Two men stood just inside the door of the Neon Angel, their tall frames bathed in shadow. They were big. Well built and muscled.
And they’d not come to socialize.
Logan had no idea who they were, but judging from the otherworld scent that clung to them, he had a pretty good idea where they’d come from. But that was the tricky part, wasn’t it? Which realm did they call home?
No scent of demon twisted in the air and yet . . .
His hands fisted at his sides. He could take them. Hell, he wanted to take them.
“Shit, that didn’t take you boys long.” Logan nodded toward the now-empty bar. “You cleared the room in less time than it takes for a junkie with a needle in his vein to get high.”
Nothing. There was no expression or words.
Logan remained silent for a few moments and cocked his head to the side. He studied the two creatures—and creatures they were—there was not one drop of humanity in them. His nostrils flared as the subtle scent of pine drifted toward him once more and he frowned.
A memory stirred and with it a flush of heat, a dirge of anger.
Slowly his fists unfurled to hang loose at his side and Logan leaned back against the bar, crossing his long legs in front of him.
“I’m not much for one-sided conversation so unless you’ve got something to say I’d suggest you turn your asses around and leave.” Logan grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the counter. “ ’Cause I’ve got some drinking to do and that sure as hell is something I prefer to do alone.”
A low keening vibration rippled through the room—an invisible thread that electrified the air and sent his radar crashing into full-on red alert.
Bright light lit the men from behind, beams so intense Logan took a step back and winced. His skin burned as if it had been touched by flames and the control he had was fast slipping away.
Stars danced in front of his eyes and he shook his head aggressively as he moved forward, his mind emptying of all thought except one. Survival.
There was power here. Old, ancient power—the kind that always signaled shit was about to hit it. Hard. Logan was determined that any ass kicking in the immediate future would not involve his own.
The sifting beams of light sizzled and popped, and for a second he saw nothing but glitter, small pulsating fragments of gold that drifted on the breeze and whirled around the shadowed forms. They merged, twirling faster as the keening vibrations became louder, and they melted together into one large vortex of light.
Logan glared straight ahead, his gut tightening as the pine scent that hung in the air sharpened. It was fresh, tangy . . . and all too familiar.
His anger spiked as one form emerged from what had been two, a smallish, round bit of a man who looked nothing like what he truly was—Seraphim—and he was one of the original seven. Humans might call him angel, though in this form he bore no resemblance to the golden creatures popular in lore.
This was no cherub.
“Askelon,” Logan said smoothly, his anger in check, his facade calm.
“Let’s not be so formal, my friend.”
Glittery gold lamé lapels glistened against his gray jacket as the small man moved forward. His pants were ill-fitting, a little too snug around his generous belly, and his dress shirt sported gaping holes between the buttons. Something was smeared alongside his mouth—ketchup? And in his hand a bag of—Logan sniffed—candy was held.
Good to see his sweet tooth was still intact. “A little theatrical, even for you, don’t you think?”
Askelon arched a brow and shrugged his shoulders.
“Your bodyguards?” Logan continued dryly.
The small man laughed. “Ah . . . that was nothing. Parlor tricks really. I somehow doubt this room would have emptied if I stood alone and I do so want a private chat. We’ve lots to discuss.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed as he watched him walk to the bar, throw his bag of candy—which Logan could now see was filled to the brim with colorful Gummi bears—and with a little effort, settled himself onto the bar stool Logan had just vacated.
Pudgy fingers grasped a napkin and wiped away the stains on his face as Askelon turned to him. For a second his eyes shimmered—a weird translucent silver color—and Logan saw the power that shifted within their depths.
“Please”—he smiled and nodded—“call me Bill.”
“Bill?” Logan’s eyebrow arched in disbelief.