by ML Guida
Pushing the image away, he glanced at his bandaged hands and stretched his tingling fingers. He was surprised that the scar tissue did not rip apart. Raphael couldn’t have done a better job. “How long have you been able to do this?”
“All my life.” She hid her hands in her smock’s pockets. “But it only works if people open their minds and accept it. Otherwise, my gift is useless.”
He cocked his eyebrow. “Gift?”
“Yes, I feel it’s a gift.”
She bunched her eyebrows and stuck out her lower lip. He wanted to kiss her into smiling.
“What do you mean you don’t have faith?” she asked.
Samantha’s face emerged in his mind and he pushed his desire for Abigail away. Samantha was his angel-mate, regardless of what Raphael had said. He shrugged. “I lost my faith.”
Her eyes were light green, but they darkened into emeralds as the pupils flared with intrigue. “Why?”
Due to two self-appointed archangel assholes. He crossed his arms across his chest. “I have my reasons.”
“Meaning you’re not going to say?”
What would she think if she knew what he was? Abigail healed like Raphael, while he maimed like Balthazar. A demon and a healer, definitely not compatible. “Yup. So, what now? Can I get out of here?”
Her face paled, and she glanced over her shoulder. “You can’t tell anybody I did this.”
“What? Why?”
She bit her lip. “I’m not supposed to be doing this.”
“Hospital administrators afraid they’ll lose some income? They would rather keep patients sick so they can milk their insurance money?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She lowered her head. “When I’ve offered my gift to people and they don’t believe or accept my gift, it doesn’t work. Patients have complained, accused me of being a charlatan.”
He flicked his gaze over her. “You asked for money?”
She jerked her head up. A horrified look crossed her beautiful face. She put her hand on her chest and stepped back. “Lord, no. I would never do that.”
“So?”
“The patients were angry they weren’t healed and threatened to sue the hospital.” Her small voice was barely audible. “They wanted to believe, but they had doubts, so it didn’t work.” She studied him. “That’s why I don’t understand why you say you don’t have faith. My gift wouldn’t have worked unless you believed.”
“Yeah, right,” he sneered. “I don’t believe in faith.”
She bit her lower lip. “You keep saying that.”
“So believe it.”
“Whatever.” She glanced over her shoulder again.
“There’s no one behind you.”
She turned around. “Will you promise not to tell?”
“Ah, so when the doctor walks in here and removes my bandages, what the hell do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” She lowered her voice. “I could lose my job. I need this job. Please.”
Tears welled in those cat eyes, more like kitten eyes. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her head, reassuring her. “Fine, then I’ll walk out of here.”
She wrung her hands. “What? But you can’t—”
“You want to keep your secret?”
She glanced over her shoulder again. “Yes, but—”
“I told you there’s no one behind you.” He scanned the cream-colored room. “Where are my clothes?”
She pointed. “There in a plastic bag under you bed, but we had to cut away your shirt so it’s only your jacket, pants, and boots.”
“Take the bandages off and I’m out of here.”
“But—”
“Red, I can’t get dressed with these bandages on, unless of course, you expect me to tear them off with my teeth.”
Her worried face changed and she scowled. “My name is Abigail.”
“Fine.” He lifted his bandaged hands. “Well, Abby?”
“Ohhhh, you’re impossible.”
Her eyes glinted with anger, and her lips pursed tight. Lord, she was even more beautiful when she was angry, her ruby cheeks rivaling that flaming hair. He gave her a devilish smile. “So?”
She put her hands on her hip. “I’ll be back in a minute. Stay here.”
“No, I thought I’d walk out naked.”
“Ohhh.” She turned and flounced out the room. He laughed. Lord, she was fun to tease. His laughter trailed off. When had he last laughed? Not since Samantha died six months ago.
He cleared his throat. Abigail Malcolm was dangerous. Someone to avoid. He still wanted revenge—wanted to punish his traitorous brother for watching Samantha die and wanted revenge on the two self-absorbed archangels—Michael for ordering her to die and Raphael for refusing to heal her. This was not the time to indulge in sex with a tempting, red-headed healer.
Abigail returned with a pair of scissors and placed them on the metal cart next to his bed.
“I have to remove your IV first.” She pressed her fingers gently on his vein while her other hand slowly removed the needle from his arm. Blood oozed and she put a cotton ball on it with two pieces of tape to hold it in place. He shivered and wondered what it would be like to have her exploring his body, running her fingers over his muscles. He groaned.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
She slowly cut away the bandages. Her soft fingers caressed him, and he tried to still the passion growing inside him. Her glowing skin was as silky as he’d suspected. He pushed back the urge to grab her neck and kiss her luscious lips.
“I’m sorry.” She glanced up, her eyes filled with concern. “I seem to keep hurting you.”
“You’re not,” he croaked. “Just get on with it.”
Irritation gleamed in her eyes. She opened her mouth, but then shut it tight. She slowly unwound the white gauzy bandages. Her head was so close he could inhale her scent and kiss her glorious crown. He leaned his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.
Stay in control.
The last of the bandages on his right hand fell away. The smell of some kind of oily ointment doused Abigail’s fragrant mimosa scent. He clenched and unclenched his stiff hand and smiled. Cold air gripped his cured hand, but it felt good, compared to being cocooned in a white beehive. “Red, you did well.”
“Abigail.”
“Abby,” he teased.
Her chest rising up and down, she stood back and held the scissors in her right hand. “Do you want me to do your other hand or not?”
“Why, Nurse Nightingale, aren’t you going back on your oath to care for your patients?”
She walked around his bed. “Arrogant ass.”
He laughed. He froze at the sound. Why was it that when he was with Abigail he couldn’t stop from laughing? He was a demon. Demons don’t laugh.
Her scissors cut into the white bandage, and her fingers brushed over him, taking his breath away. His blood surged and rushed to his cock. Damn. He had to get away from this woman.
“There, all done.” She stood a satisfied smile on her lips and gazed at his hands.
He grinned. He’d give her something to gaze at. He gave her his best devilish smile, gripped the blanket, and tossed it aside.
Abigail jumped. “Oh!” Her cat eyes widening, she covered her mouth. She scooted around to the other side of his bed.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you a nurse?” He grinned. A deep blush ran from her cheeks down to her throat, and he bet it ran all the way down to her toes. “I’m sure I don’t have an unusual anatomy in comparison to your other male patients.”
“You’re incorrigible!” She shoved her hands into the smock’s pockets. “Yes, you do have the same anatomy, but only smaller.”
He tilted his head back and laughed. So, the timid rabbit had fangs. “Liar.”
“I have to get back onto the floor. I’m glad you’re healed, Mr. Angel.”
“Mr. Angel, is it? After you’ve seen me i
n my glory.”
She howled and spun around on her heels. Blade smiled at her tight ass leaving the hospital room. Sadness wiggled into his heart at knowing he wouldn’t see his sexy healing nurse again. He snatched the plastic bag underneath the hospital bed and quickly got dressed.
Stepping into the corridor, he scanned for Abigail, but there was only a gray-haired nurse examining a file, her spectacles coming down to the bridge of her nose, and a dark-haired nurse answering phones at the nurses’ station. His shoulders back, hands in his jacket pockets, he walked by as if he owned the floor.
Not lifting her head, the gray-haired nurse peered at him through her spectacles. “Mr. Angel, what are you doing out of bed?”
Was this Abigail’s boss? Her gray hair pulled high into a bun, tight lips stained with red lip stick, and bags under the eyes, she could have posed for a Hallmark old lady card.
He held up his healed hands. “Going home.”
She slammed the folder down. “You most certainly are not.”
“Watch me.”
The woman ran around the counter, fast for an old broad, and blocked his way. She pointed a bony finger toward his room. “Now, turn around and get back in bed.”
“No. Get out of my way.”
“You heard me—”
Blade clasped her slender shoulders, picked her up, and moved her out of his path.
Bewilderment and then anger filled those dim eyes. “What are you doing?”
He walked past her and headed for the elevators. Abigail was still nowhere in sight. Probably hiding in a patient’s room. Coward.
“Maggie, call for help.”
A female voice said, “Security.”
Were they afraid he wouldn’t pay his bill?
Running footsteps came up behind him and he glanced over his shoulders. Two men, wearing white smocks and matching pants, came up beside him one on each side. They half ran to keep up with his long strides. The skinny, dark-haired one came up on his left. He looked at Blade. “Where are you going, buddy?”
His bulkier, blond partner framed Blade on the right.
“Home.” Blade pushed the elevator down button.
“Jim, bring him back to his room,” the nurse ordered.
“Yes, ma’am,” the blond man answered.
The men clasped his arms. “Nancy says you need to return to your room,” Jim said, voice patronizing. “So, let’s go back. Nice and easy.”
Blade smiled. He sized each of them up. Definitely not fighters. He could feel their hands trembling. “Do you really want to mess with me?”
Jim tightened his grip on his arm. “I said—”
The elevator doors slowly opened. Blade clutched their forearms and lifted them half way off the ground. The men’s eyes widened and their other arm flailed as they kicked their feet. Blade slammed their heads together.
“Put them down,” Nancy ordered.
“As you wish, Nancy.”
Blade dropped the men and they staggered on their feet. He stepped into the elevator next to an elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair. A petite nurse held a pole with two IV bags dangling from the top that ran down into the woman’s arm. With their fly-catching mouths wide open, they stared at him with plate-sized eyes. He held up his hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just want to go home.”
The elevator took its sweet time going down. The nurse and the woman exited on the next floor, casting nervous glances over their shoulders. The doors opened to the main second lobby. A short, squatty, security guard with one hand resting on the butt of his revolver puffed out his chest. “Where do you think you're going, Mr. Angel?”
“Home.” Blade slid past him.
The guard skidded in front of him. He could be a contender in a Danny DeVito look-a-like contest, and he never took his hand off the butt of his revolver, secured in his holster. He held out his palm. “Stop. You’re not going anywhere.”
Blade cocked his eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“You’re coming with me back to your room.”
“I suggest you get out of my way now.”
“You’re not well enough—”
Blade stuck his hands out. “These were badly burned. They’re not now.”
The security guard flinched and confusion furrowed his brow. “Well, Nancy said—”
Blade stuck his hands into his pockets. “I don’t give a shit about what Nancy said.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you’re worried about the damn bill, I’ll give you my name and address. You can bill me.”
He glanced up and froze. Raphael leaned against a stone column with a silly ass grin on his face. He crossed his arms over his chest, stretching his red sweater. With his sunglasses on top his head and his tan face, he looked like he just finished a long hike. Blade hesitated. He wanted to slam his fists into the bastard’s toothy smiley, but he didn’t want to end up back upstairs strapped to a hospital bed with Mistress Nancy, the dominatrix nurse, lording over him.
He grabbed the security guard’s shoulders and moved him aside and headed over to Raphael. The security guard chased after him, sputtering, but Blade paid no attention to him. He couldn’t do anything to him. But Raphael could.
When Raphael snapped his fingers, the man stopped sputtering. Blade glanced down at him. A blank expression came over the man’s blustering face. He spun on his heel and headed over to the front desk. He sat down and shook his head.
Blade faced Raphael. “This is your idea of fun?”
Raphael shrugged. “We need to talk. He would have gotten in the way.”
“Oh, how convenient for you.”
He motioned. “Follow me.”
Blade wanted to tell him where to stick it, but the memory of the agonizing pain silenced his retort. He stuck his hands in his jacket and trailed behind Raphael like a beaten cur.
The lobby glass doors opened, and Blade walked outside. The setting sun cast long shadows onto the pavement and asphalt. Crisp air rushed over Blade. He shivered, zipped up his jacket, and flipped up his collar.
Raphael headed toward two Night rod special motorcycles, one red and the other black, parked in the lot. One thing Blade could say about Raphael was he had style.
Raphael climbed onto the black Harley and tossed Blade a set of keys. “Let’s ride. I’ll show you the way home.”
Blade clutched the keys tight in his hand. “Like I don’t know the way.”
A dutiful solider, Blade played the game.
He smiled at the loud roar of the motorcycles and leaned back on his seat. Following Raphael out of the parking lot, the wind blew on his face and his hair blew behind him. He wanted to pass Raphael and get on the highway and speed out of town, see what this beauty could do on the open highway.
He shook his head as Raphael followed the speed limit and took him on some windy bumpy roads until he brought him to a Mountainside condominium complex. He would have found it, eventually. He didn’t need Raphael to hold his damn hand.
Raphael parked and Blade pulled up beside him. He revved the engine when Raphael started talking. Raphael frowned. Blade laughed. He turned off the purring bike. “What?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Abigail Malcolm.”
Blade gripped the handle bars tighter. “What about her?”
“You don’t recognize the last name Malcolm?”
“No, why…” He gritted his teeth. “Shit, Jessy Malcolm."
Jessy had been his first victim, the first victim he gave the drug Xanadu, the first victim to murder someone, and then commit suicide.
“Ah, yes, it’s coming back to you.”
He swallowed. “Her sister?”
“Yes.”
“I should have known. She had the same cat-shaped eyes as Abigail.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You knew this, didn’t you?”
“I told you, you’re here to account for your sins.” He rubbed his hands and blew on them. “Getting close to dark. I suggest you get some rest
. Show up for work tomorrow, Blade. Or, next time, I’ll put you in a body cast.”
“I said I’ll be there, master.”
Chapter Four
Blade parked his motorcycle in the Buffalo Mountain Treatment Center parking lot. Anyone walking down the quiet street would never guess the three story center masquerading as a mountain chalet was actually a treatment center for addicted adolescents. On the second story, a large balcony faced the mountains, complete with pine furniture surrounding a metal pine chiminea. Rather than bricks, the chalet had river stones and two huge bay windows were on either side of the red door with a gold lion knocker. A grove of aspens grew in the middle of the neatly manicured lawn and purple columbines surrounded the aspens as if playing ring around the rosy.
He headed for the front door. A kid with vacant blue eyes sat in one of the bay windows watching him. His long, red hair that hung in his eyes was not quite as dark as Abigail’s. Now, why did he think that? Hell, he hadn’t slept all last night after Raphael’s little revelation. He stared at the boy. It was a coincidence. He just had Abigail on his mind.
When he opened the door, a mounted dear head over a fireplace greeted him. Two adolescent girls, sitting on a warm leather couch that faced a roaring fireplace, stopped talking and gawked at him. He wanted to say something smart but kept his mouth shut.
He approached the mahogany front desk and winked at the brown and black tabby stretched out on top. A computer sat on the desk and behind the desk there was a white board with patient names written on it, caseworker names, and length of stay, but it was the woman sitting at the desk who caught his eye. She lifted her head and her emerald eyes widened. “Blade?”
His luck was getting worse and worse. Damn Raphael!
He strolled over to the desk. “What are you doing here, Red?”
She blurted, “I work here two days a week.”
“Plus the hospital?”