Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

and began to wash the blood off his forearms. His gray gaze stayed trained on her, ensuring she remained chained to the bed.
    He examined his wounds, whipping his bloodied, torn shirt over his head and checking himself over for major damage.
    Brandon had the body of a warrior, tattooed like a man who had seen many battles—each one had been etched on his skin, the story of his bravery mapped out in dark ink.
    Right over his heart was a tribal design, a swirling dragon whose body extended to his biceps. From there, at the top of his left arm, the design continued with a tree of life, the branches stylized in a Celtic pattern with four interlocking corners. On the other arm, an ancient Mayan sunburst. Continuing down the sleeve of that arm were bands of tribal designs and different types of animals, some real and some mythical. Lions, snakes and eagles intermingled with griffins and phoenixes. So many different creatures and symbols, all of them rendered in monochromatic shades of black and gray ink, creating an impressive aesthetic harmony on the canvas of his skin.
    He turned, bending to inspect the cut she’d inflicted on his abdomen. Giving her a full view of the most impressive tattoo of all.
    The huge tattoo stretching across his back was a massive angel rendered in black and gray. Feathered wings extended from the lines of a human body, the wing tips of the tattoo outspread along each of Brandon’s shoulder blades.
    A tattoo that might simply be a decoration on any other man.
    On him, the tattoo was like the divine staring her in the face.
    She had always known this day was coming, the day of her reckoning. After all the crimes she had committed, she supposed she deserved it. What a strange manner of capture, though, to end up strapped to a bed in a cheap hotel.
    She turned her gaze away, unable to look.
    “Oh, Dio.” Oh, God.
    The words slipped off her tongue, not a prayer, but a profanity.
    “Those aren’t just ordinary tattoos, are they?” she said.
    He didn’t answer, just looked at her with those dark gray eyes of his, as dark and foreboding as the ink on his body.
    “What do they represent?”
    “Assignments.”
    He didn’t bother to elaborate, and she didn’t ask. The explanation was clear enough. The ink sprawling over his skin told the stories of the people he had rescued. People he had helped.
    “What happens when you run out of skin? Will you stop getting tattoos?”
    “I don’t get them in the ordinary way. Not from a tattoo parlor or a tattoo artist.”
    “Where do they come from, then?”
    Looking into his gray eyes was like looking into the depths of the ocean. “They just appear. Each one appears after I’ve finished an assignment.”
    “And if you don’t finish?”
    He shrugged, the taut muscles of his shoulders contracting. “Hasn’t happened.”
    “Were you sent to get rid of me?” she blurted, almost hysterical, wondering exactly what would appear on the canvas of his skin after he had dealt with her.
    “Like I said, I was sent to collect you. That’s all,” Brandon said. “Violence isn’t my preferred working method.”
    “What the hell does that mean?” she asked quietly.
    “It means I have no present intention of harming you,” he said, equally quiet. “If you cooperate, you’ll spare yourself further injury.”
    He moved around the room, unpacking his duffel bag. She could not help but gawk at his tattoos, her eyes flickering furtively over the intricate maze of ink and flesh, reading the story marked on his body, the symbols that proclaimed who and what he was.
    That was when she realized there was no point in fighting him.
    She would have to use other means to get what she wanted.
    * * *
     
    He pulled a clean shirt over his head, grateful he’d sent his bag here from the airport. He felt Luciana’s gaze travel along the lines of his body. Gave her a long, hard stare just to warn her. She sat at the top of the bed looking ever the princess who had been captured.
    She’s a demoness, he reminded himself. It doesn’t matter how beautiful she is. She is evil. She is extremely dangerous.
    “Whatever Arielle told you about me is completely untrue,” the demoness said smoothly. Something in her tone had shifted, as though an idea had clicked in her head. He turned to glance casually at her, and he saw it in her eyes, too. The wheels were turning in that dangerous mind of hers. “Especially if she’s getting her information from Julian Ascher these