Bishop fixed him with a contemptuous look. “There’s a new club I want to check out. Grays have started to hang out there ever since they realized we were keeping a close eye on Crave. I sent Cassandra and Roth there earlier to take a look.”

“So let them handle it,” Kraven said.

“No. We’re going, too.”

This was the first I’d heard about an alternate club for grays. But it made sense. Stephen needed somewhere to spend time—and he had been at Crave almost every single night since he’d returned to the city from university. “How did you find out about this?”

“From another gray.”

“Why would he tell you anything?”

Bishop held my gaze steadily. “Let’s just say I can be very convincing when I want something.”

Kraven snorted. “Better leave it at that. Wouldn’t want to disturb gray-girl’s delicate sensibilities.”

I stared at Bishop. “Wait. Are you saying you tortured the gray?”

“Some people need convincing before they decide to be helpful. This one was particularly unwilling to chat.” He shrugged. “He talked, that’s the main thing. I got the information I needed.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Just when I thought I’d figured out what to expect from the angel, he threw me another curveball. And the worst thing was, I didn’t hold this against him. He was right—some people needed convincing. But it still put a sick feeling into the pit of my stomach that he’d go to such extremes to help save me.

I looked into his blue eyes, wishing I could read his mind like the others.

But maybe I could. Maybe he was just really good at shielding—and the mind melds and memory melds were something completely different he couldn’t control.

“I know you’re doing this for me,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

His dark brows drew together and that edge of something  vulnerable returned. Then that very human expression disappeared like magic and he tore his gaze from mine.

“We need to go check out the club right now,” he said.

“Fine,” I agreed, my tentative tone turning fierce. “And don’t even think about trying to stop me from coming with you.”

A small amount of humor returned to his beautiful blue eyes. “Of course you’re coming. Stephen sees us, he’ll make like Houdini and disappear. You’re the bait to keep him right where he is.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Bait, huh?”

“Bait who likes to get herself in serious trouble whenever possible.”

“That would be me.” I nodded slowly. “Just do me a favor...both of you...”

The demon and angel both looked at me.

“Don’t kill him—even if we do get my and Carly’s soul back.” Putting it into words felt like I was jinxing it, but I had to say this. “He’s just as freaked out by stasis as I am. Call me crazy, but if there’s a way, I want to help him, not hurt him. Okay?”

Bishop blinked. “You want to help him.”

I nodded.

“You know—” a full grin appeared on his entirely too kissable lips “—maybe I’m not the only crazy one here, after all.”

Chapter 15

“Hooray,” Kraven said drily. “Another all-ages kiddie club. How exciting.”

He was wrong about many things. This was one of them. The club Bishop had taken us to didn’t cater to the underage crowd like Crave. Ambrosia was decidedly adult and crowded.

I’d heard of it before. Very popular, and wall-to-wall busy seven days a week. Carly once suggested we get fake IDs so we could sneak in and check it out. Since that was just after my near-arrest for shoplifting, and I’d been extremely paranoid about coloring outside the proverbial lines again, I’d refused to let her talk me into it.

Carly’d always liked chasing adventure way more than I had. I’d always, with very few exceptions, played it safe.

But nothing was safe anymore.

It was ten o’clock when we finally got there. I feared I’d get carded at the door—one of the few tests I’d inevitably fail. I knew Bishop wasn’t able to do the angelic influence thing that the others could. And demons didn’t have that particular skill.

But he’d figured out another way of influencing humans—one that worked nearly as well. He produced a roll of bills and paid off the bouncer. That was all it took to get a hand stamp and entrance. Money talks.

I’d heard a lot about the club, read articles about it on the internet, but it was even more impressive in person. A billionaire had bankrolled it for his Victoria’s Secret model girlfriend—who was named Ambrosia—and it had that sexy, high fashion meets big bucks look. And to add to the cool factor, the most hopping part of the club was three stories belowground. I checked my coat upstairs and we descended a glass, spiral staircase studded with crystals, sparkling under the pot lights.

Downstairs, the place was packed—despite it being a Monday night. The bar was in the middle, and the huge shiny black-and-silver dance floor to the far left. It put Crave to shame. Everywhere else, in the main area and in the many more private alcoves, were plush designer sofas and chairs, as well as tables where well-dressed patrons could mingle, drink champagne and sip cocktails.

But, just like at Crave, the music pounded. It was the one thing they had in common.

“This is where you think Stephen is?” I asked Bishop. Stephen was only nineteen, not that that seemed to matter all that much, as evidenced by how easy the bouncers were to pay off.