Digging in her heels, she protested, “Wait! I can’t leave Dec out here. What if he—”
Mica laughed cynically and towed her along. “The question isn’t, ‘Can you?’ It’s, ‘Should you?’ And the answer is, ‘Yes!’ You can’t understand what he’s saying, but it’s fair to assume he’s not happy right now. Best to give him a little time to fix his nose and not bite your head off. Trust me on this. Besides, you can fill me in on all the drama. Killian is out with Sean trying to trace Af’s steps from the park. They should be back in a few hours. How long could this take?”
“Dec and I were just talking about that. Af was still out cold when we had to leave. Uriel was healing him, and all of the sudden, the building started to shake like an earthquake. The next thing I knew, the windows were exploding and Raphael freaked. Dec brought us here.”
“I most certainly did not freak. I was simply concerned for your safety.”
Mica jumped with her hand to her mouth as Raphael appeared in the hallway directly in front of them. Rori slammed into her from behind and they both stumbled into his chest.
“Someone should just tape my mouth shut before I jam my entire leg into it. I’m sorry, Raphael. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
“It’s quite all right, Rori. I didn’t take it that way.” Angling his head in the direction of the living room, he said, “I need to speak with you though. Will you sit?”
“Uh-oh. This can’t be good.”
“It never is, darlin’.” Dec joined her as she sank to the loveseat. He’d cleaned the blood from his face and stripped out of the wet shirt. There hadn’t been time to completely fix his nose, but it was centered on his face again at least. “That serious tone usually means you’re not going to like what comes next.”
Raphael’s brows pulled together in a frown before he snapped, “Thank you, Declan. That’s very helpful. This concerns both of you so you may stay.” Before going on, he rested his gaze on her face for a heartbeat.
Her stomach tightened into a knot as the Archangel gathered his thoughts. Automatically reaching for Dec’s hand, she crushed his knuckles as Raphael explained, “We need a few days to get Af sorted out and moved to a secure location.” The pause was heavy enough to sink a ship. “He’s dangerously unstable right now. I need the safe house.”
She felt an instant stab of disappointment. Her eyes pricked with tears that she blinked quickly away. Of course he was right. The safe house existed for these situations. Af had to be protected. She got that. She understood. Really, she did. But all of her planning . . . Everything was supposed to be perfect today.
Swallowing to release the lump in her throat, she said as graciously as possible, “Sure. I understand. We’ll reschedule the ceremony. It’s . . . It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Despite her best effort, her throat squeezed shut so the last words came out as a whiny squeak. She coughed and said a little too brightly, “We have all of eternity, right? What’s another week?”
An hour later, alone in the penthouse, Raphael assessed the disaster area with an ache in his gut. He scanned the bedroom from one end to the other without missing a thing. The window had been blown out completely. The glass was simply gone. Not a trace was left clinging to the steel frame or sparkling on the carpet below. Uriel had done a fine job of destroying it. Typical.
Standing just inside the unprotected opening, he braced his feet to let the wind whip over his face. He yearned to unfurl his wings and simply soar away, shouting with the exhilaration of flight. Daring to reveal his true form, he released the tips of his wings just far enough to brush his cheek when he turned his head. Reaching up, he idly stroked the nearest feather and sighed with frustration. What a damn mess. The rushing air was shrill, but he barely heard it. His thoughts were very far away—his powerful mind reaching towards answers he sought but hadn’t yet found—answers he needed more than he wished. Was Af involved?
That was a damn mess too.
That particular problem would have to wait. He was still unsure of the best solution, and jumping headfirst wasn’t something he ever did. He needed more facts . . .
The doorbell rang.
Before he could investigate his hunches, he had to take care of this more immediate problem. Drawing his wings inside, he straightened his collar and smoothed his windblown hair. Showtime. Two policemen and a fireman greeted him when he pulled open the front door.
Holding out his hand, he said, “I’m Raphael Girardi. Please come in. I appreciate you coming so quickly. We need to get a crew in here to cover the window before nightfall.”
A paunchy older policeman stepped forward to shake his hand with the air of a seasoned professional. “Officer Glass, sir, and this is Officer Nash.”
Officer Nash was much younger, early twenties perhaps, inexperienced. His cheeks were flushed; his eyes bloodshot. The subtle odor of alcohol oozed from his skin. He drummed his fingers against his thigh and gnawed at his lower lip. Nerves or withdrawal?
The firefighter held his hat in one hand, and offered the other in greeting. “I’m here to check for structural damage on the roof. Since you’ve got your patio gated off, I need to access it through your apartment, if you don’t mind. I’m Mark Hayes.”
“No problem, Mark. The French doors lead to the patio. Please make yourself at home. Do we know anything about what happened today? The news outlets are claiming an earthquake is to blame. Imagine an earthquake here in Manhattan. Ridiculous.”
Hayes agreed and shot Officer Nash an ironic glance as if they’d just had this conversation. Nash flushed and muttered, “Dickhead” under his breath, the words too soft for the human ear, but not for Raphael’s. Sharpening his focus, he reevaluated the young officer. Anger and frustration wafted from him in pulsing waves. He managed to keep his contempt for the fireman concealed, but just barely. Interesting.
Interesting it may be, but there was no time to indulge in a dissection of random human relationships. No, it was best to let them do their jobs and get out of here so he could have the penthouse back before Af’s energy created more problems. Thanks to Uriel’s temper, they had to bring in a contractor to fix the damn window. Clearly they couldn’t leave the window open to the elements and any demon who wanted to shimmer inside. The protection spell that made this a safe house was gone for now, obliterated with the shattered glass. The space was vulnerable to attack. Dangerously vulnerable. They needed to move quickly and get the repairs done.
Raised voices drew his attention back to the patio. Now what? Rolling his eyes heavenwards, he headed outside to a bizarre sight. He blinked. He wasn’t imagining things.
Nash had Hayes pinned against the side of the garden wall and was busily trying to strangle him in the middle of Rori’s jasmine trellis.
Officer Glass raced to them, yelling, “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Nash!”
He clutched at Nash’s forearm to break his hold, but the younger man was too strong and strangely fixated on his task. Hayes’ face was beginning to turn purple, but he managed to throw his knee into Nash’s crotch. He loosened his grip just enough for Hayes to punch him in the face and stagger away.
As Hayes struggled to catch his breath and Nash bled from his nose, Officer Glass swung his gaze back and forth between them. Clearly confused by the fight, he demanded, “What just happened?”
Holding up a hand, Hayes bent at the waist, wheezing horribly. He didn’t sound healthy.
Outstanding. This day was going from bad to worse.
Hayes coughed raggedly and muttered, “Damned if I know. He just lost it. Ambushed me from behind before I could move.” Rubbing his throat, he glared at Nash for a full second before his expression changed. His eyes narrowed; his jaw clenched. A wave of anger rolled outward followed by a growl deep in his throat. “Little bitch is going to pay for that!”
“Oh, damn and bloody Hell! It’s already starting.”
With a thought, Raphael froze the tableau in front of him. The three men stood motionless and unaware that anything
had changed. Stepping between them, he said, “In two minutes, you will leave this place. You will return to your offices to finish your reports. There was no structural damage. The window was broken due to a freakishly powerful mainline wind gust. It wasn’t deliberate. There’s no reason to investigate any further. The hotel isn’t liable. You are completely satisfied with your findings. Next, you will forget this altercation. It never happened. You won’t remember the sudden burst of anger either. It didn’t happen. You will go on with your lives without giving this visit a second thought.”
When he finished the brainwashing pep talk, he healed Nash and Hayes before lightly touching each of them between the eyes and murmuring, “Heed me.”
After moving back to his original position, he woke them up. All three blinked before simply stepping away from each other to finish their inspection. In two minutes, all three reported that they were satisfied with their findings and would be on their way. After calling their usual contractor, a working angel who went by the name of Big Hank, Raphael went to check on their houseguest from Hell.
Af was still out cold. It was healthy rest though. True to his word, Uriel had put the troublemaker back together and he looked one hundred percent better. He was almost himself again. Af would be pleased that his hair had grown to its usual length; too long in Raphael’s opinion, but it wasn’t his hair. If the angel wanted to look like a barbarian, that was his prerogative. The wavy black hair reminded him of spilled ink flowing across the white pillow. Or one of those Rorschach tests—the one that everyone thinks is a bat.
Snickering softly at the fanciful direction of his thoughts, he evaluated the rest of their unwelcome visitor with a sense of foreboding. Thanks to Uriel’s miracle, his body had gone back to the glory of its former self. All the thick muscle and supernatural strength needed to fight Heaven’s most important battles. Yes, most of the wounds were healed now. He would survive.
But would he ever fly again?
That remained to be seen. In the meantime, he’d need to handle Af delicately. He wasn’t going to be happy. Staring at the unfortunate time bomb wasn’t going to change facts. What’s done is done. Bad news didn’t get better with the waiting. It was time to get this over with. He’d procrastinated long enough already. The window was fixed in the other room. He’d already reset the protection over the penthouse to lock out any nosy demons and lock in Af’s dark energy. The last thing they needed was for everyone in a square mile to suddenly act on their repressed anger.
He shuddered at the idea. If left unshielded, Af’s energy would radiate outward affecting anyone within range. This was a densely populated area. The world wasn’t ready for that much rage. Bracing for the worst, he said, “Time to wake up, Af.”
Right on command, Af’s eyes popped open and swiveled immediately to him. With an almost feral growl, he leapt to his feet and stalked towards Raphael. With hands curled into fists, he demanded rudely, “Who the fuck are you?”
Sighing heavily, Raphael lifted a palm and Af jerked to a stop, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
“I am Raphael. You will show me some respect or I will put you back to sleep—permanently.” He lowered his hand and snarled, “Do you understand me?”
Af blinked twice but nodded as reality set in. He might be unstable, but he wasn’t insane. Af knew who he was. No one disrespected an Archangel and survived to brag about it. It was one of those unwritten rules. Af knew better. Still, it wouldn’t be prudent to assume Af was firing on all cylinders after his ordeal. He wouldn’t trust the angel until he’d proven it was earned. After all, there was that nagging question of loyalty . . . And he’d probably lose his mind when he got the bad news.
Spreading his palms in surrender, Af backed away with slow steps. He remembered enough protocol to at least duck his head in acknowledgment of Raphael’s senior position, murmuring tightly, “My apologies, Archangel.”
“Accepted. Now, I’m afraid I’m to be the bearer of bad news.”
Af’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched. The window began to hum as a tremor moved across it. “I hate bad news.”
The sheet of glass rattled in its frame.
“Stop! We’re in the middle of New York City on the 18th floor of a hotel. There are millions of humans around us. You must stay in control or these people will be damaged. It would be catastrophic.”
Wrong tactic. He forgot he was dealing with an Angel of Destruction.
Af’s face beamed at the prospect of mass casualties. “Really?” he drawled as if the day had just gotten brighter.
Raphael straightened to his full height and warned, “Don’t even think about it! These people are under my protection!”
“I’m sorry to hear that. They’re going to be very disappointed with the effectiveness of your protection.” The naked loose cannon smiled, showing his incisors. Despite his earlier display of respect, he let his nature take control. Instead of backing down, he sauntered forward until they were toe-to-toe. He had to look up at Raphael, but he didn’t seem to mind.
The window continued to vibrate as the two of them stared at each other, each weighing the other’s resolve. The tension grew heavier as neither moved. Would he regret letting Uriel keep his friend here? Should he have insisted his brother take the pain in the ass to an unpopulated area immediately? Antarctica was lovely this time of year.
Af’s dark energy exploded like a solar flare; pure rage slapped Raphael in the face with the heat of a blast furnace. Damn and Hell! This was going to be harder than he’d thought. Narrowing his eyes, he stared Af down until the angel looked away.
Crack!
The sound jolted them both. To his horror, a long crack appeared in the center of the window. The glass didn’t shatter, but the crack expanded from a hole in the middle.
Af smiled coldly and shrugged both shoulders. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
It was night when Af opened his eyes next. He came awake gradually this time; his mind easing into peaceful consciousness until he moved. Wincing as pain slammed into the space between his eyes, he groaned and lay his head back down. It felt like someone had clubbed him with a baseball bat. The room was completely dark except for a bit of light filtering in from outside of the window. Cars drove by. A horn honked. Muted voices filtered through the closed door. A dog barked.
Wait a minute. There were no dogs in Hell. Where the fuck was he? What was wrong with his head?
In an automatic response to blinding agony, he tried to raise his hands to clutch at his skull. Nothing happened. Glancing down, he saw the restraints. Bloody fucking hell! Someone had cuffed him to the bed! Bellowing with fury, he snapped the restraints and rained terror upon those who insulted him in such a manner.
No. He didn’t.
The restraints didn’t budge. Not even a sprinkle of terror either.
What the—
The door crashed open and in walked an Archangel. He knew it was an Archangel because his body was wreathed in pure golden light, his magnificent chestnut wings curled around his shoulders, framing him with their strength and beauty. And he carried a sword. A humongous fucking sword.
The power that radiated from this creature swamped the small bedroom with the force of a hurricane. Everything shook as he strode into the space. The curtains were torn from the rods; the pictures flew from the walls. The table lamp smashed into the opposite wall. Even the bed lifted up and down as if it would flip over. Af lowered his eyes respectfully.
The Archangel announced in a ringing tone that nearly punctured his eardrums, “You are awake because I willed it. You are alive because Uriel willed it. If you want to stay that way, you will do exactly as you’re told and keep your smart mouth closed. Am I clear?”
Af froze at the tone of his voice. This dude was royally pissed at him. What had he done to deserve the wrath of an Archangel he didn’t even know? Clearly something had happened . . .
The Archangel spoke again. “I’m waiting. Do you understand or d
o you need more sleep? I can knock you out again, but eventually your brain won’t recover. Your choice.”
Shit. How long had he been asleep? His mind was one big blank. This was beyond bad. Trying not to sigh or make an annoyed face, he replied in his most respectful tone to keep from winding up on the pointy end of that sword, “I understand, Archangel. I am grateful for your and Uriel’s help, and I won’t cause you any trouble.” He winced again as his head threatened to explode. Stifling an undignified groan, he wiggled his hand within the restraints and asked, “Why have I been restrained? What’s happened?”
The silence was deafening.
After what felt like eternity, the brilliant light dimmed around the Archangel’s body to reveal a tall man who appeared to be about forty years old. Wearing jeans and a navy blue Henley, he looked more youthful and hip than most of the Archangels Af had seen. He folded his wings tightly to his back, but didn’t vanish them like most of them do when in another angel’s company. Instead, he approached the bed and crossed his arms, scowling as his penetrating gaze swept over Af’s face. He doesn’t trust me. What did I do?
After another few seconds of heavy silence, he pulled up a chair and sat, one knee crossed over the other, hands steepled beneath his cleanly-shaven chin, those powerful wings draped elegantly over the back of the chair. Mr. Perfect. He looked Af straight in the eye and said, “I’m Raphael. You’ve been restrained because the last chat we had ended with your being a disrespectful ass. You are very fortunate that I do not let petty annoyances drive my actions.” He cocked an eyebrow and continued, “We know who you are, Af. We went to a lot of trouble to rescue and heal you. You and I need to have a serious conversation without any drama. I’ve blocked you from sapping my power so I can sit and talk to you for as long as it takes. I should warn you that your emotions will trigger a negative reaction so you will want to remain calm and in control. It may be uncomfortable for you if you get upset.”
Saol Mates (Primani Book Six) Page 7