The tribe leader rubbed the heel of his palm over an eye. The man was ancient, and had big dreams, but Bruce supported his wacky idea. Being denied the sun for centuries would try any man’s nerves. “How many more names do we have?”
Bruce tapped the laptop keys. Antonio del Dado didn’t know how to use a computer any more than the other tribe members, so Bruce was the tech wizard for tribe Anakim, as well as the chief angel tracker. The latter was much less taxing on his patience.
“Only three,” he reported, turning the laptop so Antonio could read the names. “You want me to prepare the summoning room?”
“Yes, immediately. If any number of muses are congregating in Berlin, then we’ll have to bring the Fallen to them. And check with Rovonsky. He’s been preparing equipment for capturing and securing the nephilim. The equipment is easy enough to move. I say we leave for Berlin before daybreak.”
Bruce lifted a brow but didn’t comment. Anakim’s entire tribe lived by the night. They had slaves to do their day work. Like him.
Not a slave, but a well-paid employee.
“This is finally coming together, Bruce. I can feel it. Soon, tribe Anakim’s bloodline will be infused with the blood from our nephilim ancestors. We will finally become daywalkers. Do you know, I haven’t seen the sun for three centuries?”
“That’s a long time, boss. You could use a tan.”
Antonio’s expression remained sober.
Reminded of the boss’s lack of humor, Bruce closed the laptop. “I’m on it. And I’ll send a man after the muse, Cassandra Stevens, to keep an eye on her.”
“Excellent. Soon, Bruce, soon, a plague of dark divinity will stalk the earth.”
Yeah, whatever. Always so dramatic, the boss man. Just as long as that plague stayed away from him.
“When this is over,” Bruce muttered as he strode down the torchlit walls of Anakim’s lair, “I’m going topside for good.”
Coco Stevens listened to the phone ring endlessly. Her boyfriend, Zane, waited in the doorway, one of Coco’s pink suitcases in hand. Outside in the cab sat Ophelia O’Malley, her pregnant belly ready to burst from the seams of her stretchy sweater dress.
“No luck?” Zane asked and glanced outside. “You can try calling your sister again when we reach the airport.”
“I forgot to charge my cell phone, and you don’t carry one.”
“They do still have pay phones, love.”
Sighing and hanging up the landline, Coco melted into her boyfriend’s embrace. That Cassandra trusted her enough to handle this mission meant the world to her, but that also meant she couldn’t screw it up, or there’d be no future missions. Coco was all about the adventure.
“I wanted to let Caz know we were on our way. She’s been uptight about us informing her on every leg of this mission.” She peered over his shoulder. Berlin was getting a snowstorm, but here in London it was raining. “Is Ophelia all right?”
“The muse is fine. Craving a pint, or so she says. But I don’t think alcohol is safe for a pregnant mother, eh?”
“She’s due any day now. I’d say a little beer isn’t going to hurt a thing. We’ll get her something at the airport.” She closed the door to her flat behind them and locked it. “Cassandra must be out skiing or free-running, or doing something dangerous. She’s been into the danger-play lately. I worry about her, Zane. She’s not indestructible, yet she thinks she is.”
Zane wrapped an arm around her waist and led her to the cab. “She’s got a lot on her shoulders, love. I think it’s her way of spitting at the big bads and challenging her less-than-rosy destiny. Of course, Adventure is not her middle name.”
“It’s mine,” Coco said with a gushing smile and kissed her lover. “I hope she’s out partying. Living it up before, well, you know.”
“Don’t worry your pretty head, love.” He helped her into the back of the cab, then went around to put the suitcase in the boot. “Off with Adventure in hand,” Zane muttered. “Never a dull moment with the Stevens sisters.”
Chapter 1
The halo hunter’s shoulders hit the wall, the back of his skull thudding rather loudly from impact. Samandiriel held him with ease—and one hand—about the neck. The hard knob of an Adam’s apple gulped against his palm. Mortals were startlingly delicate.
To the hunter’s favor, he didn’t kick at him, but merely hung calmly. The mortal’s pulse banged beneath his palm. Quite a unique feeling. Samandiriel had no pulse.
“You’re … second … seen …”
“Stop mumbling, human,” Samandiriel said. A leather messenger bag strapped over one of the hunter’s shoulders revealed its contents. He sorted through the dozens of clanking halos in the bag, but couldn’t resist asking, “Second?”
“A-angel,” the hunter croaked.
“That you’ve seen? Well, aren’t you lucky? Most mortals never get to see such a thing. Do you marvel over me?”
“Uh, sure. M-marvel.”
One halo glowed, but before Samandiriel could touch it, he felt a prickle of awareness, brought on by an intruder approaching from behind.
Turning, and keeping the halo hunter pinned to the wall, he thrust out a hand to stop the person who approached. The simple gesture slammed the intruder against the opposite wall. Apparently more willful than the halo hunter, this one dropped to her feet and came at him again. The tiny female flashed a sneer and wielded ineffectual fists before her.
“Vinny … okay … “
The woman stood straight, dropping her fists, evidently understanding the hunter’s abbreviated reassurance.
Before she could dodge, Samandiriel placed the heel of his palm against her forehead. A flash of her memory assaulted his brain and he grasped a very pertinent detail about her.
“Vampire?” He made a fist to swing—
“No!” The hunter squirmed and now he did kick, but only managed a knee to Samandiriel’s thigh. “She’s not dangerous!”
Bouncing on her fancy high heels as if ready for the next swing, the vampire in question quirked a brow and huffed, disagreeing with the assessment of her lacking danger. “Another angel?”
“Others have been here before me?” Samandiriel asked the hunter. “That’s right, I’m the second.” He loosened his grip to allow the man to slide to the floor and stand of his own volition. “Where is the other? What was his name?”
“Zaqiel. He’s dead now. But the vampires—”
“Are summoning the Fallen?” Samandiriel spoke the knowledge he’d pulled from the vampiress. “You can verify that is true?”
“Yes, tribe Anakim,” said the hunter. “But she’s not with the bad vampires. She’s with me.”
Samandiriel assessed the twosome. He read the mortal hunter’s confidence, yet the man maintained a healthy respect for the divine. While the female, who seemed to match his cockiness, possessed an innate fear of him that held her at a distance. He did not fault her vampirism. Hate was not in his arsenal. But he would be cautious. He’d not dealt with a fanged one in the short time he’d walked the earth.
Shoving his hand into the messenger bag, Samandiriel claimed the one halo that glowed blue and held it before him. “This one is mine.”
“I