Page 49 of Angel Of Darkness

He stared back at her and barely felt the pain. “You were supposed to die that night.”

Her eyelids flickered.

“I wasn’t supposed to help you. No one was.” Cold, hard truth.

Her body shuddered.

He had to get out of there. Get away from her. Because he wanted to pull her close. Keenan wanted to hold her and protect her. But the truth, the real truth was that he’d been the biggest threat to her all along. He was the darkness that had come to take her away.

Her worst moment—he’d been there. Watching.

All the rage and despair she felt was directed right at him.

A fist seemed to shove into his chest. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” Another painful truth.

“You said I was a damn key.” Her lower lip trembled. “A key to what?”

His lashes lowered.

“Eyes up, angel.”

His gaze snapped up.

“What kind of key am I? Why were you guarding me? Why is another angel spying on me now?”

“I don’t know why he’s here.” But he’d find out. “And you’re the key because…” Tell her. “The night you changed, I fell.”

She blinked.

He pulled away from her and in a flash, he was at the door. Angels—even the Fallen—could always move fast.

“Keenan!”

“Stay here.” He didn’t look back. “You’re weak now.” Because the sun was rising.

“Oh, don’t throw that crap at me! I can’t control the freaking sunlight!”

“Rest,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back.” That was a promise.

“No, you’re not leaving me! If you’re going after that angel, I’m coming, too.”

The wood was chipping off the old door. His gaze bored into that wood. “If he touches you, you’re dead.” Simple truth—an angel of death killed with a touch. “A vamp can’t even begin to compete with his power.” He opened the door and left her.

Elijah knew that dawn was coming. Sweat trickled down his back as he stared at the women easing out of the bar, their bodies held tightly by the men with them.

His heart raced too fast, his hands shook almost constantly, and a fist twisted his guts. Withdrawal. He knew all the fucking signs. If he didn’t get the drugs again soon, he’d rip apart. No, he’d rip apart any fool who got in his path.

He’d been so sure Sam would hook him up. So fucking sure.

He tasted ash in his mouth. No matter what he drank or ate, ash was all he got.

And the whispers were calling to him. Taunting.

He’d first heard those whispers when he was fourteen. Those mocking whispers told him that the humans could see right through his glamour, that they knew what he was.

He needed to stop the humans from seeing.

Had to stop them.

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