Vampire Mine las-10

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  “Sir,” Laszlo told him quietly. “She’s fading fast.”

  “No! She’s going to be fine. She— Oh, God.” He seized his wife’s face. “Shanna, wake up!”

  “Roman!” Laszlo shouted, his eyes glittering with emotion. “She’s dying.”

  Roman glared at him. “No. She just fainted, that’s all. She—”

  “She’s going to die,” Laszlo yelled. “You have to change her now!”

  “It’s too soon! The children are too young. Sofia’s only two!”

  “You have no choice,” Laszlo gritted out.

  Roman shuddered, then gazed down at his wife. “Oh God! I can’t lose her.” He looked wildly about the room, and his gleaming eyes landed on Connor. “What have you done?”

  Connor stepped back from the accusing eyes. “I dinna mean . . . please, change her before it is too late.”

  “You’re supposed to protect my family,” Roman hissed. “You brought an angel of death here!”

  Connor’s blood ran cold. Holy Christ Almighty, had he truly brought death to the family he had sworn to protect?

  Roman pointed at the woman on the gurney. “Get her out of here before she kills my children, too!” With a hoarse cry, Roman tilted back his head and shot his fangs out. He sank them into Shanna’s neck.

  Connor didn’t know which was worse: the sound of Roman frantically sucking all the blood from his wife, or the wrenching sound of his sobs while he did it.

  My fault. Connor doubled over, nausea churning his gut. My fault. Shanna had trusted him to protect her, and he’d brought death to her. Just as he had his own wife and newborn child.

  He fell to his knees. Failure again.

  “Connor,” Laszlo whispered.

  He glanced up to see Laszlo standing by the gurney.

  “You need to take her away.”

  He glanced at her, then at Shanna, dying in her husband’s arms on the floor, then back at Marielle. Could Roman be right? Was she truly an angel of death?

  Connor rose to his feet and lurched toward her, grabbing the edge of the gurney in his fists. “Why dinna ye kill me?” he growled. God knew he deserved it.

  “Perhaps she couldn’t,” Laszlo said quietly. “We’re already . . . dead.”

  Connor snorted. One little request, and God couldn’t grant it for him. “Ye’d think He’d want me in hell.”

  Laszlo frowned at him. “Take her away from here. Quickly.”

  He tugged the sheet loose from the gurney and wrapped it around Marielle. How could she look so sweet and innocent when she was so deadly? He gathered her in his arms.

  She moaned as his arm came in contact with her wounded back. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered.

  “Aye. I should have listened to you, lass.” With one last glance at Shanna, he teleported away, taking the angel of death with him.

  Chapter Four

  P ain. It flooded her senses, drowned her body, and made it nigh impossible to think of anything other than the torture she endured. With every breath she drew, the pain swelled and sucked her deeper into a black hole.

  Marielle had never realized before how sensitive the human body was. No wonder some people begged her to take their souls early. She’d always felt guilty when ordered to grant such a request, fearing the act made her a murderer, but now, for the first time, she realized Zack had been right all along. The Deliverers weren’t angels of death, but of mercy.

  Was that why Zackriel had punished her? Was she being forced to endure pain in human form so she would appreciate God’s mercy and stop questioning orders?

  With her eyes still shut, she began to pray. Heavenly Father, please forgive me. I was wrong to ever doubt Your infinite wisdom. I have learned my lesson. Please return me to Your favor so I may continue to serve You.

  No answer.

  Her eyes flew open. Why couldn’t she hear an answer? The Heavenly Father always answered His angels. And she was still an angel. Wasn’t she?

  Panic seized her. She struggled to sit up, even though it caused her more pain. A white sheet was wound tightly around her like a shroud, frightening her even more. I’m not dead yet! She tugged the sheet down to her waist and fought against the pain, just enough to clear a bit of her mind.

  Glory to God in the Highest, she called out mentally.

  Silence.

  Her breath caught. Where was the Heavenly Host? They should have responded with the usual refrain—And on earth, peace, goodwill toward men.

  Hundreds of thousands of angels—Guardians, Messengers, God Warriors, Healers, and Deliverers—all part of the Heavenly Host and always there, connected in spirit. They’d been with her since the dawn of her existence. At any given moment, there was a chorus of angels who were singing, and others joined in between assignments. It was a constant, never-ending liturgy of praise that filled them with joy and peace.

  She frantically opened her mind. They had to be there. If she could just get past the pain, she would hear their beautiful voices. Glory to God in the Highest!

  Silence.

  A sob of disbelief escaped her mouth.

  Banished. No singing. No words of comfort. No communication at all with her fellow angels. No response from the Heavenly Father. She was absolutely alone. Abandoned and racked with pain.

  She had to get back. Somehow.

  She willed her wings to spring forth, but two lightning bolts of pain stabbed her in the back. She cried out, but the torture robbed her voice and only a gasping croak escaped. She twisted to look over her shoulder. Dear God, no! She hadn’t dreamed it. Zack had taken her wings. No wonder she was in so much pain.

  No wings. She covered her mouth to stifle a sob. How would she ever get back to heaven? She was earthbound.

  With a sharp twinge of fear, she realized she had no idea where she was. She’d been so distracted by pain and so focused on the spiritual realm, she’d not given her surroundings any thought.

  The forest was gone. She was in a dark shelter of some kind. Sitting on a cushioned chair. No, larger than a chair. It was what humans referred to as a couch. How had she arrived here?

  She recalled a shadowy dream that had entwined itself like a velvet ribbon around the onslaught of pain. There’d been a voice, a deep male voice with a lilting accent she’d found soothing. Strong arms that had held her tenderly. She’d thought it naught but wishful imaginings. No human could touch her without dying.

  But someone, or something, had brought her to this dark place. Most likely not one of the Heavenly Host, not when she’d been banished from them. They’re not the only angels. Her skin prickled with a terrible thought. What if she was considered a fallen angel now? What if one of Lucifer’s servants had collected her?

  Terror struck her so hard, she forgot the pain. She looked frantically about the dark room. Looming shadows of unknown objects surrounded her. A sudden creaking noise made her jump and strain her ears. There was someone nearby. Just outside the room. Footfalls moving back and forth, occasionally striking a board that creaked. Heavy footfalls, most likely a male.

  Who was he? Was he guarding her so she couldn’t escape? She dragged the sheet up to her chin as if she could hide from whoever was outside.

  Her gaze wandered about the room. She gasped when she spotted a pair of glassy eyes staring down at her. Unblinking. Inhuman. Her gaze inched higher, and her heart lurched. The horns of the Beast!

  She screamed.

  The door flung open, and a man burst into the room, flipped on the lights, and slammed the door shut. She froze in shock at the fierce look on his face and the gleaming dagger in his hand. Was she to be murdered for the pleasure of the Beast?

  She turned back to the glassy inhuman eyes, and a grateful squeak escaped her mouth. It was naught but the head of a deer mounted on the wall. There were several hunter trophies: a moose head over the fireplace and a tusked boar on another wall, close to a rocking chair and bookcase. She sent up a quick prayer on their behalf and winced when it was met with silence.


  Still, she could feel some relief that the poor beasts were no threat to her. Unlike the man with the dagger. With the sheet still clutched tightly under her chin, she glanced in his direction.

  He scanned the room quickly, then focused on her. “Are ye all right?”

  She nodded although she felt far from all right. She was hurting, frightened, confused, and strangely unnerved by this man’s presence. He was regarding her with an odd look. Cautious and alert. Curious, perhaps, though the intensity of his gaze hinted at something stronger, something she couldn’t place.

  He had the look of a warrior, but not a God Warrior. There was nothing angelic about him. Whether from heaven or hell, both angels and demons tended to assume a flawless human form with spotless, rich apparel.

  This man had to be human. A Scotsman, perhaps, since he was wearing a plaid kilt. His shirt was torn and stained, his kilt old and faded. Dirt and mud coated his knee socks and shoes. He was large with a raw and rugged edginess to him as if he’d just done battle. Earthy. His long hair was a tangled mess, blown by the wind, a beautiful fiery red. His eyes, they still watched her, the grayish-blue irises reminding her of the sky just before a storm unleashed its raging winds. Earth, fire, and wind—three elements fused together in one gloriously fierce creation.

  Her gaze shifted to his dagger. Did he mean to harm her or protect her?

  “Och.” He reversed the dagger with a fluid movement. “I dinna mean to frighten you. I thought ye were in danger.”

  His voice. It was his voice she’d heard while slipping in and out of consciousness. The lilting accent reminded her of the music she was accustomed to hearing in her mind.

  She watched closely as he leaned over to slide the dagger into a sheath beneath a knee sock. Apparently, he’d rushed into the room, ready to do battle in her defense. God might not have answered her prayer, but He’d provided her with a protector. Thank you, Lord.

  With a sigh of grateful relief, she lowered her hands and the sheet to her lap. “May I ask your name?”

  He glanced up at her, then straightened with a jerk. “Holy Christ Almighty.”

  She frowned. “No, I don’t believe you are.”

  “I dinna mean—” He shifted his gaze to a spot behind her and whispered, “Oh, Christ.”

  “Is He here?” A surge of hope swelled inside her. She twisted to look, but pain ripped across her back. She cried out, doubling over to grip her knees.

  “Och, lass.” He moved toward her. “ ’Tis sorry I am for yer suffering. Is there anything I can do?”

  She moaned, willing the pain to subside. The cushion she sat upon jiggled, and it took a moment for her to realize he’d taken a seat next to her on the brown leather couch.

  “No.” She straightened, wincing at the pain. “You must keep your distance from me. I . . . I could be dangerous.” Her wings were gone, her psychic connection to the Heavenly Host was gone, but she couldn’t be sure that all her angelic powers were gone. If this man touched her, he might die.

  His gaze dropped to her bare chest, then jerked away. “We have to do something about yer brea— I mean, yer wounds. On yer back. Ye probably need stitches.”

  Sew up her wing joints? “No!” She pressed a hand to her chest. Beneath her palm, her heart beat wildly.

  He glanced at her hand, then looked away. “We canna leave the wounds open. I—” He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lass, I canna talk to you like this.”

  He looked like he was in pain. She wished she could comfort him, but she didn’t dare touch him. “Is something ailing you?”

  He opened his eyes, shooting her a fierce look. “Ye doona know?”

  The rough edge to his voice made her skin prickle. His eyes darkened with a reddish tint. Her heart stuttered. She’d never seen human eyes do that. Demon eyes could, but she could have sworn this man was human.

  “For God’s sake, lass, cover yerself.”

  She was so stunned by the changing color of his eyes that she didn’t realize that he’d grabbed the edge of the sheet till she saw him lifting it up to her chest.

  She gasped. “Don’t touch me!” She squirmed back on the couch, kicking at him from under the safe barrier of the sheet. Her frantic actions ripped the sheet from his grip and caused them both to lose their balance.

  She fell back, gasping when her back hit the cushioned arm of the couch just as he fell on top of her, his outstretched hands landing firmly on her breasts. She froze, terrified that she might have killed him.

  With their faces only inches apart, their eyes met. The red sparks in his irises faded until only the smoky blue color remained. Seconds stretched into an eternity as she caught her first glimpse into his soul. A human soul. On the surface: honor, courage, strength. Beneath: loneliness, regret. And there was more. He was hiding something dark, something that caused him great pain.

  He blinked, and she realized he’d been staring into her eyes with the same intensity. He exhaled, his breath soft against her cheek. He was still alive.

  “You’re touching me,” she whispered.

  He reeled back, lunging to the other end of the couch. “Forgive me. I—”

  “And yet, you still live.”

  “Aye, I should be struck down.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. “God help me, I just groped an angel.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Aye.” He collapsed against the back sofa cushion. “I dinna mean to . . . assault you.”

  “You did nothing wrong.” She sat up, wincing at the pain. “You simply fell and caught yourself.”

  He snorted. “Aye, and I have verra good aim.”

  She glanced down at her breasts. With the warmth of his hands gone, the nipples had reacted by turning tight and pebbly. “How . . . interesting.”

  With a moan, he dragged his hands down his face. “Just kill me now.”

  “I mean you no harm.”

  “Then cover yerself before my eyes explode.”

  She recalled how Adam and Eve had covered themselves in shame. “I’m so sorry.” She dragged the sheet up to her chin. “I didn’t realize I was . . . offending you.”

  He made an odd noise, somewhere between a snort and a groan.

  “I’m not accustomed to looking like this. We do occasionally take human form when we need to interact with mortals, but it’s merely an illusion. This body is different, though. It feels . . . real.”

  “That it does,” he muttered.

  “The pain is certainly real.” She sighed. “I fear I was given this body so I could fully experience pain.”

  He turned his head toward her. “Ye’ve never had a body before?”

  “No.” She peeked underneath the sheet at the breasts he’d found so offensive. They looked fairly normal to her.

  Her eyes widened at the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs. “Good heavens!” She clutched the sheet against her chest. She’d never looked like that before.

  He sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “I—I appear to be more human than I thought.”

  His gaze drifted down to her lap, then slowly back up.

  She realized, then, that he knew exactly what she was referring to. Her cheeks flooded with heat, a sudden and odd sensation, and she pressed a hand against her face. “I believe I’m running a fever.”

  His eyes twinkled with amusement. “ ’Tis called a blush, lass.”

  “Oh.” A dozen different emotions swirled inside her. Embarrassment, confusion, curiosity, pain, remorse, a terrifying fear that she’d never make it back to heaven, another fear that she was venturing into a dangerous unknown world of human sensation and emotion, and in the midst of it all, she felt a overwhelming urge to touch this man. It had been so long since she could touch a human without causing death.

  “You—you never told me your name,” she whispered.

  The amusement faded in his eyes. “I’m Connor. Connor Buchanan.”

  “You found me in the woods. You saved me.” />
  He shrugged. “Anyone would have—” He froze when she touched his cheek.

  “I remember hearing your voice. It was soft and lilting and gave me comfort.” She brushed her fingers along his jaw, marveling over the prickle of his whiskers against her fingertips. Angels never needed to shave. When they assumed human form, their skin was always smooth and perfect.

  “Connor Buchanan,” she whispered, and noted his throat moving as he swallowed. “It’s so amazing that I can touch you. I’ve always found humans fascinating. So wild and imperfect.” She smoothed a finger over a small scar close to his chin where no whiskers grew. “And yet, so beautiful.”

  His jaw shifted beneath her hand, and she drew back, feeling her cheeks grow warm once again. “Of course, I find all the Lord’s creations to be beautiful.”

  “Really?” His mouth curled up. “Even a cockroach?”

  Her cheeks blazed hotter. “Well, I must admit you look considerably better than a cockroach.”

  “Such flattery. Be still my heart.”

  She smiled. He was teasing her, much like her friend Buniel enjoyed doing. Her smile withered as she wondered if she’d ever see her best friend again. Or any of the Heavenly Host. Her predicament crashed down on her with a sudden onslaught of grief for the world she’d lost. Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t belong here.”

  “Marielle—” Connor nodded when she looked at him. “I heard that man Zack call you by name. And I heard yer screams when he attacked you.”

  “His name is Zackriel. He’s my—was my supervisor.”

  “Ye’re better off without him. He sorely abused you.”

  She bowed her head. “I was being punished.”

  “Why? Did ye do something wrong?”

  She glanced at him, worried that he might be judging her, but all she saw in his eyes was a tender concern. “Angels strive to be perfect in every way. I . . . have failed.”

  “Ye look perfect to me.”

  Her heart swelled at his compliment, although she knew she had fallen short. “I’m not very good at following orders, not when they don’t make sense to me.”

  He nodded slowly. “I understand.”