Kyriel wasn’t kissing her simply for the thrill. He wasn’t the only one after the ring. With Father Antonelli and all the Keepers dead within weeks of each other, and two of the rings gone, Jillian Whitmore was his last hope. She would have inherited the ruby from her dead grandfather, and rather than obtaining it from her like he’d expected, Kyriel was learning it was out there floating around.

  He had work to do.

  He deepened the kiss, getting one last sweet taste of her before he had to leave. She breathed heavily, watching him as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the ridge of her knuckles. “You’ve been lovely.”

  He took a few lingering steps back, admiring her beautiful face, then turned and left her behind without another word. He hurried through the museum lobby and out the front doors, across the parking lot to his red Corvette.

  He told himself it was best this way. He would take the ring from Jillian without ever having to involve her in a fated battle between Heaven and Hell. Kyriel didn’t want to see the woman come to any harm.

  He wanted to see her naked, in his bed.

  He had to get his mind straight. Focus on the task at hand. The planets were already aligning and he didn’t have even one of the rings. He hit the button on his key ring to deactivate the car alarm, opened the door, and slid down into the leather seat of his Vette.

  He didn’t need to drive to get where he wanted to go. With his powers, he could flash himself to any location, but he preferred not to do it in front of the humans for obvious reasons. He cranked the powerful, roaring engine to life, shifted into gear, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  The race for the rings was on, and if Jillian Whitmore was smart, she’d disappear.

  ***

  I’m in deep shit.

  Jillian’s grandfather had warned her that people would always be after the ring for its powers, she just hadn’t expected they would come looking so soon. First Jonathon, saying it belonged to him because of the Will, then it was stolen, and now she had Mr. Smith scaring her and making threats.

  At first, she’d thought he was going to strangle her if she didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. People were murdered in this city every day, and he looked fierce enough to do it.

  Instead, he’d kissed her.

  Kissed her until her knees went weak. A long, unhurried, extremely thorough kiss that left her dizzy, breathless, her thoughts muddled, and afterwards he’d just walked out and left like it was nothing.

  She thought about what he’d said, about her being in danger. If he and Jonathon were after the ring, how many others would be coming?

  She’d barely had it for two months.

  How had her grandfather managed to defend a ring coveted for its magical powers for the last fifty years?

  Jillian had better find a way, or she wouldn’t survive nearly as long. The police were her only hope for recovering the ring, and then what would she do?

  Leave New York?

  Travel the world like her grandfather? He’d always been on the run, and now she knew why.

  Jillian wasn’t good at traveling. Everyone she loved had died in car accidents. Planes crashed all the time. Trains derailed. Boats sank.

  She tried to focus on the positive. She could do this. Her grandfather wouldn’t have prepared her to guard the ring one day if he hadn’t thought she was capable. The fact that the Will left all material goods and possessions to Jonathon meant nothing. She didn’t believe her grandfather meant him to have the ring, and he was the last person on Earth she’d give it to.

  Right now, Jillian had to go back to work. She took a moment to calm herself, not sure what had her more shaken: Mr. Smith kissing her, or him questioning her about the ring. For some odd reason she’d felt compelled to tell him everything she knew, and she’d had to fight hard not to reveal her secret. It hadn’t been easy to do. There was something different about him, an intensity that drew her right in and made her want to give him whatever he wanted. It helped that he was deliriously handsome. An amazing kisser.

  He was dangerous.

  She smoothed her hands over her hair, and then adjusted her glasses on her nose. With the back of her hand she wiped away the remnants of her lip gloss, but she could still taste Mr. Smith’s kiss.

  Next she tugged the half-sleeves of her blouse so they each came just below her elbows, then straightened her watch so it was aligned with the bones in her wrist. Three deep breaths—calm, blue ocean—and she emerged from the dark corner of the exhibit.

  No one was around. There was no reason for anyone to be there. She would do the final walk-through of the exhibit with Jonathon tomorrow.

  Jillian hurried towards the white pillars marking the entrance, pretending she was fine and that everything was normal. Her high heels clicked along on the marble floor, then dulled when she hit the red carpet and passed into the lobby. She prayed if there was a God, the ring would come back to her and she’d have another chance to keep it out of the wrong hands.

  Chapter 4

  This was an awkward moment.

  Kyriel stood naked in his shower, thinking about Jillian Whitmore under the hot spray of water, when an angel in white robes appeared on the other side of the glass door.

  She looked strangely at home in his bathroom, with her white wings and blonde hair amidst all the marble tile, shining glass and golden fixtures. He’d designed the room to look like the Hall of Angels. A place he’d thought he might never see again.

  Tonight, however, he wasn’t in the mood for a Heavenly visit. He ignored the angel and ducked his head under the spray, letting the water wash over him and rinse the white lather of soap from his body.

  “It looks like I might have interrupted something,” she said in a loud voice.

  Kyriel opened one eye to look at her, annoyed.

  “With all the women you seduce, I wouldn’t have thought you’d have a need for self-abuse.”

  “What do you want, Neriel?” he snapped, shutting off the water.

  She had no way of knowing what it was like to be attached to a physical form. One driven hard by demanding needs. As her sweet, sugary, angel scent filled up the bathroom, he couldn’t be angry about her innocence. A Messenger angel, Neriel had to remain pure and untouched to stay in her position. Once a Messenger was compromised, the messages they delivered became tainted.

  “I have a message,” she said. “From Gabriel.”

  “I have one first.” He grabbed a towel and wrapped it snugly around his waist. “Tell him his source was wrong again. The woman doesn’t have the ring.”

  Kyriel never fully trusted the information that came down from Gabriel’s mysterious source. While it was useful and had helped them get ahead in many situations, it wasn’t always accurate. Half the time Kyriel felt like he was running in circles. Like a dog chasing his own tail.

  “He sent me to tell you that he fixed the glitch, and the woman will have the ring tomorrow.”

  Kyriel stepped out of the shower and grabbed another towel to dry his hair.

  “Is there more?”

  “He said you have to help the woman guard the ring.”

  “Christ,” Kyriel swore under his breath and stopped drying his hair. “Does he think this is a game?”

  He threw the towel to the floor and walked over to the bathroom counter to look at his reflection in the wall mirror over the double sinks. He was all for taking risks, but not with someone else’s life.

  He glanced at Neriel in the mirror behind him. “She could get killed.”

  “Gabriel says she’ll be in danger whether she has the ring or not. He wants you to protect her through the planetary alignment.”

  Kyriel turned around and leaned back against the counter, then crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded her solemnly. “I’m a Warrior, not a Guardian.”

  Kyriel did battle, not loss prevention.

  “You’re neither really,” she said. “You’re a fallen.”

  “Thank you for that gentle reminder, Neriel.” It was hard to keep his cool with her brusque directness.

  “Gabriel said she’ll need a Warrior for what’s coming.”

  Kyriel considered the implications of getting too involved with a human. He wanted to keep his identity secret. He’d made the mistake of letting people know what he truly was in the past, and it had never ended well.

  He braced his hands on the edge of the counter and leaned forward to ask, “Will Asmodeus be joining the party?”

  He was waiting for the dark angel to make an appearance. As long as Lucifer remained sealed in Hell he was unable to leave in his physical form, so he needed a lackey to do his dirty work on the surface. That was Asmodeus.

  Neriel toyed with the gossamer sleeves of her robes, and a wounded look crossed her beautiful face. “He’s been tasked with assisting the humans Lucifer has chosen.” Her eyes drifted up to his. “Please, don’t judge him for what he has to do.”

  Kyriel couldn’t understand why she always made excuses for the dark angel. “He’s chosen his path. We all have. He’ll never find redemption.”

  “How can you say that?” her voice died away.

  “He’d kill you without even thinking twice,” Kyriel delivered a dose of reality as he took long strides over to where she stood. “He’d kill all of us and destroy the world if Lucifer told him to.”

  “No he wouldn’t,” Neriel argued, shaking her head. “You don’t know him. He’s not like that.”

  “What is he like, Neriel?” It enraged him that Neriel would defend the very monster who fought against them. “Why don’t you tell me how Lucifer’s left hand, the devil’s boot-licking minion, Asmodeus, is worthy of redemption after everything he’s done to us. Tell all the people he’s led down the wrong path. People he’s lied to, deceived, and killed—”

  “He doesn’t have a choice,” she said. “Don’t you see?”

  “No, Neriel, I don’t.” Kyriel was about to end to the conversation. “You’d better put whatever warm feelings you have for Asmodeus to rest.”

  Kyriel stared hard at the beautiful angel. Of course she was tempting, especially to a fallen like Asmodeus. She was the embodiment of Heaven, with glowing streaks of silver in her long blonde hair, radiant skin, and eyes bluer than the sky. The flowing, diaphanous robes she wore held no shape, but Kyriel knew God had created her to be perfect. Asmodeus would surely destroy something so precious and beautiful.

  “Did Gabriel say anything else?” Kyriel lightened his tone.

  “You mean about getting your wings back?”

  “Did he?”

  “Helping the woman is a big part of it, that’s all I know.”

  Kyriel walked back to the bathroom counter and stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Gabriel has to stop changing the rules. He said I’d get redemption to stay here and watch for the signs, then it was redemption for the three rings of the Magi, and now it’s help the last living Keeper.” He sighed heavily.

  “Get used to it,” Neriel said with a smile. “He does it to me all the time.”

  “I thought it would be easy.”

  She raised her brow in surprise. “You thought redemption would be easy?”

  Yes.

  No.

  Kyriel was tired.

  “Your redemption comes at a high price, and it must be earned,” she said. “But if Lucifer wins and manages to escape from Hell, it won’t matter anyway. He’ll come after all of us.”

  Kyriel shifted his gaze across the mirror to look at her. “You have a funny way of sweetening the deal.”

  Neriel winked. “And it worked, because you’re going to do what Gabriel wants.”

  “Yeah.” Kyriel resigned himself to the fact. “I’ll do it.”

  “I knew we could count on you.” Neriel faded out, disappearing as quickly as she’d arrived.

  Her sugary sweet angel scent lingered in the air.

  “That was enlightening,” he said to his reflection in the mirror.

  Kyriel ran the water in the sink, swiped some shaving foam onto his face, and dragged his razor over his stubbly beard. After he rinsed his smooth face and patted on some aftershave, he ditched his towel for a gray silk robe and walked down the hall to his library.

  He headed across the dark wood floor towards the bar in the back corner and poured a generous glass of the oldest scotch he had on hand. He threw back the entire drink, then quickly poured another.

  He didn’t get drunk like the humans. Since he was an angel, but in physical form, it took him three times the amount of alcohol to feel the effects. He poured a third full glass and brought it with him to his desk, where he sat in the high-backed leather chair and kicked his feet up on the dark mahogany desk.

  He sipped his scotch as he gazed around the room at the many Holy relics in his collection of Holy relics. Golden swords he’d found buried in the rubble of great battles in which God had ordered the angels to take out an entire city of sinners. An original manuscript of Paradise Lost, signed by the poet Milton as a gift for telling him tales about fallen angels.

  The mind is its own place, and can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

  Kyriel’s favorite piece was the golden shield hanging on the wall above the fireplace. On it was the image of a rearing horse, one leg held high in the air. Centuries ago he’d helped the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse out of a jam. The Horseman War had damaged his shield in the fight, and after the five of them were standing on the leveled battlefield, victorious, War had given it to him for his bravery and skill.

  The shield was a reminder of what he’d once been.

  The stack of mail centered on the desk stared at him as he took another sip of his drink. His butler, James, had left it out for him before going to bed. Kyriel didn’t care about the mail. He cared about redemption.

  On the other hand, he’d lived on Earth for a long time, and there were many luxuries he’d gotten used to having that he would no longer find in Heaven. No more enormous feasts or aged scotch. No naked women in his bed. No Egyptian cotton sheets or silk suits. What about his Corvette? It was custom built, the only one of its kind.

  And what about his collection?

  He couldn’t dream of leaving his Holy relics behind. He’d spent centuries traveling and bargaining—and in some cases stealing—to gather it all together. He’d done it because he wanted to feel close to Heaven, and now that he had the chance to go back, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  Kyriel didn’t know what he wanted.

  He threw back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on his desk. Tomorrow he had to get the ring from Jillian Whitmore. The first step to keeping her safe was making sure she didn’t have the ring in her possession.

  He wondered what she would think of his collection. His home held more lost treasures of the Bible than her little museum. For once, he’d met a woman who could understand and appreciate the work he’d put into procuring every piece. It wouldn’t be stuff or old junk to a woman who shared his same dedication to art and history. A woman who was hosting an exhibit full of Holy relics in her museum.

  And that’s when he got the idea. He knew exactly how to get the ring away from Jillian Whitmore.

  Chapter 5

  Downtown New York

  The Next Morning

  The Twelfth Precinct was probably the safest place in the world for her to be, and Jillian couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

  Too many bad memories.

  Or maybe too much coffee at work earlier that morning.

  She had gotten a call from Detective Steve O’Malley, telling her the police had recovered the items stolen from her grandparent’s house. Their home was still in escrow after Jonathon had put it up for sale, and she’d been forced to go through a lifetime of cherished memories and belongings in only a few short weeks. She’d been keeping the ring from him on purpose, saying she hadn’t found it among their things when, wouldn’t you know it, someone broke into the house and stole the ring along with the other jewelry and the television.

  Now there was a good possibility the ring was somewhere in this police station.

  She got into the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor. Her first visit to a police station happened when she was six-years-old. She was brought there after she and her parents had been in a car accident on the George Washington Bridge. The engine caught on fire, and a stranger had pulled her from the backseat before the car plunged over the side. Her parents both died. She’d been sent to live with her grandparents.

  Even though twenty years had passed, she mourned her parents every single day. As a young girl growing up, she’d felt robbed, cheated out of a normal, happy life by an unfortunate accident. Part of the reason her grandfather had brought her along on his travels was to help alleviate some of her grief. Over time, her grief had faded, until her grandparents’ accident had left her with no family whatsoever.

  She hadn’t been prepared to feel so alone.

  So lost.

  Her more recent trips to the police station had been to get a restraining order filed against her ex-fiancé, who had thankfully decided to show his true nature before the wedding when he turned psychotic and violent. Dr. Weber said Kevin was a sociopath. Jillian agreed.

  To this day she was still learning a tough lesson. All a restraining order accomplished was pissing Kevin off even more. It didn’t stop him from calling her, or following her, showing up at her house or, worse, the museum. The police always got to the scene long after he’d done his damage. At best, she could ball up the piece of paper and throw it at him.

  She’d spent over a year in and out of the police station and court rooms because Kevin wanted the restraining order lifted. She’d gotten so afraid of being alone that she moved in with her grandparents and stayed with them until almost a year ago. She finally got her own apartment five miles from the museum. Kevin’s harassment had slowed down but he still reared his ugly head from time to time, coming out of the woodwork with the rest of the lunatics when the pull of the moon was just right, usually when she least expected the attack.

  Jillian thought he’d get over her leaving him eventually but Dr. Weber said he was fixated on her and, until something else came along to capture his attention, his sociopathic behavior would continue.