by Tigris Eden
He needed Azazel to find the Book. He needed the Book to stop an impending war. If the Book wasn’t found, everything that remained balanced would come unhinged. Something the Black Prince would never let him live down. He couldn’t stand the male, but he knew from working with him in the past that he was correct. But with him off-world, there was no one left to help. Everyone was dealing with their own personal agendas. And all of it led back to the Book. Isaiah just needed to find it. If he did, all their troubles would cease. At least, that was the hope.
The mortals had had it backward for thousands of years, telling tales of their gods and the gods’ enemies. What they failed to realize was that the deities were at a standstill, and war wouldn’t happen if order was maintained. There was one sovereign, one maker. But he’d also dispatched factions, who in one way or another, were each a part of him. Vessels he controlled. And each vessel served multiple purposes. They were one and the same. One person’s god, could be another person’s devil.
There hadn’t been a battle for power in five millennia. The Book had gone missing right around the same time Azazel had fallen. There was unrest between the factions, and though His Majesty was taking a silent seat in all of this, the Order comprehended what would happen if the Book ended up in the wrong hands. The Gates would be opened, and Hell would do more than cover the realms with its filth. The inhabitants would feast on souls until there was nothing left but a wasteland of emptiness.
Many had talked of the cleansing, but that was what it was. Talk. If this type of purification were allowed to happen, there would be nothing left to rebuild. Zariel’s decree was final. They had to find the Book. Alliances were being made behind the scenes. It was even said that He who walks amongst the mortals had taken up a side. Fucking politics. Entities throwing around their cocks and blades to see who’d draw first blood, inciting war.
Isaiah pulled into the driveway of his farmhouse, set back behind vast, sprawling oaks and away from prying eyes. He gently pulled the human out of the car and opened the front door. Although he missed his home in his realm, he would miss being here more. The farmhouse was one of the many pleasures he allowed himself while visiting Earth’s realm. He didn’t like the human inhabitants, but there was something to be said about Earth’s landscape. The vibrant greens, and the changing horizons put his tumultuous mind at ease. The longer he stayed on Earth, the harder it became to leave. That’s what’d happened to Metatron. It’d been two hundred years since their general had left, and no one understood why—except for the warrior himself. He went out after a Demon, and even once the Demon had been destroyed, Metatron never returned.
At the time, no one believed that anything was wrong. Everyone had assumed he stepped down, handing Isaiah his position. Isaiah had walked to Metatron’s hall to ask him about the sudden change, but when he entered, his brother was gone.
Isaiah shook the memory out of his head and walked inside, turning on the lights. He headed toward the bedroom, carrying the female in his arms. Holding her had been harder than he realized. Everything about her enticed him, caused the nerves in his body to come alive with arousal—something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Something he should not be conscious of now. He gently laid her on the bed.
Closing the door behind him as he left, Isaiah hoped it would be enough to put distance between them. Yeah, right. Her fragrance had attached itself to his clothes. Everything primal and carnal within him screamed for him to take her. He needed a cold shower, or a way to handle his lust.
He rubbed at the tension in his neck and detoured toward the kitchen. A glass of water would put his mind at ease. He pulled out his cell from his pocket and let out a silent curse. It was busted. Isaiah left the smashed phone on the counter and reached inside the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Ice-cold liquid slid down the back of his throat, calming his nerves.
The evening had not gone according to plan. Azazel was still out there, and now Isaiah had a mortal to babysit. It didn’t matter if she smelled terrific. He didn’t need or want the distraction. Emptying the contents of the bottle, Isaiah decided to head back out to the car to ascertain what information he could about the human. But even as he thought that, he imagined her warm smell infusing its tantalizing richness into his sheets, his pillow.
This was all kinds of bad. It’s all kinds of fucked up. He needed his head examined.
Isaiah grabbed her purse and walked back inside to sit on the couch. Inside the bag, he found her driver’s license and scanned the information. Her name was Dalila Miller.
Her first name’s Egyptian. Interesting.
He set her keys and wallet back inside her purse and rested his head on the back of the couch. He might as well sleep. She wouldn’t be waking for a few hours. Sleep was overrated, but he knew without it, his strength would wane. He just didn’t like the dreams that followed him into the darkness.
Still, he drifted off…
Dawn had come again, and his men were getting restless. They too wanted to celebrate their brother’s mating ceremony. The Nubi were fierce and loyal to their mates but had only one rule. The ceremony could only be performed in the company of their sisters. No other males were allowed, except for the one who was to be mated. It was a rule they understood too well.
There was only one woman for each of them, determined from the time they were born. Their mates would release them from their burdens and fill their empty hearts. Until then, their hearts beat for one sole purpose: to protect, honor, and obey their god.
The collars were given to each Angel the moment they decided to join the Order. They were told if they fought for the good of everyone, they would someday earn their freedom, becoming Omurukai—the Everlasting Immortal. There weren’t many Omurukai, the elite warriors of the Order made whole by their mates. Once they were joined, they’d become complete in everything it meant to be a Burning One. They fought and loved with a fierceness capable of bringing any Demon, mortal, or other to their knees. Today, that would be Raphael.
He’d been in service to their god for over twelve hundred years, and by chance, he’d met his soulmate, Seraphina in the market in Aswan. She’d been out looking for pottery when Raphael found her.
Suddenly, there was a loud battle cry in the entryway of the hall. The warriors stood, looking at the door to see what had happened.
“What is it?” Grey, the fiercest of his brothers, spoke first.
Zariel walked into the dining hall, his clothes covered in blood. Isaiah recognized the head of his brother before he noticed the heart in his high commander’s hand. Bloodcurdling roars shook the dining hall. Vengeance would be theirs. Raphael’s dead eyes were open in terror, his collar still attached to his neck, which had been severed from his body. His sightless gaze focused on his brothers with an emptiness that made chills erupt along Isaiah’s spine.
Isaiah woke with a start and noticed that morning had come quickly. The nightmare always came to him when he slept. Raphael’s body had never been found. But in his dreams, Isaiah always imagined what the scene would have looked like had they all been gathered outside the hall for their brother’s mating ceremony. His body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and his heart beat a rapid staccato in his chest. Groaning, he went to the sink to wash his face. Making his way back to the fridge, he grabbed another bottle of cold water. He walked to the center of the room and stared down the hall to the closed door behind which the mortal woman still slept. He crept down the corridor, easing the door open. His intention was to wake her and explain that last night’s events had not gone down the way she might have imagined it. He would soothe her with his words, apologize for scaring her, and try and keep her safe. Unable to remove her memory now that he’d touched her, he would just have to make something up.
She was still asleep, lying on her stomach. One hand was under the pillow, the other under her chin. Her cottony curls lay spread out across the pillowcase, still soft and in place. The sun kissed her skin from where the rays shone through the
bedroom window. Bronzed to perfection with a golden glow, there wasn’t a blemish on her face. Isaiah’s chest expanded from his large intake of breath, but it got stuck.
He shouldn’t be hesitating. He shouldn’t linger and stare like a man in the early stages of desire. He was a hard, fierce warrior among fighters. Isaiah palmed the back of his neck and squeezed hard.
Here comes the fun shit.
Silently, he willed her to wake.
Ω Ω Ω
Dalila hugged her pillow close as she sank further into the most remarkable scent her nose had ever smelled. Clean rain and earth greeted her nostrils. She inhaled deeply and wondered if maybe the hotel had the fragrance bottled so she could sprinkle it all over her skin. The scent surrounded her, imprinting the aroma onto her very being. There was no way in hell she was going to get out of bed. Not today. Not ever. She’d lay right here for the remainder of her days until the smell faded.
Yesterday had been a complete disaster. Dalila still needed to call her boss and take the day off. What she couldn’t wrap her mind around was whether last night had really happened at all. The last thing she remembered was being held by a tall, brooding man with eyes so powerful a storm brewed in their depths.
She stretched. No way in hell last night happened. She must have driven herself to a hotel. Then what happened? She didn’t normally have missing time. Well, not anymore. She had gone through a phase when she was younger when she’d wake up from terrible nightmares of death and screaming. But it had all been her brilliant imagination as a child.
Dalila sat up and leaned over, pressing her head into her hands. The pain of what had driven her out last night came rushing back and sliced her brain like a knife. Funny. Her heart clearly wasn’t all that damaged. The events that had taken place were more of a headache than anything else.
So, what does that say about the relationship, Lila, huh?
Jared, at their home, telling Dalila she needed to pack up and leave. He’d told her that she wasn’t woman enough and couldn’t give him what he needed. Prick. Then he had the nerve to flaunt Bimbo Barbie Amanda in front of her. The bitch was lucky she still had her limbs.
Delila hated their home; it was more Jared’s than hers. But bringing another woman into their shit had just been a bit too much for her to handle. Dalila squeezed her eyes shut. She could remember the feel of her veins on the side of her head, ready to pop. She had known that the bastard would be the death of her if she allowed him to continue treating her as if she were the problem.
Dalila propelled her body back onto the bed to get closer to the scent. It was affable and comforting, and her head bounced twice as she landed on the mattress and pillows. She balled her hands into fists, closed her eyes tighter and planted her feet at the edge of the bed. Then she took a deep breath to inhale the scent of clean rain and hot earth. Wow, somehow, it had gotten even stronger.
Must be one of those pillows that emits a smell as you jostle it around…do they even make those?
Letting out a groan and a curse, she threw herself out of bed, stood, and stretched, turning to her left and then to her right. Her blood froze, yet heat seared her flesh. A man stood in the doorway. The same one she thought to be a figment of her imagination. Did last night really happen? His arms were folded across a well-chiseled chest as his body rested against the doorframe, affecting a stance that radiated all kinds of warnings. Danger and heat were two she could see first and foremost. He stared back at her with gunmetal-gray eyes, harsh lines furrowing his brows.
Breathing ceased. Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion. A strange sense of calm enveloped her like a warm blanket, almost making her close her eyes. Dalila shook the feeling off. She looked around for a blunt object to defend herself with. She wasn’t going to be a victim of kidnapping. He’d have to kill her, and she wasn’t giving up without a fight. Her personal horror movie would end now.
With a firm voice, she said, “Look, mister, I don’t know who the hell you are, but you better let me go. I don’t have anything you want. In fact, I have a scorching case of the clap. Raping me will only make your dick drip.”
Yeah, this is working.
He tilted his head to the side, studying her, then grunted like some mighty ass barbarian from Gladiator.
Someone can shout “cut” at any time here.
Shit. She was still scanning the room for a weapon.
“You’re neither sick nor suffering from any illness that would make my dick drip,” he stated clearly. He unfolded his arms, bracing them at his sides. “I’m not going to hurt you, mortal. You will not be suffering rape or any other bodily harm at my hands. But I would advise that you not try to harm yourself.” He grinned as if goading her, and then relaxed his position against the doorframe once more.
“Hurt myself?”
What the fuck is with the mortal bullshit? Is he trying a play for Comic Book Villains 101?
This time, he tossed her a lopsided grin and took a step into the room. Dalila almost forgot that she’d been kidnapped. He was a thing of masculine beauty. The harsh lines of his face disappeared, and in their place, she saw a man worth submitting to.
Oh, geez, no. Not this fantasy.
It was all those romance novels she devoured. Dalila needed to get a grip, reclaim reality, not drool over her captor. An image of soft lips kissing down her neck to her shoulder flashed briefly in her mind before she shook it off.
Focus, Lila, focus.
“Yeah, you’re looking for something to strike me with. I would strongly advise against that.”
Am I so easy to read?
Dalila gawked at him as if he’d grown two heads, an extra arm, and some other things she didn’t feel like imagining. Holy shit, Batman, the man was massive. Like on a ginormous scale of: I had two helpings of Wheaties and devoured a small country. Thick ropes of muscle screamed for breath as they flexed beneath his shirt. There was a long scar on his left forearm, jagged as if his skin had been ripped apart then put back together wrong. His eyes were dangerous. Kindhearted was clearly not his middle name.
He wasn’t unpleasant at all to look at. Quite the opposite, actually. He was death and sex incarnate. He oozed both qualities and had the devil-may-care attitude to match. He wore basic jeans and an understated gray shirt that complemented his gray eyes.
His skin had been warmed by the sun at least a dozen times, or maybe he frequented a tanning salon or a spray-tanner that was flawless in their work. He was a Titan. There were no words to describe the power that radiated into the room, permeating every nook and cranny.
Why the hell was she so focused on him? You’ve described a man that shouldn’t exist anywhere. This wasn’t one of her historical romance books, or a steamy, dark romance. This was fucking real. She glanced down at her feet and then back at his face. For a split-second, he seemed softer, and then the hardness was back. She couldn’t call him a soldier because his whole persona screamed: warrior.
The calm feeling rushed over her again. This time, she thought maybe it was her senses telling her that she wasn’t in danger. Her heart was singing a whole other tune: get the fuck out now, you’re in way over your head.
“Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it,” Dalila hissed.
“I have no doubt of that, mortal. But for now, let’s just say that you’re stuck with me until I’m finished here.”
“‘Finished here?’” Dalila’s voice squeaked.
And again with the mortal.
“You’re right to assume the worst. But there is something far worse out there.” He gestured toward the window. “If you try and leave without my escorting you, bad shit will happen. I don’t have time to babysit you either. Do us both a favor and just listen to my every word. If I say we’re moving, you move.”
He held up his hand to stay her words. “If I say you eat, you eat. Run, you better fucking run, or you will be sorry. Your life is now in my hands. And if you want to fucking keep it, stay the hell out of my w
ay and do as I say.”
Oh no, he didn’t.
Dalila squared her shoulders and stood straighter. She was not going to be pushed around by Mister Beefy; it just wasn’t going down like that. She was ending this movie right now.
“Now, you listen here.” Dalila took a small step forward and continued talking in a low, controlled voice. “For starters, I have a name, and it sure as hell isn’t ‘mortal.’ Another thing… you,”—she pointed at the large mass of a man—“just stay the fuck out of my way. I don’t care what you’re mixed up in. I don’t want any part of it. So just… Let. Me. Go.”
Her breathing harsh, she took a step back and tried to come to grips with her situation. Could things truly get any worse?
“I can’t, and I’m not going to hurt you.” He nodded in her direction and then took a deep breath. “Dalila, as soon as I find what I’m looking for and I know the guy I’m after won’t come after you, then you can leave. All right?”
“Wait...you know…you know my name?”
“I brought your purse in last night and went through your things,” he answered.
“You’re a cop?” Relief finally rushed through her bones, warming her skin. He was a cop. He certainly looked the type and was one magnificent officer at that. His coal-black hair rested, wildly unkempt, at his shoulders. He had a solid build.
What the heck, is that a collar around his neck?
She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but there it was, definitely a collar of some sort. The intricate patterns scrolling around the band drew her attention. Dalila couldn’t make out the symbols. It was weathered and worn, yet the markings on it seemed to shine on its dull shell. Dalila closed her eyes and shook her head to clear it. The warm glow of red that crept over her face was sure to be evident.
“Your name is Officer...?”