“What the fu—”

Michaela pressed her hand hard against Clark’s mouth and yanked him to the floor behind the metal desk. His eyes were unashamedly wide with true fear, its smell filling her flaring nostrils.

When there was no immediate yelling or sharp objects flying through the air, Michaela realized the office door had never opened. It wasn’t the office lights that had turned on. She looked at Clark, who shook his head to say he wasn’t going to check it out. Michaela rolled her eyes before poking her head above the desk. The two-way mirror revealed it was the other room swathed in light.

Michaela stood, tugging Clark beside her. Together they watched as a man walked about the cramped viewing room next door before stopping in front of the window. He stared straight at them, but his face never changed. Clark waved slowly.

Without recognition, the middle-aged, pudgy man turned and walked toward the center of the room to sit on a wide, plush velvet chair so big his short legs didn’t touch the ground. He picked up a small remote on the arm of the chair and pressed a button.

In front of them, a thick curtain slowly started to rise off the well-worn carpet. When the curtain was all the way up, it revealed a thick glass enclosure suited to hold a wild animal. The man struggled to straighten in his oversized chair.

A figure slowly materialized from the shadows of the glass enclosure. Clark’s mouth opened with an audible pop. A flute began to play an old, sea swept song in the viewing room. They all waited in stunned silence.

The woman who stepped up to the glass had a full, curving, perfect figure. She drew her long, sinuous arms over her head, twisting and sliding them down each other. Her round hips swiveled and rocked to the song. Seaweed ran like vines up and between her legs, twisting around her hips as she danced. Huge green eyes were focused solely on the man sitting transfixed before her.

The woman’s face was as lush as her body, framed by red wisps of hair that seemed to blow in a soft breeze. But Michaela focused on the woman’s full, painted lips as they moved, forming the chords of an ancient song Michaela thought she would never hear again. For the briefest of a breath, Michaela saw a lightening-like slither of a serpent’s tongue dart out of her wide mouth. Her long lashes brushed across her cheekbones as she closed her eyes, drawing her hands down the front of her body to cup her breasts.

“Oh, shit,” Michaela whispered for the second time that night.

“Yeah, she’s something isn’t she?” Clark said dreamily as he watched the woman’s writhing body press and slide against the glass. Keeping her eye on the creature, Michaela reached back and smacked Clark hard on the back of the head.

He jerked, ducking to avoid further blows. He turned to Michaela with a slightly peeved stare. “Jealously does not become you.”

“She’s a Siren, you idiot.”

Cocking his head, he looked back at the creature that was now on her knees. His mouth formed a round ‘o’ and his eyes grew wide. “As in the irresistible-mythological-creatures-that-sang-from-the-cliffs-to-draw-Odysseus-and-his-men-to-their-deathskind of Sirens?”

Michaela shook her head. “How many classes did you skip during your Descendant training? Sirens were the human wives of the Watchers. After I buried the Watchers deep in the mountain for their transgressions against man, I punished the women with an immortal life full of unfulfilled desires. They would want what they could never have for the rest of eternity. They can lure men in with their voice, but they will never feel a man’s touch again.”

Clark shook his head, watching the Siren dance a moment longer. The man in the room leaned halfway out of his chair, drawing closer to the glass—an enraptured expression on his face. His lips moved in time with hers, begging and pleading for more.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” Clark said under his breath.

“It was a punishment meant to remind them of their sins. I never thought Lucifer could use them like this.”

“Can he?” Clark asked, his attention still on the Siren.

Frowning, Michaela said, “No…the Aethere had to pardon them from Hell. They judge the souls, but I typically handled the punishments within our ranks. The Aethere are the only other angels who could lift a punishment I had enacted.”

“Right. But should we go?” Clark asked.

“No,” Michaela said. “Not yet. I want to see what she will do to him.”

Michaela’s forehead creased as she considered the coincidence of finding the Apocrypha and a Siren in the same club. Lucifer was up to something, and it went far beyond just having dancing Sirens in a sleazy club for pleasure. For the first time, Michaela began to agree with Gabriel. This was much bigger than the Aethere simply framing her and the Archangels.

The man stumbled out of his chair and closer to the glass. The Siren slid up from the ground like a toxic vapor until she was eyelevel with him, coaxing and encouraging him. Like he could pull her out of the cage, his hands pressed so hard against the barrier, the flabby muscles in his arms quivered. He leaned in and pressed his lips against the glass. With a lewd smile, the Siren lowered her head and met his lips.

“This doesn’t look good,” Clark whispered.

The Siren’s tongue flicked out, and the pane of glass folded into her mouth like moisture. Her hands reached up to grasp the man’s face, holding him tight against her.

“Uh, what’s she doing?”

Clark’s voice was urgent. The man convulsed and fell limp in the Siren’s grip, who continued to kiss him like she was trying to pull him inside her. Michaela squinted, staring intently at the Siren’s mouth.

A tendril of light passed out of the man and between the creature’s parting lips for a second before the light went back inside the man. Her tongue whipped out and flicked at the man’s unmoving lips before she closed her mouth.

“She’s tasted his soul…But didn’t take it.”

“Should we help him?” Clark quickly glanced at her before looking back to the scene.

“She didn’t completely kill him.”

The Siren closed her eyes, her features laid out in relaxed fulfillment like she had just eaten something delicious.

“What do you mean ‘completely’?” Clark’s voice squeaked.

The Siren bent over the human. It wasn’t until Michaela saw the thick red liquid that she realized the Siren drew his blood. The creature took so many vials that Michaela figured if the man wasn’t already dead he would be. When she finished, the Siren easily picked the man up and placed him back on the chair.

“He’s just unconscious. We should go,” Michaela said. Clark met her eyes and nodded. They both glanced back at the Siren at the same time.

She stared right at them—the two-way mirror was gone. Nothing separated Michaela and Clark from the deadly Siren. Her lips began to move again.

The sound hit Michaela like a punch in the gut. It ripped through her head, forcing away any thoughts, leaving only a horrible, tearing pain. Michaela doubled over, her body clenched against the shrieking in her mind. Her eyes watered, and hot vomit rose up her throat.

Pressing against the desk she looked up, eyes bulging. The Siren floated into the office, leaving a trail of seaweed behind her. The smell of the ocean filled the room, the wet brine suffocating and thick. The Siren was heading straight for Clark.

Clark was oblivious to the danger. His face was the same as the patron’s moments ago. He was enraptured, begging for more. He took a step forward as the Siren beckoned him with her sweet singing. His eyes glazed over, mouth agape. Michaela grabbed for him, but he stepped out of her reach.

With a tremendous heave, Michaela shoved herself into Clark, knocking both of them to the ground. Pressing her hands against his ears to block out the sound, the haze over his eyes cleared, and he finally looked scared as the Siren, breathing her rotten fish breath, hovered above them. The Siren turned to Michaela, glaring and vengeful.

The Siren recognized her then. With a flick of her tongue, the Siren grabbed Michaela, wrenching her to her feet. The wet seaweed snaked around Michaela’s legs, securing her to the Siren. The sound of waves slapping onto sand filled Michaela’s ears. The sea’s brine seeped through the Siren’s skin onto Michaela.

Michaela’s eyes settled on the soft skin along the Siren’s neck. The creature wrapped Michaela in a tight embrace that looked almost intimate—except the Siren sank her fangs deep into the meat of Michaela’s shoulder. Her claws dug into the muscles along Michaela’s spine, pulling and tugging for purchase on bone.

With a grunt, Michaela’s hand slipped along reptilian skin. She ran her fingers down the outline of the creature’s throat, and there she dug her hand in, her nails piercing the soft, decaying flesh. The Siren opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, Michaela propelled her hand deeper into the creature’s cold, gutted throat, crushing her windpipe with a swift clench of her fist.

The Siren fell dead at Michaela’s feet. Her hand dripped with thick, black mucus instead of blood. Shards of the creature’s throat dangled from her fingers. She turned toward Clark, who was on his feet. He looked away from the gore, his face drawn.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Clark answered with his hand already on the door, yanking at the locked knob.

Michaela reached around him, covering the metal with mucus as she fumbled with the lock. Clark pushed against the door as if he could open it with sheer will alone. Finally the lock clicked over, and they both stumbled into the hallway in a tangle of limbs and Clark’s curses.

Their breaths were heavy as they straightened off the floor. The mucus burned Michaela’s hand, and her shoulder throbbed from the Siren’s venom. She barely registered the pain, because adrenaline coursed through her veins, making her human body even more sensitive to her angelic blood.

Her arm was on Clark’s, yanking him in the right direction, when she screeched to a stop. She smelled him before she even saw or heard him.

Asmodeus was blocking their path.