For so long, she’d been the one to greet humans and supernaturals at their moment of passing. She’d never been able to help any of those souls. Her job had been to kill. To take them from this world.
Why couldn’t she just save one person?
“It wasn’t for nothing.” Cold. Hard.
Marna peered his way.
“She died right before she could talk to us, and believe me, coincidences like that don’t happen.”
“But—”
“She died, and she was terrified of the angel who came for her.” He spared her a fast glance. “What does that tell you?”
She licked her lips. “Everyone . . . I mean, most are scared when they see the angels coming for them.” Because humans and those without the blood of celestial beings in them could never see angels, at least not until the moment right before their passing. And who wouldn’t be scared then?
“Maybe . . . or maybe she was so scared because she knew what her killer was.”
Her breath caught, but Marna shook her head. “No, an angel of death wouldn’t kill that way.” The attack had been too violent. Too . . . bloody. “All death angels have to do is touch. There’s no reason to attack like that unless—”
“Unless you like the feel of slicing into someone’s flesh. Unless you want to torture and punish until your victim is left twitching on the ground.”
Like the bartender.
“Unless you’re one f**ked-up angel, and if that’s the case, if there’s another Fallen in the city, one who’s slicing and killing for fun, then, well . . .”
Tanner didn’t finish. But he didn’t have to. She understood.
If a Fallen was going on a killing spree in New Orleans, then the humans and the supernaturals were all about to face a waking nightmare.
Streaks of blood slid across the sky as the sun rose. Tanner strode toward his bedroom. He hadn’t fixed the broken door downstairs, not yet, but he’d cleared away the bedroom door he’d shattered.
Dawn was coming. He’d showered, changed, and, dammit, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
He stood in the doorway, and her scent tried to pull him in. He could hear the light rustle of the sheets. Tanner knew that she was just steps away.
Want.
The panther’s growl had him taking another step closer.
“Stay away from me, Tanner.”
Marna’s words made his hands clench into fists.
“Pretend the door’s there,” she said, voice drifting to him. “And just walk away.”
Screw that. He walked into the room. Tanner heard her gasp.
“I told you to—”
“We have to talk.” She was in his bed. The covers were pulled up to her chin—always so afraid of me—and her hair was a tangled fall around her face.
“Later.” Marna swallowed and lifted her chin higher. Of course, she lifted the covers higher, too. “I want to be alone now. I don’t want—”
You.
In two seconds, he was on that bed with her. Marna tried to scramble back. Too late. He grabbed her hand and forced it against his bare chest.
Her breath rasped out, and she tried to jerk away from him. “Stop it!”
“Make me.” A cruel taunt, but he had to see what would happen.
Marna’s blue eyes widened as she tried to yank her hand away again. He just tightened his hold. Her palm was soft against his chest. Her splayed fingers pressed right over his racing heart.
“Let me go!”
The covers had dropped. She had on a black bra—one he’d raced out and bought for her before they’d gone to Hell. He’d picked up clothes for her, fantasized a bit about her in the silk panties, and—
Her left fist plowed into his face.
He shook his head, barely feeling the sting of that blow, as realization settled heavily in his gut. “You can’t do it.”
No wonder the vampire had been so close to her.
Her breath rushed out, far too fast, and he could see the frantic race of her pulse at the base of her neck. “Don’t push me.” Her words were loud, rushed. “I don’t want to hurt you!”
“You can’t.” Certain now. “You can’t hurt me.” She was touching him. Flesh to flesh.
Her skin was so pale. Her eyes wide. And the scent of her fear was driving him freaking insane. “You can’t kill me. You can’t use the Death Touch.” Fuck. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? That vamp could have drained you dry!”
But, even as he asked, Tanner knew why she hadn’t told him. The lady didn’t trust him, not for one single minute.