by ML Guida
Officer Nelson inspected the form. “His court appearance is on September eighth. Make sure he is there.”
Blade tapped the clip board. “I said I’d be there.”
Nelson raised his head and frowned. As he opened the wooden gate, he motioned. “You’re free to go, Blade. Let’s not see you here again.”
“You won’t,” Blade replied.
He walked out and clasped Abigail’s arm. Chills ran down her spine and she wanted to jerk her arm away, but he put his hand on her lower back, maneuvering her toward the front door. She didn’t want to make a scene in the lobby and have Blade arrested again. Shit, this wasn’t going the way she wanted. “Will you release me?”
“Where is your car?”
“It’s the silver Pathfinder.” He wrapped his arm tight around her and led her to her SUV. She felt like she was wrapped in soft leather and wanted to snuggle closer, but she stopped herself. “Blade—”
He led her to the passenger side of the SUV. “Give me your keys. Where’s Ringmaster?”
“He left.” She held up her hand. “Wait a minute, buster. I bailed you out and you don’t even say thank you?”
“You’re right. Thank you. Now, give me the keys.”
“No.”
“No?”
She stuck out her chin. “No.”
A wicked smile spread across his face. He clasped her shoulders, turned her, and pressed her back against the car. Before she could protest, his dark head tilted, and he captured her lips with his, his tongue slowly encouraging her mouth to open. His body molded against her, heat swept over Abigail, and she trembled. His kiss was demanding, possessive, tantalizing, not what she expected. He covered her lips with tempting devilry, drawing her down a path she had long forgotten. She tried to deny the pulse of pleasure pumping through her veins that his languid tongue stirred, but a fire of desire awakened inside her refusing to be dormant pushing her to return his sweet kiss. Her heart thumped hard; her legs wobbled. If he hadn’t pushed her against the car, his body pressing against hers, she would have fallen. What was it about Blade? His fingers slid down her shoulders to her arms, and she shivered. He tilted her head back as his kiss deepened. Her heart pounded as she lost herself in his embrace, not knowing what to do, powerless to stop it, not wanting to stop it.
One hand slid down to her wrist, his fingers brushing over the back of her palm. She clasped his arms and held him tight, feeling the power beneath his muscles. When he lifted his head, she was more befuddled than ever, more confused over his gentleness since a man like him could force himself on her, taking what he wanted. Martin had, always satisfying his needs first. But the last time, she didn’t even want to think about it. The blood, the bruises, the terror.
Blade stared at her with his half hooded eyes for a long, throbbing moment. When he finally ceased, he flashed a sexy smile that erased the memory of Martin and caused her knees to buckle. Her chest heaving, she pushed him away, but he stood like an immobile mountain man. “Stop, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You’re right.” His warm breath fluttered over her, tightening her skin.
He slid his finger down her cheek. She licked her moist lips, tasting his manliness. Her body was so tightly strung that she was not sure she could move or make another protest.
“Now get in.”
She frowned, not comprehending what he was saying. “What?”
He dangled her keys over her head, out of her reach. “Get in.”
Her cat eyes widened. “You bastard.” She shoved his massive chest. “You kissed me to get into my purse.”
“I’ve been called worse. And no…” He lifted her chin. She tried to break away, but he grip tightened gently. “I kissed you because I wanted to.”
He caressed the side of her cheek with his thumb. Her anger lessened, replaced by a fueling desire to kiss him again, but she refused to move at war with her temptation.
“It was just too easy to steal your keys, Red.”
She broke free of his grasp and frowned. Why had Blade allowed her to pull away? He continued to surprise her at every turn, doing the unexpected, keeping her guessing. “Give me back my keys.”
“Sorry.” He grabbed her arm, turned her, and slapped her on her fanny. “Get in.
“Don’t spank me.”
“What would you like me to do?”
His low, husky, voice asking such a simple question unraveled her secret desire of what she would like him to do with his velvet hand and rough hands. Heat flushed over her cheeks. “Nothing.”
He hit the remote and the lock clicked. She flung her door open and flounced inside. The man was incorrigible, a tease, unhinged. He slid into the driver’s seat and frowned. “Jesus, how far up do you have this seat?”
“I have it set for me. Not you.”
He growled as he moved the seat back and stretched out his long legs. “This is more like an Oompla-Loompas setting.”
“Where are we going, Willy Wonka?”
“Back to Buffalo Mountain.”
She shook her head. “Blade, you can’t. Hamilton’s fired you. He’ll have you arrested on the spot.”
“Too bad. The fool is about ready to have a demon siege and doesn’t have the slightest knowledge on how to defeat them.”
“But you do?”
He glanced over his shoulder as he backed out the SUV. “Yeah, I do.”
“Blade, nothing has happened.” She followed his gaze, not sure she trusted him driving her car, but she wasn’t going to make a scene. He’d end up back in jail and she’d be no closer to finding her answers. “Can we go and talk please? I’m trying to understand. Really I am.”
He drove the SUV out of the parking lot. “Talk? You want to talk when your brother could be in danger.”
How dare he imply she’d every put Brayden in harm’s way, even if the kid hated her? “Blade, it’s quiet. Nothing has happened.”
“Quiet doesn’t mean shit. The kids could still be using the board.”
“If you go back to Buffalo Mountain, Hamilton will have you arrested.”
“That’s a chance I have to take.”
This was going nowhere. Blade would storm in there, ransack the place, and end up back in jail. Questions unanswered. “Would you wait a minute? Hamilton goes home at 8 p.m. The new shift comes on at 10 p.m. We could go in then. The new staff wouldn’t know about you and you could search then. Will you at least consider it?”
“But—”
“Blade, if you go in now with guns blazing, you won’t be able to search the place anyhow because Hamilton will call the police. Be reasonable. You haven’t been there for the last several hours. Besides, we need to talk.”
“Talk?” He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Okay, so where do you want to go for this…talk?”
“Have you eaten?”
“No, why; you want to fix me dinner?”
Alone? In her condominium with Blade? Her stomach turned in knots. “No, I, uh, don’t cook.” A lie, but he didn’t know that. She tilted her head. “You like Italian?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Park right here.”
He parked the SUV on Main Street in front of a red brick building. “So, going to give me a tour of Frisco?”
“You’ve not been downtown yet?”
“No.”
“Well, when did you get into town?”
“Come on let’s go.” He opened the door and got out.
She jumped out of the car and nodded. “Let’s go to Bagalis.”
She led the way without waiting to see if he followed. She wanted to be in charge instead of having to follow him around like a geisha. She reached to open the glass door leading into the restaurant, but Blade brushed her to the side and opened the door. He motioned. “Ladies first, Red.”
She squared her shoulders and entered. Soft lightening warmed the brown marble countertops at the bar and leather chairs. People sat on the bar stools, sipping wine and eating pizza. Red brick wal
ls, wooden beams stretched out across the ceiling and hardwood floors made Bagalis cozy. On one wall, a copper gas log fireplace burned, casting a velvet glow. She inhaled Italian spices of fennel, sage, basil, and oregano. Her stomach growled. Across the room was the walk-in wine cellar, lined with red and white wines. Abigail always felt so comfortable here, like she had slipped on her favorite sweatshirt. Blade put his hand on her lower back and stood close to her, too close. She tried to ignore his scent of leather, but her traitorous body responded—her blood pumped faster, sending lustful sensations throughout her body and the skin across her breasts tightened.
The hostess greeted them. “Two for dinner?”
“Yes,” Blade answered.
Abigail rubbed her arms, afraid he’d touch her, not ready for this, not after Martin. Martin had taken so much from her. Why had she trusted him? His looks. He looked like an angel but was the devil incarnate.
The hostess led them to a glass atrium that only had five or six other tables in it. Abigail stared out the window, watching the cars slowly drive down Main Street and people walking past the restaurant. Blade pulled out a chair and gestured. Abigail slipped in the chair, her stomach churning. The moment she had been waiting for was here, but now her bowels rumbled and sweat trickled down her back. She swallowed, not sure what to ask him, afraid of what he might say.
Blade drummed his fingers on the table. “We’re alone. So, now what?”
“I’d like a glass of wine.”
He glanced over her head and frowned. His eyebrows knotted and he gritted his teeth. “Shit.”
“What? What’s wrong with wanting a glass of wine?”
He bunched his eyebrows. Anger fumed in his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was scowling at something or someone past her. “Nothing.”
Abigail glanced over her shoulder and didn’t see anyone but a young, blond waiter approaching their table. His streaked hair was pulled into a lose queue. With his tan face, he obviously spent most of his time outdoors. She was surprised he could serve here since he barely looked twenty-one, more like a senior in high school. “Hello, my name is…Michael. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Michael?” Blade growled. “You’ve got to be kidding?”
Abigail blinked. “Blade, quit being so rude.”
He scoffed and turned his head.
She smiled at Michael. His silver eyes seemed to peer into her soul, peeling away her defenses, laying all of her deepest secrets wide open. Heat washed over her, and she squirmed in her seat. “I’d like a glass of Chianti.”
“I’ll have a beer, Fat Tire,” Blade ordered. “Did you get that Michael?”
Michael arched his eyebrow. “Always pushing the limits, aren’t you, Blade?” He bowed slightly and left. “I’ll be back in a moment with your drinks.”
“Uptight asshole,” Blade grumbled underneath his breath.
“What’s wrong? Why are you so antagonizing toward the waiter? He’s just doing his job. What’s wrong with his name?”
“As if. Interfering jerk off, more likely.”
“Blade, I don’t…” Her eyes grew large, and she sucked in her breath. “Wait a minute. How did he know your name?”
Blade leaned back in his chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about, Red?”
“First, I want to know about…” She stopped and studied him. “You know the waiter, don’t you?”
Blade stared over her head again, and his cheek twitched. She glanced over her shoulder. Michael was talking to a young woman with short, blond hair, dressed in army fatigues. “Fuck, this is getting better and better.”
Abigail turned around. “Okay, what gives?” She tilted her head. “You know both of them don’t you?”
“In another life.”
“Blade, this is getting old.”
He tore his gaze away and glanced at her. “What’s getting old?”
“All this James Bond crap.”
“James Bond? Hardly.” His voice was laced with bitterness. “Wait, he’s coming back.”
Michael came over with a tray. He sat a wine glass filled with red wine and a pilsner glass filled with amber ale onto the table. “So, are you ready to order?”
“Enjoying yourself, Michael?” Blade crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. “Aren’t you afraid Poison will run off to tell her boss you're strutting around using his name? He’s not known for his sense of humor.”
“Poison? What are you talking about Blade?”
Michael gave him a half smile. “Poison is on my team now.”
Blade’s eyes widened. “What?”
“You’re not a waiter, are you?”
Michael glanced at her. “For right now I am.”
Abigail flicked her hair behind her. “All right fine. I want to know what is going on. What games are you two playing?”
Michael’s eyes clouded. “A very serious one. One where souls can be lost.”
She swallowed. “Souls?”
“I’m making a house call so to speak,” Michael said. “I want to make sure Blade is following my orders, but I can see, as usual, he is making a mess of things.”
Blade flipped his fingers under his chin. “Bite me.”
Michael glared at him. “So, I’ve sent some of my staff to assist him.”
With all this cloak and dagger drama, Abigail felt like she was about to fall into a swirling chasm of chaos. “Staff?”
“Raphael,” Blade interrupted. “Ringmaster is here. Balthazar must not be far behind.”
Abigail’s stomach tightened. Michael didn’t look shocked at the name Balthazar and must know about the demon. She needed a drink and grabbed her glass, taking a long draught. This wasn’t possible. Demons and now…angels? “Raphael?”
“Yes, that’s my real name. I just like to use Michael to tease my brother.” Raphael smiled. As his radiant smile brightened the room, a ray of warmth spread over her skin.
She glanced around the room. “Can people see you?”
“Of course, I’m a waiter,” he said. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“Raphael, damn it.” Blade brushed past him. “Ringmaster is—”
Raphael grabbed Blade’s arm. “Relax and sit down. He’s part of the team I’ve sent to you.”
Blade jerked his head around. “What?”
“You thought only angels could switch sides?”
“Angels?” Abigail drank more of her wine. Was she dreaming? This was too much. She attended Bible study as a child, but her mother stopped sending her as she fell into alcoholism. Raphael, the Archangel? Michael? Oh, shit. The Michael?
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Blade said.
“No, I’m quite serious,” Raphael answered. “You’ll work with them. It’s a way to lead to your redemption, Blade.”
Blade lurched his arm free and stood. He stepped closer to Raphael. No fear flashed in his eyes and he looked at Blade with vague curiosity.
The hair on the back of her neck rose, and chills ran over her. An electric current spread through her. A hidden power? Raphael’s?
“What if I don’t want their help?” Blade spat.
“Sit down,” Raphael ordered. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself and calling attention to my boss.”
Blade glanced over Raphael’s head and a slow grin spread across his lips. “Ah, so I could get you fired? And your little game would be over?”
Raphael sighed and held the tray close to his chest. “Do you really want to challenge me here?”
Blade chewed on his lip. “Fine.” He slumped back down in the chair, grabbed his beer, and drained it. “Bring me another one.”
“As you wish, sir.”
The gates of Bedlam flew open and she fell into madness. “He’s…he’s—”
“Yes,” Blade answered. “A self-serving, interfering—”
“Archangel,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“This is surreal. I don’t know how to cope with this.”
He glanced at her empty glass. “Want another drink?”
“Um, yes.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to Abigail. “Another glass.”
As fast as his resentment flared up, it was gone. Smugness flashed in his eyes and he curved his lips into a haughty grin. She smiled. “Enjoying yourself?”
“You have no idea,” he muttered.
“So, about Ringmaster?”
“What about him?”
“You said he’s a…” she lowered her voice, “a demon.”
He nodded. “Well, he was. I have no idea what the fuck he is now.”
“So, he’s not a demon?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask my interfering boss.”
She trembled. Questioning an archangel about his motives was not high on her list. “So, Ringmaster really was a demon.”
“I told you. Ringmaster makes toys for Balthazar—toys that would terrify the toughest veteran solider. He prefers to make game boards that resemble the Ouija Board, but his boards are deadly, something never to trifle with. Or at least, he did. I have no fucking idea what he’s doing for Raphael.”
“But how do you get involved with angels and demons?”
Blade studied her. She shifted from underneath his piercing gaze, wanting to figure out what went on behind his stern face. Would he answer her questions? Lie? Tell the truth?
Raphael arrived with their drinks and set them on the table. “Are you ready to order?”
“No, not yet,” Blade answered. “Give us a few more minutes.”
“Absolutely.”
Blade took a sip of his beer and put it down. “I wasn’t always a counselor.” He gritted his teeth as if the word counselor was distasteful. “I was pushed into this position—literally.”
“So, why did you take it?”
“Raphael didn’t give me much choice. Never does. It’s why I switched teams.”
She lifted her eyebrow. “Switched teams?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Wait.” She held up her hand. “Are you telling me you were—”