by Holley Trent
Sighing, she let the curtain fall back. Comparing every man to Mark wasn’t helping her with her pickiness problem. “Why’d you quit painting?”
“I guess I was good, technically speaking, but incredible art requires a certain passion that I just didn’t have. You have to do some living to make art that touches people.”
“Living? You’ve done more of that than nearly everyone.”
“Not really.”
When he didn’t elaborate further, she pulled the curtain back again.
He looked up from the cake and immediately averted his eyes from her.
“Nice of you to be a gentleman, but you really can’t see anything. Tub is covering me from my collarbones on down.”
He turned his head and looked at her sideways as if that would somehow reduce the potential for scandalization. She had one mind to just show him what he obviously didn’t want to see. What would he care, anyway? He’d probably seen thousands if not millions of naked women in his time. Hell, he’d seen her naked, in fact. Maybe he hadn’t liked it.
She slumped down farther in the tub at the thought.
“Living is … somewhat different than being alive,” he said softly. “To live, to really live, you have to have wants and desires of your own and the motivation to fulfill them. Living is about searching for your greatest happiness, and sometimes that means being a little selfish. To live, you’ve sometimes got to set the expectations of others aside. You’ve got to stick your neck out to get what you know will fill you up and make everything you’ve endured worthwhile.”
She was afraid to ask, but now she was used to her body working apart from her brain. The words slipped through her lips unfettered. “Are you living now, Mark?”
Now, he looked at her dead-on, removed his glasses, and folded them closed. He tried so hard to be plain and to blend in—to be average, but he just wasn’t.
“You’ve got to have a soul to live, Sweetie. Until recently, I … I didn’t have one. I’m not what I was. I’m—” He paused and blew out a big breath. “I’m not exactly an angel anymore.”
No one could accuse her of being a stupid woman, but those words didn’t make a lick of sense. Of course he was an angel. Who else would pull her out of the snow? As far as she knew, even the wolves didn’t care that much about her anymore.
“You’re lying,” she said, shaking her head.
He shook his head solemnly. “I’m not. Feel out my energy. I think you know it feels a little different. Now you know why. I’m bound to the Earth now. I’m as much man as I am other.”
She pulled up the tub stopper with her big toe and frantically reached for a towel. “You’ve got to give it back. You’ve got to … do whatever you have to, but you have to go back. You can’t just be a—”
“Be a what?” His voice was far too calm and his body too still there at the table. His face was an unreadable blank, but now she knew it was because he was working at it. Whatever emotions he had ping-ponging around in that complicated noggin of his, he had locked down tight as a drumhead. How long had he been practicing that? Weeks? Months?
“Just a man!” she shouted as she scrambled from the tub. Disoriented, she slipped on the wet floor upon stepping out and although she saw the wood slats careening ever closer to her face, her reflexes were no longer sharp enough for her to try to break her own fall.
Mark did, though.
Fast as light, he moved across the room and grabbed her before she hit the floor. He held her out at arm’s length, and that stoic expression cracked. “Even if I were just a man, what’s so wrong with being that?”
“How can you even ask that? Mankind, shit, we’re nothing. We’re just animals trying to get our needs met and there’s nothing so noble about that. Why would you give up God’s favor to be stuck here?”
“For free will, Sweetie. For a path of my own. For passion. All of that is worth falling for.”
“F-falling?”
Although she’d understood in the back of her mind that angels didn’t have souls, it hadn’t dawned on her that he no longer was one.
Her angel … wasn’t.
As if he could glean that bit of upsetting thought from her, he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her.
“You’re not like the others—the ones who are all demons now.” She knew a few demons. Some just wanted to be left alone. Some were power-hungry megalomaniacs like John, Claude, and Charles’s father. She knew better than anyone not to judge a group on the actions of a few. All the same, his energy didn’t feel like demon. It felt like Mark. Just different. “You don’t want what they do, so why’d you do it?”
“I told you why.”
“Passion? Bullshit. Nothing’s worth falling for.” She said that last bit in a whisper, but of course he heard it.
He rubbed her back through her soaking wet towel and exhaled. “You’re not nothing.”
You’re not nothing. That meant …
“Wait.” She tried to put her hands between them to push him back, but he was too close. “You didn’t fall for…for me, did you? Because that would be the absolute stupidest fucking thing—”
He stifled her words with his lips and subdued her agitation with his gently probing tongue.
Her legs gave out beneath her and this time it wasn’t due to a slick floor or aggregated malnourishment, but just him. She could hardly breathe for his scent. His skin bore an essence she imagined was the smell of heaven—a stunning mix of man and air and something fresh like spring rain. It was a scent she wanted to curl up in or pull around her like an old blanket.
God, she was no better than a puppy in a crate seeking comfort, and here she was looking for it from the person who’d caused her the distress in the first place. Dumb dog.
Gasping, she pushed ineffectually at his chest until her towel dropped. She couldn’t stoop to pick it up, because he pulled her back to him and demanded, “Kiss me.”
“No. This is wrong.”
“What is? Me loving you? I’ve always loved you.”
Oh, God. Oh, God.
She had to be dreaming. Just a little wolf mania. The canine must have been experiencing a bit of hypothermic delirium.
Nope. His hands on her ass felt very real, and her ears were working just fine.
“Oh, yeah, that’s so wrong. Let me go.” She clawed at his arms, batted at his chest, and even tried to kick his shins, but he held her tighter. He may have lost his place in the angelic hierarchy, but he didn’t lose his strength. Whatever he was, it wasn’t just a man.
She felt the sharp protrusion against her belly as she fought him, and stiffened when she realized what it was.
“If I let go of you, will you calm down?” he asked.
“Uh. Not sure what the right answer is.” This had to be a test of some kind. She’d finally give in to her urges, touch him the wrong way, and would receive her first-class ticket to Hell in exchange. She’d always tried to be a good girl, and hey—everyone slipped up every now and then—but this had to be some nightmare. “Yeah, that’s what it is,” she said, laughing to herself. She grabbed up some of her flesh and pinched it so hard she yipped. “Nope, not a dream.”
“Sweetie? Are you going into shock or something? Maybe you need something to drink.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Perhaps a shot of Everclear and a jug of moonshine to wash it down with.”
She started to shake, and she didn’t know if it was from her wild wolf hormones going out of whack again, the slight draft in the room, her dampness from the tub, low blood sugar or blood pressure, or absolute fright. Very possibly all of the above.
“Shit.” He picked her up for the God-knows-how-manyieth time this hour and carried her to the bed. Upon hitting the now-cold sheets, she shook even harder.
“Hold tight,” he said. “Let me bank up the fire.”
She guessed he did it, but she had no memory of it. When he drew away from her, there was only dark, and it didn’t clear until he climbed onto the bed be
side her and pulled the covers up over them both.
He pulled her against his body, sharing his warmth through skin and with his hot mouth leaving kisses along the side of her face. Pinned under his muscular leg and feeling very weak, and very wanton, all she could think to say was, “You should probably just let me back into the woods. You can forget all about me and act like this never happened.”
“No. I meant what I said. This isn’t like an angel Rumspringa. I don’t get a do-over.”
“A rum-what?”
“Rumspringa. It’s an Amish thing. Young adults get a certain amount of time to live on the outside so that when they recommit themselves to their faith, they know what it is they’re leaving behind. They’re forgiven for the sins they commit when they’re away from home and are brought back into the fold with no questions asked. For some, though, it’s a get out while you can kind of experience. I don’t fit in either of those camps.”
“Why would you want to give up being an angel?”
“Think about it, Sweetie. Being an angel means always being around people but not being with them. You don’t know how lonely that is.”
She opened her mouth to disagree, but he was right. She chose solitude because she hadn’t wanted a wolf, and few other creatures would make compatible mates. Mark could. She’d known that from the day she’d stumbled into him at one of Calvin’s notoriously raucous cookouts. He’d been there with Ariel and John. She’d nearly fallen on her ass being so drunk, and Mark had kept her from wiping out on that day, too.
He’d been watching out for her ever since, come to think of it. He was always there when she needed him. Always had her back.
“Don’t worry about my soul, Sweetie. Just because I’ve fallen doesn’t mean I’ve gone dark. It just means my path is different.”
“What do you want from me, Mark?”
“I wasn’t bullshitting when I said I didn’t want a pet. I didn’t pull you out of the snow because I felt pity for you and needed something to take care of. I left my position with premeditation knowing, no, hoping—” he said, and tilted her face up to his with a gentle touch to her chin, “—I would gain more than I was losing.”
She sighed and opened her eyes. The hair on his naked chest brushed hers and gave her shivers. Just how much of him was uncovered? She wiggled her toes and found his woolen sock, though the bit of his thigh and calf over hers was naked.
She shifted beneath him and felt fabric rub against her hip, not skin. Underwear. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved. If he were completely nude, she could always tell herself that the sex was accidental. Eventually, she’d believe it was true. If she had to actually work to take his shorts off, well, that implied forethought.
That would make her an angel-tainting hussy.
She groaned and closed her eyes again so as not to have to look into his hypnotizing dark brown ones.
“You can try to run if you’d like,” he said, “but just FYI, we’re snowed in. Your wolf might want to try prancing around in that shit, but it’s not safe for women.”
“Great. Freezing to death would probably be less gruesome than starving.”
“Stop. I’m not going to let you do either of those. I dragged you in here, mange and fleas and all, because I want to be your mate.”
“You’re absofuckinlutely disturbed.” She sat up and threw the covers off, but she couldn’t go too far with his damned leg pinning her down like a cast iron clamp.
He propped himself up on his elbow and arched one eyebrow daringly.
Damn, they’d make pretty babies.
Or would they? She squinted at him.
“Your mood changes are somewhat concerning,” he said mildly. “And that’s coming from a guy whose moods are way out of whack right now.”
“Uh, it’s a wolf thing. You should be used to it.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She thought wolves were broody. Apparently the same was true for not-angels. She didn’t want to admit she kinda liked it coming from him. He’d always pushed all the right buttons for her, and apparently he’d discovered a few more while she’d been out collecting fleas. “Hey. I was just wondering something.” She cast her gaze down what she could see of his body, which was indeed far too little.
What did not-angels look like with their clothes off?
“What?” he asked.
“Two things.” She waggled the appropriate number of fingers at him. “Number one, is your woody just for show or does it function the way boy parts are supposed to?”
Even if she didn’t catch the slight reddening of his cheeks, her sensitive nose picked up on the small change of his scent. Sharp with embarrassment.
Aw, Angel.
He cleared his throat. “If you’re asking if I’m fertile, yes. Fertility comes with the fall, though it’s highly likely that any children I do have will be hellions. That seems to be the trend amongst the other fallen ones I’ve met recently. They’re a lively bunch.” He rolled his eyes. Another new habit?
“Hellions? Well, I know a little something about those. In fact, according to Mama, I am one.” Mama was probably leading the charge to put her defective child out of her misery. If Sweetie hadn’t been horizontal, she would have slumped at the thought.
“What was the second thing?” he asked as a nudge.
“Oh.” Don’t get upset about things you can’t fix. She fixed her concentration on the man in front of her. “Can you can still change forms at will?”
“No. Not anymore. This is the body I’m stuck in forever. I may be able to make some minor tweaks—eye color, hair color, stuff like that—but this is what … well, I don’t know how to put it.” He drummed his fingertips atop the sheets and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “I guess this is what my personality looks like. It’s not very showy, but I’m used to it. Don’t like it? I might be able to change some—”
She reached out and gave his chin a light swat. “No. I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I was just asking.”
Suddenly very tired, she lay her head down and closed her eyes. “I think you’ve got some wires crossed the wrong way. The lady isn’t protesting because she doesn’t like you. The lady likes you a whole hell of a lot, in fact.”
“She does?”
Was that surprise in his tone? He should have known that. It was so fucking obvious he’d had her smitten, and she’d been ashamed she couldn’t turn it off. He was a porch light, and she was a ditzy moth. She wanted to open her eyes to see the look on his face but she was so tired suddenly.
“The problem is,” she mumbled, burrowing closer to his warm chest, “the lady’s not worth falling for. You can do better, Angel. Pick someone else. Find a nice girl who won’t embarrass you and who doesn’t howl when she gets ornery.” She yawned. “You deserve better than me.”
If he had a response to that, she didn’t hear it. She was in a soft bed and felt safe and loved for the first time in months, so she slept.
And she dreamed.
Unfortunately, her dreams never came true, no matter how much she wanted them to. There was no way Mark would keep her. She’d need a hell of a lot more grace than he’d ever had.
CHAPTER FIVE
They had shotguns leveled at her.
Sweetie snapped and snarled, growling ferociously at the men who would harm her, but she was just one lone, weak wolf. “It’s for your own good,” they’d said, and, “It’s no way to live. You’ll hurt someone.”
Behind the guns were familiar faces. Cousins. Pack members. Her red-faced mother stood at the edge of the woods wrenching her hands and emitting the occasional sniffle.
Sweetie looked each and every one of them in their eyes and growled out a dare.
One cocked his gun’s hammer. Unnecessary, and meant to be a warning.
Mark materialized in front of her with one hand up in a halting gesture. He was calm, but ready to fight if the glowing sword he held at his side was any indication of why he’d come.
“Come
on, Mark,” her cousin Jep said. “It’s better if you don’t see it.”
“I think it’d be better if you left her alone,” Mark said reasonably.
“She can’t stay this way. She’s not going to get better. Look at her.” Jep cocked his chin toward her, and a strangled barking sound left her throat. “She can’t even understand us anymore. She’s gone.”
“She’s in there,” Mark said. “I refuse to believe otherwise, and I’m not going to let you harm her because you think it’s the right thing to do. She hasn’t been out in the open, hasn’t exposed you to anyone. There haven’t been any wolf sightings around here. You’d put her down because that’s the easiest thing for you. You wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. You can stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, right?”
Jep didn’t respond, but Sweetie’s mother did.
“It’s the way we handle our business,” Mama said. “No one likes it, but that’s the way it’s always been. We have to consider the health of the group as a whole. She won’t bounce back from this.”
“Well, I think she will.”
Jep threw up his hands. “Well, she’s your problem then, man. Blood’s on your hands if she leaves the territory and tears up some little kid.”
Mark turned his head minutely in Sweetie’s direction and he looked at her out the corner of his eye. He nudged his glasses up his nose and tightened his grip on his sword. “She’ll be my responsibility.”
“Your loss,” Jep said. He waved his posse on, and Mark’s gaze flitted from one man to the next as if he were memorizing them. Making a list.
Mama stuffed her hands into the pockets of her rain slicker and stared at the ground in front of Sweetie’s paws. After a moment, she said, “I don’t want to lose my daughter.”
“You won’t,” Mark said. He said it as if it were fact and not just the assurance a grieving woman expected to hear.
His sword disappeared from his hand when she held out a folded piece of paper to him.
“You may have already figured it out,” she said solemnly. “She runs in a grid. I sketched it. I don’t know if it’s the human part of her that’s keeping her organized or if her wolf is just OCD. I’ve been keeping an eye on her as much as I can, but it’s hard for me now. I’ve been through the change and can’t hardly shift no more.”