Angel's Pain by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

that car, bouncing up and down on him, kissing and biting at him as she drove him toward the most shattering climax he’d ever experienced.
    Thank God, he thought, that vampires didn’t dream during the day sleep. Otherwise, he thought the memory of that one explosive encounter would haunt him until sundown.
    Â 
    She probably should have taken him up on it, Briar thought, as she examined her new digs with appreciation and ridicule warring for top spot in her mind. She took a long look at the giant Jacuzzi tub, the bottles of oils, scents, lotions and soaps that filled the shelves around it, the loofah and the candles, all of them with clean white wicks. She wondered if Topaz threw them all out and bought new ones every time one of the wicks was blackened by flame. How stupid was that? And what was with the towels? she wondered, as she tugged one off the rack. It was as big as a bedsheet. Who needed a towel that big?
    For a moment she envisioned herself soaking in the giant Jacuzzi and making use of the girlie shit that surrounded her. Then, with a roll of her eyes, she opted for the stand-alone shower instead.
    It was opulent enough all by itself. Corner-shaped and huge, with not one but three showerheads—so that she could wash, rinse and masturbate all at the same time, she guessed.
    Nothing too good for the princess.
    Briar made her shower quick, and tried really hard not to enjoy the pulsing pressure massaging her back and shoulders, though privately, she supposed she had to admit, it was nice.
    Even so, she spent the entire time judging Topaz for her spending habits—not that she gave a damn, she told herself; she was simply keeping her thoughts from heading down the alley they really wanted to explore.
    But it didn’t work for long. There wasn’t enough overindulgence in freakin’ Buckingham Palace to keep her from thinking about that. About him.
    Reaper.
    He wanted something from her. He was up to something. She wasn’t stupid enough to think men ever did anything for any other reason. And she thought he was a little bit beyond the caveman-level mentality. It wasn’t just sex, like with her stepfather. That Neanderthal hadn’t had another thought in his entire head. There’d been no motive, no scheme or scam or reason. Just beady eyes that were way too close together, and a serious death wish she had yet to fulfill.
    It was on her list. Gregor first, though. Then Stepdaddy-dearest. And then she would move on through the rest of them. The pimps, the dealers, the Johns. All of them. They would pay.
    She wasn’t a lost, weak, homeless addict anymore. She was a vampire now. Thanks to Gregor. Ironic, that.
    Reaper, though…he was different. Smart. Even halfway decent. So he wanted something, he had something to gain, besides a good time, by getting into her pants again. What was it?
    She didn’t know. And she wasn’t going to figure it out in the time between her shower and sunrise, so she toweled off, slung the giant towel over the wide rack to dry and padded into the bedroom. She snagged a fleece bathrobe from a hook on the way. The thing was as soft as down, cream-colored, knee-length. She pulled it on, and, in spite of herself, hugged it around her a little bit. Then she headed through the living room and toward Crisa’s door. It was closed, but the glass of blood she’d left on the table just this side of it was gone.
    She moved closer, opened the door very quietly, just a little, and peeked inside.
    Crisa lay in the bed, sound asleep, but uneasy. She twitched every few seconds, and her head kept moving from side to side. Roxy was still there, but she got up when she saw Briar peering in, crossed the room on tiptoe and joined her in the living room.
    As she closed the door quietly behind her, she met Briar’s eyes. “I don’t like it.”
    â€œNo, neither do I.”
    â€œIt just doesn’t make any damn sense. If she didn’t