It was Seline who delicately cleared her throat. “Ah, Marna, perhaps you should stop thinking so much about demons. They’re really not all bad, you know.”
Since she was half-demon, Tanner figured the lady was speaking from experience.
“Just as angels aren’t all good,” Marna said, speaking from her experience. “I know that . . . now.”
“Fast learner,” Sam acknowledged with a sly half-grin.
Marna shook her head. “No. If I was, I’d be able to kill by now.” Her hands had clenched into fists. “Instead, I’m helpless when demons attack.”
Sam rose slowly and stalked toward her. Tanner tensed, ready to go at him—
“Keep those claws away from me, panther.” Sam’s flat order. “I’m not going to hurt her.”
“You damn well aren’t.”
Sam reached for Marna’s clenched hands. He lifted them. Held them cradled within his palms.
The panther began to growl.
“We don’t lose the power of the Death Touch when we fall. The power is still there. It comes back to each angel of death. It just comes back at different times.”
“And I’m supposed to do what?” Marna asked. “Wait? Hide?”
He shook his head. “Fight. It’s only when you pull forth the fury inside that you can ignite the Touch.” His fingers tightened around hers. “It’s simple, little angel. You just have to want to kill badly enough. When you want death more than you want life, that Touch will be there for you again.”
Marna looked . . . lost.
He dropped her hands. “You just have to want it badly enough.” He turned his back to her.
Marna grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around to face her. “I do.” Her cheeks flushed. “When Tanner was on the ground, when that bitch stabbed him in the heart, I wanted to kill more than I wanted my next breath.” Shame and fury darkened her words.
Tanner watched her in surprise. So much emotion, boiling from within her.
“I wanted to kill all those who were hunting us. I wanted to destroy them.” Her nails dug into Sam’s shoulder. “But I couldn’t. I can stir fire, but can’t do much else. And while I do nothing, those hunting me just keep killing, using my face.”
Silence.
Marna pulled in a deep breath and let her hand fall away from him. “Angels of death don’t . . . steal faces,” she said. Tanner noticed that her fingers were trembling. “Neither do guardian angels. Guardians watch over their charges. They help, they guide unnoticed. They don’t change into something—someone—else and kill.” Marna turned away from Sam. Now her fingers reached for Tanner. “Coming here was a mistake.” She pulled him toward the door. “Sammael doesn’t want to help. He just wants to blame all the angels who still do their jobs. The ones who didn’t go on a murdering rampage and fall like he did.”
He had to be staring at a ghost. Shock had held him immobile as he faced his worst nightmare, a nightmare that couldn’t be there.
The moments ticked past as he faced the monster he’d never be able to forget. “You’re dead,” Cody whispered.
But the bastard just smiled, flashing his growing fangs. “Am I?”
Cody shoved him away and turned to run.
Then his father tackled him. Cody’s face slammed into the pavement.
“You always were a shit-poor runner.”
Cody tasted blood in his mouth. He rolled and tried to punch at the bastard.
His father just laughed and easily dodged the blow, but when he dodged, he had to back up. Cody sprang to his feet and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You aren’t my father. Who the hell are you?”
Stealing faces. This prick might look like the bastard who’d tormented him, but he wasn’t. No way.
His father was rotting away in the ground. Not walking the streets of New Orleans, laughing.
His father had never laughed. Not even when he tortured his prey. Cody had never heard laughter come from the bastard’s thin lips.
“It’s your fault I’m dead,” the guy said, raising his claws. Familiar claws. Tanner had claws just like them now. Not me. Cody would never belong with the other shifters. He couldn’t so much as flash a fang when he got pissed. “If you’d been better, stronger, I never would have died.”
No. Cody’s chin lifted. Sure, he’d once thought . . .
If I’d been better, stronger . . . then my father wouldn’t be such a twisted freak. He wouldn’t be so angry all the time. He wouldn’t hurt us so much.
“It’s your fault,” the bastard said. “I can feel your guilt. I’ve always felt it.”
“You don’t feel anything.” It’s not my fault the bastard was screwed up. He’d been that way before Cody was born. He’d been a sadistic freak until he took his last, blood-filled breath. “And I don’t know what the f**k you are, but you should stay away from me.”
The guy wearing his father’s face smiled. “I’m not going to stay away.” He lunged forward and drove his claws into Cody’s stomach before he had the chance to scream. “I’m here to kill you.”
Oh, damn, his Marna was showing some bite. And if she wanted to get away from the jerk Fallen, he was happy to oblige her. Tanner made sure to cover her back as they headed for the door. Ladies first.
“Angels of death and guardians aren’t the only angels out there,” Seline called out. “I’m sure not one of them.”
Marna hesitated.
“If someone is killing, hurting others, then you need to look toward the darker angels.” Seline’s voice held no emotion.
“Angels aren’t goodness and light,” Sam muttered. No, that guy sure as shit wasn’t.
Marna glanced back over her shoulder. “P-punishment angels.”
“Now you’re understanding.” Sam seemed satisfied.
Fine. So she was understanding. Tanner wasn’t. He whirled to face Sam. “For the angel-fucking-impaired here, just tell me what the hell is goin’ on.”
But it was Marna who spoke. Marna who’d known this all along? “Punishment angels can take different . . . guises . . . when they deliver their justice.”
Dammit. He wasn’t liking the sound of this.
“They can take the appearance of any person that you’ve wronged. When you see them coming for you . . . guilt . . .” Marna swallowed. “Guilt can freeze you.”