by C. L. Wilson
“How can I explain this?” He pressed his steepled fingers to his lips as he gathered his thoughts. “First, you have to understand that angels, God—even man, once you look beyond your physical shells—are creatures of energy. What you call Heaven is simply that energy collected in the cosmos. Before I manifested in this form, I—like every other Guardian and angel of the Host—was a being of pure energy. That is our natural state, and in that state we don’t have senses the way mankind understands them. We don’t interpret touch, sight, sound and all the rest the way mankind does. Instead, we feel the vibrations of all energy around us. It is beautiful, even glorious in its own right, but it is different. There aren’t really any human words to describe it.”
“And is it true there’s no suffering in Heaven?”
He smiled again, that devastatingly beautiful smile that made her wish she was the whole, happy girl she’d once been, unafraid to reach for the stars…or the angel, as the case may be.
“How does one make energy suffer? No, there is no suffering.” He reached across the short distance between them to take her hand and bring it to his face. “But there is no this either.” He laid his hand over hers, guiding her thumb in a slow sweep across his lips. “Do not be afraid to reach for what you want, Katrina. Not with me.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. He was so…warm. Shockingly warm. His skin silky to the touch. She stared in fascination at her thumb brushing across his lips. His lips parted, taking the tip of her thumb into the even warmer depths of his mouth. His tongue laved the sensitive pad of her thumb. She gasped and started to tremble.
“You make me tremble, too,” he confessed in a whisper. He laid his hand against her cheek, resting his thumb lightly on her lips, and she could feel the fine tremors running through him. “ I was made for you, Katrina. To protect you. To aid you. Even in this form—especially in this form—everything about you calls to everything I am.”
She stared into his eyes, drowning in their turquoise depths, and somewhere inside her, part of her went lighter than air, floating free. If just a touch made her feel like she was coming apart, what would it be like to kiss him?
“Try it and find out.”
“Stop reading my mind,” she protested, but her voice came out more husky than firm.
“I can’t—no more than you can will yourself to be deaf. Besides,” he added, running a finger lightly across her lips, tracking its progress with intent eyes, “it doesn’t bother you half as much as you imply.”
She tried to deny that, and found that she couldn’t. Which must mean it was true. Why wasn’t she outraged?
“Because your soul recognizes mine, Katrina. It knows, even if your human consciousness does not, that I will never—could never—hurt you. It’s the same reason you don’t flinch from my touch. Because, deep down, you know you could never be safer than in my arms.”
She stared up into his beautiful face, into the haven of the tranquil sea that lived in his eyes, the same sea that had offered her comfort her whole life. She shifted her hand, curling her fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his head gently down towards hers.
He watched her each fraction of the way, unblinking, his gaze never leaving her for an instant. And then his lips met hers, skin to skin, warmth to warmth, breath to breath. Sweet, gentle, brushes at first, his mouth moving against hers like the wings of a butterfly. He made no other move. Just that. Soft, gentle brushes of his lips upon hers. Unaggressive, undemanding. Except for his lips and the hand still resting lightly on her cheek, no other part of his body touched her.
After a minute, maybe two, of the sweet, chaste kisses, the fearful flutter in her heart became a flutter of a different sort. Impatience curled in her belly. She hadn’t fled, screaming, from the touch of his mouth on hers. Instead, she wanted more. That scared her enough to make her break off the kiss and move across the room to put a little much-needed distance between herself and the angel.
“Last night, you said my father’s Guardian died,” she blurted. “How is that possible? Aren’t angels immortal?”
Micah sighed and sat on her sofa, laying one arm across the sofa back. “Under most circumstances, yes. But Guardians gain their energy—their life force and their angelic power—from the archangel who created them. If their connection to that archangel is broken, that energy cannot replenish, and once it is spent, the Guardian ceases to be. He—or she—dies, to put it in human terms.”
“My father’s Guardian lost her connection to her archangel?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Micah fell silent, and Kat found herself wishing the mind-reading thing worked both ways. She didn’t like that her mind was an open book, but his remained full of secrets. She shifted with impatience and was about to prod him, when he finally answered.
“Guardians are forbidden from manifesting in their human form until summoned by their Lightkeeper—or unless their Lightkeeper is in immediate danger from the Darkseekers. It is one of the key directives of the law to which all Guardians are bound. Your father’s Guardian broke that law. She came without summons and for a reason other than to combat a Darkseeker. Because of that, her connection to Ramiel was broken, so when her energy ran out, she was extinguished.”
Kat’s brow crinkled. “That sounds very final.”
“It is.” Micah leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “If we break the law that governs us, once our energy expires, the spark of the archangel’s soul that gave us life returns to the archangel, and we cease to be.”
“You mean, like…you’re wiped out of existence entirely?”
“Yes.”
She drew back, horrified. “That’s terrible!”
“Is it?” He shrugged. “Your father’s Guardian knew what she was doing when she broke the law, and she knew what the consequences would be.”
“Then why did she do it?”
“I’m sure she had her reasons. She was extinguished before I was created, so I never had the opportunity to ask her.”
“Would you ever do something like that?” She’d only known him for a short time, but the thought of him being extinguished left her feeling sick to her stomach. What kind of cruel God would do such a thing?
“There’s nothing cruel about it. Every Guardian is created for a specific purpose. My purpose is to safeguard you. Your father’s Guardian was created to protect him.” He reached for her hand and traced the lines on her palm before threading his fingers through hers. His smile was full of compassion and calm acceptance. “Guardians aren’t like humans, Katrina. We aren’t born to a mother and a father, and we don’t possess a unique soul like you do. In fact, any uniqueness I possess exists only because I was created to complement your uniqueness—to be what you need so that I can help you fulfill your purpose.”
She stared at their entwined hands, then moistened her dry lips and looked up into his face. “What happens to you if I don’t fulfill that purpose?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You know, I really would like it very much if you would sit here beside me.” With his free hand, he patted the sofa cushion to his right. “Maybe we could light a fire and watch those old Christmas movies your friend Maya and her children so enjoy?”
“Micah…answer the question.”
“Come sit beside me and promise to watch those movies with me, and I will.” He gave her hand a tug and favored her with another of his impossibly addictive smiles.
Kat huffed in exasperation but moved from her chair to the sofa cushion beside him. “There. Now, answer me.”
“And the movies? Will you watch them with me today?”
She grimaced. “Yes, fine, I’ll watch the movies with you. Now, answer my question.”
She tried to pull her hand free, but he wouldn’t let it go. Instead, he raised it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. “You needn’t worry. Your inability to strengthen the Seal will not cause my extinguishment.”
“Swear it.�
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He didn’t hesitate. “I do swear it. Now which movie shall we watch first?” He reached for the TV remote on the coffee table and pointed it at the television. When nothing happened, he frowned at the device. “This isn’t working. Why is this not working?”
“Give me that.” Kat took the remote from him, punched the TV button followed by the power switch. The television powered up. “Although why you want to spend the day watching Christmas movies is beyond me.”
“It’s something you enjoy—no matter how much you like to pretend you don’t. And if I’m only to have this one weekend with you, I’d like to share as many of your pleasures with you as I can.”
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For the rest of that quiet, strangely surreal day, Katrina and Micah sat together on her living room couch watching the small selection of old Christmas movies she’d had bought to entertain Maya’s two girls: Frosty the Snowman, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus, Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Carol, and It’s a Wonderful Life. Micah started a fire in the hearth, ate his first buttered popcorn (which he liked), drank his first soda (which he didn’t like), and consumed his first peppermint mocha with fresh whipped cream (which he liked very much). To Micah’s secret pleasure, throughout the course of the day, Kat migrated from sitting on the far side of the couch, to sitting close enough to reach into the popcorn bowl Micah was holding, to leaning ever-so-slightly against him while his arm lay across the back of the couch, a scant fraction of an inch away from embracing her.
As they watched George Bailey find his way back home to his beloved family and wealth of friends in the final scenes of It’s a Wonderful Life, Katrina blinked rapidly and cleared her throat several times, and Micah realized three things. One: entertaining Maya’s daughters was the excuse Katrina had come up with to purchase copies of the sentimental movies she secretly loved. Two: in her own way, Katrina was George Bailey. She’d done so much for so many people. She’d saved so many lives. And yet she had no real concept of just what sort of miracles she’d worked—or how many people would give anything to repay her kindness, if given the chance. Three: Katrina was also nothing like George Bailey. George Bailey had given into despair. He’d wished to end his life. But no matter how deeply Katrina had been hurt, no matter how badly she’d been damaged, never once had Katrina truly despaired. She’d carried on, grimly, stoically, but with a heart that, deep down, was full of hope. Hope for a better world. Hope that she could make a real difference in people’s lives. Hope for other people, even when she had none for herself.
Now, all he had to do was to convince her that hope was worth fighting for—even if it meant facing the worst nightmares of her past.
It was ten o’clock when the last movie finished. Katrina turned off the television, yawned and stretched. She froze when the arm stretched across the back of the couch moved that tiny fraction of an inch to drape across her shoulders.
“Sit with me for a while longer,” he said. The fire was still burning merrily in the hearth, casting a warm orange glow over the otherwise-dark room. “Just like this.” The hand resting on her shoulder stroked her upper arm in light, feathery touches. “At least until the fire dies down.”
“It’s late.” Her voice was husky. “I should get to bed. Isabella’s party is tomorrow.”
She hadn’t shifted away from his touch or tried to stand. Inwardly, Micah smiled.
“Her party isn’t until the afternoon. There’s plenty of time. I won’t do anything but hold you. I just want to know what it’s like.”
“You held me yesterday when you took me to Asheville and Wisconsin.”
“That was different. I want to know what this is like.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because one of your fondest childhood memories is of sitting by the fire with your parents. Your father would put his arm around your mother, and you would put your head in her lap, and the three of you would watch the fire. When you think of what it’s like to be happy and at peace, you think of that. I don’t have any memories like that of my own. Once you send me away, I never will.”
She blinked several times, rapidly, and turned her gaze to the fire. She didn’t say anything, but a few seconds later, she shifted closer and laid her head tentatively on his shoulder.
For a moment, Micah forgot how to breathe. He’d meant to share a moment of closeness and remind her of what it was like to hold someone, but despite his intimate knowledge of her memories, he wasn’t prepared for his own response as her slight, slender body nestled against his and her head bent to rest perfectly in the hollow where his neck met his shoulder. The fresh, delicate aroma of her hair filled his nose, and her warmth, which should have felt cool against the higher temperature of his Guardian’s form, seeped into skin like water into parched earth, soothing a thirst he’d never known existed.
Shaken, humbled, overcome with awe for how so simple a thing could affect him so completely, he pressed his lips against the crown of her shining head and closed his eyes to bask in the sublime pleasure of his first embrace.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun rose Saturday morning into a cloudless sky, bringing with it warmth enough to melt a good bit of the ice that had kept Atlanta paralyzed for the better part of two days. With her car still in the shop, Kat and Micah took a cab to Maya’s house, a modest three bedroom home from the 1930s located in an area of south Atlanta that was rapidly increasing in value as energetic yuppies breathed new life into the old neighborhoods.
Nerves gathered in Kat’s belly as she and Micah approached the sky blue front doors. She’d been to Maya’s a number of times in the past, but she never brought anyone with her when she came. She’d definitely never brought someone as indisputably Manly-with-a-capital-M as Micah. Or as Josie put it this morning when Kat and Micah were on their way out, Manly-with-a-capital-Mrowr!
Angels really, really, really shouldn’t be sexy. Especially not when Kat, who’d never found any man sexy, was having a hard time keeping her eyes—and hands—to herself.
Something had changed between then last night. Something vital. A seismic shift, deep inside. She’d fallen asleep in the angel’s arms—her, Katrina Bentsen, the haphephobic! And after enjoying what was arguably the most restful sleep she’d ever known, she’d awoken this morning stretched out beside him, his arms wrapped around her and one massive white wing draped over her, covering her from neck to toe, emanating heat like an electric blanket.
Ever since then, she’d found herself aching to touch him, to pet him the way the shelter’s little wounded children petted the super-soft kitten plushies she gave them. As if touching him, holding him, stroking his warm, radiant skin could drive all the shadows away and heal what was broken inside her.
“Do we knock, or just wait here?” Micah asked.
“What?” She blinked, then flushed as she realized she’d been standing there on the porch, imaging what it would feel like to run her palms over Micah’s bare chest, his arms, his back. Wondering what it would feel like to stand naked, body to body, in his embrace, with his wings folded around them. “Sorry!” She shook herself and spun away, face flaming. She jabbed the doorbell with a shaking finger, then shoved her hands in her coat pockets.
“I’ll get it!” A little girl’s voice called out from somewhere inside the house. Then came the sound of feet racing across hardwood floors.
Ten-year-old Zoe, Maya’s eldest daughter, flung open the door. “Aunt Kat!” A huge, beaming smile lit up the little girl’s face, only to round into an expressive “Oh!” of utter shock. “Who are you?”
Kat considered chiding Zoe about her manners, but the words died in her throat when Micah laid a hand on Kat’s back and moved to stand beside her.
“I am Micah. I am Katrina’s friend.”
Kat hadn’t thought it possible for Zoe’s eyes to get bigger, but they did. She looked from Micah to the hand on Katrina’s back to Kat, then back again to Micah, an expression of shocked
amazement on her expressive face. Maya’s children knew first-hand how Katrina responded to most touches.
“I—uh—I’m Zoe,” Zoe said. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, Zoe,” Micah replied with grave politeness.
Zoe watched with intense, unabashed interest as Micah waited for Katrina to precede him across the threshold. His hand remained on the small of Katrina’s back
Kat could feel her cheeks heating up. “Can you let your Mom know we’re here?”
“Sure.” Zoe spun on one pink sneaker and went pelting down the hall into the kitchen. “Mom! Aunt Kat is here!” And then, in a loud, easily overheard whisper, “She brought a man! And Mom, he’s touching her! And she’s letting him!”
Kat’s face flamed.
Micah made a strange, rumbly sort of noise, which took her a minute to recognize. He was laughing.
“You think this is funny?”
White teeth flashed. Angels had radiant smiles. Really. Crest White Strips super-white and radiant smiles. Dazzling. And turquoise eyes to drown in.
“I find this joyful,” he corrected. The hand that had been on her back now lifted to slowly and oh-so-gently cup the side of her face. His smile faded, his expression turning solemn and intense. “And I, too, would like to know the feeling of holding you naked in my arms with my wings wrapped around you. I would like that more than you could possibly imagine.”
Her mouth went dry again and her face flamed. She stared up into his face and knew that if she said the word, he would wrap those wings of his around her right now and shift her straight back to her apartment to turn her thought into reality.
She was saved from answering by the rapid click of approaching heels and the slap-slap of little pink sneakers running alongside them. Maya and Zoe were coming. She turned so suddenly lost her balance. Micah caught her before she could fall, both arms wrapping tight to steady her.
And that was the sight that greeted Maya as she stepped into the foyer: Katrina leaning back against Micah, snuggled in his arms like a lover.