Damn him.
He’d seen. Everything. Her worst nightmare. Her pain and humiliation. Her terror.
He’d seen … and he hadn’t helped her.
Damn the bastard.
He’d gone—fine. He’d better stay gone. She didn’t want to see him again. Because if she did, she’d kill him herself.
He’d been there … and, moments before, he’d almost f**ked her.
The rage built as the hours passed. She found a small shop. Bought some new clothes and ditched his shirt because she was tired of his scent clinging to her. Her new jeans were tight, her T-shirt hugged her body, and the boots made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could kick some ass. Angel ass.
She walked onto the street and felt the heat of the sun on her skin. Her body was tired, her moves sluggish. She’d get cover—any place but that cheap motel room—and crash.
Her fury had given her the strength to stay out in the daylight, but her emotions were churning now, and they were draining her energy.
Betrayal. Yes, that’s what stabbed her right in the heart. She’d been so weak that long-ago night. If he’d just reached out and helped her …
“I’d still be alive,” she whispered.
“No, Nicole, you wouldn’t be … that would have been against the rules.”
She spun at the hard, male voice.
A man stood there, his dark hair loose around his shoulders. He wore dark sunglasses, glasses that cast her reflection right back at her. Broad shoulders stretched the black T-shirt he wore. His back was pressed against the brick wall on the side of the building and a faint smile curved his lips.
“Stopping you from going into that alley, saving you … those weren’t options for our boy,” he said as his grin stretched.
Our boy.
Suddenly, the day wasn’t quite as warm. She stepped forward, just a small step, aware of the few humans strolling down the street. No help there. “Who are you?”
One black brow rose. His thumbs were hooked in the loops of his jeans. “I’m a friend of Keenan’s.”
“An angel?” She’d been raised her whole life to believe in angels. She just hadn’t expected angels to look like Keenan … or like this guy.
But I believe.
It was vamps and the other monsters she hadn’t believed in. That disbelief had come back to bite her in the ass.
He laughed softly at her question, and the sound sent a shiver over her. “I’m no more an angel than Keenan is.”
But Keenan was …
“Once an angel falls, he becomes something very, very different.” He pulled off his sunglasses. His eyes were the same bright blue as Keenan’s. His blue gaze trekked to the left, then to the right as it swept past the pedestrians. “Why don’t you come closer,” he invited, “so we can … talk … without worrying that the humans will overhear.”
She didn’t move. The gun was tucked in the waistband of her jeans, hidden beneath her shirt. But what would the silver bullets do against someone like him? Probably not much. “I’m fine right here.”
His eyes slit. “Are you?”
Nicole swallowed. “What do you want?”
He took a step toward her. She tensed.
“Where is Keenan?” He asked.
She braced her legs apart. “You’re not really his friend, are you?” Her right hand began to edge toward the gun. So what if the humans saw? She wasn’t dying on this street.
He didn’t blink. “No, I’m not.”
Great.
“He left you all alone.” His lips—sensual but cruel, just like the rest of him—pulled down. “Didn’t expect that. I thought you mattered more.”
“Why would I matter to him?” I begged for help. Help Keenan hadn’t given her. “We barely know each other.” Fury thickened her voice.
He took another slow, gliding step toward her. She was reminded of a snake slithering up on his prey. “Oh, you might not know him well,” he said, “but Keenan knows you.”
Then he was in front of her. Mere inches away. He’d moved in a blink—as fast as Keenan had at the motel.
Her hand flew for the gun.
He caught her wrist. Held tight. “I can’t let you do that.” His head came close, and his lips feathered against her ear as he spoke. To everyone else on the street, it would look like they were lovers whispering secrets and promises. “Digging those bullets out,” he told her as his breath stroked over her, “can be a real bitch.”