Playing With Fire by Christine Pope Read Free Book Online Page A

that night, but one-offs were no big deal. It was the mass killings that caused the real headaches.
    “I’ll be back at eight,” Samael said, referring to the hour when he went on duty. Usually the two of them met for coffee and a brief convo before Abigor went off to do whatever he did to fill the day. He was never terribly specific, but Samael knew Lakers games tended to figure prominently in his leisure activities.  
    At least Sunday mornings tended to be quiet. Not a lot of drug deals gone bad or gang shoot-outs at eight a.m. on a Sunday.
    “Maybe the redhead will be up for round two when you get back,” Abigor offered, with a flash of teeth.
    Samael hoped so. Another blissful hour in Felicia’s arms might help to get Hell’s stink out of his nostrils. But he only nodded, then launched himself into the hard black sky. Miles away, a sleeping woman waited for him, and now all he wanted was to lie at her side once more.

    • • •

    Felicia froze. That had definitely been some sort of unwelcome noise — not the constant background murmur of traffic, or even the low, harsh beat of a police helicopter’s rotors. No, this sounded almost like someone bumping into her coffee table.
    Her first instinct was to remain where she lay and hope the burglar or prowler or whoever it was out there would grab whatever valuable he sought and then get out without ever realizing a woman lay sleeping in the alcove behind the rice paper screens. But then she felt the empty spot in the bed next to her and realized it must have been Sam who’d made the noise. He probably had to go to the bathroom or get a glass of water or something else equally prosaic.
    She gave a little sigh of relief, then eased herself out of bed. Her foot met her abandoned underpants, and she paused to pull them on. In the bottom drawer of her bedside table she kept a collection of ratty tank tops reserved for sleepwear, and she grabbed one of those as well. Sure, she’d just had the best sex of her life with the guy, but that didn’t mean she felt comfortable enough to be parading around naked in front of him.
    After pulling the tank top over her head, she stepped out past the screen. Then she stopped short, breath strangling in her throat and adrenaline exploding through her veins like napalm.
    She had to be dreaming. She just thought she’d woken up. She must still be asleep.
    For what she saw could only have come from a nightmare.
    The sole source of illumination in the loft was from the lights of the city outside, and so she could see nothing in detail. Only the vague outlines of enormous leathery wings. Blurred points on the top of his head that might have been horns. And a sudden gleam of red eyes, a crimson glare that met her shocked gaze and was immediately extinguished.
    Felicia opened her mouth — to what? Gasp? Scream? She wasn’t even sure. She didn’t know what she saw, because even as her mind tried to put a word to the horrific vision in front of her, it melted away. Sam stood there, holding a pair of black underpants.
    “Sorry,” he said, his tone casual, as if an escapee from a Bosch painting hadn’t just been standing in the middle of the loft. “I tried not to wake you up. Just wanted some water.”
    “What — ” The word came out as a sort of strangled gasp, and she swallowed. “Didn’t you see that?”
    “See what?”
    She supposed there was always the possibility that she’d somehow gone stark raving mad between the time she fell asleep and the time she heard the noise out in the loft. Then again, she didn’t feel crazy. Shaken, yes. Weak from the aftermath of that acid bath of adrenaline, absolutely. Wondering if she should get her eyes checked? Very likely.
    Then Sam turned toward her, and once again she saw that flicker of red in his eyes, just as she had on the street outside the restaurant. The same baleful glow she’d spotted in the nightmare form that had been standing next to her couch seconds before.
    Skittering