by Brenda Huber
Carly plucked at her lower lip with her thumb and forefinger. Her expression was a tangle of confusion. “Honestly? At first, yeah. He was bigger than Ronové, scarier. I mean, he singlehandedly fought and killed so many of Ronové’s followers, not to mention battling Ronové himself, and he walked away without a scratch. But when he came to me—” She shook her head, lifting a helpless shoulder. “He said I was safe. And I felt safe, crazy as that sounds.” Their eyes met, and she admitted, “I don’t understand it. He looked just like the others. But he was different.” Her voice trailed away as her frown deepened.
“Looks can be deceiving.” Then again, a leopard was still a leopard, spots be damned. Niklas strode to the small cabinet above the sink. Pulling the door open, he peered at the contents of his cupboard. “Are you hungry? You’re probably in shock. You should eat something.” He shoved aside a partial package of chocolate chip cookies. A half-empty can of Pringles. A stale loaf of bread; he had nothing to go on it. He could conjure something inside the cabinet and she wouldn’t be able to see—
“Oh my God!”
“What?” He spun about, scanning the room for the cause of her distress. Had the ward stones failed? Had one of Ronové’s minions managed to track them? Surely he would have felt their presence. But her horrified stare was locked on…on him.
She bounded to her feet and closed the distance between them. The knowledge that she’d felt safe with him had filled him with such longing, with such unbridled hope, that all thought of his scars had momentarily fled him. She darted around until she stood behind him. He’d never allowed anyone at his back, not even Xander, and he was as close to a friend as Niklas had. Yet he found himself standing still, breathing suspended, as he waited. Would she touch him? It would strain his control to the very breaking point. He should be praying with every last ounce of breath in his body that she stepped away.
Sweet Christ, please let her touch me.
The heat of her fingertips traced, feather soft, over his broad shoulders and down, angling toward his shoulder blades, hesitating. And then she touched them, the massive sweeps of puckered scar tissue marring his back. His breath left him in a tormented hiss. Her hands on his flesh had stunned him immobile, sending currents of fire coursing through his veins. He couldn’t move, couldn’t pull away. But her fingertips didn’t stop at the edge of his scars. Her fingertips traced the line of his spine down, down, so slowly, as if she were memorizing the texture of his skin. His eyelids drifted closed of their own volition, and he quelled a shiver.
His body rigid with lust, he turned to face her.
“What happened to you?” Carly whispered, her eyes round, horrified. The rainbow of colors swirling around her shifted once more, stabbing at his vision, and his body went taut with a whole new emotion. He wouldn’t take pity from her. Not from anyone. The loss of his wings had been a blow from which he still had yet to recover.
“Where did you get those scars?” She frowned. He could almost see the wheels turning in her quick mind, and in seconds, she gasped aloud. Her eyes widened, and she backed away until the sofa hit the back of her legs. Off balance in more ways than one, she plopped down and mumbled, “Wings?” She lifted a hand to cover her mouth. And then she met his steely stare. “You had wings—”
“Exactly.” Though he tried with all his might, he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. Just as he couldn’t strike it from his heart. “That’s what happens when an angel falls. His wings are ripped from him.” He could have bitten his tongue off as soon as the words left his mouth. Her face had turned pale. She looked as if she might become ill.
“How did you survive that, Niklas? Those scars are—”
“Are not up for discussion,” he ground out, turning away. He could all but feel her gawking at the badges of his disgrace. He imagined her disgust, her horror…or worse, her pity. His patience was already stretched thin, so he changed the subject. “You need to get something in your system, something hot and sweet or—”
“Who was that other demon, Niklas?” Subdued. Determined.
Slowly, he closed the cabinet door. His honor would not permit him to lie to her. Releasing a resigned sigh, he abandoned the distraction of the cabinet and faced her. Preparing himself to shimmer in front of the door again, Niklas stared at her, long and hard.
“Me.”
Chapter Four
“You?” Confusion, disbelief flooded her. What he claimed was too preposterous to be true. Wasn’t it? She’d seen that great, black monster with her own eyes. That demon had looked nothing like the incredibly sexy man standing across the room from her.
Except for those eyes—
“Damn it,” he muttered beneath his breath, glancing away. Then, as if firming his resolve, he faced her—pinning her in place with those mesmerizing eyes—and advanced on her, his stride purposeful. Intimidating.
So very much like the way that demon had stalked toward her…
Say something, anything to break this tension, she told herself. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. Yet she leaned back, pressing against the cushions as cold dread seeped through her. “You’re joking, right? This is all a prank. One really big, really screwed up prank.”
But his scars—
Wings.
“Show me,” she challenged, swallowing back the fear. He hadn’t hurt her. Not yet anyway. And it just wasn’t in her to cower. “If you’re a demon, then show me. Change, or do whatever it is that you do.”
“I’m not a circus performer,” he snapped, halting less than a foot from her.
She’d clearly offended him, but she wanted answers. She wanted the truth. “Look, if you can’t—”
“I didn’t say I can’t. I said I’m not a circus performer. And no, before you push the issue, I will not change simply to satisfy your curiosity. Though it would probably be the most expedient way of convincing you. My head’s already killing me. Changing back and forth would just make the headache that much worse right now.” His expression, already grim, turned downright fearsome. “I wouldn’t risk it anyway. When I go demonic, it’s hard to come back. Difficult to remember why I decided to seek absolution in the first place. The temptation to stay demonic is nearly impossible to resist.” He broke off abruptly, shaking his head and slashing a hand through the air, adamant. “No. Just no.”
“Okay,” she conceded. She may—or may not—have believed him at this point. But that didn’t mean she was ready to tempt fate either, if what he said was true.
Niklas sat down on the coffee table directly in front of her. Their knees brushed, and nerves fluttered low in the pit of her stomach. Despite his wild claims, the pull of him was magnetic. He flinched, rubbed his eyes, blinking hard at her as if suddenly having difficulty with his vision. Frowning, Niklas shook his head slightly and drew a deep breath, focusing on her with renewed intensity, dragging her into a mesmerized limbo. She literally felt herself sinking, unable, unwilling to break the connection.
“You must take everything I tell you as the truth,” he insisted gruffly.
“Huh?” She shook herself free, feeling adrift in a sea of confusion. Centering her focus, she held her hands up. “Just wait a minute. You’re trying to make me believe that you are a demon? Come on! Angel, yes, quite possibly. But one of those monsters in the park? No way.”
“I was an angel. An Archangel, in fact, yes,” he insisted. “What do you think happens to us when we fall, other than that we lose our wings? We become monsters, Carly. We become the nightmare.” He stared at her with such intensity she couldn’t find it in herself to doubt his words. “You must listen to me. You must take heed.”
Unbelievable.
Okay, fine. She would listen. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was going to believe everything he said. A fool she was not. Despite the fact that he called to her on some level she had no way of comprehending, she
didn’t know him from Adam. She might still be naïve about some things, but she’d never been one to fall for the old trust me song and dance.
“What I’m about to tell you will be difficult for you to hear, but you must listen.” He raked a hand through his hair, licked his lips. “You must listen, and you must believe that I wouldn’t hurt you.”
She watched his mouth, and her mind wandered for a moment. Smooth, sensual lips surrounded by several days’ growth of prickly black stubble. What would it feel like to have those lips on hers? What would it feel like to have that stubble scrape upon her skin? Down the side of her neck. Across her chest.
A shiver went through her. She moistened her lower lip and caught it between her teeth.
Niklas’s scowl deepened and he blinked at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he forced a swallow.
She let her attention wander to his neck, to the frantic movement of his pulse before sliding down over the defined muscles of his smooth chest and ridged abdomen. Would his skin be salty against her tongue? Hot?
Gasping, she jerked her alarmed gaze to his face. Heavens, she’d been all but eating the poor man alive with her eyes. Heat flooded her cheeks. A wanton, sensual hussy had somehow stolen inside her body. That just wasn’t her.
Nevertheless, how could she not fantasize, just a little? Once the shock of waking in a strange apartment with an unfamiliar man had worn off, and she’d come to grips with what she’d witnessed in the park earlier—though she wasn’t altogether certain she had just yet—she hadn’t been able to push this uncomfortable attraction for him aside. Somehow, someway, her hormones had run away with her, leaving her drooling after this man, this potentially psychotic stranger.
What is wrong with me?
He leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees. When he moved, his well-defined muscles flexed with the sensual grace of a natural-born predator. She should give him his shirt back. Then there wouldn’t be quite so much of him to ogle. It was his fault, of course. She’d never been the kind of woman to ogle a man. Not until he’d come along, all shirtless and gorgeous. All that sexy bare skin. All those lean, rippling muscles that just went on and on and on and—
Oh, who was she trying to fool? She’d still have ogled.
Criminy, I’ve become an ogler!
She barely resisted the urge to fan herself. When had it gotten so hot in here?
Appalled by her own lack of self-restraint, she shifted uncomfortably on the sagging cushions. With great difficulty, she managed to look elsewhere. But that action had pitfalls as well. It forced her to focus on his words. Or rather, the sound of his voice.
A voice that moved over her—through her—like a lover’s caress. Familiar. Eagerly anticipated. Drawing her attention right back to him. His hair was the silky blue-black of a raven’s wing, waving around his head in a damp, wild tangle that made her fingers ache to smooth through the dark allure. The scent of him—spice and heat and raw sex, a scent she’d never before experienced—affected her as she imagined fine, aged whiskey might. Exquisite. Heady. Leaving her lightheaded and gasping for air.
Everything about Niklas was a sensual lure her body was hard-pressed to ignore.
“Are you listening to me?”
“I’m sorry, what?” She’d been watching his lips move, savoring the tenor of his voice, but she’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t really paid any attention to the actual words. She lifted her brows. Her study in innocence soon turned to a frown of confusion.
His expression was distinctly alarmed now. His hands gripped the edge of the coffee table on either side of his thighs. His knuckles were white.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” Nothing lover-like in his tone that time.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “My mind wandered.”
Niklas jerked his head away. He scowled at the far wall. Glancing back from the corner of his eye, as if he might find something disturbing should he look directly at her, he skimmed the air around her. His scowl grew so frightening she cringed. He turned his focus away again and shifted in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“Son of a—” His hand swiped over his mouth, muting the rest. Fine dots of sweat had begun to bead his brow.
Alarmed, she sat there, unsure what to do. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting so erratically? Was he ill?
He lurched to his feet and swept a hand around to knead at the back of his neck. Niklas prowled to the window. He faced her, turned away, and then returned yet once more as he set to pacing between the door and the window. He was like a panther, powerful and unpredictable, prowling in a cage much too small for him.
“What’s the matter?” she blurted. Her fingertips rubbed at the scratch on her throat again. The uncomfortable ache had slowly morphed into an outright, itchy burn. It took all her willpower not to use her nails.
“You haven’t been listening to a word I just said,” he accused.
“Jeez. I said I was sorry,” she snapped, crossing her arms. Her temper sparked. “I’ve had a lot to cope with tonight. Cut me a little slack here.”
And, on top of it all, now he expected her to believe he was a demon too. And not just any demon, but the nightmare that sent all the other little demons running in terror.
The scars on his back, and his eerie eyes—how could she discount that?
Heaving a sigh, she folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. Tell me again. I promise I’ll listen.” She probably would have been able to follow his explanation better, but a strange throbbing was slowly starting to build at the base of her skull. The pain was muffling her senses, making her feel as if her brain were slowly being wrapped in cotton.
Glowering, Niklas stopped pacing. He took two steps across the void, as if he meant to return to the coffee table, but then he seemed to change his mind. He pulled the single chair from the small dining table, and sat there instead, his ankle propped on his knee.
“You believe in Christian teachings? You know of Lucifer’s betrayal and the Great Battle in which he and his followers were cast from Heaven?”
She nodded, her focus trained on his eyes. She wouldn’t give in to the urge to stare at his mouth again. She’d never been so fascinated by a man’s mouth before. Blinking, she absently massaged her temple. This strange attraction—hell, call it what it was, a crazy uncharacteristic obsession—was so far out of her experience she didn’t know how to deal with it. Then again, she’d never had a headache come on so quickly either.
“When we were cast down, each of us was punished for our most heinous sin, or our most prideful vanity. Each of us lost our gift. To compensate, Lucifer bestowed upon his followers specialized powers.”
Frowning, she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Like what?”
He considered his words for a moment. “While still an Archangel, Xander—the associate I mentioned earlier—possessed a voice that made all the other angels weep for the beauty of it. But there was more. His voice was so…so compelling, he could influence another’s will, make them do his bidding without even trying. When he fell, his voice was taken from him, turned gravelly and harsh. So rough he rarely speaks at all now. But he gained other powers.” He paused then, seeming to weigh his words before adding, “Well, he used to have other powers. Some of them have recently…changed.”
“So Xander is now a demon? That’s what you’re telling me? That you both are demons.”
Niklas nodded. “He is—was the Slayer, the right hand of Lucifer. It was his job to track down and kill any who rebelled against Lucifer’s reign.”
“But you’re saying he no longer follows Lucifer, right?”
“That is correct.”
“How many angels fell?”
His expression grim, he replied, “In the beginning, there were but a few small legions. Carefully kept track of, carefully managed. But the daughte
rs of man drew us, a temptation our kind couldn’t resist, and our numbers quickly multiplied. Wars broke out amongst us, battles for power and position. Alliances formed and dissolved, just as it is in the world of man. Now”—Niklas heaved a weary sigh, looking suddenly tired—“there are too many to count.”
Oh, that didn’t sound good. Not at all.
“And how many are there like you? Demons seeking redemption?”
“Five that we know of.” He gave a small shrug. “Myself. The Slayer, ah, Xander. Gideon, Sebastian, and Mikhail. The five of us seek to atone for our sins. We protect the innocent from those loyal to Lucifer, and from those who’ve defected and are hiding on this plane. From those who have escaped Hell but have no interest in returning to God’s light. They live alone or in packs called nests. Those demons are treacherous and lethal. As powerful as the five of us are, even we’ve learned to tread carefully around nests. Those rabid packs have loyalty to none but themselves.”
Five seeking forgiveness.
Five against too many to count.
“So Xander was the Slayer,” she recited, brimming with curiosity despite the distracting headache and the burn at her throat. “What were the others? Gideon and Sebastian and Mikhail?”
Niklas was quiet for a long moment. Had she pressed too hard? Her curiosity often got the better of her, pushing her to delve where she ought not go. You’d think, after the way the situation in the park had panned out, she’d know better.
Obviously not.
He lowered his foot to the floor, leaned forward, and placed his elbows on his knees, mirroring her. “Gideon was the Demon of Temptation. Sebastian, the Demon of Vengeance. And Mikhail, the Demon of War.”
“Demon of War?” She leaned forward, frowning. “You mean like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?”
Niklas arched an eyebrow, but kept his lips firmly sealed. His expression was inscrutable.
Silence stretched on, leaving her imagination to make of it what she would. Nervous now, she toyed with the thick, silver ring on the middle finger of her left hand. God help her, she was starting to believe him.