Free Temptation's Kiss by Michelle Zink

One
    Kane Dawson reached into the backseat, past the weapons strapped to his waist, and felt around for the pastry box. He’d been saving it for the inevitable moment when the stake out would make him stir-crazy. It had taken over four hours, but he was about there.
    When the smooth cardboard came into contact with his fingers, he pulled it onto his lap, keeping his eyes on the warehouse beyond the windshield of the Land Rover. It was their second day casing the armory, and so far, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
    Which was a damn shame, because one of the Legion’s revenants had been killed, a violation of the Treaty that had existed for eons between the demons of the Legion and the angelic descendants of the Alliance. And everyone knew revenants were off-limits, something that made the piece of Shadowguard glaive found in the revenant’s body even more troublesome.
    Ambrose Montgomery, head of the Shadowguard, an elite fighting branch of the Alliance made up of warriors like Kane, was engaged in a series of heated discussions with the Legion. He stood by his assertion that all of the Shadowguard’s glaives were intact, making it impossible that one of them had assassinated the revenant.
    But the Legion wasn’t exactly buying it, and while they hadn’t yet made a move to break the Treaty—either by coming after the Alliance or more aggressively turning the mortals to the dark—their patience wouldn’t last forever. The evidence said the Alliance had broken the Treaty first by killing the revenant. It was only a matter of time before the Legion used the excuse to wreak havoc on the mortals and the Alliance.
    Kane lifted the lid on the pastry box and brought it to his nose, inhaling the moist scent of the blueberry muffins nestled in the parchment.
    “The way you’re looking at those muffins, I’d say you’re hungry for more than breakfast,” Rowen Black said, sliding into the passenger seat.
    Kane wasn’t sure whether his discomfort was because of the glaive digging into his side or the fact that Rowen was onto him.
    “And I’d say your imagination is running away with you,” Kane said, trying to keep a straight face.
    Rowen’s look was knowing. “Listen, Brother, I totally get it. You know I get it.”
    Kane surveyed the other man. Outwardly, he looked the same as he had when he’d arrived at Shadowguard headquarters two months earlier. His black hair was so short it could have been military regulation, his frame taking up every ounce of the passenger seat, his head almost touching the roof of the Rover.
    But if you looked more closely, it was obvious something was different.
    The tattoo on his bicep—the “V” of the sickle intersected with the spear of the glaive —was standard for members of the Shadowguard. When Rowen first arrived, it had been unadorned, a break with tradition that compelled all members of the Guard to personalize their ink.
    Now the symbol was wound with thorny vines and deep red roses, a reputed match to Scarlet Montgomery’s own mark. It was supposedly on her hipbone, but Kane wouldn’t dare ask Rowen for verification. Not unless he wanted his face smashed in.
    Brother-in-arms or not, Rowen would kill for Scarlet’s honor first and ask questions later.
    Kane knew the feeling. He bit into one of the muffins, the smell of vanilla filling his nose. Rowen was right, it wasn’t breakfast that the scent conjured. It was the woman who had made them.
    Lily Montgomery, Ambrose’s youngest daughter and Scarlet’s sister.
    Kane’s shoulders sagged. Rowen had him nailed.
    “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “She doesn’t date our kind.”
    Rowen laughed. “She is our kind, dumbass.”
    “She’s a Descendant, yes, but she’s not a warrior. She’s too good for that,” Kane muttered.
    Rowen favored him with a smack on the back. “Oh, man … You’re a goner.”
    “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t stand a chance,” Kane muttered.
    “What