Wicked Kiss (Nightwatchers) - By Michelle Rowen Page 0,27

wasn’t your fault. Grays aren’t normally like that. He was a total freak of nature.” One that scared the hell out of me, to say the least. I was glad he was dead and he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

“That demon had to save me.” She shuddered. “And he said I have a nice ass. How crude.”

“That’s Roth.”

“Is he...” Her brows drew together “...as horrible as he seems?”

I was about to agree with that statement wholeheartedly, but then I thought about it. “I don’t know. Demons are supposed to be evil and horrible. I don’t like him. He’s a jerk, but he’s part of the team. He’s doing his thing. And he did save your butt.” I thought about what little I knew about Kraven. “Demons who’ve been humans before...they have stories behind them. They’re not a hundred percent bad. At least, I don’t think they are. I mean, I guess they did some really bad stuff when they were alive in order to become a demon. Right?”

“I’m sure they did.”

I remembered Zach’s story about the good deed with the drowning kid, and that giving him the chance to become an angel. I figured it would be the exact opposite—a bad deed—to become a demon. “It’s bizarre, really. Because, as far as I’m concerned, demons should be totally evil to the core.”

That was one of the things that freaked me out the most. How you couldn’t tell who was a demon and who was an angel. How similar they looked. Only their imprints confirmed what they really were.

“In the beginning,” I continued, “I assumed Bishop was a demon by the way he handled that dagger of his.”

“Yes, he does have a way with the Hallowed Blade.”

My ears perked up at this name. She’d called it that before. “Is that what it’s called?”

She nodded gravely. “All angels of death are assigned one.”

I blinked. “Angel of...what?”

She glanced down at me sprawled on the floor. “Angel of death. Bishop is one of Heaven’s assassins, which is why he’s one of the few officially authorized to carry such a dangerous blade.”

“Oh.” I could barely find my voice.

“Didn’t you know this about him?”

“No. It—it hadn’t come up.” It was a whisper. I couldn’t manage much more than that. A piece of information like this was enough to knock the breath right out of me.

“That’s why he was chosen to lead this mission. His record shows that he doesn’t hesitate when it comes to—”

“Killing,” I finished for her, feeling sick inside. “The ritual...and dealing with the grays...”

She nodded. “If his departure hadn’t been tampered with, I have no doubt that the grays would all be...” She trailed off and looked at me sheepishly. “Of course, I’m sure an exception would still be made for those who don’t feed and whose souls still exist intact. Somewhere. He wouldn’t have just killed you indiscriminately just because you’re, well...one of them.”

I swallowed hard. “I hope you’re right.”

Bishop’s mission here in Trinity required someone with the right instincts. No hesitation. It had always made my blood turn to ice, seeing him at work. That determined, emotionless expression that came over his face just before the blade met its mark.

I’d known Bishop was dangerous, but...an actual angel of death?

Holy hell.

“I should rest.” Cassandra stood up and moved toward the door. “Tomorrow I need to get a fresh start.”

“Cassandra...” I said, my voice still barely audible. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. What?”

I took a deep breath and looked right at her. “What’s the real reason you were sent here?”

A shaky smile formed on her lips. “I’m here to lend a hand to the team during this difficult mission. Why else? Good night, Samantha.”

“Good night.”

She left, but not before I’d managed to get a small glimpse of her thoughts. It was another one of my newly uncovered talents. I could read a demon or angel’s mind...if they weren’t actively trying to block me. All I had to do was look into their eyes and concentrate hard.

Cassandra lied. She wasn’t here just to help the team. She had her own mission, an entirely separate one.

I really wished I knew what it was.

* * *

It took me hours before I finally drifted off to sleep. My head was a horrific mass of nightmares about evil grays and dead girls, before they finally parted for something much more pleasant.

A dream about Bishop.

He was seated across from me at a small wooden table in the middle of a wasteland—a cracked, dry desert that stretched as far