Archangel of Mercy

by Christina Ashcroft

  It was a future, but not a future she could willingly embrace. Not when she knew how fragile a person’s sanity was; when she knew that even an overwhelming love like that of her parents for each other sometimes just wasn’t enough.

  She would focus on her self-imposed mission. It was all she could do. Find a loophole in the ancient laws governing the Guardians’ rights and discover a chink in their armored protocols. Just because no one else ever had didn’t mean it was impossible. Maybe no one had ever tried before. As she pushed back the covers a half-forgotten idea glimmered in the back of her mind and she froze.

  The mysterious force field—or whatever it was—that surrounded Gabe’s island repelled the Guardians. When she had sneaked into his office she’d wondered if it could be adapted to protect individuals. Unsurprisingly, after discovering his true identity, the possibility had fled her mind.

  But now it glowed with renewed hope, and threaded through the vision of freedom another hope blazed.

  If she was protected and free to choose her own path outside of Gabe’s jurisdiction, would he still want to be with her?

  —

  BY THE TIME she’d had a quick shower and was back in the kitchen she’d managed to convince herself it was completely possible to modify the force field to her own specifications. The only thing she couldn’t work out was why Gabe hadn’t thought of it right away.

  And where had he gone again? She glanced outside and caught sight of a large timber chest. Frowning, she went onto the terrace and crouched beside it. It hadn’t been there earlier. Dimly she recalled a thud, just before Gabe had launched himself at Mephisto. This must have been what he’d dropped.

  Well, it was none of her business. But still she remained where she was, as if the chest contained answers to unasked questions. She trailed her fingers along the top and they slid into a concealed groove. Before she quite realized what was happening the entire top folded up on itself and disappeared down the back of the box.

  Great. If Gabe came back now he’d think she was prying into his personal stuff. But much as she really didn’t want to go through his things behind his back she held her breath and peered inside.

  An eerie shiver chased over her arms, as if she had intruded into his most private of places, a sacred relic of his previous life. Whatever she’d expected to see it hadn’t been a chest filled with a child’s beloved toys and books and items of clothing.

  She sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. She felt like the worse kind of voyeur. As if she’d wrenched open Gabe’s heart and was rifling through his pain, probing into his long-buried wounds.

  With a sigh she propped her elbow on the edge of the chest and looked inside again. She couldn’t help herself. It didn’t matter how much it hurt to know how deeply Gabe still missed his child. She needed to dig further, to discover all she could about his past. It might, in some strange way, help her understand the man—the archangel—he was today.

  And then he materialized in the kitchen, just feet from her. Heat swamped her and she jerked back, as if that might fool him into believing he hadn’t caught her rifling through his personal possessions.

  His daughter’s personal possessions.

  He strode toward her, unsmiling and grim, and for the life of her she couldn’t think of an adequate excuse to justify her behavior. He stepped over the opened chest and placed something on the table, and then sat on the chair and faced her.

  Obviously he was waiting for her to say something. Her mind was scarily blank. How pathetic would it sound to tell him she’d opened the chest without meaning to?

  “I pulled some strings,” he said bizarrely. He continued to look at her as if he wasn’t even aware of the chest between them. “And we have a new laptop.”

  A new laptop? She glanced at the slender package on the table, then back at him. Was he messing with her?

  “Uh . . . good?” Her voice was unnaturally high and she tried clearing her throat but her heart was pounding so frantically she could hardly breathe, never mind anything else.

  A frown of apparent bafflement flicked over his gorgeous features. “Yes. The last one shattered, remember?”

  Aurora risked shooting the chest a doubtful glance. Gabe was acting as if it was invisible. But all she could see was an enormous great elephant.

  “Yes.” It was no good. Even if Gabe was willing to overlook the situation she didn’t want him thinking the worst of her. “Look, I’m really sorry, Gabe. I didn’t mean to pry. I mean, I haven’t pried. I haven’t looked at anything at all.” She sounded guilty, defensive and completely pathetic. She knew a good half of her guilt was because of the time she really had gone through his things. And found the picture of his family.

  Thank god he didn’t know about that.

  He shrugged as if it didn’t bother him one way or the other what she’d done. “So long as you haven’t lost anything I don’t see why you’re getting so wound up over it.”

  She spread her fingers across her thighs and attempted to make sense of that last odd sentence. He made it seem that the chest held no personal significance to him at all.

  “Of course I haven’t lost anything.” Had she jumped to the wrong conclusion about the contents of the chest? Now that she thought about it, the stuff didn’t even look very old. “What is it?”

  “Just work related.”

  He said it so casually that for a moment she wondered if she had misheard him. Work related? He worked? What in the name of god would an archangel do for work?

  “There’s no need to look so staggered.” Gabe sounded as if he couldn’t decide whether he was offended or amused by her disbelief. “What did you think I did with my time? Endless clubbing across the universe?”

  Since that was horribly close to what she had imagined, she didn’t answer. But she had the feeling her red face spelled it out all too clearly.

  “Thanks.” His sarcasm was palpable. “Good to know your high opinion of me.”

  “Well, you can hardly blame me. And it’s not as if you’ve ever told me what you do when you leave the island, is it?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and she got the distinct impression that just days ago he would have given her one of his arrogant glares for daring to question him. But the expression on his face wasn’t haughty or dismissive. Had it really never occurred to him that she might be interested in where he went or what he did?

  “It’s been a while since I’ve told anyone my reasons for coming and going.” A frown creased his brow, and she had the absurd desire to curl up on his lap and give him whatever comfort she could. Would he never be able to talk to her without seeing or thinking of the dark-haired woman he had loved so long ago?

  She forced the image to the back of her mind. Why was she torturing herself with something that could never be?

  “So what is it you do, exactly?” She glanced into the chest, so Gabe wouldn’t see the hopeless wish in her eyes.

  “I track the missing.”

  Whatever she’d expected him to say it hadn’t been that. Even her pathetic self-pity receded and she looked up at him, entranced. The old myths hadn’t got everything wrong. He really was the Angel of Mercy.

  “You mean you’re like a private investigator?”

  The look on his face suggested he didn’t think much of her comparison. At all.

  “Do I look like a PI?” The disgust in his voice confirmed her suspicion. “Trust you to pick the least glamorous term.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you call yourself. What’s important is what you do.”

  He scowled as though her admiration for his occupation rubbed him the wrong way. “I don’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. My fees are astronomical.”

  He charged? For some reason that hadn’t occurred to her. Then again, she supposed he had to live, and considering he’d already told her he amassed fortunes as a hobby it shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise.

  “Well, I suppose that’s only fair. You need to cov
er expenses.” God, what was she saying? He was an archangel. What sort of expenses would he incur? It wasn’t as if he needed a travel allowance.

  “I don’t charge to cover expenses. I charge so potential clients are fully aware of the magnitude of their request.”

  Gabe resisted the undignified urge to shift on the chair. He never squirmed. But the look of unadulterated reverence on Aurora’s face, far from casting a satisfied glow across his ego, irritated him.

  And to make it worse he wasn’t irritated at her.

  “Oh.” She sounded completely baffled. “Okay.”

  The fact she wasn’t even questioning him further only deepened his black mood. He wanted her to question him. To push his patience to its limits. Wanted her to annoy him, to give him the excuse he needed to put her in her place. To turn his back on her.

  To continue as he had done so for countless centuries.

  And since when did he need a fucking excuse to put a mortal in their place?

  “Guess,” he said, torn between wanting to pull her into his arms, to hold her and forget his past, his present and eternal future, and wanting to wipe that enchanting expression from her face for good. “Give it your best shot. What do you think I demand as payment, Aurora?”

  Chapter Thirty

  FOR a long moment she continued to gaze at him. It was clear she didn’t have a clue what he charged and thought he was crazy to expect she might. And then a shocked comprehension clouded her eyes and her lips parted as if she was having trouble processing those thoughts.

  “You don’t.” She sounded torn between awe and horror. “Tell me you don’t demand a person’s soul.”

  “Fine.” He had no idea why her disgust bothered him. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted? “I don’t demand a person’s soul.”

  “But you’re an archangel.” She made him sound like some kind of benevolent god. An oxymoron if ever he’d come across one. “Only the devil demands the soul in payment.”

  “Define your definition of devil.” He’d been called that and worse in his time. It was all a matter of perspective.

  A frown flashed across her face as if she didn’t think much of his flippancy. He resisted the urge to tell her that he was deadly serious. What did it matter what she thought?

  It mattered.

  He throttled the knowledge before it could fully form. But the echo remained; a haunting reminder that no matter how he denied it to Zad, his attachment to Aurora was a lot more than spectacular sex.

  “So let me get this straight.” She pushed herself from the floor and perched on the edge of the chest. “There really are souls and that’s your price?” She sounded disbelieving, although he couldn’t tell whether that was because she didn’t believe in souls or she didn’t believe he deprived people of them. “Why?”

  Now she was asking the right questions. Now she was pushing the boundaries and by rights he should remind her of the reason she was with him. And it wasn’t because they were equals.

  It wasn’t her place to question his judgment. Wasn’t her place to make him doubt his own integrity. He owed her no explanation for his actions. So why did he have this gnawing urge to wipe the condemnation from her eyes?

  “Proof.” She was only a mortal and it didn’t matter what she thought of him. “If a potential client is willing to sacrifice the possibility of ever being reborn, just to save the one they love in this life, then maybe—just maybe—the missing one is worth searching for.”

  “Reborn?” It was obvious she’d never seriously considered that possibility before. “Are you telling me people really do reincarnate?”

  “Only if they possess a soul.” He heard the thread of bitterness in his voice and didn’t even try to disguise it. “Otherwise once you die, that’s it. You’re gone forever. No second chances.”

  She was silent for a moment, an enchanting frown creasing her brow. He rapped his fingers on the table, waiting for her further condemnation. And had no idea why he didn’t just get up and get out of there.

  “So you return the one they love.” Aurora sounded doubtful but he was sure she understood perfectly. “And then take away the chance they may have of getting together in a future life?”

  That was exactly the conclusion he wanted her to draw. She would retreat, and this strange sense of connection he was beginning to feel with her would shatter. Their relationship would be based entirely and exclusively on sex. Just as it should be.

  Except the suicidal desire to leap to his feet, to drag her into his arms and tell her the truth hammered through his brain. Did she really think so little of him that she could believe he’d do that?

  Despite the price his clients believed they paid, all he did in reality was wipe their minds. They retained no memory of ever having approached him, let alone what he’d done for them. But despite the rumors that he demanded not only his client’s soul but also their life as payment, still the desperate sought him out.

  He battened down his illogical urge. Let her believe the worst of him.

  “That’s right.” To his disgust he sounded belligerent. As if he, an archangel, was on the defensive.

  “But that’s awful.” Finally she sounded shocked. It was what he wanted but he derived no depraved pleasure from her reaction. “I mean, after what you’ve just told me about reincarnation that sounds even worse than if you just killed them outright.”

  “Like I said”—he offered her a feral smile but, typical Aurora, she didn’t flinch—“it’s the ultimate proof.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” If any other mortal—or even another immortal if it came to that—had taken that tone with him, they’d feel the full force of his ire. But instead he remained mute, and took a morbid satisfaction from her obvious distaste. “There’s got to be other ways someone could prove their love was genuine. I can’t believe you’d do anything so”—she hesitated, clearly struggling for the right word to describe her utter revulsion—“extreme.”

  He’d expected a far more vitriolic adjective from her, but for some reason the way she said extreme stung. “What criteria would you use?” The demand issued before he could prevent it. Gods help him, did he really seek justification? “How would you prioritize which case to take and which to leave?”

  The silence stretched between them, into infinity, shattering forever the fragile threads that had inexplicably woven them together. A flimsy bond he had no use for, no need of and no desire to see flourish.

  With the right one, sex can heal the soul. But Aurora was not the right one. And his soul was beyond salvation.

  Finally she broke eye contact and looked into the chest. She trailed her fingers over the contents as if she was clairsentient and could discover secrets from touch alone. He braced himself for her complete condemnation. Even though her condemnation meant . . . nothing.

  “You would need harsh criteria.” To his disbelief, he detected a thread of reluctant acceptance in her voice. Or was he simply irreparably delusional? “Otherwise I imagine you’d be swamped with requests.”

  He forcibly unclenched his fist. A fist he couldn’t recall making. Aurora wasn’t leveling accusations his way. She wasn’t looking at him as if he was something unspeakable. She wasn’t behaving at all the way he had envisaged.

  He’d been prepared for her disgust. Had anticipated it. Welcomed it. But as always Aurora had caught him off guard and, gods help him, he was relieved.

  “That’s why I’ve never suppressed the rumors.” The words were out before he could stop himself. Except the truth was—he didn’t want to stop himself. Didn’t want Aurora thinking the worst of him, despite the way he’d attempted to delude himself. He wanted her to know the truth because she hadn’t condemned him. “What the hell would I do with a million souls, Aurora?”

  When she looked up at him she had the same look on her face as when he’d first told her he tracked the missing. And this time it wasn’t irritation that clawed through his chest. It was an odd sensation of . . . peace.

 
; “You’re looking for a child, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. There was no need when the contents of the chest told its own tale. “How old is she?”

  “Four years old.”

  “Do you”—she hesitated, as if unsure how he might react to her question—“want me to help, Gabe? I’d like to. If you didn’t mind.”

  He stared at her as a surreal sense of disbelief enveloped him. She wanted to help him?

  No matter her good intentions her request was impossible. For a start she couldn’t understand the Medan language. What possible use could she be to him?

  Apart from the obvious obstacles that she had no idea what to look for, he didn’t need her help. But despite that logic he acknowledged, with a sense of fatality, that he wanted her help.

  Even if all her help amounted to was simply keeping him company while he sifted through endless potential evidence.

  —

  CURLED UP ON the sofa, Aurora stifled a yawn. She had no idea what the time was but it had been dark for what seemed hours. The remains of another mouth-watering meal Gabe had brought back a while ago was strewn across the floor, and he was at the other end of the sofa, focused on his laptop.

  For a few moments she indulged her obsession and merely gazed at him, soaking in the glow of his hair, the sculpted perfection of his face, his total concentration on the task he’d set himself. She’d been touched that he’d accepted her offer, even if it was apparent that he didn’t think she would be of any help to him at all.

  But he hadn’t thrown her shortcomings in her face. Instead he’d delegated the task of scrutinizing hundreds of pictorial evidence. At least for that she didn’t need to be able to decipher a strange, alien language.

  Except no one in the pictures looked like an alien. The small child Evalyne, whose existence was catalogued in loving detail from the moment of her birth, looked like any adorable little girl from Earth.