“I could have handled him,” Marna gritted out.

He still held her hand pinned against his chest. “Oh, yeah? How? The way you’re handling me right now?”

Then she moved, so fast that he didn’t even see the motion of her body. Angels could always move so quickly. Marna just hadn’t moved that way in a while, and he’d forgotten . . .

She shoved him back on the bed and straddled him, and Marna shoved a knife against his throat.

Now where the hell had she gotten that little trinket?

The silver began to slice into his flesh.

“I found this back at Hell,” she told him, fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of the blade. “I had it when that vamp came at me. I could’ve used it on him.”

“A little knife wouldn’t stop him.” Or me. Silver would hurt like a bitch because the old tale about shifters and silver not mixing so well was true, but she wouldn’t have time to do any permanent damage. Permanent like cutting out his heart.

“It would have slowed him down. Vampires get weaker with blood loss. I would have been sure to make him plenty weak.”

Strange to hear such bloodthirsty plans come from her lips. He had to remember, the lady was far deadlier than she appeared.

Even if she’d somehow lost the Death Touch.

“When did you know?” Her legs straddled him. Did she feel the swelling c**k shoving against her? Probably. Tanner didn’t really see how she could miss that. Not like it was a small thing.

The blade dug a bit deeper into his skin. “I went after those bastard panther shifters, LaRue and Stokes,” Marna confessed. “I went after the jerks because I wanted to kill them.”

So she had been seeking some vengeance. Tanner tried to keep his body perfectly still beneath her. He had one hell of a view, and other than the stinging pain in his neck, being beneath her was pretty damn pleasurable.

Being in her, that would be even better.

A hungry growl slipped from him.

Marna frowned down at him.

Tanner cleared his throat. “What happened?”

Her tongue swiped over her lips. His c**k jerked.

“I-I tracked them in the Quarter,” she said. “I followed them, for days. I waited, wanting the perfect moment.”

To strike.

Definitely a bloodthirsty angel. He’d have to remember that little tidbit about her. Marna sure wasn’t all sunshine and light, no matter how she appeared.

“I was going to walk right up to them. Look them straight in the eyes, and watch as their lives drained away.”

Cold. Vicious.

He would have done the exact same thing. He liked for his kills to be personal. Those getting payback, well, they needed to see just who was delivering the justice to them.

“They always went to the same place for drinks. I waited until the bar on Bourbon Street was almost empty, and then I went inside.”

Tanner heard the echo of pain in her voice. “What did they do to you?”

“Nothing.” A laugh, heavy with bitterness, slipped from her. “I marched up to Stokes. Put my hand on his chest and waited for him to look at me with fear in his eyes.”

Beau Stokes had always been a sadistic prick. So eager to attack weaker prey. So quick to slice with his claws and laugh when his prey begged for mercy.

“But he didn’t even know who I was,” Marna whispered. Did she realize she still held the knife to his throat? “He tried to kiss me. Tried to pull me closer to him, like I was another body to screw in that dark bar.”

Tanner didn’t speak.

“I wanted to kill him. I was trying to. LaRue was coming toward us, laughing, and I wanted them both to die.” Her head dipped forward, and the curtain of her hair hid her face.

Tanner lifted his hand and pushed back her hair. He could barely feel the sting of the knife now. “But they didn’t die.”

Her lashes slowly lifted. “Angels of death—those Fallen and those who still have their wings—all of them can kill with a touch. That’s our power. Our one, unbreakable gift. Death.”

Death was a gift?

“I ran from the shifters. They were laughing at me while I ran away.” Her breath rasped out. “When Brandt took my wings from me, he took away everything that I was. I have nothing now. Nothing.”

But fury. A rage so dark it had sent her after the panthers—ready to kill and destroy.

“Angels have magic. They can do so much—conjure, stir fire.” A bitter laugh came from her. “I can’t even make smoke.” She shook her head. “So what am I supposed to do now?” Marna asked him and then she blinked, seeming to finally realize that she still had a knife at his throat. Her hand lifted as she took the knife away from his jugular. “Just wait around for a vamp to drain me? Wait for a shifter to slice me and—”