Wicked Game: A Paranormal Romance (Feathers and Fate Book 2) Page 6

  And it turns out she had the right idea getting closer to the floor, because a few seconds later, she cries out in triumph.

  “There!”

  She points to a spot on the dark cement floor, a look of triumph breaking over her face.

  “Nice catch, honey buns.” I whistle in admiration. The smear of blood is a lot farther from the chair than I would’ve expected, which explains why it took us so long to spot it. Ford must’ve really whacked Henrik to get his blood to fly across the room like that.

  Trin smiles proudly. Then her brows draw together a little. “Is that really enough? To track him with?”

  I grin. “For the person I’ve called in to help us? It’s plenty.”

  As if summoned by our words, there’s a hubbub in the hallway, and a second later, Beckett steps into the room. He’s leading the rest of my brothers, and behind them all is Mirabelle.

  “She says you called her,” Beck says, shooting me a hard look. I’m sure if I were to shake my head or even hesitate too long before answering, Mirabelle would find herself chucked out the window before she could even cast a flying spell or give herself the power of levitation or whatever.

  “Yup,” I say smoothly, and his face relaxes a little.

  Good.

  Beck’s wound pretty damn tight, but it’s hard to blame him for it. More often than not, he and/or Ryland end up being the leaders of our little family, and it’s a lot of fucking work. I doubt he’d ever use this word to describe himself, but he’s pretty protective of us.

  “Phoenix.” Mirabelle smiles as she moves farther into the room, her silver hair sparkling under the light as her light gray eyes scan the walls and single chair. “I came as soon as I got your message.”

  I shot her a quick text before I brought Trin in here, figuring it was better to be overconfident and assume we’d find something than wait until we actually did and then have to wait for Mirabelle to arrive. We don’t have a shitload of time just sitting around.

  “Hey, Mira.” I lift my chin in greeting. “Long time, no see.”

  “That’s not my fault,” she reminds me with a pointed look, and I shrug.

  She’s not wrong. I don’t tend to be the one who puts the effort into keeping up friendships. I hired the witch to help me with some of the security measures and booby traps around my house, and we got along pretty well. Even hung out a few times, but then… I dunno, I got lazy.

  Trin’s gaze flits quickly from me to Mira and back, and that little line appears between her brows. Like she’s working out a math problem and has decided she’s not exactly happy with the result.

  Is she… jealous?

  Something like satisfaction rises up inside me, but I shake it off, focusing instead on the dilemma at hand. I don’t know why it should make me happy that Trin is jealous of Mirabelle. It’s not a feeling I go out of my way to inspire in others, and I try to avoid it myself.

  Jealousy is one of the most exhausting emotions there is.

  “I need your help, if you’ve got time,” I tell Mira. “We’re looking for a guy. A demon bookie. He’s been in this room before, and he may have, uh, left a bit of blood behind. Can you use that to track him?”

  “Of course I can.” She shoots me a feline smile.

  With her silver hair and light eyes, a lot of people might assume she only does “good” magic, but the truth is, her moral code is a lot more flexible than that. She’s nowhere near as shady as that damn death witch we went to, but she definitely lives her life in a gray area.

  Which makes her exactly our kind of person.

  I gesture her over so Trin can show her the spot of blood on the floor, and then we step back to let her work.

  My brothers all gather around the edge of the room, and Trinity and I join them. Trin watches with wide, curious eyes as Mirabelle begins to chant and move her arms in something almost like a dance.

  When Mirabelle’s eyes turn entirely white, Trin gasps. She stumbles back a step as the witch continues chanting, and I step closer, wrapping an arm around her waist as my lips drop down to murmur in her ear.

  “It’s okay, Trin. That’s supposed to happen. It means the spell is doing its thing. That’s just part of how her magic works.”

  “Can she still… see?”

  Trinity sinks deeper into my embrace as she whispers the question, pressing herself to the side of my body. I like the way her curves seem to fit perfectly as she molds herself against me. It’s easy. Effortless.

  “Yeah.” Her dark hair tickles my cheek as I keep my voice low, not wanting to disturb Mirabelle mid-spell. “Just nothing in this room.”

  I can feel another question building inside Trin, but before it can burst out, Mirabelle’s chanting doubles in volume, her gestures becoming sharper and more wild.

  Trinity shrinks against me, and I wrap my other arm around her too as a sudden protective instinct rises inside me.

  I don’t want her to worry. I don’t want her to be afraid.

  There’s nothing to fear though. I know Mirabelle, and as strange as her magic may look, there’s nothing inherently dangerous about it.

  Even knowing that, I don’t release my grip on Trinity. I don’t want to.

  And I’m not quite sure what to make of that.

  Chapter Nine

  TRINITY

  For several more moments, Mirabelle continues gyrating and speaking in a loud sing-song chant that makes no sense to me. It’s strange and beautiful and frightening all at the same time, and I find myself a little relieved when she finally begins to drop her volume and slow her movements.

  As she finishes her spell, I force myself to pull away from Phoenix. It’s harder than I would’ve expected.

  Nix calls me things like sugar pie and baby doll all the time, things that should be sleazy or annoying, and they were at first, but now that he’s also looking at me with respect and calling me Trin… it makes them seem more like terms of endearment. More affectionate.

  He really seemed impressed with me in there. And why did he call for me to join him in the room, to help him, instead of one of his brothers? Phoenix is the personification of sloth, I remind myself. Maybe he just thought I’d be the one most likely to help him and make his hunt easier.

  The witch finishes up her spell, still muttering to herself under her breath as her eyes slowly turn back to normal. She scares me a lot less than the last witch we went to—but then, this one isn’t trying to steal all of my blood. I still don’t know what you’d need an angel’s blood for, but I’m sure it can’t be anything good.

  “Well?” Beckett says, greedy, impatient for answers.

  Ryland shoots him a look. Beckett shoots one right back.

  Ah, yes. This is going to be a super fun mission. I can already tell.

  “The person you seek is in Brazil,” Mirabelle announces. She makes a humming noise, cocking her head as she surveys the men. “He must be truly scared of you, to have run so far.”

  Ford makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, and his lips pull back from his teeth a little. I think he actually takes her words as a compliment.

  “I’ll see you out,” Sawyer says, smiling at Mirabelle.

  The witch immediately smiles back and accepts his offered hand, and Sawyer leads her out of the apartment.

  “Yeah. We won’t be seeing him for another twenty minutes, at least,” Remington drawls.

  “He can take all the time he wants,” I point out, trying very hard not to think about why we won’t see him for that long. An uncomfortable feeling twists in my gut, similar to the way I felt when I was invisible and used to hide in the pantry when Beckett brought home various beautiful women. Similar to the way I felt when she hinted that she had some sort of history with Nix.

  I feel almost… angry.

  But that doesn’t make any sense.

  It’s better that Lust gets his desires out of his system, isn’t it? It makes him less likely to turn his powers on full blast around me, wh
ich makes me less likely to rip my panties off and wave them over my head like I’m on a desert island trying to flag down a passing ship.

  And that’s better for all of us.

  Everybody wins.

  Especially Mirabelle, a little voice in my head whispers, but I squash that voice into a tiny ball and shove it down deep.

  “We can’t get all the way to Brazil fast enough,” I say, turning to face the remaining sins. “Who knows how long that’ll take and how many portals will have opened by the time we get back? We can’t afford to hunt Henrik down.”

  I don’t bother hiding the frustration in my tone. I don’t think it’s anyone’s particular fault that the guy escaped, but it sure feels like everywhere we turn, we’re hitting a dead end.

  The bookie escaped, the demon he led us to took a suicide capsule and died, my boss doesn’t care about the portals so I can’t count on the angels for help with this, and now Henrik is all the way in Brazil.

  Could this problem possibly get any harder to solve?

  Ryland makes a scoffing noise, lifting one dark eyebrow. “Come, now, we can get to Brazil much faster than by the usual means.” He looks over at Beckett. “Can’t we?”

  His brother glares at him. “You can’t possibly be suggesting what I think you are.”

  They’re staring each other down, and I wonder if this is what they look like when Ryland sued Beckett’s company and took him to court. I can easily imagine the two of them sparring like this, all sophistication on the outside but pure animal rage on the inside, all the time.

  “Hoarding transportation spells only makes you one thing,” Ryland lifts one shoulder, like this is a random but well-known fact that he’s tossing out to the jury. “Greedy.”

  “And lording your knowledge over others only makes you prideful,” Beckett spits back.

  Oh, right. Transportation spells. I’m so used to blending in with humans that I tend to still think about things in regular human terms. But I forgot we have the advantage of magic on our side.

  If Beckett’s willing to share his stash, anyway.

  And to be honest, that seems unlikely. He’s certainly not going to do it just because Ryland told him to. Beck’s made it clear as day that he’s in charge; he’s the one who bosses around others. He doesn’t take orders, not even from the other alpha in the room.

  Heck, especially not from him.

  To my shock, however, Beckett mumbles something I can’t quite hear and then stalks out of the room. I watch him stride down the hallway before disappearing into one of the many other rooms in the penthouse apartment, the one that seems to be his home office.

  Ryland looks self-satisfied, which isn’t surprising. But I’m working hard to hide my own surprise at how that situation just went down. I would’ve expected Beckett to at least put up more of a fight than that. He’s used to being in charge and unquestioned, isn’t he?

  But there seems to be some kind of energy between Ryland and Beckett that’s different from the others. A bond that exists despite the rage that simmers between them—as if, no matter how much they hate it, they actually think a lot alike.

  Beckett walks back in, holding a sheaf of papers in his hand. They honestly look like lawyer briefs to me, or like some kind of contract, if that contract were written in elvish from Lord of the Rings. I don’t really know anything about magic. Angelic powers work differently than the kinds of magic Earthbound supernaturals use.

  I always assumed that all magic was like what I’ve seen from the witches I’ve encountered, with a bunch of creepy, crazy stuff and muttering and rituals. But these transportation spells look like something Ryland could’ve drawn up as a part of his law work.

  “We lay one of these down in a chalk circle and activate it,” Beckett explains, holding up the papers. “Anyone standing in the circle comes with. It’s easier and more cost effective than the single-person transport charms like the one I lent Sawyer.”

  Oh. I see. It’s weird, but it makes sense.

  From what I understand, transportation charms aren’t cheap, and this way he can transport a large number of people without having to use individual charms for each person.

  “You all will need to be on your best behavior,” Ryland says, taking one of the papers from Beckett and examining it as Beckett folds a few others up and stuffs them into his wallet before grabbing some chalk.

  I have a very strong feeling Pride’s not talking to me, but to his other brothers.

  Beckett begins to draw the circle of chalk, big enough for all eight of us to fit in it, and I’m surprised all over again by how naturally he and Ryland seem to play off each other.

  Do they even realize they’re doing it?

  I wonder what they used to be like, because surely if they’re this good at cooperating with one another, being a team, then they used to actually be one before whatever hurt they’re harboring happened.

  What caused them to fall out? Why are they so angry at each other now?

  Pride and Greed, I realize, are the two sins that arguably go together the best. Purple and gold, like royalty.

  Oddly enough, I find that I want to see them work together. They’re drawing the chalk circles, giving instructions to the others, setting up the spell, and doing it all so naturally and fluidly—it’s kind of nice.

  Ryland seems to be tempering Beckett, and it’s only now that I see them working together that I realize how tired Beckett must get of being in charge all the time, always having to be the one who makes the decisions and takes care of the others.

  I glance over at Remi, wondering if he’s seeing what I’m seeing. He looks fairly relieved, although wariness lingers in his expression as he watches the two of them. I want to ask him about it; to indulge myself, so to speak, and dig for more information. I want to be a glutton and learn all I can about these men, all about their history…

  As if he can sense the emotion rising up in me, Remington looks my way. For a second, his eyes flare, but then he shifts his gaze back to the floor, seeming almost chastened—like he’s mentally reminding himself to be good. It’s oddly sweet if he’s doing that for me. Trying not to tempt the angel into committing a sin. You’d think the seven sins would be extra eager to corrupt an angel. Sawyer sure seems to be all over it.

  Speaking of Sawyer, he’s sauntering back into the room now, looking like the cat that just destroyed the entire cream factory.

  “Stop preening,” Ford grunts under his breath, loud enough for Sawyer to hear him.

  “Why, sad you weren’t included?” Sawyer shoots back, smirking.

  I get the feeling that’s happened before—Sawyer including Ford on some sexual escapade or another—but Ford’s obviously also pissed about something. Which I suppose isn’t a big deal because it’s Ford, and he’s Wrath itself.

  But it still concerns me.

  There’s so much history between these men going on in this room, and I’m scrambling to keep up. It feels a little like walking through a room full of land mines.

  Knight signs something at Phoenix, who looks amused. Before he can reply, though, Beckett speaks up.

  “All right,” he announces. “All of you, come on.”

  “You sure some of us shouldn’t just stay here?” Phoenix asks, sounding hopeful.

  “I’m sure that couch is very comfy.” Ryland snorts. “But you’re coming.”

  Nix rolls his eyes, although he seems to decide against saying anything else. He’s probably too lazy to put up a fight when he knows exactly how it’ll end—with Ryland and Beckett winning.

  All seven men step into the circle, Remington holding out a hand to help me inside. Once I’m situated in the middle of the tight cluster of male bodies, Beckett puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “Hold on, angel,” he murmurs.

  He sounds almost affectionate, and I’m startled by it—which is probably a good thing because it distracts me from the blinding light and the strange feeling in my stomach, one that quickly radiates
through my entire body.

  I close my eyes and try to hold on, but I feel like I’m not even a solid being anymore. Like I don’t fully exist.

  Then the room around me dissolves into nothingness.

  Chapter Ten

  TRINITY

  Holy crap.

  The nothingness envelops me completely. I want to clutch on to someone, but I can’t.

  I want to scream, or maybe barf, but I can’t do that either.

  Then the nothingness vanishes. I’m jolted back into physical form with a great deal of force, like a car slamming into a brick wall, and I nearly fall. I grab on to the first thing I can, which turns out to be Beckett, who catches me in the crook of his arm.

  “Whoa there, angel, you’re all good. Knight, would you—”

  Another pair of hands grab me and help steady me, and the scent of sweet almond tickles my nostrils.

  I blink a few times to get my vision back, and I see that we’re standing in the middle of a dingy part of a wide, colorful city.

  “Welcome to São Paulo, Trinity.” Ryland sounds mostly dismissive but also just a little bit curious, like he wants to see what my reaction is but he doesn’t want me to know it.

  I look around, ignoring the way I can still feel his gaze on me. I haven’t been anywhere like this. Honestly, I’ve never been anywhere except Seattle and New York. You might think that as an angel who got kicked out of Heaven for going against the rules, I would’ve been a little bolder—traveled the world, seen the sights, that kind of thing.

  But I wanted to be good, to obey, to show that I was worthy of getting back Upstairs.

  And… I was scared.

  Now, I’m kind of wishing I had been rebellious and traveled wherever I wanted. I can feel the atmosphere of this place, the humming thrum of humanity, the pulse of the city. And I want to know more. I want to explore.

  But I can’t do that, not right now. We’re on a mission and I doubt any of the sins, not even Phoenix, will really want to let me slack off and go exploring when we’ve got a demon bookie to catch.