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CHAPTER4
The security team at the casino never explicitly told Polly that she wasn’t welcome back after her unfortunate—and admittedly uncharacteristic—goof. Probably because House of Sin employed werewolves, and you’d have to be a complete idiot to try to test a shifter’s sense of smell. On the off chance they forgot what she looked like, the guards would know her identity with a single whiff; a disguise might cover up her appearance, but even if she doused herself in perfume, her innate scent would make her stick out like a sore thumb. There was no way to hide.
Good thing that Polly had no intention of hiding.
After she showered, pulled on a dress that flattered her, and styled her curls, she caught a ride into the city and, without even a second thought, she walked into the front lobby of the Twilight Sphere hotel. Bouncing right into the open car of the elevator, she jabbed her thumb on the number ‘3’, and hummed in anticipation as she headed up to House of Sin.
She didn’t want to push her luck. Instead of milling around the patrons, giving the handsy werewolf security guards an excuse to accuse her of plying her trade, Polly parked her boots on the edge of the casino’s busy floor. After checking her phone for the time, she made a small bet with herself about how long it would take before she was spotted.
“Excuse me!”
Polly sipped the martini she’d snagged off a passing waitress’s tray, waiting for the man—being—to approach her. Glancing at her phone again, she smirked.
Four minutes. Only a minute off.
Not bad.
With curious interest, she watched him get closer. Something about him screamed angel. Maybe it was his cherubic, round cheeks, or the way he seemed to crackle with static electricity as he stormed toward her; the expression made her think middle management. He had golden blond curls that were at odds with the ancient look in his dark brown eyes, and an aura that had the casino guests stepping aside as he cut through the floor.
Another sip, and the spark of recognition. That’s right. Polly did know this guy. She remembered him. Not only was he an angel like Sam, he was also the floor manager that came down to the security office with the werewolves after the vampire raised holy hell that night last month.
He was about her height, maybe an inch or two taller. His celestial aura made him seem bigger, though, as he stopped in front of her, his chest puffing against his suit jacket.
“Miss, I’m not sure what you’re doing here, but I suggest you leave. You’re not welcome at House of Sin.”
Thinking back to the look on Sam’s face that night out on the Strip, Polly was willing to make another wager. And that was that this angel was waaaaaay off base with his claim.
“I’m not here for the casino,” she told him. “I just want to talk to Samael.”
Before now, she’d only ever referred to him as the middle prince, one of the Angels of Sin City, or Sam. In her thoughts, she called him ‘Ace’, just like she told him she would the day they met, but she’d never actually uttered his full name before. No real particular reason why, either—or, at least, that’s what Polly thought until she purposely said it out loud and the three syllables seemed to echo all around her.
The floor manager heard it, too. His eyes widened. “Ah… he gave you his name. I didn’t know.”
He sounded shocked.
Good. Polly could use that to her advantage. A shocked manager was a manager that wasn’t flagging down security to escort her out of the casino before she saw if her educated guess paid off or not.
“Oh, yeah. Me and Sam? We’re like this.” She held up her hand, showing off two fingers twined tightly together. “But I haven’t been able to track him down lately so I thought he might be here.”
“Oh. Well, he usually isn’t—”
“But I am tonight,” rumbled a deep voice from behind her.
Polly grinned. Though she couldn’t really explain how it could be possible—obviously, more research into the fallen angel faction would be necessary—from the second she used his full name, she thought she felt a whisper of his power brushing up against her. Almost as if she’d summoned him to her side by saying his name—which, if the research she already did earlier tonight was correct, she had.
When Polly still lived with her family, the Bensons weren’t what anyone would call religious. They celebrated Christmas, attended church for weddings and funerals, and prayed only when it suited them. After it was just Polly, she learned pretty early on that prayers fell on deaf ears, and the only soul she could rely on was herself. An indifference toward organized religion grew until twenty-year-old Polly finally declared that she was an atheist, and the matter of God was settled after that.
Of course, then she made an acquaintance with a bonafide angel and she realized that she should probably brush up on her theology if she wanted to understand her sudden fascination with Sam. Because though he seemed intent on watching her on his own time, she couldn’t deny that she wanted him to.
According to what she read on a couple of hidden faction sites, Sam knowing when she was lying was only the beginning of his skills. Like camouflaging his body and his wings, following certain psychic trails, and sensing her emotions, fallen angels could be summoned whenever someone used their true name.
And the only way to get it? Was for the angel to offer it, saying it specifically to another, giving it away. When Sam told Polly his name was Samael, he wasn’t just being polite. Oh, no. He was giving her a way to call him without relying on a phone.
Still, she’d needed a backup plan. In case it didn’t work, Polly went all the way to House of Sin figuring, no matter what, someone in the casino would get the message to Sam that she was looking for him.
She shouldn’t have wasted the fare. As she slowly spun on her heel, she found that Sam was right behind her, just like she hoped.
Polly grinned. “Hey there, handsome. Long time, no see.”
