  Maybe even one of the very demons responsible for the Enoch gems’ loss.

  A deep growl rumbled in his chest as he made his way across the floor of the building where he expected to find his target. Mozart filled the air, lending a bizarre normalcy to the attending crowd of assorted demons, werewolves, vampires, and even a few humans who reeked of evil or greed. The massive castle, high in the mountains of Austria, was apparently the setting for this year’s annual Underworld Sorcery Event, at which Jedda had been advertised as a guest speaker.

  Razr had missed her presentation, but he’d arrived in time for the awards dinner. People were mingling, their hands and claws full of appetizers and cocktails, or in a few cases, mugs of blood. The stone in his ring vibrated in warning at the close proximity of the demons, but thankfully it wasn’t glowing. He’d gotten one of Azagoth’s sons, Hawkyn, a Memitim skilled in alchemy, to temporarily change the properties of the surface of the diamond in order to conceal the color and the glow. He didn’t want to take any chances that Jedda would recognize that the gemstone in his ring had been cut from the one she’d left with the Wardens.

  The vibration grew stronger, becoming more of a pulse than a constant buzz. Odd. It only did that in the presence of its mate. Did it somehow recognize Jedda as the current owner of the larger stone? Had she...bonded with it?

  Damn, he hoped not. If she had, the stone would need to be purified in the blood of a dying angel, which meant waiting like some kind of Heavenly vulture for a fellow angel to die.

  Shit.

  He swiped a glass of sparkling wine off a passing server’s tray and cursed this stupid event. He hated parties. He especially hated demon parties. And this one was crawling with the suckers.

  Suck it up, cupcake. You are, perhaps, only mere minutes away from being reinstated as a full-fledged battle angel.

  Fresh enthusiasm sent a shiver of anticipation through him, even as his ring pulsed more feverishly. He looked around, seeking the source, and there, in the corner near the punch bowl, was Jedda.

  And damn...she was...extraordinary. His breath clogged his throat as he took her in, because although he had known the greatest beauties to ever have existed both in the Heavenly realm and the human one, she was unique.

  At least a foot shorter than he was and dressed in a stunning sapphire sheath that blurred the line between business-chic and cocktail dress, she was peering into her own glass of pink bubbly, her long, silver-blue hair framing a delicate face. As in the picture he’d seen of her in his mind and in her shop he’d visited before coming here, creamy skin glittered almost imperceptibly, and when she looked up, eyes that matched her hair glowed like twin gems.

  Amazing.

  She was a demon for sure, but what kind? He’d never seen anything like her.

  He’d just started toward her when a hand came down on his shoulder from behind. Instinct kicked in, and he spun around, prepared to defend himself from whatever malevolent scumbag was trying to accost him. Instead, he found himself staring into a familiar face. A familiar dead face.

  “Lexi? Is that...you?”

  The pretty lion shapeshifter grinned
and did a little twirl in her strapless red evening gown. “It’s me,” she said in her sing-songy Irish lilt. “In the flesh. Again.”

  Again was right. “I thought you died.” He looked her up and down as if to reassure himself that she wasn’t a ghost. He hadn’t known her well, had only met her because her shifter pride had helped him follow a dead-end lead about his Enoch gem a while back. “I was told you’d been killed in a dance club explosion or something.”

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “Thirst blew up and sort of dismembered me. But it turns out I have nine lives. And not because I’m a cat.” She shrugged, her long brunette curls bouncing around her bare shoulders. “Evil witch, ancient curse, you know the drill.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said absently, his gaze locking on Jedda again. Excitement surged through him now that his prey was nearby. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to see someone before I go.” He gave her a brief hug. “It was good seeing you. Glad you’re alive.”

  “Me too.” She clanked her glass against his. “Enjoy your evening.”

  He moved toward Jedda, his pulse inexplicably growing faster as he neared her. He’d been in the presence of blindingly gorgeous females with unimaginable power in his centuries of life, and none of them had affected him like this. No, this was different, a mix of attraction and anticipation he would almost compare to battle lust.

  The thought made him slow his approach, his mind tripping over the implications of that. Was he hoping she was one of the demons responsible for the theft of his property and the deaths of his friends, in which case he’d kill her, or was he hoping she wasn’t involved? And which was worse? Oh, he had no problems with killing demons—it was what he’d been bred for. But it seemed like such a shame to slaughter someone so unique. Or so attractive.

  Idiot. You never drooled over demons when you were a full-fledged angel.

  No, he hadn’t. There had been a clear separation of class and species back then. But ever since he’d had his wings bound and his powers muted and had been tossed in Sheoul-gra to serve Azagoth, he’d relaxed his standards. Not intentionally, but he had to admit that living life on the other side of the tracks had given him new perspective.

  He just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

  Jedda looked up as he stopped in front of her. Up close, she was even more beautiful, with full, pouty lips made to stir up some wicked male fantasies. Her fine, perfect features made her seem delicate, fragile, even, but something told him she was stronger than she looked. Which made him wonder how that strength would play in bed.

  Down, boy. Get what you want and get back to Heaven and females suited to your status. And species. “Hello, Ms. Brighton. I’m Razr.”

  Cocking her head slightly, she gave him a long, assessing once-over before saying with just a hint of an English accent, “Razr? That’s not a common human name, is it?”

  Either she couldn’t sense his species or she was testing him. Either way, he didn’t see any reason to lie. “It’s my fallen angel name. A take on my given name. Razriel.”

  “Ah.” She gave him another long, measuring look, taking in the expensive suit Azagoth had given him for the event, and he wondered what she was thinking. “Until tonight, I’d never met a fallen angel, and now I’ve met two, including you.”

  “Tonight? Is the other one here?”

  She nodded. “Shrike, the event organizer. He owns this place.”

  Well, that was mildly alarming. Fallen angels reveled in power and status, which meant that this shindig had probably been arranged for a purpose. An evil purpose.

  “Huh,” he said casually. “Never met him.”

  “I hadn’t either until I agreed to speak at the conference. He seems...very intense.” She paused to wave at someone near the grand piano. “Are all fallen angels like that?”

  “There’s a saying in Heaven,” he said lightly. “Angels keep their humor in their wings.”

  “So when they get cut off...”

  “So does their humor.” He shrugged. “Of course, fallen angels do grow wings eventually.”

  “But their sense of humor doesn’t grow back?”

  “Oh, it does,” he said, thinking of Azagoth and his pitch-black sense of humor. “You just don’t want to be on the funny side of it.”

  She reached up and toyed with the multicolored choker around her slender neck, the dozens of rings on her fingers glinting in the light from the chandelier overhead. There were even little gemstones decorating her nails. She must be wearing a freaking fortune in jewels.

  “Well, what about you?” she asked. “You seem to be a little less on the intense side.”

  He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion, figuring that flirting might help get him what he wanted. Plus, as he’d already established, she was hot—for a demon. Especially for a demon. “Is ‘intense’ code for ‘asshole’?”

  She laughed, a delicate sound that was almost...musical. What kind of demon was she? A succubus, maybe? That would explain why he was picturing her tangled in bedsheets and why his cock was throbbing against the fabric of his pants.

  “I say we change the subject.” Still smiling, she took a sip of her drink. “So what brings you to the conference? Did you catch any of the panels?”

  Panels? He could only imagine the topics at a place like this. Plague Spells 101: The Pros and Cons of Magically-Enhanced Viruses. Warlocks and Witches and Sorcerers, Oh, My! Human Sacrifice: Yea or Nay?

  “No,” he said, clearing his throat. “I just arrived, actually. I came to see you. Glad I tracked you down.” Instantly, she lost the impish smile, and he cursed his mistake at making himself sound like an obsessed nut job.

  “Tracked me down?” Even the temperature of her voice dropped a couple of frosty degrees.

  “Not like a stalker or anything,” he said hastily and in a bid to come off as charming. Not creepy.

  He hoped.

  “I went by your shop, but your staff told me you were giving a presentation tonight at a conference in Austria. Took it from there with research, and here I am.” He put on his best chagrined face. “Not creepy at all.”

  She must have agreed, because there was a slight thaw in her eyes. “This is a very...exclusive...gathering, Mr. Razr. How did you arrange an invitation? Especially at the last minute?”

  “I’m a fallen angel,” he explained with a hint of fallen angel-like imperiousness. “I get what I want.” Hadn’t hurt that Azagoth let Razr do a little name-dropping, either. No one wanted to piss off the being who would eventually be in charge of their soul.

  “Really.” Her voice, now completely ice-free, went low, a caress that stroked him just under the skin. “Intriguing.” She gave him a coy look as she lifted her glass to her mouth. “So why did you go to so much trouble to track me down?”

  “I’m looking for a very special gemstone, and I hear you’re the best at locating rare and precious stones.”

  “I am,” she said with an arrogance he had to admire. “But why is this such an emergency that it couldn’t wait until office hours tomorrow?”

  “No emergency.” He shifted closer to her, testing his boundaries. “It’s just that I saw your picture at your shop and decided I didn’t want to wait to meet you.”

  Her ruby lips curved in amusement. “Flattering. But you’re avoiding the real question.”

  Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he dipped his head closer to hers. “The room has ears.” Most likely, anyway. Plus, he wanted to get her alone in case things got...complicated. She didn’t reply, instead sipping at her drink as she eyed their surroundings. “I’m sorry... Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.” She stroked the stem of her glass, her jewel-encrusted fingernails reflecting the hall’s flickering light in sparkly little bursts. “I’m just trying to decide if I should tell you to make an appointment or if I should suggest we go somewhere more private to talk.”

  Those nails. He was mesmerized, and his mind kept thinking about what th
ey’d look like—and feel like—in places much more intimate than the stem of a champagne flute. Was she doing that on purpose? His dick sure thought so, and it tapped against the fly of his pants, begging for the same attention.

  It was a damned good thing he’d buttoned his jacket.

  “I vote for private,” he said, his voice humiliatingly hoarse. He’d come over to seduce her, but she was clearly the one who held the cards in this game.

  Succubus, for sure.

  She made him sweat for a few seconds before finally nodding toward one of the exits. “I saw a balcony out that way.” She started toward it, but a flash of light drew his attention, and he reached out to grab her elbow. “Wait.”

  “What is it?”

  His gut churned as he checked out the next flash of light. Then the next and the next. Shit. Not good. He pulled her close and whispered into her ear. “Let’s get out of here. Away from this conference.”

  “Aren’t you naughty?”

  “Yeah. Naughty. Let’s go.”

  “But dinner is—”

  He took her glass from her and placed both his and hers on a tray, his alarm growing as robed Ramreel demons with halberds began to station themselves around the room, the clop of their hooves ringing out over the sound of the guests and the music.

  “Forget dinner.”

  “Look, I was invited for a reason,” she snapped, clearly annoyed by his manhandling. “It would be rude to leave now.”

  He nonchalantly shifted his gaze to the four corners of the room, starting at the northern side. “See the glowing symbols painted on the walls?” At her nod, he continued. “Those symbolize sacrifice. Sacrifice to Lothar.”

  She frowned. “Who is Lothar?”

  “How can you not know who Lothar is?” he asked, incredulous. Lothar was listed as one of the most famous scumbags in the first chapter of Demons For Dummies. “Didn’t your demon parents teach you about the hundreds of patron fiends you can worship? You aren’t limited to Satan, you know.”