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START READING HELLBORN ANGEL

" O f course it's fucking raining," I grumbled, taking my frustration out on a puddle.

This town was a shitheap of crumbling houses, worn-down shops, and as many pubs as you could squash onto two dirt roads. Sometimes I hated my job. But I was a single woman in her twenties with no family, few friends, and an empty purse. If I wanted to eat this month, I had no choice but to be here.

It was slightly worrying that no one else had taken the job, though. Usually mercenaries clamoured for anything with this hefty a reward. Not to mention it didn't require a murder—it was a simple retrieval mission.

"It's probably nothing," I dismissed, checking my weapons before I approached the squat cube of an inn. Warped windows threw squares of light on the ground, catching yet more puddles. "Just think of the ten thousand gold crowns."

Inside, the pub was as delightful as I expected. A heavy scent of stale beer filled my lungs, accompanied by the familiar sensation of my boots sticking to the floorboards as I let the door fall shut behind me.

Rough voices and coarse language came from people sitting at chipped tables a week away from falling apart, and every liquid behind the bar was cloudy, brown, and unpalatable. But at least there was a fire roaring across the room, so a wall of pleasant heat sank through layers of travel-dirty clothes and into my body.

It sucked that I couldn't let it bleed the tension from my bones; I needed to be alert while I searched for my mark.

I'd been given a shitty amount of information about Wane Van Khama, the man I was here to take back to my client. All I knew was a vague description—he looked to be in his late twenties, though my client had notably left out his true age; he was a demon with bat-like black wings, spiralling black horns; and deep bronze skin. And I knew he was an experienced fighter, so I needed to be on my guard.

I didn't know what he'd done, or what my client would do with him. But fuck, ten thousand gold crowns. That would set me up for a whole year. Maybe two if I was clever about it.

Maybe I could get a house, buy myself a sweet husband and a family. The devil knew I wasn't getting one without paying for them—I was a foulmouthed, bad-tempered bitch who preferred stabbing to singing and combat to cooking. Men wanted a sweet, romantic girl, not one who came home dripping blood and got into fights on a Friday night because she was bored.

But hey, if I paid a guy to like me, problem solved. 1

I hopped onto a bar stool and flagged down the portly, moustachioed man currently cleaning a cloudy glass with a rag.

I didn’t make the mistake of asking after Wane in a place like this; everyone would close ranks, maybe even throw me out on my ass. My ass was already too cold to land in a muddy puddle, so I asked for a beer and canvassed the place while I waited for my drink.

The single room was filled with the usual assortment of scowling and sneering demons in grungy clothes. Some stared into their pints while others scanned the pub like I did, although for entirely different reasons. In the back, a woman in a frothy purple dress sat energetically in a man’s lap, leaving little question about what was happening under her skirts. There were a number of winged, horned men, some with brown skin and others pale, ruddy, or crimson, but I knew which one was Wane van Khama when my eyes skimmed over him, and a clang went through my chest.

"What the fuck?" I hissed under my breath, jumping when the bartender set my beer in front of me. I never got jumpy on a job. But what the hell was that clang? I still felt it echoing through me, like someone slammed a fist into my chest. Only instead of hitting skin, muscle, and bone, they hit my vulnerable insides. 2

There’s still time to turn around and leave, I told myself.

But I accepted the job, and fuck knows what would happen if I returned emptyhanded. I might have been a vicious bitch with very few hard lines, but my client was powerful—and a total psycho. I couldn’t predict what he’d do. One thing was for sure: if I walked away from this, I’d have to find a new career.

But let’s be real, there’s no chance in Hell I’m walking away from this.

Ten thousand fucking credits.

So I sipped my beer and discreetly watched the slim, black-winged man. His lithe body was wrapped in shadows like a huge fur coat, and my gut cramped as I watched him. My chest fluttered. It was alarming as fuck. It wasn’t a flutter of fear, but excitement , and my heart needed to get its head in the game.

Sure, his bronze face was carved by the gods, and there was a visible corona of power around him, but come on! You’re working, Halwen, get your shit together.

Retrieval. Probably fisticuffs. Definitely trouble with capital T.

Wane van Khama wasn’t alone; he sat with three other men that gave me the same deep, resonating clang in my chest. These three looked every bit as intimidating and deadly as Wane, with an assortment of horns, claws, wings, and tattoos. I almost slipped off my stool.

Whatever that warning clang was, it was not. Fucking. Good.

I needed to get Wane alone, because his buddies were massive . Muscle wrapped around muscle, and bulged from shoulders, arms, chests, and thighs . One was so thick his arms were like tree trunks. I briefly entertained the thought of climbing him like he really was a tree, and hissed at the immediate pounding between my legs.

So what, they were hot? They were still trouble. Still in my way.

When I next glanced their way, the oldest (and biggest) man watched me.

Oh, shit!

I panicked, and batted my lashes, covering up my reconnaissance with pathetic flirting.

This bastard was every bit as hot as Wane, his features more rugged and his jaw covered in a salt and pepper beard to match the hair that curled slightly at his shoulders. The grey, long-sleeved shirt he wore hugged muscles my hands were desperate to trace, and the fabric clung to the unmistakable shape of weapons. That dunked cold water over me; I spun back to the bar and my pint.

Okay , I reasoned. Just go over there, flirt with them, get Wane alone, and cuff him. Easy.

I had enhanced metal cuffs that would bind even a furious, magical rhinoceros, but something told me Wane wouldn’t let me snap them around his wrists. There’d be a fight.

Why did my blood spark?

Why did my stomach change from churning nerves to excitement?

Oh, because I was crazy. Yeah, that explained a lot.

Like why I took another sip of beer 3 and sauntered over to the table of four clear predators, swishing my hips and channelling the woman getting lucky over in the corner. Good for her.

"Hello, boys," I purred, my voice already raspy enough to be sultry. No one had to know it turned that way by screaming while my ‘trainer’ hurt me to make me a good little soldier. 4

Interest lit in the eyes of the older man, and he leaned back in his seat, grey feathered wings spreading as he eyed me up and down. I doubt he saw much; I’d been on the road for days, and my leather trousers were caked in as much dirt and dust as my heavy jacket. Fuck, I hadn’t thought this through. I needed to be alluring.

But the interest in his vibrant blue eyes only flared, as if I was attractive to him even covered in the grime of travel. Yet his arms remained crossed over his chest, and he wasn’t the one to reply.

"And who might you be?" a shaggy-haired, bronze-skinned Adonis asked, his chin tilted at a cocky angle and molten silver eyes meeting mine in a sultry look. I’d never seen eyes like that before, otherworldly and shining like mirrors. I fought a shudder.

"Jynn," I answered, curving my mouth in an inviting smile. I could play sweet and flirty if I wanted to; mercs had to play so many roles that I’d lost count. It was all part of the job.

"Pretty name," the bronze god replied. "But I think I’ll call you sugarplum."

I couldn’t control my reaction; my mouth fell open. "You fucking won’t."

"Try and stop me," he taunted. "Now, are you joining us or going back to your lonely seat by the bar?"

I was tempted to go back to my lonely seat by the bar just to spite him. But my eyes drifted to the other two men—to Wane, who was a near identical copy of the smirking bastard—and a man who sat a head taller than the others, with ultra-pale skin, deep red eyes and matching crimson hair, and a body covered head to toe in scrawling ink—writing. He watched me like he’d enjoy cutting my body apart to see how it ticked, so I avoided his gaze and met the challenge in the smug bastard’s.

"Fine." I shrugged, "I suppose you’re not the worst company in this place."

The big guy grunted, his beard twitching with a smile.

" So , sugarplum," the cocky bastard said, taking great pleasure in the glare I shot his way, "what brings you to our little town?"

I came to kidnap your brother. But I couldn’t exactly tell him that.

"I’m here for work," I replied expertly. "What about you? Do you live here? And you haven’t even told me your names."

"We live here—ish," he replied. "As for names, I’m Harvey; this is my brother, Wane; the stern, silent bastard is Emlyn; and this is Malakai, our resident psychopath. Don’t make any sudden moves," he whispered. "Kai tends to get a little twitchy and choke people until their heads fall off."

"It’s really good to meet you all," I bullshitted. "Thanks for letting me sit with you."

Malakai grinned, a slow spreading, chilling thing. "Little liar."

He gave the others a meaningful look and angled his horned head at me. "She’s from the guild; it stands out a mile."

Uh-oh. The guild as in the guild of mercenaries.

"What guild?" I asked, my eyes big and innocent.

The look Malakai gave me could have scalded iron. My heart skipped when he shoved his chair back, throwing it to the sticky floor.

I jumped automatically to my feet—my instinct wouldn’t let him tower over me. But I gave myself away with my fast response.

"For fuck’s sake," Harvey spat, silver eyes flashing. "We’ve barely been here a week. What did he offer you?" He dropped his hand, giving me a loathing look. "Fame? Fortune? A city?"

I snorted. "You’re way off the mark, buddy."

"She’s struggling to survive," Emlyn, the big, bearded guy spoke, and I gasped at the low thunder of his voice. I was having inappropriate thoughts again, and it couldn’t have been worse timing. "They offered money or food."

"Ding, ding, ding," I replied, and shrieked when Malakai launched at me

He moved so fast, I had to pump my wings to leap out of his path.

The rest of the pub’s patrons jumped to their feet, but not to help me. Not even to help Wane and co.

Wane hadn’t spoken a single word, and only stared at me, half wrapped in shadows.

People moved out of the way, clearing space for Malakai to throw himself at me. Generous of them.

I dodged, scanning for an exit that wasn’t blocked by a crimson-haired psychopath. This job was impossible with Wane’s entourage around him. I’d have to leave, and later follow them to get him when he was alone.

I pumped my wings and reached inside my jacket for my knives. They were old and mottled, but I sharpened them regularly and they could cut as well as any new, pretty blade. I slashed one at Malakai when the pale, inked bastard hurtled at me again, moving faster and far more graceful than he looked. That was the benefit of being a demon; we were faster, stronger, and with magic in the mix, anything was possible.

"Fine," I growled, throwing my hands up and giving the red-haired man a scowl. "You win; I’ll leave you alone. Happy?"

Judging by the way he slammed into me, wrapped both hands around my neck, and squeezed until my eyes almost popped out of my head … no, he was not happy.

"Kai!" a raspy voice called, gravely and raw like my own voice.

My gaze snapped to Wane as the bronze-skinned, sleek-haired man came toward us. His face was the only visible feature, his shadows wrapped around him like a shield. Or like a child’s comfort blanket.

"Stop," he ordered tiredly.

I took advantage of the pause to angle a knife up into Malakai’s gut, but when I tried to slam it home, my hand refused to budge.

"What the fuck?" I spat, trying my other knife to the same effect. "Who enchanted my knives? Undo it now! These are my best pair, you salty cumrags."

Malakai scoffed and glared at me, his eyes dark crimson and seething with murder. " You’re the one who’s enchanting."

"Aww, thanks, that’s so sweet of you," I preened, batting my lashes. Sometimes I thought I had a death wish.

"Whatever you’ve done to my hands," he hissed, deep and throaty as he snapped sharp teeth at my face, 5 "I’m going to kill you for it."

His scent of amber and crackling firewood invaded my senses, annoyingly pleasant.

"Stop," Wane said in that same quiet but forceful voice, footsteps approaching us and the other two guys right behind him. "It’s not an enchantment, it’s nature . Instinct. You can’t kill each other, because you’re mates."

I laughed.

Malakai’s upper lip curled back.

"Didn’t you feel it?" Wane went on, looking at me now. My stomach squirmed at the eye contact, and I was a little embarrassed when my heart skipped. "When you first saw me? I know I felt it, like a bell rang through my entire soul."

That clang…

A chill went down my spine.

"You’re—you’re our mate, Jynn. You’re mine, and Malakai’s."

"And mine," the burly, older man grunted.

Harvey flashed me a blinding grin. "Guess that explains why I want to fuck you into submission so badly."

"You wish," I hissed, trying to stab Malakai and failing miserably. "I wouldn’t touch you if my life depended on it."

Wane sighed, his shadow-wreathed shoulders drooping an inch. "It might, actually. You can’t kill any of us, but the man who sent you to hurt me? When he finds out you haven’t done the job, he’ll do unspeakable things to you. It’s worse than death."

I frowned, unable to get a read on what kind of person Wane was. Something about him registered as genuine. And it made me think he’d personally experienced those unspeakable things.

"Son of a goat-fucking whore," I muttered, and removed my knife from Malakai’s stomach.

I had four soulmates.

Continue reading Haley’s story in Hellborn Angel.