Where There's Smoke (3 page)

Most people who gave up their souls only saw and heard what they wanted. Who the hell would think to read the fine print anyway?

Then the trainees had to get their own contracts for souls while promising other poor saps a better life. The demons were running their own pyramid scam, with Satan at the top raking in souls.

Yeah right, a better life his ass. Like that would ever happen. Chance made it his job to set the trainees straight.

He walked behind the bar. After looking around to make sure no one watched, he closed his eyes, and thought about where he wanted to go. Air swirled around him and the ground was no longer beneath his feet. The sensation of traveling through space was an odd feeling, but he’d gotten used to it over the centuries.

When Chance was on a firm surface again, he opened his eyes. He stood in the middle of the rec room. He supposed people nowadays would call the spacious room a man cave. A bar stretched across one end. An assortment of cattle brands were burned into the surface. The branding irons now hung on the wall. Cowhide-covered stools were lined up in front, ready to invite a tired cowboy to sit and have a drink.

A scarred, red felt-covered poker table was in one corner, a seating area with overstuffed, black leather furniture in another. Dillon liked beating them at pool, so he made sure the room had a table. Sliding glass doors led to a covered patio. From there, a path wound its way to the stables.

The ranch had almost five hundred acres, more cattle than he knew what to do with, and some of the finest saddle horses around. The ranch house itself had twelve thousand square feet of living space. More than enough for one, but just right for the four immortals who lived there. It was home. The only real one any of them had ever had.

Chance glanced around the rec room. Ryder was shooting pool with Dillon, and Hunter was watching TV—the guy was seriously into television, especially
Survivor
.

Ryder glanced up, casually asking, “How’d it go?” Ryder was the Romeo of their rag-tag group. He wasn’t as tall as the rest of them, only six feet one inch, but his dark hair and smooth good looks made up for his height. He’d romanced more souls on their way to Hell than Chance could count.

“I finger-fucked her in the bar,” Chance told him.

Ryder grimaced. “That had to be hard.”

Chance was sure his expression was equally pained. “It still is. She’s freakin’ hot. All curvy and soft—and tight.” He drew in a ragged breath. “She’s got a body that would make a dead man come.” And long, thick, black hair that begged him to run his fingers through the silky strands.

Ahh, but that wasn’t even the half of it. No, there was something in the way she looked at him with those deep green eyes—kind of misty. Bedroom eyes. Yeah, that’s what they were. Chance was afraid he might have met his match with Destiny, but he loved a challenge.

Dillon, the blond Adonis, sank the eight ball with a loud clunk, drawing Chance back to the present. Dillon returned his cue stick to the rack. He was six feet three inches of raw male power. The guy had six-pack abs that were as hard as concrete, and even though he seemed to take everything in stride, he didn’t mind busting some demon heads together. Or anyone else who got in his way. But right now, Dillon looked concerned.

“Are you going to be able to save her soul?” Dillon’s forehead wrinkled.

Truthfully? Chance wasn’t sure. “I don’t know,” he told them. “Destiny likes being bad.”

He sensed her presence before she even opened the door. The mirror behind the bar confirmed his suspicions when she stepped inside, looking hot in her body-hugging red dress and those four-inch stiletto heels.

What the hell was it about stilettos that turned him on so much? That and long legs, and hers were long and then some. They were the kind of legs that wrapped around a man’s waist and sucked him in deeper. Now that was an image. His body ached with need.

“Yo, Chance, you still with us?” Ryder asked.

Chance looked around the room, startled for a moment. The vision of Destiny had been so clear that he felt as if he was there with her. God, what was it about this woman that had him living in a fantasy world? He shook his head and looked at Ryder.

“She’s hot, all right,” Chance told them. “And she wants my soul.”

Hunter turned away from the TV long enough to snort. “Just make sure she doesn’t tempt you too much, buddy.”

“I’m not a fool.” She might be sexy, and different from other women he ran across, but no, she wouldn’t get the best of him. Besides, he’d been saving souls way too long to get caught in a demon’s trap, especially one still in training. He would do whatever it took to save Destiny. Yeah, sure, he skirted the very edges of what was legal—for an angel—but he would do whatever it took.

Not actually an angel when he thought about it. A nephilim, to be exact. All their fathers were angels. Centuries before, they mated with mortal women. When the women bore children, a new race was created. Immortals with powers—demigods.

The children didn’t live by the same rules as mortals, nor that of the typical robe-wearing, bright-light-surrounding-them angels. Hell, most of the time the nephilim were breaking the rules and making up new ones as they went. As long as they didn’t cross over to the dark side, everyone pretty much stayed out of their way.

After decades passed, the nephilim decided they needed something to do. Saving souls and maybe answering a few prayers on a slow day was as good a job as any. If they had to walk a fine line to do it, so be it.

He sighed. And sometimes a demon-in-training who looked like Destiny came along. Chance had a feeling helping her see the error in her judgment might take a while. At least he hoped so.

Ryder bumped him on the shoulder. “Hey, you look like you could use some distraction. Why don’t we see what’s happening in town?”

“Yeah, come on, go with us,” Dillon chimed in.

Hunter even stood, turning off the TV. “Yeah, I’m bored.”

“You’re watching
Survivor
,” Chance reminded him.

Hunter shrugged his wide shoulders. “It’s a rerun.” Hunter was six feet three inches of pure muscle and power. Nobody got in his way. In fact, most times they just ran the other way. He looked mean, but he was a big teddy bear. He’d once answered a prayer that involved a kitten stuck in a drain pipe. No prayer was too small. And they still hadn’t let him forget that one.

Chance looked at them, each waited for him to say something. They knew how tough it could be, trying to turn someone. They were there for him. He only had to say the word. God knew he could use a break. “Yeah, okay.”

“Where to?” Ryder asked.

“My turn to choose,” Hunter told them as they stood in a circle facing each other.

Chance groaned. The last time Hunter chose, they all ended up in a barroom brawl. Hunter had a touchy temper, although that time wasn’t really his fault. A couple were arguing at one of the tables for most of the night. The dude was being a pain in the ass and his date just looked as though she wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. The nephilim normally didn’t get involved in shit like that.

Until the dude slapped his date.

Hunter lost it and took the dude out with one solid punch, but he didn’t count on the creep having friends. Nor did the dude’s friends count on Hunter’s cohorts.

Chance grinned. Damn, that was a fun night when he thought about it.

His smile slipped into a frown. They’d almost blown their cover, though. Mixing with mortals was risky at best. Sure, they answered prayers now and then. Playing demigods and granting wishes could be pretty cool. Revealing their true identity was the one gray area where they could get called on the carpet.

Not that any of them had ever seen their fathers, or any angels for that matter. No, they had other ways of communicating their displeasure. The angels upstairs merely blocked the nephilim’s powers.

Before he could remind Hunter about that, they were off. When the four of them traveled, it always took at least a minute to get to where they were going. Chance closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

Cold air whooshed around him before turning into a warm breeze. He inhaled the scent of earth and cedar, right before the hiss of a pissed-off bobcat filled the air.

Not a bar then.

They began to drift downward until Chance’s feet landed on solid ground. His stomach dropped, then settled.

“Where the hell are we?” Ryder asked.

Chance opened his eyes. Dillon’s eyebrows were veed, Ryder scratched his head, and Hunter beamed. Chance felt pretty much the same as Dillon and Ryder—confused as hell.

“Yeah, where are we?” Chance asked. The area looked familiar. Rolling hills were dotted with oak and cedar trees. Much like the ranch. To the north, the trees were thicker. Something told Chance that he’d been there before, and there was a reason he didn’t return sooner.

“We haven’t been here in at least a hundred and fifty years, but I didn’t think any of you would ever forget the place we created. We wanted a challenge.” Hunter’s grin covered his whole face. “This was the reason we bought the land for the ranch.”

The bobcat that hissed earlier padded out of the woods. The feline raised her head, then screamed loud enough to make the birds squawk. Hunter squatted and the bobcat ran to him, barreling into Hunter. A normal man would have been bowled over, but then Hunter wasn’t a normal man. He only laughed and scratched the beast behind its ears.

The guy attracted animals everywhere he went. He was Tarzan of the nephilim.

Dillon scanned the hills. “Didn’t we have Indians and—”

The pounding of hooves shook the earth beneath their feet, followed by the sound of war cries.

Ryder snickered. “I forgot about the holograms. Scared the hell out of me the first time.”

Indians suddenly swarmed over a distant hill like ants at a picnic, and they were coming their way, bows drawn. Chance took a step back, then remembered they weren’t real. Okay, he’d admit the holograms startled him the first time, too. Hunter told them they were a challenge to see who was the best at escaping danger. Except they all managed to elude the marauding band of Indians, so there was never a clear winner.

“I thought we’d outgrown Cowboys and Indians,” Dillon drawled.

An arrow flew through the air in a wide arc before landing between Ryder’s feet. “That looks real.” He reached down and pulled the arrow out of the ground. “It is real.”

They turned to look at Hunter.

“I tweaked the holograms. Makes the game a little more interesting.”

“Yeah, and you watch too much
Survivor
!” Chance whirled around and took off at a run toward the trees. They were immortals and healed fast, but they still felt pain, and right now there were arrows flying all around them.

They had some protection in the woods. Chance was glad to see four saddled horses waiting for them. Without pausing, he jumped, planting his palms on the horse’s rump and leveraging himself into the saddle. Before he drew another breath, he kicked the horse’s sides and they were off, dodging trees and low-hanging limbs. The Indians weren’t slowing down.

Chance would kill Hunter. As soon as they were back at the ranch, he would kill him.

He cast a quick glance at the others. Maybe it had been too long since their skills were put to the test, but Chance would still kill him.

“Split up!” Hunter yelled. “We’ll meet at the lake.”

Ryder went to the right when they cleared the woods, Dillon to the left. Hunter and Chance topped the next hill, then both veered in opposite directions. Chance glanced over his shoulder. There were five Indians on his heels. An arrow suddenly whizzed past his ear.

“Crap!”

He could be enjoying a beer in the rec room. But no, Hunter had them playing Cowboys and Indians.

Chance quickly looped the reins over the saddle horn. In one smooth motion he swung his leg over the saddle, turning at the same time, until he faced backward. He tightened his legs against the leather to keep his balance and jerked the rifle from its scabbard. In quick succession he cocked, then fired the gun, getting off three shots, dropping three of them, and pissing off the other two.

“Not too smart, are you?” he yelled. He cocked the gun and fired again.

Click.

Well hell, it was just like Hunter to keep the odds even. He flipped around in the saddle, kicked the horse into a dead run. He had a fifteen second lead when he topped the next hill. As soon as he was on the other side of it, he laid back on the reins. The horse’s back hooves dug furrows into the earth, but slowed enough for Chance to jump off and run back up the hill. Just as he topped the rise, the two Indians were reaching it, too.

Chance swung his rifle, butt first. The wood splintered when it connected with the surprised warrior. Blood spurted from his nose as his head reared back and he flew off the back of the horse.

“One down,” he muttered as he turned.

The other warrior jumped off his horse, feet landing with a dull thud on the ground. He bared his teeth, pulling a knife from the sheath at his side. Chance crouched low when the Indian ran toward him with a fierce war cry that should’ve had Chance shaking in his boots.