Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

put the frighteners on him.” Kael was always amused when Angel used
    English expressions. “I want her to find someone decent. Someone who’ll treat her with
    respect.”
    “Yeah, me too. Maybe we could find her a billionaire like my mom got. Do you
    know who your dad is?” Angel often changed the subject suddenly.
    “No idea,” Kael said as if he didn’t care—and he never had, not really. “I’ve got a
    great mum. She’s enough. Now go to sleep. I’m dragging you out of bed at six o’clock
    to run to Otterspool Promenade.”
    “Daddy!”
    “All right, seven then.” He kissed Angel’s forehead. “It’s only about two and a
    half miles there and the prom is about a mile long.”
    “Then we have to come back,” Angel pointed out.
    “Less than ten miles, all told. We run that far along the Thames easily.”
    “Not after a day of indulgence.” Angel took Kael’s nipple between his lips, resting
    his leg across his body.
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    “All the more reason to go for a run. Go to sleep.” But Angel’s soft, steady
    breathing indicated he was already asleep. Kael kissed his boy on the forehead while
    his free hand gravitated to the gold heart hanging around his neck.
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    20

    Chapter Two
    Across Stephen Conran’s extensive and beautifully appointed drawing room, Kael
    watched Angel chatting easily with a small group of young people, the boys dressed as
    Angel was in dark evening suits with bow ties, the girls in sedate gowns. But Angel’s
    long, very pale blond hair and beautiful gray eyes set him apart. The shirt he had
    chosen had a wing-tip collar—or that’s what he said it was called—and he wore a
    floppy bow tie, making him look just as smart as the others but unique and interesting
    as well.
    The room was packed with men in tuxedos and black ties and women in designer
    ball gowns. White-coated waiters sailed by holding aloft trays crowded with tall glasses
    of champagne. A string quartet played classical music in an adjoining room. The place
    reeked of money and class as much as it reeked of expensive perfume and oysters on
    ice. Upper-class accents stretched their vowels all around him.
    “Angel looks happy.” Conran came up beside him in the crowded room. “That’s
    my niece and nephew he’s chatting with. The other two are the children of the new
    Labour member for Lambeth. I don’t really like the woman, but I couldn’t leave her
    out.” Glancing to his right, Kael looked down into Conran’s eyes, his best feature
    despite their paleness. Conran took the empty glass from Kael’s hand and waved over a
    waiter. Before Kael could pick up another glass, Conran picked one up and handed it to
    him. A gesture of submission?
    “Angel’s always happy. Why wouldn’t he be?” Kael never said thank you to
    Conran. It had been months since he had allowed the other man into his dungeon, and
    it would not be long before Conran asked again.
    “Is he doing well in school?”
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    21

    Kael’s gaze gravitated naturally back to his boy. He smiled automatically at a
    sudden burst of laughter from Angel. He loved to see his boy enjoying himself. Their
    fourteen-year age gap sometimes made him wonder if Angel found him boring, so Kael
    encouraged him to spend time with people his own age. Briefly Angel met his gaze
    before turning back to his companions. “Of course he is. He’ll get his A levels, no
    problem.”
    “He’s a lovely boy, but he would have ended up on the streets if not for you, even
    with his mother being married to that French billionaire.”
    The very thought made all of Kael’s protective instincts scream. Without guidance
    Angel would probably have done what most emotionally lost and neglected teenagers
    do: made very bad choices. “He hasn’t heard from her since early last year, which is
    probably for the best.”
    “Have you chosen a university for him yet?”
    “He’s going to Cambridge like I did,” Kael said decisively. “But we’re supposed to
    apply to three. I’ll put Cambridge as his first choice.”
    “He can come straight into the service if you change your mind,” Conran said
    quietly. “The training you’ve already given him and the experiences he had in Bosnia
    last year and France earlier this year put him ahead of the pack. Another year or two
    and he’ll be very good.”
    “He’s only just turned nineteen. I was twenty-two when your