Forsaken_Cursed Angel Watchtower 12

by Gilbert, L. B.

  Ash could taste Kara’s fear. Her too-rapid breath fanned his neck as he tried to flex his wings to shift some of the stones burying them.

  His body was a cage around hers, protecting her from the weight of the stone ceiling that had toppled down on them. A hint of copper teased his nose, but it was only a trace. Kara was bleeding, but it was just a scrape.

  He stroked her hair with the hand pinned closest to her, hoping it would calm her racing heart. The rapid pulse filled his ears, its thrumming beat against his chest.

  Her whimper of fear was like a dagger to his heart. “Kara, I’ll get you out of this,” he promised.

  She must be terrified. Hell, he was alarmed, and he was an angel.

  She started to say something, but he cut her off. “Don’t speak,” he admonished. “We need to conserve air.”

  He couldn’t see anything in front of him, but the crash had been thunderous. Most of the ceiling in this chamber had come down on top of them. He prayed it was only this room. If the ceiling and walls of the adjoining spaces and passages had come down, too, Kara didn’t have a chance—and he’d be buried down here with her body.

  Determined not to let that happen, he redoubled his efforts, trying not to audibly grunt as he strained the muscles on his back. He was trying to lift his wings up to dislodge the stones pinning them down, but he only succeeded in pressing his body more fully against hers.

  He’d never been this close to a human female before. Did they all smell this good? And she was so warm and soft. It was like she was made to fit against him.

  “Hey!”

  Heat coursed through his body, a combination of embarrassment and arousal he’d never experienced before.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, lifting his hips to get a critical part of his anatomy as far from Kara’s body as he could.

  “You better be.” That was followed by a series of curses worthy of an eighteenth-century sailor—a detail Ash was grateful for. Anger had replaced fear in Kara’s mind, and that could only be a good thing under the circumstances.

  It would be another story when they got out of there. If we do.

  Ash crushed the negative thought. He was going to get Kara free, even if it killed him.

  Wrenching his wings, he strained, forcing them forward. It felt as if his pectorals were going to burst through his skin, but he managed to dislodge some of the rocks pinning him down. Finally able to move, he crawled, holding himself up to give Kara enough space to shift and wiggle in his wake.

  The next hour was the most excruciating of Ash’s entire existence. He did his best to stay a gentleman, being careful not to brush against the beautiful woman lying underneath him any more than he had to.

  He should have tried harder. Her scent and heat were imprinted on his brain now. It was all he could do not to strip her down and bury himself inside her.

  Except for the occasional swear, Kara held her tongue, not speaking to him. Instead, hot liquid gold burned him up every time they locked eyes. She’d castrate me. Or worse.

  Ash was starting to wish he didn’t have preternatural night vision when the floor suddenly gave way under his right knee. Chilly air drifted in. It wasn’t fresh by any reasonable standard, but it didn’t have a toxic taint.

  “Do you feel that? There’s a chamber underneath us. Air is moving down there, which may mean there’s a way out. Can you wiggle to my left? I need more room to kick the hole wider.”

  “All right.” Her words were clipped, but he didn’t stop to soothe her ruffled feathers. An apology for his deceit, necessary as it had been, was going to have to wait until they were free.

  That happened moments later when the hole was wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. Tucking his wings in, he dropped down a few stories into a tunnel so narrow it scraped against his sides. In the distance, he could hear running water, enough for an underground river.

  Ash turned to the side and looked up, scanning and gauging the distance. “Kara, there are no footholds. Just a clear drop. You’ll be all right. I’ll catch you.”

  Kara appeared at the edge, staring down at him for a long time. It was too dark to see her eyes at this distance, but he knew she was weighing staying up there and trying to find her own way out. But she knew better than to try.

  “You better not let me fall.” It was almost a growl, but delivered in husky tones, it only succeeded in arousing him further.

  “I won’t, I promise.” Ash held out his arms, sparing a thought to regret his attire. The soft human clothes he was wearing didn’t disguise his painful condition as well as his armor would have.

  Her long, drawn-out sigh spoke volumes about the confidence she had in him, but Kara had no other options. One long leg appeared at the rim of the hole, then the other. She perched there for an endless moment, staring down at him with barely concealed irritation. Then, with an audible swear, she let go.

  She landed in his arms with a thump, her slim muscled form a natural weight in his arms. Adjusting his grip, he held her close.

  “You can put me down now,” she hissed as he crab-walked down the passage in the direction of the running water. “It will be easier if I can walk.”

  That was probably true, but it wasn’t safer. “Not until we’re in the clear.” He gestured above them by heaving her up an inch. “If that ceiling gives way, I can protect you by wrapping my wings around you.”

  At the mention of his wings, Kara tensed. He took a deep breath, expecting a string of recriminations and accusations, but she stayed silent, no doubt waiting for him to release her before berating him.

  A few minutes later, the narrow tunnel turned into a crawlspace before suddenly opening into a wide cavern large enough to fly in. He vaulted into the air, taking flight with Kara in his arms.

  She sucked in a breath, her head whipping around to look at him and back at the chamber as they flew through it to the other side. He followed the sound of the water and slight breeze until they burst out the warren of catacombs and into the open air.

  He recognized the uneven horizon. They were only a few kilometers from the edge of Bastille, along the southeast near Ivry-sur-Seine.

  Unwilling to let Kara go, he pumped his wings hard, flying them high into the air, savoring the light of the full moon. They crossed the barren desert, heading west to the cliff basin where he’d seen the survivor clan for the first time. But he didn’t hurry.

  “It feels good after being down there for so long, doesn’t it?” he asked Kara over the wind.

  She didn’t answer. He tried to read her expression and failed. Kara averted her eyes, fixing her gaze on the distant lights of the city. They were much dimmer than the glittering carpet of diamonds he remembered from his memory.

  “You should have seen it before the Collision,” he murmured as they arrived. “It was breathtaking. Only Heaven itself could rival it.”

  Kara’s head whipped around to look at him as he made a soft landing on the gravel-filled dirt. “You lived here?”

  Ash nodded. “For many years,” he said, slowly sliding her down his side—fighting his inclination to hang on to her every inch of the way.

  Kara had no such reservations. The force with which she pushed away from him stung his pride, but Ash understood.

  A lot of people hated him. In addition to the religious extremists who put him on the same level as the demon horde, there were the relatives of curse victims he’d been forced to execute or abandon to the wasteland.

  Who had it been? Which of her loved ones had he killed? Her mother or father? A sibling?

  Her face could have been carved from the stones lying on their feet. “You were here before the Collision? So you’re not the warden of Bastille—you’re one of the fallen.”

  The relief in her voice was crushing.

  For the first time in his life, he was tempted to lie, but that wasn’t his nature. “I’m both,” he said softly.

  Her hands fell to her sides. She shook her head, sniffing loudly. “No. T
he fallen are outside His grace. He wouldn’t come to you. You can’t be the warden.”

  Ash wanted to take her in his arms, to soothe her fears. One move toward her, however, and she stepped back.

  “He did send others,” Ash confirmed. “But all the emissaries failed to kill the demon lord. They died in their attempts to bring him down. Raphael, my former commander, begged me to try.”

  “The Seraph?” Kara’s voice was hollow. “Your commander was the archangel Raphael?”

  “He’s a total git, really.” He held up his hands. “I didn’t want to accept the job. It was a suicide mission, even for a seasoned warrior of the Heavenly Host. And after what my brethren did—expelling me for helping humans—well, let’s just say I didn’t feel much allegiance to my Lord or my commandeer. But the people were another story.”

  He shifted his weight, trying to gauge her reaction. All he saw was more of that careful blankness.

  “I was banished from Heaven over a millennium ago because of humans. People I loved were dying. I wanted to help them. It was forbidden, but I did it anyway. Unlike others of my kind who were cast out, I survived because I admired people—the way they could grow. Their adaptability. Humans have a great capacity for change. It’s not always for the better, but wait long enough and society leaps forward. Watching that progress kept me sane. Raphael knew that deep down, I was invested in my life here. There was only so much time I’d be able to watch the horde abuse and terrorize the populace. So I accepted his bargain. Against the odds, I succeeded in killing Amducious.”

  “But the curse didn’t end,” she whispered.

  “No.” He stepped closer, grateful when she stayed in place, staring up at him. “Kara, I deserve your worst for lying about who I was. But when Dr. Brès disappeared, and then Didier left with you, I knew something had changed.”

  Kara raised her sleeve, dabbing her eyes. “I knew something was off with you. You were too nice, too helpful. I can’t believe you’re him—the one who takes the Firehorses out to the wasteland. The one who leaves them there to die…”

  Her voice was a hoarse thread.

  The weight of those deaths rose, choking him. “You have to understand,” Ash began. “My duty was to save as many lives as I could. Every time a Firehorse rises, it threatens the lives of thousands. I did what I had to do, but that’s all changed now.”

  Impulsively, he took her in his arms. “Kara, you have changed everything. The cursed are shielded somehow under your care. I don’t know how you’re doing it—or even if you know how the shielding works.”

  Desperate now, he wrapped his wings around her, lifting her chin with a gentle hand to make her meet his eyes. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. It goes against every fiber of my being. Angels protect the innocent. Having to hurt them, to abandon them—”

  He broke off, blinking. His throat was too tight to continue.

  “Some say the Firehorse are cursed because they’re not innocent,” Kara said in a mechanical voice. No trace of emotion betrayed what she was thinking. “The cursed hold a seed of evil deep inside. It’s why they’re punished.”

  Ash shook his head vehemently. “That’s a lie the extremists spread. Believe me, I should know. Every Firehorse I’ve ever met has been good, blameless.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And that’s not all. It’s taken me years to come to this realization, but I believe Firehorses are humanity’s most precious gifts. Or they would have been had they not been struck down.”

  Confusion flickered across her expression. “What do you mean by that?”

  He beat his wings involuntary, so great was his excitement. “Haven’t you noticed the cursed were significant in some way? Like Madeleine and Didier. They are both skilled and innovative in their vocation. I now believe the others were all gifted in some way. How exactly, I can’t say for certain. All I know is they’re important. More than any of us realized.”

  Unable to resist, he ran his finger down her soft cheek. “You have no reason to trust me. Because of me, you lost someone.” He let his hand fall away. “I’m not asking for absolution. I have no defense because what I did is beyond forgiveness. That’s why I’m here. It’s my purpose—to do the unforgivable in His name. But you can help me find another one.”

  Kara’s scowl was immediate. “How can I help the warden of Bastille? And why would I want to?”

  How could she not see they needed each other?

  “Because we want the same things—to save the Firehorses and end the curse.”

  The weight of her stare felt like the judgment of Heaven.

  “And what about—” She broke off, waving her hand between them. “What about us? About the way you look at me?”

  “I…” He looked down at his feet. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable. Being interested in someone is something new for me.”

  “Really?” The sarcasm alone could have flayed him open. “You fell from Heaven how long ago? A millennium, you said? And there’s never been a woman in all that time?

  “No, I told you. I was cast out for helping humans, not for bedding a woman.”

  “How about a man? Have you bedded one of them?” She held up her fingers, forming quotes around the word.

  The corner of his mouth lifted, but he didn’t dare smile. “No.”

  Kara stared at him. She closed the distance between them with slow deliberation. He waited for the slap he knew was coming, but when she reached him, she put her hands on the either side of his face.

  The kiss that followed rivaled every wonder he’d ever seen in his long life. Her lips were softer than he imagined, the pressure sweet and hot at the same time. Every muscle in his body relaxed before blazing with sensual fire.

  And then… she stabbed him.

  Ash sucked in a breath and drew back, looking down in shock at the thin, bone-handled blade sticking out from between his ribs. He fell to his knees, blood pouring down his front, the T-shirt sticking to his six-pack.

  He looked up to see Kara rearing over him with a large rock in her hand. “If you had been anyone else but the warden, I could have forgiven you…”

  Her arm swung down, sending the rock crashing against his skull. Blackness claimed him.

  13

  Bloodied, his head throbbing, Ash stumbled into his Belleville apartment. The knife wound was closing, but the injury to his spirit was going to take much longer to heal.

  “My lord!” Marcus sprang from the wooden table in the antechamber that doubled as his office. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  Ash stripped off his bloody sweatshirt before throwing it on the floor. “I failed.”

  He’d been so close. Up until the moment Kara decided to play Judas—only she’d stabbed him in the front.

  Except that wasn’t fair. Ash had gone undercover, knowing he’d be perceived as the enemy. To the people who’d lost a loved one to the Firehorse curse, he was worse than the devil.

  I would have stabbed me, too, in her place…

  When he’d regained his senses at the edge of the desert, Kara had been gone. Closer investigation revealed two underground entrances to the catacombs within walking distance.

  He’d decided not to go after her right away. He’d needed to regroup. And bathe. He was a bloody mess.

  Marcus scrambled to pick up the sweater. He winced at the garment’s condition. “This must have been painful. How did it happen? Did you find the people you were looking for?”

  “I did.”

  “And?” Marcus gripped the soiled sweater in front of him like a talisman.

  Ash waved at his fresh scar. “It did not go well.”

  Marcus waited for more. For a second, Ash considered elaborating. He would, eventually, but for now, he couldn’t share. Truthfully, he was ashamed of himself.

  How much of his failure had been due to his untoward behavior to Kara?

  She kissed you. How unwanted could his attention have been?

  You’re forgetting about the part where s
he stabbed you. Ash should have paid closer attention to all those romances humans were so fond of writing before the Collision. Then maybe he would have seen that move coming. Not that it would have changed the outcome.

  Ash couldn’t lift a hand against Kara. Not only did he need her help with the curse, but…he might be falling in love with her. Stab wound notwithstanding.

  Merde. Centuries upon centuries of watching humans fall in love hadn’t taught him a damn thing. How many had he seen make complete asses of themselves in the process?

  Apparently, that capacity for soul-wrenching humiliation wasn’t strictly a human trait.

  Ash turned to see Marcus still watching him expectantly, waiting for the dirty details. “Can you get a few buckets of hot water up here?”

  His aide nodded, his lip drawing down, betraying his disappointment that Ash wasn’t sharing. “Is there anything else I can get you? Food, wine?”

  He nodded. “Something quick. And lay out my armor. I’ll be heading back out as soon as I’m finished.” Ash traced the new scar and tsked. “I need to try again.”

  And again and again, if the knife wound was any indication.

  That didn’t matter. He had to find out what was going on with those people. He’d go back to the wasteland as often as it took to convince Kara to trust him.

  Just keep at least two paces away from her while you do.

  Marcus’ face fell. “Oh, I see. I should mention a few things before you go. Perhaps I can debrief you while you eat?”

  Ash murmured his assent. He washed while Marcus gathered his notes, and they broke their fast together on steel-cut oats mixed with yogurt, honey, and fresh fruit. He briefly described what had happened in the wasteland without going into too much detail about places and names.

  Every bite reminded him of the survivors. I wonder if Kara has enough to eat? Not to mention Theo and everyone else. Ash even spared a thought for Sij—the hateful old crone. She probably did a jig when Kara told her about stabbing him and clobbering him over the head.

  Marcus went over the progress on the canal project—only one unexpected disaster. A batch of concrete had been ruined by a drunken bricklayer. The man had been so inebriated that after he added the required amount of water, he’d repeated the process over and over again. A section of the Northwest canal had collapsed as a result. Along with a few other problems similar in scale, things had been blessedly uneventful in his absence.