by ML Guida
“Telling you isn’t going to change anything, Red. Believe it or not, but you’ve got a demon, a high ranking demon, circling Buffalo Mountain. That’s why Raphael and his crew are here. You either deal with it or watch those kids fall one-by-one.”
“You keep avoiding my questions.”
“All right, let’s just say my job was to know everything about angels and demons.”
“Your job?” She flashed her gaze over him. “You were a minister or a preacher?”
He laughed a hearty one. She had never heard him laugh so easily. The tenseness around his eyes lessened. He actually had dimples when he gave into a carefree smile. Despite her determination to get her questions answered, she couldn’t help but smile.
“No, Red. I was never a preacher or minister. Far from it. More like an enforcer.”
“An enforcer? For who?”
“For one of my brothers.” Raphael stood behind her.
She jumped and turned around. His silver eyes twirled, and she felt like she was being drawn into a swirling pool of liquid silver. Chills ran down her spine.
“Raphael,” Blade growled.
“Sorry. I forget the impact I have around humans sometimes.”
Raphael snapped his fingers, and Abigail blinked. She’d heard their voices but had been unable to move or speak.
He stared at her, and his eyes stopped moving. He was just a handsome young man, possessing enough power to decimate the entire town of Frisco. “Are you ready to order, my dear?”
She didn’t know why, but she blurted. “Why are you here?”
“To stop Balthazar and to help Blade repent of course.”
“But why is Balthazar here?”
“Yes, why is he here?” Blade demanded. “You said no demon or angel could contact me.”
“Well, they can’t, boy, but that doesn’t mean they can’t contact humans or other beings here. Unfortunately, someone at Buffalo Mountain came into possession of Ringmaster’s board and is using it.”
“Then we’ve got to find it,” Abigail said. “Blade, let’s go.”
Raphael held up his hand. “You won’t find it. The board only comes when the new owner is using it. Ringmaster and Poison have been watching the place and so far, no one has called it. Poison can feel it when the board appears.”
“Then how do we find it, fearless leader?” Blade asked; sarcasm dripped from his voice.
“Watch your tongue, boy.”
Blade opened his mouth and shut it. Abigail couldn’t believe he had the nerve to taunt an archangel. She scanned the room. “Why aren’t people looking at us like we’re insane?”
“Because they aren’t hearing our conversation,” Raphael said. “They are only hearing a normal conversation between a waiter and his customers.” His eyes twinkled. “I don’t appear to just any humans.”
Abigail’s mouth ran dry, but she couldn’t resist and took the bait. “Then why are you appearing to me?”
He nodded at Blade. “What he told you was true. Gifts like yours have been heaven sent.”
“But I’m not religious,” she blurted. “I don’t even go to church.”
“Ah, my dear. St. Paul wasn’t a church goer, either. I’m the Archangel of Healing, Abigail. You’ve been a disciple of mine for a long time.”
She sucked in her breath, not believing what she was hearing. She was a disciple of the Archangel of Healing?
“Now, what would you like to order?” Raphael asked.
Chapter Eight
Blade glared at Raphael. Did he want Abigail to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the restaurant? He reached across the table and clasped her shaking hand. “Red, it’s okay.”
Her face pale, she stared at him with her lips parted rather than words, a startled gasp escaped. He rubbed his thumb over her hand. “Abigail, Abigail.”
A soft current trickled through him. His muscles slowly relaxed, he stopped scowling and breathed normally. He inhaled mimosa. Abigail’s healing power must be flowing through him. He was supposed to be comforting her, not the other way around.
He stared into Abigail’s emerald eyes. His anger cooled. A minute ago, he wanted to throttle Raphael and rip off his wings, but now, he just wanted to escape.
She blinked. “I…I…am just out of my league here.”
“Actually, you are not,” Raphael said. “But you need to eat. Get your strength up. May I suggest the Bagali classic pizza? It has spicy sausage, capicollo, ham, and mozzarella. Along with a Caesar salad?”
“Fine, fine,” Blade said. “Put the damn order in. Give her a minute, will you?”
Raphael slightly bowed. “As you wish, Blade.”
Blade didn’t like Raphael’s grin one bit. What game was he playing now? Raphael hurried away to put their order in or to play another around of chess. Playing chess with the archangels was not a smart move. He was a pawn, about to be killed.
“Red, just breathe. You’re all right. I swear Raphael won’t hurt you.”
She inhaled and shook her head. “I’ve always wondered where my healing came from. I just thought I was a freak of nature, but to think it was…I don’t know.”
“Preordained?”
“Yes. Why me?”
“I have no idea.”
She bit her lip. “What are we going to do?”
“Eat. What else?”
She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut as if to silence the argument brewing inside her. He gripped her hand tighter. “Abigail, you don’t want to make him mad. I know he looks like a kid wet behind the ears, but he’s not. He doesn’t like to be disobeyed. So, let’s just play his damn chess game, then get the fuck out of here.”
Abigail drank two more glasses of wine after Raphael brought them their salads and pizza. He didn’t know why Raphael was dropping these hints to Abigail, practically coming right out and telling her that he was a fallen angel, now stripped of his powers. Maybe it was good she was getting a little tipsy. A pink flush burned her cheeks. Her wide, cat eyes softened, turning glossy.
Every time he touched her, warmth spread over him and a building need for her pushed through him. Why was this? Did Raphael know something more about Abigail and the affect she had on him? Of course, the bastard did, but like always, he failed to tell the full story, not exactly a lie, but he omitted certain truths.
Blade waved his hand at Raphael, who was waiting on another table. He had no idea where Ringmaster and Poison had gone. Maybe they were guarding Buffalo Mountain, waiting for one of the kids to call the zombie board.
“Yes.” Raphael came over.
“Our check,” Blade said. Raphael scowled. Blade smiled, gritting his teeth. “Please.”
“It’s been taken care of.” He glanced at Abigail. “You better take her home.”
“No, I want to go to Buffalo Mountain,” Abigail said, her voice slurring.
Blade got up from the table and helped Abigail out of her chair, her scent of mimosa brushed over him. He leaned her back against his chest and wrapped his arm around her slender waist, maneuvering her out of the restaurant. She was in no shape to go to Buffalo Mountain, especially if Balthazar showed up.
“I can walk,” she insisted, but she stumbled, and if he hadn’t been holding onto her waist, she’d have fallen flat on her face.
“Yeah, I can see that.” He clicked the keyless remote, opened the passenger side of the SUV, and lifted Abigail into the passenger side.
Her hair falling around her flushed face, she leaned back onto the seat. “I’m worried about Brayden.”
“I know.” Afraid she’d fall over, Blade grabbed the seatbelt and reached over Abigail to secure it when she draped her arms around his shoulders and nestled her lips against his neck. He stiffened. “What are you doing?”
“You smell so good, leather.” She kissed him. “Taste like cinnamon.”
He slowly untangled her arms from his neck and was surprised he was shaking. Damn, she was so tempting. Her slight touch and he
r kiss sent a shock of sensual awareness down to his toes, something he hadn’t experienced since Samantha had been alive. He battled the desire to indulge in her sweet kisses. Now wasn’t the time. Shit, it should never be the time. He wasn’t good for her. How could he be? He was responsible for her sister’s death.
He started the engine and ignored the semi-conscious woman sitting next to him. The wine hit her hard. A real light weight. He drove the few blocks to their condominium, trying to ignore her scent, pretending to forget the passion stirring inside him and the tightening in his pants. He shifted uncomfortably, wanting the blasted trip over.
The SUV pulled into the driveway and he parked. “Red?”
She turned her head and burrowed her eyebrows. “What?”
“We’re here. Do you have your keys?”
“Um, yes.” Her breasts rose, and she sighed softly. “Stay with me.” She clasped his thigh, her fingers brushing between his inner thighs. He nearly cried out as his dick hardened. The woman was pushing him to the breaking point.
He whipped open the car door, rushed around the SUV, and yanked the passenger door open. Abigail still faced the driver’s side as if she thought he was still sitting there. He leaned over her and unclicked her seat belt. She sighed. “You smell so good. Do you know how long it's been since I have been with a man?”
“Jesus, Abigail,” Blade gritted his teeth. “Can you walk?”
“Of course, I can walk.” He moved her thighs to the side. She lumbered out of the SUV, but she would have done a nose dive if he hadn’t put his arm around her waist.
“See, I can walk,” she murmured.
He shook his head, put her arm around his neck, and lifted her off the ground. He kicked the passenger door shut and headed toward his condominium. Abigail leaned her head against his chest, nuzzling him. Her feminine scent threatened to have his erection burst through his jeans.
He unlocked his door and carried her inside, making a straight line for his bed. As he carefully laid her down, her eyes opened. “Stay with me.”
“I’ll be back in a minute. I’m not going anywhere.”
He walked back through the living room and shut his door. A drink. He needed one to help him sleep through the night and keep him from ravishing a beautiful, semi-conscious woman. Did Raphael leave him any scotch or did the bastard think it was a sin?
He hunted through cabinets until he found what he was looking for. A broad smile spread across his lips as he grabbed a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch. He poured himself a glass. The golden liquid smelled of honey mixed with citrus fruits and vanilla oak notes. He sipped it, savoring the taste of honey, fruit, cinnamon, and nutmeg. How could he doubt Raphael? The archangel loved Scotland.
Taking his glass, he strolled back into his bedroom. Abigail snored softly, her chest rising up and down slowly. Her dark red hair fanned out around a white pillow. He put his scotch on a nightstand and pulled off her boots. She didn’t even stir. His Sleeping Beauty was deep into slumber land. Hopefully, she was using her siren statements on another man.
He cradled her to his body as he pulled the quilt down, fighting the urge to kiss her head or taste those lips again. Taking advantage of Abigail would be a new low, even for him. He was determined to be a gentleman, even if it killed him. Abigail stirred and reached her arms around his neck and pulled his head down.
“Abigail, no,” he whispered.
Her lips found his, silencing his protest. He kissed her once discovering her lush, pliant lips, but the urgency in her kiss matched his own fierce ardor. She wanted him as much as he desired her, but did she even know what she was doing? He did. Groaning, he tried to pull away, but her hand pressed his head toward her tempting lips that tasted of wine. Her tongue pushed open his lips. Despite his good intentions, he wrapped his arms around her waist, molding her body next to his. His heart pounding, he indulged in her kiss, cursing his inability to be stronger, to be a gentleman rather than falling back into being a lecherous demon bent on satisfying his own lust.
The kiss deepened, her hands ran through his hair and he groaned, finding himself falling under her spell. His blood pulsed through his veins, rushing toward his cock until he was rock hard. He did not want to think about what he should be doing only what he wanted to do, here and now with this woman, these fleeting moments before she discovered who he was and how her sister had died.
Unable to stop himself, he slipped his hand under her loose shirt and covered her bra with his palm, feeling her full breast push against him. He squeezed and kneaded her, eliciting a moan that sent fire through his veins. As his mouth left hers to kindle a flaming hot trail down her neck to the valley between her breasts, he savored her hot spicy skin. He undid her bra, freeing her breasts. He pushed up her bra and gazed down at her breasts. She arched her back, offering her perfect breasts to him. He hesitated, not sure whether he could stop or indulge in taking her nipple into his mouth.
She clenched his shirt, bunching it, pulling him toward her. “Blade, please.”
“Abigail, you’ve drunk too much.”
She gazed at him with hooded eyes. “Don’t you want me?”
He thought tears glistened in those eyes, but she turned her head before he could determine whether he was right. “Of course, I want you, but—”
Turning her head away, she yanked her blouse down, covering those perfect breasts. “Fine, then go.”
He clasped her chin, gently but firmly turned her toward him. “Red, I want you. Can’t you feel how much I want you? But I want you to remember with pleasure, not be filled with regret because you drank too much and I took advantage of you.”
She moistened her lips. “This is the way I make love.”
He wasn’t sure he heard her right. “What?”
She lowered her gaze. “I’ve not done it sober for a long time, it’s too painful.”
He rubbed his thumb over her trembling chin. “What do you mean painful, Red?” He stilled. “Did someone hurt you?”
She tried to break from his gasp, but he held her, refusing to allow her to escape his question. “Please, let me go.”
Her pitiful plea nearly sent him over the edge. He released her chin and pushed her hair behind her face. Tears glistened on her cheeks. He shook brushing away her tears. “I promise I won’t hurt you, Red. Tell me what happened.”
She glanced up, avoiding his gaze. “It was a long time ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”
He lowered his head and whispered, “I’ll always protect you. You can trust me.”
“I can’t…I can’t talk about it,” she whimpered.
He shifted to the side and sucked in his breath, not wanting to push his erection onto her and frighten her. God, he wanted her, but he refused to do anything to hurt her. What kind of bastard had hurt her? If he had been an Angel of Death, he’d kill the bastard, but as a demon, the man would wish for death. He cradled her head to his chest and stroked her hair. She clutched his shirt and pressed her face against him, tears wetting his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her trembling body, shielding her from her past demons.
***
When Abigail shifted, the smell of leather drifted over her. She winced at the throbbing pain pulsing between her temples. Why had she drunk so much? She moaned and arms cradled her closer. Her aching head lay against a hard surface. Wait, was that a heartbeat?
She fluttered open her eyes, and she lifted her gaze. Blade gazed down at her. “Are you feeling better?”
She frowned and inspected the beige room, but it wasn’t her room at all. Her room was painted a light rose and had white lace curtains hanging in front of a small window that looked into a small courtyard, but she peered out a naked patio window looking out onto the rocky surface of Mount Royal. A red quilt hung on a wall with three black bears walking past pine trees. Her room had pictures of her family, Jessy, Brayden, herself, and her mother, during happier times. She had a large oval oak mirror that had been her grandmother’s and a small flat scree
n television, not the monster one sitting on a dresser across from the bed. “Not really. My head hurts. I’m in your condo?”
“Yes, you were out of it last night. I didn’t think you’d had that much to drink.”
Her cheeks heated. “I don’t usually drink. When I do, I do stupid things.” She glanced down at her shirt and tensed. Her bra was undone in the back, and her blouse bunched up beneath her breasts, but her jeans were still buttoned and fit snug.
As if reading her mind, Blade said, “I’d be lying if I said we didn’t fool around a bit.” His voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke.
She wanted to say something, but her words died on her lips. She closed her eyes and groaned. Bits and pieces of her begging him to make love to her appeared in her foggy memory, she groaned, burying her face into his warm chest.
She didn’t want to, she wanted to sneak away, run to her condominium, and hide. He had refused. She vaguely remembered crying. Was that why his shirt was damp? What had she said? “What time is it?”
“5 a.m.” He rubbed her back.
“I better go,” she mumbled, but his arms were holding her close. His body was warm and snug. She didn’t want to go, but she had a hard time facing him. Why hadn’t he taken advantage of her? Most guys would have.
“Red, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Look at me.”
“No.”
He tightened his arms. “Yes, we need to talk.”
Don’t let it be about Martin. Don’t let it be about Martin. Please. She swallowed, “About what?”
“You said you only make love when you’re drunk because someone hurt you.”
She closed her eyes. Shit. She practically blurted out her dark secret, the one she wanted to forget.
He lowered his voice, “Who hurt you?”
“Blade, I’ve got to go.”
Before she knew it, he rolled on top of her pinning her to the bed. He pressed his hands onto either side of her head, and his body prevented her from moving. Her heart pounding, she squirmed, but it was like trying to wiggle out from underneath a panther that had caught its prey. “Not until you answer my question.”