Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

by Heather Killough-Walden

  A quick scan of their minds told him they were recent graduates of Carnegie Mellon University. The one on the right was the son of a wealthy factory owner here in the city. His name was Richard. And he’d been thinking all sorts of biblical things about Sophie that night.

  Azrael grew very still and something dark flickered across his face. He knew it was there; he knew he was failing to hide his sudden fury. But he barely cared.

  Richard fell back into the curve of his seat and swallowed hard as the blood drained from his face. Below him, Sophie cleared her throat, at once drawing Azrael’s attention. She slowly stood and turned to face him. “Az, these are my friends, Taylor and Emily.” She gestured toward them and they smiled nervously but politely, nodding in his direction.

  Emily’s and Taylor’s eyes were still a little glazed at his presence, so Az allowed some of his vampiric influence to snake around and through the girls, easing them into a more comfortable state of relaxation.

  It worked like a charm. Within seconds, Taylor was smiling easily and standing to greet him properly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending her hand.

  “Likewise,” Az agreed, and with a slight bow, accepted the offered hand of Taylor and then Emily, who quickly followed suit.

  While he shook hands, Sophie’s thoughts echoed through Az’s mind.

  She couldn’t believe that her friends weren’t guessing he was the Masked One. It seemed so obvious to her now that she knew his secret. Everything about him screamed the kind of rock star charisma that it took to hold millions of fans rapt.

  Meanwhile, Sophie’s gaze traveled over Azrael’s form, and he tried not to visibly crow with the triumph he felt when she shamelessly took in the way the black button-up shirt under his sport coat and trench coat stretched taut across the muscles of his chest. She was particularly fond of the curve of his neck where it met his shoulder.

  Azrael released Emily’s hand, straightened again, and heard Sophie’s heart rate speed up.

  He looked up to see that her sunshine eyes were glassy with unabashed desire. And, as if it would hide the way her mouth watered for him, she had pressed her bottom lip between two perfect white teeth. Azrael’s gaze locked on the plump lip. He quickly slipped his hands into the pockets of his trench coat as they tightened into fists at his sides, and his nails began to cut into his palms. He imagined her pressing hard enough with her teeth to draw blood.

  If she did . . . it would all be over.

  “Juliette mentioned you live in Pittsburgh,” he said, trying to break through not only his tension but hers. “I’d forgotten.” His tone was gentle, personal. He knew that to her, it was as if they were the only two in the arena.

  “For now,” she told him. She didn’t want to bore him with the fact that she would be there for only two more days, but he was well aware.

  “But what are you doing here?” she asked, honestly curious. It seemed quite a coincidence that she had never seen him before in her life—and then, suddenly, she’d seen him twice, on two different continents, and within the space of a week. She wasn’t stupid; she was wary.

  That was okay with him. He had a story and he would use it, but even it was too much of a secret for him to share with her friends. Az glanced at Taylor and Emily and smiled an easy, even somewhat shy smile. “It’s a personal matter, actually,” he said. “However . . .” He paused, turned, and glanced up toward the private suites above them. His band awaited him in one of them; they had a bird’s-eye view of the entire arena from their vantage point. He knew because he’d been watching Sophie from it all night.

  He also knew that Sophie had never been in one of those suites herself, and he was hoping she’d be tempted enough by what he was about to offer that he could pull her away from her companions, at least for a little while. “Second period will begin in a few minutes,” he said, looking back down at her and scorching her once more with a smoldering look. “And there’s plenty of room in our suite for another guest.” He chanced another glance at the men seated behind Sophie—especially Richard—and was smugly satisfied when the young man looked as though he wanted to piss himself. “Perhaps you would care to join me?” he asked, turning his gaze back on his archess.

  He could hear her blood rushing through her veins. He was scaring her and thrilling her at the same time. She was finding it hard to think.

  He wasn’t opposed to working with that; he had no desire to stand here and play the good guy much longer, anyway.

  A gentle push of his power, and it surrounded Sophie. In a few moments, she not only found it difficult to think, she found it impossible. Seconds ago, she’d had a thousand reasons why she should stay away from Azrael. But just then, all of those reasons—and in fact, reason itself—fled from her consciousness and she found herself saying, “Yes.” She’d barely whispered it, but it was enough.

  Azrael’s smile broadened.

  Taylor, still under Azrael’s calming influence, turned to Sophie with her own beaming smile. “Way to go, Soph! You get to watch your last game at this arena from a suite! There’s no better view of the ice, girl!” She got up at once and stepped out into the aisle beside Azrael so that Sophie could get out.

  Sophie stood slowly, nervously, and stepped into the aisle beside him. Az closed in on her, barely managing to rein in his power so that it didn’t instantly overwhelm her. If he’d wanted to, he could have made everyone but the vampires in the arena pass out with it. It was roiling beneath his surface, begging to be released. He could have subjugated Sophie’s mind. With effort, that is. She was an archess and therefore would be more difficult to control than a human. But if he’d really wanted to, he could have done it. And then he could have taken her into his arms and shot through the roof of the arena. He could have used a door in the arena to transport them to any other location on Earth. Or he could have simply forced her to pull back her hair and expose her throat to him so that he could sink his fangs into her and drink her in once and for all.

  He could have done a thousand powerful things with the supernatural forces that raged through him in that moment, but they would all be overkill, and by some fortuitous twist of fate, he managed not to do any of them.

  Instead, he calmly gestured to the stairs that led back into the communal part of the arena and the elevators that would take them to the suites. “Shall we?”

  Sophie nodded and made her way up the aisle ahead of him. He followed so close behind her that he knew she could still feel him there, eating up her personal space with his big, bad darkness. Again, he brushed her mind. She was confused by him, and he wasn’t sure he didn’t like that. It was a delicious feeling to be wreaking havoc on a mind like hers. A body like hers.

  It was also frightening, because he realized that he wanted to do it more. She was awakening a dangerous part of him. It was an aspect he didn’t recognize. It was a touch cruel. Decidedly wicked. Wholly selfish and hungry.

  As he followed her through the archway that led to the elevators beyond, Azrael nodded almost imperceptibly to a vampire who was dressed in the uniform of an usher and politely helping a couple with children to their seats. The vampire nodded back, just as imperceptibly, his starkly colored eyes flashing a respectful glow for a fraction of an instant. The vampire had acknowledged his king.

  There were several more like him spaced throughout the arena. They were there by order of Lord Azrael—to protect one very special woman.

  Azrael came up beside Sophie then and gently took her by the arm to lead her toward the elevators. She wouldn’t know the way from there on in, and he longed for any excuse to touch her. “This way,” he said as they approached the elevator and the doors automatically opened.

  Two floors up, his fellow band members were enjoying the hockey game from suite one, which provided what was possibly the best view of the arena in the entire house. Sophie wouldn’t be expecting to walk into a room with all of Valley of Shadow present. It was sure to throw her and probably overwhelm her if he
didn’t warn her first.

  He had to smile at that thought because it might be a shocking revelation, but it was nothing compared to the fact that each member of Valley of Shadow was a vampire. Not that he planned to tell Sophie that. At least, not anytime soon.

  Az had turned all of his band mates at one time or another, and again, each for their own special reason. They hadn’t been his band mates at the time, of course. Uro, the guitarist, was from Egypt. Az had met him there only a few years after Azrael had first arrived on the planet. Uro had been a prince among his people, chosen for his incredible height and beauty. He was Azrael’s first and oldest turned vampire. Mikhail, the keyboardist, was turned in Russia in the year 1570. Rurik, the bass guitarist, was of Viking descent and Az had pulled him from the jaws of mortality at the turn of the millennium, in the year 918. The drummer, Devran, was Turkish. He’d become a vampire in 1687, during one of many Russo-Turkish wars that took place over the centuries.

  Az had never positioned himself as their king. Rather it was something about a created vampire’s makeup that demanded he give his respect to the one who had turned him. And because all vampire blood in existence could be traced back to Azrael, they thought of him as their sovereign and treated him accordingly. They were all well aware of who Sophie Bryce was and what she meant, not only to Azrael, but to them, too.

  A king needed a queen. As far as most of them were concerned, it was about time.

  They also knew that Azrael was the Angel of Death—and that Sophie was his archess. This made her more precious than any human could possibly comprehend. As a vampire, each member of Azrael’s undead empire was forced to live in darkness and hide a very big secret. Should any of them ever be lucky enough to be presented with a being capable of both lifting the weight of that secret off their shoulders and figuratively bringing them out of that eternal darkness, they would fight to the death to keep that being. They understood all too well.

  “So why are you here?” she asked, just as he’d been about to warn her about his band mates. It gave him just the opening he needed.

  “Taking in a game with the guys. Max is out with the sound crew getting a round one look at Heinz Field,” he told her, lying through his fangs. “We’re scheduled to play here in a few weeks, and given that Valley’s crowds tend to be . . .”

  “Ridiculously large scale?” Sophie provided with a half smile.

  Az chuckled, letting out a breath. “Exactly. We need a venue large enough to house them all.”

  “Wow,” Sophie whispered. Heinz Field was an enormous football stadium capable of seating sixty thousand people. He could see that it was hard for her to even imagine a concert being held in such a place, though some of the biggest bands in history had played there. And where those other bands might not have filled the venue to the rafters, so to speak, Valley of Shadow most certainly would.

  Suddenly Sophie froze. “Wait, does that mean your entire band is up there in that suite?” Her voice shook a little as the surprise sank in, just like he’d known it would.

  He didn’t have to answer her, because the elevator came to a stop then and the doors opened into the communal hall behind the suites, revealing the open door of suite one.

  Chapter Seven

  Sophie had to fight not to step back into the elevator. She’d been trying so hard to escape this burgeoning obsession she had with the rock star archangel—and then he had to appear out of nowhere, thousands of miles from where she’d left him, and cause her to throw all of that effort out the window. Now he was presenting her with not only his own gorgeous self but every member of his impossibly perfect band.

  She literally couldn’t breathe as they stood up, one by one, and turned to face her and Azrael. He was behind her, nudging her into the room as if he knew she couldn’t walk on her own. Her feet scuffed the carpet as she inched forward, but she somehow managed.

  Good grief, she thought numbly. Even her internal voice sounded too high-pitched and scratchy. They feel the way they look. . . . It was a strange thought, but it’s the one that went through her mind because, as she drew nearer, the air began to feel stranger. It was as if it were magnetized. It felt electrically charged and pricked at her skin in a way that was both uncomfortable and tantalizing.

  Valley of Shadow was a five-member living, breathing, singing seduction. Every member of the band was beautiful. Their eyes were those rare eyes that stood out, their hair looked glossy and healthy, their complexions were clear and luminous. Their bone structure was strong, their frames were tall and built, and there was an edge to them—an indescribable something—that made them appear both dangerous and delicious. It was one of the things about Valley that had propelled it to the top of the charts.

  Its members were as different as night and day but for one nearly painful fact: they were drop-dead sexy. And Sophie couldn’t believe her luck. In truth, although she felt stupid for crushing on the lead singer the way she was, she had to admit that she was more than a touch elated. Wait till I tell Angel, she thought.

  “Gentlemen, this is Sophie Bryce, a friend of mine,” came Azrael’s deep, melodic voice. It sliced through her starstruck reveries like a shark’s fin through water. She experienced the quick bump in heart rate that she always did when he spoke with her, but she was pretty sure she was getting used to it. “Sophie, I’d like to introduce you to the other members of Valley of Shadow.”

  Sophie turned to look up at him.

  Shit. Azrael’s gold eyes scorched her in her Doc Martens. He looked like he was seeing through her—into her. He didn’t even look away as he gestured toward the nearest member of his band. “This is Rurik, our bass guitarist,” he said.

  Sophie somehow managed to pull her gaze from his so that she could turn toward the blond, blue-eyed bass guitarist. He stood about six feet tall. His hair was cropped short and there was a scar above his left eyebrow. It would have made him look mean if he hadn’t been so young. She would place him at around twenty to twenty-five.

  He was wearing blue jeans and a light blue T-shirt under what looked like a designer army jacket replete with medals, buttons, stripes, and pins. On his feet were combat boots.

  Rurik gave her a friendly smile and bowed low as if she were royalty. She blinked, caught a bit off guard. She’d expected a simple nod and a “hi,” maybe. But the bow was beautiful. And somehow it fit the rock star image even more. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rurik said. His voice, too, was smooth and beautiful and she detected a hint of accent, though she couldn’t place it.

  “This is our drummer, Devran,” Az said, introducing the next member.

  Sophie turned to face the drummer, who was also quite tall, though maybe an inch or two shorter than Rurik. He had swarthy skin, short and straight layered pitch-black hair, and amber eyes. They stood out in the darker complexion of his face, giving him a mesmerizing appearance. He wore red and white layered T-shirts under a red zip-up hoodie embellished with metal detailing, and faded black jeans. Devran copied his band mate’s greeting nearly to the letter, bowing low and smiling what felt like one of the warmest, most welcoming smiles Sophie had ever been on the receiving end of. His teeth were so incredibly white. “It is a great pleasure, Miss Bryce,” he said.

  “This is Mikhail, our keyboardist,” Az said, gesturing to the third member of the group. Mikhail was dressed in dark blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather sport coat that made the light blond hue of his hair pop. He stood at about the same height as Rurik, maybe a tad shorter. Though he also had blond hair, it was longer than Rurik’s and stick-straight. It fell in expertly cut layers to his broad shoulders, framing a face with a strong jaw, a five o’clock shadow, and glacier green eyes. They reminded Sophie of Uriel’s eyes, though she doubted that they glowed like Uriel’s did. Because he wasn’t an archangel.

  Mikhail’s smile broadened as if he could read her thoughts and found them amusing. His green eyes twinkled as he, too, bowed low. “It is an honor,” he said. She couldn’t b
elieve how much he sounded like he actually meant it.

  But how could he? How could these men really care about meeting her? She was just another girl and she didn’t understand how they could see her as any different from the millions of girls who would drop everything, including their pants, for the chance to be in the same room with any member of Valley of Shadow.

  “And this is Uro,” Azrael said, again pulling her out of her thoughts with a voice that wrapped around her like silk ropes. “Our very talented lead guitarist.”

  Sophie turned to the last member of the group and felt the air around her grow warmer. At least, that’s what it seemed like as she met Uro’s dark, dark eyes. They were bottomless, absent of color. She remembered seeing them on music videos here and there. Despite their lack of vibrancy, she recalled thinking that except for the Masked One’s piercing gold gaze, the guitarist had the starkest, most stunning stare.

  She’d been right.

  Uro looked as though he were peering into her soul. It felt a little like being looked at by Azrael. She found her throat going dry as Uro stepped around his seat and came forward. She had no idea how tall he was; she didn’t check. She had no idea what he was wearing—she couldn’t look. She was trapped in that gaze until he pulled it away himself and bowed low. “Sophie,” he said softly, nearly whispering her name with tender respect. “It is wonderful to meet you.” He was the only one of the four who had spoken her first name. It sounded like a prayer on his tongue.

  Now that he wasn’t looking at her, Sophie was able to take in the rest of his appearance. He was tall, just as everyone she met lately seemed to be. She’d place him at about Uriel’s height, somewhere in the range of six feet two or three. He wore dark jeans, black boots, and a crisp white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the wrists. Around those wrists were several leather bracelets, some bearing what looked like silver beads carved with intricate designs. Around his neck was a gold pendant on a leather string. Sophie recognized the design: an ankh—the Egyptian symbol of life.