Wicked Kiss (Nightwatchers) - By Michelle Rowen Page 0,57

likes to get herself in serious trouble whenever possible.”

“That would be me.” I nodded slowly. “Just do me a favor...both of you...”

The demon and angel both looked at me.

“Don’t kill him—even if we do get my and Carly’s soul back.” Putting it into words felt like I was jinxing it, but I had to say this. “He’s just as freaked out by stasis as I am. Call me crazy, but if there’s a way, I want to help him, not hurt him. Okay?”

Bishop blinked. “You want to help him.”

I nodded.

“You know—” a full grin appeared on his entirely too kissable lips “—maybe I’m not the only crazy one here, after all.”

Chapter 15

“Hooray,” Kraven said drily. “Another all-ages kiddie club. How exciting.”

He was wrong about many things. This was one of them. The club Bishop had taken us to didn’t cater to the underage crowd like Crave. Ambrosia was decidedly adult and crowded.

I’d heard of it before. Very popular, and wall-to-wall busy seven days a week. Carly once suggested we get fake IDs so we could sneak in and check it out. Since that was just after my near-arrest for shoplifting, and I’d been extremely paranoid about coloring outside the proverbial lines again, I’d refused to let her talk me into it.

Carly’d always liked chasing adventure way more than I had. I’d always, with very few exceptions, played it safe.

But nothing was safe anymore.

It was ten o’clock when we finally got there. I feared I’d get carded at the door—one of the few tests I’d inevitably fail. I knew Bishop wasn’t able to do the angelic influence thing that the others could. And demons didn’t have that particular skill.

But he’d figured out another way of influencing humans—one that worked nearly as well. He produced a roll of bills and paid off the bouncer. That was all it took to get a hand stamp and entrance. Money talks.

I’d heard a lot about the club, read articles about it on the internet, but it was even more impressive in person. A billionaire had bankrolled it for his Victoria’s Secret model girlfriend—who was named Ambrosia—and it had that sexy, high fashion meets big bucks look. And to add to the cool factor, the most hopping part of the club was three stories belowground. I checked my coat upstairs and we descended a glass, spiral staircase studded with crystals, sparkling under the pot lights.

Downstairs, the place was packed—despite it being a Monday night. The bar was in the middle, and the huge shiny black-and-silver dance floor to the far left. It put Crave to shame. Everywhere else, in the main area and in the many more private alcoves, were plush designer sofas and chairs, as well as tables where well-dressed patrons could mingle, drink champagne and sip cocktails.

But, just like at Crave, the music pounded. It was the one thing they had in common.

“This is where you think Stephen is?” I asked Bishop. Stephen was only nineteen, not that that seemed to matter all that much, as evidenced by how easy the bouncers were to pay off.

“It’s a guess,” Bishop said.

There were also at least two hundred other souls here in this club. I couldn’t ignore that fact no matter how hard I tried, especially after how out of control I’d been only a short time ago on the street. I fought hard to keep my focus and not let my hunger take over—my constant, invisible, inner battle.

Bishop glanced around our immediate area. “Where did Kraven go?”

I looked over my shoulder and spotted him almost immediately. The golden-haired demon was impossible to miss, even in a crowd. “By the bar. He’s getting a drink.”

“Typical. He’s always preferred getting drunk to working.”

I looked at him, surprised. “Demons can get drunk?”

He raised an eyebrow. “He used to be human.”

“So did you,” I reminded him, and was rewarded with an immediate tensing of his expression. It was almost amusing, really. He was like Pavlov’s dog. Ring a bell, the dog salivates. Mention his past, Bishop gets grouchy.

“Right,” he finally allowed. “Well, some things don’t change. Alcohol and other drugs still affect us. If we’re not careful.”

“Maybe he wants to drown the memory of...what he had to do to me earlier.”

There was no humor in his eyes anymore. Instead, there was a flash of something much darker. “That kiss?”

My cheeks burned. “Yeah, well. He doesn’t like me.”

“He likes you more than he likes me. He hates my guts.”

“You think he still holds it against you that you killed him