She swallowed hard and shrugged sheepishly. “Not without you.”
*****
Angel felt like the tea she’d had was not so much calming as it was a truth serum; all of her anger and fears concerning Samael had just come flooding out. And now she was empty and laid open, and all her cards were on the table.
And now he was telling her it was about time he laid his out as well.
She swallowed hard, heard the gulp through her own tight throat, and straightened, running a hand through her thick, long hair. “I’m not quite ready to hear your side yet, Sam. I’m afraid my mind is still with the people back at that faire.”
“If you’re referring to the Adarians, I happen to know Hesperos and his men are well equipped to handle them. They’ve done so before, and that was the reason so many were in attendance at the festival. The Nightmare King was prepared to deal with them once more.”
Angel frowned. She had been wondering why all the incubi were there like that.
“But for what it’s worth,” Sam continued, “I’ve little doubt the Adarians left the faire as soon as they realized we had done so. They’re after us, Angel. You and me.”
Angel licked her lips. As much as she hated to admit it, because frankly, the thought was terrifying, she had to agree that it did seem the Adarians were after them specifically. At least, after her, anyway. For the moment, she almost hoped Sam was right. It would at least spare any innocent victims at the faire.
“Alright then,” she said slowly. “What’s your side, Samael?”
Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. He seemed to consider something a moment. “Not here. We’ll talk over dinner.” He moved to a hallway that led off from the room they were in and gestured for her to come with him. “Please come with me.”
“Where?” She remained frozen in place.
He smiled and chuckled. “I’m only going to show you to your room. If you’d like, you can change, and I’ll show you the torture chamber before we head out again.”
Angel flushed. She realized she was being stupid. Whether she followed him to another room or not, she was still stuck in a confined space under water with Samael, and she knew good and well that he didn’t wish her any harm.
She climbed the steps and he gestured to the hall. “Ladies first.”
The hallway was just as the recessed room had been, surrounded by beautiful gold, polished piping and tons of steampunk details that made her feel nostalgic and cozy at the same time. Portholes in the wall allowed views into the lake beyond, and every once in a while, something would swim by.
“Is this an actual building? Or can it move?”
“Both. I’ve never viewed it from the outside, as the magic that created it always works so that I arrive inside, for obvious reasons. However, I would imagine it to look somewhat like a cross between your Nautilus and a flying saucer. At least, that’s how it’s always appeared in my mind. And yes, it can in fact move.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes must have been disbelieving, because he smiled and went on.
“I’ve actually taken it through the straits and into Lake Huron, then up the Saint Marys river past Sault Saint Marie, and finally into Superior. It’s a relaxing trip that offers solitude I can find little elsewhere on this planet.”
He stopped before a door, and she turned to face him.
“Here are your quarters. You’ll find everything you need inside and hopefully, a few things you want, as well.” He pointed to the end of the hall, where a great grandfather clock rested. Its massive, scroll-work metal hands read 7:36. “I’ve made reservations for nine o’clock at one of my favorite places in Manhattan. How does that sound to you?”
Angel gazed into his eyes for a long time, trying to detect any hint of artifice or evasion in those stormy depths. But either there was none, or he was very good at hiding it. As far as she could tell, he really did just want to take her out to dinner and talk with her.
She nodded. “That sounds fine.”
His smile broadened. “Wonderful. It’s formal evening wear. I’ll be back here at your door in around an hour.”
He left her there and made his way further down the hall, to a door that was adjacent to the grandfather clock. Without a glance back, he went in, closing the door behind him.
Angel chewed on her lip a moment. Finally, she took a deep breath, turned the knob, and stepped into her “quarters.” But she stopped just inside the doorway, her jaw hanging open. Her eyes felt wide as saucers. The intricately detailed majesty of the room beyond was instantly overwhelming.
Gold, granite, marble, porcelain, carved and polished wood surrounded her on all sides. Lamps with curly-q polished metal stands and bases graced the corners of the rooms, hot air balloons of various sizes and colors were strung up from the ceiling, leather and metal steamer trunks decorated the foot of a large, elegant bed and had been set against one wall, and a massive translucent airship glowed iridescently from above, providing warm and comfortable light.
The bed itself was a four-poster of intricate dark wood with an equally dark wood canopy that completely shaded the luxurious linens, satins and copious pillows below. A hearth of metal and matching wood was embedded in the adjacent wall, and another wood-burning stove of deep, black iron and gold accents graced one corner, offering crackling, flickering warmth.
The floor was hard wood, polished and beautiful, covered with numerous plush rugs of pile so thick and soft, she had the sudden urge to unlace her boots and dig her feet into them.
But it was what waited at the far end of the room that truly blew Angel’s mind. She moved slowly toward it like a ghost drawn on the wind.
The fourth wall was gone. In its place was an atrium, tall and round, glass on all sides, providing a 360 degree view into the lake beyond. Within the atrium, on this side of the glass, was an actual garden, impossibly green and healthy despite the lack of sunlight under the water. It was the size of a mansion’s courtyard, filled with landscaped hills of perfect, thick fescue grass, and flowers of all sorts, from wildflowers to roses. A footpath of marble carved its way through the garden. She followed it in a daze.
It wound in a spiral and finally ended before a marble bench that sat beneath a tall, ancient willow tree. Without thinking, Angel sat down. From where she was sitting, she could see the lake on all sides, spread out around her as if she were a mermaid under the sea. The metal between each pane of magic, thick glass was the same polished gold work that could be found throughout the rest of the room, and even throughout the rest of the ship. And beyond the massive glass architecture, a watery world awaited, lit by lights that must have been mounted on the outside.
Angel took a deep, shaky breath to expel it in absolute wonder.
I’m just going to call it the Nautilus, she thought numbly, as currents in the water caught plants rising from the bottom of the lake and made them dance in perfect synchronicity.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It seemed the wonders never ceased with the Nautilus. Sam had thought of everything, down to the minutest of details. There was a turn table phonograph – an actual antique phonograph – in one corner of the room, and beside it, a shelf filled with hundreds of vinyl records.
There was a cappuccino machine in another corner on a marble shelf, and its gold piping perfectly matched the décor. There was an antique-looking metal refrigerator built into the wall; it was filled with an assortment of her favorite drinks, nearly frozen. A cabinet atop it was stocked, not only with cups, glasses, and saucers, but with a variety of snacks, from health-conscious to full-on cheat day.
A pullout refrigerated drawer kept numerous cheeses and crackers, and a wine rack sported the finest wines from all around the world.
It just went on and on.
There were polished, carved musical jewelry boxes atop a dresser in the massive walk-in closet, and within those boxes were countless pieces of jewelry worth a small fortune. She’d never bothered to b
uy herself anything like these… some of them no doubt cost more than houses.
A few of the pieces, she recognized, and could remember actually wanting. She’d seen them in magazines or through jewelry store windows and a part of her had longed for them, as impractical as they seemed. There was no way Sam could have known that. Could he?
What’s more, there was a bottle of perfume on the dresser. And it, too, was her favorite. Her signature scent, one with a single molecule note that served only to enhance the clean smell of rain that always seemed to encompass her.
Sam smells like rain too, she remembered.
There was no makeup in her quarters. Did he know she never wore it? There were, however, two tubes of Lip Smackers in Barq’s Root beer flavor, which she did wear, solely for the yummy way it smelled.
There was no lucky guessing on that. He’d done his homework.
The closet itself was stuffed with all manner of clothing, from casual jeans in her brands and size to elegant evening wear, replete with sparkles and expert beading. There were shoes, too: Boots, sneakers, sandals, and dress shoes such as pumps from major designers. Again, all in her size.
She lifted a strappy pair and dangled it before her face. It turned slowly, catching the light on studs and crystal beadwork. She almost never wore heels, not because she wasn’t capable of doing so – she was – but because she hated the way wearing heels was a blatant sacrifice to the hobbling expectations of men. Very high, thin heels made a woman handicapped, and this was attractive to men because men were hardwired as predators to single out the sick and lame in a herd and hunt it down. Heels quite literally made women easy targets. It wasn’t only a psychological surrender, but a very physical one. If things got ugly, and a woman needed to run, she simply would not be able to, not without taking precious time to pull off her shoes. And in those kinds of situations, every second counted.
But… these heels were by her favorite shoe designer, and she was entranced by their detail. The heel itself was bedecked with wings like a butterfly’s. They were simply breathtaking.
Angel was baffled by how Sam could have collected all of these items, all of these things that she secretly adored or desired, in the short amount of time since he’d even learned she existed.
And the room? This enthralling piece of architecture that was everything she’d ever wanted in a room? He said he’d built the Nautilus two hundred years ago. Surely, he’d created her room at the same time. How could he have known she would love this design so much? Was it possible he hadn’t known? Was it truly possible that she’d simply come to adore a style that he’d actually created years ago? Was it coincidence? Because… they were that much alike?
Maybe we’re soul mates.
An odd thrill went through her, and chasing hot on its heels was a sinking feeling. It was a good thing and a bad thing. There was so much to Sam she didn’t know, it was quite possible he was not as bad as he seemed. That was a good thing.
But it was also possible he was even worse.
Angel put the shoes down and stood, coming face to face with the dresses he’d stocked in the closet. Like everything else, the gowns were breathtaking. No wonder he hadn’t had a problem with telling her formal evening wear was required for the night. She really did have everything she could possibly need in here.
When she separated the hangers to expose a long red satin number, she felt her jaw drop. She raised her hand and slowly ran her fingers over it. It was cool and smooth, like water. Her mind was made up.
Fifteen minutes later, Angel had stripped out of everything, even her under garments, and slipped on the gown. It slid like a waterfall over her skin, caressing so seductively, she let out a small moan.
She brushed her hair with a hairbrush that she’d swear was made of platinum, with bristles for the finest, softest hair. Then she put on a pair of sparkling diamond earrings, and decided to leave her neck and décolletage bare, despite the plethora of priceless necklaces in the jewelry boxes. Earrings were enough.
The strappy, sparkling shoes she’d admired earlier were her final touch. She was fairly sure that going to dinner with someone so well-known and powerful would save her from an incidents in which she’d have to run. And she really liked the shoes.
When she was finished, she stood and approached the full-length mirror in the closet for assessment.
Her reflection had a strange effect on her. For two thousand years, she’d been other people. Wearing different skin and hair, she’d caught images of herself every now and then. She’d see herself in the shining metal of a warrior’s shield, or the smooth, un-rippled surface of a calm lake. And for some of those times, she was draped in fineries. Once, she’d worn a royal’s garments on a mission to save a queen from a beheading. One time, she’d donned the robes of a king’s mistress in order to save a pair of princes from execution.
So, it wasn’t that she’d never seen herself dressed as she was now, in clothing more befitting of a queen. It was that she’d never seen her true self dressed like this. She’d never seen something as beautiful as this on Angel.
She felt revealed and yet coveted. It was upsetting, in an oddly freeing kind of way.
What am I doing?
One second, she was running from one of the most powerful, dangerous men in the world, and the next, she was dressing for him to take her to dinner. Her existence had taken a 180 degree turn in a matter of seconds.
A knock at her door wrenched her from the relative comfort and safety of her own thoughts and slammed her back to the real world.
Samael!
She suddenly felt dizzy. At once, her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might crack her ribcage. Her temperature was rising, and her cheeks were flushing. She even felt a little queasy.
Good grief, she thought. Am I… nervous? Or am I dying?
She’d been scared before, but she’d been different then. She’d had powers, she’d been relatively impermeable, and she’d been frankly stronger. Is this what it felt like to be mortal and nervous?
She’d never felt more sorry for the human race.
Suddenly, she was mad. For crying out loud, Angel. Buck the hell up. It’s dinner, not war. But the look on her reflection’s face told her she wasn’t so sure there was a difference.
She spun around and moved as quickly as possible out of the closet and across the bedroom to the door. She gave herself credit for managing to do so with some semblance of grace in four-inch spike heels. Mortal or not, she was woman, hear her roar.
But once she reached the door, her hand stilled on the knob. She swallowed hard and listened to her blood rush through her eardrums.
The rapping came again, this time a little louder than before, and inches from her face. She jumped at the sound.
Crap.
Without allowing herself any further thought, she turned the knob and opened the door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
There was a hiccup in time, a moment that simply did not exist – because it would not be marked and could not be pinned down – in which storm gray eyes met stormier gray eyes, lightning flashed, and something invisible wrapped around her like a vice to hold her prisoner in that time-free dimension. This lasted forever before the taller set of eyes, those filled with the darker, more dangerous clouds, tore away from hers and meandered. She was kept immobile before them as their keen awareness possessed her, scouring the curve of her cheek, the lines of her lips, the length of her neck…. She felt her body heat up beneath their scrutiny, and yet, she only partly noticed.
Because she, too, was looking.
The moment she’d opened the door, every instance of overwhelming awe she’d experienced over the years came rushing back to her. Every moment she’d spent staring at a television screen where Sam stood before the news crews in his three-piece suits, so tall and sure and larger than life, was replaying before her mind’s eye. She heard his voice, low and sexy, speaking in dulcet, confident tones and turning phrases that would leave poet
s swooning. He was always in command, always in control, and every moment of longing she’d felt as she’d gazed into those other places and times washed over her like a smothering but exuberating tide.
He was once more the billionaire businessman, draped in the dark, tailor-cut fineries of a magnificent designer suit that perfectly hugged broad shoulders and sculpted arms. His wrist sparkled with a platinum watch, and his cufflinks glittered with diamonds. A whiff of masculine scent, a hint of aftershave and cologne that couldn’t quite mask the scent of fresh fallen rain around him, teased her nostrils and made her mouth water. The strong curve of his chin so gallantly graced the top of his white collar, it made her legs weak. It was a body part she had always admired in men, especially in Sam.
But of everything from head to toe, what stunned Angel the most in his appearance, what actually stole the language from her tongue, were his eyes. They were the shiniest gems of all, like zapping sparks of electricity in an on-going lightning storm. He gazed at her with a fire that burned hotter than the sun, searing-white and deadly beautiful, and she was mesmerized by the blaze, unable to look away.
He branded her with it then and there.
And just like that, she was forever marked.
She felt it move through her, leaving its symbol upon every cell of blood, and every neuron of her mind. She swallowed hard. She wanted to read his mind in that moment.
The fact that she couldn’t do exactly that was an unwelcome reminder of things. Such as the fact that the dark angel in front of her had taken away her powers. It was also further proof that he hadn’t been lying about taking away those powers. He really had stolen her magic.
A flicker of her earlier anger was back, blunting everything else just enough that she was able to let go of the door handle and pull her gaze from his magnetic figure. She straightened before him, rolling back her shoulders and clearing her throat.
But he said nothing, and remained towering over her, radiating unspoken emotion and strength. She felt heat enter her cheeks and looked up once again.
Samael Page 11