Bittersweet Magic (The Order #2)

“Maybe you shouldn’t be handling nuns.”


Piers frowned. “Don’t worry. I’ll wipe their memories afterwards. They won’t remember a thing.”

“There are enough willing volunteers about. You don’t need unwilling ones. They’re nuns, for Christ’s sake.”

Piers narrowed his eyes on the other man. “Has anyone told you that you’re absolutely no fun anymore? Not that you ever were much fun.”

“Yeah. You.”

Finally, Piers shrugged. “Okay, I’ll be good. But I have to admit that I’m a little intrigued as to what brings a couple of nuns here.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s find out then.”

There was a light tap on the door and Graham poked his head around. “Your visitors.” Stepping to the side, he gestured for the two women to enter. “This is Sister Maria and Sister Rosa from the Little Sisters of Mercy.”

As the younger nun came through the door, a faint waft of sweet air followed her into the room.

Fae?

He glanced at Christian, whose brows were drawn together as though he sensed it as well. He must have become familiar with the scent after living with Tara for six months.

The fae liked to believe they’d wiped out all humans with mixed blood, but the truth was there were many who still held a trace. Some more than a trace, like Jonas, their resident warlock. And strangely, or maybe not so strangely, those humans with fae blood often turned to the church and became priests and nuns. As though they could somehow sense there was more to the world than what was immediately obvious, and God was the answer.

He studied her for a moment, but other than that faint, sweet perfume, she appeared wholly human. The scent filled his nostrils, and the hunger rose inside him. He licked his lips.

“Piers,” Christian said softly.

He turned his head so the others wouldn’t hear. “I’m good,” he murmured. “But you have to admit she smells delicious.”

Christian shook his head and stepped forward. “Sister Maria, Sister Rosa, I’m Christian Roth.”

The older one hung back. Up close, Piers could see the signs of exhaustion mixed with pain. The younger nun stepped forward. She wasn’t beautiful—Piers had known a lot of beautiful woman—but she was pretty. Even through the obvious fatigue, she was full of life, her face holding an innocence he seldom encountered. He ran his eyes over her figure, wishing he could see beneath those all-encompassing black robes. She was a good foot shorter than he was and peering down, he could make out the definite form of a pair of full, womanly breasts. All at once, it wasn’t only his hunger that was rising. He shifted, his leather pants suddenly way too tight, and Christian flashed him a dirty glance. Piers grinned; Christian wasn’t in charge here. He was.

“Good evening, Mr. Roth. But we’re here to see a Piers Lamont.” She had a low, sweet voice as well, that caressed his ears and sent prickles down his spine.

Her gaze had been downcast, but now she gave them both a swift glance, revealing eyes like dark chocolate. Her gaze shifted warily from Christian to him and widened slightly.

Great, she liked him. Well, she’d noticed him, anyway.

Piers elbowed his friend out of the way. “Welcome to the Order of the Shadow Accords. I’m Piers Lamont—how can I help you?”

…

Roz quickly lowered her lashes so no one would see her shock.

Holy crap.

Asmodai had told her that his mark would hide what she was. All the same, she had to fight the urge to turn around and run. Not that it would do much good. There was nowhere to run to; they were deep underground, and there had been armed guards at the elevator.

When she’d seen them, she’d had an inkling that this wasn’t a wise move, but it had been too late by that point. Even so, she’d never imagined things could be this bad.

The Order of the fucking Shadow Accords.

Asmodai had told her all about them as well. They were the ones who kept order in the supernatural world. They were also the ones who would kill her without a flicker if they found out what she was. Apparently, they considered her kind abominations. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor while she fought for control. The perfect end to a crappy twenty-four hours.

How many times during the long day had she considered whipping out her cell phone and calling up a taxi? But that would have given her away to Sister Maria, and she’d wanted to keep her cover in place while she worked out her next move.