by Alisa Woods
Tajael should have gone for the head. A quick thrust through the back of the skull usually severed the demon’s hold much quicker. But this was no simple possession.
Finally, with a wail that would have shattered the narrow windows of the mostly-brick alley if they hadn’t been cloaked, the demon relented, releasing the man. The rush of victory roared in Tajael’s ears, that special pleasure known to every angeling upon defeating evil. The inky form of the demon rose up and dissipated into the mist from which evil was conjured, usually by the fae, the immortal and avowed enemies of the angels of light. This epidemic was the Winter Court’s doing, cleverly getting around their magically-binding treaty with the dragons, which kept them from harming humanity. Instead, they used vampires, modifying their venom to infect humans with enough demon essence to bring out their darker side. Tajael loved humans as much as any angeling, but the darkness inside them rivaled the worst of the shadow realm.
And he’d seen that up close.
The man sagged in his arms. The demon must have wrecked the man physically while it had hold of him—his cheeks were hollowed, his mouth gaping, his eyes closed. Tajael sheathed his blade and searched for a pulse. There… but weak. So he brought the man closer and breathed upon him, mouth-to-mouth. Demon-slaying brought a righteous pleasure, but bestowing a life kiss? Restoring a human soul to its proper shining state? That flooded Tajael’s body and mind like a blessing straight from an angel. For a moment, the world whited out, all other sights and sounds drowned by the Virtuous passion of fulfilling his angelic purpose. He gasped with it, his human body responding to the surge of pleasure. The man grabbed at him, deep in the throes of it as well. If they weren’t cloaked, a stranger who happened upon them might think they were lovers. Or perhaps, given the shattered state of the man, that Tajael was giving him a kind of standing-up CPR.
Tajael’s life kiss was infused with blessing, but only at the power of an angeling, not a pure angel. And even those couldn’t outright save a life—he knew well there was a threshold beyond which one could not pull back a soul. Nor could he save a life too far gone. But this soul was not too battered… and quickly, the damage wreaked by the demon was restored.
Tajael pulled back but still held the man upright, making sure he had his feet under him.
His eyes were wide. “What…what did you…?” The man swallowed, fear gripping him as the pleasure subsided.
“Fear not,” Tajael said gently, the standard phrase he’d long been trained to use. “I have banished the demon that’s ruled you. Go forth, and do no more harm.” The words were really unnecessary—the man’s soul had just been infused with blessing. He could hardly do other than virtuous acts, at least for a while, until the effect wore off. But with the demon gone, the choice was once again his whether to follow evil or good.
The man swallowed again, lost for words, so Tajael simply released him and stepped back. Once the man was out of the cloaking space, Tajael would seem to disappear. The man could stay or go—Tajael’s duty lay elsewhere.
He turned only to see the tail end of Charlotte’s bus slip past the alley entrance.
Holy angels of light—he’d been so wrapped up in the man and his demon, he’d neglected his charge. And with the auditory shield, Tajael hadn’t even heard the bus approach. He didn’t bother with flying—he simply twisted to open an interdimensional door and stepped through to arrive on the bus. The tell-tale overpressure and flash of light of his arrival garnered a confused look around the bus by the driver, but Tajael was still cloaked. Blessedly, the bus was empty except for Charlotte. He sighed with relief, figuring that small sound would be covered by the bus’s trundling noise, then he moved aft, closer to Charlotte, his pulse still racing with his mistake. Yes, he stopped the demon-infected man from attacking her without her knowledge. And yes, he saved the man’s life. But all that was for nothing if something happened to Charlotte while his attention was turned.
He sat across from her and watched her fuss with something on her phone. She was oblivious to the threats around her—she hadn’t even noticed his blundering in through interdimensional travel as the driver had. Her greatest worry was whatever she saw on her phone, causing that small scowl to form between her eyes. A wisp of her now-curly hair loosed itself and fell across her face. She did nothing to stop it, and the temptation to reach out and restore that small bit of dishevelment gripped him like a demonic possession of its own.
He stood and strode back to the front of the bus.
He would see her safely home. Then he would summon Markos and petition for help. It was the only sensible thing to do.
Tajael followed her off the bus, as close as he dared, then into her apartment building, and up to the tenth floor. He watched as she shed her jacket and shoes, casting them carelessly on the floor along the way to the kitchen. Even her phone was finally stowed as she stood in the middle of the small, tiled room, head tilted back, eyes closed, hands weaving bunches of frustration into her hair. It seemed like minutes she stood there, anguish etching her face, his hand twitching with the need to ease it. Finally, she retrieved a microwaveable dinner—the same one she’d had three of the past seven nights—and ate it standing in silence in the middle of her kitchen. Her lips pursed as she chewed, her gaze infinite, probably pondering the mysteries of the universe she was trying to unravel.
His job wasn’t to help her with that. Or to ease her suffering. Or to ensure she had a decent meal at some point. Angelings rarely ate, but he knew enough about humans to realize a steady diet of microwaveable food was not optimal. But no… his only job here was to keep her safe. And even merely at that, he was struggling.
But her doors were locked. Her blinds were pulled. She was safe from all but a shadow angel who might decide to suddenly appear inside her apartment. But they would have to find her first, and so far, only random demons on the streets of Seattle had threatened her. Tajael had only to wait for her to retire to her bedroom so he could drop his cloak and summon Markos.
It took an agonizingly long time, but she eventually trudged to her room.
He could conjure some kind of protective shield around the small bedroom, but that would just shine like a beacon in the magical realm. Even using his blade to summon Markos was risky, but something had to be done. He pulled it from its sheath, held it with both hands, and closed his eyes. He reached past the mortal realm to the Dominion that had long been his home. Markos, angel of light, Protector Class, Chastity faction… he was Tajael’s leader and surrogate father. Tajael had vowed to serve him, but he had never needed the angel’s help more than now.
A small pop in the air and a brief flash of light announced Markos’s arrival.
Tajael sheathed his blade again. “Thank you for coming.”
The angel stood taller than any man, oversized in a way that marked him as clearly immortal. Angels could take any form they wished, and the one Markos chose looked much like the angelings he oversaw—blessed with angelic beauty, an homage to the form God created for His beloved humans, and clothed only in the standard toga most angelings wore for everyday use. It bared Markos’s chest, which was unmarked, not despoiled by magical tattoos from the shadow realm, like Tajael’s. No matter how long he served Markos, Tajael always felt the twinge of his shame when he stood before the angel. The contrast was simply too great.
It didn’t help that Markos seemed less-than-pleased at having been summoned. “Your charge is well.” It was both a statement and a question—for if Charlotte were safe, why was Tajael calling him?
“She’s been beset by demons nearly every day of my Guardianship.”
“Then it is well you are here.” Impatience showed as a tiny squint on Markos’s face. Tajael’s ability to read faces—both mortal and immortal—more readily than most of angelkind was a talent that oft gave him more insight than he wished.
“And I could use another Guardian besides.” He didn’t want to explain all the reasons—the temptation of her bright-shining soul, his m
istake in the alley—but he would, if necessary.
“Another cannot be spared.” Markos looked away as if listening to an unheard voice.
But Tajael could guess, for even he could sense it. The city was overrun with demonkind. The angelings of light were fighting to liberate the infected humans, but shadow angelings were likewise trying to spread the mayhem. And there were far more in shadow than light. It had always been thus… but they had only recently been truly at war.
“She is important,” Tajael tried. “You yourself said—”
Markos’s gaze returned sharply to him. “I said she might discover the secret. There are a half-dozen others. We are Guarding them all, Tajael. The future is unwritten.”
Tajael’s shoulders dropped. “Even a short break would help. I’m afeared…” Did he have to speak his failure aloud?
“You are equal to this task. It’s why I chose you.” Kindness graced Markos’s face, and perversely, that show of angelic Virtue frustrated Tajael. For he should be able to trust in his faction leader, but he couldn’t help the suspicion that Markos sent him to spend all this time alone with Charlotte for a different purpose. One that had less to do with her safety and more with Markos’s not-so-secret belief that the key to winning this war between light and shadow—indeed, the way forward for all of angelkind—lay not in ensuring humanity’s technological progress, but in building a stronger army for the angels of light.
Which meant creating more angelings… a thing that until very recently had been a guaranteed Fall from Sin. But which now was apparently a battle strategy worth pursuing.
In short, he feared the temptation of Charlotte was not a side effect of being her Guardian… for Markos, it might be the purpose of his assignment.
But Tajael had no intention of ever Falling again. Angelings had very little need for sleep, but when he finally succumbed to it, his dreams were still haunted by the shadow realm.
He gritted his teeth and forced a pleading look onto his face. “At least allow Oriel to spell me once every few days. I must sleep at some point.”
Markos tipped his head, his face the picture of concern. “Of course.” As if he had nothing but the best of intentions.
Angels. Just as they could choose their form, they could carefully craft their expressions. And the message was clear: there would be no more discussion. Tajael was bound to this duty until Markos released him.
Before the angel could twist away, Tajael threw out, “I may have need for Penance as well.” A warning, should his faction leader choose to see it.
Markos only held his hands wide. “You may take whatever Penance helps you fulfill your duty.” Then he disappeared as he came, in a pulse of angelic power.
Tajael ran both hands through his hair—it was short and blonde, so unlike Charlotte’s midnight-dark long tresses—but he managed to muss it with frustration. Then he let out a couple growls of frustration and sighs of acceptance, all the soft noises he could allow with her down the hall in another room. It took several minutes, but he finally regained the Virtue of Patience.
Then he strode down the hall to her bedroom.
The door was ajar.
His heart spasmed for a moment, wondering if she had seen Markos and him, uncloaked, calming discussing her in her living room. But when he slid through the opening, fully cloaked again, she was sprawled on her bed, absorbed in a screen that flashed numbers and words and pictures. She was working. And this definitely wasn’t a woman who had just seen angels hanging out next to the kitchen.
He settled in to watch over her for the night.
When she worked, her soul shined forth. Not the overwhelming Virtue overload as when she was with Hank, but still. The curiosity made her blue eyes luminous. The intense devotion to her scientific cause made her shine with Diligence and Charity. The struggle as she worked her task beamed Humility. In an angeling, this was simply expected. But the angel-born didn’t consort with one another—not those in the light, anyway. The mere idea was repulsive, but further, their magic made it literally impossible. But this grace of Virtue in a human… that was an entirely different thing. His angel half was created to love humanity. His human half loved humanity too… but in a distinctly different way. And that was an angeling’s greatest danger. They could Fall into shadow from any of the deadly Sins—Pride, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Greed, Gluttony—but it was Lust that took most. An angeling’s love of humanity was easily confused with the temptations of the flesh. Especially when one spent an extended time in the presence of their bright-shining souls and brilliant, curious minds. Doubly so when that soul was wrapped in tight, curve-hugging jeans and a soft white-silk blouse that covered pale, rosy skin like a veil meant to seduce by promising hidden treasures.
Not that Charlotte meant this seduction—she appeared as innocent of Lust as most angelings in his Chastity faction—but she was simply one of God’s beautiful creatures. Not as perfect as angelic beauty, but all the more endearing for her knobbed knees and bitten fingernails. And her dazzling sky-blue eyes with the rim of dark around the edges…
A twitch of recognition made him step back toward the door. Somehow he had edged far too close. Markos had to know the allure of a woman like Charlotte, and if so, the angel was simply playing with fire. Just because one of his angelings had mated with a dragon without Falling, didn’t mean it was possible for every angeling. Erelah—Tajael’s friend, cohort-mate, and now princess of the House of Smoke—was unique. And even she was concerned. While Markos might want to build an army of angelings of light, it was just as possible the opposite would occur. Angelings would try to mate… and Fall. The angels of light may be induced to try as well. The army of shadow would rise. And then it wouldn’t matter what technology Charlotte may or may not discover… the End of Times, the one foretold since the beginning, would be upon them.
Tajael would not be the first to herald it.
Not while he still had breath in his body.
Charlotte sighed and swiped her screen closed. She slipped it onto the stand by her bed and rose. Her room was small, but he was sequestered by the door—she should have plenty of room to change into her pajamas and retire without bumping into him. As he watched her undress, he was torn between averting his eyes and testing himself by watching. But he knew that was a lie. In Truth, he couldn’t have torn his gaze from the soft reveal of her long legs, the freeing of her breasts from their bindings, or the way she stretched as she slipped on her night clothes.
But as she climbed into bed, she did an unexpected thing. Something that hadn’t happened in the previous seven nights. Instead of turning off the light and settling into sleep… she slipped a hand under the covers. Between her legs. Her head tipped back, her eyes closed, and for a long, breathless moment, he stood transfixed, staring at the rippling movement of the bedsheet between her arched up knees.
Then she let out a small gasp… and he fled the room.
Tajael had never uttered a curse in his life, but he found new words that night, searching to contain his Wrath at Markos for sending him here.
And to fight a raging Lust he would conquer at all costs.
Charlotte’s fingers flew over her keyboard.
Just one more simulation. Her heart was racing—way more than warranted by the ten cups of tea she’d already slammed down during the day. Much more than the truly unsatisfactory orgasm she’d given herself the night before. She should just admit she’ll never have a man in her life again and get the damn vibrator. She deserved a little pleasure now and then—hell, she could probably voucher it as a business expense just for the stress relief. Daxon, the uber-sexy billionaire who financed her research would totally approve it and probably get a good laugh besides.
He was her kind of guy—easy on the eyes, supportive of her research, and completely and totally uninterested in her personal life. He probably had a different supermodel in his bed every night. But hey, no judgment! Whatever kept the boss happy made her job possible… and the only thing she need
ed more than her job was for guys—every guy, including Daxon—to simply leave her alone and let her work. Unlike her stalker-crazy ex-husband who should be behind bars… but wasn’t.
Fuck. Focus, Char!
She scanned over the last couple lines of code that she’d somehow typed while her mind was off having a strange collage party of vibrators, eccentric billionaires, and stalkers. And that wasn’t anywhere near as good as it sounded. But miraculously, the code changes were good, no syntax errors, a quick compile and… submit! She sent the sim off to run one more iteration and pushed away from her desk, tipping her chair back for a good stretch.
When she worked the kinks out of her body, she jabbed her finger at the screen. “Don’t even think about crashing,” she scolded the tiny icon of The Flash, which was spinning on the screen. He was her favorite DC superhero—who wouldn’t love a guy who could run faster than time and bopped around the multiverse?—and as long as he was zipping around in circles, her program was still running. This latest simulation, if it would just go to completion, would round out her most recent matrix of possible solutions for her dimensional travel equations and give her something to show Daxon… who was due into the office at any moment.
She glanced at the clock. The white face and black lettering was the boss-man’s idea of a physics joke: Never Trust Atoms. They Make Up Everything. Lame, but still funny. It was a quarter to five, and Daxon never showed up before five. Sometimes, he didn’t show up at all, even when he said he might. Billionaires tended to be busy. But Daxon liked to stop in and check on his favorite dark research company, and she wanted to make damn sure she had something to show him. Something new and exciting and that said Please throw more of that billionaire cash at this crazy thing! Because literally no one else would fund her research into practical ways to travel to another dimension… especially when her theories were way out there. Like, buried in her Ph.D. thesis yet somehow not publishable kind of “out there.” Although it seemed like there were plenty of other, even more wild theories about the universe that had made it into all the prestigious physics journals—the idea that there were multiple realities; the concept of the universe as a twelve-sided gem; and her favorite, that the universe was really a hologram projected from another plane of reality. Sure, those theories could get published. But her idea that there was only one extra dimension outside their own? That their three-dimensional earth was just a shadow of that higher order dimension, and that it could be unlocked by a simple solution of some not-so-simple equations? No, that apparently was unpublishable. It had nothing to do with the physics and everything to do with her ex—because Craig wasn’t just a crazy stalker, he was also a physicist. One of the top ones in the country. He did normal, respectable research on String Theory and wore his human-skin suit just well enough that no one believed he was the monster she described in her divorce filing…