Dark Angel

by Heaton, Felicity

  The call came more clearly this time, beating deep in his heart.

  His gaze shot in the direction it had come from.

  His eyes widened.

  Her?

  A fair-haired mortal female stood beside one of the fountains below, her back to him and the warm breeze playing with the short skirt of her dark red dress. The jets of water from the fountains sprayed high, the droplets catching the wind to reveal a rainbow and settling on his skin when it blew towards him.

  Apollyon frowned.

  It had to be the Devil’s work.

  He had been watching her, had cursed, and then she had called him.

  It was ridiculous.

  No mortal had the power to call an angel, and he had not had a different master since eternity began, although he didn’t remember those days, had forgotten it all the first time he had been reborn and had only the recorded history in Heaven to go on.

  Cautiously, Apollyon swooped down, closer to her, hovering barely twenty metres above her head.

  Had she called him?

  He needed to know, and he would find out.

  He was going to speak to her for the first time.

  CHAPTER 2

  Apollyon hovered in the air close to the slender petite female, studying her where she stood near the fountains, so focused on her he didn’t notice the other mortals coming and going in the busy city around her, didn’t hear the blast of the car horns in the distance behind him, or the steady noise of the fountains. He didn’t even notice the warmth of the sun on his wings.

  All he knew was her.

  Had she called him? It seemed so impossible.

  She raised a hand to her face and it lingered there. What was she doing? Her shoulders heaved and a wave of sorrow and anger washed over him, giving him pause and pulling him towards her at the same time.

  She was hurting.

  He turned and flew back along the bridge over the river behind her to land midway along it on the stone balustrade. He stepped down off the low wall and focused on himself. His wings didn’t want to disappear and it took several strides towards her before he was sure the mortals wouldn’t see them and that the glamour he was casting was falling into place. He altered his clothes, replacing his armour with a fine black suit, with a black shirt and a dark blue tie, and then swept his long hair back and tied it at the nape of his neck with a blue thong.

  Finally, he lifted the force that made him invisible to mortal eyes and walked casually towards her. He took the blue handkerchief from his breast pocket, stepped up behind her, and hesitated for only a moment before touching her shoulder.

  “Are you alright?” he said in French, hoping he had the right language and the right words.

  He hadn’t spoken to a mortal in a long time and although he knew modern languages, he had never used them.

  She touched her face again, her long fair hair a curtain which he couldn’t see beyond, and sniffed.

  When she turned to face him, she was smiling.

  Her hazel eyes landed on the offered handkerchief at first and then slowly ran up his arm to his chest and then towards his face, heat following in their wake as his breathing slowed to a halt.

  She was beautiful.

  More so in the flesh than she had appeared in the pool, her features soft and her eyes round, her lips a delicate shade of pink against her clear skin. He stared down at her, captivated, a little lost. She could be an angel herself.

  The moment her gaze met his, her expression changed. Her hand stopped close to taking the handkerchief and horror filled her eyes.

  “Get away from me.” Her French held a sharp note of panic as she shoved past him and stormed towards the bridge.

  Apollyon frowned, looked at the handkerchief, and then went after her.

  She glanced over her shoulder and her pace increased as she spotted him following her. Despite her best and somewhat confusing efforts, it was easy to close the gap between them. His strides were longer than hers and her little heeled sandals were clearly not made for a swift escape.

  “Leave me alone.”

  Why was she running?

  People stared as she pushed through them and as he passed them, murmuring to each other, speculating in different languages about what was happening. He wasn’t sure either. She was causing a scene and he wanted to know why. Needed to know.

  “Get away from me!” She turned to face him as she reached the middle of the bridge and backed away, the fear still bright in her hazel eyes, flowing around him and filling him with a strange need, a desire to comfort her and ease her. Her eyes darkened as she frowned and spoke as though uttering a curse. “Abaddon.”

  He hadn’t heard that name in a long time.

  It caught him off guard, had him stopping dead and staring at her as it rang in his mind and the reason for her fear hit him hard.

  She knew he was an angel.

  How? Had his glamour failed?

  It had been millennia since he’d had to cast one, so it was possible.

  He looked around at the watching mortals. None of them appeared afraid. If they could see an angel before them as she could, they would be reacting the same as she was, surely? People would be screaming that the Apocalypse was nigh and the world was going to end, and he would be in serious trouble with his master.

  A master who hadn’t called him.

  She had.

  Could she see through the glamour? Was she different somehow to other mortals?

  “I don’t want to die,” she muttered almost beneath her breath and cast a fearful look his way. “Please don’t kill me.”

  Kill her?

  Apollyon barely stopped himself from taking a step towards her, the need to comfort her and correct her, to reassure her that he wasn’t going to hurt her, rushing through him with the force of a tidal wave.

  He clenched his fists beside his hips instead of reaching for her and struggled to make sense of things, to find the way to calm her.

  This wasn’t going as he had expected. She wasn’t supposed to have been able to see that he was an angel. She was supposed to have accepted his kind offer of a handkerchief to dry her tears and told him why she was crying so he could figure out what he was doing here and whether someone was playing a trick on him.

  Those tears spilled down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around herself, making herself small and making him ache to reach out to her again and somehow ease her suffering.

  Whatever pain had caused her to cry, it was still strong within her heart, tormenting her. The tears she spilled weren’t born of fear of him. They were born of pain. He could feel it. There was some sort of link between them, a connection that gave him insight into her feelings and a sense that she needed him and that they were supposed to have met here today.

  Which was ridiculous.

  A mortal could never call him. They didn’t have the voice.

  He had been alone too long and was dreaming all of this, seeing things as he wanted them and not with clear eyes.

  There was only one way of finding out whether she had called him somehow. He had hoped to discover it through casual conversation but that wasn’t an option now. It was time for a more direct approach.

  He stepped towards her and she backed away again, holding both of her hands out as though that gesture alone could stop him if he wanted to get to her.

  “Please,” she whispered and shook her head, sending more tears tumbling down her ashen cheeks.

  “Leave her alone.” A burly man started towards him.

  Apollyon lost patience and cast his hand out, waving it across the gathered crowd. “There is nothing interesting to see here.”

  Their expressions went slack and they moved as one, drifting off and back into their own lives, moving past him and the mortal woman as though they weren’t even there.

  Her hazel eyes darted over the other mortals, desperation mounting in them together with a flicker of terror. “Oh God, you’re going to kill me.”

  He fro
wned at her. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “It’s what you do.” There was accusation in her tone and a hint of bravery as she visibly steeled herself.

  Courage in the face of death?

  A moment ago, she had been fleeing him and now she looked ready to fight. Curious little female.

  “I have not done such a thing in a very long time.” He held back a sigh. It was never going to leave him. Spend a few centuries as the angel of death and no one forgets. Everyone presumes you’re still in charge of taking life’s final breath from mortals. Still, it was better than the other rumour that he was the Devil. “There is a fleet of angels who do it now.”

  She didn’t look as though she believed him. Her hands trembled in front of her and she swallowed hard.

  “I didn’t ask for my powers. Please don’t take me there.” She shook her head, her hazel eyes darting over him as her pale eyebrows furrowed.

  “Where?” His patience started to wear thin again as he fought to get his own question out into the open so he could clear a few things up.

  She kept distracting him, pushing more questions into his mind that he voiced instead despite his desire to know whether she had called him.

  He tracked back over what she had said.

  Powers?

  “All the fires of Hell are in your wake... I don’t want to go there. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Her light voice trembled slightly as she glanced beyond him.

  Apollyon looked behind him. All he could see was Paris. The edge of the stone bridge and the murky river, the fountain and square, and the city beyond.

  “You are gifted.” He looked back at her as it hit him, deep into her hazel eyes.

  She nodded.

  Was this how she had called him?

  He frowned and looked at the fountain at the other end of the bridge behind him and then at her. “What were you doing there?”

  She looked past him, blinked a few times, and then her eyebrows rose. “Nothing really. Contemplating life, I guess, and how shitty it is.”

  He was familiar enough with mortal curse words to know she thought her life was bad. Why?

  “You did not ask for anything?” He stepped closer to her and this time she didn’t back away.

  It was a start.

  She kept staring at the fountain with wide eyes. Tears lined her lashes. All of her fear disappeared and the pain returned, fiercer than before. She clutched her hands to her chest against her red dress, and he felt the hurt well up inside her, overwhelming her and flowing into him.

  “Revenge,” she whispered and her gaze darted to him. “I asked for vengeance against that cheating bastard.”

  Cheating? A sinner?

  She had called for vengeance and he had heard her, and he had felt compelled to answer and accept her mission. He couldn’t. Contracting with her would break the one between him and his master.

  Apollyon looked at her, studying her pale beauty.

  She had called him and he had come. She was his master now. He had accepted the mission and the contract the moment he had left Hell.

  He was going to get into trouble for this.

  It had been a while since he had been on Earth though, and although the angels who watched over mortals now tolerated the old sins and only took them into account at death rather than punished the sinner during their life, he did still hate some of them.

  Infidelity in particular.

  “Are you really here to kill me?” A hint of colour touched her cheeks when he smiled at her, stirring a strange heat in his veins.

  He shook his head. “You called me and I came to you, not to take your life but to ease your suffering.”

  She swallowed and looked as though she was going to deny that she was in pain.

  Apollyon stepped up to her and touched her face, tensed when electricity leaped along his nerves in response to the feel of her warm, soft skin beneath his fingertips. His breath stuttered as he lingered, absorbing how good it felt to touch her. When she began to look nervous again, he forced himself to do as he had meant to before the feel of her had affected him.

  He caressed her cheek, placed his fingers under her chin, and raised her eyes to his.

  “Whatever he did to you, I will make him suffer for it, but no man is worth such tears,” he bit out the words, his dark eyebrows drawing down as anger poured through his veins to obliterate the warmth she had caused in them. “Your heart will heal in time and you will love again.”

  Her hazel eyes searched his.

  Apollyon stared deep into them and that strange warmth returned, travelling along his hand from where his fingertips touched her face. It chased through him, lighting him up inside, and finally settled in his chest, burning there, rousing feelings long forgotten.

  Feelings that felt forbidden and dangerous.

  “I will give you the revenge you seek.”

  Those words were distant to his ears even though they issued from his lips.

  He was lost in her eyes, in the way they sparkled as she looked at him with so much warmth.

  Was it gratitude that made her look that way?

  Or was it something else?

  “Are you a goddess?” he whispered, trying to keep his thoughts on track and on his mission.

  She shook her head, moving his fingers with her, and licked her lips. He made the mistake of looking at them, found himself enraptured as the soft pink tip of her tongue swept over them.

  A surge of hunger rushed through him and he snatched his hand away, shocked by the strength of his desire and the suddenness of it.

  “I’m a witch,” she said, matter of fact, with a little shrug that was stiff and awkward as colour rose onto her cheeks again.

  Apollyon stared at her.

  Was he making a terrible mistake by helping her? A part of him said to leave now before it was too late and he became too deeply involved with her.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  She had cast a spell on him.

  And he was a slave to her.

  CHAPTER 3

  Serenity’s eyes widened and she stepped back when the mountain of a man standing before her drew the sword that hung at his waist. He had changed his mind and was going to kill her after all. She told herself to run, but her body locked up, refusing to cooperate, so she could only stare at him and await her demise.

  She wasn’t sure what to think when he eased himself down onto one knee in front of her, lowered his head, and held his sword out to her, the hilt and tip of the beautiful blade resting on his upturned palms.

  “I am yours to command.” His French was perfect, making his deep voice so sexy that a shiver tripped over her skin whenever he spoke.

  Was she supposed to do something?

  People were staring again as they passed. What did they see? They certainly weren’t seeing a man offering a sword to her, that was for sure. To them, did he look as though he was kneeling with his hands raised in supplication?

  Was he dressed in black and gold armour that didn’t leave much to the imagination?

  Did he have huge black feathered wings?

  She imagined that he didn’t. If he did, the people would probably be screaming rather than merely glancing at him as though he had gone insane.

  “Erm, okay.” Serenity hesitated before touching the sword. The gleaming steel was cold beneath her fingers. She snatched her hand back, not liking the feel of it, and muttered, “Thanks.”

  He stood with grace, his muscles shifting beneath his golden skin, and she tried not to stare at his physique. Either he worked out a lot, or angels were naturally endowed with the body of a god.

  He was pure perfection as he stood close to her, his broad chest rising and falling, moving the beautifully decorated black breastplate. His stomach was bare, taut muscles delighting her hungry eyes, and pointed strips of obsidian edged with gold encircled his lean hips over a black loincloth, barely protecting his modesty.

  Something that she was lack
ing.

  She forced her gaze onwards, taking in the toned length of his legs, from his muscular thighs to the plates that protected his shins. They were as powerful as the rest of him.

  Her eyes roamed back up, over the black cuffs that covered his forearms, decorated in gold with images of lions, and over his bare biceps to his strong shoulders. From there, they wanted to go to his face, but his wings were too fascinating. They were huge, casting a shadow across both him and her despite the fact they were tucked against his back.

  She wanted to walk around him and investigate every delicious inch of him, taking in that he really was an angel and not a man parading as one.

  An angel.

  Abaddon.

  Her mother had taught her gods, goddesses and mythology. She knew all about him and his kind.

  Her eyes finally leaped to his face, a need to see in his vivid blue eyes that he was telling the truth racing through her again. She found the reassurance she needed, together with something else to fascinate her. He had flecks of paler blue, like ice, in his irises.

  His lips tilted at the corners, and she had the strangest sensation that her appraisal was making him nervous. He didn’t show it though. His gaze held hers, unwavering and strong, and her temperature rose as his eyes narrowed slightly and his pupils dilated.

  What was he thinking in there?

  Did he like what he saw as much as she did?

  The man was a god.

  No, an angel.

  And he was beautiful.

  Breathtaking.

  But he wasn’t at all as she had thought an angel would look. Everything about him spoke of darkness, right down to his aura. Whatever power he had, it was strong and it wasn’t the sort that resurrected mortals or healed them. It felt as though the opposite would happen if he unleashed it.

  Abaddon. The angel of death. Although he had denied that title. What title did he claim as his then?

  “So, Abaddon—” she started.

  “Apollyon,” he interjected with a charming smile that teased his sensual lips and made her heart beat a little faster.

  He was an angel. Serenity reminded herself of that ten times over and then once more to make it stick.

  It didn’t matter how good he looked, or how he was making her forget her pain just by looking at him, she couldn’t think about him like that. It was wrong of her. He had offered his assistance in getting revenge on her bastard ex and she was going to take it. Whatever dark power this gorgeous man had, she was going to let it rip in her ex’s direction and reclaim her dignity and her property.