With a shuffle of his shoulders, he assumed complete human form. His leather trousers and boots were intact, but the shirt was a loss. He picked off shreds of torn white fabric from his arms and shoulders. Snowflakes landed on his skin but did not melt. Due to his cold blood, he didn’t feel the winter chill as a human.
Fascinating how the tiny flakes fluttered down from the clouds. There was much to marvel over as he learned the world. Samandiriel cautioned himself not to get lost in wonder when the greater task demanded his complete focus.
A shirt was in order—he had to fit in. But first he must find the muse. If Cassandra Stevens knew so much, she could prove an ally on his earthly quest. And, he simply wanted to bask in her presence. Because she was his. And he wanted to be near her. To touch her and hold her and—not harm her.
He took two steps across the slick, snowy tarmac. A female scream spun him about, eyes tracking the unremarkable building fronts in the darkness. “Cassandra?”
He’d thought her long gone after witnessing his forced shift.
Again, she screamed, from somewhere in the vicinity a few blocks behind him. Samandiriel’s boots dug into the packed snow, and he took off running.
The thugs had knives, and Cassandra had left all weapons in the car with the angel. Samandiriel. Too weird that her Sam had finally found his way to her, yet why should she think it weird? She’d been expecting him all her life.
One thug sporting a huge diamond earring, but not resembling an NBA all-star, had demanded her purse, which she didn’t have—it was in the car. The other thug, who bore a closer resemblance to an all-star, only because he was so tall, waved a chipped blade menacingly. She could guess they weren’t going to leave her without getting something.
Yeah? She had an expert roundhouse kick she’d give them both. But the first smart line of defense was to run. So she dodged to the right and raced toward the chain-link fence blocking off the alley. Hooking her fingers in the frozen links, she pulled herself up, yet a boot toe slipped on the icy metal, causing her to drop.
Hanging from the fence by numb fingers, Cassandra struggled for hold. Her attackers did not come after her from below. One jumped over her head and landed a precarious balance on top of the fence. An impossible feat. How had he—?
He grinned down at her from his gargoyle post, revealing long, pointy fangs.
Shit. Her fingers slid from the chain links, and Cassandra dropped to the ground.
Vampires were not something she’d trained to defend herself against. Only recently her sister, Coco, had alerted her to the vampires’ involvement in the frazzled mess she called her life. She’d been doing research and had secured a weapon, but hadn’t expected them so soon. Or ever.
Straightening, she drew in a breath. When life gave her surprises, Cassandra snapped to all-systems-ready mode.
The fence vamp dropped and backed her up against a garbage bin in the dead-end alley. Snow swirled in from the street, and she was starting to feel some serious freeze on her thighs where her boots ended and didn’t meet her dress. Never mind the chill against her bare back that made it difficult to stand still.
Stupid to have abandoned her car in this weather. But it wasn’t as if it was drivable with an angel literally embedded within it.
Times like this she wished for superheroine powers. She’d often wondered what her muse powers were. Shouldn’t she have some? Granny Stevens had always shaken her head and smiled wistfully.
Her wrist itched and the sigil glowed. That could be very bad, or possibly a lifesaver at a moment like this one.
“You got some kind of funky tattoo?” the one with the blade demanded. He did not sound German, but rather Russian, though he spoke English well enough.
“Wait,” the not-all-star, diamond-earring thug said. “You know what that is, Russell?”
“Haven’t a clue. Some kind of club stamp?”
“I think we found her.” The biggest thug crushed her petite body against the wall with his two-hundred-fifty-plus-pound frame, most of the weight in his gut. “Go keep watch,” he said over a shoulder to his buddy.
“If she’s one of them, we have to bring her to the boss.”
“We will. Isn’t that right, pretty little muse?”
Now Cassandra screamed. It was involuntary, her body reacting against her brain’s better judgment.
The one who’d went to keep watch soared over her and her aggressor’s heads and landed on the top of the garbage bin with a dull thud. The blade dropped from the tossed man’s hand and landed in the snow.
“What the hell?” The vampire holding her switched his attention to the tall, shirtless man standing not ten feet from them. He held a Taser in one hand and wielded a cocky grin like a switchblade.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” the angel said.
“What took you so long?” Cassandra spit. The vampire still held her by a shoulder, but if he twisted farther to look at the angel …
“Sorry. I had to shake a car off my wings.”
“Your wings?” the vampire asked. “What, are you some kind of faery?”
The angel straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “I say wings, and your first guess is faery?” He shook his head and made a come- and-get-me gesture with the fingers wrapped around the Taser.
The vampire released Cassandra and turned to the angel in time to catch the Taser’s copper hooks with his thighs.
Sam preened over the powerful device and nodded. “This is nice. I gotta get one of these for myself.”
The vampire ripped out the hooks from his legs and growled. “Try again, you bloody faery.”
“You shouldn’t use foul language in front of a lady.” Tucking the Taser into a back pocket, the Fallen then held up a palm, fingers tight together, and pointed them toward the vampire. “You ready for this?”
“Ready for—”
The angel shoved his spaded fingers through the vampire’s chest, pulled him forward and slapped his spasming body onto the ground. A hot, meaty blood scent assaulted Cassandra’s nose. The angel roared in myriad tongues like he had in the car. And in one hand, he held a bloody mass from which a puddle of crimson rapidly formed around his boots.
“Mercy.” Cassandra’s knees wobbled. She was on the verge of hypothermia, too out of sorts, and she’d just watched an angel rip out a vampire’s heart.
“Too bad there aren’t any witches in the area,” the warrior angel commented to the blubbering vamp. “I know they have a use for vampire hearts. Keeps them immortal.”
The angel tossed the heart behind him, then made a gesture with his fingers that sent the vampire, seemingly weightless as a pillow, onto the garbage bin atop the other attacker.
He bent and plunged his bloody hand into the snow to clean it
