Deliver Me from Temptation

by Tes Hilaire

  As much as he may have wanted to, he hadn’t died—no thanks in part to Roland, who came charging in just minutes too late, followed almost immediately by Valin, Logan’s father, and more than a dozen other Paladin brothers. Nor had he fallen into the spinning cycle of anger and hatred that the others had feared he would. He was simply numb. Nothing mattered anymore.

  He spent hours in the dark of her apartment, wrapping and unwrapping one of her hair elastics around his hand. More just sitting in her bedroom, smelling the pillow that still carried her scent. He’d eventually had to leave though. The residual evidence of the violence done there driving him away. So tonight he’d come here. To the studio where he and Jessica had first made love.

  He sat here now, the sharp scent of turpentine burning at the lining of his nose and eyes as memory after memory washed over him. Jessica laughing, Jessica smiling, Jessica raising her chin in that stubborn tilt. Still he couldn’t cry. Which was good. Crying would mean he could feel, and without her? What was the point?

  A shift in the air told him someone else had used the hole he’d punched in the patio door to enter the beach house. He didn’t move, almost hoped it was a demon he could fight, though he knew it wouldn’t be. Numb or not, his senses hadn’t completely disappeared and he recognized his father’s step and scent.

  Even as light-footed as his father was, the stairs groaned beneath his feet. The creaking stopped when he reached the top and Logan could imagine him standing with a scowl on his face, his arms folded across his chest.

  “You think this is the safest place to be?” his father asked, and then when he didn’t answer, he added, “That cop, Ward, is still poking around, still asking questions. One of which is where you are.”

  “Let him ask, I don’t care.” Hell, Logan was inclined to go find Mike. New York didn’t have a death penalty, but he thought if he told Mike how Jessica died because of him the cop might be willing to oblige.

  A large hand connected with the side of his head—hard.

  He blinked, twisting his head to look up at his father. “Did you just smack me?”

  The absolute absurdity of it had him lifting a hand to check and see if his scalp was tender. It was.

  His father stood with folded arms, and he also scowled, but there was something else there, a glint in his eyes that showed a whole lot more than annoyance. “Thought I might knock some sense into you.”

  Logan glared at him.

  His father unfolded his arms, lifted his hands out to the side in an exaggerated gesture. “What, isn’t that what you’ve been wanting? For me to act like a father rather than the head of the council?”

  “Fine time for you to choose to do so.” Years and years of indifference, followed by years and years more of annoyance-laced disapproval. And he chose now to act like he cared?

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Logan stood, poking his finger at his father and getting into his face. “It means, where were you when I needed you? Where were you when my mate was dying? No, scratch that, I remember now. You were the man pulling me off her.”

  “Logan. She was already dead.” The way his father said this, choked up as if he had the right to mourn her too, was the greatest offense.

  Logan fisted his hand, working hard to not let it connect. “I could have saved her.”

  “No, you couldn’t have.”

  “Then you could have let me go too!” Logan spun away, spun back, spun away again. There it was out, he’d said it. Not insane, not consumed with vengeance, but God, he wished he could just curl up and die.

  A hand fell on his shoulder, the grip tentative, almost shaking. “Logan, He may be a merciful God but do you really think He’d reward you for ending your life that way?”

  Logan clenched his jaw.

  His father sighed. Moving around Logan, he grabbed up a canvas and set it aside to free up a chair. He sat, with his elbows on his knees, chin cupped in his hands.

  Logan tensed for the lecture, resisting the urge to turn his back. Stubborn old man would just move around to the other side.

  “When your mother was killed,” his father began, “I didn’t think I could go on, the absolute agony of losing my mate—”

  “Don’t!” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Don’t compare your life to mine. Don’t. You had her for 500 years. I had my mate for three days. Three.” He shook his head, swallowing past the wedge that seemed to be lodged in his throat. “Even then I was too stupid, too cowardly to claim her, to bond with her.”

  His father shifted forward on the chair, speaking earnestly. “Someday, Logan. Someday when our duty is done here and we’ve been called back to His side, you’ll see her again.”

  “Will I?” God, why hadn’t he claimed her? Why hadn’t he bonded their souls forever? Then at least he would have hope of seeing her again when his time was done.

  She’ll forget me. She’ll move on. Whether in another life or simply in Heaven, her soul is too strong, too endearingly stubborn not to attract the love of another.

  His father shifted, his mouth opening.

  “Don’t say anything else,” Logan cut him off.

  “I wasn’t going to. You’re not in the right frame of mind to listen.” He heaved himself up out of the chair, shaking his head. “Still, you know how to reach me if you need me. Even if it is just for sharpening your tongue.”

  His father left. Logan stood for a while, looking around the empty loft. Idly, he picked up a paintbrush, twisting the dried out bristles in his hand. Remembering how he scattered them on the floor in his eagerness to have her and then how carefully she picked them up the next morning and set them back in place. Ironic that those brushes would represent the same thing to him now as it must have to Jessica: A tie. A connection. A shared memory.

  Damn his father. He’d been perfectly content not feeling anything, and if there was one thing his father’s visit did it was crack him out of the ice-shell he’d managed to cocoon himself in.

  Anger. He wasn’t sure if his father wished to illicit the emotion, but that was the result, and now he stood here, staring at the empty jars, paintbrushes, and beautiful artwork and all he wanted to do was destroy them. To stab deep at the heart of something she’d loved. How dare she leave him? How dare she choose his life over her own? Didn’t she understand he was nothing without her?

  Of course not, asshole. You never told her.

  There was another shift of air, the ocean breeze threatening to cleanse the cabin of Jessica’s lingering scent. Which made him angrier. If anyone or anything was going to destroy the last pieces he had of her, it would be him.

  “What do you want now?” he yelled, stomping to the edge of the loft.

  Below, just inside the wide-open patio doors, stood not his father, but a woman in a flowing white gown, the highlights in her dark curling hair glimmering in the morning light.

  “Jessica?” he asked, then raced down the stairs, but when he got to the bottom, only a couch length separating them, he forced himself to stop.

  It couldn’t be her; he watched her die. So therefore it was either some sort of sick joke or his mind was playing tricks on him.

  “Your father’s right, you know. He,” she gestured with her head toward the ceiling, “wouldn’t reward you for thinking such thoughts.”

  Logan rubbed his eyes. Definitely losing his mind. Or maybe suffering some guilt-ridden hallucinations; conjuring up his Jessica in order to scold himself into sensibility, because, damn it to Hell, Logan knew his father was right.

  He reopened his eyes, not completely surprised to see her still there. Though this time he saw the things he should have before, the things that marked her as false.

  His Jessica couldn’t be more beautiful than she already was. But this one was. Her skin practically glowing, her eyes bright
er, rounder, with almost an exotic tilt to them, her lips, always full and plump had more defined edges and a distinctive angel’s kiss beneath her nose.

  “Oh, I don’t know, you’re here,” he said, playing along. Better to let his mind work this through. Then maybe he could brood in peace.

  She smiled, stepping further into the house. And God, what a vision she was. Though she hadn’t needed improvement, so this version seemed more imposter than not.

  She stopped a few short feet away, her smile dimming as her head tipped to the side. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He shook his head. “More like an angel.”

  She laughed, the same husky bedroom laugh, but it was layered with rich bell-like tones to fit her angelic features.

  “Not an angel. Not anymore at least.” She twisted, letting the shoulders of her flowing garment drop to show him her beautifully sculpted shoulder blades. It took him a minute to really see what she was showing him; he was so entranced by the sight of her creamy skin, the memory of what it felt like to run his calloused hands over it, but then he saw them. The two silvery lines that glowed faintly below the surface, marking a newly healed wound.

  She turned back, sighing, a dreamy smile crossing her face as she rolled her shoulders freely. “But I admit, they sure were cool while I had them.”

  An angel. A real one. And she gave them up? Gave up the blissful peace of His light to come back down here?

  “Jess.” He shook his head, bewildered. “You volunteered?”

  “I think it was more of a divine suggestion. Think He was sick of me disobeying orders.”

  Logan couldn’t help it; he laughed. He could just picture it. Her up in Heaven, trying to fit in with the other angels as they monitored His creations: the epitome of the eternal desk job. She would hate it. If He were present, Logan might have asked why He’d invited such headache and even given her the wings, except Logan knew: He had planned this.

  God did not choose His warriors lightly, and He would not have accepted her as a Paladin unless He thought her up to the task. And what better warrior for His children than a head-strong cop with a soul so passionate she’d made the rank of angel?

  She’s real.

  He hadn’t believed it until this moment. He must have truly thought she was a ghost. He couldn’t believe she was really with him to stay.

  But she is.

  He itched to touch her. Hold her.

  But he didn’t deserve to, didn’t deserve her. Not when he’d failed her so. Not when he denied what was between them, questioning His plan.

  He dropped his head, looking at his feet. “I don’t deserve you. If I did, I would have told you about the bonding, made you understand what it meant.”

  “I wouldn’t have been ready to beli—”

  “It doesn’t matter. You needed to know. Better, I should have just done the ceremony and bonded us so that you could understand.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  He fisted his hands. She had to know the truth. “I loved you so much, wanted you so badly, but every time I was with you all I could think was why? What had I done? What part of me must be such a failure that He would do this to me? Why give me the perfect woman, why send me my mate, when she was destined to die on me?” He lifted his head. “I didn’t want you.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  He laughed, a self-deprecating sort of sound as he ran his hands down his face. “No. That’s not true. I wanted you. God, I wanted you. But I refused to let myself need you. I didn’t believe in us. Didn’t believe in His plan.” He nodded up toward the ceiling. “And didn’t want to believe in the mate-bond. So I refused it. Never allowing it to truly form even knowing that it might cause me to someday fail you, but still I kept myself apart. Holding back. And do you know why?”

  “No, why?” she whispered.

  “Because I thought it would be better that way. That by holding a part of myself back, we’d never be truly bonded. And if I could do that, if I could keep you and I separate, love you but not love you, then if, no when, I lost you…”

  He couldn’t go on. He had lost her. And the black hole of pain had threatened to suck him down. He’d been ready to succumb. If she hadn’t come back when she did…

  Another horrible thought occurred to him. What if she couldn’t forgive him? What if she didn’t want to?

  She crossed to him, wrapping her arms around his taunt body. “You fool. You think I didn’t know that? You think I don’t understand?”

  She pressed her head into his shoulder, her fingers playing with his shirt. “I felt that way too. I didn’t want to believe you, but then when I did, I didn’t want to love you because someday I was going to age, get old and die, and you? Well you were going to keep on living. Without me.”

  He scoffed, glancing up at the dark studio. “I can’t live without you. I think we’ve proved that.”

  She slapped his arm. “You would have gone on. I know you would have. You’re too strong to have given up.”

  Too strong to become a monster, she meant. Was he?

  “Maybe.” But he could have only held out so long as he believed that someday He would release him from his duty and let him be reunited with his mate. And considering how close he’d been to finding Mike…

  “No maybes.” She laid a hand on his heart. “You’re His warrior. Through and through. Trust me, I know.”

  He swallowed, closing his eyes, drawing deep breaths through his nose. She was touching him. And damn but wasn’t that a tear that had just escaped from his eye?

  Delicate fingers settled on his cheek, touching the wet spot, and his skin tingled, the bond he knew was there, waiting to be formed, humming in the recesses of his mind.

  Mark her, claim her. But he was scared to move, afraid that no matter how real she felt, no matter how much he wanted to believe, that the moment he opened his eyes again the vision, dream, whatever the hell it is, would end.

  She gave another light touch on his chin, applying slight pressure as she tipped his head toward her. “Look at me, Logan.”

  He couldn’t resist her, so he didn’t. And this time Logan opened his eyes to look beyond the inhuman beauty, beyond the full lips, the long straight nose, her eyes…so blue, bluer than before, like the Caribbean Sea. To see something else. Something about her.

  It was an awakening. He could see her both as she was now and as she’d been before. She was still the same Jessica, but the passion he saw in her was no longer a mere reflection of what she could be; it was the true beauty and warmth of her soul. Logan might be able to call on His light, but she was His light.

  And with that realization came understanding. Her soul may have been made for him, but she hadn’t been ready to be a Paladin mate. All that had occurred, her sister’s death, even the events leading up to her own, happened so she could learn to understand and overcome her human nature. For without that knowledge she would never have been a good protector for mankind.

  Or the partner he needed.

  Still, it was a great sacrifice for her to make.

  “Can I see them again?”

  She didn’t respond, just turned, letting the gauzy material slip from her shoulders to reveal her upper back.

  He traced the scars, wondering at how they glowed even more beneath his touch. Eventually they’d fade, only visible in His realm, but the fact that his touch brought out the light within her was just another proof that she’d always been meant for him. Time, distance, life, or death couldn’t change that.

  He sighed, finally feeling. And what he felt was peace and joy and yes, damn it, a painful need.

  “You know you could have waited for me. Time does not have the same meaning there.”

  It would have been him who suffered their time
apart. Not her. And probably the easier choice. A Paladin’s life was not champagne and roses. There were hardships, sacrifice. Even with his brothers, even with his bond mate by his side, he knew his time on earth would be filled with almost as much bad as good.

  But someone needed to fight evil.

  “I know, but I figured…”

  “You figured what?” he asked, pulling her garment back over her shoulders and twisting her back around.

  Her mouth parted, her eyes sparkling as if the sun were dancing on the water. She licked her lips. “I figured you missed me.”

  “God, Jessica, you have no idea how much.”

  “Besides, this, you…” She traced her hand down his chest, causing him to moan as she ended the movement with a taunting dip into his jeans, “Well it just wasn’t Heaven for me without you there.”

  And then she reached up, lacing her other hand behind his head and she pressed her perfectly warm, living, lips to his.

  Acknowledgments

  This book came from more than just my own soul-bearing pounding at the keyboard. There are all kinds of people who helped along the way from conception to completion. From my family, who put up with more frozen dinners than they ever should have had to, to the handful of new Facebook friends who came to the rescue when I needed some good, honest BETA feedback, to my wonderful editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, who kept my sights on the goal (something far better than good enough), along with the wonderful people at Sourcebooks responsible for getting this final product into the readers’ hands. This book wouldn’t be what it is without their help and support. All mistakes are my own; anything that shines is because of them. Thank you.

  About the Author

  Daphne Award–winning author Tes Hilaire started creating whole new worlds to escape upstate New York’s harsh winters before finally fleeing to sultry North Carolina. Her stories are edgy, exciting, and bring a hint of dark fantasy to paranormal romance. And no one ever has to shovel snow. For more information visit www.teshilaire.com.