Pissed though. Very, very pissed. What was the idiot thinking? He knew better than this! This was beyond irresponsible. You just didn’t mess with Angels of Destruction. The consequences were too great. The collateral damage was too high. Most of the other angels gave them a wide berth, avoiding them at all costs. The accidental death of one had such far reaching impact—dinosaur-extinction level destruction—that no one ever touched them. It was one of those unwritten rules. You just don’t fuck with them. Period.
But some of his fellow Archangels didn’t like to follow the rules. One in particular was about to get his face bashed in as soon as Uriel was done here. Glaring holes into the image of his brother’s face, he forced his fists to unclench before he shattered the windows or set off fire alarms.
Af drifted in a clean, white mist. Fragrant with fresh green leaves, the cool tendrils washed over his bruised and burned body. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, his only sense was touch. The silky moisture embraced him, slipping into every crease, every dip and valley of his body. It was pure pleasure. The destroyed shell that held his spirit was slowing healing; the muscles and bones knitting to their proper form; the skin growing anew. As the healing continued, his blood began to circulate again, flowing through life-supporting veins and arteries, bringing nutrients to the cells, a flush to his skin. A sense of peace settled around him as the cool mist caressed him.
“Af?”
“Af? Can you hear me?” A voice called from far away, distant, quiet. At first he barely heard it, but it persisted until he understood the words. It was his name.
“Af? It’s Uriel. Stay calm, buddy. I’m healing you. Do you hear me? Stay calm.”
Uriel? What was the Archangel doing? Why was he healing him? He tried to ask, but his mouth wasn’t working. He tried to sit up, but his body wasn’t responding to commands.
What the hell was going on?
“Almost done now. Relax for me, okay?” Uriel’s tone was kind. Nice.
Nice? Uriel’s never nice. Cranky. Rude. Belligerent. But not ever nice. He must be dreaming. Or dead. If he was dead, that meant . . .
Fucking Seth!
As his neurons got with the program and fired up again, the mist started to thin out, taking with it the sense of peace and comfort. In its place, his mind was filled with nothing but darkness.
And the familiar death metal riffs of his rage.
Cool fingers gripped both sides of his face, and Uriel hissed into his ear, “Easy! I’m healing you. You’ll be able to wake up in a little while. But you have to stay calm! There are humans around.”
Humans? Ready to battle, his fingers automatically curled around the grip of his sword. Well, they would’ve if he could physically move. Try as he might, his body was still unresponsive. What insult was this? Who dared to immobilize him? He roared with righteous fury. Someone would pay for this! Someone would—
A soft moan drew Uriel’s eyes from their visions of brotherly violence, back to his old friend lying under his palms. Although he didn’t need to physically touch Af, he did anyway. He was one of a few who could without losing their power. Even angels believed in the healing power of touch. At this point, he’d take all the help he could get.
Surveying the newly-healed skin, he patted Af’s shoulder in sympathy and nodded with approval. Things were looking good. The gouges were closed up, the rips and tears had vanished. The color was back to a healthy tawny brown. And lucky break for Af, his black and red infinity tat gleamed above his heart as it had for eons. The iridescent ink caught the light and shimmered. Miraculously, the butcher managed to avoid obstructing any part of the flowing image. Closing his eyes, Uriel opened his senses to search for the hum of power. It was there, flowing just below the surface, carefully contained. He traced the graceful lines of the image with the tip of his finger, exhaling with relief at the infinitesimal jolt of current that greeted him. It was a close call, but they’d dodged that particular bullet. He quickly scanned the rest of Af’s front side. Better. Much better.
“You should be feeling less pain now, Af. Relax for me. I’m going to roll you over.”
Taking great care, he rolled him over to expose the horror that was his back.
He had no words.
Normally, they kept their wings hidden away, tucked safely inside until they were needed. It wasn’t prudent to waltz around with their wings proudly displayed. It was arrogant, but more problematic was the loss of precious feathers. The feathers were gifts from their father. They contained powers unique to each angel based on his or her purpose. The granting of feathers was a one-time good deal. Angels protected their feathers at any cost.
Lost feathers meant lost powers.
Lost powers made you vulnerable.
Too many lost powers simply made you obsolete.
Uriel could see things others couldn’t—one of the perks of being an Archangel. When roaming the human plane, he could tell instantly what type of creature he was dealing with: Angel. Demon. Human. Other. He could tell when a person was near death. He could also always see those hidden wings. The intricate outline of feathers should be visible beneath the sleek muscle of Af’s upper back. Starting near the spine, they normally attached across the entire upper back before lifting away from the body when spread for flight.
Instead of this beautiful pattern, a raggedly-carved sigil stretched from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Roughly circular, the symbol contained a set of four glyphs placed evenly around an upside-down cross.
The cross still dripped with blood.
Like tears, the tiny drops trickled over each vertebrate to pool in the dimples of Af’s lower back. As the indentions overflowed, the blood followed the curve of his waist to soak into the sheets.
Monsters!
Uriel couldn’t breathe through the wave of fury that slammed into him. What have they done? This could not stand! Someone would pay in blood! He would smite every last demon in Hell! Behind him, the steel window casing rattled, the warning sound cutting through the haze of rage. Gripping the bed, sucking air deeply into his lungs, he forced himself to calm, but that wasn’t going to happen.
Not right now.
Not anytime soon.
A picture shook loose from the wall, falling to the floor with a crash of broken glass. The lamp bounced off of the dresser. Seeing nothing but red behind his eyes now, Uriel released the fury with a thunderous roar.
“Lucifer!”
Chapter 6: Hell Hath No Fury
DEC CAUGHT UP TO RORI just before her knees hit the bricks on the patio floor. Staggering backwards into the door, he locked his arm around her waist as the building trembled. Before anyone could say a word, the glass in the bedroom window shattered. Exploded, really. Like a bomb went off.
“Lucifer!” Uriel’s bellow froze them in place.
Raphael’s face darkened with fury. “So he wants a war.”
Dec and Rori both spoke at once. “What’s happening?”
His maker wasted no time explaining a damn thing. Instead, he barked, “Get out of here!” and vanished.
Stunned, he and Rori gaped at each other for a nanosecond before the building swayed again. The cracking of more glass broke the spell. She screamed. Loki tipped back his head and howled.
“Let’s go, darlin’!” Scooping Loki into his arms, he clutched Rori’s hand and dematerialized.
The farmhouse was quiet when they rematerialized just inside the front door. Slightly hysterical, Rori tossed his hand away, yelling, “What the hell, Dec? What the hell?” Flinging herself into the kitchen, she slammed her palm over her racing heart. “I’m going to have a heart attack!”
Ditto.
Dec listened for footsteps and heartbeats. “No one’s here. Thank God! I need to think.” As much as he adored his godsons, he needed quiet right now and that wasn’t in their job descriptions.
Rori whistled for Domino before demanding in a much more reasonable tone, “What just happened back there? Did you see Raphael’s face? I’v
e never seen him that upset. I’m guessing it wasn’t an earthquake.”
Dec snorted at the idea. If only . . . “Nah, not an earthquake. More likely Uriel’s temper.” Shaking his head, he tried to find some humor in this but came up empty. Sometimes shit just wasn’t funny.
Meanwhile, down at knee level, Loki whimpered and backed into his calf.
“What now?”
The terrified pup rubbed his snout on Dec’s jeans and peered up with worried eyes.
Why am I all tingly? I’m scared.
“You’re fine, furball. It’s called teleporting. Perfectly natural. Shake it off.” He gave the dog’s ears a fondle and said in his best reassuring tone, “Seriously, you’ll be fine. Go meet your new friend.”
After turning the corner at a trot, Domino launched herself into Dec’s arms with an undignified yip of joy.
You’re back! I’ve missed you! Did you bring the sack toy?
“Hey, pretty girl!” Burying his face in her neck, he dropped a few kisses on her silky ears and set her back to her feet. “Raincheck on the hacky sack, all right?”
Rori crouched to snuggle Domino, saying, “Domino meet Loki. Loki, this is Princess Domino. She’s a demon dog like you.” Lightly tapping his nose, she grinned at the obvious uncertainty on his face. “She’s famous. Be polite and pay attention. You might learn something.”
Dec couldn’t help smiling. Both dogs seemed to be hanging on every word she said. When she stood up and faced him again, he suggested, “How ‘bout this? It’s nice out. Let’s sit on the porch for a bit. We need to talk.”
“Uh-oh, nothing good ever comes from that lead in.”
She was so right.
The wraparound covered porch was one of the coolest things about the farmhouse. They’d spent a lot of time on it over the years. From kicking back with a cold beer when they first moved to Plattsburgh, to laughing their asses off when Mica tried to convince them to make snow angels, to reading stories to the little dudes while they slipped into toddler sleep, he had great memories of the porch. Since they’d moved in fulltime, Mica and Killian had added a couple of new sofas and a few pots of flowers. Holding court at the end of one of the wicker couches, a stainless steel beer cooler did double duty as a plant stand. Killian’s touch, no doubt.
Rori tucked her feet underneath her butt and leaned into one of the cushions. Too keyed up, he didn’t bother to sit. Besides, he always thought more clearly when he paced, so pace he did. Rori’s eyes tracked him with a mixture of worry and amusement dancing deep inside. Another thing he loved about this woman—she never overreacted. That was pretty awesome especially considering that his job—and his hobbies—were not for the faint of heart.
After a few minutes, she broke the silence. “Okay, hero, spill it. What do you know about Af? I think I can handle whatever you don’t want me to know. We’ve been through a lot this year. I’ve not broken yet, have I?”
Crouching in front of her, he framed her face between his palms. After kissing her soundly, he lost himself in her luminous eyes before murmuring with a faint smile, “Cheetah eyes.”
Those eyes twinkled at the nickname, but she murmured, “Stalling?”
“Yeah; maybe a little.”
God, he loved her. She was right. She wasn’t a fragile little flower and never had been. When he’d found her, she was weak from fear, but she’d been strong enough to resist Azrael’s possession and fought to keep her independence. Since then she’d only gotten stronger. It wasn’t fair to treat her as if she were too delicate to handle the truth. If he were honest, he’d admit her delicacy was all in his imagination. He’d always think of her that way. Sighing long and hard, he dropped one last kiss on her mouth, and shared what he knew about Af.
“I don’t know much about Af really. He’s a dark one. Antisocial. Keeps to himself. I’ve never met him before, but I’ve heard of him.” He dragged his fingers through his bangs, shoving them off his forehead with more force than necessary. “Everyone’s heard of him. He’s the Angel of Wrath.”
“There’s an angel for that?”
“Oh, sure. There’s an angel for everything. Primani don’t have much to do with traditional angels since our jobs don’t overlap much. But make no mistake, just because we don’t hang out with them, doesn’t mean we don’t recognize them when we see one walking here. We can sense each other from a mile away.”
“You knew, didn’t you? This morning? As soon as you saw him, you knew he was an angel.”
“It was pretty hard to miss since he had that damn alarm system blaring. My ears are still ringing.” He shook his shaggy head like a dog and flashed a disarming grin.
Rori’s taut expression softened at his lame attempt at a joke. “Why can’t I touch him?”
“Because he’s also an Angel of Destruction like Uriel; but unlike Uriel, he’s pure chaos when he’s on the human plane. Uriel has more control—usually, anyway—because he’s an Archangel. Af’s a different story. Everywhere he goes destruction follows, like the aftermath of a bad burrito. To make it worse, Af’s a double whammy. Rage and destruction. Without control over his power, he can kill with a brush of his fingers. He’s completely unstable right now. The force of his dark energy would kill you outright in a nanosecond. Boom! Dead.” He snapped his fingers to make the point. “Just like that. Because you’re human, you don’t have any defenses against him. That energy would make a beeline straight to you if you put your hands on him. Even other angels can’t touch him when he’s out of control, because he would unconsciously suck away their power to survive. That’s why Raphael wouldn’t heal him. Too risky. The world needs Raphael with his power intact.”
She nodded slowly as his words sank in. “So Uriel can touch him because they’re both Destructo boys? Plus, he’s already chronically cranky so the whole wrath thing wouldn’t bother him like it did me.”
He shot her a sideways glance and squeezed her hand. “You picked up on that too? I’m kind of glad we had to leave when we did. His energy was already starting to affect you even from the other room. You were a bit scary.”
Tugging him closer, she nuzzled his ear with soft lips, saying, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I don’t know what came over me. I just felt a sudden flash of anger and you were the closest target.”
“Af came over you. That’s the effect he has on people.” He arched his throat so she could have more nuzzling access and groaned happily when she nibbled on his neck. Mmmm. Don’t stop. When she dragged her hot, silky tongue around his earlobe, he had to fight off the urge to shiver. Maybe they could forget about Af and Raphael for a wee bit? They weren’t going anywhere for a while.
“You were ugly to me. I think you may have hurt one of my feelings.” He captured her mouth with his and sank into her, shifting them around so she lay beneath him on the couch. As her tongue danced against his, easy and slow, he slid his palm over her breast, cupping the softness that was made for him. Her nipple peaked for attention so he dipped his head to nip it between his teeth. Rolling her hips against him, she moaned low and throaty. Mr. Crowley stood up and cheered.
“Show me which one it was and I’ll make it feel better.” Brushing her lips along his jawline, she trailed kisses to his collarbone. “Or maybe I’ll just start here and kiss my way lower.”
“Hey! Do you two mind? There are kids here!”
Rori’s head came off the couch so fast she head-butted him right in the nose. The pain was blinding. Probably the crunch was heard in the house down the street. With blood gushing like a friggin’ faucet, he rolled to the floor with both hands clutching his nose.
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Rori was mortified. Why, oh why, did these things always happen?
Dec rocked back and forth, covering his face, swearing in what was probably Latin. Or Gaelic. Who knew with him, though. Could be ancient Hebrew. Or even Enokian. Hard to say. Bottom line? They were not happy words.
Dropping to her knees, she tried to pull his hand away t
o triage the damage, but he stiff armed her with more than a little annoyance in his voice. “Don’t! I’ve got this.” With that, he lurched to his feet and glared daggers over his hand. Leaning over the railing, he spit blood into the grass, and groaned, “Shit, woman! You’re killing me!”
Mica and the kids hesitated on the front steps. Michael and Rafe were round eyed with curiosity, but Cian frowned with concern and glanced up at Mica for instructions. Nicknamed Cian to eliminate confusion, Killian Jr. was more like his daddy than the other two boys. Always ready to take charge, he was halfway to Dec when Mica shook her head and ordered, “Michael, go inside and get a wet washcloth for your Uncle Dec. Hurry!” As she watched his progress, she flinched and yelled, “Don’t step in the blood!”
“Sooo glad we have wooden floors.” With a wry smile, she patted Rori’s shoulder. “It’s all right, sweetie. I broke Sean’s femur once. Not one of my shining moments, but shit happens. He totally deserved it, but I felt awful afterwards. Raphael had to come and help him heal.”
“How mad was Sean?”
She had no trouble imagining Sean’s handsome face tight with anger as Mica hovered at his side. Nope. Angry Sean wasn’t hard to picture at all.
“Let’s just say he wasn’t thrilled, but he got over it.”
Dec snorted a laugh which turned to a painful cough, some moaning and more swearing. Definitely more swearing. Rafe and Cian broke into giggles until their mother shushed them with a look.
Yelling, “I got it! I got it!” Michael sprinted back with a dripping wet washcloth hanging from his fist.
Dec pressed it over his nose with a mumbled, “Thanks, little dude.”
Tipping his head back, he stood perfectly still as bloody ice water ruined his favorite shirt.
“So I hear you have angel trouble.” Mica took her by the elbow and nudged her towards the front door. “Killian called me while he was at your place. I took the boys for haircuts so they’ll look spiffy for the wedding. They were looking like heathens.”
Saol Mates (Primani Book Six) Page 6