She had a feeling he really did understand. She was sorely tempted to touch him once again, but winced when she felt something wet trickle down her back.
His nostrils flared. “Ye’re bleeding again. I know a doctor in Houston who can sew up yer wounds.”
Sew her wing joints shut? Her eyes stung with tears. How could she do that? How could she give up what she was?
But was she still an angel? She was disconnected from the Heavenly Host. She was no longer a Deliverer, for her touch had not killed Connor. Her body was now human, frail and sensitive, susceptible to injury and disease. She could actually die.
A tear rolled down her cheek. She’d lost more than heaven and her friends. She’d lost her immortality.
“Och, lass.” He touched her cheek, brushing away the tear with his thumb.
Her skin tingled, and she marveled at the frisson of emotion that skittered through her. Such a strong reaction to such a light touch. It must be caused by the novelty of her new body. Or perhaps she was suffering from loneliness, cut off from the Heavenly Host. But when she looked into Connor’s eyes, she knew it was more. She was drawn to this man. She wanted him to touch her. And she wanted to see more of his soul.
She covered his hand with hers, holding it against her face. Perhaps all hope was not lost, for she still retained a little angelic power. Whenever she touched the dead or dying, their souls opened up to her like a book, and she could witness their entire life in an instant. With Connor, the skill was greatly diminished. He didn’t die, but as long as she touched him, she could still catch a glimpse into his soul.
And there it was, hidden far beneath his outer shield of honor and forbearance. A deep dark pit of despair and remorse. It was a painful place, too painful to visit with the suffering she was already experiencing.
She released him. “I’m sorry I’m not a Healer.”
“Aye,” he said gruffly. “ ’Twould be good if ye could heal yerself.”
“I was referring to you.” She touched his chest. “You’re carrying a dark pain inside you.”
“Nay.” He jumped to his feet and moved away from her, his face pale and rigid. “ ’Tis yer wounds we must be looking after. I’ll—” He stopped when a ringing sound emanated from the leather bag he wore in front of his kilt.
“I need to take this.” He pulled a communication device from the bag and lifted it to his face. “Angus, how is Shanna?”
He listened awhile, then an expression of relief swept over his face. He walked toward the back of the room. “I’m at the hunting cabin.”
He glanced back at Marielle. “I’ll be just outside the door. Doona go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” He opened a back door and stepped outside.
She glimpsed a starry sky before he shut the door. Her gaze wandered to the front door that Connor had used earlier. If she went outside, she could call for help from the Healers. Her best friend, Buniel, was a Healer, and he was probably aware that she was missing from the Heavenly Host. He had to be worried about her.
But Connor had told her to stay put. Another order that didn’t make sense. If Buniel could help her, it was worth a try.
She stood slowly, her body stiff and aching from her wounds. She wrapped the sheet around her, wincing as it touched her back. She slipped out the front door and gasped when she was enveloped with chilly night air. She’d never felt the temperature before. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. To her surprise, her breath frosted in the air.
She crossed the wooden porch and descended the steps to the clearing in front of the cabin. The brown grass felt icy cold beneath her bare feet. No wonder humans were so fond of clothes and shoes.
She pivoted, taking in her surroundings. In the light of the moon and glittering stars, she could see the snowy silhouette of gentle mountains. Patches of white snow gleamed in the shade of the nearby forest. Newly budded leaves filled the air with the scent of spring. How amazing was the Lord’s handiwork. Glory to God in the Highest!
No answer.
She willed herself to be strong. Just because she could no longer hear the angels, it didn’t mean they couldn’t hear her. She dropped the sheet in a pool around her feet, then with a shiver, she stretched her arms up to the heavens.
Chapter Five
Connor shut the back door so he could talk on his cell phone without Marielle overhearing. She didn’t seem to have any memory of the disaster at Romatech, and he was in no hurry to remind her. She was suffering enough already.
He scowled at the night sky, bright with stars and the three-quarter-full moon. It was chilly here in the Adirondacks, but much calmer than it had been in South Dakota. Even so, an angry storm was brewing inside him.
He wanted to curse the heavens and one angel in particular—Zackriel. The bastard had cruelly abused Marielle, and for the life of him, Connor couldn’t imagine what she could have done to warrant the torture she was enduring. She had questioned Zack’s orders in order to protest the killing of children. What was wrong with that?
She was gentle and kindhearted, everything he would expect an angel to be. She’d been more concerned about causing him harm than easing her own suffering. She’d even wished she could heal him instead of herself.
In spite of her good intentions, that moment had scared the hell out of him. Had she managed somehow to see into the black pit of his soul? It had to be some sort of angelic talent, but it made her dangerous. It made him want to flee. Even so, he knew he had to stay. The lass needed protection. She was so damned innocent, she didn’t even know it was wrong to expose her breasts.
And what breasts. Full and soft. The luminous white skin made a startling contrast to the rich red color of her nipples. Nipples that had been pressed into the palms of his hands. Even now, his hands itched to touch her again. That soft, sweet skin.
Bugger. He slapped himself mentally. She was an angel, an innocent, sweet angel, and he was lusting after her. Again. Even for a sorry bastard, he was stooping to a new low.
She was just so damned beautiful. Any man would be reduced to a blithering idiot in her presence. And it wasn’t just her beautiful body. Or face. Or voice. There was something about her eyes. He’d gazed into them and a strange sense of peace had enveloped him . . . until he realized he was groping her lovely breasts.
“Connor?” Angus’s voice sounded impatient. “Are ye still there?”
“Aye.” He rested an elbow on the wooden railing that surrounded the back porch.
“Ye dinna answer my question,” Angus growled.
What question? Connor winced. His mind had wandered again to Marielle’s breasts. “Could ye repeat it?”
Angus grunted with frustration. “I asked about the woman ye found. Is she really an angel?”
“Aye, she is.” Admitting it out loud seemed bizarre, so he changed the subject. “Did ye investigate the caves at the campground?”
“Aye, but they were empty. Casimir and his minions must have moved on after killing those puir families.”
Connor groaned inwardly. It always seemed to go that way. They could track Casimir by the dead bodies he left behind, but that left him always one step ahead. And it left them unable to protect his next group of victims. “Was there any sign of him at the other places?”
“Nay. We have no idea where he is.”
Connor took a deep breath. “How is Roman?”
“He’s pissed. What do ye expect?”
“I thought ye said Shanna was going to be all right.”
“We think she will be. She did finally accept some of Roman’s blood. But it took about fifteen minutes, and in that time, Roman was going out of his mind. He thought he’d lost her.” Angus sighed. “Laszlo thinks it took a long time because Shanna’s subconscious dinna realize what was happening.”
“Aye,” Connor agreed. “It all happened verra suddenly.”
“She drank a small amount of Roman’s blood, then fell back into the vampire coma,” Angus continued. “We willna know for sure
if she’s transformed until tomorrow night.”
Connor swallowed hard. Like all Vamps, Roman would wake just after sunset, and hopefully, his wife would wake with him. “How are the children?”
“Their aunt, Caitlyn, has taken them home. She and Carlos will stay with them. They . . . doona know what has happened.”
A surge of guilt swept over Connor. If Shanna died, it would be his fault. The bairns would be motherless. The family he had sworn to protect would be destroyed.
“I’ve asked Robby and Olivia to act as bodyguards for Roman and his family,” Angus said quietly.
Connor stiffened as if he’d been struck in the chest. He was being replaced.
“This is for the best,” Angus continued with a rush. “Olivia is a psychologist, so she’ll be able to help the children adjust.”
Connor gritted his teeth. “I’ve kept Roman safe for over sixty years.”
There was a pause before Angus responded. “Roman requested someone new.”
Connor flinched. “Nay.”
“Ye doona ken how upset Roman is. He was ripping the clinic apart with his bare hands. I’ve never seen him like this before. Emma had to teleport Father Andrew here to calm him down.”
With a sigh, Connor leaned forward on the railing. He knew the danger of uncontrolled rage. “I never meant to harm his wife.”
“I understand, but if I canna trust ye to follow orders . . .” Angus’s voice trailed off.
Connor had a sinking feeling he was about to be fired. It was unthinkable. Not that he needed the money. He’d stashed away plenty over the centuries. It was the fact that he was being seen as a failure, a traitor. “Angus, there was no way I could have predicted what happened to Shanna. Who the hell would have believed that I’d find an actual angel—”
“I know. That was explained to me in great length. I was verra close to firing you, but ye have a strong advocate here who convinced me ye were no’ to blame. Father Andrew thinks verra highly of you.”
Connor jerked upright with surprise. The priest had saved his job?
“In fact, Father Andrew believes this has all happened for some sort of divine purpose.” Angus snorted. “He hasna convinced Roman of that yet. Nor me. I’m still pissed that ye canna follow simple orders. If ye had, Shanna might still be alive.”
Connor didn’t think so. Even if he’d gone back to the campground to meet Angus, he would have still seen the fireballs in the distance and gone to investigate. Could Father Andrew be right? Was he supposed to find Marielle tonight? Only a Vamp could have picked her up and helped her. Any mortal would have collapsed after touching her, just like Shanna had.
He sighed. Father Andrew had to be wrong. God would never cast his barbaric, undead hide in a noble role. The priest was trying to interpret signs that didn’t exist. Or trying to see goodness in a Vamp where it had long withered away.
A breeze rustled the trees in the distance, then swept toward Connor. The minute the air hit his face, he felt more awake, more alert. His senses sharpened, anticipating . . . something. He scanned his surroundings and listened carefully. Nothing.
“Father Andrew is eager to meet the angel,” Angus said. “Roman doesn’t want her here at Romatech, so I thought I’d have someone teleport the Father to the cabin.”
“No’ now. She’s wounded and bleeding. I need to take her to Dr. Lee in Houston.” Connor referred to the Vamp doctor who had delivered both of Shanna’s children and regularly patched up Vamps and shifters. “And I need some clothes for her.”
“I’ll ask Emma to take care of that. Let me know when ye’re back.”
A stronger breeze whipped Connor’s hair across his face, and he pushed the strands back. An awareness sizzled through him that something was off. His senses strained, expecting something. Soon.
And then he heard it. Marielle’s voice. Clear and beautiful. Singing a melody so sweet it made his heart ache.
“Christ,” he whispered.
“What?” Angus demanded. “Are ye all right?”
“I’ll call you back.” He disconnected and dropped the phone into his sporran.
Her voice continued, ringing clear in the night air. She must be outside. So much for following his orders.
He descended the porch steps, and a strong wind shoved him toward the side of the cabin. Now he realized what was off. The wind should be chilly, but it wasn’t. He rounded the cabin, and the wind still blew at him. Strange. It seemed to be circling the cabin. Another warm gust pushed him toward the clearing in the front.
He halted with a jerk when she came into view. She was naked, standing with her back to him. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, and her curly blond hair tumbled to the small of her back. Her hips flared into an arse that could inspire poetry. Unfortunately, he’d never been a poet, so it simply inspired another round of lust.
Snap out of it, he mentally snarled at himself. She was an angel. And she was up to something strange. Her arms were extended overhead, reaching for the stars. She tilted her head back as she sang to the heavens, and her hands moved gracefully with the music, the lovely expressive hands of a dancer.
He’d heard once that the body was a temple, but he’d never believed it till now. She was so beautiful. And her voice—only an angel could sound so good and pure.
The wind picked up, whirling around the cabin and playing havoc with his kilt. As he watched the trees sway and bow, he realized Marielle was in the center of the circle.
A breeze lifted her golden hair, and the long tresses seemed to float about her shoulders. Some of the locks were dark and matted at the ends with her blood. He winced at the sight of her wounded back. Dark trickles of blood meandered down the white glowing skin.
She had to be in pain, and yet her song sounded so joyful. It made him ashamed for all the years he’d spent grumbling and rueful. But how was he to feel when he’d lost the only woman he ever loved, and that love had driven him to destroy his own soul?
He jerked when something warm touched his cheek, something feather soft. He looked about, but saw nothing. Wait, over there, a glimpse of movement, something sheer and white in the wind. It rushed past him, then faded to nothing.
A tinkling sound like wind chimes floated through the air, in and out of his hearing, and he strained to listen. Yes, there it was. He couldn’t tell if it was bells or harps or perhaps both, but he’d never heard anything so enchanting. So peaceful, as if his wandering soul had finally returned home.
Then the voices began. Male and female. Perfect in pitch and harmony, singing the same melody as Marielle. And beneath it all, he could hear and sense a low, steady vibration that stirred the air. Constant like a heartbeat. The beating of angel wings.
He closed his eyes, feeling like a lowly sinner who had accidentally stumbled upon something sacred, something no human was ever meant to see. But he couldn’t close his ears. The voices continued, so achingly sweet, he never wanted it to end.
More wisps of movement brushed across his face, and each time it happened, a small burst of joy would warm his heart. He opened his eyes and stepped toward Marielle. His body tingled as the warm wind enveloped him. His heart matched the rhythm of the wings beating the air. Such joy and peace—it was addictive. Bright green grass sprouted in the circle of wind, and he felt an overwhelming urge to lift his arms to the heavens like Marielle.
Before he could move, a flare of light stunned him. He blinked, trying to stay focused on her. She’d stopped singing and stood frozen, surrounded by a bright light. It flashed with an intensity that forced him to shut his eyes.
“Thank you,” Marielle whispered. “The Lord is good.”
He opened his eyes as the light dissipated. Her back was completely healed. No marks or bloodstains, just her white glowing skin. Even her hair was clean and shiny gold.
The wind grew stronger again, and he could feel the whirling cyclone moving upward. The voices faded away.
“No!” Marielle cried. “Don’t leave me!”
&n
bsp; Her hands appeared to grasp something that Connor couldn’t see, then to his amazement, her body rose off the ground. She wasn’t levitating, he realized. Rather, she was being lifted by whatever she was holding.
“Please.” Her voice trembled with emotion. “Take me with you.”
Was she returning to heaven? Was she forgiven? Connor’s heart raced as he watched her body rise higher and higher. Four feet off the ground. Six feet. Was there hope for those who had fallen short?
Was there hope for him?
“No!” Marielle screamed as her hold was broken. She fell to the ground, and with a final whoosh, the wind was gone.
All was quiet except for the sound of her weeping. The air grew chilly again.
Connor felt his whole body sag. He should have known there was no hope. No forgiveness for the likes of him.
But Marielle—dammit, she was different. Her heart was pure. She still believed God was good. It made his heart ache to listen to her tears.
He walked to where she was huddled on the ground, leaning forward on her elbows, her shoulders shaking. “Are ye all right?” He winced at the stupid question.
“They left me behind,” she cried. “I’m all alone.”
“Nay, lass.” He fell to his knees, then picked the sheet off the grass and draped it over her back. “Ye’re no’ alone.”
She turned her head to peek at him. Her cheek glistened with tears. “Did you hear them? Did you hear the music?”
“Aye.”
She sat up, and the sheet slipped off her back. “Then you know how beautiful it is.”
“Aye.” He hastily wrapped the sheet around her.
She continued, oblivious to his roving eyes. “And now you understand why I need to go back. It’s where I belong.”
He tied the ends of the sheet over her right shoulder. “I couldna really see them, but I heard them. And felt them in the wind.”
She nodded. “The Heavenly Host. I’ve always been with them, since the moment of my creation. Their music is always in my head. We’re all connected, always sharing our thoughts and praise.”
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