Temptation's Heat

TEMPTATION’S HEAT

Book One in the Shadowguard Series

Michelle Zink

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges mention of the following trademarked products that are the sole property of their respective owners, and used fictitiously in the text: Audi R8.

Copyright © 2012 by Michelle Zink.

Temptation’s Heat by Michelle Zink

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance.

Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Month9Books, LLC.

No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Edited by Georgia McBride

Cover design by Su Kopil

Cover art copyright©: Swoon Romance 2012

eBook formatting by Studio 22 Productions

One

Rowen Black leaned against the brick wall, taking in the formidable building across the street.

Shadowguard Security Services, LLC.

The sign hung on a massive Gothic mansion that had somehow been restored to its former grandeur without drawing attention to itself. Typical. Even in an old railroad town like Clifton, the Shadowguard was carefully under the radar.

Established in the 1980s, Shadowguard Security Services had grown to over two hundred offices worldwide, all of them populated with angelic descendants tasked with addressing potential threats from the demons of the Legion.

Sure, the Treaty was in effect, but that didn’t mean they could afford to be lazy.

To the outside world, Shadowguard was a profitable, privately held firm specializing in physical and digital security, counter-measures, and surveillance. To the descendants of the Alliance and the demons of the Legion, it was ground zero for enforcement of a Treaty that had insured a balance between the forces of good and evil for eons—and the war for the souls of humanity that would start if it wasn’t honored.

It was also home to Ambrose Montgomery, head of the Shadowguard and Rowen’s newest babysitter, thanks to his most recent run-in with the London police.

It was one hell of a last resort. He’d expected to be kicked out of the Corp of Assassins, not promoted to Ambrose’s elite Shadowguard. But even that bizarre turn of events couldn’t mask the truth; the Alliance was out of patience. If Rowen didn’t get a handle on his notorious temper, he’d be kicked out for good.

He pushed off the wall, one hand on the glaive at his waist, the pendant that channeled his ability to work the weapon snug beneath his shirt. He hardly noticed the women who turned to stare as he stalked across the street. It was nothing new. Women—mortal, descendants, and even the occasional member of the Legion were drawn to him like bees to honey, despite his frigid demeanor. Too bad they only interested him as a release for his insatiable sexual urges. He’d accepted the truth a long time ago; he was broken, defective, completely lacking the gene that required love and companionship.

Fine with him. Life was simpler when you were loyal only to yourself.

Crossing the street, he turned his attention to the building in front of him. His eyes roamed the exterior, marking the points on the roof and under the eaves where cameras were likely. Hell, they’d probably been watching him the whole time.

The idea made him square his shoulders.
Don’t be a pussy, Rowen.

He took the porch steps two at a time, black jeans straining against his muscular thighs, his body taut with anticipation. He’d never met Ambrose’s men, but they served the same cause, united in their mission to hold the demons of the Legion accountable for any and all breaches of the Treaty. And while none of them had wings or the other accouterments that literature and art attributed to angels, they shared DNA that could be traced back to mankind’s earliest angelic ancestors.

The door knocker was bronze, twisted into a familiar symbol: the Flower of Life, hallmark of the descendants and the Akashic records—a recording of all earthly events; past, present and future that they protected.

He hit the heavy knocker against the plate and waited.

A moment later the door opened to reveal a delicate blonde, her eyes so light green they resembled the sea foam that gathered in the shallow water back home in Scotland. She smiled, and for a moment, Rowen had the impression she was actually happy to see him.

“May I help you?” she asked softly.

“I’m Rowen Black.” He unconsciously lowered his voice. The little blonde seemed fragile, as if a harsh word might knock her backward.

She stepped forward, crushing him in a spontaneous embrace. He stood there awkwardly, pressed against the silk of her coral blouse, wondering who the strange creature had mistaken him for.

Finally, she stepped, back, smiling into his eyes. “We’ve been expecting you.” She held out a tiny hand. “I’m Lily Montgomery.”

“Lily … Montgomery,” he repeated.

She nodded. “Ambrose’s youngest daughter. Please come in.”

He stepped inside, his gaze taking in the massive entry, the mahogany staircase, its treads covered in rich Persian carpeting, winding to a second floor. A phone rang somewhere in the distance, the soft rattle of typing a backdrop to the muffled voices coming from the rear of the house.

Her gaze dropped to his empty hands. “Where are your things?”

Rowen touched his hand to the glaive. It was standard issue, along with the sickle, for all members of the Corp. “I have what I need. Anything else, I usually pick up along the way.”

“All right then. Follow me.”

Two

“This is bullshit. That kill was mine.”

Scarlet watched with annoyance as her brother, Ivan, paced the floor. The rant was nothing new. No matter how much she tiptoed around him, he saw everything as an attack on his position in the Guard and the Montgomery family. Scarlet had made excuses for him after their mother had died. They had been close. But it was no use. Ivan’s biological father had disappeared when he was an infant, and although Ambrose Montgomery had adopted Ivan and raised the boy as his own, Ivan could never shake the feeling that he was less than his half-sisters, Scarlet and Lily. That his place in the family, and as a possible successor to Ambrose, was somehow compromised by his biological bloodline.

Their father sat calmly at his desk, no sign of emotion on his weary face as Ivan paced the office. A swell of anger moved through Scarlet’s body. Ivan shouldn’t bother their father with something so minor. Not when his health was failing so rapidly.

“You were struggling with the wraith,” she explained, trying to diffuse the situation. “I was only trying to help.”

He barked out a harsh laugh and ran a hand through his dark blond hair. It was longer than regulation, but everyone picked their battles with Ivan. Not because they were afraid of him, but because he was such a pain in the ass that no one wanted to bother.

“Only trying to help … Right,” he sneered. “That’s a good one. More like trying to make me look weak in front of Braden and Kane.”

I don’t need to make you look weak,
Scarlet thought.
You do that all by yourself.

She bit back the response.

Their father spoke, his voice low and hoarse. “Familial relationship aside, it is incumbent upon your Guard brothers and sisters to aid you in battle when necessary.”

“But I—”

Their father held up a hand. “It is sometimes difficult to gauge whether one is in control in battle. Perhaps you should give your sister the benefit of the doubt.”

Scarlet tucked a piece of long, dark hair behind one ear. “Look, I’m sorry if I stepped in when I shouldn’t have. Braden and Kane had doubled down on the other wraith. It seemed stupid to stand there when I could help.”

Ivan scowled at her. “I guess this is the part where you imply that you were the first one to make a kill?”

Scarlet stifled her frustration. Ivan saw everything she said, everything she did, as a maneuver to make him look bad. It had gotten worse since their father’s illness, the possibility that a successor would have to be named—from family, as was tradition—looming in the back of both their minds. And while Scarlet couldn’t deny that she had a certain aptitude with the sickle and glaive, Ivan was just as likely to be considered for leadership. This despite the chip on his shoulder made it difficult for the other members of the Guard to like or respect him.

She turned her attention back to the conversation. “The specter I had was an easy kill. Yours was probably a lot tougher.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “So now you’re patronizing me?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Scarlet threw up her hands and faced the window.

Three

Rowen followed Lily upstairs and down a series of long hallways. She came to a stop at a set of carved double doors. A voice, male and obviously angry, rose from inside. Rowen only had a second to wonder if it was Ambrose Montgomery before Lily placed her hand on the doorknob.

Rowen reached out to stop her. “Maybe we should wait.”

She laughed softly. “If we wait for them to stop arguing, we’ll be here all night.”

Before he could say anything else, she opened the door, reached back for his arm, and pulled him into the room.

The ranting continued. Rowen followed the sound of the tirade to a man pacing the hardwood floor that was covered with an array of exotic rugs.

“Go ahead and play innocent,” the man railed. “But it can’t be coincidence that it’s always you who steps in when we’re fighting.”

On closer inspection, the guy wasn’t any older than Rowen. Tall and wiry, he had the kind of lean muscle that could be deceiving on a man. You might even mistake him for scrawny. That would be a mistake. Guys like that always had something to prove.

This was definitely not Ambrose Montgomery. Too young, for one thing, his face unlined, his hair thick and blond.

Rowen glanced around the rest of the room, looking for the object of the man’s ire. He thought he’d found it in an elderly gentleman, sitting serenely behind an enormous desk. His hands formed a steeple in front of him, his eyes watchful of the younger man still pacing and ranting.

But then someone else came into view. A woman, standing at the window with her back to the room, framed by the lush draperies on either side. All Rowen could see was a tangle of glossy, chestnut hair falling in waves to a pronounced waist above a tight, shapely ass.

The woman turned around. “Maybe it’s because no one else cares whether you make it out alive,” she snapped. “Ever think of that?”

Her bone structure was aristocratic, her delicate features almost eclipsed by a full mouth and eyes that flashed like emerald fire. Her skin was as smooth as alabaster under the heat of the anger flushing her cheeks. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty, her body tight and toned under form-fitting black pants, the swell of her breasts visible in the neckline of her white t-shirt. Desire rushed through his body like a wildfire in the moment before she set her eyes on him.

Her expression hardened. “You must be Rowen Black. Don’t they knock in London?”

Four

The words were out before Scarlet could stop them. Everything else froze in her brain as she took in the man standing in the doorway next to her sister.

The guy was huge. His jeans strained against massive thighs. Dark blue ink trailed across biceps that bulged under a short-sleeve t-shirt, and his black hair was cut close to the scalp, making his strong features seem chiseled from stone. There was something dark and watchful in his brown eyes that went beyond the training they’d all endured as part of the Shadowguard. Despite his size, Scarlet had the sense that he could be in motion in under a second.

“Don’t mind her,” Lily said, breaking the spell of silence. “She’s still working on her manners.”

Rowen Black—and Scarlet was sure this
was
Rowen Black, they’d been expecting him—pulled his gaze from hers. His eyes skimmed over Ivan and landed on her father.