Demons writhed where Marcus once was, black blood coating their teeth, dripping from mouths and chins. Vincent screamed his fury, firing at the demons and the priest with bullets that could do nothing to them.
Daman seized the moment and charged at Vincent. His shoulder smashed into the soft center of Vincent’s stomach. Vincent stumbled. As he staggered backward, his hand slipped from Angel’s neck. Daman grabbed Angel, flinging her away from Vincent’s grip.
“I’ve got you,” Daman whispered in Angel’s ear. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”
There was an explosion as Vincent’s gun spat another bullet. Angel stumbled backward. Her mouth gaped, silently screaming. There was blood on her arm, over her blouse. She’d been hit.
“Angel, are you all right?” Daman asked.
She stood unmoving, limbs stiff. Wordless. Unresolved pity shone from eyes filled with unshed tears.
“Are you hurt?” he asked again, stepping closer to her. Her eyes drew up to his, sadness radiating from their depths. Her mouth moved and he saw she said his name.
“Angel, you’re not making sense,” Daman said.
Vincent laughed, a guttural, mirthless sound. Daman spun to look at him, a frown pulling his forehead.
“You don’t know!” Vincent said, glee making his voice high and tight. “I should have made it more painful, then you’d certainly know when you’re dead.”
“Dead?” Confusion made him drop his gaze, seeking reason to Vincent’s words. That was when he saw his lifeless body, lying face down on the floor. A red stain leaked beneath his body, spreading over the concrete. On his back, positioned where his heart might still be beating if not for the bullet that had ripped it open was a gaping, raw wound.
Daman patted his chest, feeling for a hole. There was no pain. There were none of the wounds that had been made to his broken body. He was dressed the same, felt the same, had the same feelings, the same emotions. It was like pulling free of an overcoat.
He looked to Father Joseph. Saw the confirmation on his face. Antimedus stood, arms crossed over his massive chest, a silent sentinel.
He was dead.
But that didn’t mean …
Excited, Daman faced Angel. “We can be together now. We’re free. You can change back.”
Angel shook her head. Her body trembled as she squeezed the wound on her arm. “It’s too late.”
“It can’t be,” he said. Foreboding weakened him. He stepped toward Angel, went to touch her, but his hand slid through her body.
She existed and he was — nothing.
“The prophecy. Flesh and blood for flesh and blood. You sacrificed yourself for me, Daman. I’m … human.”
The prophecy. Meaning stunned his mind as he remembered the words from the book. An Angel can become flesh and blood with a sacrifice. The bullet had ripped through him and injured Angel at the same time. His blood on the bullet had mingled with hers when it sliced through his heart and her arm, making her human.
And because she was now human, she couldn’t fix his body, or reunite his spirit with flesh and blood.
“But it shouldn’t be this way. We should be together. We have our lives to look forward to … ”
“You love the angel?” Vincent’s shoulders shook as he laughed. “You fell in love … with her? This is good. I couldn’t make this any better if I tried.”
“You bastard, Lepski!”
“What are you going to do about it? Hit me? Kill me. You can’t touch me!”
“Father?” Daman asked as he changed his gaze to the priest.
Father Joseph shook his head helplessly. “There is nothing I can do. There’s nothing I know.”
“Antimedus?”
“I cannot change the free will of humans. I can only take you to the afterlife. It is the way of the angel.”
“Such a pity. My bleeding heart can hardly take it. I’ll tell you what, I’ll help you along. I’ll shoot her and you both can ride off into the sunset. Oh, hang on, is that a demon I see waiting for you, Quade? I don’t think the two of you are going to the same place.”
“Leave her be. You’ve done enough,” Daman said. She deserved a life. If not with him, then she should have the choice to find someone else. Be human. Live and die and have children and be fulfilled.
Although it had ended for him, it couldn’t end for her like this.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you killed my father. Again!” Vincent’s face spasmed into an ugly grimace. He pointed his gun at Angel.
“No!” Daman shouted. He was helpless to do anything, but watch as Angel stood without cover and helpless to Vincent’s chilling desire.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t do this, Vincent. Redeem yourself. There’s time. You don’t have to end up like your father!” Daman said. His only weapon was words, and they were failing him.
Failing Angel.
“Redeem myself? There’ll be no redeeming. Only revenge!”
Vincent lifted his arm, took aim. And fired.
Chapter Twenty
There was a blur from the shadows of the warehouse. A huge body launched at Angel, crashing into her and tackling her to the ground. Daman’s first thoughts were the red demons, but they were held at bay by Antimedus’ light.
The body was sprawled across Angel’s hips and legs. There was no movement, from either of them. Daman ran over to Angel. His hands slipped through her when he tried to touch her.
“Angel? Can you hear me?” he whispered.
Her eyes were shut, rose-petal lips slightly apart. Her hair splayed out across the gray concrete floor. There was a flutter at the base of her throat, a slight rise and fall of her chest.
Daman breathed again. “Wake up, Angel.”
A footstep broke his complete focus on Angel. He turned to see Vincent standing above Angel, the gun pointed at her head.
“It’s hard to find good help these days,” he said, indicating the body.
For the first time, Daman noticed it was Haki who’d thrown himself in front of Angel. He had saved her from Vincent’s bullet. Sacrificed himself.
“Maybe he woke up to himself,” Daman said.
“It’s too late to care, even if I could feel that wasted emotion. Say good-bye to your girlfriend.”
“Don’t do it, Vincent. I beg you,” Daman pleaded.
Vincent’s brows rose. “Begging. From the great cop himself. Unfortunately, you aren’t in a position to bargain. She’s useless to me now and I don’t like loose ends.”
Vincent aimed the gun at Angel. Started to squeeze the trigger.
“No!” Daman shouted. His fists clenched, completely helpless to stop Vincent.
Angel’s eyes splintered open. As if in slow motion, her arm shifted over Haki’s shoulder. She held a gun. Aimed.
Fired.
The end of the gun sparked. Vincent stumbled. A black hole appeared in his shirt. In surprise, he held a hand to the hole. Blood streamed from the hole, oozing through his fingers, staining his shirt with large drops. Vincent huffed a laugh. He took his hand away from the wound, stared at his bloodied palm. He staggered, limbs uncoordinated.
“You bitch!” With a great effort, he raised the gun at Angel. It wobbled.
There was a slip of energy around the edges of Vincent’s body. A shadow of a shoulder was visible from the flesh and blood shoulder. His essence was sliding out. The side of his body slumped without the support of the spirit. He staggered. A shadow arm materialized, dropping from the solid. Vincent’s soul was loosening.
“You’re dying, Vincent. I can see it. Do the one decent thing you’ve ever done in your life and let Angel live,” Daman said.
Vincent cackled. “No redemption. Only … revenge.”
&
nbsp; He swayed, knees folding beneath him. His body twisted, but his gun arm remained aimed at Angel. There was a look of complete and utter madness in his soulless eyes, brought on by his lunacy and blood-lust. There would be only revenge, and revenge for him was destroying everything that Daman loved. He’d done it once.
There would be no second time.
This time, Daman could stop him. Daman crouched, pushed off the ground and sprang at Vincent. His hands slipped through the flesh, but found purchase on the same material that was in every single body without exception. The spirit.
His fingers dug into his waist, his shoulder pummeling into his midsection. Vincent’s spirit ripped from the flesh. He screamed horrifically, in agony from flesh and blood and spirit.
Daman pushed with all his strength. His feet slipped, but he quickly found purchase. His hands pulled, fingers clawed and dug.
Vincent lashed at Daman, but his physical arm merely went through Daman’s ethereal body. Daman hugged Vincent’s waist, and clung onto his spirit, twisted and pulled. His midsection materialized from the physical. Daman pulled Vincent’s arm, wrestling the spirit, tearing it from flesh. Vincent’s body tottered. Without the spirit, there could be no life in the body.
Daman bellowed, and with strength born of sheer determination, ripped the spirit free detaching it from Vincent’s flesh. His body toppled, lifeless before it hit the ground. Daman used the backward momentum. He spun and shoved Vincent’s spirit into the shadows where he tumbled to the ground, half in the Antimedus’ light, and half in the depths of the shadows.
“You bastard. How dare you!” Vincent’s black eyes spat hate. He crouched, ready to spring. But that move never came.
A claw snatched his ankle. Vincent whirled, startled. He kicked at the claw and shrieked, a high-pitched wailing sound.
“It is best to seek the light,” Daman said.
Vincent didn’t hear. Another claw seized his other ankle. He was flipped into his stomach. There was a hideous crunch, teeth cleaving bone. Vincent’s face opened in agonizing pain. His mouth opened, but no noise came out. He tore at the ground, trying to propel himself into the edge of the light. His hands skimmed on the smooth floor. There was another crunch. Vincent went rigid, and then he was wrenched into the dark.
Claws scratched. Bodies strained against body. There were a series of wet-sounding crackles, then silence. The depths of the shadows lightened enough for Daman to see the walls of the warehouse. The air heated and the stench cleared. The demons had gone. Taken what they had come for.
Daman dropped to Angel’s side. “I thought Angels didn’t maim or hurt.”
The ghost of a smile lit her lips. “We did it. A flesh and blood sacrifice. The bullet went through your body and cut my arm, mixing your blood with mine. I’m not an Angel. I’m human now … and I can see the earth is better off without some souls living on it.”
“You’re starting to sound like me.”
“I’m starting to see more than black and white.” She pushed at Haki’s shoulders, but the Maori was solid and heavy. They were unable to help her dislodge Haki’s heavy body.
There was a groan, and Haki’s spirit materialized from his body. He stumbled to his feet, stepped from his flesh for the last time.
“Haki. You saved Angel,” Daman said. “I thought you worked for Vincent.”
Haki nodded. “I did, bro. But when I saw what he wanted to do to Angel, well … she saved me. The way I see it, I owe her my life.”
Father Joseph clapped Haki on his shoulder. “And now you have yours back, my son. You have saved yourself in the process.”
“But she’s trapped under my body. What can we do?” Haki said.
Daman turned to Antimedus. “I have a choice, don’t I? Just like Haki had a choice when Angel gave him life in his flesh again. No one asked me if I wanted to live. So ask me, Antimedus. You can’t stand in the way of free will, and it is my free will to return to my body.”
Antimedus stared at him. Long moments stretched. Daman was ready to fight Antimedus. He would do this for him. He would do this for Angel. He had a choice and he chose Angel. He wanted to live until he was old and gray and he wanted Angel to journey by his side. There could be no other way. He pinned the angel with a stare, and wouldn’t let him break their contact. This was too important.
Slowly Antimedus inclined his head. “I see. As you wish. I will prepare your body first so that you may breathe once again.”
“Wait,” Angel whispered.
Daman knelt beside her. “What is it?”
She dropped her gaze and fought to return it to his. “You may not wish to live again once you hear what I have to tell you.”
He stilled. “I’ll always stand by you.”
She smiled, a sad twist to her mouth. “You always underestimate yourself. Your determination to stand by people, even when it gets tough. You still love and trust enough to do it. It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you.”
“Loved? Always?” His mouth went dry. He couldn’t dodge the feeling there was so much more that what she was saying. “We only met three days ago.” And already the change for the better in him was absolute. What could she do with a lifetime?
“We didn’t just meet three days ago. I’ve known you for longer than that.”
“How?”
“I came to you in your dreams, when your defenses were down and you had no worries to shut me away. Do you remember your dreams when we were together? You might remember so much more without your flesh and blood body blocking you.”
He frowned. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d known her for so much longer than three days. The feeling of familiarity never dissipated, only grew stronger. Wisps of memory floated into his mind. Surrealistic images of them. Holding hands. Talking. Making love. He stared at her as the wisps sharpened to reality. So many nights, together, sharing, talking, laughing. Loving. He stared at her, knowing why now he’d not been able to shake the feeling of knowing her.
Subconsciously knowing, but ignoring the fact, that he’d fallen in love with her before that night he thought he’d first seen her. He’d loved her long before then.
“You were really there,” he said.
She nodded. “Always.”
“Why?”
“I fell in love with you. I couldn’t help myself. It’s against the rule of angels with flesh and blood, but I couldn’t deny myself. Your pain. Your tenacity to keep going every day. I couldn’t leave you.”
“How long did we meet in my dreams?”
Her blue eyes met his, pain and love and truth radiated from them. “Three years.”
“Three … ” That would mean she met him when Michelle died. He stared at her, the meaning not making a mental connection.
“Daman, I … I was Michelle’s Death Angel. I was the one who took her from you. I was the one who broke your heart. I only came back to fix it, but then I … ”
“Then you what?”
“Fell in love with you.”
He didn’t know where to look, didn’t know whether to stand and leave or prowl the floor. His head spun. She’d met him when she’d come to take Michelle. He stood, ran the fingers of both hands through his hair. Stared unseeing at the blank wall. “Michelle,” he whispered.
“It’s my fault. I’m so sorry,” Angel whispered.
He shook his head, taking a deep breath. Reason cleared a path in his mind. In all this mess, none of them were to blame. They were victims, but that didn’t mean that they had to live like one. It occurred to him that he’d been doing just that for the past three years.
And he was no victim.
Angel was not at fault. And neither was he or Michelle.
If anyone was to blame, it was Marcus and Vincent and the empire they’d built from death and destru
ction of others.
He knew better than to blame others who shouldn’t accept fault. He moved to Angel, put his palm to her face even though he knew she couldn’t feel it. “You are an innocent. You were doing what you were born to do. Take souls to a better life. You were not responsible for Michelle’s death.”
“I asked her if she wanted to go back but she couldn’t. Her body was too broken.”
“She said no,” Daman said. “Did she say why?”
“She said she loved you, that she always would. But she said you were strong and would recover without her. She said you will meet again one day.”
“She left me.”
“Once souls have a taste of a better existence, it is very hard to come back. They want to go home. I cannot fault her choice, for it was hers to make.”
A bright golden light shone from the ceiling, enveloping him in shining rays. They brushed his skin, as soothing as a mother’s hand brushing way dirt and tears. A glowing warmth spread though his body, filled with so much love it took his breath away. He was no longer a burned-out cop, or a husband that was broken with guilt, or a man that couldn’t reach out a take what he wanted the most. He was a son to be proud of. Coming home at last. The light beckoned him and he drifted to his feet, tempted beyond reason to float toward it.
“Angel. The love. I can feel it calling for me.” He glanced down at Angel.
There was a gentle smile on her face. She knew what it was and how it felt.
“This was how Michelle felt when she died?” He didn’t blame Michelle for going. In that moment of clarity, he realized her journey wasn’t cut short. She was only returning home, just as she was always meant to. Their life together was only written to last a few years. He had twisted those years instead of honoring them. In that instant, he forgave her death, and he forgave himself for the guilt he’d allowed to claim him. The way in which he loved Angel was so much more, so much deeper, so much stronger that it would last beyond life into the eternal.
Daman's Angel (Crimson Romance) Page 18