and he grasped a very pertinent detail about her.
“Vampire?” He made a fist to swing—
“No!” The hunter squirmed and now he did kick, but only managed a knee to Samandiriel’s thigh. “She’s not dangerous!”
Bouncing on her fancy high heels as if ready for the next swing, the vampire in question quirked a brow and huffed, disagreeing with the assessment of her lacking danger. “Another angel?”
“Others have been here before me?” Samandiriel asked the hunter. “That’s right, I’m the second.” He loosened his grip to allow the man to slide to the floor and stand of his own volition. “Where is the other? What was his name?”
“Zaqiel. He’s dead now. But the vampires—”
“Are summoning the Fallen?” Samandiriel spoke the knowledge he’d pulled from the vampiress. “You can verify that is true?”
“Yes, tribe Anakim,” said the hunter. “But she’s not with the bad vampires. She’s with me.”
Samandiriel assessed the twosome. He read the mortal hunter’s confidence, yet the man maintained a healthy respect for the divine. While the female, who seemed to match his cockiness, possessed an innate fear of him that held her at a distance. He did not fault her vampirism. Hate was not in his arsenal. But he would be cautious. He’d not dealt with a fanged one in the short time he’d walked the earth.
Shoving his hand into the messenger bag, Samandiriel claimed the one halo that glowed blue and held it before him. “This one is mine.”
“I can see that.”
“Luck in your quest, mortal. And you.” He turned to the vampiress, who backed against the wall. He placed a palm against her forehead and strained the details of the angel summonings from her. She knew much. It was information he needed.
Vampires had summoned him to earth?
His original goal to stalk his fellow Fallen in order to win his return Above remained. However, with vampires in the mix, now he’d have to change tactics.
The hard-driving rock anthem blasted a sexy, moaning chorus that enticed Cassandra onto the dance floor of club Schwarz. She didn’t understand a lot of German, but the lyrics didn’t matter. The beat thundered in her heart. Warm bodies dancing close by brushed her skin and, at times, matched her rhythm with a sexy rotation of hips.
The club decor was black, covering everything from the walls, tables, ceiling, glasses and goblets (including the drinks in clear glass) and bathrooms. The lighted floors flashed white squares and illuminated most, and the sparkles in the black paint shimmered as if it was a midnight sky.
She loved this club, and it had been too long since she’d been here. After completing the angel sculpture something had compelled her to get out of the flat and let loose. It was high time she kicked her lacking social life into gear.
She’d lost track of her date but wasn’t overly concerned. Marcus wasn’t exactly a date. The guy down the street had asked her out a dozen times and she’d finally succumbed. A little too tug-the-tie for her—though she did find his glasses sexy—he was probably at the bar nursing a vodka neat. He was a computer tech at MasterSysteme, yet it was apparent Marcus had no idea how to let loose after hours. He refused to dance, telling her to go off and enjoy herself.
Constantly on guard was her normal MO, had been since she was a teen, so learning to let loose once in a while had become a necessity to her survival.
Flipping her long black hair over her shoulders, she toyed with the red-and-white ribbons her hairdresser braided within the strands every other month. She didn’t like the idea of dreads, so the ribbons added that something extra she wanted in the style.
Sashaying sideways, a gorgeous dancer with dark stubble that emphasized his square jaw followed her gyrations. They spun and bumped hips and shoulders in fun play. He had a sexy smile, but she’d seen him making out with a blonde earlier beneath a black steel nude bent over the archway that led to the private rooms. She couldn’t abide double-dipping.
The beat changed, relaxing, and the dance floor sighed as couples paired up, while lone figures swayed to their own design.
Not ready for a break, Cassandra danced closer to the edge of the floor where the lighted tiles flashed. It was cooler here, and she knew she’d worked up a good sheen of perspiration, because she could smell her spearmint body lotion.
Smiling, because she smelled like a stick of spearmint gum, Cassandra realized this particular let-loose night had been a long time coming. It felt amazing forgetting … everything.
There was so much to forget. Dark things. Evil things. Impossible things. But only for the night. After a decade of training, she’d never completely let down her guard.
Casting her gaze about the shadows lining the dance floor, she stopped herself from surveillance with a mental slap to her wrist. Just dance. Enjoy some mindless fun! But her vision landed on a man who stared at her.
The hungry look wasn’t new. She caught men staring at her all the time across the stacks or a research table in the library. So the Stevens sisters were hot—as she’d often heard men comment—so what? What she looked like on the outside was vastly different from her insides because, Glory Hallelujah, no one wanted to deal with her baggage.
Still, she’d never refuse interest. And tech guy would understand. Hell, Marcus was still nursing that vodka. And was that a bespectacled redhead with whom he was conversing animatedly?
“Ditched so soon?” It was difficult summoning irritation. They looked like a great couple. “Go for it, bloke.”
Moving along the dance floor, she noted her observer continued his intense task. The man gave new meaning to chiseled features. Every part of his face—square chin, straight long nose, smooth forehead, pale yet strong mouth—called for notice, and then combined to form an overall captivating result.
Sexual allure spilled from his pores like pheromones she could actually see. The melting look in his eyes oozed over Cassandra’s skin. All he was doing was standing there! Had to be a celebrity. The club was famous for them, though normally the celebs did not turn her head. She wasn’t into paparazzi or the materialistic lifestyle.
A crisp white dress shirt strained across the man’s chest like tight sheets on a bed. Cassandra imagined running her fingers across the white fabric and putting a few wrinkles in it for good measure. Wrinkled sheets sounded inviting tonight. Because seriously, she’d known she and Marcus wouldn’t mesh the moment he’d suggested the opera as his first choice for the evening.
Crooking her finger, she invited her mysterious observer to join her. He navigated the crowded dance floor with an ease that belonged to fictional characters, like the brooding vampire in a Gothic novel, and matched her slow, sensual dance moves as if trying to mirror her. A little awkward with the hips, but he was at least on the beat.
Obviously not a dancer, but she didn’t care. His focused attention shimmied over her skin, feeling like warm rain. And he was all hers. No one else in the room stood in their air.
Mercy, but she’d been too deeply enmeshed in her own projects and worries lately. The world was putting out men who resembled Hollywood warrior gods? She’d been missing out.
But
