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R oman was losing control. He could feel it. What surprised him even more was the fact that he didn’t give a flying fuck, either. He knew his eyes were glowing, but he couldn’t help it. This mortal sitting before him was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he wasn’t ashamed to say that, at this very moment, she was quite capable of bringing him to his knees.

Her golden hair was an absolute mess, filthy and stained with blood. She still looked goddamn sexy. He could see her hardened nipples pressing against her sweatshirt, making his cock strain even more against his jeans.

Seeing her groan as she’d drank from the glass of water, not caring as it had trailed down her neck, watching those drops of water glide along her beautiful, tanned skin had nearly been his undoing. He wanted to follow it with his tongue and explore her whole body, he thought hungrily, having no idea what she’d just asked him. His gaze had stopped on her breasts, watching them rise and fall, her breathing heavy. His eyes snapped to hers as she gazed at him with those sensual, stormy gray eyes.

She wants me, too. His mind went crazy, blocking out all rational thought.

He stepped closer to her, slowly placing a hand behind her neck, and dipped her head back. He leaned over her, drinking in her scent, which completely consumed him.

MINE, the word screamed through his head. Have to taste her, he thought absently, running his tongue along her jaw, licking up a stray drip of water.

Charlotte moaned, making him want to lift her and bend her over the table. Roman growled, trying to keep his primal urges under control. He licked up to the corner of her plump pink lips, which were already open… waiting for him . He smiled, eager to take those luscious lips.

“Is this how you are going to treat all our prisoners?”

Roman whipped around, mouth open, ready to bear his fangs. He’d been so lost in wanting Charlotte he hadn’t even heard anyone enter the room. Never in all these years had he shown his fangs to anyone. None of the angels knew he had them, his unwanted gift from Hell.

“Whoa… Roman, it’s me.” Grigori stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands out, trying to calm him.

Grigori’s cheeky smile slowly disappeared as Roman realized he must look like a complete monster. He was well aware his eyes were glowing, and that, mixed with the fact he had just practically hissed at Grigori, would make any of the fallen feel… a little uncomfortable .

Roman shook himself, stepping away from Charlotte. What the hell was I thinking? he thought, rubbing his hand down his face, trying to ignore the fact that his body was screaming out with want for this mortal girl.

“Get her something to eat. She hasn’t eaten in a couple of days. Then, put her in one of the guest rooms so she can shower,” he snapped at Grigori, stalking out of the room without giving Charlotte another glance.

He stomped up the staircase, angry at himself for letting some mere mortal get him to the point where he threw all reasoning out the window. His raging hard-on straining against his jeans, which he uncomfortably adjusted as he made it to the second floor, annoyed the hell out of him as well. He’d never reacted like this to a woman… ever. His body screamed with want, the memory of her heavenly scent making his chest rumble as he growled low like a hungry animal. Frustration slammed into him all over again. He began stalking down the corridor, the black polished tile floor cold under his bare feet.

Roman needed to get his head back in the game. His job was to keep his fellow angels safe. Trying to fuck Charlotte, who they were supposed to be questioning and most probably killing if that’s the way the vote went, was definitely not doing his job.

He needed to figure out how Lucifer could use her to get out of Hell, and he also needed to figure out how she got those marks on her arm. He was almost certain a demon had given them to her. Her dreams were dangerous. Having her here could put them all at risk. He needed an expert in visions and dreams, and he knew just the angel to talk to.

He stopped in front of a dark cherry wood-stained door, knocking lightly against it.

The door slowly opened, and Armaros stood there in black sweatpants, his dark hair untidy and falling around his shoulders. Rubbing his violet eyes, he yawned. “Grigori, fuck off,” he snapped in a deep voice. He blinked a few times, realizing who it was. “Shit, sorry, Roman. Grigori woke me up about ten minutes ago, carrying on about a five-star breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Roman answered, noting how tired he looked. “I need to speak with you, and it can’t wait.”

Armaros turned, walking back into the room, and Roman took in the massive wing tattoo on his back. They all had them, except for those who’d had their wings ripped out by Lucifer. Those angels had scars .

It had been one of the hardest things to adapt to once they’d fallen. In Heaven, their snow-white wings hung freely from their backs. Once they landed here on Earth, most of the angels’ wings turned black and underwent certain alterations, but if not in use, all of them somehow merged into their bodies, leaving only the tattoos in their place. The images ran from their shoulders all the way down their backs, ending at their ankles. Each tattoo looked real, and each was an almost identical representation of each angel’s set of wings.

Roman still shuddered at the memory of how unstable it had felt without the weight of his wings. It had taken them all a while to adjust to life down here. He shook off the memories as he walked across the large room. On the right was the door leading to the ensuite. On the left, a giant bed, the bedding a tangled mess. More proof his friend was having a restless sleep. The wall across from the bed had a large flatscreen TV. There were shelves lining all three walls filled with ancient books and scrolls, mystical stones, statues, and ancient swords and daggers. It was like walking into a mystical museum. Armaros had spent many years traveling and searching for answers to his magic. Roman was unsure whether the angel had ever found any answers, as he always kept things to himself.

As do we all.

Roman made his way over to the black leather couches that sat in front of a giant window, giving a breathtaking view of the city below. The architect had designed his mansion so that the whole side of the building consisted of windows, offering a view no matter where you stood.

Below his mansion on the hill, he could see other extravagant homes, their lights dim as they woke for the day. The sleepless city, still glowing brightly, had endless traffic buzzing around the streets. The sky was slowly changing from black to gray-blue, with the stars fading away as the sun began to rise. A reminder of how little sleep he’d had himself.

He took a seat in the chair to the right as Armaros sat in the other. “What is going on, old friend?” Roman asked, his earlier concern about the exhausted angel returning.

“What do you mean, Roman?”

“I’m too tired for games, Armaros. Something is wrong, I can see it. You look exhausted, and I haven’t seen you so worn out in a long time. Is it the visions?”

Armaros sat there quietly like he always did, glancing out over the city as if trying to decide whether or not to answer Roman. Finally, after a sigh, he looked at him with a troubled expression. “Yes. I’ve been having visions. Violent ones, no less.”

Roman leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees. “Violent?”

Armaros nodded silently, lifting his arm. There were long claw slashes from his wrist up to his elbow as if seared into his skin. Like Charlotte. “How did you get these?”

“My vision,” he told Roman, putting his arm back down. “A demon gave it to me, and I don’t mean the weak demons that possess the mortals. I mean a proper demon hound in its original form. I fought it… and killed it.”

“What do you mean killed it?” Roman asked, chills snaking down his spine.

“Just like I said. I killed him. Something is very wrong, Roman. These visions are unique. They are very real, and they will kill me if I’m not careful.” He fell silent, and Roman could tell there was something more, something he wasn’t telling him.

“What is it? Armaros, now is not the time for secrets. Something bad is coming. I can feel it in my very soul. If we are all to survive whatever it is, we need to find answers, and we need to tell each other everything.”

Armaros gave him a single nod. He was undoubtedly the most secretive out of all the fallen, but besides his brother Maalik, Armaros was one of the few angels Roman trusted completely. “Charlotte. She’s in my visions as well. She has been for many years, since she was young. She is always running; they are always chasing her. I do my best to protect her. I always have. Just this night, she was in my dream. I was flying above her, trying to keep her safe. Now you understand what I mean when I say I don’t take the decision to kill her lightly.”

Roman couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but it all made sense, considering the marks Charlotte had.

A filthy demon had touched her… hurt her. Anger seethed through him, his mind screaming in rage.

“Roman…” Armaros’s uneasy voice brought him out of the angry haze, and from the look on his friend’s face, his eyes were clearly glowing again .

What is it with this woman? he thought, frustration taking over for the hundredth time.

“Are you good?” Armaros asked.

Roman nodded. “I’m good.” He focused on his eyes returning to normal. “Charlotte. I woke her from what I thought was a nightmare tonight. She has a claw mark on her arm, like yours, and another on her leg. It’s what I was coming to speak with you about. How is this possible? What would be powerful enough to do something like this? A dream demon, maybe?”

Armaros shook his head. “No, their power only goes as far as causing people to have nightmares, and in some cases, if they are very powerful, projecting themselves into the nightmare. This dream differed from the others. It was powerful magic. When I was in the dream, I could feel it… the magic all around me. It must be some kind of witch or warlock. I will need time to find out.”

“How about the coven? Can’t you question them? Maybe they know of someone capable of doing something like this?”

Roman knew damn well Armaros hated having anything to do with the coven. He didn’t know why, but the witches loathed him, and Armaros hated them just as much.

Armaros stilled at the mention of the witches. They had a coven here in Los Angeles, and much to Armaros’s disdain, they also lived here in the Hills, only a few streets away. In the first few centuries after Roman and the others had first fallen, they had gotten off to a rocky start with the witches. To this day, no one knew what had gone on between the witches and Armaros, but it had been bad enough that Armaros started hunting and killing them. He was still known today throughout the supernatural world as the Witch Hunter .

It didn’t help that after the fall, the other angels, as well as himself, had had trouble adjusting to life on Earth and the new feelings and emotions that came with it. They had caused all kinds of chaos.

It ended with the fallen and the witches going to war. After losses on both sides, Roman and the queen of the witches, Medea, met in the center of the bloodied battlefield and came to a truce. The angels stayed out of their way, and the witches offered the same courtesy. From then on, they had both co-existed in peace. Every so often, they hired the witches for certain spells, and sometimes, the witches came to them for information. Most of these exchanges happened in Roman’s nightclub down on the Sunset Strip.

“This is important, Armaros.”

The tattooed man sighed as if the weight of the world were resting on his shoulders. “Alright, I will meet with them.”

Roman nodded, satisfied, sitting back and resting his head against the black leather couch as he gazed out at the city, the sky starting to light up. “I have a bad feeling about what’s coming, Armaros.”

“You and me both,” he answered in a quiet voice, both of them silently watching the city, lost in their own thoughts.