Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) by Heather Killough-Walden Page B

them, the Swallowtail Foundation had nothing to do with liberating the oppressed or destroying evil. To them, Swallowtail was simply a special effects company, famed for some of the most amazing visual effect shows across the planet. In fact, the only group Rhiannon could think of that could put on a better show than she could was Valley of Shadow , the rock band fronted by the singer known as The Masked One .
    But that was only because they were vampires, the lot of them. She’d figured that much out years ago. Not that she cared, really. Vampires tended to mind their own business these days and she’d n ever had any problems with them, in particular.
    In any case, Swallowtail was hired by bands and events across the nation, and by the best producers in Hollywood for their ability to produce seemingly impossible effects. Thanks, in vast part, to Rhiannon’s very special abilities. After all, it wasn’t every FX company that could produce eerily real looking lightning on no more than a whim.
    But Mr. Lambent, whoever he was, had spoken of something a bit deeper than special effects. His words were cryptic. They hinted at knowledge.
    Something the planet has been in sore ne ed of for countless generations.
    People didn’t talk that way about pyrotechnics.
    How much did he know about the foundation? Did he know that it made a habit of breaking the law in order to right wrongs that authorities couldn’t track down, much less touch outside of a court system? Did he know that Verdigri had established an entire organization around what amounted to vigilantism?
    More importantly, did he know that she was basically the single driving force behind Swallowtail’s success?
    Did he know about her powers?
    For once, Rhiannon honestly didn’t know what to say. And so, in the expert manner of avoidance she had learned long ago, she simply smiled, said nothing, and changed the subject by picking up a silver fork from the banquet table and taking a small bite of the chocolate crème cake on her plate.
    She was just pulling the fork back out of her mouth when her employer returned to the banquet table and was again at her side.
    “How is it?” Mr. Lambent asked, his voice as silky as the dessert she’d just tasted.
    She let the chocolate melt on her tongue a moment and then swallowed, and she couldn’t stop the smile that formed on her lips. “To die for.”
    Something flashed in Mr. Lambent’s eyes. Was it that lightning she could have sworn she saw co ming on? His beautiful, cruel smile broadened, melting her like the chocolate.
    “Did she misbehave in my absence?” Verdigri teased lightly.
    Mr. Lambent was gentleman enough not to grace the question with an answer, but that lightning of his danced i n the depths of his eyes. “A few associates of mine and I will be sharing drinks later tonight,” he said, changing the subject and addressing them both. “I do hope you’ll do us the honor of joining us at our table?” He turned and gestured to the darker, more intimate area of the church, where private tables had been set up with candles and crystal, and waiters bustled between them delivering food and drinks.
    “ Of course,” Verdigri nodded, bowing slightly and grinning broadly. Whatever Lambent had promised him, it must have been an incredibly tidy sum.
    Mr. Lambent excused himself, and Rhiannon watched as the crowd parted like a tide to let him through. When he’d finally disappeared, she found herself taking a deep, calming breath.
    “I believe you’ve made an impression on our media mogul,” Verdigri said in her ear before he moved around her to begin piling desserts onto a plate. He had a sweet tooth worse than hers.
    Rhiannon’s gut reaction was to feel hopeful and proud – but then her boss’s words sank in, and the knee jerk took over.
    “Did you say media mogul?”
    “I did,” he replied just before he scooped some kind of brownie made of white and dark chocolate into his mouth.
    Shock went through