Michelle Rowen - Wicked Kiss

The memory of the eternal optimism of Carly Kessler made my throat too thick to swallow down another gulp of my ginger ale. I returned my full focus to scanning the club, the entrance, the dance floor.

We’d been here for an hour. An hour to consume a plate of nachos, chat with a couple girls who generously tolerated my company, watch a couple hundred kids having a good time on a Saturday night, remembering that I used to be one of them, and to realize that this wasn’t getting me anywhere.

The scent in the air was intense and it made it increasingly hard to think. Not sweat or perfume—something else. Something deeper that slithered around me like a boa constrictor, squeezing painfully tight.

While I might look like a normal seventeen-year-old girl to anyone who didn’t know otherwise, without my soul I was now a “gray,” someone that had the ability to steal someone else’s soul through a kiss.

It was a mistake to come here. It’s only getting worse.

“Relax,” I commanded myself.

But it was hard to relax when you couldn’t let yourself breathe deeply. Shallow breathing was the best way to maintain control in a busy place like this. I’d come here to find a missing person, not to pick out a potential victim.

Finally, desperately needing to keep my mind off my unnatural but growing hunger, I pushed away from the booth and moved toward the brass railing that surrounded the dance floor and separated it from the seating area. I gripped the smooth, cold metal hard enough to make my knuckles turn white. After a few moments, my aching hunger finally eased off.

And then it spiked back up to maximum.

“Why are you here, Samantha?” His deep voice, edged with displeasure, came from right behind me.

I clutched the railing tighter and squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to breathe at all, but that was kind of impossible. Even soulless, voracious monsters like me needed oxygen.

When I inhaled this time, his familiar scent—warm, spicy and totally devastating—slid over me.

Finally, I forced myself to face him.

Bishop’s dark brows were drawn tightly over intense cobalt-blue eyes. He towered over me—a full foot taller than my short five-two. Broad shoulders. Sinewy muscle rippled down his arms under his long-sleeve black T-shirt, which was drawn tight across his chest. His mahogany-colored hair was messy tonight. I had a sudden urge to slide my fingers through it and push it off his forehead. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides to keep from automatically reaching toward him.

“Why am I here?” I forced myself to say it casually. “Why wouldn’t I be? Crave’s a great place to hang out with friends.”

“You’re looking for Stephen.”

I shrugged a shoulder, tore my gaze away from his and studied the dance floor.

“Samantha.”

The way he said my name always made me shiver. Still, this time my gaze shot back to his with more annoyance than nonchalance. “I know you want me to stay home every night with the door locked, but I can’t do that. Besides, I haven’t heard from you in a few days. I figured I was on my own again.”

Bishop’s expression remained frustratingly neutral. “I’ve been looking for him.”

“Found him yet?”

His jaw tensed. “Believe me, you’d be the first to know if I had.”

“Well, if you haven’t found him, then it sounds like you need help. That’s why I’m here.”

He hissed out a sigh. “Seriously, Samantha. You need to go home and let me handle this.”

Hot anger ignited inside of me, helping me resist my automatic pull toward him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bishop’s brows were drawn together, but a smile now tugged at the corner of his lips. “Feisty tonight, aren’t we?”

“Define feisty.”

“Samantha Day. Seventeen years old. Normally a realist who knows right from wrong, but is currently glaring at me like she wants to punch me in the stomach.”

“Good definition.” Something suddenly clicked for me. “You seem strangely okay tonight. What happened?”

The smile fell from his lips completely. “I’m not okay. But I’ve found another way to deal with my problem when I have to.”

“How? I didn’t think your particular problem came with a multiple choice solution.”

“Neither did I.”

He might look like a gorgeous eighteen-year-old boy, but Bishop was actually an angel who’d been sent here to Trinity to take care of the gray problem. But something went horribly wrong when he left Heaven. Another angel who wanted to sabotage his mission had made him a “fallen” angel—one with a soul. The soul was a punishment to those truly fallen. It wreaked havoc with their mental stability, causing them to go slowly insane. But it was also necessary for their ongoing survival. A soul to a fallen angel was a true double-edged sword. It messed up their minds, but without it they would perish.

I’d kissed Bishop once and taken part of his soul—it had been the most amazing and horrible kiss of my entire life. Now I instinctively wanted more. And part of him—like any gray’s victim—wanted to be kissed again.

Yeah. You could say it was a complicated relationship.

“Well, I’m glad,” I said. “I guess now I know why I haven’t seen you lately. If you don’t need me to help you find your sanity, then you can focus on the mission instead. Sooner it’s completed, the sooner you can find a permanent solution to your problem. Right?”

“You think that’s why I’ve stayed away? You don’t think it’s hard for me to be this close to you right now?” He leaned dangerously closer. “Remember, it’s not just you suffering here.”

My hunger level shot through the roof.

Oh, yes. I remembered.

When his hand closed on my wrist, a shiver of electricity zipped across my skin. My eyes snapped to his. “You really shouldn’t touch me if you don’t need to.”

“I know.”

The rest of the club seemed to fall away so there was only he and I left behind.

Right now, Bishop was too close and smelled way too good.

“I haven’t had any slipups since I last saw you,” I said, my voice strained. “I can control this until we find Stephen.”

“I know you’ve been on your best behavior.”

I looked up at him, confused. Then clarity dawned. “Wait. Are you saying you’ve been watching me the past few days?”

“It’s not always me. And it’s not all the time.”

I gaped at him, the thought that he’d been monitoring me made me feel like a potential shoplifter. “You don’t trust me.”

His brows drew together. “This isn’t about trust.”

“Sure it is.”

“If Stephen tries to contact you when you’re alone, then I need to know.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m worried you—or one of the others—is going to find him first and stick your dagger through his chest with no questions asked. One less gray to clean up later. But that can’t happen. I need him alive, so you need to back off.”

That painfully sexy smile touched his lips again as he studied me. “Yes, definitely feisty tonight.”

I snorted softly, but refused to let down my guard completely. “I need my soul back. I can’t live like this.”

“I know.”

The music shifted to a new song, even louder than the one before, if that was possible. The ground shook with the nearby dancers stomping on it. A waitress holding a tray of fried appetizers moved past us.

“Are you here alone?” I asked.

He glanced toward the far corner of the dark and noisy nightclub. “No. Brought some backup to help with the search while the others are out on regular patrol.”

I looked to see who it was and cringed at the sight. Someone tall and blond and familiar.

Kraven worked with Bishop to save the city from things like me. At first glance I would have guessed that Kraven was another angel.