Chapter 3

Marcus popped his head into Shadow's office, his wings held up and almost quivering against his back. "What'd you say to Callie?"

"Huh?" Shadow looked up, noting the high color on Marcus's face. "Why?"

"Cuz she's kicking Angel's ass on the sparring mats. I've never seen her like this." He ducked out, heading back toward the gym before Shadow could question him further.

"Hell," Shadow growled. "I'm more of a baby sitter than a boss." He got up and headed out of his office jogging to catch up with Marcus.

"They've got stun sticks, boss. I've never seen them spark like this before. I think even Angel's breaking out in a sweat."

Shadow opened the door to duck inside the gym, noting the men that were circled around the two women. Over the top of their heads he could see a glimpse of Callie, a sheen of sweat making her skin seem to glow. Somebody yelled encouragement as her head disappeared behind the crowd of men once more and Shadow could see sparks flying.

"Dammit," he growled, striding towards the group of men just as Marcus took a step back, nudging the guy next to him and nodding his head toward Shadow.

Suddenly, all the men who'd been so intensely interested in watching the two women go at each other had something better to do. The gym quickly emptied, leaving Angel and Callie still battling on the mat. The two were so intent upon the other; they didn't notice Shadow coming in or the men leaving.

Sparks flew from the stun sticks as they moved around the mat, grunts and groans echoing around the now almost empty gym. Angel landed a blow, almost knocking Callie off her feet and leaving a bright welt that matched at least ten others. Callie kept her feet, though Shadow didn't know how. Angel's powers were vast, but he could see she was tiring and that the burning of the stick was getting to her.

"Stop this," he growled, stepping between the two women and grabbing both sticks. The power of the shock the sticks were giving off almost knocked him off his feet. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Training," Callie said, holding on to her stick.

Angel let go of hers, bending at the waist. If she actually breathed, she might look as if she were catching her breath. Instead she was cooling off the burns on her hands against her skin, unwilling to let Callie see how bad they were.

"Angel, go take a shower and bed down here, you'll never make it across town before dawn."

She nodded, turning and heading to the locker room, rubbing her shoulder where Callie had struck last. On her way past Marcus, she grabbed at his arm. "Let's give the kiddies some time alone," she said, nodding back where Shadow was still holding both sticks.

"Oh hell, you always ruin all my fun. If I go like a good boy, will you let me scrub your back?" Marcus smiled, moving closer to her only to draw back when she bared her fangs at him. "Okay, geez, it was just an idea."

"Keep your ideas in your pants," she growled waiting until she was out of sight of the other two members of their team before she gave in and started limping.

"She really kicked your butt, didn't she?" Marcus whistled, holding up his hands when Angel narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm fine, Wings, so drop the subject. Why don't you go find someone who enjoys having your around. Oh, wait, you'd have to find a time machine and find one of those Greek Gods that created you."

"Atlantean," he corrected, brushing off her snide remarks. "I'm happy right where I am."

"Yeah, but I'd like you to get lost," Angel demanded. She grabbed his arm when he went to turn around and go back into the gym. "Not that way, big guy. You've got to go through here."

"The women's locker room? Not likely, not even for you, unless..." Marcus let the words trail off, taking her hand and running it down his smooth, bare chest. Her hand was cold, making him shiver, causing his nipples to rise into small points. "I'd need a little incentive."

Angel turned to look at him, every bit of the cocky female vamp gone from her face. "Marcus, please," she almost begged. "For once in your centuries of life, could you just do something for someone without blackmail and bribery?"

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked, then took a better look at her face. "Yeah, sure," he said, scooping her up in his big arms. "Dawn's almost here."

"How do you.know that?" Angel asked, not even fighting him when he walked through the door and into the locker shower room.

"You're way too pale even for you. I've only seen you look like this when dawn's almost here. You need blood and a crypt." He set her down, turning on the shower head and putting her in the spray dressed just as she was. Then he surprised her even more, stepping into the spray with her.

"You're ruining your boots, Wings."

"I'll let you buy me a new pair," he said.

"Oh, how magnanimous of you." Her words were coming out slurred, her body reacting to the dawn though she couldn't see the sun.

Marcus washed her long hair, running his fingers through the silky softness of it. He'd always wanted to get lost in it, to bury his face in the white blonde tresses and forget about all the terror and horror he'd seen and done in his many centuries of life. He could feel the coolness of her skin against his arms, he could smell the shampoo in her hair mixed with her natural scent. He had but to drop his head and he could kiss her.

Oh how he longed to taste her lips, to feel her fangs with his tongue, to let her feed off of him while he was inside of her, fucking her with long, hard strokes. Angel would take all of him, he knew it as well as he knew his own name.

He was massaging her scalp, hearing her make little cooing whimpers of pleasure that were about to send him up in flames. "So who turned you?" he asked hoarsely, desperately trying to take his mind off of what he'd like to do to her.

"I wasn't turned," she groaned, leaning back against him as he rinsed her hair. "My father is one of the Old Ones. My mother was his consort for a while until they tired of each other and went on to find other lovers."

"They tired of each other? But what of you?"

"I was never something to be tired of. I was his daughter, one of four children my father had." She could feel the sleep calling to her, but she fought it. "We are only allowed so many children in our lives. My father is Armand Rand, I am his youngest."

"I've met your father," Marcus said, finishing with her hair. He turned off the shower and reached for the sports bra she was wearing, stripping it over her head before she could protest. His eyes dropped to the small but perfectly formed breasts he'd just bared and he swallowed heavily. Grabbing a towel, he put it over her shoulder and pulled her hair free before kneeling at her feet and ridding her of her shoes and socks.

"You know my dad?"

"Yeah, I met him after I was dug up. He was quite the party animal, and a babe magnet." He closed his eyes, promising himself he would do no more than finish undressing her, dry her off and get her into a crypt. He wouldn't take undo advantage because she was almost comatose, he couldn't do that to her. "Hell," he hissed, letting his hands run up the outside of her silky legs, finding the wet shorts and pulling them down. The tiny scrap of lace she called underwear came off as well, leaving her naked under the towel.

"Marcus?" she called, dropping her hand onto his shoulder as she weaved drunkenly against him.

"Yeah?" He stood up, grabbing another towel to wrap her hair in, than taking the first to pat her dry.

"You know I'm going to have to kick your ass for this tonight when I wake up?"

"Yeah," he grinned, running his hands over her with the towel between her skin and his. "I know you're going to try."

She snorted. "Try my ass, you ain't nothing but a big butterfly." Her hands came up to rest against his chest, her fingers curling against his skin. "Thank you. For all of this."

"You're welcome, but we still need to get you fed."

"Can I?" she asked, staring at his neck. "I've always wondered what ancient Atlantean warrior would taste like."

It was like his daydream come true. Angel biting into him, drinking from him. His cock was so hard, he thought it would burst through the wet leather of his pants. He lifted her in his arms, the towel forgotten and hurried out of the shower room. "Where's your locker?"

"Down there," she pointed carelessly, her eyes fixed on his neck where she could see the pulse throbbing under his skin. Her fangs had lengthen, her tongue running over them and then across her lips.

He opened the locker, searching through it for something for her to wear. A silken robe caught on his rough fingers and he pulled it out, setting her down and putting her arms through it. It came down to her knees, the multi colored muted silk festive and pretty against her skin. Lifting her in his arms once more, he headed out of the locker room and down the hall, ignoring the looks he received from the other ASP agents as he carried Angel down to the elevator.

Three floors down, in the deepest part of the building, were the crypts, housing for the vampires who were either on call or trapped by dawn. Marcus stepped out of the elevator, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Rooms lined either side of the hall, some doors opened, others closed. Marcus headed for the closest one, closing the door behind him and setting the lock.

The room was bare, stone walls, plain linoleum floors, but no one here cared about the ambiance. What they cared about was sitting in the middle of the room. The box was close to seven feet long, wide enough for two or three if they squeezed close. The top was hinged, made of black shatter proof glass and sitting open, as if in invitation.

Marcus laid her down gently inside the box, toeing off his boots and throwing his wet pants to the floor. Lying down next to her, he reached up for the hinged lid, meaning to close it, when her hand stopped him.

"No ... you're claustrophobia," she murmured.

He couldn't help but smile. It was just like the cocky female vamp to remember his fear of enclosed places since being trapped underground for a couple of centuries. "If I have a panic attack, you can hold me, okay?"

She nodded, barely conscious, waiting for him to lay back before wrapping her lithe body around him, her knee coming up to rest against his upper thighs, her arm across his chest, her face buried in his neck. He felt her take a deep breath, inhaling his scent and letting out another of those whimpering moans that were driving him crazy.

"May I?" she whispered, licking the spot over the pulse in his throat.

He wrapped his arm around her, moving her body so that she straddled his stomach, her breasts against his chest. "Please," he whispered raggedly.