Page 18 of First Offense

Two kicks.

And the hefty Noir fell like a rock, the ground rumbling beneath his collapse.

The icy-eyed male knelt, his fingers going to the other man’s throat. I thought he meant to strangle him, only he pressed two digits into his pulse, then nodded as though satisfied.

Because he was dead?

Or because he lived?

The man stood, his long body unfolding gracefully from where he’d crouched over the fallen inmate. Both his hands were clean, as was his exposed torso.

Not a drop of spilled blood.

How was that even possible? He’d sent that one Noir through the air in a waterfall of gore. Yet he hadn’t gotten a speck on him.

His blue gaze captured mine, causing my heart to stop.

Time suspended around us.

Then my pulse kick-started in my chest.

He started forward in a slow prowl like a big cat moving in for the kill. His eyes never left mine as he crossed the few feet between us—stepping over a body in the process—and halted way too close to me.

A new scent washed over me, chasing away the remnants of the other Noir. A delicious, amazing scent that had me inhaling deeply.Fresh leather and woodsmoke. Heady and intoxicating.

With an undercurrent of blood.

His gaze slowly lowered to my lips as he took another step forward. My breath caught in my throat, his nearness an exhilarating presence I shouldn’t accept. Yet my body reacted to his as though we knew one another. No, as though we weremeantto know each other.

I swallowed, my thighs clenching as he took a final step toward me, boxing me in against the wall just like the other male. But unlike that Noir, I didn’t fear this one.

I frowned at the oddity, my mind quickly working through logical puzzles on an errant quest to find a reason for that difference.

He’d just killed at least three Noir right in front of me. Lethality oozed off him. Danger lurked in his icy irises. But as he lifted those beautiful eyes to mine once more, I felt at peace.

Flames billowed behind him, framing his sharp features in delicate shadows that should have made him all the more terrifying. Yet all they did was intensify his exquisite features.

He lifted a single finger to trail a line down my cheek to my throat and then to my collarbone. Goose bumps followed his touch, my lips parting on a necessary gasp to draw more air into my lungs.

And his scent.

Leather and blood and man.

Oh gods…

My thighs clenched and his nostrils flared.

Then a blade appeared on his wrist, followed by Auric’s snarl. “Remove your hand, Novak. Or I’ll cut it off.”

My throat went dry at the possessiveness in his tone.

The one called Novak glanced at him, his lips curling up at one side into an expression of mild amusement. Then he dropped his hand to his side and took a step backward to survey the yard.

“Game over,” he murmured before turning away without a backward glance, his steps sure as he maneuvered with ease around the graveyard of fallen Noir.

I took in the scene with blurry eyes, my heart thudding rapidly in my throat.

There were at least forty dead angels wearing varying shades of blood-red, charcoal, and ash.