“Tempting, but no.” Surreptitiously she crossed her ankles and pressed her legs together. Not that it helped alleviate the sensual throb radiating from between her thighs.
He pulled the cork from one of the bottles and then, with another smile forged from pure sin, wrapped his arm around the back of her chair and leaned over her shoulder to pour the wine into her glass.
“Try this. Tell me what you think.”
She hoped he couldn’t hear her uneven breath. Or rapid heartbeat. But since the vintage bottle of wine froze in place as if he had paused to savor her reaction, she had to assume he knew only too well. And that he was probably smirking with masculine self-satisfaction.
She kept her eyes fixed on her glass and tried not to hyperventilate as he slowly leaned into her neck. His warm breath sent erotic tremors across her flesh and she struggled against the overpowering urge to squirm.
But despite her best intentions, her eyes closed and she very slightly leaned toward him. To hell with her pride. She’d take what she could get and face any regret later.
There was a dull thud and she cracked open one eye to see the bottle on the table. Gabe scooped her pendant into his hand and the chain bit into her neck as he yanked it up to take a closer look.
“Careful.” She looked up at him, but he was frowning at her necklace as if it personally offended him. “What are you doing?”
“Where did you get this?” He sounded as angry as he had soon after she’d first met him. Did he think she’d stolen it from him? Did that mean he still had his daughter’s necklace somewhere in his villa?
“I had it specially commissioned for my twenty-first birthday.” She tried to make her voice reassuring without giving away the fact she’d guessed what he was covertly accusing her of. “I was wearing it back in Ireland, remember?”
He looked at her then as if she had just uttered something incomprehensible.
“Yes, of course I remember you wearing a chain. But I didn’t know . . .” His words died and for an eternal moment she saw raw, bleak longing in his eyes and could feel the cold abyss of loss drag icy fingers across her soul.
And a chilling certainty illuminated a dark corner of her mind.
They were not butterfly wings. How could she have ever mistaken them as such? They were angel wings. The gift from an angel to his beloved.
Deep in her heart a small chasm cracked open.
Slowly he let the chain slide through his fingers. “You had this specially commissioned?” He sounded as if her answer didn’t matter one way or the other. She clenched her fists on her lap, tensed her muscles against her overpowering instinct to wrap her arms around him. To try and offer whatever comfort she could.
Because he wouldn’t welcome it. Wouldn’t understand why she even felt the need to offer him comfort. Because as far as he was aware she was ignorant of his loss.
“Yes.”
“Why?” The hint of accusation in his tone caused another shaft of pain deep in her heart. How many centuries had he mourned the loss of his loved ones? How would it feel, to be loved so absolutely by an archangel?
By Gabe?
She recoiled from the thought, terror stabbing through her chest. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to imagine. Because it forced her to face the obvious counterpoint. How would it feel to love Gabe?
“I . . .” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, no longer able to look into those mesmeric eyes. Because now she’d glimpsed the suffering behind the beauty, and it ripped her apart. “Ever since I can remember I used to dream of rainbows and gold dust and”—don’t say angel—“wings. I don’t know why. The weird thing is once I started wearing this necklace the dreams stopped.”
“You dreamed of this?” His voice was oddly harsh as if he disbelieved her, but when she glanced up at him she caught the anguish in his eyes. “How could you dream of this, Aurora? This exact design?”
“I don’t know.” Was there a connection between her dreams and the necklace she’d seen in Gabe’s picture? It was an outrageous thought but everything that had happened over the last couple of days had been outrageous. “Why? What does it mean to you?”
She didn’t think he was going to answer her. She braced herself for him to dismiss her question. Told herself she wouldn’t be hurt. But she knew she lied, because she wanted him to confide in her. Wasn’t that what lovers did?
She knew, in that second, that she was losing her struggle. She was falling.
“It’s based on an ancient archangelic design.” He sounded as if the words were being torn from him against his will. But at least he was answering her and she acknowledged just how great a concession he was granting her. Two days ago he would, she knew, have brushed her question aside as of no consequence. “We’d harness fragments of the rainbows that glinted over our city. Trap particles of the gold that glittered in the air. And bind them into our angel wings for all eternity.”
It sounded beautiful. She had the absurd desire to weep.
“City?” Her voice was hushed. “You had a city, Gabe?”
He closed his eyes, his gorgeous long lashes hiding his expression. When he once again looked at her all trace of ancient pain had been concealed.
“We did.” He picked up the bottle of wine. “It was the place of our creation, the hell of our incarceration. It no longer exists.”
He poured her wine and she knew the moment for confidences had passed. She accepted her glass and returned his smile but still one thought hammered in the back of her mind.
For more than twenty years she had dreamed of magical rainbows, glittering gold dust and angel wings crafted into an ancient angelic design.
But the question was why?
Chapter Twenty-five
THE child’s laughter was pure and carefree, and Aurora smiled, vaguely bemused although she wasn’t quite sure why. Who was this child? She seemed oddly familiar with her curly blonde hair and kaleidoscopic eyes. An insubstantial thought drifted through her mind. Was this a dream?
“Finished.” The little girl held up a seashell-encrusted picture frame. “Can we give it to him now?”
I can’t understand what you’re saying. Yet, bizarrely, the strange language made perfect sense.
“As soon as he gets home.” She was thinking in English. And yet the words were exotic, foreign.
She glanced around the stone and timber kitchen. Unease trickled over her flesh. Had she been here before?
A shadow blocked out the sun and then he was there. Tall, golden-haired, and the world was filled with light and love as he pulled her and the child into his arms.
Silken feathers teased and caressed, belying their inherent strength and she gasped, disoriented, as his wings embraced and claimed.
His wings.
“Aurora.” The way he breathed her name, so husky and seductive, sent tremors of an entirely different nature dancing over her skin. She wound her arms around his neck, felt him tug his fingers through her hair, and the sun dimmed into a pre-dawn glow.
The dream fluttered through her mind, fading into mist-shrouded corners, and the elusive distinction between dream and memory merged, became one, as Gabe’s mouth claimed hers.
—
SITTING IN THE shade on Gabe’s terrace, elusive tendrils of Aurora’s early-morning dream haunted the edges of her consciousness. Although a strange feeling of contentment cocooned her, the harder she tried to recall the details the fainter they became. It was frustrating because for some obscure reason she had the strongest certainty that the details were of the utmost importance.
But it was no good. All that remained was the intangible sense of joy, and with a sigh she forced her wandering attention back to Gabe’s laptop.
But she couldn’t concentrate, and she leaned back in the chair Gabe had hauled out from the kitchen, along with the table and a mobile air-conditioning unit, before he’d left.
She stared at the distant forest and tried not to imagine what he was doing. She hadn’t
asked where he was going and he hadn’t volunteered the information. But despite all her good intentions she couldn’t prevent the knot of resentment deep in her gut from tightening.
Even after having sex three times last night—not counting the quickie this morning when she’d been only half-conscious—he still went out for more. Was it for the variety? Or was it her lack of stamina? Because there was no denying the fact she could hardly keep her eyes open this morning.
Not that she was complaining. Exactly. But it was a thought, wasn’t it? Gabe clearly had an insatiable libido and saw no reason to curb it just because she was staying with him.
She refocused on the laptop. She was an idiot to get so worked up over it. It was only sex. And that was all it ever would be. It wasn’t as if she’d done something stupid like let her heart become involved. She might be falling, but she hadn’t fallen irrevocably. There was still time to pull back.
Wasn’t there?
—
AURORA CHECKED HER email account, expecting to see a reply from her dad. What she hadn’t expected was to see one from her mum as well.
With a trickle of unease, she opened it. It must have been at least four years since her mother had felt up to emailing. Aurora was sure it was no coincidence this miracle occurred the day after her mother and Gabe had a telepathic exchange.
And what had they spoken about anyway? She’d been so staggered by his careless revelation that she’d forgotten to ask.
As she read the message she could feel her face heating. It was as if she’d slipped back fifteen years, and was listening to her mother chastising her for some childish misdemeanor.
Don’t try telling me you’ve gone off to do RESEARCH with some guy you met at a psychic fayre.
Well, she’d had to tell them something, seeing as Gabe had communicated with her mother, but she’d never expected her mum to get so irate about it. In fact, she hadn’t expected her mum to make much response at all. Wild hope flared. Could this be the cataclysm that brought her mother back from the shadows?
What have you done, Aurora? What sort of people just vanish into thin air?
What? Gabe had teleported in front of her mother? Was he mad? What was the point of her trying to tell her parents everything was fine and not to worry, when he’d gone and done that in front of them?
With a feeling of dread she opened her dad’s reply. He was sure to be furious that she’d so upset her mum. Except he sounded perfectly fine and was relieved that she was okay.
Her mother hadn’t confided in her dad. Was that because the events had faded into the far recesses of her mind as soon as she’d sent her email?
Or was it because with that thread of lucidity, her mother hadn’t wanted to unnecessarily distress her father?
—
AFTER REPLYING TO her parents by saying a lot but telling them nothing, she decided to approach things from a different angle today. She focused on Guardian abductions and tumbled into a vortex of increasingly paranoid conspiracy theories. It was kind of shocking to discover that trait wasn’t confined to humans of Earth. It appeared to be a universal obsession.
Speculation as to the Guardians’ origin ranged across the spectrum of the imagination, as did the reasons why they abducted in the first place. None of the suggestions were palatable, but the one that really sickened her was the theory they did it to feed their insatiable drug habit. Feeding on the terror of mortals.
As with the so-called alien abductions on Earth, abductees generally—although not always—turned up again sooner or later. Their memories were hazy, their sanity compromised, and evidence of torture apparent but at least they were still alive.
And then she stumbled across the anomalies.
Hidden in obscure archives were scanty reports of those who hadn’t returned alive. Those whose throats had been slit and their bodies drained of all fluid. She dug deeper, her stomach churning with revulsion at the images scrolling across the screen.
And almost missed it.
Heart pounding, she scrolled back, zoomed in closer on the last unfocused image. She hadn’t imagined it. Around the woman’s neck was a chain. And although it was hard to see she was certain the pendant was in the shape of wings.
Involuntarily, she curled her fingers around her necklace. Coincidence. But she didn’t believe it. Not for a second. There was a connection. Had to be. God, where was Gabe when she needed to talk to him?
From the corner of her eye she saw him materialize. Talk about perfect timing.
“Gabe, come here. You’ll never—” Her words lodged in her throat as Mephisto, arms folded, regarded her through narrowed eyes.
“Aurora.” Just that one word, but the menace in his voice caused a shudder along her spine. He made no move toward her, and yet his presence dominated the entire terrace, looming over her, suffocating.
She refused to squirm under his unblinking gaze. “Gabe’s not here.”
“It’s not Gabe I want to speak with.”
Nerves stabbed through her gut. Mephisto appeared far more intimidating when he wasn’t flashing his evil smile around. She flattened her hands on her thighs to stop them from shaking. No way did she want this arrogant bastard to guess how much he unnerved her.
“What about?”
His mouth thinned as if her tone offended him. She forced a panicked breath into her lungs and reminded herself she was under Gabe’s protection. On his island. So much for being a strong, independent woman of the twenty-first century.
She hadn’t been this terrified of Mephisto when he’d turned up before. But before he hadn’t exuded this icy, deadly intent.
Intent for what?
Whatever it was, Aurora knew it wasn’t good news for her.
“Tell me exactly what you did on the astral planes.”
“You know what I was doing.” He’d been at the club. Who else but Mephisto could have told Gabe she had been attempting to breach dimensions? And although she didn’t have a clue how Mephisto knew she had no inclination to ask. “And so does Gabe.”
Mephisto unfolded his arms and rippled his wings. An immortal predator stalking his prey.
“Tell Gabe whatever fucking fairy story you like. But don’t try it on with me. I’ll ask you one more time. What did you do on the astral planes?”
She could tell him the whole truth. Explain about her mother. But the thought of sharing such intimate details with Mephisto was abhorrent. He wouldn’t give a damn about her reasons unlike Gabe, who’d been amazingly understanding about it all, now that she thought about it.
Before she could think better of it she pushed herself to her feet. Her knees shook and she gripped the top edge of the laptop screen for added stability. No point ruining her façade of courage by collapsing.
“I made a mistake.” It hurt, having to confess that to Mephisto. “And I’m paying for it.”
He moved so fast she hardly had time to blink before he was standing right in front of her. Before his arm shot out and knocked the laptop across the table, smashing onto the terrace.
“Paying for it?” His voice was still deadly low but his eyes burned scarlet. “I don’t see you paying for anything. It’s the Archangel Gabriel who’s paying your debt and I want to know what the fuck you did to him on the astral planes.”
Fear stabbed through her, but it wasn’t fear of Mephisto for herself. What did he mean that Gabe was paying her debt? Immortals were beyond the grasp of the Guardians. She’d discovered that and Gabe had confirmed it.
But suppose they were both wrong?
“What do you mean? Is Gabe in danger? I thought he was safe from the Guardians?”
Mephisto stared at her as if he didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. As if her words were incomprehensible. Bizarrely, relief surged through her. If Mephisto considered her questions irrelevant then surely that meant Gabe wasn’t in danger of abduction?
“You’re his debt.” Mephisto looked at her as though he’d like to incinerate her on
the spot. “Manipulating your puny existence into his life.”
Manipulating? “I’m not—”
“Last chance.” He bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. “Tell me how you dragged Gabe through the astral planes without his knowledge. If I’d known that was your ultimate goal I would’ve fried your brain two years ago in London.”
Mephisto thought she was responsible for Gabe’s arrival on her land? Through the astral planes?
London? What did London have to do with any of this?
“I didn’t. I don’t have any idea how he—”
“Don’t think I won’t rip open your mind to find the truth if I have to, human.”
She believed him. And he would leave nothing of her mind behind afterward.
“I am telling you the truth.”
A phantom, psychic hand grasped her fingers and she staggered at the brutal grip. Mephisto’s fiery glare scorched her flesh, and it took every particle of willpower she possessed to remain standing upright.
“What are you?” He ground the words between his teeth, as if they were forced against his will. As if something about her mystified him in a fundamental way.
He tightened his psychic grip on her fingers. Pain raced up her arm, speared through her chest, arrowing toward her heart.
Her vision was blurring. She refused to break eye contact. “Forget about me.” She hitched in a crippled breath. “Why are you so concerned about Gabe?” Mephisto didn’t strike her as the caring type. “What do you care about anything?”
“Who the hell are you to question me?”
He was going to kill her. At the moment he was playing, like a cat with a mouse, but within seconds he would tire of his game. He would rip through her mind, clawing for answers. And find nothing.
How easy it would be to fall to her knees. To grovel at his feet and beg for mercy. He’d spare her then.
Archangel of Mercy Page 19