A Real Angel

by Cassie Miles

  He glided the car to a stop outside the safe house. "This won't take too long, Jenna. I promise."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I need my angelic abilities."

  "I thought you couldn't be an angel when you were at Hugh's estate."

  "To short out the electric power, I don't need to enter his estate."

  Rafe left the car and entered the house with Jenna chasing after him, nipping at his heels like a determined terrier.

  "Electrical power?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

  "It's not necessary for you to know."

  This was something he needed to do alone. He'd kill the electricity for the Montclair estate, thereby killing the virus. Finally, he had a clear, direct course of action. Rafe felt vital and strong. His human form was charged with energy.

  "Rafe," she called to him.

  He turned and gazed at her. The curtains were drawn in the house he had procured for a safe haven. In the lamplight, Jenna's blond hair shimmered like precious gold. Though her beautiful, dark eyes were clouded with confusion, she was lovely.

  "I want to help," she said.

  "There's nothing you can do. Trust me."

  "I do," she said simply. "I believe in you."

  Her faith bolstered him in a way that he'd never experienced before. Rafe didn't consider himself to be a hero, but the trust in Jenna's eyes made him feel valorous.

  "There must be something I can do," she said.

  "Not this time."

  "I care about you." The sincerity in her voice resonated like a prayer. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you, Rafe. Please be careful."

  Soon he would be an angel, and there was very little that could harm him. Still, her concern touched him. As she came toward him, her graceful stride aroused feelings of warm appreciation. His eyes were drawn to the fullness of her hips, the motion of her breasts beneath her oversized sweater.

  His desire for her might have been foolish, destined to remain unfulfilled, but he couldn't stop the flood of mortal emotion she awakened as she came near to him.

  "I can't love you, Rafe. I know that. But I care for you. These moments we've shared are precious to me. I won't forget you."

  Never before in his centuries of existence had he longed so deeply. He wanted to accept and encourage her love, her impossible love. He wanted to be with her, the way a man can be with a woman. He yearned with every fiber of his mortal body to make love to her.

  "Please be careful, my angel. Come back to me."

  "In a way, Jenna, I will always be with you."

  If the decision were up to him, Rafe would stay with her forever. He would experience this forbidden joy he had never known, the pure love of a woman. But that could never happen. He was not of this earth. Not like other men.

  Alone in the bedroom, he struggled to blank his mind for the necessary meditation before he returned to his angelic form. His deep concentration warred with emotion—human emotion. He needed clarity, but his mind churned with other possibilities. The love of a woman? What would it feel like? His mortal body ached with physical need.

  During his angelic existence, Jenna was only the third human to whom he had revealed his true identity. Before, when he had identified himself, the indiscretion resulted in immediate contact from Saint Michael. Rafe had been called on the carpet and roundly chastised. Where was Michael now?

  "Enough," Rafe said aloud. He could not allow himself to be drawn from his higher purpose. The virus must be destroyed.

  Forcibly, he thrust Jenna from his mind. He had a job to do.

  Every muscle of his human body strained as he concentrated on returning to his angelic form. His exertion was more intense than ever before. Beads of sweat broke across his forehead. His rear molars clenched together. He was holding his breath, fighting for the change. But there seemed to be a tether, an invisible strand that restrained his metamorphosis.

  He curled into a fetal position. His muscles were on the verge of breaking. His back throbbed as wings ripped through the frail human flesh. The pain was almost more than he could stand. Energy swirled around him. His human senses exploded in a flash of blinding light.

  Then there was stillness. Rafe opened his arms. He was free from earthly restraints. Slowly, the power of angels animated his naked form. His wings spread. The span was almost too wide for the bedroom.

  When his eyelids lifted, he saw two forms. Saint Michael sat in the corner of the room. Jenna stood in the doorway.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I heard noises in here, and I was afraid."

  But she didn't appear to be frightened. Her generous lips smiled. "Oh, Rafe. I never dreamed that anything could be so magnificent. May I touch your wings?"

  His voice was firm, but gentle. "Leave me, Jenna."

  "Okay, sure. I'll be waiting out here."

  As she closed the door behind her, he modified his shape to the more acceptable human form. Usually this change could be accomplished in a wink. This time, it took fierce concentration and effort.

  "Problems?" Michael asked.

  When Rafe turned to face him, his wings were gone. He appeared—as Michael did—to be human. "Nothing I can't handle."

  "Don't be so sure," Saint Michael advised. "This time, your arrogance might lead you into an impossible situation."

  "Can you explain?"

  "You're one of the few angels who can become fully human. You needed to learn this skill for your work as an avenger. As I recall, the first time you did this, the fate of humanity hung in the balance. The danger, of course, is succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh."

  "Pleasure?" Rafe thought of being drunk. That had not been a positive experience. And yet, it was different than anything he'd known as an angel. His mind had been empty. His awareness dulled. When he was human, food tasted different—not necessarily better, but different. Water was marvelous because it slaked a thirst he did not know as an angel. "I'm not sure that pleasure is the right word, Mike."

  "Don't deny it," Michael interrupted. "You know what I'm talking about The woman."

  Even in his angel body, these attributes of the flesh were imprinted on his mind. Too readily, he remembered how he felt when he kissed her, the almost unbearable pleasure of holding her, the longing he felt, the human love.

  "Poor Rafael," Michael said with deep sincerity. "It was more difficult, this time, to become an angel. Correct?"

  "Yes."

  "I fear that you're being seduced into human form. You might fall victim to love."

  "Is that wrong?"

  "Lust is a sin. You know that."

  But the way Rafe felt about Jenna wasn't lust. He felt a pure, sacred connection to her. He wanted to be with her forever, to fulfill her every desire, to make her his own and to belong completely to her. "And love? Is love wrong?"

  "Well, of course not." Michael rolled his eyes. "It astonishes me that an angel can live for centuries and still not comprehend the simplest equations. Surely, you've seen what love looks like."

  "Seldom," Rafe said. "As a warrior, I generally don't come into contact with lovers."

  "Then you've been deaf, dumb and blind."

  Quietly, Rafe said, "As an angel, I have no ears to hear the words being spoken. No human lips to speak of such things. My vision is consumed with battle and danger. I'm an angel, Mike. How can I know human emotion?"

  "It's part of being mortal. The human heart and soul aren't fully developed without love. And that includes the physical act of lovemaking. That's the practical side, the need to perpetuate the species."

  "Do all mortals experience love?"

  "It's always there for them. The mother with a babe at the breast. Newlyweds. A gray-haired couple, holding hands and watching the sunset. Quite a wonderful accomplishment."

  "Could I experience—"

  "No," Michael said. "You cannot love Jenna as a man and still be an angel."

  Aching sadness tightened within him, constricting his spirit. Not to be an angel? Not to
be a warrior? He couldn't live such an empty existence.

  Michael warned, "If you fall in love with her, you'll lose your angelic attributes. To be frank with you, Rafe, we can't afford to have that happen. In working this case, you've discovered an evil that might destroy humanity."

  "The virus?"

  "You need every bit of your angelic power to combat it." Michael leaned back in his chair and sighed. The nimbus of light that surrounded him expanded to fill the room. "Thus far, the evil at the Montclair estate has not been alerted to our presence. Fortunately, you haven't visited Hugh Montclair in angelic form."

  Not fortunate, Rafe thought. As soon as he'd recognized the presence of evil, he'd known that he could not show himself as an angel. "My actions have been purposeful."

  "There you go again," Michael said. "Arrogance. With you, it's always pride."

  "Tell me what I must do."

  "Destroy every trace of this virus. No matter what the sacrifice. You have to kill this disease before it escapes and runs rampant across the earth, leaving death and devastation."

  "I have a plan," Rafe said. "I'm going to knock out the electrical power to the estate, disabling the refrigerators."

  "Are you sure that's where the virus is kept?"

  "How can I be sure, Mike? I've only been able to explore the place as a man. I can't see through walls. I can't become invisible and seek out the hiding place. I hate these limitations. Being human makes it nearly impossible to do my job."

  Saint Michael rose from his chair and came toward him. "You must succeed, Rafe. Do whatever you need to do. Use great speed. It must be done."

  Michael held up his hand in blessing. Then he was gone.

  Rafe felt the absence of Saint Michael. There was a sense of bereavement, as if he might never gaze upon the countenance of the warrior archangel again. Not to be an angel? Was that the necessary sacrifice?

  Such contemplation was too fearsome to imagine, and Rafe wasn't a thinker. He was an avenger, a warrior. He needed to be strong. Right now, he needed to destroy this terrible threat.

  With renewed vigor, he strode into the outer room where Jenna sat waiting. As he gazed upon her, he felt warm desire, similar to his longing as a mortal. At the core of his being, there was a softness. Was it love? A love that was more powerful than his centuries of battle? Clearly, he couldn't succumb to these gentle feelings. Now more than ever, he needed the full range of his powers.

  "Stay here, Jenna."

  "Where are you going? What are you doing?"

  "You must stay here and be safe. I'll be back."

  There was absolutely no way Jenna could obey Rafe's instructions to "stay here and be safe." Especially not after he'd told her that approaching the Montclair estate as an angel was dangerous.

  Maybe he didn't think he needed her, but he did. She could help him. She could protect his back.

  Grabbing her purse with the handgun inside, she dashed out the door and slid behind the steering wheel of his sleek, black convertible. She wasn't too surprised to find the keys in the ignition. Since Rafe changed form as quickly as most people changed socks, he really couldn't be carrying car keys and a wallet in his back pocket. When he was an angel…

  Jenna's thoughts trailed off and she sighed. When he was an angel, Rafe was pure magnificence. The vision of him, winged and naked before her, consumed her memory. His body was as perfect as any Michelangelo sculpture. The incandescent glow fired her senses. And the wings! They were huge! Somewhere in the back of her mind, she must have known that—according to the physics of flight—an angel's wingspan would have to be extra large in order to lift their human-sized physical form. Still, she hadn't been prepared for the overwhelming fan of pearly white feathers that had filled the bedroom.

  How could he be the same man who had kissed her? Not a man, she reminded herself. Rafe was an angel, not a poor earthbound being who would suffer and die. The wonder of him was eternal.

  And he was in danger. She turned the key in the ignition and revved the powerful engine. In some unexplainable way, she felt the threat to him as surely as if somebody had aimed a loaded pistol at the direct center of her forehead.

  Driving the Infiniti was far different from chugging around in her beat-up truck, and Jenna reveled in the surge of speed that came with a light tap on the accelerator. As she glided through traffic on the way to the Montclair estate, the wind whipped through her hair and cooled her flushed cheeks.

  Overhead, the skies hung heavy with dark rainclouds that obscured the late afternoon sunlight. There seemed to be turbulence in the heavens, and she wondered if Rafe had the power to affect the weather. A few days ago, she wouldn't have believed that any being could turn the sun to rain. But now? She wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Rafe could transform dawn to dusk and cause the winds to blow.

  A bolt of lightning zigzagged through the skies. Angel fire?

  Though she wasn't sure what she was looking for, Jenna remembered that he'd mentioned cutting off the electrical power to the Montclair estate, causing the refrigerated units to quit working.

  In her mind, shorting out the power meant hitting the source. Since Rafe wouldn't want to black out all of Los Angeles, he'd probably damage the generator nearest the Montclair mansion. As she neared the hills, she scanned for power lines.

  More lightning sliced through the roiling clouds. Thunder exploded like cannon fire. A few raindrops splattered the windshield.

  At a high point on the twisting hillside road, Jenna pulled over and touched a button on the dashboard. Mechanically, the convertible's roof rose. As soon as she'd latched the top into place, she realized that she wouldn't be able to scan for power lines with the top up.

  With her purse strapped across her chest, she left the car and started walking. The Montclair estate, she knew from traversing this route so many times before, was just around the next curve.

  Leaving the road, she hiked to a vantage point. To the left she could see the stone gargoyles at the front entry to Hugh Montclair's acreage. Because of the stormy darkness, the lamps on either side of the gates were lit.

  Her gaze followed the overhead cables down the hill to her right They led to several towers and a generator complex, surrounded by a chain-link fence to keep the curious at bay. An ugly modern sculpture of steel and wire, the towers and generators formed a hub.

  Despite the ominous clouds, the rainfall was light. Moisture hung in the air, but it wasn't pouring. And the lightning continued in ferocious bursts.

  Jenna gazed beyond the false seclusion of these hills. Through a gap, she saw the City of Angels. The sprawl of streets and houses, headlights and neon, stretched as far as the eye could see. Teeming millions trod upon those pavements and steered along those highways. Inside houses, stores and buildings, they peered through windows. She imagined that most of them were looking up, as she was, cursing the unexpected storm.

  Jenna crouched down beside a scrub juniper and waited. She knew better than to seek shelter beneath a tree. When she was a little girl, a tall cottonwood at the ranch had been struck by lightning and had become a pillar of flame. Jenna had been frightened, and her mother had soothed her, telling her that lightning was one of nature's wonders, as beautiful as the birth of a foal.

  Staring at the generators, she waited and watched, not knowing what to expect. An explosion? Or merely a subtle flicker and a blanking out of lights? Anticipation built within her. Jenna felt like a spectator at a Fourth of July celebration, waiting for the fireworks to begin.

  When the clouds parted above the generators, a gasp caught in her throat. She saw a pale lavender light, shimmering as if the sun were struggling to break through the storm. Then she saw him! Her heart swelled at the vision. Outlined in shadow against the light, a winged man swooped down from the heavens, soaring with incredible grace. His wings were not gossamer, but powerful appendages of glistening white.

  As he neared the towers, electricity cracked and fizzed. Waves of blue static rippled the atmos
phere. Magnetically, the fingers of light arced toward him, and he gathered the strands around him. He swirled high, caught in the vortex of a luminescent tornado. With a sudden pitch of his body, he tore himself free of the electricity, which crashed back to earth. The generator tower flared with brilliant illumination. It sputtered, and all the lights died.

  Like thick curtains, the clouds drew closed. Rafe shot upwards through the space, rocketing to invisible heights.

  When Jenna looked back toward the Montclair estate, the lamps beside the gate were dark.

  He'd succeeded! Miraculously, Rafe had shut down the electricity. The refrigerated units in Hugh Montclair's laboratory would lose all power. The virus would die.

  It was incredible. Unbelievable! With a sharp intake of breath, Jenna clutched her hand to her breast. Her heart fluttered like a captive butterfly. If she lived to be a thousand, she would never experience such a sight again. Truly, she was in the presence of the fantastic.

  The rain came more steadily, but she didn't move. She couldn't. She was rooted to the spot by the sheer power of what she'd seen. No one would believe her if she told this tale. No one would know that Rafael Santini, an avenging angel, had saved the world from terrible devastation.

  Her gaze turned back toward the gates of the Montclair estate. To her utter amazement, the stone gargoyles and heavy iron bars were suddenly lit again.

  "Oh, no," she whispered.

  She blinked, but the light was still there. Hugh Montclair must have a back-up generator on his property. His electricity was back on. All of Rafe's astounding pyrotechnics had been for nothing.

  Jenna sensed Rafe beside her before she turned her head and saw him. He was clad in a flowing garment. His wings were tucked behind him.

  "You'll catch your death of cold," he said, "sitting out here without a jacket."

  "Could you make the rain stop?"

  "That's not really acceptable." He sat beside her on the hillside. One of his wings unfurled and formed a snowy white umbrella over her head. "It wouldn't be right for me to change the weather because my friend Jenna doesn't have the sense to seek shelter from the rain."