Her Avenging Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 7) Read online

  He was starving, parched for blood, and unable to shake the quiet craving for a fix of Euphoria that had been riding him for what felt like forever. It drove him mad and he feared he would snap if he stayed down here alone much longer, and would end up in the mortal world hunting down a demon bitch.

  He would deny both hungers, was strong enough right now, but he couldn’t deny the hungers for a drink and some food.

  He strode to the door of the crystal chamber, cast one look back into it, and then pulled the door closed, shutting out the light.

  He threw his free hand out in front of him, calling a portal. Black smoke curled out of the air and swirled like a maelstrom, growing denser as the portal enlarged to match his six-foot frame and widened enough to allow him through.

  He released the door and focused on himself, using a fraction of his power to first reinstate his back and chest plate of his armour, and then cast a glamour that would change his appearance to mortal eyes. He dressed himself in black jeans, a charcoal t-shirt, and army boots, and masked the obsidian skin that reached past his elbows and the black claws that tipped his fingers.

  He ran those fingers through the messy jagged strands of his silver-white hair, preening it back to ensure it concealed his small horns from immortal eyes. He hated it when people at Cloud Nine stared at them and whispered about him behind his back, and more often than not it was the horns that got them talking. The last thing he needed tonight was someone pushing his buttons when his fuse was shorter than usual because of the overwhelming combination of hunger for booze, blood, Euphoria and food.

  He had the angel equivalent of low blood sugar right now and was liable to rip the head off anyone who merely looked at him funnily.

  Nevar stepped into the portal and out into the wide alley in London.

  The neon sign above the burly skinhead bouncer shone down on him like a light from Heaven.

  Cloud Nine.

  One drink, some food, and then he would head straight back down to Hell. Cross his heart. The chamber wouldn’t miss him. His master definitely wouldn’t.

  Nevar grinned, flashing his short fangs.

  Let the good times roll.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was cold. Dark. She ached, a thousand lacerations and bruises burning on her tired limbs, the result of the battle she had survived.

  Noise blurred around her, loud and piercing, a din of unfamiliar sounds.

  It drove her to move.

  She was vulnerable here, out in the open. Exposed.

  Her stomach growled.

  Lysia shoved her bloodstained hands against the green earth and pushed herself up into a sitting position. Verdant nature closed in on her from all sides, and beyond it pricks of bright yellow lights. Where was she?

  She tried to remember how she had come to this place.

  Sharp pain stabbed behind her eyes and she screwed them shut, unable to bite back the whimper that slipped from her lips. The fierce fiery ache subsided and fragments of memories of the battle took its place, speeding through her mind, distorted and bringing their own form of pain as her head throbbed and her body throbbed with it. Each blow she recalled echoed on her body, pain that burned in her limbs and seared every healing gash anew.

  She forced her eyes back open and scanned the area around her, focusing on it to push the memories to the back of her mind. No sign of the battle she had taken part in. It hadn’t happened here.

  Lysia thought back to it again and pain blazed through her bones, setting them on fire, and she cried out as it seared her mind. She collapsed against the grass, breathing hard, each inhale filling her senses with the smell of it and the sweet coolness of the dew that clung to each blade.

  The memories ended with the darkness of sleep.

  She could only surmise that she had stumbled here from the battlefield and had passed out.

  Lysia pushed herself up again and studied her surroundings. They were unfamiliar, noisy and strange. She could see great stone buildings beyond the trees and odd colourful growling creatures that roamed beyond the boundaries of the patch of nature. Their bright eyes swung her way at times and she shrank back, her heart pounding, fearing they would come for her while she was weak.

  She needed a haven. Somewhere warm that would provide her with sustenance so she could restore her strength.

  She stumbled onto her feet and closed her eyes, tipping her head back and her face to the inky sky.

  Deep within her, she felt a familiar stirring. Demons were nearby. She would be safe with them.

  She followed the sensation, using it to lead her to them. When she reached the edge of the trees, she hovered in the shadows, watching the growling boxy beasts as they rumbled past, seemingly patrolling the area but not acknowledging each other. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to notice her.

  There were a few mortals on the path ahead of her, between one set of the great buildings.

  She was in their world.

  She waited for them to disappear from view before scurrying across the black smooth rock surface to one of the buildings. From there, she stayed close to it, hurrying along the paved path, tracking the demons. She was closing in.

  The sensation led her down narrower paths into darker areas, and she slowed her pace, sensing mortals ahead of her. Where the demons were.

  Why were the demons with mortals? Were they feeding?

  Her stomach growled again, the noise loud in the quieter air.

  In the distance, she could hear the distinct chatter of voices, and a heavy tribal beat. A gathering?

  Perhaps there was a sort of feast happening.

  Her stomach made a stretched out series of gurgles, whistles and peeps at that. She rubbed it and hurried forwards, stopping only when she came upon the mortals. She lingered in the shadows of a building, hidden behind the corner of it, and peeked around to view the feast and gauge whether it was safe.

  A string of mortals were lined up against a wall, a large demon ushering them one by one into the building. He eyed them all closely and turned some away. Was he in charge of picking the best from the worst? He flashed a toothy grin at two females and raked dark eyes over them as they entered.

  Lysia had the impression he had earmarked them for himself.

  A bright colourful sign hung on the wall above the door, the language unfamiliar.

  She studied it until her eyes hurt and the words were burned onto her retinas, trying to make sense of it, and then shrugged. It didn’t matter. She would enter this place and there she would find sustenance. She needed to be inside, out of the cold and safe. She would be safe inside. She felt sure of it.

  Lysia scurried across the flat cool expanse of stone to the door. The big demon looked her way and his eyes widened.

  She smiled and he staggered backwards, his eyes dropping to her body and widening further. Pleased that he was allowing her entrance, she hurried inside and immediately clapped her hands over her ears. The noise she had heard from outside was even louder inside, pounding at an ear-splitting volume. She growled beneath her breath and searched for food.

  And paused.

  The demons in their human forms were not eating the mortals.

  This was not a feast.

  Many of the demons were occupied in dancing with the mortals, grinding against them and almost fornicating in front of everyone.

  She hovered by the entrance, unsure whether to enter or leave. Her stomach gurgled again, making her decision for her. She had to stay. There were colourful glass bottles lining the wall to her right and demons there were serving drinks to people who lined a long black bar. If they had mead and other liquids then perhaps they had food for her.

  She moved deeper into the room and everyone turned to stare at her, their eyes wide. She frowned at them all. Why did they stare? She thought them all strange but she wasn’t being rude by staring at them. If she hadn’t been so hungry, she would have asked them, or forced them to tell her the reason.

  She pushed through a grou
p of male demons, all of which were wearing their human forms, and they turned on her. Their growls died as their eyes fell on her and they parted, staring as she passed.

  Lysia leaned against the tacky black bar top.

  A man walked over to her, tossed a rag over his shoulder, and smiled.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “I require sustenance.”

  He frowned, a puzzled edge to his dark eyes, and shook his head.

  Lysia tried again. “I must eat.”

  He waved his right hand and another man joined him, a blond with pale eyes.

  “Problem?” the blond said.

  “Not getting this one,” the brunet responded.

  The blond raked his eyes over her, his right brow quirking. “Taking things a bit far, aren’t we? You want something?”

  She nodded. “I need sustenance.”

  He looked at his friend and shrugged. “I don’t understand her.”

  What was there to understand? She only wanted food.

  The two men walked away, serving others who seemed to have no problem ordering what they desired and receiving it. She cursed them and everyone who communicated with them with ease. While she could understand many languages, she could write and speak only one. Without being able to speak to the serving staff, she had no chance of getting blood.

  A woman beside her cast a glance her way, looked down at herself, and slipped off her seat and walked away, disappearing into the heavy crowd.

  Lysia sighed, perched herself on the seat, and leaned on the bar with her forehead resting on her arms. She was warmer inside this noisy inn but still hungry, and still tired. She needed to feed. How?

  A male stopped to her left.

  She turned her head towards him and ran her eyes up from the waist of his impeccable crisp black suit to his shoulders and then his face. Vampire. She knew his kind and could see through his façade to the wretched monster beneath. He smiled, his fangs on show to her and his pale blue eyes swirling with ill intentions.

  “Having trouble?” The dark-haired vampire leaned his left elbow on the bar beside her and she sat up.

  She nodded. “I need to order blood.”

  He frowned at her and her heart sank. He didn’t understand her either.

  “What language is that? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with it. Can you mime what you want?” He shifted closer and she focused hard on every word he said, listening closely so she could grasp the words he used and use them too.

  He smiled a little wider, and shifted a little closer. His gaze drifted down to her chest and back up again.

  “Mime?” He made a show of using his hands to make shapes.

  She was about to do as he asked when he danced his fingers over her left shoulder.

  A cold shiver ran over her flesh and skated down her spine.

  Lysia flicked her right wrist and hurled him across the room, scattering the crowd and ripping a few shocked gasps from them.

  A male further along the bar looked her way.

  She froze as her eyes met his, heat pulsing through her, a visceral throb that reached right down to her bones.

  The male was handsome, but darkness clung to him, danger that called to her and lured her to him. There was evil in him.

  He would know her tongue.

  He raised a glass filled with green liquid and tipped his head, causing threads of his silver-white hair to fall and brush his brow. He swept them back and she caught a brief glimpse of tiny horns above his ears. Her belly flipped and heated.

  “Kudos for giving Villandry hell,” he said above the thumping music, his deep rumbling voice doing funny things to her insides and turning her knees to rubber.

  She presumed Villandry was the name of the vampire now picking himself up off the floor across the busy room. She wasn’t sure what kudos meant though.

  Lysia swallowed her trembling heart, slipped off her seat and approached the pale-haired male with all the confidence she could muster when he was staring at her, his jade eyes burning into her body and setting her aflame.

  Rousing strange feelings within her.

  She halted beside him.

  He swivelled to face her, set his drink down on the bar but kept his left hand on the stem of the elegant glass, and raised an eyebrow.

  “Why are you naked?”

  He held his right hand out and black material appeared in it. He offered it to her.

  Lysia took it and stared at it, unsure what to do with it.

  The male huffed, released his drink and stood, managing to tower over her despite the fact she was taller than the other females present. He moved closer to her and took the material back, but she didn’t notice it leaving her hands. The heat radiating from his big body washed over her, cocooning her in warmth and strengthening the feelings stirring in the pit of her belly.

  She stared down at the strip of cut, hard muscles visible between the armoured plates around his hips and his breastplate. A warrior. Her heart accelerated. Her breathing quickened. She dragged her eyes back up to his face and found he wasn’t looking at her. He busied himself with slipping her arms into the garment he had made for her and she busied herself with memorising every sculpted plane of his face, from his straight nose and strong jaw, to his firm lips as they compressed into a mulish line.

  She inched her gaze up higher, to the stunning jade eyes that were focused on their work with an intensity that made her ache inside with a desire to have them locked on hers with the same ferocity.

  They shifted to meet hers and then dropped, a fascinating glimmer of shyness in them that lasted only a heartbeat before coldness swept in to wash it away.

  He tugged the material closed over her front and tied a belt around her waist, fastening the garment in place.

  “There,” he murmured, “now people will stop looking at you funnily, and you can stop looking at me funnily.”

  He stepped back, a scowl darkening his striking eyes. She hadn’t been looking at him strangely. She was merely fascinated by him. Now that she was close to him, she could sense the depth of the darkness within him but something else countered it, something she could only describe as good. There was more to the male before her than she had anticipated, and it made the pull she felt towards him grow stronger.

  She looked herself over. The sleeves were too long, concealing her hands, and the material reached her ankles. The garment covered all of her, leaving nothing on show. Had that been his intention?

  “What do you want?” he said, bringing her focus back to him.

  She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Blood.”

  He back peddled, almost falling over his seat, a flicker of something dark crossing his handsome face. His eyes shone pure violet.

  He had eyes like hers.

  And he understood her.

  “Leave me alone,” he barked and snatched up his drink with a shaky hand. He downed it, slammed the glass back onto the bar top, and shoved it forwards, away from him. “I’m not interested.”

  Lysia frowned and shrank back. Why was he rejecting her company? He had given her something to wear, had seemed concerned about her, and now he was pushing her away. She clutched the robe over her chest in both hands and risked a step closer to him instead.

  “I only desire blood… but I cannot order it.”

  His violet gaze darted to her and away again. A shadow settled on his troubled features, turning them grim. He looked down into her eyes for long seconds, stealing all of her attention, sucking it away from the room and her surroundings.

  He raised his hand and she flinched away, anticipating the strike.

  It didn’t happen.

  She squinted, remaining held away from him, and looked up into his eyes.

  He cocked a single pale eyebrow and waved his left hand. The brunet male behind the bar came to them. He had been signalling the serving staff.

  Lysia grimaced.

  She had much to learn about this realm.

  “Blood, straight up,” th
e white-haired male said.

  The servant’s expression turned wary and he shifted foot to foot. “I’m not allowed to serve you blood, remember? You made me promise.”

  He had? She canted her head, studying both men. Why had the man asked the servant not to give him blood? Did he drink it as she did?

  The pale-haired warrior scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. He pressed both hands into the bar, digging his black claws into the wood, and leaned forwards, closer to the man.

  “It is not for me. It is for the woman.”

  The brunet shrugged. “She has to order it then.”

  The warrior tipped his head back, screwed his eyes shut and sighed, and she felt he was searching for calm. He drew several slow deep breaths before opening his eyes again and fixing them back on the barman.

  “I do not think she knows how,” he said.

  “I tried, but the man didn’t understand me.” That brought his gaze back to her and she shivered under the intensity of it.

  “That would be because you are speaking a language this man doesn’t know… one I don’t have a fucking clue about either but for some godforsaken reason I can understand you.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, clawing it back until it tugged at his forehead, smoothing the skin, and ground his teeth. He released his head, dropped his hands to his sides, and huffed as he leaned over, bringing his face close to hers. “Repeat after me if you desire… blood.”

  She nodded, noting that it had taken a lot of effort for him to speak that final word. Why?

  She leaned closer to him, trying to shut out the noise of the room so she could hear every syllable that left his lips.

  She watched how they moved as he spoke. How his tongue moved. How his teeth moved.

  Her focus shattered.

  He had fangs.

  Made for drinking blood.

  Yet he had asked the man not to serve it to him.

  And she had asked him to speak of it, something which had evidently pained him.

  She stepped back and his pale eyebrows dipped low above his now-green eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I have troubled you with my request.” She went to turn away but he caught her arm in a vice-like grip, holding her firm. She looked down at his black fingers around her and the claws that blended into the robe he had given her, and then up into his eyes.