Angels of Darkness

by Singh, Nalini, Andrews, Ilona

  “Yes,” he confirmed, smiling slightly.

  Maybe he could smile about it. He’d had over a decade to get used to the idea that he’d almost chosen to ascend to the afterlife.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it was the ultimate test, wasn’t it? How much faith do I have?” As if amused by the memory of it now, he shook his head, still smiling. “I wasn’t even in Caelum that often, and I saw the Ascension coming. A movement, sweeping through the Guardians—half of them believing that just by existing, they were an insult to God. After all, if He takes care of everything, what does He need Guardians for?”

  “If He even exists,” Radha interrupted. Oh, but she remembered those Guardians. They’d been intolerable. She’d avoided Caelum as much as possible in the year before the Ascension.

  The truth was, they just didn’t know. Only their leader, Michael, had ever met any angels, when they’d passed on their powers and Caelum to him, along with the responsibility for protecting the Earth. Those powers had enabled him to create the Guardian corps, transforming humans who’d sacrificed themselves. Demons were fallen angels who rebelled against Heaven—but no one she knew had actually seen Heaven. That some power existed was obvious, but the source of it . . . ? Who knew.

  Just to piss off some of the more self-righteous Guardians, Radha used to argue that the angels were aliens. She’d almost convinced a few with her illusions, too.

  Good riddance to the lot of them.

  “We’ll debate that later.” Marc grinned briefly, as if recalling their old arguments—or looking forward to another. “You know what I think about it. And you know that there were other Guardians saying that the humans needed more faith. That if their belief was strong enough, they’d have enough faith to defeat the demons on their own, that we were getting in the way. That humans didn’t need us.”

  “And you believed that?” She couldn’t believe he had.

  “No. That was the problem. I’d seen too much, killed too many demons. I knew humans needed us. But I wondered if I should believe it—and I wondered if the reason I’d spent the past forty years being so fucking miserable was just because I didn’t believe it enough.”

  Miserable. Her throat tightened. “Forty years?”

  “After I came to Earth and became that celibate warrior I’d always planned to be. And I did it well, Radha. If I wasn’t chasing down a demon then I was searching for another. I never faltered. I never stopped hunting. I never did anything else at all.”

  How could that be? “Nothing else at all?”

  “No. And at first it was all right. I had a purpose, I had a mission. I was happy to be carrying it out.”

  But doing nothing else? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “Not even stopping for a cup of tea. A biscuit.”

  “No. I didn’t eat or drink.”

  “Passing a few minutes on a park bench.” Or half a day, as Radha sometimes did—especially if there were children about. Using her illusions only as weapons would be such a waste. If demons brought despair, she’d bring a little joy. “Chatting with the old men in a café.”

  “No.”

  What would he be unable to resist? Singing, perhaps. He’d sung often in Caelum, and he had a beautiful voice.

  “Watching a musician on the street.”

  He smiled, shaking his head. “No.”

  “Did you sing?”

  “No.”

  She couldn’t imagine. Because everything she’d felt in his emotions a few hours before, that loneliness and despair—that was after ten years of coming back from that low. Despite every illusion she could cast, every silly thing she thought up, Radha simply couldn’t imagine the loneliness and misery that he’d put himself through, the low point he must have reached to even consider ascending.

  “No wonder Heaven seemed so appealing. If it’s not really a spaceship,” she said, and his low laugh seemed to break apart the icy pain that clawed at her throat.

  “I didn’t care about Heaven,” he said. “I just wanted to be a Guardian—but I didn’t want to live in Hell anymore while being one. And I thought that if I just lacked faith, the Ascension was the perfect way to prove it.”

  “But?”

  “But then I pulled my head out of my ass, as I said. I took a look around Caelum, at all the Guardians there. Not a single one of them was chosen to become a Guardian just because they had faith in something—they had all done something. I saved my father. You traded your life for your son’s.”

  And put herself at the mercy of a merciless vampire. Radha grimaced. Though she’d have made the same choice again, a million times over, she could only recall the teeth ripping her throat open, the horrifying pain—and she didn’t like to think about it. She rarely spoke of it, and then only briefly.

  “You remember that?”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything you told me—like pointing out that the Rules don’t say a thing about faith. They basically say: Try not to kill or hurt anyone. It’s the same with being chosen as a Guardian: It was never about what we believed. It was what we did. The reward for that was just fine. So I chose to keep on doing rather than ascending.”

  “But you decided to keep on doing it differently.” No more celibate warrior. “You changed that.”

  “I did. I bought this house, a little land. I took a day now and then to travel. I started stopping for coffee, chatting with the old men, buying ice cream.”

  And began taking a few other steps, she realized now. Like working with Special Investigations. He hadn’t always—and not every Guardian did. But it required him to keep in touch with other Guardians. That contact would lead to relationships with people who did understand him. Not romantic ones, but working relationships. Maybe friendships.

  She hoped he wanted to cultivate this one again. “So it’s better.”

  “Yes.” His expression darkened. Not looking back at himself with humor now, but simply remembering. “A hell of a lot better.”

  “I wish I’d known. I’d have looked for you. But maybe you wouldn’t have stopped for me, either.”

  “I’d have stopped for you,” he said, taking her breath. “Now give me your next question.”

  He’d made this one so easy for her. “Will you come over here and kiss me?”

  “Yes.” But he didn’t move, and his fingers clenched on the edge of the countertop, as if holding himself back. “You need to ask me a few more things first, though. Such as, How did I like Bangladesh?”

  Oh. Yes, that was important. Bangladesh, and the other regions in her territory. They could easily travel back and forth several times a week by using the portals through Caelum to cut down the flying time. And they didn’t have to spend it all in bed. He could fight at her side while she patrolled her territory, and she’d do the same here with him. Partners, of a sort . . . and she’d love to hunt with him.

  “How did you like it?”

  “It was the worst trip I’ve taken,” he said, squeezing her heart almost to nothing. “There I was, hot, odors all around me—from the food, the flowers, the people—and color everywhere. I spent three days walking through the jungle, the cities, flying across the plains. I couldn’t appreciate a damn bit of it. Because I’d done a good job of putting you out of my head, but there . . . I only wondered whether you’d walked the same roads before. I wondered what you thought when you saw something, how your perception would be different from mine. I wondered what you’d say. And so I spent the whole trip wishing you were with me.”

  Her heart filled again, too fast. She blinked away the stinging in her eyes. “When you come again, I’ll tell you what I see.”

  “Good. Now ask if I’ll do much more than kiss you tonight.”

  He’d better. “Will you?”

  “No,” he said, but disappointment couldn’t touch her, not when his eyes glowed so intensely green. He wanted to. That mattered more. “Because as it stands now, that list of mine begins and ends with you. I don’t mind keeping it that way.”
>
  Only her. Astonishment roiled into fierce possession. Only hers.

  And it was stupid, so stupid—but she was glad of it. She’d been the only one to mean something to him. She wished he’d been happier in his life, that he hadn’t been lonely, but if this was how they’d ended up . . . Radha wasn’t sorry that it had been her.

  “So I’ll kiss you, but I don’t want to rush to the bed. I want you to be sure of me first. Absolutely sure,” he emphasized when she opened her mouth. “That takes more than a few hours, and I’d prefer to wait than to see you hurt, if you realize you made a mistake. And on my end . . . I want to savor you. I want to find out what you like a little bit at a time, learn every inch of you. Even if that means a year passes before I’m inside you again.”

  A year of waiting? Oh, no. She wouldn’t survive the frustration. “I’ll die. You’ll kill me.”

  His grin killed her. “It’ll be fun.”

  Yes, it would be. Because she’d tease the hell out of him in return, and she loved doing that. She loved the way he took it.

  “Now ask me if I’ll see that you’re satisfied tonight, and every night while we’re building up to it,” he said. “Unless I’m misreading you—and after you leave, you don’t plan to come back, and you don’t want me to visit you there.”

  Satisfied. Her anticipation mounted. “You’re not misreading me.”

  “Good.” Despite the relief in his reply, his tension increased. “Now I’ve got a question. What are you here for? Are you hiding? Tell me how to help you.”

  He still thought she was in trouble? And he wanted to fix it for her. God, that was so hot. Confidence, strength, and protection, in one sexy package.

  “I’m not hiding. I saw you in Caelum last week, and I was worried about you.”

  “You were?” Clearly taken aback, he shook his head. “Why?”

  “Because you looked like you thought the world was ending.”

  His surprise rolled into a laugh. “Ah. It feels like that sometimes.”

  “But you don’t really think it will?”

  “Not as long as I’m standing.”

  Not arrogance, just an intention to fight to the end and come out on top. God, that was sexy, too. And it was exactly what she planned to do.

  He studied her face, as if gauging her through this new perspective. “You know I’m all right.”

  “Yes.”

  And getting better. A lot better, as soon as he kissed her. If he didn’t soon, she’d take matters into her own hands.

  “So you’re done here. You could leave,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “But you haven’t.” His fingers clenched on the counter’s edge again, hard enough to crack the tile. “Radha, when I kiss you—I’m assuming you want me to. I’ll assume that’s true until you tell me it’s not. You understand that? I can’t hold back with you. I’m only doing it now because I have to be sure. I have to be absolutely sure.”

  So he wouldn’t hurt her again.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  He didn’t hold back. But he came slowly, so slowly, holding her gaze with every step. Her heart thundered as he bent his head toward hers again.

  “I’m only surprised that you held back,” he murmured.

  So was she. Breathless, she said, “I didn’t want to take advantage of you again. I want you to be sure, too. But as soon as you kiss me, all bets are off.”

  “All right, then.”

  He framed her face with his hands, his callused palms cupping her cheeks. Her breath shuddered. His lips opened over hers, hot, immediately searching. Finally. Joy swept aside the need, sweet and light, and she laughed against his mouth. Marc. She felt his smile, the curve of his lips, then he licked lightly into her mouth and desire came crashing back, stronger, hotter. Moaning, she rose onto her toes, trying to get closer.

  No waiting. She needed him now. Now.

  Her fingers fisted in his hair. The table skidded back as she pushed off it, leaping onto him. Her legs wrapped around solid muscle at his waist. So long and lean. So hard everywhere. Clinging to him, mouths fused, she rubbed against his aroused length.

  His groan fueled her need. She deepened the kiss and tasted him, vanilla and wet heat. Rough hands dropped to her thighs, his fingers spreading over bare skin.

  She tore her mouth from his, panting. “Higher.”

  His hair disheveled by her fingers, eyes shining with need, he carried her to the table again. “Slower.”

  Foolish man. He could try.

  He set her on the table, the surface cool against the backs of her thighs. Deliberately, Radha lay back, spreading herself out before him.

  She grinned wickedly. “Did you like the ice cream?”

  Without giving him the chance to reply, she formed the illusion: a scoop of vanilla at the juncture of her thighs, melting from the heat of her flesh. Marc, kneeling between her legs, holding her open and gently lapping. She made him taste it, sweet and cold.

  His body stiffened, gaze fixed on the scene before him. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet hers. His voice was low and rough. “That’s how I’ll satisfy you this time.”

  God, yes. Her back arched, offering her entire body to him, his to feast from.

  “But you’ve got it wrong.” He stepped between her legs, through the Marc kneeling in her illusion. “When my tongue’s on you, I could never be so dainty.”

  And he wasn’t. Not when his mouth found hers again. Not when he slowly kissed his way down her body, learning every inch and coming back for another taste. Not when he knelt, unleashed his hunger, burning her alive.

  But she wasn’t satisfied, not just by that. And not by sucking her fingers into her mouth, casting tactile illusions that made him stiffen and groan while he fed from her. Not until he was solid against her tongue, shuddering as he shouted her name—without a single illusion between them, just pleasure that was perfect and real. Not until he said dazedly, “I’ll never last a year.”

  Then was she satisfied. But only for now.

  CHAPTER 5

  The coroner would have probably been too easy.

  Special Investigations hadn’t been able to send Marc everything he’d asked for by the time he’d arranged to meet Dr. Richard Brand at the county morgue, but they’d come through with a substantial background. The info on Brand had been squeaky-clean—not even a speeding ticket to his name, or an indication of a payout from Bronner in his financials. For a man of sixty, that perfect record was a hell of an accomplishment, and enough to raise Marc’s suspicions a little more. Demons with fake identities often kept their backgrounds spotless.

  At four o’clock in the morning, no one was around to question how Marc and Radha traveled from Riverbend to the county seat without a car. Silver-haired and robust with health, Brand met them at the morgue’s receiving doors. His mind was shielded.

  For a moment, Marc considered blasting through those mental blocks to see if a demon lay beneath. He held out his hand instead.

  Beside him, Radha tensed and stepped forward, leaving behind an image of the suited Special Agent Bhattacharyya. Demon or not, Brand wouldn’t see the crossbow she called in, her slick movement, or the bolt she held an inch from the man’s temple when his hand extended to Marc’s. Ready to fire, if Brand attacked.

  He clasped Marc’s hand, shook. Warm skin, not hot like a demon’s, not cold like a vampire’s.

  Human.

  Damn it. Marc glanced at Radha, and with a sigh, she backed down and returned to the position that her illusory double stood in.

  Through wire-rimmed lenses, Brand studied Marc’s face. “You’re not cold enough to be a vampire. What are you?”

  If the man already knew about vampires, no harm in telling him the rest. Especially since Marc might have reason to work with him again in the future.

  “A Guardian,” he said, and when Brand looked to Radha, she formed her wings and added, “Me, too.”

  “Guardian,” Brand repeated softly, his gaze
tracing the arch of her wings before she vanished them again. “My grandfather always said you were out there. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.”

  “Your grandfather?” Marc asked.

  “Abram Bronner.” The man must have seen Marc’s surprise. “He didn’t tell you.”

  Some of the lines on the man’s face weren’t just age, Marc realized, but grief and exhaustion. “He said you took a payout.”

  “Ah, well.” Turning, Brand preceded them inside and down a short corridor, hard-soled shoes slapping against the concrete floor. “He probably said that to protect the family, so that no vampire could use us against him if they decided to challenge his leadership. We always protected him in return—a Brand tradition, with one of us always in position to help keep the community hidden. My granddaughter would have been next, to her dismay. After tales of Guardians, she was more interested in becoming one of you . . . and especially when she heard that one came to town a few months ago. That was you? My grandfather said you killed the demon.”

  He’d slain a demon shortly afterward. He wasn’t convinced it was the demon who’d murdered Jason Ward.

  “I was here for a bit,” Marc said. “I took a look into Jason’s coffin, made certain he had been a vampire.”

  Brand shook his head. “I’ll admit, the one time I ever really became angry at Jess was when I found out she’d been telling the Ward girl that her brother had been transformed. Teasing her with it, I think, knowing the girl wouldn’t believe her.”

  Jess . . . ? Marc put it together. “Jessica—she’s in high school and drives a Cherokee? She’s your granddaughter?”

  “Miklia’s friend?” Radha’s surprise echoed his.

  “That’s her,” Brand said. “And I was angry at first, but after Jason was killed, I kept the truth from the Wards. By then, though, Miklia knew what he was . . . there was no one else for her to go to but Jess. And Jess was shocked by it, too, needed some reassurance of her own.”

  And now his granddaughter was more interested in becoming a Guardian. That explained the training, then, and the books they’d been reading at Perk’s Palace—and how Miklia had become friends with the girls she’d once called the Brainless Bitches. Jessica must have shared the truth with Ines and Lynn, too.