Angel Unleashed

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  “Your detective.”

  “Crane? Christ!”

  Rhys was already heading for the elevator. The moment they’d shared and the confession she had left hanging had to be tabled in favor of a more pressing issue.

  Avery was right beside Rhys, relieved about the reprieve and reaching for her blade as the elevator descended. In a loaded silence, they raced from the elevator and out the front door of the building, careful not to say anything else about feelings.

  Enemies were massing on the street in the distance. There was no sign of mortals in the area. It was still dark, but had to be early in the morning by now. One hour was much like the next. She rarely kept track of time’s passage, having experienced so much of it.

  The first howl echoed between the buildings, closer than half a block away. “Werewolves,” she said, as Rhys moved past her toward the sound.

  “Let’s hope they’re some of his,” Rhys called back, and he took off at a sprint.

  She really was sorry...for this, and for allowing herself to be caught in the first place. For nearly confiding in a Blood Knight, even if it was Perceval, or Rhys, as he now called himself.

  God, yes. She had messed up, big-time, and now had to deal. She was the cause of this latest round of confrontations. She could not, in good conscience, run away from Rhys now, when he was fighting for her, and because of her. They ran side by side, covering ground in a blur of speed. Vampires were quick. Immortals were quicker. Werewolves were lethal when it came to guarding their territory, as well as fast. No lazy bloodsucker should have dared to come here, where Blood Knights and a Detective Werewolf shared a penthouse.

  She ran at Rhys’s side to the dark place where some of London’s Weres had caught up with their old enemies, knowing that without a full moon overhead, there couldn’t be many furred-up wolves in this fray, but the ones who could pull off a trick like shape-shifting at will were truly fine specimens with the purest bloodlines.

  Silver blade in hand, Avery lunged into the heart of the battle being fought, a battle that had little to do with species interaction and everything to do with her.

  Without her unwilling help in creating the Blood Knights, and that blood gift they had received, there might not have been a species called vampires. From the slip of a Maker’s fang, way back in time, after their loss of control over the Knights, one of the Makers had started the vampirism ball rolling by passing the whisper of death and immortality to other humans. One good bite to the jugular and it was bye-bye mortality for the victims. Castle Broceliande had been ground zero for such experiments, and after gaining her freedom from its dungeons, she had demolished that evil place too late.

  “Avery!” Rhys was in Guardian mode, and serious about taking the lead.

  “Fat chance!” she shouted, hitting the first bloodsucker head-on.

  * * *

  There were too many adversaries for him to maintain his human semblance and get very far, though Rhys tried hard to hold on. Avery, on the other hand, had become light, and beamed the pure white energy of her origins at every monster in the area.

  Crane was there in the shadows. Other werewolves were howling, coming closer, keeping to the darker spaces as they rushed toward the spot where Rhys stood. Without a full moon, they had shifted. Like Crane, they had to be full-blooded Lycans. Several huge Weres, half morphed, naked and partially furred up, joined the fight. Two others ran on all fours, which was another sign of ancient Lycan lineage. Savage growls tore from their inhuman throats that would have frightened any living soul.

  It was a miracle no one had yet heard the noise and called the police...a minor joke, he supposed, since it was likely some of these guys were the police. Crane’s friends on the force.

  Led by Crane, they fought the vampires. Bloodsuckers were notoriously nasty fighters, but the unparalleled beauty of werewolves in action made the vamps look like amateurs. The enemies clashing in this alley looked a little bit like Valhalla’s gods at war. Not for the first time in his long history, Rhys was glad there were Weres on his side.

  As with their prey in the old days, Crane’s pack went for vampire throats in a weird turnaround twist. With enough power in their agile bodies to sever vampire heads from their emaciated bodies with one or two bites, at least ten bloodsuckers went down before Rhys could count to five.

  He turned his attention to Avery, who was slashing at a particularly nasty fanged freak with her glinting blade. She had severed one of its hands from its bony arm, and the creep didn’t seem to notice. Fangs bared, the beast went at her again and again, snapping its teeth, hollow eyes red-rimmed with bloodlust and anger.

  But angels were no weaklings, mentally or physically, Rhys had discovered, not merely pretty things with wings. Avery held this sucker off without a single groan of protest, choreographing her moves with precision and an almost effortless ease.

  She could handle this. That was obvious. But Rhys felt sick watching her. He hated seeing how that monster’s yellow fangs got close enough at times to graze the collar of Avery’s jacket and how tightly her pale fingers gripped the blade.

  Although she might be angry about it, he was beside Avery in a flash. He caught the snapping beast by its coat and spun it around to face its new dancing partner.

  “Mine,” Avery called out, already moving up between Rhys and the bloodsucker in his grip. Confused by the diversion, the vamp looked at her too late. Avery’s silver blade pierced its chest cavity in a direct hit to the spot where this vampire’s heart once had been a beating, living organ.

  Surprise overtook the monster’s gaunt features before it exploded into a storm of ash. All motion in the area seemed to slow to a standstill as the gray flakes rained down.

  The Weres had the situation well under control. The foggy, water-saturated London air stank of dusted vampire remains. There would be no remnants of this fight left to be found. No missing persons reports would be filed, because vampires were no longer people.

  Rhys stood back-to-back with Avery, absorbing her tension, feeling electricity spark off her. Neither of them moved.

  The area cleared quickly. Crane’s Weres were disappearing as fluidly as they had arrived. That left only Ellis Crane, who growled a greeting to Rhys, tossed his head and took off after his pack.

  One lone Shade, either brave enough or stupid enough to glide from the shadows with malice on its mind after the main event had concluded, was the street’s only ghostly reminder of what had gone on.

  “This one’s mine,” Rhys said.

  Stake in hand, he welcomed the gauzy apparition with a wave.

  “You do know that stake won’t harm this guy,” Avery warned as the Shade rushed in.

  “Trying to tell me how to do my job?” Rhys quipped as the Shade advanced.

  “Just a friendly reminder,” Avery said.

  In what seemed like a slow waltz with a shadow partner, Rhys let the Shade get close enough for him to smell its fetid breath. Sidestepping Avery, who was watching him intently, he whirled, ducked and straightened again with the blade he pulled from his boot.

  Fighting a Shade was like fighting a dark mass of jelly. The thing had no face that he could see. Its arms stuck out from its body like liquid spilling from a pool of ink. But between those arms lay its vulnerable spot, and Rhys angled his blade there as the thing’s cool, moist presence came at him.

  The attack was weak, at best. In seconds, the malignant shadow figure dissipated as if it had been composed of nothing more than a bit of compressed fog. No hint of it remained. There wasn’t a spot on Rhys’s knife.

  “Well, that was just too easy,” Rhys muttered. “I wonder why the damn Shade had bothered to show up.”

  “Maybe it was trying to tell me something,” Avery said thoughtfully. “Easy, was it?” she added, with a sardonic nod to his Knightly prowess.

&nbs
p; She was smiling wryly when Rhys looked at her. Riled up, tense and with his sigils crawling on the back of his neck, Rhys reached her before she had time to wipe the smile from her pale, perfect face. With his hands on her jacket, and a small surge of the power he rarely used and never openly displayed, Rhys picked her up and tossed the angel through a partially boarded window beside them.

  Sounds of breaking wood were muffled by the heaviness of the fog. Rhys jumped through the opening after Avery, who lay on her back on the floor, uninjured and still smiling.

  Had she liked this show of strength? Whatever the reason for her welcoming expression, he found her too damn inviting. The surge of lust searing his insides was also a genuine surprise.

  Rhys was beside her on the floor before her next blink, thinking that in the old days of chivalry he would have spread his cape for her to stretch out on, and that tonight their bed would have to be rubble.

  He could have found her mouth without any light to guide him. He would have done this no matter what. Hungrily sealing his lips to hers, he perched on his elbows above her, ready to take however much of her she was willing to give, while also half expecting her to shove him away.

  She didn’t offer up a protest. None at all.

  On the dirty wood-splintered floor of an abandoned shop, and with the last howls echoing faintly in the distance, Rhys tore the leather jacket from Avery’s lean body without his lips leaving hers.

  He stroked her shoulders through the soft, worn fabric of her shirt as the kiss deepened, before tearing the shirt apart with his hands. The sound of ripping cloth was sinful, provocative and sexy as hell. He was hard in all the right places to follow through with this particular meeting.

  Avery’s mouth was moist, hot and malleable. She was not only willing to let him get this far, she was encouraging him.

  His hands followed the roadmap of scars covering her torso to her breasts, which, like her face, were smooth beneath his palms. When he brushed their raised buds with his fingertips, she made a soft sound. A sigh of acceptance. His angel wanted this as much as he did. Who would have guessed that angels considered a good fight as foreplay?

  This was to be no plan made by careful lovers, however. There was going to be no slow lovemaking session tonight, and no tender exploration of the glorious being beneath him. It was entirely possible there would never be another moment like this one. Conceivably, this was their one shot at taking the edge off an attraction that had them hungering for each other every time they met.

  Hell, Avery felt like a woman to him. She kissed like a woman, with passion, little darts of her tongue and fiery determination. Jealous, Rhys fought off a disturbing pang of uneasiness that had his sigils squirming. She had kissed before. What else had she done?

  Oh, yes. She’d mentioned playing with the wolves.

  His need to possess her overruled those questions. With his mouth on hers and her sweet angelic breath in his lungs, Rhys’s fingers moved to the zipper on her tight leather pants.

  Surely she would stop him now?

  Each inch that zipper traveled was a new revelation about time, and a fresh thrill. Rhys’s pulse pounded as though someone hammered away at him. His sigils, antsy only seconds ago, had gone still.

  Avery snaked her arms around his waist, under his coat. Her touch sent shockwaves of longing through him that made Rhys wish he was already undressed and inside her.

  Too many clothes in the way...

  Her hands were strong, her grip on him firm. She was seeking a way inside his shirt, and he wanted to help her. But the zipper had reached the end of its metal track. His fingers burned as he slid through the opening he had created in the leather, heading for what awaited him there and almost afraid to find the damp heat he so desperately sought.

  Her skin was feverish. Her next sigh nearly sent him over the precipice of withholding his desire for what now lay within his reach. Rich. Succulent. Sexy. Did anyone think of angels that way?

  The smoothness of her face and breasts extended to what lay beneath his fingers. Her belly was concave, stretched tightly between two blade-sharp hip bones. Touching the mound of skin and bone beneath that was like running a hand over a newborn’s back. And angels, he discovered, did not believe in underwear.

  Hell with this!

  He drew back with reluctance, missing her mouth as soon as he’d left it. Cool air rushed in to fill the space between them, but did nothing to cool his ardor. Braced on one elbow, he began to press her pants downward, imagining the delights he’d find, crazy with longing for this angel.

  Avery sat up. She gripped his wrist. Pale blue eyes met his in the dappled darkness.

  “You’ll stop me now?” Rhys said.

  Clearly, she had other ideas. She got to her feet, but not to get away from him or halt what was going to happen. With her hand clamped to his wrist, she urged him to stand. She helped him to remove her pants, kicked off her boots and shook her head to scatter locks of white hair that were starting to tangle.

  Fully naked, she stood in front of him, open to his curious examination. Rhys couldn’t help but stare. Certainly Avery felt like a woman made of flesh and bone, but seeing her like this, bare from her face to her feet, he wasn’t so sure about his own earlier perceptions.

  White skin gleamed with the same light he had seen radiate from her before. That extraordinary sheen bathed her, encapsulated her. Undressed, it was easy to see the real thing. The real Avery.

  She was mind-blowingly beautiful.

  Avery looked exactly like everyone’s version of one of Heaven’s denizens. It was all there. So much so, Rhys half expected her to use those new tattoos and fly away.

  Angel. Yes. No argument from him. She was a walking miracle and beyond belief. At the same time, though, Rhys found this image tragic. Hers was a unique exquisiteness that hurt the soul of whoever witnessed it.

  It hurt him.

  He refused to close his eyes.

  The scars she bore added to his discomfort. Someone had wounded her, branded this heavenly creature who had, for some reason, turned earthly. Only her eyes, dark-lined and curious, vied for his attention over every other incredible detail.

  What happened to you? Rhys wanted to ask her.

  Why are you here?

  Unable to look at her any longer, lost in the blue of her eyes, he drew her into the circle of his arms. Wanting to give comfort, and at the same time wanting so much more than that after all the years of being alone, he reasoned that this angelic being was in his arms for a similar reason. She also sought comfort, wherever it could be found in a cold world where the population remained ignorant of what went on beyond their everyday lives.

  He would give her that comfort. He would accept the invitation in her eyes and in her exquisite nakedness.

  Without asking her permission or being mindful of what would happen to them afterward, he lifted Avery, wrapped her bare legs around him and, with his hands on her small, rounded backside, pressed her into the wall across from them.

  “Okay,” he said. “You and me. Here. Now.”

  Holding her there wouldn’t do, though. Merely feeling the extreme heat between her legs through his jeans wouldn’t do. Turning slowly, keeping her tight to him, he took her back down to the floor, careful to lay her on her jacket. Her grip on him did not ease. Her mouth was waiting when he again found it.

  With only enough room to unleash himself, and still fully dressed, he found what he wanted—the heat and the welcoming dampness that aided his first entry into that inferno.

  Sure he would lose his mind, Rhys paused, exhaled a groan and waited out the few seconds it took for his pulse to catch up with his breathing. That hesitation didn’t suit the creature in his arms. A wickedly sensual, unangelic grinding of her hips against his deepened his position inside her. As his cock slid deeper into the bli
stering heat, the black blood in Rhys’s arteries began to boil.

  He wondered briefly how something from Heaven could be so hot. Her body molded to his, took him in, massaged his length to greater and greater depths.

  No more time for thought of any kind...

  Avery’s hips had a silent language all their own. Her encouraging moves were undeniably right and perfectly timed to drive him mad. Her willingness left him no alternative but to get on with it, see this through.

  So be it.

  All right.

  Backing off slowly, Rhys then eased inside her again, barely able to absorb the shock of what he was doing and what he was finding at this angel’s molten core. This was something altogether new, exciting, and it came with an unexpected current of feeling that made him finally close his eyes.

  She was pure electricity wrapped in flesh, underscored by bone. Touching her made his skin buzz, caused his body to ache in places he hadn’t known existed.

  As he plunged into her again and again, Avery’s fingernails trailed down the back of his shirt. When his next surge of pressure reached the core of this angel, her nails cut deep grooves in his skin. A hurt for a hurt. Pleasure and pain were mingling.

  She dug in with both hands, holding on tight, making sure he didn’t stop what he was doing. Hell, he wouldn’t have tried.

  My wild angel...

  His sigils felt as if they had burst into the kind of flames usually reserved for a warning that he was heading in a wrong direction. But Rhys didn’t pay attention to what that might mean. He was exactly where he wanted to be. Inside Avery. Sliding in and out of the soft petals of her sex as if they’d been longtime lovers, and as if they had something further to prove.

  It was all he could do to hold on when she was so very succulent, so sweet and otherworldly. Sensation ruled. Touch was everything now. Avery’s heat. Her soft skin. Her lush mouth. Building up a rhythm, Rhys’s body gave in to those things. His body took over, driving in and out of Avery, striving for levels of ecstasy he’d never known were possible and certainly never thought existed.