Pru
It really was him.
Ezra St. Croix. The lead singer of Luci in Furs was sitting in the VIP section of The Deacon.
He was even sexier in person.
I’d seen him in concert once, but that was before the band had gone on hiatus years ago. How could he look younger than he had way back then?
That didn’t matter. I needed to get closer to him. Talk to him.
I glanced left, then right. No one gave me a second look as I picked up a tray filled with drinks from the bar. I could pass for a waitress as long as I acted the part. He didn’t have security hovering around. The Deacon was exclusive enough that he likely felt safe here without the extra bodies.
I held the drinks above my head as my hips weaved through the dance floor. Adrenaline and the bass from the DJ booth pounded against my eardrums. My friends had ditched me at the door and were grinding on the dudes they’d met at the bar. Neither of them bothered to glance at me as I passed them. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the crowd.
Fuck, he was gorgeous. His black hair was all slicked back except for a few rebellious locks that dangled over his brow and tipped at the top of his cheekbones to frame his crystalline eyes. Smudges of black and red liner around each eye made it impossible to ignore where his irises were wandering. Tattoos crept up his neck and down his exposed arms. I wanted to memorize every single dot of ink with my tongue. I’d read in gossip magazines that he had more than just his nipples pierced, and I wanted to find out for myself. The thought made my mouth water.
Get it together, Pru.
I squared my shoulders and strode over to him, the tray presented to him just below my chest. He smiled up at me.
My insides went to goo.
“Thank you, lovely,” he said with a wink. He took one of the shot glasses full of amber liquid from the tray.
I did my best to distribute the weight change in my palm. I’d never forgive myself if I spilled four glasses of booze in his lap.
“Are you new?” he asked, eyeing me. “My brother rarely hires . . . women.”
I had no time to dwell on that sexist policy. “I’m just covering a shift for the night.”
A lie.
A small one, but by the time he figured it out, we would surely be in love and ready to skip off to Europe for a vacation in Venice.
He knocked back the shot, placed the empty glass on my tray, and lounged back against the large, scooped chair. I glanced around, but he seemed to be alone, or maybe he was waiting for someone.
“You’re cute,” he said, sending a gush of excitement into my belly. “Don’t get mixed up with any of these losers here. I would hate to see them fuck you over.”
Was that an opening?
“Maybe I should hang out with you, then?”
His whole face brightened. The curl of his lips made my knees weak. I hadn’t entered the club with this much audacity, but I was lucky it had found me.
He stood up, and I took a deep breath as his tall, lean torso ate up my vision. The music and other bodies around us disappeared as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I think I’d really enjoy your company. But out of everyone in this club, I would be, by far, the worst thing to ever happen to you.”
His lips brushed over my cheek as he started to pull away.
In a moment of sheer, bold will—or panic—I grabbed him before he could take a step. His gaze snapped down to where my fingers circled his wrist then slowly crept up to my face, leaving a ripple of goose bumps over my skin.
“I’d risk it,” I said.
There was a full shift in his mood. The moment my fingers made contact with him, he’d gone from playfully amused to bewildered. But now, there was something new there. A challenge. Or maybe curiosity. Either way, the heat from his gaze hollowed out my stomach.
He didn’t speak, just took the tray from my hand and set it on the chair he’d been sitting on. Then, he led me to the back of the club. It was darker and less crowded, but the moment I started to worry about being seen making out with a celebrity, he pressed his palm to the wall and pushed. As if magically, a perfect rectangular cutout in the wall popped open. We slipped inside, the crease in the wall just large enough for us to pass through, before he pulled it closed behind him.

The secret room was small, just big enough for a love seat and two large sitting pillows on the floor. A dim wall sconce was the only source of light, but I was betting that anyone who knew this room existed didn’t care that you could hardly see your hand in front of your face.
“This is cozy,” I said, my awkward words thudding against the soundproofed floor.
“Don’t lose your nerve now that you’ve got what you’d been wishing for.” His dark voice fully engulfed me.
My spine straightened. He was right. The buzz of my confidence had faltered for a moment, but I had him all to myself. I was going to seize the moment because I had fantasized about Ezra fucking St. Croix since I was a teenager.
I reached up and cupped the back of his neck to bring his mouth to mine. His soft lips tasted like whiskey, nicotine, and power. When my tongue slipped between them, he welcomed me with broad, slow swipes that stirred a tension in my core and instantly soaked my panties. He tangled his fingers through my hair, and the palms of his hands cradled my jaw and brought our kiss deeper. The overwhelming flood of endorphins made my head swim.
He held the back of my neck with one hand as the other smoothed down my back to my ass. With a firm grip, he hoisted me up to wrap my legs around his waist and pinned me to the wall. My already short dress hiked up to my hips and bared my ass for him. The front of his jeans stretched tight over his hard cock and pressed against the very thin fabric of my panties.
He gave me another rough grind of his hips, and I gasped, but the sound was quickly eaten up by his demanding mouth. He wasn’t in a hurry, but every moment of his lips on mine built a furious, sinful feeling that had me drowning. I was desperate to feel him closer, deeper.
His mouth slipped down my jaw as two fingers pushed the soaked silk of my underwear to the side and brushed my eager center.
“Oh God,” I moaned at the circles he made.
He grunted then pulled away. His craving eyes focused on my lips.
“This is your last warning,” he said, his voice husky. “Because once I’ve had a taste of you, you’re mine.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Ezra.” I was breathless, but it was answer enough for him.
He groaned and let me down to my feet. “On your knees.”
I did as he demanded.
The cold floor sent a shiver through me and bit into my exposed knees. My hands smoothed up his thighs to the button of his jeans. I rolled my eyes up to his face and was met with an icy blue stare. He placed a hand on the wall behind me, his stance broad and expectant.
Our eyes locked in our next dare: a game of how far I was willing to go and how far he could push me till my breaking point. But I’d probably never get this chance again. It was now or never.
The button popped open easily, and the zipper didn’t catch on its way down. His fingers curled around the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up to clutch it to his chest. I took in every tattoo and ripple of muscle I had only seen in magazines. His most well-known tattoo was at eye level with me now. The black rope-shaped cursive letters, bracketed by the notches at his hips, read, “Giddy Up.”
I bit down on my lower lip, to keep a giggle of anxiety trapped in my throat, then pulled his jeans down and past the perfect outline of the impressive girth showing through his tight briefs.
My hands shook; there was no going back or losing my nerve. I needed my A game because it would have been shameful to give this man and that cock a bad blow job. He pulsed, the obvious jerk from his swollen head a silent plea for relief. I took one last steadying breath and pulled at the thick elastic band at his waist just when a pounding sound came from the other side of the door, making me shriek.
“Occupied!” Ezra boomed above my head. He looked over his shoulder at the source of the interruption but didn’t move from his position over me.
The door opened, and a voice flooded in with the loud EDM music from outside. “My office. Now.”
The door closed without another command, and Ezra’s shoulders fell with a sigh. He pushed away from the wall he’d caged me against and offered me his hand. By the time I’d gotten to my feet and straightened my dress, he’d already zipped and buttoned his pants.
He reached for my hip, bringing me into him. That hand slinked up to my chest then came to rest on my neck. He ran his other hand through his hair, the wicked, rebellious strands falling perfectly over his temples. He dipped down and pressed the lightest kiss to my lips.
“What’s your name, beautiful?”
“Pru,” I squeaked, still breathless and slightly lightheaded from horny whiplash.
“Wait for me at the bar, Pru. We’ll finish what we started.” His tongue ran over my bottom lip.
I nodded, or at least I tried. His hand at my throat cupped my chin and gently forced my gaze to focus on his.
“That’s my good girl.”
As if those words weren’t enough to make me melt into a puddle, the kiss he gave me before turning and walking away left me boiling from the inside out. I was no longer solid matter as I floated out to wait at the bar.

Gaap
If I had known Sitri was having a meltdown, I wouldn’t have come to him for help. The Hunter who’d cornered me in Japan, of all places, had been following me for sixteen months. The trace he had put on me was stunted for the moment, but it would wear off soon.
I needed a prince for this kind of magic. But I owed Ipos a debt I wasn’t ready to take on yet. Stolas was too preoccupied with his new plaything, and after the last run-in with Seere, it was more likely that Heaven and Hell would be reunited than him helping me.
No. It had to be Sitri.
He would just have to shake himself out of his tantrum and help me.
In his office, his Watcher lapdog stood behind his desk with a woman under his arm. She wasn’t human, but she wasn’t a demon either. She was a Reaper. Another grey being, like Watcher Angels, she wasn’t welcome among the angels in Heaven but didn’t truly belong in Hell. Her sole purpose was to usher mortals to their final destination. Whatever she was doing with Sitri and Ezequiel, it was a mess I didn’t want to get involved with.
“It’s been a long time, Gaap.” Sitri sat with his fingers steepled, his chin resting on top. He watched me closely. “Or have you become too accustomed to Ezra St. Croix?”
He had a right to distrust me after what I’d done the last time I had breezed into Los Angeles, but I wasn’t here to hash out my past mistakes with my brothers. I was running from a more pressing problem. “Scoff all you want, but I haven’t had to hear my true name in decades. You can appreciate how any name moaned just right can feel more powerful than your gifts, can’t you, Prince of Lust?”
“What do you want, Gaap?” Ezequiel chimed in harshly.
Cutting him a warning glance, I cleared my throat and spoke to Sitri. “A Hunter has been tracking me. I need your help, brother.”
“Brother?” Ezequiel interjected once again. “You abandon your duties, leave every one of us behind to clean up your mess, and now that you need him, he is your brother?”
“Do you really want to start comparing abdications of duty, Watcher?” I snapped back.
“Enough.” Sitri got to his feet, becoming a wall between Ezequiel and me. “Gaap, where is the Hunter?”
“Here. In Los Angeles.” I was unable to look either Sitri or Ezequiel in the eye.
Sitri’s head sank as he let out a curse. He pounded his fist on the desk, breaking a glass of liquor, which cut into his flesh. Dark blood gushed, and the Reaper bolted to Sitri and to tend to his wound. She took off her black T-shirt and wrapped his hand tight. He didn’t bat her away. Instead, he looked at her in surprise that she would come to his side so easily.
Their silent exchange held more complication than I had brought to Sitri’s doorstep.
He lifted his uninjured hand to her cheek and brought her temple to his lips, a rare show of intimate affection from the prince of meaningless, impassioned sex.
“I’m fine,” he said, bringing her eyes to meet his.
She tied off the blood-damp shirt and stepped back to Ezequiel, who was waiting with one of The Deacon’s sweatshirts. He held it up and assisted it over her head and down her body before wrapping his arm around her once again.
“Sitri, I didn’t know where else to go,” I explained.
“Have you completely lost grip on reality? You lured the Hunter here to Los Angeles?” Ezequiel’s anger was present, but his volume had dimmed—probably for the sake of the Reaper currently watching her prince from her Watcher’s arms.
“I knew the club would be the safest place to be for now.” I bounced between him and Sitri.
“Just kill him,” the Reaper said.
The three of us gawked at her. Sitri dropped his head with a forceful sigh at her ignorance.
“If it were that simple, I would have when he cornered me in Yokohama,” I answered.
“Killing him would be seen as an act of war. Every Hunter and lesser angel would be up our asses,” Ezequiel explained and pulled her into his side. “No, it’s best to influence or spell him away. Not raise any flags or cause any closer inspection.”
I’d never expected Ezequiel and Sitri to share a lover for longer than a night. I was more surprised that she was a Reaper. I looked her over. She was attractive, but other than that, I didn’t see the appeal. Neutral beings could not be corrupted or bent to my will. Sitri and Ezequiel were bound to be wrapped around her scythe until she was forced to take her position in the grand design.
“He has warded his skin. Not just ink, but scarred with hellfire.” I’d seen the marks myself and had felt their repellent power when I’d tried to fend him off in the catacombs of Rome months before our last encounter.
The Reaper scoffed. “That’s a little overkill.”
Ezequiel gave her a sideways glance.