Warrior (Fallen)

by Kristina Douglas

  Someone must have seen them arrive, because the Fallen poured out of the building, running across the lawn to surround them. He saw Tory push past the crowds, ignoring everyone, and he let her go.

  There was nothing he could do, not in the twenty-four hours she had left to live. Telling her he loved her would only make it worse. Of course, he already had, when he thought the euphoria would excuse it. But she believed that was a drug-induced lie.

  That didn’t mean he was going to give up without a fight. She had powers no one had imagined. And he could watch over her. Find others, trustworthy people like Asbel, who could keep an eye on her in the coming battle. He simply wasn’t going to let her die.

  I STRODE BLINDLY through the crowd, determined to get away from the questions and the curious eyes. Let the archangel deal with it. I had no idea where I was going, only that I needed to be alone, to think, to prepare.

  I was going to die. I think I’d always known it, deep in my heart. Not “someday,” but that my death was imminent, preordained—which explained why I had been so fearless no matter what dangers I faced or how insurmountable the odds. My death was set in stone, and nothing I did could influence that fact. And Michael had always known.

  I felt frozen. Weeping wouldn’t help; rage against the cruelty of an indifferent fate was useless. I could despise Michael’s betrayal, but that would get me nowhere. I simply had to endure.

  I passed more people hurrying toward the beach, but I kept my head down and no one stopped me as I made my way through the main building and into the annex that housed the workout room and my bedroom. And Michael’s monastic cell.

  For a moment I considered whether there was any revenge I could enact on his room, then dismissed the idea. Chances were he wouldn’t even go to his bed tonight, not with a battle on the horizon. He’d train all night.

  Unbidden, the memory rose of watching him pour water over his body, how it had sluiced down the lines of muscle and sinew on his lean skin, and I grew hotter. And angrier.

  All this time he knew I would die and he hadn’t told me. No wonder he’d agreed to marry me. One month and he’d be free—it was hardly an onerous task. And even with an end date, he still had been reluctant to bed me, the bastard! I could just imagine the weak excuses he’d come up with. None of them were acceptable.

  My room was just as I’d left it. I opened the french doors and took a deep breath of the sea air. When we’d first arrived I’d been too upset to notice, but now I could feel the calm benediction break over me as surely as if I were swimming in the icy surf. I knew the sea healed the Fallen, but it wouldn’t heal me. Perhaps I could tell Rachel or even Martha that I wanted to be buried at sea. There were worse places to spend eternity.

  I stepped out onto the beach, kicking off my shoes, my toes digging into the sand. I started up the beach, walking until I could no longer see the house or any of the Fallen clustered around Michael. There was a promontory, up high, and I decided to climb, scrambling up the sheer wall fearlessly. After all, there was no way I could fall to my death—I still had twenty-four hours to live.

  It took me close to an hour before I collapsed on the shelf of rock that overlooked the ocean. I could see for miles and miles, without a fallen angel in sight, and I felt a curious sense of peace settle over me.

  Back in the direction of the house, the Fallen had cleared the beach, probably training for tomorrow’s battle. I supposed I should be doing the same thing. Even if the outcome was foretold, I could make a difference.

  I’d do what I had to do. Kill if I had to, die when I needed to. It was out of my hands.

  I heard the sounds of wings on the air, and I felt hope surge in my heart. I was going to blister him, rip into him and tear him to shreds. I was going to push him off this cliff if he dared sit next to me, I was—

  Azazel alighted, carrying Rachel as effortlessly as Michael carried me, and I fought to ignore the searing disappointment. Of course Michael hadn’t come after me. I was nothing to him. He’d done what he had to do: brought me here to die. His work was done.

  “May I stay?” Rachel asked, stepping free of Azazel’s hold.

  I looked at her, considering. It was clear she had known of my death as well, yet she had said nothing. She was also the closest thing to a friend I had. “All right,” I said grudgingly.

  Without a word Azazel soared upward, and I watched, momentarily stunned by the grace and beauty of him. Would any of the Fallen die tomorrow? Oh, God, would Michael die?

  I tamped down the fear as I looked at Rachel. Her red hair was tied at the nape of her neck, and she wore the white training clothes that were the default uniform for the army of the Fallen. I, however, was still wearing aqua capris from the ranch house. Absurd.

  “I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me there’s a way out of dying,” I said caustically.

  Rachel shook her head. “I only wish I could. Martha and Allie and I have looked at it in every way possible, but there seems to be no way to change it.”

  “So be it.” I stared out at the sea. “Then why are you here? If you’re going to tell me to forgive Michael, you’re wasting your time.”

  “Forgive him for what? For not telling you that you’re going to die? That’s hardly a crime. What would you have done had you known? How would that have helped things?”

  She was being practical and I wasn’t in the mood for it. “I would have gotten the hell away from here,” I said stonily.

  “It wouldn’t do any good. You’re going to die on our beach. You can’t run away from it. If you could, I would help you.”

  “I had no intention of running away from it.” I was thoroughly sulky by this time and wallowing in it. “But at least I would have had a chance to experience life. I wanted . . . I wanted everything. I wanted passion and grand adventure. I wanted sex and devotion and love. . . .” My voice had an annoying tendency to crack on that. “And instead I get His Scum-Sucking Holiness, the asshole Archangel Michael.”

  “Indeed,” Rachel said. “Your prayers were answered.”

  I jerked around to look at her. “You’re kidding.”

  She shook her head. “Think about it. Think about Michael. Think about what you know to be true.”

  I pushed that knowledge away, still too angry. “He’s been nothing but a pain in the ass.”

  “That’s Michael for you. At least he wasn’t trying to kill you, like Azazel was when he came after me. Count your blessings.”

  That managed to shock me. “He was trying to kill you?”

  “Rather than submit to the prophecy that we were going to be married.”

  “Isn’t that a little extreme?” I said sarcastically.

  “You’ve seen Azazel. What do you think?”

  I pictured the cool, beautiful man who seldom left Rachel’s side. “I assume he changed his mind.”

  Her small, secret smile twisted my stomach. I wanted to have that kind of smile when I thought about Michael. “He did,” she said, and for a moment she seemed lost in reverie. Then she looked back at me. “If attempted murder didn’t interfere with our falling in love, then you shouldn’t let this interfere with you and Michael. You’re running out of time to be happy, Tory.”

  I glared at her. “Thanks for reminding me. Okay, I forgive him. He was simply being kind. Now go away and leave me alone.” I looked around us for Azazel, but for once he was nowhere to be seen.

  “I told him to give us some time,” she said, correctly reading my glance. “I don’t think you want to die filled with rage.”

  “You know, it’s supposed to happen in the middle of a pitched battle. I imagine rage is helpful in such situations.”

  She laughed. “You’ll feel better if you’re fighting side by side with him.”

  “Michael is a man who fights on his own. He may be a genius at military tactics and unstoppable when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, but he doesn’t play well with others.”

  “I think he probably plays very well with yo
u.”

  I blushed. I could feel my skin heat, and my skin was so fair everything showed on it. “Admittedly, the sex was good,” I allowed.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Only good?”

  I grew hotter. “All right, great. Amazing. Stupendous. Unearthly. Satisfied?”

  “It’s your satisfaction we’re talking about, not mine.”

  “What is it you want from me?” I let out a growl of frustration.

  “I want you to forgive Michael.”

  “So he doesn’t have to feel guilty when I bite the bullet?”

  “No. I don’t know if anything will help Michael when you die. Losing your mate is a traumatic thing, and Michael isn’t particularly adaptable. I want you to forgive him for your sake.”

  “So I can die happy?” I said caustically.

  “I can’t change your dying, Tory.” Rachel’s voice was full of pain. “I just don’t want your last hours eaten up with anger at the man you love.”

  “Love?” I sputtered. “You think I love that son of a bitch?”

  “Do you deny it?” Her eyes were warm and soothing.

  “Of course not. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Then forgive him.”

  As if by magic, Azazel appeared overhead, alighting on the promontory once more. I looked at him, remembering Rachel’s words. He looked fully capable of cold-blooded murder. If Rachel could forgive him, I certainly ought to be able to forgive Michael.

  “Don’t worry,” I said airily. “He’s forgiven. You can tell him so.”

  “It would be better if you did.”

  “There’s a limit to what I’m willing to do.”

  Rachel rose and stepped into Azazel’s arms. “Do you want me to send someone to fly you back down? The hill is treacherous—you’re the first person who’s ever managed to climb it.”

  I shook my head. “Can’t die till tomorrow, remember? I’ll be fine. I just need some time alone.” No way I was leaving this bluff till I was good and ready.

  I watched them soar upward against the sky, incredibly graceful, and fresh pain speared into me. Did Michael and I look like that when he carried me?

  The wind was chilly on my bare arms as it blew in across the ocean, and the rock I sat on was growing cold and uncomfortable. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to move until I had made some kind of peace with this.

  The sun was sinking toward the horizon, its rays spreading across the rough waters, sending a shaft of orange across the waves. I watched in bemusement as the sun began to set on my last full day, and then everything became crystal clear. I knew what I had to do.

  I climbed down the ledge, carefully, despite my assertion that I couldn’t be killed. For all I knew, I could end up a crumpled bloody heap at the base of the cliff and not actually expire from my injuries until the next day. I slid once, scraping my hands and ripping the knees of the stupid capri pants, but I finally made it back to the beach in one piece, just as darkness closed in.

  It was then I realized I was famished. I seemed to have spent most of my life since I left the castello expiring of hunger. I mentally composed a menu for my last supper—every single damned thing I wanted, and to hell with the calories. Pasta quattro formaggio with Gorgonzola. It had to have the bite of the Gorgonzola. Broiled trout with lemon sauce. Chocolate torte, the richer the better, and fresh whipped cream. With perhaps some spinach risotto, a nice white wine with some heft to it, and Moët champagne with the dessert. At that point I figured I’d be so full I’d roll into bed and sleep like the dead. Until it was time to die.

  When I stepped into my room, I could smell the lovely scent of chocolate on the air, and the covered trays were waiting on the glass coffee table. I did like Sheol. I wasn’t sure just how far the magic extended, but there was no way I was going to eat before I took a shower and changed my clothes.

  I looked at the table sternly. “Stay warm,” I told it, in the same tone of voice I’d use on a well-trained pet, and disappeared into the shower.

  I took my time—even cold, that food would be delicious—and dumped my torn rags into the trash with only the slightest pang. I remembered Michael’s hands unfastening the buttons of my blouse, sliding beneath my waistband as the euphoria made him say things he would never say, never believe in this lifetime. It had been glorious while it lasted, but everyone had to wake up eventually. Just as well I only had a short time to deal with the fallout.

  The food was still hot and utterly delicious, but for some reason I wasn’t in the mood for the impressive pig-out I’d planned. I had some of everything, a few mouthfuls of wine, two bites of chocolate cake with fresh whipped cream dolloped over it. And then I covered the trays and stood, restless.

  The wind had picked up, stirring the already turbulent waves, blowing in the open doors. I stretched out on the sofa, letting the breeze blow over me, feeling the emotions rise and the smell and the feel of the ocean reaching into my bones. Looking out, I saw that the moon was almost full, sitting high overhead in the ink-dark sky.

  He wasn’t coming. Of course he wasn’t. He was under no compulsion, no euphoria-induced affection, no orders from the Fallen. The only reason he would come to me was if he wanted to. Needed to.

  The only way he’d ever come close had been at my urging. Each time we’d had sex, it had been at my instigation.

  I could do it again. Go to him, and he would treat me tenderly, because he felt guilty. He would give me blindingly wonderful sex, because he could. He would pleasure my body, but my heart would feel emptier than ever.

  It was the last night of my life, and I wanted to spend it with him.

  Just not enough to beg.

  I moved through my rooms, turning off the lights. The moon shone in from the beach, filling the place with a silvery light. I went into the bathroom to change, and when I came out the dishes were gone. Magic or miracle? It didn’t matter.

  The silk nightgown flowed around my body. It had always been there, purportedly for my wedding night. For my valedictory night it would do just fine—I wore it to please myself. It was made of soft, twisted panels of white fabric, and it hugged my body like a caress. I looked in the mirror, and all I needed was a laurel wreath to complete the picture. I looked like the goddess I was. A goddess who could send lightning bolts and destroy angels, but a mortal one, without the power to make one man love her. If I had to be an ancient Roman goddess, why the hell couldn’t I have been Venus? I bet she never had trouble with her love life.

  No self-pity, I reminded myself, turning off the bathroom light. I pushed back the covers and stretched out on the bed.

  I could see the moonlit water from my bed if I put my head at the foot and lay on my stomach. I shifted, staring out into the night, and a curious peace settled over me as I listened to the sound of the surf.

  I jerked awake to see him standing in my open doors with the water rough and wild behind him. He just stood there, watching me out of his dark, fathomless eyes.

  “I need to make a confession,” he said, his rich, warm voice still able to make my blood dance beneath my skin.

  I raised my head, but I didn’t move from my hopefully provocative position. “I don’t want to hear your confession,” I said. “I don’t need it.”

  “What do you need?”

  In the end men, even archangels, were simple creatures. They were no good at inferring, guessing, coming to conclusions. They needed to be told. “You,” I said.

  In the moonlight I could see the slash of white as he smiled. “Good,” he said, and came into the room.

  I rolled over on my back, looking up at him.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, his fingers catching the folds of the silk nightgown. “Where did this come from?”

  “It’s always been here,” I said, suddenly nervous. “I think it was supposed to be for my wedding night.”

  “It looks like something Rachel thought of.”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “I like you better out of it.�
�

  So should I sit up and struggle out of the complicated bands of the nightdress? Maybe this was a bad idea—

  “You know what I think, Victoria Bellona?”

  “I have no idea, Your Impeccable Angelic Magnificence.”

  He choked with laughter. “That’s the best so far, but a little unwieldy for sex talk. I was thinking”—his hand slid up my leg, taking the filmy nightgown with it—“that you haven’t been properly seduced.”

  I swallowed. The touch of his hand on my skin was having its usual effect on me. “What are you going to do, bring me flowers and chocolates?”

  “I think we’re a little past that, don’t you? But I’m not sure we’re past me convincing you to go to bed with me. You have so many reasons to say no.”

  I couldn’t think of one at that particular moment—but I took his word for it.

  “I think,” he continued, and his hand reached my thigh, “that I need to work very hard to make sure you don’t regret this. I need to show you a very good time.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want tonight to be about me.”

  He looked at me for a long moment. “You want it to be about us,” he said.

  It didn’t matter if he’d cheated by reading my mind. Just the fact that he knew without my telling him was enough. “Yes,” I whispered.

  He cupped my chin, leaning down to kiss me. “You’re going to break my heart,” he said finally.

  I wanted to lessen the tension with a snappy “Are you sure you have one?” but something stopped me. The time for banter was past.

  So I said nothing at all, and neither did he, as he slid his other hand behind my head, bringing me to him, his long fingers kneading my scalp, holding me still for his soft, seductive kiss.

  It started slow, a soft nibble on my lips, just a taste, almost curious, and when I tried to deepen the kiss he pulled away. “Uh-uh, Victoria Bellona,” he said. “You’re not rushing this. We’re taking our time, and I’m going to savor every square inch of your skin.”