The Angel's Fire

by Holley Trent

  Lola fully expected him to send the girl away with a scoff. That sword was an appendage for him—like a part of his body. He’d told her so a century prior.

  But surprisingly, or perhaps not-so-surprisingly at all knowing Tarik as she was coming to recently, he shed his jacket, shrugged off the harness and handed the kit to their daughter, sword and all. His countenance was grim, gaze heartbreakingly fearful in the way of fathers who know too much about the world. “I’ll fetch it from you,” he said solemnly. “Six months. Don’t get attached.”

  Teary-eyed, Angela hugged it tight and walked away, looking back once before disappearing around the corner.

  Scared but brave.

  She’d be fine. She had guts and a big heart. Lola had to trust that she’d do the right thing—that she’d do better than her mother would.

  And then it was just the two of them. Lola and Tarik.

  Of course, neither had a damned thing to say.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The last time Tarik had stared in awe at Lola in the middle of Maria’s Main Street, he’d gotten himself shot in the shoulder.

  He didn’t wish a repeat of that event.

  He gathered her up and found a quiet, dark alleyway to teleport from.

  She squirmed free of his arms. “Can we just…walk? Like normal people?”

  “I figured you’d want to shout at me in the sanctity of your own home.”

  She sighed and her shoulders slumped as though all the life had drained out of her. “I don’t want to fight with you, Tarik. I’m tired of fighting with you. Besides, there’s nothing left to argue about.”

  His heart—or whatever passed for one in a fallen angel—felt as though it’d dropped through his feet. “I’m afraid to ask, but…what does that mean? You don’t want to—”

  “Hush,” she said tiredly. “Please.”

  He gestured for her to continue.

  She swallowed and, surprisingly, reached for his hand.

  He closed his fingers tight around hers before she could dare change her mind. “We can walk. We can pretend to be normal, like I said before.”

  For a long while, they didn’t say anything. They passed the diner and the grocer. The park. Tiny’s food truck. It wasn’t until they’d reached her block that she said, “Do you think she was right?”

  “Who? Angela?”

  “Yes. About us tempering each other.”

  “I think she was being as honest as she knew how to be.”

  “You don’t think she’d just say those things to push us together?”

  “No. It wouldn’t benefit her in the slightest bit to convince creatures who despise each other to reconcile.”

  “Despise?” She snatched her hand away. “So you despise me, then?”

  Laughing, he grabbed her up wholesale and squeezed her against his chest. “Why must you always think the worst of me? Why do you always leap to the worst possible conclusion, Butterfly? I was speaking in generalities.”

  And she was sensitive. So sensitive, and he’d have to figure out better words from now on.

  “I…don’t know.” She relaxed back in his arms, finding a place of trust again.

  He knew. Vulnerability was new for her, and he could work with that as long as she kept trying with him.

  He set her on the porch swing and gingerly perched beside her. When he was certain the contraption wouldn’t collapse under his weight, he relaxed and draped his wings over the back.

  And there was no ache.

  For the first fucking time since he’d fallen, his shoulder didn’t revolt at the movement. It was all possible because of that beautiful, stubborn child.

  Lola’s feet didn’t touch the porch floor, so he rocked them slowly, creeping an arm around her shoulders.

  “You think I’m full of shit?” she asked, not looking at him.

  “No, Butterfly, I think you have strong reasons for being the way you are, and some things aren’t easily cured. Do you think I’m a toy that needs micromanaging?”

  “Yes, but I’m a goddess.” She shrugged and laughed drily, likely at herself.

  It was so good to hear her laugh.

  “I think everyone needs micromanaging. I simply do not interfere with most others.”

  “So, I’m special?”

  She nodded. “You’re special, Tarik. You’re…important to me.”

  “How important?”

  “All-important. Distractingly important. So important that you make my blood boil.”

  “That sounds like love.”

  She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands, but he caught the becoming flush of her cheeks before she did.

  He didn’t try to pull her hands away. He pulled her in close and buried his face in her blue-black hair that always smelled so familiar and grounding.

  And he was grounded, just like Angela had suggested. He was going to let himself be managed for a while and see where things went. Good places, he was certain. After so long waiting, he had to believe that.

  “Can you disrupt the silence long enough to tell me you love me, goddess, or should I wait for Angela to come ’round again to needle you into saying it?”

  Lola shuddered. “I love you, Tarik.”

  He could barely hear her.

  “Try that once more, hmm? Would you whisper it to Cruz? Or to Yaotl or Angela?”

  “Of course not. They are a part of who I am now. And…you are as well.”

  They’d both changed because of each other.

  There was no going back to what they were five hundred or even a hundred years before. He doubted they’d miss the ugly bits of themselves they were continuously filing off. With every touch, every interaction, they could make room in themselves for more softness.

  Soft didn’t mean weak.

  “I love you, Tarik, and if you will stand me, I will find ever-louder ways to love you. That is a promise I can make.”

  That promise meant more to him than any precious sword or any mended wing ever would. Hearts couldn’t be taken. They had to be freely given.

  “So, you love me even if I need minding?” he asked.

  She tilted her face up to him and slowly arched a brow. “Perhaps because you do.”

  He put her head back against his chest and laughed long and loud. “Then you’ll have my love in return for eons to come, because that’s never, ever going to change.”

  “Lean a bit more this way,” she whispered, gliding her fingertips down his beard. “I want to tell you something else.”

  “What more do I need to hear, Butterfly? You’ve already said you love me.”

  “My name. You should know it.”

  A NOTE FROM HOLLEY

  There are so, so many things I could and want to say about this story, but I think for once, I’ll channel the nameless one and let less be more.

  I’m tremendously grateful to Nicole Flockton and Chell Morrow for being the intrepid earliest readers of The Angel’s Fire back when I was still trying to tuck in the bits of loose research. Thank you to the enthusiastic and encouraging subscribers of my paranormal romance newsletter who’ve been unambiguous about their eagerness for Tarik and Lola’s story. And thanks also to Kai at A.K Edits for responding when I slid sloppily and kind of last-minutely into DMs.

  Read on to find a special “connections” guide and also an excerpt from the final book in the Masters of Maria series, The Angel’s Desire.

  Thank you so much for reading!

  (P.S. You will see Angela and the Jaguars again in a new series. After all, Tarik needs his sword back.)

  SERIES CONNECTIONS

  VIPs

  Elizabeth Putnum: In the Desert Guards series, Hank finds a copy of La Bella Dama’s story written by Elizabeth Putnum. Contemporary Cougars know her name because she was a historian from previous generations…but they don’t know she’s still around or that she was Lola’s previous “ear.”

  Rachel Foye: Is a direct ancestress of Floyd, Mason, Hank, Sean, an
d Belle Foye. Lola’s special interest in Mason and his siblings is because of her relationship with Rachel. Silvio was the last non-Foye to lead the Cougar glaring. Bertie was the next in the role.

  Sophie Delacroix: Is a direct ancestress to the Delacroixs still residing in Maria. Some like to annoy the Foye brothers on purpose. Katrine Delacroix worked at the vet’s office and frustrates Hank in The Cougar’s Trade. Margo Delacroix hangs out at Val’s hair salon.

  Other Connections

  The Jaguars: Contemporary members of the tribe are first introduced in The Coyote’s Bride. They call themselves “El Culto.” They are, formally, The Cult of La Bella Dama or Culto 37.

  The Squatters: Rachel mentioned there were squatters on the Foye ranch and that she hopes they don’t stick around for long. They’re the Baxters…the family that becomes connected to the Foyes by marriage many generations later.

  Fionnuala: A.K.A. Noelle (The Angel’s Hunger)—she’s the Irish-ish elf who cursed Tamatsu in the 13th century.

  The Hellmouth: The Foyes’ struggle to close it (and to find angels to do so) is accounted the Desert Guards series! Prior to Desert Guards, the last time anything came out of it would have been two to three generations back. Lola’s injection of her energy into the desert may have done the Foyes the favor of suppressing it for a while.

  Artemis: Arrives in Maria in The Coyote’s Chance…with her brother Apollo. When consulted by the Coyote alpha in The Coyote’s Bride, she expresses she doesn’t know much about indigenous Mexican folklore and didn’t glean much from Lola. You learn here how that conversation actually went.

  Miles Foye: Is Lola’s current (local) “ear.” She’s the human married to Hank Foye. Her job is less demanding now that Lola has outed herself to the Cougar group, but she still acts as something of an emissary to newcomers.

  FROM THE ANGEL’S DESIRE

  CHAPTER ONE

  The fallen angel Gulielmus would have rather had the fires of hell licking at his nuts than to have to spend an evening socializing with…lessers. But there he was, swimming in disgusting normalcy.

  “Uncurl your lip,” his ages-long friend Tamatsu said into his mug of ale. He had his back turned to the room. His large body mostly shielded Gulielmus from being viewed by the party, but not quite.

  Every so often, people in the goddess Lola Perez’s salon would turn and peer over at them in that baffled way they always did when two or more angels convened.

  Gulielmus smoothed his expression and snorted. He scraped at the label of his beer bottle and murmured, “How long have I been here? Long enough that I’ve been absolved of my social duties?”

  The other member of their long-standing trio, Tarik, sidled over with the goddess herself on his arm. Or rather, with her holding onto his sleeve. She was a good two feet shorter, though she somehow still managed to have a commanding air about her. She would have to possess such a demeanor to have ensnared a creature as unpredictable as Tarik. Gulielmus had never known his friend to be so smitten before, not in tens of thousands of years of acquaintance.

  Gulielmus sighed.

  Intelligent being that he was, he simply couldn’t make sense of the phenomenon.

  “He wants to leave,” Tamatsu told them.

  “I’d like you all to leave,” Tarik said. “We’ve a new bed. Reinforced.”

  Growling softly, Lola pinched his arm. “Might you consider that I would rather have fewer people imagining the nature of my private goings-on?”

  “I could hardly be expected to behave myself. Perhaps when the honeymoon period has worn off.”

  “When’s that going to be?” Gulielmus asked. “I grow weary of your distractedness as of late.”

  “It hasn’t even been a year since I’ve moved in.” Tarik smoothed his hand over his chin and narrowed his molten gold eyes. “Besides, Angela has been dropping unsubtle hints about wanting a sister. Perhaps we’ll oblige her.”

  Both Tarik and Tamatsu laughed, their chuckles deep and sonorous, making the room turn to look, but they didn’t care.

  Lola did. She gave Tarik another pinch and cleared her throat.

  Gulielmus simply couldn’t find the humor in the situation. Sure, they could joke about children, now that they’d gotten settled with their snarly little women, but Gulielmus had been there, done that. During his centuries as a sex demon, he’d bedded more women than he could count, and his children and children’s children had once numbered in the multitudes.

  His friends had criticized him for every single one.

  Gulielmus had gotten to the point where he’d stopped telling them about them.

  It didn’t matter, anyway. Most were dead. They’d been wiped out in a nasty, highly targeted plague after his somewhat recent expulsion from the ranks of incubi. They’d had strong magic but weak minds.

  The children of his that remained were the ones who expected him to be…decent.

  He shuddered at the thought.

  “Quite an age span between them, hmm?” Tamatsu said and took another swig of ale. “Angela’s, what? Hundred and thirty?”

  “Hundred and fifty,” Lola murmured. “Bear in mind that my Yaotl is six times that. They get along fine.”

  “You’re truly considering this?” Gulielmus asked. He simply couldn’t imagine the woman pregnant. For that matter, he couldn’t imagine her in a state of being undone at all, and he’d fucked a little bit of everything. Shapeshifters. Witches. Angel spawn. Even the occasional lesser goddess. He simply couldn’t see Lola as a sexual being, possibly due to some magic on her part, but he’d never been curious enough to investigate.

  That was odd for him. Once, he would have cared more. He’d hated being ignored—hated being told no—but in the past couple of years, he’d been unable to muster up sufficient indignation.

  Lola twined her fingers in front of her belly and turned to the reason for the gathering. Her firstborn was having a birthday, and someone had rolled out a massive chocolate cate. “If my children have no objections, we may try for one more now, before Yaotl wishes to expand his family. Relationships become complicated when aunts and uncles are younger than their nieces and nephews.”

  “You’re curling your lip again,” Tamatsu informed Gulielmus.

  “Jealous?” Tarik asked, raising a brow.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Perhaps a little.

  Gulielmus missed the anticipation of a new arrival—the wondering of what kind of magic they’d have or who they’d resemble. The latter shouldn’t have been much of a surprise after so many times. His seed was strong. Every one of his children favored him, especially the one heading his way.

  “He refuses to be sung to. Here’s your cake,” Charles droned. Same voice as his father. Same eyes. Same face, give or take a few planes and shadows. He had dark hair whereas Gulielmus was fair, though, and a much more human height at six-feet-something. It went without saying that Charles was extremely attractive, and of course he was. He was his father’s son.

  He thrust a fancy china plate with an immaculately carved wedge of chocolate cake at his father and put a fork in Gulielmus’s hand. “Eat it. It might improve your mood.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my mood,” Gulielmus said through a mouth full of cake. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Charles cut his gaze toward his godfathers.

  “Don’t look at them. They have nothing to say.”

  “He’s been in a shit mood since he regained his memory.” Tamatsu accepted a slice of cake from his partner, Noelle, who’d joined the gaggle wearing a look of weary curiosity. She raised a brow.

  Fortunately, the elf lacked the ability to speak due to some magic shenanigans of her own making, and Gulielmus didn’t have to listen to the little harridan spew criticism.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gulielmus said.

  “It’s true,” Charles said. “I suppose none of us have wanted to complain, given the alternative.” He turned his palms over and then raised one a
fter the other, imitating the balancing of scales. “Surly antisocial asshole who doesn’t consort with demons, or cheerful, soulless lecher who derives much of his power from evil entities.”

  “I miss the power.” Gulielmus scraped up some frosting and licked the fork.

  He also missed being able to have his urges completely satisfied. He’d fallen from heaven because of his lustful nature, and for millennia, had satisfied his carnal cravings and his thirst for power at the same time. The incubi had welcomed him with open arms. Every fuck was like a meal for him.

  That had all changed when he’d had to make an unexpected choice—his ill-gotten magic or his children’s futures.

  He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him.

  He’d severed his ties with the demons and spent a year in a coma afterward, only to wake with traumatic memory loss. His memory hadn’t returned until a year after that. The pesky elf who’d been watching over him had said something to trigger him—to make it all come back.

  Mean little wretch.

  She’d made him…decent until he remembered who he was.

  He didn’t fall out of the fucking heavens to be decent.

  He finished the cake and sighed.

  “Another piece, Pop?” Charles asked.

  “No.”

  “So, yes?”

  Grunting, Gulielmus gave him the plate.

  Charles retreated to the refreshments.

  “Good-looking boy,” Lola murmured.

  “I was always exceptional at that,” Gulielmus said. “He’s descended from Greek love gods on his mother’s side. Did you know that?”

  And he happened to be brilliant. Charles was a voracious reader with a keen knowledge of economics. He kept Gulielmus’s beer company running slick as an ice rink. He was a bit weak-willed when it came to his children, however. The aggressively efficient businessman happened to be a sucker for fat tears and pouts.