Noël tucked his clipboard in a pocket it should not have fit into and declared, “Très bien. We have officially arrived and are living through the fight scene that is part of the present.” He wiped snowflakes off his shoulder and looked at his watch. Apparently it was not working correctly because he kept tapping it.
“So what, you’re just gonna leave?” she said.
Treasa was surprised to see a flicker of regret in Noël’s eyes when they met hers. “According to that big clock, there is less than a minute left of Christmas day. None of us will have much choice.”
He was right and that terrified her.
“I have a choice!” Gop roared, taking a few steps forward, sword held high.
“Me too!” Ghost gasped, whacking at Death’s arm when his hand locked firmly around Ghost’s throat. Their wings beat against one another’s as they struggled.
“The choice was all mine,” Seth said, his tone low. “I wished for one thing for Christmas. The Angel of Death.”
“I do not like this.” Noël shook his head sharply. “Il est un souhait de noël pauvres par les normes de personne. It was a poor Christmas wish by anyone’s standards.”
“But it was mine,” Seth said, eyes wild, stance ready for whatever came at him.
Thirty seconds left until midnight.
“Maybe I want something else,” Cullen said.
“Too late,” Noël said. “Though it’s the present it is still Seth’s Christmas future.”
“Bloody hell,” Cullen muttered.
“Worry naught!” Gop ran at Death, his sword held high. “I will see an end to this!”
Noël tripped him and the mighty Highlander fell flat on his face. “No. You will not.”
Death flung Ghost so hard that he ended up wedged in the end of the slide.
“Iw’ll still swave you, Bfffff,” Ghost cried, words echoed and muffled in the tube.
She watched in horror as the angel swooped over Seth, his voice raspy, eager. “I believe you wanted something for Christmas?”
Death did not come after her and she knew why. He assumed he already had her.
Treasa and Cullen slid in next to Seth and started chanting. She would be damned if Death took him after all he had done to help her.
Noël kept making disgruntled noises as he came alongside, shaking not only his clipboard but his pen at Death. “Be gone with you, angel. Be gone now, I say!”
Ghost wiggled free of his containment, but it was too late.
Cullen did something she never could have anticipated.
He fell to his knees, held out his arms and flung back his head. “I call on ye heavenly Father to take the last of me so that I might be free, so that I might fight from the other side.”
“Oh, nooo!” Ghost wailed as he snapped into a Christmas tree bulb and perched on Cullen’s chest. Gop leapt in front of them, sword still at the ready. Noël, muttering the whole time, stood in front of them all, chin thrust out as he looked Death in the face.
Everything seemed to go in slow-motion when Cullen flung himself in front of Seth. His clipped wings sprouted then burned away as the ghosts scurried after him.
Bells started chiming midnight on Christmas day.
“No!” Treasa cried, but it was too late.
The Angel of Death had come calling and wanted his due.
In this case, it was Seth. Though a warlock, he was still a mere mortal. A man who had wished for Death.
Treasa was just a pleasant after-treat.
Furious, Death devoured Cullen, Seth, and the ghosts in a ravenous swoop. Snow and darkness surrounded her as she fell to her knees. She continued to throw magic at Death, but it did no good. Whatever was happening was far too powerful. She squinted, tried to see, needed to get closer to Cullen.
“I can’t lose him again,” she cried over and over. “Not again.”
A loud roaring sound swept over everything.
When the dust settled—or snow in this case—Death’s face was in hers, his voice dark with promise. “I’ll be right back for you, my love.”
Icy snow spit in her face. Desperate, Treasa crawled toward where she last saw Cullen. Please don’t let him be dead. When the clock stroked its final chime at midnight, she froze.
“Cullen, where are you?” she groaned.
“Here,” Seth said. “He’s here.”
Treasa could barely breathe as she crawled forward. Cullen lay on the ground, his eyes unseeing. “Help,” she mouthed but no sound came out. Her eyes turned to Seth and she whispered, “What happened?”
“You can’t wish for the Angel of the Death without consequences,” he said, frustration in his voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure this out. I’ll get him back.”
She grabbed Seth’s wrist. “What do you mean by consequences?”
Seth’s pained eyes met hers. He started to speak but stopped.
“By my calculations, Cullen Stewart is no longer here,” Noël reported, his eyes sad as he stared at his clipboard.
“When I wished for the Angel of Death for Christmas it meant I was inviting death to take me,” Seth said softly.
“’Tis a sad Christmas ending if ever there was one,” Gop said, kneeling, head bent over his sword.
“So sad,” Ghost agreed, rolling until he bumped her elbow. “I am sorrier than you know BFF.”
“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, pulling Cullen’s head onto her lap. Her eyes shot to Seth. “I don’t understand.”
Seth’s jaw clenched, but he was man enough not to look away. “When I wished for the Angel of Death that meant he would get a soul. I fully intended to give him mine, but Cullen stepped in. He sacrificed himself to save me.” His eyes lowered. “In effect, I think he might’ve saved you as well.”
Breathing became impossible. Her chest tightened. No. Not when they had just started over. Not when there was a glimmer of hope.
“He gave his soul to Death?” She shook her head, anger building. “And you let him?”
“As I read here, the former fallen angel named Cullen Stewart acted on his own accord.” Noël nodded once. “That is confirmed.”
“Obviously,” Ghost said, vibrating by her side, upset.
“I will defend ye all till the end,” Gop declared, holding his sword a little less firmly. His uneasy eyes went from Cullen to Treasa and he swallowed hard, voice wobbly. “Cullen’s okay, right?”
Treasa shook her head and wrapped her arms around Cullen the best she could. He was not okay in the least. She felt for his pulse. Nothing.
Jesus, no. Please no. God, don’t let this happen. Tears poured down her face as she bent her head over his and kept praying. Anything to bring him back. Anything to fix all the wrongs.
“You know what I’m curious about?” Seth said, voice still respectably soft.
“What’s that?” Ghost asked.
“Cullen said that you ghosts supposedly vanish at the stroke of midnight on Christmas day. That’s come and gone,” Seth said. “So why are you still here?”
A glimmer of hope surfaced and Treasa lifted her head.
Noël shuffled through papers, baffled.
“That might be my fault,” someone declared, voice jolly. “I meant to get around to resetting that old clock on the main building. Weird how the chimes still went off.”
Everyone’s attention turned to the manager of the park, Sambo Jones—AKA Santa—as he strode over, seemingly confused as he eyed them. “So what’s going on here?”
“You can see us?” Gop said.
Santa waved away his words. “I’ve been running this place for nearly a decade. Sure I can see you.”
The ghosts frowned, clearly thrown by his response.
“No, this is entirely wrong,” Noël declared, brows knitted together as he eyed his notes. “Until it’s midnight, we are still part of Seth’s future. It can be no other way.”
“Unless…” Gop murmured, voice trailing off.
“Unless what?” Treasa asked.
“Well, technically this wasn’t just Seth’s future but an alternate version of Cullen’s past.”
Noël’s head jerked up and his eyes narrowed. “A past he might’ve had more influence over with the help of something very powerful.”
Gop nodded. “Or someone.”
“Normally I’d say I’m not crazy about the idea that someone can change my future but not this time.” Seth looked at Santa as he climbed a ladder to reset the clock. “So what time is it?”
“My guess?” Treasa nodded at the hill leading up through the park and grinned. “About five minutes before midnight.”
Around that time, the Angel of Death and Ghost were battling one another way up at the top of the slide. And there they were again. She had no time to contemplate what that might mean before white light blinded her. Warm, encompassing, it felt vaguely familiar. Then she knew….because she had felt it once before.
When the light faded, Cullen was no longer in her arms but standing in front of her.
His wings were not small but mammoth and glowing white.
Cullen Stewart was no longer a fallen angel.
Chapter Eleven
THERE WAS NO greater feeling than being welcomed back into God’s grace. To once more be filled with His golden light, His warmth and acceptance. Yet, mercifully enough, Cullen had not ascended but remained here on Earth. Because the truth was despite the glory of God, he didn’t want to leave Treasa yet again. Nor did he want her to end up anywhere she did not want to be.
So that meant protecting her.
That meant it was time to kick the Angel of Death’s bloody arse.
He winked at Treasa before he leapt into the air. Thanks to divine intervention, Seth, and the ghosts were out of harm’s way and stood beside her. Still at the top of the slide, the Angel of Death had just realized what happened.
Now it was time for battle.
Vicious and enraged, they met in the sky. When the angels slammed into one another, Heaven shook. Steam burned off their wings as Cullen wrapped his hands around Death’s throat. He lost his grip when the dark angel used ice-laden wind to blind him. Cullen blinked away the pain and wrapped his arm around Death’s waist. Then they fell. Down. Down. Twisting. Spinning. Ice cracked and burst apart when they crashed into the frozen pond.
“This is my curse. She is my woman,” Death roared, his eyes narrowed as they came to their feet. “Not even our Father can override that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Cullen grinned as they circled one another in the glacial water. “But at least I’ve got my wings back which gives me a fighting chance to save her.”
“I’m not sure you heard me,” Death growled. “It’s my curse.”
“See, that’s where the loophole might be,” Cullen growled back. “God tends to give his full backing to those that protect others.” The corner of his lips shot up. “Not those who put curses on others, especially those we love.”
A flicker of unease flashed in Death’s eyes before they narrowed into harsh slits and he came at Cullen. Snow whipped as they locked arms. Their wings warred. By all means, the Angel of Death was stronger than most and it soon became a battle for the ages.
When Death flung him up, Cullen swooped down and locked his legs around the angel’s neck before body-slamming him to the ground beneath the water. Death flipped him. Cullen kneed Death. Again and again they tackled one another. Then they were rolling down the snowy hill, bodies bouncing off the trees as they punched and clawed.
Trees bent and snow billowed as they smashed against tree trunks before somersaulting through the air while still locked together. Over and over they tumbled until they slammed against the rear entrance of the main building. Cullen had no idea how to defeat Death but hoped that if he fought long enough the angel would ultimately be unable to take Treasa at midnight.
So on and on it went, the angels battling one another as everyone scrambled out of the way. Tick. Tick. Tick. Mere minutes dwindled down to half a minute. An infinity when fighting for the life of the woman he loved.
Death tagged him so hard that he skidded on his back a good twenty feet, wings crashing into everything in his path. The ghosts, Treasa, and Seth, threw all they had at the rival angel, but Death was unstoppable.
Relentless.
Determined.
But so was Cullen.
He delivered Death a sharp uppercut to the jaw. Death yanked Cullen’s arm back until he fell to his knees.
Twenty seconds and counting.
With a quick swing of his leg, Cullen brought Death to his knees as well. A sound louder than thunder boomed when they wrapped their arms around one another, struggling as they swirled. Wind-driven mounds of snow built around them as their wings thrashed.
Fifteen seconds.
“I will never let her go,” Death snarled.
Cullen ground his teeth as the angel’s fury and might made his muscles strain. He stared Death straight in the eyes. “Neither will I.”
Using all the power he had, Cullen drove his fist into the angel’s side, jumped to his feet and spun fast, hitting him with a solid roundhouse kick to the chest.
Ten seconds.
When Death came to his feet before his back even hit the ground, Cullen knew they were out of time. With one mighty leap, he landed in front of Treasa.
Nine, eight, seven…
Cullen fell to his knees and yanked her down until she knelt in front of him. He pulled her close and covered them both with his wings. His words were whisper soft. “I’m sorry if I failed you, lass.”
“She’s mine!” Death roared so loudly, Cullen felt his feathers peeling away.
Six, five, four...
Cullen prayed to God and put all the divinity he could muster into protecting her as Death’s power beat against his wings.
“No.” She shook her head. “You didn’t fail me. I was young. We were young. Nothing could touch us.”
“But it could,” he murmured. “And did.”
Death’s fury was so strong fire burned Cullen’s wings, tearing at the sensitive tendons. Never once, however, did he stop protecting her.
Three, two…
“I love you, Cullen Stewart.” Treasa cupped his cheeks, eyes no longer upset but calm…at peace. “And I forgive you.” She closed her eyes, shook her head then opened them. “No, I forgive us both.”
One…
A million thunderstorms could not touch the sound Death unleashed as he tried to break through Cullen’s wings to get to Treasa. Refusing to buckle beneath pain more intense than a thousand lives lost at once, Cullen pulled her even closer and wrapped his wings more snuggly around them.
Time stilled.
Or least it felt that way.
Breath harsh, they held on tight as what felt like eons passed in an instant.
After all, it was midnight on Christmas Day.
For real.
Yet Cullen refused to let go of all that mattered most on this Earthly plane.
More time passed. Maybe. It was impossible to tell as he felt only severe pain and a never-ending need to protect. Eventually, the pain lessened. All of it. The wrath of Death. The sweet heartache of losing then reuniting with his Father’s glory. It almost felt like a soothing balm poured over him.
But that might just be the feeling of still having her in his arms.
One thing was true above all else. He no longer felt evil. Gone was the anchor that had held him down since becoming a warlock. The thick, cloying, darkness he had become so used to. Now there was a new feeling. One all his own. Much like it had been even before he became an angel…even before he had fallen.
Almost a rebirth.
He felt like himself again.
Cullen Stewart.
Yes, always a wizard but a Stewart as well. A Highlander. A man who knew his purpose. Something he had not felt in far too long. Yet he was different. Better because of his history, their history, better because he no longer held the weight of evil on his shoul
ders. No, he held what he desired most now.
Treasa.
“Cullen,” she whispered against his ear, her body shaking. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he whispered, inhaling the scent of her hair.
“Silence.” She pulled back slightly. Emotion churned in her eyes. “Is it really past midnight?”
“Aye,” he murmured, the truth of it reverberating in his soul. “It is.”
“Am I free of the curse?” she whispered tentatively. “Am I really free?”
Wings still tucked around her, he tested their surroundings via the divine. Nothing. All was quiet. There were no other angels about. She was thoroughly free of the curse.
Free of Death.
“Yes,” he whispered, stroking her hair when she rested her cheek against his chest. “It’s past midnight. You’re free.”
While the Angel of Death could never truly be defeated, he no longer had control over Treasa. He had not been able to take her by midnight, so the curse had lifted. Though she tried to muffle it, he felt her silent sob and held her tighter. They had been given a second chance. It could be no other way because he was still here. Cullen held her tighter. He thanked God and all the yuletide happenings that had led them to this point. It was more than he ever could have hoped for.
“Well, I only came back to make sure everything was locked up tight,” Santa declared. “Instead I find two people making out.”
Cullen rippled his wings then tucked them away with magic before he pulled Treasa up. Obviously their disgruntled intruder never saw the wings to begin with.
“Ah, good that you both could take a moment away from all that,” Santa muttered, frowning. “I already shooed Seth out of here.” He made a gesture with his hands. “Now I’m shooing you too.”
All the ghosts had vanished. Nothing remained but the silence of snowfall and gentle Christmas music that for the first time since their venture started seemed to have no directive.
“Where is Seth again?” Treasa asked cautiously.
“I sent him home,” Santa said as if she should have figured that out. “His wife has to be missing him at Christmas.”
“Right,” Cullen murmured.
Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More Page 160