“Hey, you.” Dec appeared behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Drawing her against his chest, he nuzzled her cheek and squeezed her tightly. She sank into him and closed her eyes. His heart thudded soft and true, calling to hers as it always did. “You okay, love?”
Okay? Not really. She blinked hot tears away before they could fall and turned to kiss him. His soft lips molded to her mouth in a sweet kiss that left her feeling less empty. Pressing her cheek to his chest, she breathed in his scent, letting it ground her. No, she wasn’t okay.
He cuddled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “You’re tense. Talk to me. What’s the matter?”
Something deep inside broke. She felt screams of frustration building in the back of her throat. What wasn’t the matter? Was he serious? He’s supposed to know her so well. Why doesn’t he get it? Turning away again, she snapped, “What do you think is the matter? Jesus, Dec. I thought it was obvious.”
He flinched as if she had slapped him.
Surprised? Good!
“Whoa! Hey. What did I do?” He looked as hurt as he sounded.
“You rescued that beast! This is all your fault.”
His eyes hardened, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead he responded logically, “Should I have left him in the park to rot? To suffer? Is that the kind of man you want me to be? I can’t change what’s happened; it sucks but we’ll get it behind us. Everything will fall into place. You’ll see.”
As fast as the anger flared, it vanished. It was impossible to stay mad at him. The second she hesitated his lips curled into a warm smile. “Now, see there. That’s better. You don’t want to be mad at me, do you? We’re getting married in a few days.”
“Are we?”
And bam! Just like that, the smile ran away from his face. “What does that mean? Why wouldn’t we?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . Let’s see. We’ve got a cursed angel crashing in the bedroom. His cheery ass is like napalm around here. You and Sean are about to go hunting again and God only knows what can go wrong with that juicy little mission.” Fueled with all kinds of pent up frustration, she warmed to her tirade. “Oh, and I guess I’m supposed to do all of the rest by myself? Sure! Why don’t I take care of the entire wedding, babysit that tool who’s making my skin crawl, and maybe you can just show your ass up on time? Or, maybe we’ll end up cancelling it—AGAIN!”
“I hate to interrupt the beginnings of knockdown drag out fight, but I smelled smoke.” Af strolled into the kitchen with a malicious sparkle in his eye. Pointing at the counter, he asked, “Is that machine supposed to be smoking?”
“Shut up!” She and Dec shouted at the same time.
His smirk tightened to a hard line as he swung his gaze between the two of them, took a step closer, and stopped. “You two are so unimportant you should be invisible.” With that, he pivoted and left them fuming at his back. Standing stiffly in front of the French doors, he clenched and unclenched his hands. His erect posture seemed ingrained as if he were used to carrying his shoulders higher to support—
Her thoughts crashed to an abrupt halt; her cheeks blanched as she was reminded again of his loss. She should show him more compassion. His wings were gone. It was no wonder he was difficult. She couldn’t imagine how it would feel to lose such an important part of herself. It would be worse than losing a hand or a foot. Dec had explained the purpose and power of the angel’s feathers. Losing his wings would be like losing his soul. With his wings pinned, he was no longer able to fly or even teleport. He was stuck on the human plane unless someone took him to Heaven. Or Hell. But no one wanted him in Heaven, and Uriel refused to let him pass through the Gate of Tartarus. Friendless and unloved, he was trapped here.
What would he do when the frustration overwhelmed him? Did angels feel despair? Grief? She had no answers to these questions. Shrugging, she gave her head a little shake to clear the pointless thoughts. There was nothing she could do to help, though she wished there was. His pain and anger were nearly palpable every time he made an appearance. Even the usual positive energy of the penthouse felt off—raw and unstable—it actually made her skin crawl with an icky sense of impending doom. Rubbing the goose bumps on her arms, she dropped her gaze back to Af and sighed. His stony expression was proud, but something bleak flickered just behind his eyes. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. It was how she was built. Always rooting for the underdog.
“Penny for your thoughts, love?” Dec’s teasing voice tickled her ear as he reached over her head to grab some plates. Turning back around, he caged her between his arms and whispered, “You look tired. Maybe you should sit down. I can finish lunch.”
He cupped her elbows with every intention of leading her to the couch, but she resisted with a wan smile. “I’m fine. Just thinking about—” She cut her eyes towards Af and pressed her mouth close to his ear, barely whispering, “—his wings. Poor guy. It breaks my heart.”
“Stop talking about me!” The plates shattered and Af collapsed to his knees with both hands clutching his head, howling in agony.
“Shit.” Shoving her out of the way, Dec bolted to the living room. “Rori, stay back.” Crouching beside Af, his face blank with concentration, he sent an SOS. He hovered with hands poised to help Af to his feet but uncertainty clouded his features.
“Is it safe for you to touch him, Dec?” With real concern sharpening her voice, she skirted the kitchen island and sidled into the living room to get a better look.
“I’ve called Uriel. He’ll know what to do.” He sat back on his heels and frowned. “Af? Can you hear me?”
Af rocked forward until his cheek lay on the cold marble floor with his eyes squeezed shut. The agonized howl had softened to an injured animal groan until finally the only noise was the sound of his labored breathing. The muscles in his powerful back bunched with tension; his knuckles were bone white against the dark tile. Sweat trickled along his jaw. What the heck happened to him?
A slight shift in air pressure announced Uriel before he was corporeal. With a sharp nod in her direction, he went straight to Af, bumping Dec out of the way as he squatted near the angel’s shoulders.
Dressed in a robe over baggy grey pants, Uriel looked like he just rolled out of bed. His hair was tangled; his feet were bare. If things weren’t so serious, she would’ve made a smart comment. One was on the tip of her tongue.
Waving them both back with a wide sweep of his arm, Uriel got to work.
The earthquake inside his head seemed to be over. Af held his breath as another tremor rolled through his brain sending unimaginable pain cresting ahead of it like a tsunami. A pain tsunami. If it didn’t hurt so damn much, he’d laugh at the image that conjured. As he waited for it to ease, he focused on breathing normally and forced his clenched fist to relax. No need to let his audience see him like this. He was the Angel of Wrath! He was above mundane things like pain.
Uriel’s presence made itself known by the hum of energy that vibrated over his skin. He recognized another Angel of Destruction as surely as he recognized his own reflection in a mirror. The catastrophic power was a living thing that they kept under control by sheer force of will—will and more strength than other angels had. As the waves of agony receded to a blistering headache, he risked cracking an eyelid.
Just above him, Uriel made a small sound of relief and cuffed him on the back of the head. “Will you live then?”
“Whatever.” Af pushed himself to his feet, staggering only slightly as he tried to avoid stepping on Uriel’s bare feet. The room swam for a second before he got his bearings. Blinking the tension from his eyes, he rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead and slapped a scowl on his face.
“I’m busy. You know I can’t keep popping up here every time you get your panties in a wad. Did you forget about the block on your energy?”
Fuck.
Yes. He damn sure did. No wonder his head tried to come off. He was really starting to hate that Archangel. “Raphael’s ov
erreacting, Uriel. I’m not a threat to his pet humans. For God’s sake, I’m the Angel of Wrath! Is it too much to understand that I might be ANGRY? Of course my energy is dark! Father made me this way. Do you want friggin’ sunshine and glittery, flower-covered, pansy-ass unicorns to fly out of my ass?”
Cranial pressure built until his left eye twitched and his vision went black. Swaying with dizziness, he eased backwards to rest against the side of the couch. His head throbbed like someone drilled an ice pick through his temple.
“Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it? Every time you get riled up, this is going to happen. Your energy is contained inside your body. It’s going to hurt if you let it build. You’re going to have to keep your temper under control until we figure out what to do with you.”
“What to do with me? What am I some kind of homeless dog? I’m the Angel of Wrath! I need to be free. I need to soar the skies! I need my fucking wings back! I need—” His voice cracked with desperation and he clamped his mouth into a straight line to shut off the pleading tone that was only making him sound pathetic.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Rori chewing her lower lip, indecision and pity etched on her face. She took a hesitant step in his direction, pretty little manicured hands outstretched as if she would comfort him. He didn’t need her help! Ridiculous! Who did she think she was? Damaged little twit! She was more broken than he was. She just didn’t realize it. That made her either the world’s most clueless psychic or a complete idiot. Either way, she wasn’t worth his time. He growled at her and she froze like the sad creature she was.
In the ugliest tone he could manage, he snarled, “That’s right, little girl. Keep away from the big scary angel. I’d hate to hurt you.”
And that washed all remaining color from her face, so he added, “Oh, no wait—maybe I’d enjoy it. Want to find out?”
Her Boy Wonder snapped, “You prick! Don’t talk to my girl like that!” and moved between them as if he were strong enough to do something about it.
“Puny, wingless moron.” With his head throbbing again, he shoved past Uriel and stalked back to his prison cell, aka the bedroom, and slammed the door.
Screw these people.
The next morning, Rori tiptoed down the hallway to the kitchen. She’d wrung every last spark of energy from Dec before they collapsed into their own mini comas of exhaustion. Hers hadn’t lasted nearly long enough though. Pushing away the last remnants of the dream, she forced her scattered emotions to settle down before she accidently woke him up. He’d been worried enough since that creepy Af had shown up. The way he looked at her . . . ewww. Just ewww. Like a bug under a microscope. She was doing her best to keep Dec from knowing how much he was bothering her, but God help her, she didn’t know how much more she could take. Something in the back of his eyes made her feel dirty.
After making her way through the dark house, she brewed a cup of tea and curled up on the corner of the couch. Chamomile tea was rumored to be good at calming jumpy nerves. She blew over the rim and raised it in a toast. Here’s to chamomile. Carefully sipping at it, she let her mind wander to the latest drama that interrupted her sleep this morning.
The dreams were new. Terrifyingly realistic, they didn’t feel like regular dreams. And since she didn’t recognize anyone in them, she was worried they might be visions. Precognitive visions. She didn’t usually have them, but it was possible. Her psychic abilities were still maturing as she learned more about herself. Thanks to Killian, of all people, she’d been working on awareness. Over the past year, she’d learned to recognize tiny clues that warned her of an impending retrocognitive vision. Each vision had a certain feel about it that identified it as a past event. By having some warning it was coming, she was able to mentally prepare. This allowed her to pay more attention to the details that helped Dec and Sean solve their cold cases. It wasn’t a perfect system yet, but it was pretty reliable so far. They’d managed to wrap up ten unsolved cases and give closure to grieving relatives and the troubled detectives who’d been left with more questions than answers. Did she enjoy the glimpses into the past? Not at all. Most of her visions were sad at best, haunting at worst. This was her destiny though, and she’d come to accept it. She understood the soul-wrenching pain of not knowing what had happened to someone you’d lost. Her mother’s fate had been a mystery until Dec had crashed into her life and put the puzzle pieces together. The truth was painful, but at least it was real so people could move on. Yes, she understood closure all too well. If she had to be uncomfortable in order to help someone else, she’d just have to suck it up and press on.
She finished her tea and sat the cup on the coffee table, her mind whirling with thoughts. These latest dreams didn’t feel like past events. They had a more immediate feel to them; almost as if she were watching in real time. Was that possible? That hadn’t happened before. Why now? Closing her eyes, she carefully drew the dream’s images to the foreground of her mind’s eye.
Torrential rain pounded over a shantytown on a tropical beach. The moonless night combined with the sheets of water made everything blurry. Corrugated metal buildings leaned drunkenly against each other; some swayed with the force of the storm. Nearby, a baby screamed, the sound swallowed up by howling wind.
The scene shifted and blurred in a barrage of abstracts in black and red tones that hurt as they flashed behind her eyes until she could bring it back into clear focus again. There wasn’t much to see now. There was only a single image. A black-haired woman screamed and struggled as two soldiers beat her into unconsciousness. Their faces were concealed by shadows, but the woman’s shrieks of “No! No!” sent violent chills running down her spine.
That was it. The dream ended at that point. She’d had this same dream for three nights in a row now. Each night she hoped to take it farther to see if there was more. But so far, this was it. She tapped a nail against her lip. Was it only a stress dream? It did seem to have a few parallels with her life. Was this dream woman actually a representation of herself? She had dark hair. Dec and Sean were soldiers—Killian, too. Hell, even her irresponsible relationship-avoiding father, Keil, was. She was surrounded by immortals with lethal weapons and twitchy trigger fingers. Their lives were dangerous. Put into that context, maybe it was a stress dream about marrying Dec and committing to their dangerous life for eternity. The ‘beating’ was symbolic; not literal.
It fit.
And yet . . .
It didn’t.
She didn’t have any sense of recognition when she focused on the three people. Wouldn’t she feel a connection to them if they were supposed to be people she knew and loved? It felt wrong. Her visions have always been of past events. How did this woman match up to one of Dec’s cold cases? Was the woman dead?
It just didn’t feel the same. She shivered as the sounds of the poor woman’s terrified shrieks echoed in her ears as clear as if she was standing beside her. As the shrieks dissolved into grunts of pain and finally to eerie silence, Rori’s chest tightened with frustrated anger. Why couldn’t she DO something to help her? It wasn’t fair. Sympathetic tears sprang up again and this time she let them fall, though the usual feeling of cleansing didn’t come.
“It’s difficult to carry such a burden all by yourself.”
Af’s soft words were sobering. Stiffening her spine, she swiped the tears from her eyes and disagreed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not carrying any burdens. I had a bad dream.”
Dressed only in a borrowed pair of basketball shorts that hung below his sleek Adonis Belt, he leaned against the wall, scrutinizing her without expression. The silence simmered between them as neither moved. She swallowed a lump that threatened to strangle her. The early morning shadows played havoc with his harsh features. The shifting light deepened the hollows around his eyes and sharpened his slashing cheekbones until his angelic face was more destroyer than savior. Unlike the Primani, his eyes weren’t a brilliant cobalt blue. They didn’t gleam with a low blue flame that spoke o
f lethal power—and occasionally—lust. His eyes were so deep a blue they seemed black in the darkness. Their inner light was as red as a coal fire. To gaze into those eyes meant loss. Loss of self. Loss of control.
The warning voice inside her brain was shrieking, “Run! Run!” but she didn’t. She made eye contact.
His full lips curled into a smile that didn’t add life to those terrible eyes. On another man, that smile might have been sexy, but on Af, the simple twist of his mouth sent shivers racing over her skin. Fear, not lust, made her heart beat faster, her breath catch in her throat, and her palms drip with icy sweat. His tongue flicked across his lower lip and she stood up so quickly that she knocked over the china cup. It crashed to the floor, the sound breaking the spell.
Without seeming to move, he was suddenly squatting in front of her, picking up pieces of the shattered cup. His knee bumped hers and she jumped as if he’d electrocuted her. He took her by the shoulders and drew her to standing again. Instead of dropping his hands, he held her still, their faces inches apart, his fiery eyes locked onto her face.
“You deny you’re carrying a burden, but your despair speaks of a weight too great to bear alone. One might wonder why you keep such secrets from your beloved.” His rough voice sent the alarm bells clanging again. While he held her captivated for that split second, he dragged his thumbs over the bare skin of her shoulders, the motion entirely too seductive, inappropriate. And his smirk said he knew it. Before she could jerk away, he purred, “If only you could trust him with your darkest fears.”
Saol Mates (Primani Book Six) Page 9