Luke was waiting for her.

  Fighting another blush, she hurried to meet him. “Your house is exquisite.”

  “Thank you.” He strode up the stairs quickly, and she grew slightly out of breath trying to keep up.

  They reached the first floor, and he turned left. “This way. What got you interested in archaeology?”

  “I was always interested in history. It wasn’t until I was twelve that I realized you could actually study it for a living.”

  He shot her a bland glance. “Your parents didn’t tell you sooner?”

  “They wanted me to get into the family business. And then they died in a car crash, so they never got the chance to see that I did.”

  His gray eyes lingered on her face. “I am sorry for your loss. Ah.” They entered a bright gallery, with windows angled to maximize the sunlight. “Here we are.”

  “Don’t you have to be careful with the sun exposure?” Some artifacts deteriorated faster when exposed to UV.

  “Yes, I have a microfilm laid on the windows to minimize glare, and I also have automatic blinds that descend when a certain lumen level is detected.”

  She realized she was gaping and shut her mouth with a click. “That is more advanced tech than at most museums.”

  He gave her a self-depreciating smile. “I have more money than most museums.”

  The reminder slammed her back to reality. This was a man who had some of the most priceless possessions the world had never seen at his very fingertips. Of course, he could afford to take care of them properly.

  They reached the center of the room, and a table with a cloth covering it. Beside it, and similarly swathed, was a sarcophagus.

  “Here they are.” He whipped the material away from the table, exposing two items to her view.

  She whistled.

  There, in alabaster, was an Old Kingdom carving of a pharaoh. It wasn’t as elaborate in design as the later art from the Middle and New Kingdoms, but it was clearly a representation of the king. “How do you know it is Khufu?”

  The statue was of a full body, with Red crown, rounded face and broad chin. He held a flail in his right hand and sat on a throne. It was very similar to the ivory Khufu statuette housed in the Egyptian Museum.

  Luke slid on a pair of cotton gloves, then picked the statue up. It was the length of his forearm. He rotated it until she could see the back of the throne—Khufu’s name was inscribed in hieroglyphs on the back.

  “Oh my god.”

  This could be the real thing.

  Excitement burned through her, making her almost giddy. “Can I touch it?”

  “With gloves.” He nodded at a smaller pair left on the table.

  She quickly put them on and held her hands out for the figurine. It was heavy. Her gaze swept over the stone object with delight. Oh, to be able to study this at length. “Do you have its provenance?”

  “The Great Pyramid of Giza.”

  She almost dropped the statue. Panicking, she shoved it back at Luke. “The pyramid was robbed, probably during the New Kingdom.”

  He tilted his head, his stare piercing. “I am very careful in tracking the origin of the artifacts I collect.”

  Rowan wanted to argue that he was wrong—that there was no way this was a real statue of Khufu, and from his tomb, no less. But she didn’t want to be rude. And she had the sense that Luke could be dangerous when riled.

  He seemed to be waiting for a response.

  “When did you buy it?”

  “It’s been in the family for generations.” He carefully laid it on the table.

  “That is amazing. If your sources are correct, then this artifact is priceless.” She shot him a narrow glance. “And it should be in a museum where anyone can study it.”

  He spread his arms wide. “I have opened my collection to you. I am not hiding it.”

  No, but she knew the Egyptian government would want to get their hands on it, as soon as possible.

  Changing the subject, she focused on the Amenonuhoko. “The spear is smaller than I anticipated.”

  Luke titled his head at the artifact. It was about twelve inches long, with tiny inlaid jewels where the blade was hafted to the wooden pole. “Yes, it is quite compacted in this form.”

  This form?

  Was there another replica out there?

  “May I?” She indicated the spear with her hand.

  “Of course, but don’t drop it.” A charming smile prevented the reprimand from coming across as harsh. A ringing cell interrupted the moment, and Luke frowned. “Excuse me.” He answered the call and strode toward the other end of the gallery.

  Fighting another blush—damn my skin—she picked up the Amenonuhoko. The detail work on it was amazing, and it was heavier in her hands than she would have suspected.

  Here it is.

  Do I really want to tell Gran’s clients about it?

  Luke might own artifacts that he shouldn’t, but he clearly took excellent care of them. If Seraphina and Mr. Trick stole it, then who was to say they would be care for it any better?

  They say they are going to give it back to the rightful owner.

  And Seraphina seemed trustworthy. It was like everything she said was backed by truth.

  Luke returned. “I am so sorry, but I must leave in a few minutes.”

  Disappointment crashed through her. “That’s okay.”

  “First, feel free to take any photographs you need. And here.” He swept the material away from the sarcophagus. “You may study this first.”

  Her eyes bulged at the beautiful stonework. Its paint was still intact, and the design was simple. Nothing like the elaborate decorations of the later-dynasty pharaohs, but that was insignificant. In the center of the sarcophagus was the cartouche for Menes.

  Her fingers clenched into fists.

  Holy. Shit.

  “Was it empty when you found it?” She ran a gloved hand wonderingly over the sarcophagus.

  “No, there is a mummy inside.”

  “You mean ‘was’?”

  “No, I mean is. I never—I mean, it was never removed.”

  “Oh my god.” If she could get access to the remains and have them DNA tested... “This is amazing.”

  Satisfaction gleamed in his pale eyes. “I am glad you approve.”

  “Thank you for showing me these.”

  “You are most welcome. Now, I apologize, but I have other business I must attend to.”

  “Of course.”

  Luke led her out the gallery, and back down the staircase to the front door. She thanked him again, and then hurried to the waiting limousine. He had insisted she fly back to New York in his jet.

  Settling into the car, she chewed on a fingernail as she debated whether or not to tell her grandmother about the visit.

  I should call Eric. Tell him about the find. He was an art historian—he’d be equally excited.

  But she owed her Gran so much.

  Pulling out her phone, she texted, I KNOW WHERE IT IS.

  Chapter 30

  “So, is the feather yours?” Trick asked. He was responding to an avalanche of emails as Seraphina did yoga on the floor of their room.

  The angel paused in the warrior pose and tilted her head to the side. “The black one?”

  “No. Although, I was going to ask you about that, too.” He nodded his head in her direction. “The one on your necklace.”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “You saw that.”

  Shame, he realized. She was ashamed.

  “Is it yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised they let you keep it.”

  “They don’t know I took it.”

  “Good on you.” Trick nodded his approval, pride at her actions swelling within his chest. When an angel lost their wings, they lost all of their wings—you were left no mementos. To be exiled and manage to sneak away a piece of your former self while it happened?

  Seraphina 1, Archangels 0.

  “I shouldn’t have kept it,” she said, sliding sinuously into another yoga pose.

  “They were your wings.”

  “But I lost them.”

  “On a trumped-up charge. I told Uriel as much.”

  She lost her balance and toppled over. “You chastised Uriel?”

  “Yup, and I’d do it again.” He shut his tablet off. No more emails; his brain would melt out of his ears. And if he had to reply to another request from Orphi about that damned larval cat...

  How much were they? He turned the tablet back on.

  “But he’s an archangel.”

  “Sure is. But he’s also an ass.”

  She gasped. “Trick!”

  Five thousand dollars?

  That’s how much one of those cats cost?

  And Metcalf ate the damned thing?

  No wonder the assassin was pissed. But not angry enough to take on the Reynard’s Imp personally.

  “Uriel is powerful. He’s—”

  “An ass.” Trick looked up, shoving thoughts of larval cats to the side. “I don’t answer to him, and they made you a scapegoat. He knows it, I know it. Hell, half of Hell knows it. One day you’ll get your wings back, and you’ll know not to trust him.”

  Her voice was small, stripped of its usual confidence. “But he’s an archangel.”

  “Yes.” Trick leaned forward. “But that doesn’t make him right, or good. He was chosen to lead, and lead he shall, but that doesn’t mean he was picked because of his virtue.”

  She frowned. “You sound passionate about it.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t like it when people get put on pedestals. It’s a long way for them to fall. And you don’t want to be the one crushed when they do.”

  “That’s a harsh view.”

  “Life is harsh.”

  “True.”

  “So, you going to tell me about the black feather?” He pushed the tablet to the side, his undivided attention on her.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “You’re my slave, it’s my business.”

  Something like hurt flashed in her eyes at the mention of her slavery, and it made him wince. But facts were facts, and if she was clandestinely chasing after some black-winged angel, then it could spell trouble for the guild.

  And he wouldn’t tolerate anything that disrupted his guild, even for her.

  What do you mean, even for her?

  He didn’t want to delve too deeply into that thought. But he knew he cared about her, more than he should. Sure, he lusted after her, but he admired her, too. Her poise, her slight acts of rebellion, her calm. And most of all, her heart. She’d given up her freedom for another.

  Trick knew firsthand there weren’t many people who would be willing to do the same.

  “So, who do you think this feather belongs to?” Trick asked, when she stayed quiet.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I was hoping it belonged to an angel called Dina. You may have heard of her.”

  Dina.

  “I’ve come across her name before.” She was on the cusp of ascending to archangel status, so the rumors went. And she’d been a power to be reckoned with for centuries. She’d had the respect of other angels, and the fear of demons. She was known as the beautiful death.

  Seraphina gave him a slanted look. “See, that was the truth. But whenever you speak, it is always layered, like there’s a lie there I can’t pinpoint.”

  “I always tell the truth.”

  A smile bloomed, one that made her eyes twinkle. She looked breathtaking. “Now, I know you are lying.”

  “Caught me. Now, why do you think it’s this Dina’s feather?”

  “She was our captain. She was kidnapped by the same Infernus demons who took Z. We haven’t heard of her since then.”

  An angel that powerful was kidnapped? By Infernus? It was hard to credit. Z? Yes, sure; despite being strong for his years he wasn’t that old. But Dina?

  “But why do you think she’d have black wings?” He’d never heard of such a thing.

  “I don’t know. She was taken, we haven’t heard from her, but suddenly, there’s rumors of an angel with black wings. Maybe she’s been dyeing them?”

  Doubtful, but he didn’t want to crush the hope in her eyes. This black-winged angel could just be a demon using a powerful glamor spell, or a fallen angel who’d somehow managed to regain their feathers.

  “You want to find the feather’s owner,” he said.

  “I think Lamar knows something.”

  “He won’t say anything.” When you ran a tavern that specialized in information, you had to be careful about who you gave that intel to. If the black-winged angel was Dina, the Djinn wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell anyone her identity, unless she’d given the okay.

  Lamar had strong survival instincts.

  “I could—”

  Trick strode over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Do not try and ‘convince’ Lamar to tell you anything.”

  Her eyes flashed. “You just don’t want me to mess things up for the guild.”

  “There is that,” he allowed. “But Lamar is stronger than you’d think. And he has immense reach throughout all three Hell-realms. You mess with him, and you place a target on your back. You’ll be dead in a week.”

  “If we don’t die in two days.”

  He nodded. “I’m not saying give up, but be careful.” He gave her shoulders a final squeeze and let go.

  Her hand shot out, and she grabbed his wrist. “Why do you care? Worried you’ll lose your asset?”

  He turned his forearm, seizing her arm in return. “I don’t want you to die.”

  Her mouth opened in shock as she perceived the truth of his statement. “You mean that.”

  “I do.”

  Her eyes went wide, and a moment later, she pressed her mouth to his, the kiss gentle and sweet.

  He pulled away and looked around the room. “I told Lamar not to give you any more mead!”

  She laughed, the sound pealing and wonderful.

  Chapter 31

  Seraphina stepped closer, until barely a hair’s breadth separated them. His heat pressed against her, her skin hyperaware of his proximity. Her nipples puckered, and the blood pooled low in her belly.

  Trick’s face was so impossibly handsome.

  Lust like she had never known pulsed through her. It made her drunken approaches last night seem foolish and hasty. Why would she want to rush this?

  “Are you sure you’ve not had any mead?” Trick raised an eyebrow.

  “None.”

  “Then why are you—?”

  She pressed her chest to his. “Because I want to.”

  “You must still be drunk,” he muttered.

  “I am frighteningly sober.”

  She may only have two days left to live. Dina might have black wings. They only had one piece of the Heart. And it seemed like Seraphina would never see Heaven again.

  If these are my last days, I want to enjoy them.

  Having sex with Trick would be very, very enjoyable.

  “I am not sure this is a good idea.” He stepped back, holding up his hands in protest.

  “I think it’s a great idea.”

  “That’s the boredom talking.”

  “You’re saying you don’t want to sleep with me?”

  “Oh, honey. I don’t want to sleep with you. I want to fuck you silly. But I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “It’s a great idea.” She ran a palm down his chest.

  He groaned. “I’m your slave master.”

  “Not for long.”

  He tsked. “You owe me ten million dollars.”

  “I am efficient.”

  He chuckled, and she could see his determination wavering.

  “It’s your choice.” Reluctantly, she dropped her hand.

  Trick’s pupils expanded as he stared at her. He muttered something like “God help me” and then his mouth crashed against hers, his arms wrapping around her waist, tugging her close.

  Yes.

  His tongue entangled with hers, his taste reminding her of sky lilies, a delicacy she’d once had in Heaven. Hungry for more, Seraphina slid her arms around his neck, pressing her chest against the hard planes of his torso. His heart pounded against hers, and the two beats synchronized as passion flowed between them. Tingles swept through her entire body, centering on her belly, on her core. She ran her hands over his shoulder-blades, before dipping them down to tug his shirt from his trousers.

  Trick pulled away for a moment, and she almost keened at the loss. He jerked his shirt over his head, before pressing a hot kiss to her jaw, then down the column of her neck. His hands swept over her torso and along the underside of her breasts, making her body ache for more.

  For him.

  Leaning back, she tugged her own shirt off, then her bra. There. Skin to skin. His rock-hard abs formed a silken wall against her torso, while her breasts rubbed against his pecs. Her blood pumped through her, hot and languid.

  “You taste amazing,” Trick muttered, his mouth moving with agonizing slowness down her chest, reaching the top of her right breast.

  “So, do you.”

  Finally, his mouth settled over the mound of her breast, before dipping down lower, to her aching nipple. Her fingers clawed through his hair, pinning him to the spot. He growled in approval.

  Trick’s hand slid past the waistband of her trousers as he kissed her, tension building within her, stronger than any lust she’d known previously. Her trousers disappeared and she was left naked, but for her feather.

  This time it was natural, normal, like this should have happened before, and would happen again.

  His fingers traced gently over her lower stomach, before sliding along the lips of her sex. A moment later, they dipped within.

  “You’re so wet.”

  His growled words made her arousal soar, and she moved against his clever fingers, working her body against his hand until pleasure exploded within her. Her mouth open in a silent scream, she shuddered through the drugging ecstasy that spread through her every limb.

  “Fuck, you’re responsive.” Trick was on his feet again, and then they were kissing, the passion between them rising to blistering levels. She reached between them, grabbing his hard length in one hand, stroking over the velvet-coated steel.

 

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