Bittersweet Magic (The Order #2)

So she’d tramped across country. It was sodding July, but up in the north where the convent was situated, it might as well have been winter. It had poured down for the entire walk from the convent to the nearest town, until her stupid habit felt like a ton weight and the rough material chaffed with every step. Three quarters of the way, Sister Maria had just about collapsed, and Roz had had to half drag, half carry her to the train station. It had taken more than four hours to make the sixteen-mile journey.

The convent obviously hadn’t been situated with convenience in mind—probably the opposite—and it had taken three changes of trains, countless delays, and fifteen hours before they finally arrived in London. Standing on the platform at Liverpool Street Station, the time close to midnight, she’d eyed up the bedraggled Sister Maria and decided that they were getting a cab the rest of the way.

She gave the address to the driver and settled back into the seat of the black cab as the city drifted past her. It was good to be back in London. She’d lived in many places over the centuries, always having to move on before the fact that she wasn’t aging started to strike people as odd. But she came back to the city whenever she could.

Between bouts of comforting Maria, who was close to breaking, Roz had been trying to work out what could be going on. Who had Asmodai’s Key and why? And how did this man Piers Lamont fit into the picture?

The trouble was, she had no clue about how the supernatural world worked. Asmodai had told her that her only hope of survival was staying under the radar, keeping to herself, not using her powers—except of course when he needed her to. Obviously, then her safety took the backseat. God, she’d been so hopeful this job would be the last and she’d finally be free of the bastard. Now it appeared she might fail, and who knew what he would ask of her instead.

When the cabbie had dropped them off, she’d been reassured by the tall office building, which appeared eminently respectable. She’d tried the door, but the place was locked up for the night. Eventually a security guard had noticed her, come over, and let them in. The nun thing had its uses.

A young man with dark red hair, pale skin, and a perfect smile sat behind the reception desk. It had been obvious that he knew Piers Lamont. His eyebrows had risen as she spoke the name. So here she was.

Someone coughed, bringing her back to the present. She’d been staring at the wooden floor for an age, but she didn’t want to look up. She’d seen some scary things in her time, but these two men sent shivers running through her. Still, she forced her gaze back to them.

The tall dark one was obviously making some attempt at hospitality. But Piers Lamont just appeared amused.

And gorgeous. These days she tended to stick with her vibrator if she needed sex, but she’d had a few hot guys in her time. None of them had come close to this.

Tall, he was dressed in black leather pants that showed off his long, lean body, and a black T-shirt that stretched over his broad chest. A shoulder holster fitted over the shirt, adding to the sense of menace—because, despite the lazy smile that curved his full lips, he was menacing. His dark blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, emphasizing his sharp cheekbones and midnight blue eyes. An entirely inappropriate heat flooded her as she stared at him.

His nostrils flared, and his smile turned predatory. “Just how can I help you?” he purred.

Quickly, she lowered her eyes again. She had to keep in character. So what would a nun do faced with the most gorgeous two guys she’d ever encountered, one of whom had the ability to make the word sex flash in big red letters in her obviously sex-starved mind? She was one sad case.

Shit. This was a complication she didn’t need.

Ignore it.

She clasped her hands in front of her, in a nun-like manner, which had the added benefit of stopping them from shaking. Though maybe a little shaking was expected. Or a lot. She risked another peek. The dark man had moved to the side and was leaning against the wall. The blond had perched on the edge of the desk, one long, leather-clad leg swinging. Just behind him lay a sawed-off shot gun. She made her eyes widen in fake shock as her gaze shifted back to his face.

“Sorry,” he said. “Is this making you nervous?” He picked up the gun and tossed it to the red-haired receptionist, who still stood just inside the door. “Take this back to the weapons room.”

Was she supposed to feel better? He still had a pistol at each side and a knife at his waist.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Yeah, thank you for nothing. She wished she had a gun, but she hadn’t taken one to the convent. It really hadn’t occurred to her that she’d need one among a bunch of nuns. How wrong could you be?

“Now, do you want to tell us why you’re here?”

“Could Sister Maria have a seat? She’s not too well, and we’ve had a long day.”

“Of course. I’m remiss as a host. Come this way.” He jumped to the floor and strode across the room toward a door at the back. He really had a great ass.