The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Beautiful Sinners

In all fairness, Storm had considered locking her inside the compartment and leaving her to rot. But he was her handler now—for better or worse—and handlers didn’t kidnap or torture their agents.

Pretend she’s someone else. Anyone else.

Once he confirmed her concealment inside the compartment, Storm shifted the SUV into gear and headed for the surface.

Any hope he had for escaping the AIDO without question vanished when a familiar blond angel in a Guardian Captain’s uniform signaled him to stop.

What was he doing on patrol already?

Storm rolled the window down. “Hey, Declan. You’re on shift earlier than usual.”

The Guardian’s blue-eyed gaze flickered to the tablet in his hand, then back to Storm’s face. “Yeah, Zayne’s coming back from his seminar tonight. He and Alasdair will meet us later.” He scrutinized the silverblood for a moment, and Storm stifled a sigh, bracing himself. “Where do you think you’re going, man? You’re not supposed to leave the property.”

Grinding his teeth and hoping Kitara’s hiding spot muffled the Guardian’s assertion, Storm pulled out his phone. “I’ve got special permission for this.” He showed Declan the message and subsequent authorization codes. “A speaking engagement at the AIDO outpost in Ploiești.”

“No shit,” the angel replied, simultaneously surprised and impressed as he confirmed the codes on his own tablet. “Your dad’s finally easing up a little. Stars and hellfire, it’s about time.”

Storm managed a tight smile. “Should be back later tonight,” he said. “At least, he made it very clear that if I didn’t get back by tonight, it’s the last time I’d leave the facility for the next century.”

“Shit, get on your way then, man.” Declan patted the top of the car, then signaled to someone up ahead. Storm rolled the window back up and pulled forward.

The entrance to the underground cavern sat in the center of the AIDO’s topside property, surrounded by a fence serving as nothing more than a simple landmark drawing boundaries. The near-invisible technology enclosing the breadth of the AIDO’s hidden base represented the true obstacle for outsiders and enemies.

As Storm pulled through the second gate into the human world, a faint iridescent shimmer distorted the air, like a soap bubble. The field protected the facility from unregistered immortals—who could not portal through or otherwise cross the supernatural shield—and monitored registered immortal signatures within its borders. Kitara couldn’t have crossed from the outside in without proper authorization, but leaving its interior didn’t set off any alarms—as Robert intended.

Once out of sight of the patrols—ground and aerial—and after briefly considering leaving her in the compartment for the length of the car ride, Storm pulled over. Leaning behind the driver’s seat, with some effort, he managed to pound a fist on the floor, but Kitara was already emerging. Her face had paled, but she said nothing as she clambered into the front seat and buckled her seatbelt. She crossed her arms and pointedly stared out the window as Storm pulled back onto the road.

After a few moments of tense silence, Storm forced himself to address her. “If you’ve got nothing better to do, I’d appreciate your infiltration plan.”

“You’ll get it tonight,” came the reply. “I can’t give you details when I don’t know the layout.”

The confined air in the vehicle swam with her aura, intoxicating almost to the point Storm worried about his ability to drive. “You could at least start one,” he grumbled.

Kitara raised an eyebrow. “Maybe while I waited for you and ‘Declan’ to stop shooting the shit? You were the one who said we didn’t have all day.”

Storm’s eyes narrowed as he glanced her way again, irritated at her casual familiarity. “Captain Seanste is my friend,” he corrected. “And just doing his job.”

“Sure, like checking you weren’t leaving headquarters without permission? I didn’t realize my handler was grounded.”

So much for her not hearing their conversation.

“That’s not your concern.”

Her jaw clenched. “You being confined to the facility is my concern. If I need your help or—”

“If you need help, I will get the right people there to help you. That’s the job.” Storm pointedly ignored her glare blistering the side of his face.

“Major Avensäel, Warrior, Academy graduate with honors and commendations in advanced swordsmanship,” she listed off.

“Congrats, you did your homework,” Storm drawled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he threaded through traffic. “You want a gold star or something?”

“Your creds should make it almost impossible to confine you to HQ. Unless, of course, your dad—”

“I’m not discussing my dad,” he snarled, turning to look at her. “Or anything else besides the job. If you have something to say about the job, I’ll oblige, but otherwise, shut up so I can drive.”

Kitara blinked, frowned, then turned to stare out the window at the passing traffic.

Storm’s aura hummed through her veins, the smell and sound of him doing nothing for her nerves. She’d thought Cornelius assigned him as her handler to screw with her head. Yet Storm didn’t seem to want this any more than she did.

So why had he agreed to it?

That’s not your concern…

She’d considered pushing the matter, because if they were going to work together, she needed to know who she was working with. If she could trust him.

But the hypocrisy of the thought silenced her. Because she might be a Sleeper, but in reality, he could never know the true identity of who he worked with.

Her file listed her as half-Valorn, born to a Fallen mother and Valorn father.

But Kitara wasn’t Valorn. Not even half. And for her safety, no one could ever know otherwise.

Cornelius knew though, thus his extreme measures to keep her under his thumb.

Storm had no idea how much she risked, how much he risked, taking on this role. If he’d been anyone other than Cornelius’s son, she might have warned him.

But Cornelius thrust him into this position, same as her. If he was willing to damn his own son to see his vendetta through, who was she to stop him? It wasn’t damning her.

Probably.

Never had she been so eager to head into a world of darkness. Because if the anger radiating from the driver’s seat served as any indication, Cornelius engineered this situation for more reasons than to control her. Storm’s involvement somehow extended beyond that, though stars only knew why.

Silence descended between them until, after a few miles had passed, Storm’s temper cooled enough that he no longer wanted to throw the car off the road. He flicked his eyes to her. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

Kitara didn’t respond, arching an eyebrow.

His gaze returned to the road. “Mindspeaking.”

The silence in the car amplified to something oppressive.

After a moment, Kitara answered. “What about it?”

“We need to be able to communicate,” Storm said, his voice controlled. “And connecting the first time requires proximity. Better to do it now so we can make contact again once you’re in the field.”

“I don’t mindspeak,” Kitara said.

Storm glanced at her again, his jaw tightening. Her mistrust permeated the air like a physical force, but it didn’t stop the words coming out of his mouth. “You don’t know how?”

She glared at him. “Of course I do. I just don’t.”

For a moment, curiosity won out over irritation. “Why not? I would think as a Sleeper…”

“Believe me,” Kitara said. “You don’t want me rummaging around in your head. And I don’t need anyone doing that to me either.”

His brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t—look, we have to work together. Mindspeaking is safest and fastest, especially in a situation where you might be…where there might be complications.”

Her posture mimicked his own tension. “I said no, Major.”

The muscle in Storm’s jaw ticked. “Then we need an alternative.”

“We have one. It’s called texting.”

“You’re impossible,” he said, giving up.

“Family trait,” she muttered, gazing out the window again.

If she wanted to risk the inability to communicate with him, Storm couldn’t do anything about that. He tried. At least, that’s what he told himself.

For the next hour, uncomfortable, tense silence permeated the vehicle as they drove without speaking.

When Storm pulled into the parking lot of her new home, Kitara studied the complex. The buildings had seen better days. Patches of plaster sloughed off the exteriors, giving them a leprous appearance. The faint smell of a dead animal wafted close by. Winter weather left grass sparse and shriveled. Metal bars protected all the first-floor windows. Luckily, her flat was on the third floor, and the security and structural soundness of that unit far exceeded any of the others.

Kitara hesitated as she reached for the door handle, then turned back, brow furrowed. “One question. Why?”

Storm scowled at her. “Why what?”

“Why this? Why me?”

Storm resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. “Let’s get one thing straight, Kitara,” he replied flatly. “My job is to know your file and the intel you send me. Your job is to gather that intel and report it in a timely manner. That’s it. How I got here isn’t your concern, just how you got here isn’t mine.” He hadn’t intended to throw that in her face, at least not now, but it had occupied his mind for so long—how she had landed a position in the most elite profession in the AIDO, despite all the things she’d done.

Ever the professional, Kitara’s expression gave nothing away. “Noted,” she replied dryly. “I’ll send you an infiltration report after I do some recon.”

She exited the car then and shut the door behind her, leaving Storm wondering, not for the last time, if spiting his father was worth working with Kitara Vakrenade.

Kitara escaped from the car and its frosty atmosphere into the equally frigid open air. She detested winter and the icy temperatures it brought.

Taking the steps of the building two at a time, rushing to escape the cold, Kitara didn’t look back when the SUV’s tires crunched over the asphalt as Storm departed.

She spent some time familiarizing herself with her new home. The flat was bare but for the standard AIDO furniture set—bed, desk, couch, dresser—and a small dining table with two chairs. Her computer sat on the desk. She peeked through an adjoining door into the tiniest of bathrooms, standing shower, sink, toilet. The kitchenette consisted of a small fridge and sink and one short countertop.

After Kitara confirmed she could connect to the AIDO’s servers, she sent a message to Devika to let her know she had arrived safely, and they would talk tomorrow. She settled on the bed with her laptop and reviewed her infiltration packet and its contents, determined to put Storm out of her mind.

She found a decent-sized stack of lei—the humans’ local currency—and a cell phone designed in the likeness of their technology, rather than her flashier Valëtyrian device. She also discovered several dozen unmarked packets of fine powder, smaller than matchbooks.

Innocuous to some, but to her, they meant survival. She would carry them while she moved through Ostragonian territory and mix them with any food or drink she ingested. Ostragarn’s power-based politics made poisoning attempts of suspected rivals or enemies commonplace. The powder would nullify any unsavory substances someone might try to slip her. The purifier was a closely guarded secret—an entire segment of Sleeper training focused solely on sleight of hand to use the packets discreetly.

Satisfied with her findings, Kitara returned to Landon’s file, perusing what the AIDO had compiled about his work before his death. The report stated he had fostered an ongoing sexual relationship with two different Ostragonians. Sex presented a possible way to forge relationships, though Kitara hoped she could avoid it herself. Landon worked that angle until the first went nuclear upon discovering his relationship with the second.

Her computer chimed with an incoming message from Devika, who expressed relief at Kitara’s safe arrival and agreed to chat the next evening.

The Sleeper tried to keep busy…but her new handler invaded her thoughts anyway.

Kitara wasn’t sure what he knew, but Cornelius must have said something to provoke such tangible disdain from the onset. And that raised the question: which of her bloody secrets had the High Councilor shared?

The day of trafficky driving, internal raging, unwilling speaking, and begrudging pandering left Storm exhausted on his return to headquarters that evening.

In truth, his encounter with Kitara rattled him the most. She drew him like a goddamn magnet while simultaneously, she repelled him. He’d never felt anything like it in his life.

Kitara sent her infiltration plan as he parked; Storm skimmed it and, upon reading the postscript saying she didn’t expect any trouble, promptly disregarded it.

When he let himself into his room, Storm found three others inside. At Storm’s insistence, his friends took advantage of his large entertaining space whenever they wanted.

“The jailbird’s home,” Declan proclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome back, brother.” He’d swapped his black uniform for a more casual gray t-shirt and camo tactical pants.

A tall ebony angel with long locs gathered at the nape of his neck shook his head, deadpan. “If I hadn’t seen the clearance approval myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Shut up, Alasdair,” Storm replied with an amused snort.

Storm didn’t know if the head Engineer of headquarters had the appropriate clearance to discuss Storm’s new job, considering the confidentiality of the Sleeper profession, but it didn’t matter. The NDA he signed made one rule perfectly clear:

Unless otherwise instructed, do not discuss Sleepers—with anyone.

“You got back later than I did,” said the third, a curly-haired angel with hazel-brown eyes, who Storm hadn’t seen for the better part of a week.

“Zayne,” Storm acknowledged him before glancing around. “How was your thing?”

“Uneventful,” the angel replied. “I’ve been assigned a new speaking assignment myself, actually. A seminar in a few weeks.”

Zayne attended but didn’t graduate from the Academy, opting instead to drop out and pursue more diplomatic endeavors.

“Better you than me,” Storm muttered as he collapsed on his couch and unbuttoned the gold clasps on his starched white collar. “I hate public speaking.”

“How was Ploiești?” Declan asked. “And your first official outing from AIDO headquarters since…well, ever.”

Storm shrugged one shoulder. “The same,” he said, pulling off the asymmetrical uniform jacket he wore. “I talked to an audience about the Academy, which no one really cares about, then shook a lot of hands and took pictures.”

“I’m a little surprised your dad let you out,” Zayne said, leaning forward in his chair. “I almost couldn’t travel through the traditional channels to get home from Guadalajara.”

“Why’s that?” Storm asked.

“You’ve heard the latest, haven’t you? From the military bulletins?”

Storm turned his head to Alasdair. “Maybe? Be more specific.”

“Ostragarn has some kind of new figurehead,” the Engineer elaborated. “Someone who’s pulling their armies together.”

“Oh, that,” Storm said, feigning ignorance. “Yeah, I think I saw something about it. But just because someone new is leading them doesn’t mean we’re immediately at risk.” He rolled his eyes at Zayne in a gesture of solidarity. “Still…” He hesitated. “It’s going to be my only outing for now.”

Declan crossed his arms. “There it is. Daddy dearest can’t stand his princess being outside her tower.”

Storm threw a decorative pillow at his friend as the others laughed. “Man, shut up.”

“At least if you were an Ambassador, you’d have an excuse to get out more.”

“Phoenix is the perfect little diplomat, not me,” Storm grumbled. “I have zero interest. No offense, Zayne.”

“None taken,” the Ambassador replied without batting an eye.

“Storm, you’re a visual representation of the Myragnar, or what’s left of them,” Alasdair said. “Considering they never leave Myragos anymore, you’re…a beacon of hope, I guess.”

Storm seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Yeah, probably because they’re afraid if they leave the citadel, they’ll end up in a coma too.” He didn’t make an effort to temper his cynicism. It was a touchy subject, and his three friends knew it.

On cue, his friends exchanged concerned glances.

“I guess the Myragnar figured if it happened to your mom, it could happen to any of them,” Zayne admitted. “With so few of them left, and comprehensive Healers getting rarer by the day in Valëtyria…they probably don’t want to risk it.”

Storm gestured with a hand. “Which is why my dad keeps me…locked in a tower.” He shot an amused look at Declan. “And right now, I’m okay with it. I’m exhausted and really want to go to bed.”

Declan grinned at him. “Want me to find somebody who can help you unwind a little?”

“Fuck off, Dec,” Storm said, but humor colored his expression. “My love life doesn’t need your help.”

“Sure it does, you just don’t know it yet.”

Storm pointed. “Out.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Declan said, standing along with Zayne and Alasdair, “I can set you up with this hot little angel I know—”

“Goodbye, Declan.”

Declan was already halfway out of the room, laughing. “She can do this thing with her tongue—”

Zayne shoved their incorrigible friend through the door, stifling his own laughter as he and Alasdair bade him goodnight.

Storm flopped into bed a few minutes later with relief. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Maybe he did need to find a distraction. But if sex was his goal, then why did a vivid pair of green eyes dominate his thoughts?

He shook the thought away, scowling to himself in the dark. Kitara was gorgeous, yes. But all immortals were. She wasn’t anything special in that regard.

But her aura…

Damn her and the enigma of that aura. It was sunlight dancing in a prism, rain following a drought. Stars, the force of it intoxicated him.

The most dangerous monsters wore the prettiest faces: even Netherlings, excepting Ostragarn’s mutated demon brood, intrigued and seduced humankind with otherworldly beauty. And she was a Netherling.

No matter how her aura enticed him, how her beauty appealed to him, he couldn’t ever forget that. Because the minute he did, no doubt she’d turn on him, too.

Even if he had found himself longing, for the briefest of moments, to drown in the emerald depths of her gaze.

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