Avenging Angel (The Fallen #4)(9)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Her hands clenched into fists.

Tanner raised a brow and tried to look like the lust wasn’t ripping him apart. “Based on the way you kissed me back, I’d say you want me, too.”

Her chin lifted a good two inches into the air. “Lust is for humans. It just makes them weak. It makes them—”

“Horny.”

Her flush got even deeper. She was cute when her face was all pink.

She also needed to realize something important. Not in heaven any longer. “You’re with humans now. Humans, shifters, demons—you’re walking right with all of us.” There was no holding herself apart anymore. “So it’s time you started dealing with the changes in you.”

Changes . . . emotions. Needs.

He could help her satisfy a few needs. Or every need. If he got her in bed, they wouldn’t be crawling out any time soon. He’d make sure of that.

They’d get to the bed part, later. Now that he knew she wanted him—

“I don’t . . .” She stopped. Cleared her throat. She wasn’t saying she didn’t want him. Tanner knew she couldn’t say it.

Angels and their no-lie rules. He rather liked those particular rules. Made things easier for him.

The whole deadliest-beings-on-earth bit? He could do without that part.

“I don’t want to be here with you,” she said instead, and he knew those words were the truth. She wanted to escape him and head out in the city on her own.

“Tough.” It was. She’d have to deal with the situation—and him. He’d been treating her with kid gloves for the last few months. Watching over her. Being afraid to get too close.

No longer.

Someone was playing a deadly game with her, and he wasn’t about to sit back and do nothing.

“Until we find out who is setting you up, you’ve got yourself a shifter shadow.” Thanks to the heavy punch he’d tossed at Jonathan—and the not-so-little matter of Marna’s shooting—he was on administrative leave from the PD for a few days. That leave would give him plenty of time to keep an eye on her and do some detective work in the city.

He’d hit the places human cops would never think to look, and he would find out what the hell was happening.

“Someone knows what you are—exactly what you can do—and they want you labeled as a killer.”

She pushed back her hair. “I am a killer.”

Maybe. But in this case, in the murders of Michael and Beau, she was innocent.

Her hand fell back to her side and her shoulders seemed to slump.

He wanted to keep pushing her, but he knew now wasn’t the time. “Go upstairs,” he told her because she’d been up all night. Up, shot, left in a morgue to play dead.

Hell of a first date.

Not that he’d tell her that he counted the night as their first but . . .

At least he’d gotten a kiss.

Tanner rolled his shoulders and heaved out a rough breath. “At the top of the stairs, take the first room on the right.” His room. He’d crash on the couch. He could play the gentleman, for a little while at least. “Get some rest, then we’ll start tracking the bastard who set this plan in motion.”

Her sigh was soft, and a little lost. But she headed toward the staircase.

In silence, he watched her climb the stairs. She didn’t want to be trapped with him, but for now, there was no choice.

You want her trapped with you.

The dark voice came from deep within him. Marna didn’t know it, but he’d been finding reasons to seek her out over the last eight weeks. Just to check on her. She’d had such a rough time. He needed to make sure she was okay. At least that was what he’d told himself.

At first.

But the truth was that he’d just wanted to see her.

His gaze followed the curve of her ass. She’d kissed him back. Some folks said angels had ice water in their veins, but she was different.

Marna was at the top of the stairs now. She glanced back down at him.

Tanner tensed. Invite me up. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to hear her say . . .

“Stay away from me, shifter. Don’t even think about coming into this room.”

So much for the hot, hard sex he’d been dreaming of. Tanner gave her a little salute. “As long as you promise not to run, I’ll be a good boy and stay down here.”

Who the f**k was he kidding? He’d never been good.

Marna turned away and walked into his room. She hadn’t offered him that promise.

Because she couldn’t lie.

Hell. It looked like the day would wind up being even longer than the night.

He’d have to stay on watch and make sure that if his angel tried to flee, then he’d be right there to catch her.

CHAPTER THREE

Marna carefully opened the wooden door. She’d slept for hours—far longer than she’d intended. When she’d first crept into the bedroom, she’d known that immediate escape wasn’t a possibility. Tanner would have been on guard. So she’d planned to bide her time and wait a bit before slipping away.

She’d climbed into bed—his bed. There had been no mistaking the rich, masculine scent that clung to the soft sheets. She’d eased beneath the covers and just closed her eyes for a few moments.

She’d dreamed of Tanner. Hot, too vivid dreams of his naked flesh and his strong hands stroking her body. Kissing him back had been a dangerous mistake. Those kisses had just made the ache in her grow stronger.

It was an ache for something she couldn’t have.

The house was silent as she tiptoed to the top of the stairs. The banister gleamed, the wood shining. The walls upstairs were an old, faded brown, but the staircase was in perfect condition.

As if someone had recently spent a lot of time restoring it.

It looked like her shifter had a hobby.

Her fingers slid down the top of the banister, rubbing lightly against the smooth wood.

Still no sound from below. She could try creeping down there and slipping out the front door, but Marna figured that plan was too risky. Why get too close to Tanner? Better to stay as far from him as possible.

She headed back into his bedroom and locked the door behind her. The fading light trickling through the window told her that late afternoon was already coming close. Time to get out of there while she still could.

Marna opened the window and glanced below. The fall from this height would hurt, no doubt, but the pain would probably be no worse than that of a bullet. She’d managed to survive yesterday. She’d survive this, too.

Her hand rubbed over the now-healed wound. Good thing even fallen angels could recover quickly from most of their injuries. Otherwise, she still would have been in that morgue.