Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Daniel moved her around the vehicle and made his way to the second car. This one was larger and a different model and make from the first. He opened her door with one hand, holding her aloft with the other. She was so light, it was as if she weighed nothing at all.

  Again, he buckled her in, and as he did so, he could feel Juliette tense beside him. He imagined she was trying very hard not to lash out at his face as it hovered so close to her own. The buckle’s lock clicked and he turned to look down into her eyes once more.

  Her normally hazel eyes were flashing green sparks at him. They were singularly lovely. He was struck, in that moment, with the perfection of her—her skin, so porcelain and perfect, her lips so pink and full, her lashes so long and thick. He felt his own green eyes flash, growing warm and beginning to glow. “You’re an incredibly beautiful woman, Juliette,” he told her.

  “Go to hell,” she hissed at him.

  He was still for a long moment as he contemplated her words. He was about to destroy an archess—a perfect female being. He had little doubt that if there had been a hell, he would have earned himself a place within it. But worse than that was the knowledge that he would forever live with her blood in his veins, an eternal reminder of his hideous act. Daniel would create his very own little hell, one from which he would never escape.

  She gazed up at him, no doubt wondering what he was thinking. So, he simply smiled at her and shook his head. What could he say? Then he rose again, closed her door, and got back in on his side. Once more, they began to drive and Juliette let her head drop back on the seat’s rest.

  “How are you going to kill me?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  Of course she would wonder that. She was probably also wondering what was he waiting for. She had no idea what was going on—what was involved—and the longer he kept her alive, the greater the chance that Gabriel would catch up with them. And there was no doubt in Daniel’s mind that Gabriel would come after her. This he knew with unequaled certainty. Daniel would do the same. He glanced at Juliette and her petite, precious profile and his grip on the gearshift tightened. Yes, he would do the same.

  “I have to take your blood,” he told her honestly. There was no point in keeping the truth from her.

  She frowned at him, obviously confused. “My blood? What . . . like a vampire?” she asked softly. Her voice was still rather weak, but certainly better than it had been before he’d given her the glucose.

  It was serendipitous that she mentioned the vampire relation. In Daniel’s vision, what he perceived as happening to his general could very well be called vampiric. And taking another person’s blood and ingesting it—what was that if not vampiric?

  “Kind of,” he told her, not knowing what else to say.

  “You’ll steal my power, then,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question. She was clearly simply vocalizing her thoughts and figuring things out.

  “Yes,” he said, glancing at her again. She looked thoughtful. Her eyes were focused on the ribbon of black ahead of them.

  Daniel.

  Daniel jerked slightly, blinking at the sudden invasion. There was a voice in his head, but it wasn’t his own. It was deep and incredibly commanding and filled Daniel with an instant sense of dread. He looked out over the road again. A lone tall figure appeared in the cone of the vehicle’s headlights and Daniel slammed on the brakes, jerking the wheel to the right.

  Beside him, Juliette braced herself with her arms as the car skidded wildly, spinning around in a heart-wrenching 360. By the time the car came to a stop, Daniel already had his gun in one hand and was reaching over to pull Juliette across the car to his side. He threw open the door, his grip strong on her arm, and dragged her across both seats until she was out of the car. He supported her weight, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do so on her own. The barrel of the gun was pressed threateningly to her rib cage and his eyes were on the stranger.

  He was tall and trim with broad shoulders. He wore what was obviously an expensive tailored charcoal gray suit. His thick hair was so blond, it was nearly white, and his strange storm gray eyes reflected the light from the car like mirrors. He’s not human, Daniel thought. It was an understatement really, since the man’s power poured off him in thick rivulets and waves that were nearly stifling in their intensity.

  The stranger gracefully unbuttoned his charcoal suit jacket and slid his hands into his pants pockets before slowly making his way down the road toward the car. When he came closer, Daniel was struck with a memory.

  A man who had looked a lot like this had appeared out of nowhere on the battlefield outside Dallas four months ago during the Adarian fight with the four favored. The man had commanded a host of humanoid creatures on horseback who wielded black swords and wore black armor. The small army had turned the tide irrevocably, allowing the four favored to defeat the Adarians—killing three of them in the process. “I know you,” Daniel said, his grip on Juliette tightening as anger and uncertainty stole through him. She tried to jerk away and he held her fast, ignoring her defiance. His attention was almost solely focused on the man in front of them. “You’re the one who controlled the Riders during the battle with the four favored.”

  The stranger didn’t bother denying it. His only response was to smile and glance at the ground as if in modesty.

  Daniel’s teeth clenched. “What do you want?” he asked, wanting to get right to the point.

  “What do I want?” the stranger repeated, coming to a stop and lowering his head as if to contemplate the question. He chuckled softly and shook his head. “That’s a question people have been asking me a lot lately.”

  Daniel wasn’t feeling patient and was not at all in the mood to play games. He knew now that this was the man who had been in his head; he recognized the voice. Inhuman indeed. Daniel cocked the gun in his hand and little Juliette closed her eyes. He yanked her closer to him, pressing her right up against his side. He wasn’t really planning on shooting her, but he needed to do something to make the stranger back off. “If you’re here for the archess, know this,” he warned. “I’ll kill her before I allow anyone to take her from me.”

  “Oh, I know you will,” the stranger replied. His dark gray eyes flashed eerily, as if lightning had struck within their swirling storms.

  Daniel had barely enough time to process the words he’d muttered before the gun in his hand went off.

  Juliette dropped to the ground and her eyes closed, shutting out the world.

  Daniel stared down at her for a moment, lost in shock. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. He hadn’t. “No!” he suddenly cried, dropping to his knees beside her. “I didn’t pull the trigger!” He dropped the gun, ripped off his leather gloves, and shoved up her jacket and shirt to find the wound. Dark red blood pooled at the entry site and spread quickly across her side. “No, God, no, no, no please . . . ,” Daniel was muttering now. He had no control over it. His fingers were on her neck, feeling for a pulse.

  “You shot her, Daniel,” the stranger said calmly. The sound of his shoes echoed on the wet asphalt, drawing nearer. It was the only sound other than the harsh, quick breaths and half sobs Daniel was producing. “You’ve killed Gabriel’s archess,” the man continued. “What do you think will happen when the General finds out?”

  Daniel gave a soft whimper and ran a bloody hand through his blond hair in fierce, frantic terror. “But I didn’t!” he insisted, his voice high-pitched and close to hysterics. “I didn’t pull the trigger! The gun just went off. . . . It just went off. . . .” He was brushing her hair from her face now. Dark terror was flooding his system with red and black and a horrible, nauseating cold. His fingers trembled uncontrollably where they touched her. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered. He didn’t mean it. He hadn’t wanted to destroy her in the first place—he never would have done so like this.

  “Abraxos will not care whether you meant it or not, Xathaniel,” the stranger continued, using his real name this time. Daniel froze at the sound. No one but
the General had called him by that name for more than a thousand years. He turned to look up at the tall, enigmatic man. “You know he will kill you,” the stranger said. “He will stop at nothing to do so.”

  Daniel thought about this. It was so hard to concentrate; his thoughts were fluttering about wildly on the hurricane winds of emotion whirling within him. But he knew the stranger was right. He had no idea how the stranger knew it, but there it was.

  “However,” the man’s powerful voice continued, “I can save you from his wrath, Xathaniel. I am the only one who can.”

  Daniel’s breath shook; he could hear it rasping in the air. “What . . . what do you want from me?” he asked, feeling desperate now.

  “I want you, Xathaniel,” the stranger told him simply. His tone was soft, but there was a finality to it that would have given Daniel a hard chill if he hadn’t already been draped in abject terror. “I want your loyalty and obedience. I want you to serve me for all time.”

  The silence stretched, punctuated by the rolling of thunder from over the hills and the sound of fat drops of rain as they began to descend around them. Very slowly, Daniel stood up. The stranger’s shoes clicked on the asphalt once again as he calmly closed the distance between them. He stopped when he stood on the opposite side of the archess’s still form.

  “Who are you?” Daniel whispered, his voice shaking badly.

  “Call me Sam,” the man replied easily. “I need only your spoken word,” Sam said, as if he had not been interrupted. Daniel could truly feel his power now; he was being draped in it, layer after layer, paralyzed beneath a force ten thousand times stronger than him. He managed to draw a shaky breath and the stranger smiled. “Oh,” Sam added, as if it were an afterthought, “and your signature.”

  Sam slipped one hand into the inside pocket of his expensive, tailored coat and extracted a gleaming, clear fountain pen. He held up the strange pen and it shimmered in the low light provided by the car’s headlights.

  Daniel stared at the pen and shivered violently. Then he glanced down at the archess once again. He felt his knees bending and knelt beside her once more, pulled by her small presence and the incredible loss she represented. Impulsively, he placed two fingers to her throat, again checking for a heartbeat. Still, there was nothing. Of course there was nothing. Why would it change?

  But I didn’t pull the trigger, he thought manically. I know I didn’t. How did the gun go off? Why did it go off?

  “What’s done is done.” Sam spoke softly. Daniel looked up at him. His strange, stark gray eyes were mesmerizing. Were those actually thunderclouds in their depths? Lightning, he thought, as it flashed across the stranger’s irises in surreal contrast. As if the world reflected the content of that phenomenally powerful gaze, thunder rolled across the fields and shook the earth beneath Daniel’s feet.

  “There’s no ink in that pen,” he found himself muttering, his gaze again dropping to the crystal-like writing utensil in the man’s upturned fingers.

  “It doesn’t use ink,” Sam said, offering him the slightest, cruelest smile. Lightning crashed again and thunder rolled closer. Daniel swallowed hard. His fingers shook horribly where they pressed to the archess’s still, cold neck. He looked down at her. Her entire left side was drenched in dark, red blood. It had pooled beneath her small body, testament to the terrible, unforgivable crime that had transpired on that road that night.

  She’s dead, he told himself. I’m dead now, too. He looked back up at the stranger who waited so patiently, so silent and still, that gleaming empty pen aloft in his hand. It’s over, he thought.

  Slowly he stood, his eyes now trained on the pen. “It’s a diamond, isn’t it?” he whispered, tasting tears on his lips. Sam didn’t answer. But he didn’t need to. Daniel knew it was true. “What does it use?”

  The stranger’s mesmerizing gaze hardened, going from deep charcoal to nearly black as his pupils expanded and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. Without speaking a word, he reached out for Daniel’s wrist and held it up between them. Daniel felt frozen to the spot, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to pull away.

  With the hand that still held the pen, Sam pushed back Daniel’s sleeve, exposing an expanse of skin on the wrist above the ridge of his palm. He then took the shining metal tip of the fountain pen and placed it to Daniel’s prominent blue vein.

  There was a sharp, deep pain and Daniel winced, gritting his teeth. Fire raced up from the entry point, subjugating his arm, then his shoulder, and then his chest—until his heart felt as though it had burst into flame. He couldn’t make a single sound. The pain was immense and all-encompassing. And all the while, the stranger simply gazed steadily at him as his beautiful, vile pen sucked up Daniel’s blood, filling its compartment with ruby red liquid.

  When the pen was filled, Sam removed the tip from Daniel’s arm and released him. Daniel fell backward, barely managing to keep from falling as relief flooded over him, a cessation to the agony. Only his wrist continued to throb. He placed his other hand over the wound and watched the stranger with a new and wary respect.

  “What now?” he gritted out, feeling hoarse from the pain.

  Sam took a single step to the side and back, revealing behind him a tall wooden table. It was narrow and intricately carved, etched with symbols and lettering that made Daniel feel funny inside. On its small surface sat a single parchment. It was raining all around them—but the table and its document remained untouched by the wetness.

  Daniel straightened and stepped around Juliette’s body to come closer to the table. The paper that lay atop it was blank. He frowned in confusion.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Your contract,” Sam replied. The stranger waved his right hand over the document, the expensive watch on his wrist shimmering in the car’s headlights. On the paper, black scrolling letters appeared, writing themselves across the page in perfect straight lines. Daniel barely recognized some of the words—and he wasn’t really certain about any of them.

  He was sweating a cold sweat now, drenching himself as surely as the rain was.

  The stranger held up the pen. It gleamed, ruby and wicked in the light. Daniel’s gaze cut to the man who held it. Sam, he thought. What is that short for? Had he heard the name before? Something niggled at his memory, squirming under the sand. But it was as yet unrecognizable—and fear was making Daniel fuzzy. One thing was certain, however. The power he felt coming off the stranger was unlike any he’d ever experienced. If anyone could keep him safe from the General, it was Sam.

  I have no choice. He took the pen with shaking fingers, the wound in his wrist throbbing painfully. And then, as two thick black lines appeared at the bottom of the parchment, Daniel bent over the table, placed the pen’s tip to the first line—and signed his name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Juliette couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. Her body was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and comfort that both paralyzed and soothed her. She knew the gun had gone off, but she’d felt no pain. She’d felt only a sense of calm pour over and through her, as if she were high on morphine.

  Samael, she thought now, as she listened to the exchange between the two men who stood over her.

  Everything had happened so quickly. Daniel had put her in the car and told her he was going to take her blood. And then—Juliette, a voice had spoken in her head. She would recognize it anywhere. It was deep and strong and laced with the kind of effortless sensuality that left a woman breathless. Sam was sheer potency in human form, and from the moment he brushed her mind, she’d instantly become hyperaware of him all around her.

  He had chuckled, and the deep, utterly beguiling sound had echoed off the walls of her mind. She had closed her eyes, only for a moment, and when she’d opened them again, Sam was standing in the road ahead of them.

  Daniel had swerved to miss him, and everything had turned to chaos around her. But Juliette felt no fear. From the moment he’d telepathically spoken her name into her
mind, she’d been draped in tranquillity. Daniel jerked her through the car and out the other side and she found the will to try to pull away. But it was a halfhearted attempt and she knew it was useless—and she didn’t really care. Sam was inside of her, his charcoal gray eyes mesmerizing her, his essence filling her like a drug.

  The barrel of Daniel’s gun fought for room between her ribs, etching at a sharp pain. Offhandedly, she imagined the bullet chambered behind it. What would it feel like going in? It was, perhaps, the single way in which she had yet to die. Not in all her many lifetimes had Juliette Anderson ever been shot.

  She had her answer then, though it hadn’t been at all what she’d expected. The gun went off, but there was no pain. None at all. She wasn’t in control of her own body. She hit the ground and closed her eyes before wetness spread across her side, drenching her clothes and the ground beneath her. It was Sam manipulating her. She knew it, and though it should have scared her that there existed a being who could so fully control her every action, it somehow didn’t.

  Everything is going to be okay, he told her.

  Above her, a deal was being made. They moved away and there was a moment of silence. Then lightning flashed somewhere very close by. She wanted to cover her ears, knowing the thunder would be right on top of it, but she couldn’t move. The thunder came, crashing over the road and rolling across her body, quaking the ground beneath her as it went.