The joy and light of Kyria diffused the edge of his rage and darkness. A twisted infernal voice said to press closer and take her, but another fading part of him fought to respect her space and show her the consideration he never experienced. I want to know her, not own her.
He pulled away and gripped his chain. Remember what you are.
“What do you mean by ‘hurt me’?”
She asked too many questions. Or was he just pissed because some ugly part of him wanted her to know? Innocent eyes of blue would stare in horror at the monster he had become. Worse, she’d pity him.
Even after all the drinking, smoking, and antisocial behavior, her genuine interest drew out his own need for human contact. He tore himself away from her.
“Ram, tell me what’s wrong,” she persisted, brushing at her flushed cheeks, too stupid to be afraid. Or too good at acting innocent.
Beautifully breathless. She’s so different. Why not give in?
But he’d also trusted Nema too easily, hadn’t he?
Explaining his captor to the Nephilim was a waste of time. So, he focused on a more distant pain. “It’s a long story.”
Ramiel got up and moved to the window. Parting the heavy drapes, he scanned the barren parking lot. The rising sun gave the illusion of warmth; the real warmth stood across the room.
Had it really been forty-eight hours since she walked into the bar? He let the curtains drop, and the room fell into darkness. The numbness was dangerously close to disappearing.
He took a drink only to find it empty. The chain itched. “Fuck. We need to leave.”
That damn warmth touched his back. Two steps and he was out of her reach.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” That’s what he needed to go back to, anyway.
He glanced down at the damp shirt that clung to the curves of her body and scowled. “Sleep, or leave for the ranch?” Damn, when did my voice get raspy?
Both her hands flew to cover her breasts, and her face flushed. Was his staring that obvious?
“I can’t go back to sleep now.”
“Then it’s time to go.” He tucked the last bottle in his jacket and threw her bag over his shoulder before curling an arm around her waist to carry her out of the room.
“Ack, wait.” She wiggled, her arms wrapped around his shoulders like timid vines.
She didn’t thrash or kick, so he continued to carry her to the parking lot where his “borrowed” truck waited. He set her on her feet and opened the passenger side door, waiting while she buckled in before tossing the duffel bag in her lap.
On the driver’s side, he didn’t bother with a seat belt, hotwiring the vehicle a second time before peeling away from the dingy motel.
Chapter Fourteen
They sat in silence for two and a half hours.
Kyria leaned her elbow on the door panel with her cheek resting in her upturned palm. Finally, a moment to study him up close without demons chasing them or basement-dwelling madmen causing scenes.
In the daylight, his features weren’t as sharp and predatory. Still rugged, but the scars were like a constellation of stories rather than a map of dangerous warnings.
One of the smaller scars on his upper cheek looked like an unfinished heart, bottomless. She pressed her lips together. As alluring as they were, she shouldn’t be so lighthearted about the marks that were undoubtedly evidence of torture.
His voice cut through. “What do I have to do to get you to stop staring at me?”
“I just want to know more about you.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
“You said you had a long story. We still have over an hour left to drive. If I face forward will you tell me one thing about yourself? Look, I’ll even close my eyes.” She shifted, dropping her arm to sit forward and slowly let her lids drift shut.
A heavy stillness permeated the space between them, the only sound coming from the heater cranking warm air into the cab. She held out long enough to hear the small intake of breath.
“You were right about what I am. There were twenty of us. Watchers. Grigori. Whatever you wanna call us. Sent to observe humankind after the crucifixion. Something about building empathy and learning to understand human suffering better.” He snarled.
“Is it weird that I know that? A woman I grew up with used to tell me stories about angels. I thought they were just stories. How did you end up stuck here?”
“Somewhere along the way, we were cut off without warning. Came as a surprise to me. Turns out, a couple of the other watchers took to the humans a little too well. Couldn’t keep it in their pants,” he groused. “That was one of the rumors, anyway. Our leader and his friends ran off before anyone could question them. No one knows where they are now.”
Opening her eyes, she spared a brief glance his way. “So, you weren’t allowed back into heaven.”
“Yeah, locked out. We became fallen.” He slid one hand off the steering wheel to rest on the manual shift lever between them. The soft clatter of his chain drew her gaze.
“Where are they now?”
He sneered, “Some of them protect humans, or just live among them. Some fight to save Nephilim. Others hunt them down. But I could care less.”
She paused, hesitant to continue. “But you’re family, right? That’s how Val explained it.”
“They’re only family when it’s convenient for them.”
“That can’t be true.”
“I was trapped by my own arrogance, but when I gave in and called out to them, they turned their back on me. They never tried to help. Does that sound like family to you?”
She planned to answer, but he stiffened as he switched his foot from the gas pedal to the brake. Following his gaze, she expected to see deer or a broke down car on the side of the highway, but it was just a light blue compact car heading in the opposite direction.
“Ram, it’s just a car.” Yet her pulse beat a little faster. She gripped her knees as she stared at him.
He said nothing, both hands on the wheel again. The other vehicle was long gone by now.
“Who is Nema?”
His head whipped around to lance her with a bewildered scowl, but he didn’t keep his gaze off the road too long.
“The demon said you belonged to Nema?”
“You’re persistent, aren’t you?” The wheels on the highway was the only sound for a mile or two. “She’s the one who put these chains on me.”
Fighting to keep her face neutral, she pushed him for more. “I’ve never heard of a demon named Nema.”
He flattened his lips into a grim line then exhaled roughly in defeat. “Her real name is Naamah.”
Her skin crawled. “The archdemon associated with Lilith?” And with preying on children. “I’ve only seen her mentioned in Judaic mythology a few times.”
“Probably. She’s always been jealous of her sister.” His dark gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. “She used to be a powerful archangel, then she joined Lucifer’s rebellion and became a betrayer.”
“You called my father a betrayer.”
“The regular foot soldiers like your father were just kicked down to earth to decide their own fate. They’re all trash if you ask me.” He mumbled the last words carelessly, staring at the mirror. “Not that it matters anymore. Loyalty is a myth.”
She frowned. “That’s not true. He’s not what you think. He raised me, protected me all my life. I’m going to find him. And I’m going to keep him safe.”
“He also lied to you. Sometimes people that call you family are the ones you should trust the least.” He sped up.
“What are you doing?”
“I think we’re being followed.”
“What?” There wasn’t anything in the side mirror. Twisting, she scanned the road behind them. Then a big, black, lifted dually truck charged over the rise, headed their way.
It was difficult to see the faces of its passengers through tinted windows. A common sight in Texas, but wit
h recent events, it caused a pool of adrenaline to wash through her.
Facing forward with wide eyes, she gripped the dashboard.
Ram’s strong hand pushed at her shoulder. “Get down.” The iron chain clinked across the armrest between them.
Sinking low, she brought her hands up and pressed them over the thunder of her beating heart. Her view of the world outside shrank to the white and gray ambling of a cloudy sky.
Their truck slowed down. She hissed in a breath. “What are you doing?”
He stuck both hands on the wheel and turned it, veering the old truck off-road. Knuckles turned white, and thick chords of muscles in his neck strained against his iron collar.
With eyes glued to the rearview mirror, he slowed until they nearly came to a complete stop. His breathing never once wavered.
A stark contrast to her breathless whisper. “Are they still behind us?”
“No. They sped by. Are you all right?” He turned to reach out again and move her arm in search of phantom injuries.
“I’m fine. Did you get a look at them?”
He pulled away, and she immediately missed the earnestness of his touch. “One of them had a window down. Looked like a bunch of rednecks.”
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back to rest against the cushion of her seat. “You don’t actually think they’re demons, do you?”
“Probably not.” The clunk of the clutch signaled shifted gears, and they drove forward on the access road where they sat. “But we should take some back roads for a little while before getting back on the highway.”
Another shift and they picked up speed. Eyes open, Kyria wiggled to sit up and peer out her window. Trees, grass, and fences passed by in a blur.
“We’re almost there. Let’s just hope we don’t run into any more problems along the way.”
This Nephilim is officially going to kill me.
“Kyria?” Ramiel called out in the candy aisle of a large Buc-ee’s store, stalking forward. Shouldn’t have let her out of my sight.
He cursed under his breath. Buc-ee’s was her ridiculous idea; she’d convinced him to hunt one down when they were only half an hour from her small town.
Crystal Ridge.
While he hadn’t wanted any pit stops, it was necessary to feed the Nephilim and make sure the truck had gas. Losing her in the fudge department didn’t help his rising paranoia. What if the demons had found them?
Fortunately, the light footfalls of small boots approached from behind. Her familiar scent wrapped around him like a cashmere scarf. Warm, unforgettable. “You called?”
Oh, thank God. She’s safe… Why is my heart beating so hard?
He pretended to find great interest in a bag of rainbow-colored Twizzlers. “Yes. You shouldn’t leave my sight.”
“Well, I got a surprise for you.”
Fine. He’d humor her. “What is it?”
“Look,” She held up a palm-sized crystal ornament shaped like an angel. Light filtered through it and fractured in different directions, illuminating her soft face. “It’s one of their leftovers from a Christmas sale. But its wings broke off so one of the cashiers said I could have it for just five cents. Isn’t it cool?”
“The coolest.” A wingless angel. How ironic. Now she had two of them.
“You know, since I was a kid, I’ve loved looking at these kinds of trinkets. Broken ones made of glass or crystal. Unwanted. They’re so imperfect that they’re beautiful.”
You’re beautiful. No point in denying the sweet allure she had, though he’d never admit it out loud.
“You collect them?”
“No, actually. This will be my first.”
He frowned. “Why?” She just said they were her favorite, didn’t she? So, why wouldn’t she hoard them? Like his old friend Sariel and her obsession with paintings. It used to amuse him; now his memory of her just tasted bitter.
“Dad never allowed toys or anything impractical. Only necessary items for survival and light travel.” She rocked back on her heels.
“You really like them that much?”
Charming and warm, she dangled the broken ornament in front of her own face. “I do. The first time my dad mentioned we were moving to a town called Crystal Ridge, known for its caves, I got so excited.”
“Really?” Now he wasn’t just humoring her. The passion and enthusiasm in her explanations intrigued him. She found genuine joy in something so simple.
“I remember thinking they might be filled with big fat magic crystals. I even dreamed they were a million crazy colors. When you’re young, you make up all kinds of things. The salt caves aren’t exactly what I imagined, of course, but they’re still cool.”
Damn.
“Hell, grab all of them.”
“What? Oh, no. This is my only splurge. My cash is for emergencies only.”
“I’m paying. No arguments.”
Disbelief tinged her laughter. “No way. I won’t let you spend your money on something so silly.”
“It’s nothing. Literally pocket change.” He said as he reached into his leather jacket.
“Really? How much money do you have?”
“In cash? I got a few hundred on me.” In the private accounts he had set up with different banks across the country, and even internationally, he had hundreds of thousands. Each.
Her eyes widened when he dug through his old wallet, flashing twenties, fifties, even a couple of hundreds. Flexing his wealth and showing off wasn’t his style, but something about providing such a small pleasure for her gave him a sense of ridiculous pride.
“What’s your secret?”
“Lots of gambling. And saving.” Before the chains were put on him.
She smiled as she took the twenty-dollar bill he offered. “Isn’t gambling a sin, Mister Angel?”
“Fallen angel.” Was this flirting? He had no idea…
“All right,” she said with a gentle laugh. “I’ll pick up these, and all the snacks we can handle. You go fill up the tank.”
The desire to wrap her in his arms and protect her from the world scared him in a way Nema never achieved.
What is this pull she has on me?
He’d never experienced anything like it.
“I’ll meet you at the truck.”
He waited before following at a safe distance. Just to keep an eye on her—a small spot of light that became more addicting each hour he spent alone with her…
Whatever you do, don’t bite her.
Chapter Fifteen
Sometime after noon, Ramiel parked in front of a large two-story home made of huge white limestone blocks. Ancient oak trees crowded the yard.
As he got out of the truck and stalked forward, Kyria joined him and placed her hand on his arm. The light touch stopped him.
“It feels like forever since I left with my father, but it’s only been a few days.”
He scanned the area. Hills surrounded them, blanketed in a thin layer of heavenly power. This was a safe place. His gaze found its way back to her. “You’ll be good here.”
The front door opened, and Bishop barged out of the house, his silver cowboy hat low over his eyes. He was trailed by a woman decked out like a real working ranch hand, not the Hollywood getup that the bat-shit crazy angel wore.
Ramiel clenched his back teeth and wished to all the hells they could have stayed in Houston.
“The Navy’s coming. All hands on deck. Don’t worry, Kyria. I put the pincushion in his cage. Was it a pincushion? I couldn’t tell. Little rat had some teeth on it, though.” He shook his hand out as if it pained him.
The woman let the door slam behind her and rushed Kyria, hugging her. “Where have you been? Eli went to find you but hasn’t returned.” She eyed the road like she expected someone else. “Where’s your father? And why is this…thing here on my ranch?” Dark eyes cut a glance toward Bishop. “He says he’s with you. I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s trouble.” She glared, hands on hips.
“She’s not very good at Marco Polo.” Bishop laughed madly. “She needs to learn the rules of the game.”
The woman turned, her long black braid swinging over a shoulder. “You’re not welcome, so you have to leave. Those are my rules.”
Bishop tilted his head to the side. “The chosen has invited me. I leave with the one I came with. Them’s the rules. Let’s dance, cowgirl.”
Tucking her arm through the woman’s, Kyria grimaced. “Sorry. I think he might have followed us. Or…led us.”
Wanting to pull Kyria back into his arms, Ramiel stuffed his hands in his pockets. Then, recognition hit him.
“Valiel?”
She froze, and her shoulders dropped before she turned around. When she finally made eye contact, fear clouded her expression for a brief second. “You. The great Ramiel on my porch. Are you hunting betrayers now?” Standing straighter, she moved closer to Kyria, but never took her gaze off him.
“He’s with me, looking for Dad.”
With a shake of her head, Valiel clicked her tongue. “I thought Darius had gone crazy when he said you might get involved. What’s your business in all this, and what’s he doing here?” She pointed her chin in Bishop’s direction.
Ignoring her would be his best option. It was time to leave, but dammit, his feet wouldn’t move.
“Ramiel, this is Val. The friend that used to tell me stories about…everything. But I get the feeling you two already know each other.” Kyria pulled back from the older woman. “Do you have wings?”
On the porch, Bishop rambled about the Navy again while measuring Kyria’s shoulders with yellow tape he pulled from a pocket. “Are they big enough? You’ll need strong shoulders and mad skills to get this done. You and Ramiel will be strong as one.”
Val’s face drew grim. “A long time ago, we were…coworkers.”
Posture stiff, Kyria shook her head. “But your fangs. Your wings.”
With her head down, the wide brim of Valiel’s hat hid her face. “Wings stay tucked away. My fangs, I make sure to file ’em down. Eli, too. And your father…we’ve always done it. Even before we knew you.”
The chains tangled as Ramiel crossed his arms. “She’s another betrayer.”
Unchained Desire Page 8