My Avenging Angel: Angels and Demons

by Madelyn Ford

  Michael sighed. Soon the sun would be setting and darkness would fall. He should get her up but he hated to disturb the peace. After making love Tory had quickly succumbed to sleep, saving him from having to answer the questions he’d glimpsed lurking in her eyes. How was he to tell her she would need to leave everything she’d ever known to be with him? Because he couldn’t let her go.

  “What time is it?” Tory asked, pulling him from his musings.

  His fingers curled around her hip, pulling her body flush with his. “Just a little after six,” he murmured against her lips before brushing them with his own. Her soft little moan had his dick hardening and if he hadn’t had a demon to worry about, Michael would have given his mate a proper hello.

  Instead, Michael forced himself to roll away from her. When it came to Tory, he was quickly realizing he had little to no control and the last thing he wanted was Asmodeus to come calling while he had his dick sunk deep within her pussy. Talk about getting caught with your pants down. It forced a smirk to settle on his face as he reached for his jeans and then slipped them over his legs and hips.

  His name, gently whispered from Tory’s lips, drew his attention back to his mate. “What is it, love?”

  She was biting her bottom lip, her gaze apprehensive, and Michael knew whatever was on her mind would likely make him uncomfortable.

  “We need to talk,” she said quietly, and he knew he’d been right.

  “We will, Tory. But first we need to dress. It is almost dark and Asmodeus could strike at any moment. We need to be prepared.”

  She studied him a moment and Michael wasn’t certain Tory would concede to his demands. It wasn’t like he had any compunction in forcing her to do his bidding. Hell, he’d throw her naked ass in the circle of protection she’d drawn if he thought for a second she’d stay there. If he only knew where the damn portal was, he’d take her to Heaven and never have to worry about the bastard harming her again.

  Jerking a T-shirt over his head, Michael realized at first light he’d have to start a hunt of his own. He had to find the entrance to Heaven.

  He pivoted then came to a swift stop when he realized Tory was right there anxiously watching him. She was already wearing the same jeans and sweatshirt he had stripped from her body not eight hours ago, and Michael longed to feel her naked skin plastered against his once again. Instead, he kissed her furrowed brow before stepping back lest he give into the temptation.

  “All right, love. Let’s talk, but not in here. Somewhere without a bed.”

  Glancing back at the object in question, he watched a little smile wash away the doubt on Tory’s face. If it hadn’t been like looking into a rainbow, Michael might have chastised her for her lack of faith. Instead he followed Tory from the bedroom, traveling down a narrow hallway to a steep staircase. At the bottom, in a small living room, he remained standing while Tory took a seat on the floral couch beneath the windowpane looking out onto the front yard. He watched her tug her bottom lip between her teeth, a habit he’d already come to associate with his mate’s feelings of anxiety.

  Her silence concerned him. Not wanting to take the chance she might try to flee, Michael took three cautionary steps closer until his shins rested against an old coffee table sitting in the middle of the room. There he stood, striving to wait for her to speak—she’d been the one who wanted to talk after all—but her hesitation quickly frayed Michael’s nerves. “Tory?” he finally questioned, unable to remain silent any longer.

  For a moment, he really thought she was going to completely ignore him. She refused to raise her head, her eyes fixed on her shoes, and Michael sighed. He was about to join her on the sofa when she spoke.

  “Did you mean it?” she asked in a breathless rush.

  Struggling to understand her question, he finally had to shake his head in confusion. “Mean what, love?”

  Again Tory hesitated, and Michael’s patience had come to an end. Sitting beside her, he lifted her head, forcing her eyes to meet his. Her bottom lip was once again captured between her teeth and, brushing a thumb over it, he encouraged her to set it free before she did any damage.

  “Victoria, I cannot assuage your fears if I do not understand what they are.”

  “You said you loved me,” came her quiet response, and he arched a black brow in confusion.

  “And I do.”

  “But we only just met.”

  So that was what had his mate in a tailspin. Funny, he’d considered many things to explain her unease, but never her doubting his feelings. “If I recall, you were the first to declare such sentiment.” Tory tried to glance away but Michael refused to release his hold, moving to frame her face with his palms. “I told you, Tory, you are my mate. I know for a human it can take longer, but for an angel it is instinctual. Our soul recognizes its other half almost immediately.”

  “But what if you are wrong?” she whispered and he sighed.

  “Does it feel like I am?”

  The denial, when it came, was not damn near quick enough for him. Michael couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He’d sensed her soul reach for his when they’d made love and he’d also felt his respond.

  “Damn it, I’m not wrong,” he answered, harsher than he’d intended. Tory tried to jerk away from him and he wrapped her in his arms in a silent apology, gentling his tone as he asked, “Didn’t you feel it, love, our souls merging at climax, becoming one?”

  “I thought…” Tory fell silent, hiding her face in his chest.

  Michael’s lips brushed the top of her head before rubbing his cheek against the silky strands of her hair. “You thought what?”

  “I thought it was different but I wasn’t certain.”

  He smiled into her blonde tresses, his arms reflexively tightening around her small frame. Tory had been a virgin so her confusion shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it had been centuries since Michael had even considered sex much less indulged in carnal relations. And still, he’d never lain with a human, only other angels. He couldn’t honestly say he’d been expecting the bliss he’d found in Tory’s arms.

  Suddenly, he felt her stiffening against him. “Tory?”

  “Michael, you have feared Gabriel’s fate all this time and yet have found yourself in the same position. I am not immortal.”

  The little hitch in her voice should have had him rolling in guilt, only Michael found satisfaction in his ability to deny her statement. But how to tell Tory she would never die naturally? He had enacted a fundamental change in her very DNA without bothering to consult her.

  Well, shit. “About that—”

  Any other time, an interruption would have put Michael on edge, but this time he gladly welcomed the mist beginning to swirl around their feet and the nasally male voice whispering, “Damn. He’s still here.”

  “Would you prefer he get a quick shag and run? Not with our girl.”

  “You do have a point, Samuel. However, I wouldn’t have thought one of his kind would sink so low as to fornicate period.”

  “Must be the whole soul-mate thing. Never seen two souls merge like that before. Damn near blinded me.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. While he had been a bit busy at the time, he was still pretty sure he would have realized if either of the spirits had been in the room when he and Tory had been making love.

  His mate, on the other hand, obviously believed the two—what had she called them—stooges. “You watched?” she squealed, lurching from his arms and jumping to her feet, confronting the two male spirits floating inches off the floor.

  Michael sighed. While he was thankful for the distraction, the last thing he wanted was Tory upset by their presence.

  “Well, of course we didn’t watch,” Sam reply indignantly. “Well…maybe some of it.”

  “Why you no good…” Tory snapped, taking a threatening step toward the spirits.

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, Michael halted her progress, not at all certain exactly what she thought s
he was going to do. They were dead after all and impervious to most forms of torture. Except…

  Michael’s grip around Tory tightened, securing her to his side. With a few softly spoken words, his mighty sword appeared in his right hand. Pointing the fiery tip at the two ghosts, he watched in amusement as the mist danced about in a blatant attempt to avoid getting sucked into the flame.

  “If neither of you would care to share Ariadne’s fate, I suggest you stop annoying my mate.”

  Sam humphed loudly. “We were trying to help you out. Won’t make that mistake again.”

  Michael grunted and the mist evaporated as if it had never been. Helping him, his ass. Those two were going to be trouble. He could feel it clear to the bone.

  “Helping you? What was Sam talking about?”

  Great. Trouble with a capital T.

  “How the hell should I know, Tory? I do not think either of them is very stable. They should go to the light.”

  The last, which was spoken loudly just in case the two were still lingering about, caused a giggle to bubble from his mate’s luscious lips, and Michael couldn’t stop himself from sampling another taste.

  “Well, shit. There is really something wrong with this sight. I think my retinas are fried,” Zadkiel’s amused drawl intruded.

  Michael sighed as Tory jumped away from him. Turning to Zadkiel, he reminded himself taking off his second-in-command’s head really wouldn’t appease his annoyance. It would only reattach itself. And while it would hurt like a bitch, it would be far too temporary. No, instead he would give the other male courier duty. Let him spend a century ferrying messages from the lesser factions, like the Fates. For a warrior like Zadkiel that would be hell.

  Zadkiel must have gleamed from Michael’s face the train of his thoughts because he quickly added, “Sorry to disturb you. But I have news. There has been another attack.”

  Tory’s gasp covered up Michael’s violent curse. “Where?” he snapped.

  “Chicago. But this witch has survived, and I thought you might want to question her.”

  Michael sensed the tension drain from Tory’s limbs. This was good news indeed. But speaking with this witch would require he leave Tory alone. He couldn’t teleport with her and a lot could happen in the amount of time it would take him to travel by human means. What if this was Asmodeus’s plan, leaving the witch alive to draw him away from Tory?

  “You must go,” Tory said, as if sensing his hesitation. And it was very likely she could. They were bound, after all.

  He reached up, gently palming her cheek. “Only if you promise to cast yourself inside the circle upstairs.”

  At her vigorous nod, Michael grasped the back of her neck, drawing her lips back to his, taking gentle command of her mouth. If there was one thing he could be thankful for, it was sharing his immortality. And since they were bound, if Asmodeus did make an appearance while he was gone he would know it almost instantly. Tory would be damn near impossible to kill now.

  Pulling back, he gave her a gentle nudge toward the staircase, lightly swatting her ass when she frowned over her shoulder. Michael watched until she disappeared from view then turned to find Zadkiel studying him.

  He arched a sardonic brow and Zadkiel grinned. “I see the deed has been done.”

  Michael growled. “Which deed? The one getting me eternal hellfire? Or the one that will draw torment and ridicule from everyone we know?”

  If Zadkiel’s grin had grown any bigger, Michael would have hit him. “One? Both? Take your pick.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” Michael muttered.

  Zadkiel’s only reply was laughter. Make that two centuries of courier duty.

  Motioning with his hand, he invited Zadkiel to lead the way. Once the other male had teleported from the room, Michael closed his eyes, let his molecules divide until he was nothing but air and followed.

  Chapter Seven

  Tory paused at the top of the stairs, Michael’s belligerent tone catching her attention. She wasn’t eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help that their voices carried up the stairs. Hellfire? Ridicule? What was he talking about? What deed had been done?

  God, if they were discussing what she thought they were discussing she would be eternally mortified.

  After waiting a few more seconds, she heard nothing else of interest, only silence. Tory contemplated sneaking back downstairs. That was when a weird sensation hit her, slamming into her chest and sucking the air from her lungs. In a panic, she tripped, bumping into the wall, her nails scraping at the surface as she tried to catch her balance.

  The moment passed as quickly as it had occurred, leaving her breathless and disoriented. Stumbling down the stairs, her only intent to reach Michael, Tory found the living room empty, all trace of Michael gone.

  Sweet Jesus, what had just happened?

  Then she felt him, like a phantom caress in her chest, Michael surrounding her, stilling her fear. Faint whispers in her mind reassured her all was well, she was loved, protected. It was the strangest feeling sensing him in the deepest recesses of her psyche when he wasn’t really there. But it also quenched the uncertainty and terror.

  Tory took the stairs two at a time, the murmurs in her head egging her on, reminding her of her promise. By the time she reached the attic she was trembling from the rush of adrenaline.

  Damn Michael. He had her in a mild state of panic when there was absolutely no need. Asmodeus had last been spotted in Chicago. He was still a long way from Boston. And anyway, there was no reason to assume he was any closer to finding her than he had been twenty-four hours ago.

  After stepping into the middle of the pentagram, Tory went through the ritual of quickly reconnecting the white line she’d broken to release Michael. She recited the spell, enclosing herself within the safety of the circle.

  As the minutes ticked by, Tory began to wish she’d brought a book, something, anything to pass the time. Food would have been good too, since she was getting hungry. And she had to pee.

  A quick glance at her watch showed only fifteen minutes had gone by, damn it. She was never going to make it. If Michael didn’t return soon, she was going to lose her freaking mind.

  Another ten minutes and Tory couldn’t wait any longer. It was her own fault for thinking about it. Now she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. If she didn’t go to the bathroom soon she was going to pee her pants.

  And she was still hungry.

  It would serve Michael right if she ended up dead. How long did it take to ask some chick a couple of questions? It wasn’t exactly like he had to factor in travel time or anything.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Tory knew she wasn’t being fair. Recanting the spell, she reminded herself the poor woman had been attacked, could still be hanging on death’s door right now and certainly deserved a little bit of Michael’s time.

  Though she would seriously prefer the witch find her own angel.

  That consideration stopped Tory in her tracks. The thoughts swirling around in her mind were really uncharacteristically nasty, especially the ones involving Michael anywhere near the witch in Chicago. She wasn’t normally the jealous type, or at least she didn’t think she was. Truthfully, she’d never had anything to be jealous about before Michael but still…

  Tory shrugged as she descended the staircase, heading toward the bathroom. Maybe she was the jealous type. So shoot her.

  After hitting the bathroom, Tory grabbed a spoon and bowl, a box of Captain Crunch and half a gallon of milk before heading slowly back up the stairs. She didn’t want to get back into the circle but she knew if she wasn’t there when Michael returned he would be plenty mad. He’d be sure to go all ballistic on her and Tory would find herself a virtual prisoner in her own home.

  That would suck.

  With her hands full, Tory tried juggling the door and her goodies before finally discovering she had to back her way into the attic to get through the doorway. When she swung back face forward, she found standing between her
and the circle a man. Evil emanated from him in waves, totally contradicting his beautiful appearance. The need to vomit damn near brought her to her knees, and her box of Captain Crunch ended up on the floor, the first casualty of the evening.

  Over six-and-a-half feet of ripped blond maleness rushing toward her might not have sent her into a panic, but the blood-curdling growl and the long steel blade aimed directly at her certainly did. Tory spun to the right, using the only weapons at her disposal, the half-gallon of milk and ceramic bowl to beat the intruder back. Hardly effective, neither did enough damage to help her get away. The milk bounced off his chest and he used his sword to bat the bowl away, sending it careening into the wall.

  The only chance Tory saw of escaping the demon was the stairs, but she hated the thought of turning her back on him. As if she really had any chance of getting away. It was so unfair—just when she finally had something to live for.

  She’d barely moved in that direction when she felt the first sting of his blade piercing her back. With a startled cry, Tory lunged forward, fire burning through her veins. She stumbled, her knees buckling, and she crashed to the floor, a sob ripping from her chest as the blade pierced her again, deeper this time. Gasping for breath, she tried to crawl away, but the floor under her was too slick and she collapsed in a heap on the wood.

  “Die, bitch. Die,” the inhuman voice snarled and Tory was pretty certain the bastard was going to get his wish. Death’s icy grip was descending over her, and within its cold embrace the pain and fear began to slide away. As peace replaced horror, she finally embraced the darkness.

  Chapter Eight

  It turned out the witch lived in one of those chic condos in downtown Chicago overlooking Lake Michigan. Unlike Tory’s home, where her nearest neighbor was miles from her, Evie Stanton’s was only a wall away, and Michael couldn’t fathom how no one had heard her screams.

  As he approached the woman her eyes grew larger with each step. By the time he’d come to a halt right in front of her they were the size of saucers. At one time this would have pleased Michael greatly. He would have viewed it as a sign of respect. But that would have been LBT or Life Before Tory. Now it just annoyed the shit out of him.