She wept for him. For what she supposed he lost.
He had not thought it possible to love her more. With a finger beneath her chin, he directed her to look at him. The devastation in her eyes hurt him so badly he vowed he would never see such a thing in their gray depths again.
“Are you?” she whispered desperately.
He shook his head gently. “I am Fallen.”
He felt the dread course through Grace, and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he had not lost the ability to read her thoughts. He loved his Grace’s mind.
Before her dread could fully blossom, Jayden cupped her cheek and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips. “And I am so glad I am,” he whispered.
He could sense her doubt, but before he could say anything to assuage it, a litany of words spilled from her lips.
“I am so sorry — if I knew the fruit would — how can you even touch me — I am so sorry. So sorry.”
His chuckle startled her to silence. She pulled back further to stare at him with a mixture of disbelief and insulted female pride.
Jayden’s grin widened. “Grace, I was going to Fall anyway, love.” Treasured memories of sleeping within her arms flooded him with warmth. Oh, yes. He had been at the perch of his Fall.
She sucked in a breath. “What?”
He trailed a finger down her adorable upturned nose and its smattering of freckles. “I could not be with you and remain an angel. I had already chosen you. It was only a matter of timing. And now it is out of the way. We can begin our lives together.” As her relief reached him, his smile widened even more.
And then, Grace burst into loud sobs.
Jayden tightened his arms. “Grace!” He noticed they had an audience and quickly snapped his wings around them. “Grace, speak to me.” She was relieved, and yet she cried. What was he to do to make it better?
She looked up at him through watery eyes. “I l-love you,” she hiccupped.
“And that makes you weep?” he asked in horror.
Her sobs grew louder.
A burst of masculine laughter sounded over Jayden’s left shoulder, and he turned his head to find Eli and Jericho looking upon them with mirth. Jericho clapped a hand on Jayden’s shoulder. “Welcome to our world, man,” the blond giant said. “Welcome to our world.”
Eli chuckled. “Women do that. It’s okay.”
Jayden felt his body clench. “You can see us?” He rippled his wings to ensure himself that he had, indeed, enclosed Grace within them. And yet, the two men looked upon him and spoke to him.
The two men stopped laughing, and Jayden knew the look upon his face was grave, for his heart was so heavy he nearly joined his woman in her tears.
I can no longer make her disappear.
Of all of the things he could have lost in his Fall —
Her greatest wish, and I have failed her.
He felt her cool fingers on his cheek, closed his eyes, and braced himself for what he must tell her.
But when he turned his eyes upon her, she was gifting him with a wobbly smile. Jayden’s words stalled in his throat as she trailed her fingertips across his lips.
“I’m going to tell Abi and Dahlia on you two,” she said to Jericho and Eli while not taking her eyes from Jayden’s. “‘Women do that.’” She snorted. “They’ll kick your hineys.”
Jayden stared mutely at her as her eyes brightened and her tears dried. He quickly scanned her thoughts. She knew his wings no longer hid her. She did not care.
I do not take what you need.
The deep resonant Voice rippled through Jayden’s mind, causing him to gasp.
Jayden tentatively sent out a return thought: Most High?
I am here, son.
Now tears choked Jayden’s throat. He snatched Grace even tighter, burying his face in the place between her neck and shoulder as emotion shuddered through him.
And with the love of the Most High echoing in his head, and the love of his woman warming his heart, Jayden knew that allowing himself to love had been the least weak thing he had ever done.
Epilogue
One Month Later
Jayden stared at the beginnings of spring out of the window of his office — he could still not believe he had one. The humans had quickly embraced him as one of their own, a demonstration of the love and charity he did not deserve, but vastly appreciated.
His office was right next door to Eli’s. They had not given him a job description, really. He assumed he was the equivalent to “hired muscle.” But this day, he might begin to earn his keep.
An uneasy feeling settled into Jayden’s chest. Something in Heaven had shifted. While he had lost the invisibility of his wings, the rest of his powers had remained, and with it, an undeniable connection to the heavenly realm.
Something had happened. Someone had been given Jayden’s job. He was sure of it. And if he could sense him or her, he could warn the others and help them prepare.
The Most High spoke to him: Their mission does not come from me. An innocent is being used as a pawn.
Through the happiness communion with the Most High always brought, Jayden nevertheless felt a pang of worry. He knew who the innocent was.
Anahita.
She was not headed toward them, however. Thankfulness that Jayden would not have to fight a dear friend filtered through him.
Jayden turned toward the door, ready to stride into Eli’s office and share the news, but he stopped in his tracks.
His wife stood at the door. She was wearing that soft expression — a tantalizing mix of love and lust — that she always wore when she had been looking at him without his knowledge.
His heart lurched in his chest. Oh, how he loved this woman. “Wife,” he whispered, beckoning her forward.
She came willingly into his arms and immediately raised her face for a kiss. He was more than happy to oblige. The kiss quickly launched out of control, as their kisses always did, and Jayden had to pull away to catch his breath. “What shall it be this time, love,” he asked her with a smile. “Hard or soft?”
She tapped her chin for a moment and then answered with a sparkle in her eye, “How about hard, then soft?”
Jayden growled and swept her up into his arms, rushing off to their quarters. He could tell Eli about Anahita in an hour. Or two.
About the Author
When she’s not writing or teaching, Micah Persell spends time with her husband and menagerie of pets in her Southern California home. Of Consuming Fire is her fourth novel; she has also published Of Eternal Life (Operation: Middle of the Garden #1), Of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (Operation: Middle of the Garden #2), and Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition. Learn more about her at www.micahpersell.com, or visit her on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.
More from This Author
(From Of the Knowledge of Good and Evil)
In her dreams, Dahlia was a free-range, castigating bitch. In real life?
Dahlia was an imprisoned, castigating bitch.
She sat with her back against the headboard. She rested her wrists on her bent knees and examined her nails with a critical eye. Beyond her nails, Dahlia caught a glimpse of her cell wall, and her relaxed lips quickly morphed into a grimace.
Three months she’d been a prisoner in this damn facility. Three months of being poked and prodded daily. And for what? A failed experiment that proved to turn her into some cosmic judge of character. Which was a freaking laugh riot, considering she was completely devoid of character herself.
But she wasn’t in federal prison, and she had to remind herself often that all of this — testing both fruits; having to touch people over and over to determine if they were good or evil, an ability they’d termed the “Knowledge”; having to listen to their incessant talk of how the Knowledge would change espionage; being stuck in this terrible room — was worth it. They were lax on security here at the facility, and Dahlia never knew what life was going to throw at her, or when she was going to need to bail.
She heard a clatter at her cell door. Her head snapped up, and she watched through narrowed eyes as the door swung open and a man she hadn’t seen before entered her cell.
Dahlia threw her head back and groaned to the ceiling. “God damn it. A new one?” She lowered her head and pinned him with a leer that had him squirming where he stood. “Is this really necessary, or are you just here so I’ll touch you?”
Eli Johnson, bane of her existence and co-director of Operation: Middle of the Garden, entered the room behind the man who now looked like he faced a firing squad instead of one curvy Latina in a cell. “Knock it off, Dahlia,” Eli said with a growl as he walked around his cohort. “He’s not here for tests. He’s here for — ” He broke off to plow his fingers through his hair, and Dahlia silently congratulated herself for managing to stress him out with minimal effort. He was usually more unflappable than this. Today was looking up.
Eli took a deep breath, and then, “How are you finding your accommodations?”
For the first time in a long time, Dahlia grew wary. “Um … why?” she asked.
Eli shrugged. “We’ve been re-evaluating the conditions of your imprisonment. It’s been suggested that you may enjoy visitation. Perhaps from friends. Or family.”
Black ice filled her veins. “I don’t have family.”
They both looked at her for way longer than was comfortable, but Dahlia schooled her features into a mask. They could look all damn day. The answer wouldn’t change. Not for them. Not for anyone.
“Okay,” Eli said. “Just thought I’d ask.” He then held his hand out, and the other man slapped an envelope into the open palm and then made a notation on the clipboard he carried. Eli strode forward and stopped right beside her bed. Dahlia realized she was holding her breath. “We had your mail forwarded here,” he said.
Dahlia straightened.
“This came for you today.” Eli dropped the envelope onto Dahlia’s bed.
With measured slowness, Dahlia picked up the envelope, saw there was no return address, and turned it over. She cursed. “It’s been opened,” she accused. Rage flooded her.
Eli shrugged. “You’re a prisoner.”
As Dahlia saw red, Eli and the stranger left the cell. When the door clicked behind them, Dahlia tore the letter from the envelope. One flick of her wrist, and it was open. The world tilted violently.
Ha pasado.
It’s happened. The Spanish words blurred before her eyes as the letter fell to the floor. Blood drained from her face. She tried to pull air into her lungs, but her body wasn’t cooperating.
Not this. Anything but this. Everything she’d done, all the people she’d hurt. Killed. She’d done everything to avoid this exact letter.
At the edge of hysteria, Dahlia managed to pull herself back. In the back of her mind, she’d always known this day would come. She would handle it. She would —
Her eyes flew to the door.
This was the reason she was here. Here and not in federal prison. Her eyes evaluated the riveted steel that separated her from the “good” folks. She strode to the door and kicked it with all her might. At the sight of her boot’s imprint in the titanium steel, a grim smile spread her cheeks.
She drew back for another kick.
• • •
In his dreams, his Emily was alive. In real life?
Jericho was alone. Tormented by her memory.
The worst part was when he woke up, and for a few blissful moments, he didn’t remember she was dead. He would roll over and reach for her, ready to pull her warm body into his own, and his hand would grasp air.
Just like it was doing right now.
The weight of his loss settled in on his heart, and Jericho squeezed his eyes shut tighter, prolonging the visual confirmation of Emily’s absence a few moments longer. But the delay only caused horrific scenes to flicker against the black of his closed eyelids. The longing to sift his fingers through Emily’s shoulder-length brown hair, to gaze into her large, expressive honey-colored eyes shifted as images of her sweat-soaked hair, screams of terror, and vacant eyes crowded happy memories to the back of his mind.
Jericho shook. The fruit forced his remembrances to maintain their perfect sensory detail. He could never forget her; his memories would never begin to fade.
And after eight years, he was ashamed to admit he wanted them to. He’d loved Emily with every fiber of his soul. He’d lived for her. He still lived for her, even though he’d been with Emily for only a handful of days.
He spent his time in equal parts grief, equal parts resentment that he couldn’t shake the hold his mate had over him after the unfairly short amount of time they’d had together. If anyone had told him he’d spend eight years grieving his mate of only five days, he might have run screaming at his first sight of her.
Might have. Oh, who was he kidding. Nothing could have kept him from Emily. Nothing but death. A death he’d caused.
He’d give anything to set that guilt aside.
A resounding boom ricocheted through Jericho’s room, pulling him from his thoughts. The picture frames on the wall shuddered and clacked. Jericho frowned and pulled himself to a sitting position, wondering if the noise had been dream or reality.
The boom sounded again, followed by a crash. Jericho’s sleepy confusion evaporated. Something was happening. Apprehension settled into his gut.
Jericho walked to the door. Shouts bounced in the hallway, and for the first time since entering this room months ago, Jericho placed his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to leave the solace of his room. He turned his wrist. The knob didn’t budge.
Jericho frowned. His door was never locked. Granted, he hadn’t tried it in all this time, but he had always known he was free to come and go as he pleased. He just didn’t please.
The back of his neck tingled, and Jericho froze. The metal of the doorknob seemed to burn his hand. He brought his eyes up to the window of his door, and what he saw stole the breath from his lungs.
Eyes as dark as espresso. Smooth, luminous brown skin. Cascades of wavy, rich black hair. As he felt his own eyes widen in shock, hers did as well.
The One. She’s yours.
The words stopped his heart. They were the same words he’d heard a mysterious Voice whisper eight years ago when he’d first laid eyes on Emily.
His body moved on its own to press against the door. The tips of his fingers skimmed over the cool metal on their way to the window, and his hand splayed on the glass.
Those beautiful eyes zeroed in on his hand, and her lips parted. Her brows drew together as she watched her own hand rise to meet his on the other side of the glass. His hand dwarfed hers — he couldn’t even see it past his own fingers and wide palm — but he swore he could feel the heat of her skin through the barrier.
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. He’d found — and lost — his mate. He didn’t get another.
God, did he?
The weight of gloom lifted from his shoulders. Hope bubbled up through his chest, and he felt an unfamiliar pull at his cheeks. A quick check of his reflection in the glass showed he was smiling.
His heart started beating again in double time. He moved to try the doorknob once more, but before he could, he felt it turning against his palm and realized that he hadn’t been able to open the door because she had been holding the knob in her grip. And now, she was coming in to him. His grin grew broader, and he refocused on her gorgeous features.
She stopped twisting the knob. Her dazed eyes grew sharp, and she jerked her palm from the window where it rested against his.
Jericho’s grin slid from his face.
She bared her teeth at him and with a vicious twist of her shoulders, the door screeched. She stepped back and held the mangled doorknob before her.
Jericho looked down to where his hand rested
on his side of the knob and gave it a twist. It didn’t budge. His eyes flew back to the window, and he couldn’t prevent them from raking over her form. She was perfection. Tall. Curvaceous. Seductive. The hand he pressed against the window curled into a fist.
She sneered at him, dropping the knob from the tips of her fingers. He could hear the clunk as it hit the floor.
And then, with one final look of disgust, she turned her back on him and ran away.
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