Angels of Darkness

him—tears gone.
    Or were they? With her, it was impossible to know.
    But her voice was even and light as she said, “So, what next? Do we wait for Miklia and friends to show?”
    No point. They weren’t more likely to talk now than they had been before. At least, not until he had something concrete to approach them with. “What do you make of the physical training, the books?”
    â€œProbably the same thing that you make of it,” she said. “Miklia and her friends saw something the night Jason was killed—they probably saw the demon who killed him. Now they fancy themselves demon hunters. Maybe for revenge, maybe some other reason. So thank goodness for the Rules, yes?”
    Yes. Those same rules that forbade Guardians from harming or killing humans also applied to demons, but with harsher consequences. Any Guardian who hurt a human or impeded a human’s free will—even with an action as simple as shoving an unwilling human out of danger’s path—would have to decide whether to ascend to the afterlife or become human again. A Guardian could break the Rules and live, but every demon would be slain. After a demon broke the Rules, there was no escaping the Guardian Rosalia and the powerful vampire Deacon; psychically bound to the demon from the moment it hurt or killed a human, the pair would find and slay the demon within minutes.
    Even in the unlikely event that the girls did track down the demon, it couldn’t hurt them. They probably wouldn’t be able to hurt it, either, but Marc cared less about the demon’s chances of surviving than the girls’.
    He checked the sky. Ten minutes of daylight left. The vampires in the area would be waking up at sundown. “Let’s talk to Bronner. If these girls looked for information about demons, and if they knew Jason was a part of the community, they might have tried getting it from him or another vampire first.”
    â€œAnd they might have mentioned what they saw.”
    Marc nodded. “Something sent them looking in the right direction. Maybe it was Jason himself, maybe he mentioned demons or Guardians to them. But if they saw something, the questions they asked might give us an indication of what happened that night.”
    â€œHow far away is Bronner?”
    â€œHalfway between here and the next town over.”
    With a grin, Radha formed her wings. They arched behind her, the white tips sweeping the floor. “So we fly?”
    He usually waited for dark. “You can cover mine, too?”
    Her hand flew to her chest, as if she’d been wounded. “Your doubt kills me. Oh, Marc. I can make you feel like you’re wearing wings when you aren’t. Of course I can cover them.”
    â€œAll right, then.”
    He rose from his chair. She did the same, albeit more slowly, and with a glint in her eyes that could have been dangerous or mischievous. She dabbed her forefinger against her cake plate and brought it to her lips, her smile forming beneath the tip.
    â€œYou should ask what else I can make you feel.”
    She didn’t give him the chance. Her tongue swept across the pad of her finger—and he felt a warm lick against his. He tasted sweet coconut.
    Need rushed through him, the ache of arousal. He stared at her, his fingers tightening on the back of the chair, using all of his control not to snap the wood in half—then crash through the table after her.
    Her smile widened. “So?”
    â€œIt’s good cake,” he said.
    Her laugh was light—and so sweet. He’d suffer through any teasing for it.
    â€œNo.” She came around the table, letting her fingers trail across the surface, her gold-tipped claw dragging out a long, rough note. “I meant to find out earlier, but we were interrupted. Can a celibate warrior be worked up? Now I’m coming over to see whether one can be.”
    To touch him—in the middle of a busy coffee shop, and yet hidden from them all. His fingers clenched on the wood as she stopped beside him. Her gaze dropped to the front of his pants, and he heard the catch of her breath.
    â€œSo. They can.”
    â€œI don’t know,” he said, voice rough.
    Glowing again, her gaze lifted to his. He gritted his teeth to stifle his groan when she boldly cupped him through his trousers, then slid her palm up his hardened length.
    â€œThis is an illusion, too? I don’t think so, Marc.”
    His head