Avenging Angel (The Fallen 4)

Cadence dropped the bottle. It spilled on the floor, a long, wet stain, and the rat scurried toward it. Cadence grabbed her bag. There’d be no missing this shithole for her.

She yanked open the back door. Slipped out into the night. The air was hot. Always was, down in this freaking pit. Maybe she’d go someplace up north. Someplace where it actually snowed. She’d never seen real snow. Wouldn’t that be a kick?

Careful . . .

That whisper came from her own mind. The voice was waking up. Dammit. No. Not now.

Cadence shoved her hand into her bag. She had a few more white pills left. They’d shut up the voice. Buy her more time.

Blood. That horrible whisper again.

She couldn’t find the damn pills.

Blood on the dirty bricks. Blood on the ground. Can’t scream. Can’t—

Her fingers closed around one small pill. She shoved it in her mouth and swallowed. Her hands were shaking, but that wasn’t new. When the voice screamed so loud in her mind—or even when it whispered—her hands trembled.

But the pill was in her body now. Her heart rate began to slow. The drug always worked fast. After a moment, the voice fell silent.

It was just her now. Alone in the night.

Cadence sucked in a few quick breaths. Where was the shifter? He’d better show up and get ready to hand over some serious cash. ’Cause if he wanted to hear all the juicy bits that she had to share, he’d need to—

“Hello, Cadence.”

She stiffened. Impossible. That voice—it belonged to a dead man. She knew. She’d put Bill in the ground herself. Dug the grave and dumped his sorry ass inside and left him in the middle of the woods.

“Why don’t you come here . . . ” Bill’s voice said from the darkness, “and give me a kiss, baby girl?”

Her blood iced. That was Bill’s voice. When she turned, she saw him walking from the shadows. Bill. With his balding head, his tattoos, and the slightly crooked smile that had disarmed her from the first moment she met him.

I didn’t see the monster. That smile had blinded her.

Bill had been human. She’d thought that meant he was safe. Too late, she’d learned how vicious humans could be.

Bill stalked toward her. Cadence didn’t move. She couldn’t move. “B-Bill?” What the hell? Had he turned vamp on her? That was the only thing that made sense. He must’ve been a vamp before she buried him. Tricky ass**le. And here she’d been feeling all guilty for murdering the guy.

His arms grabbed her and pulled her tight against him. “I’ve missed you,” he said. His hands hurt. That was nothing new. His hammy hands always liked to hurt her.

She hadn’t missed him.

Then she realized that he didn’t smell the same. Not like stale cigarettes and old beer. Not even that musky scent human males always seemed to carry.

She pushed away and stared up at him as terror clawed its way through her.

Run.

The voice in her head was back. Too late.

She didn’t see the knife, not at first. But Cadence felt the blade as it sliced through her skin. Sliced so deep that it stole her breath as it cut open her throat.

Blood flew around her, splattering onto the old bricks. Onto the dirt. She tried to scream, but couldn’t.

Her voice was gone.

Cadence’s body fell to the ground. She was on her stomach, trying to crawl with her last bit of strength.

“Fucking bitch. You aren’t telling anybody about me.”

Then the knife plunged into her back.

Can’t scream.

There’d be no time to make amends. Cadence felt death coming for her.

No time—

CHAPTER FOUR

The scent of fresh blood hit him like a punch to the gut when Tanner shoved open the back door of Hell. The beast inside growled in pleasure.

The panther he carried always liked the blood too much.

“Tanner? What’s wrong?”

He’d shoved up his arm and blocked Marna’s path. He just hadn’t wanted her racing into a bloodbath. But she seemed oblivious. How could she miss that scent?

“Stay inside,” he told her, pushing her back. He wanted to make sure she was safe while he faced whatever nightmare might be waiting out there.

But she shook her head. “Stay in there with the vamps? I don’t think so.”

She didn’t realize that those bastards could be the least of her troubles. It was just—shit, there wasn’t any safe place for her.

“Death angel, remember?” she whispered to him.

How could he forget? Marna just looked so fragile, he kept wanting to protect her. When she was probably strong enough to be protecting him.

He let his claws break from his fingertips. Tanner knew that he should always go into a battle with the best possible weapon—and his claws had never let him down before.

He didn’t hear anyone else out there. He just smelled blood. Garbage. Stale cigarettes.

Flowers?

What the f**k?

The faint scent wasn’t coming from Marna—but from the right. In the shadows.

Tanner edged closer, with Marna on his heels. A few more feet, a turn to the right—

A horrified gasp slipped from Marna. Tanner’s jaw locked.

It looked like the bartender wasn’t gonna be giving them any info. It looked like she wasn’t gonna be doing anything, ever again.

The redhead lay face down on the ground, and with his enhanced vision, Tanner could easily see through the darkness—and see the puddle of blood that surrounded her.

Tanner advanced carefully. His gaze swept the alley. No sign of anyone else, but . . .

Marna rushed by him. She knelt next to the bartender, reaching out to touch her.

“Don’t!” Tanner snapped.

Marna glanced back up at him, her eyes huge as her hand hovered in the air above the redhead. “She’s still alive.”

Knife wounds covered the redhead’s back and when he crouched next to her, joining Marna, Tanner winced at the sight of the bartender’s gaping throat. Her head was turned to the side, giving him a perfect view of that brutal damage. A desperate rasp escaped from her chest as she fought to breathe.

How the hell was the lady still clinging to life?

The finger of her right hand was trembling. Shaking so hard. And she was dipping it into her own blood. Dipping it and—

Writing?

Tanner stared at the splotches she’d made on the broken cement. He could see an A, an N. Was that C or G?

Angel.

She began to convulse.

“Someone’s coming for her,” Marna said, voice sad. She stroked back the bartender’s hair. “It’s okay,” she told the other woman. “An angel is almost—”