by ML Guida
Waves of desire sizzled through her. Every nerve tingled. He rubbed her quivering arms and she melted against him. His feathery touch ignited a flame that had long been doused. Too preoccupied with Rosemary and Serenity House, she forgot she was a woman, a woman denied the simple pleasure of an embrace between a man and a woman, but this man reminded her that she deserved this sweet indulgence.
She arched her body to his naked chest. Her nipples pushed against her bra. She ached to have him rip her bra and shirt from her body and feel him skin-to-skin. What was she thinking? The man just had surgery.
Control yourself.
Scythe flattened her against the wall, molding his hard form against hers. She unclenched her tight fists and pushed her palms against his massive chest, then spread her fingers over his buttery skin. His muscles coiled under her touch, and his smooth slick skin fulfilled her wicked desire.
She slid her hands slid to his sculpted biceps and caressed his arm. Standing on her tiptoes, she clung to his shoulders. His silky hair brushed her hands and she ran her eager fingers through his thick strands. Something about a guy’s long hair drove her crazy, but this guy could be dangerous as his look-alike his twin brother, a killer. She should shove him away, but instead, she dug her nails into his muscular shoulders.
He unbuttoned her shirt. When he slipped his calloused hands underneath her bra, she shivered and nearly jumped out of her sandals. Scythe cupped her breast then stroked it. He pinched her nipple, and she cried out with desire.
Soft padded footsteps hurried down the hall. “Mr. Angel, is everything all right?”
The shocked female voice smacked reality over Heather’s head. What the hell was she doing—attacking a man who nearly died last night?
“Oh my,” the same female voice said. “Mr. Angel, you shouldn’t be out of bed.”
Heather’s cheeks heated. She released Scythe’s shoulders and turned her head too ashamed to face the sharp voice, but Scythe’s powerful body pinned her and his massive shoulders blocked any curious stares. He didn’t stop fondling her breast, and his expert fingers drove her crazy.
“No, stop,” Heather panted. “Scythe, please.”
Under hooded eyes, he studied her, creating a pooling sensation in her stomach. “You are too much of distraction,” he whispered.
Stunned, she couldn’t speak. What had he said?
He turned around, but he blocked a nurse’s scowling glare. Her bright red lipstick brought out every wrinkle in her face.
Cool air hit Heather’s skin. Heather glanced down. Her purple shirt hung lopsided, exposing her taut nipple that peaked out of her bra. The heat moved from Heather’s face all the way to her wiggling toes.
“He’s had surgery,” the woman said.
Heather buttoned her blouse. She knew better than this. Tears threatened to fall, but she bit her lip. She braced her shoulders and blinked them away.
“As you can see, woman, I don’t need to be in bed,” Scythe said.
Heather glanced over shoulder. Scythe glared at the woman.
The nurse put her hands on her hips. She was almost two feet shorter than him, but she didn’t back down. “You came out of surgery last night and were near death.” She pointed. “Now get back into that bed.”
A slow thin smile spread across Scythe’s face. He brushed passed the woman, forcing her to back up. “No.”
“Mr. Angel, I must insist.”
“Go ahead and insist, but I’m out of here.” He picked his shirt off a chair next to his bed and slipped it on, covering his beautiful body.
She couldn’t help but notice there was no blood on his shirt and jeans. But they were the same shirt and jeans. There wasn’t even a damn hole in the shirt. Another question she needed to ask Mr. Mysterious. Getting her head back in the game, she said, “Scythe, she’s right.”
The nurse turned and actually gave her a grateful look. On her uniform, she had a white name tag that read Cathy.
“Mr. Angel,” Cathy said. “Now, get back in that bed. You’re not strong enough to leave.”
“Apparently, I am.” Scythe put on his socks and boots. He looked between both Heather and the nurse. His arrogance made Heather want to scream.
Cathy stood in front of him as if she could stop him from leaving. “Because you’ve been making out with this woman who claimed to be your so-called sister, doesn’t mean you can walk out of this hospital.”
Scythe gave Heather a curious look and once again, heat burned her cheeks.
Finding her voice, she said, “Wait, I never said that.”
Cathy smirked. “Really, aren’t you the same woman who called last night asking about him?”
“Well, I uh…”
Scythe gave the biddy a cool stare. “How do you know I don’t have a sister?” His voice was barely audible.
Maybe the man was about to pass out. However, his color appeared normal and he never winced when he kissed her. How could this be? Any other man would be in pain or groggy, but she had to be sure. “Scythe, are you okay?”
“Never better.” He grinned. “Nothing like a morning kiss to start off the day.”
Cathy glared. Heather wanted to run into the bathroom to hide.
“Umph,” Cathy said. “By the way, your brother called a few minutes ago.”
Both Heather and Scythe sucked in their breath. Cathy gave them both a strange look.
Heather broke out in a cold sweat. Was Blade nearby? Had he followed her? Damn it!
“My, my, what’s going on here?”
Heather groaned. She turned. Mason and Hewitt stood in the doorway, blocking the light from the hallway. God, the two shady pennies appeared at every turn.
Mason half smirked at her. “Well, Ms. Bowen, so we meet again. It seems wherever we go, there you are.”
She itched to smack the smirk right off his arrogant face, but she clenched her fists tight.
“And I understand,” Mason nodded at Scythe, “Ms. Bowen, you were present when your mysterious man stabbed this gentleman. It’s time for another talk.”
Scythe narrowed his eyes at Mason. “Exactly, what do you want to talk to her about?”
Mason shrugged as if a little boy was trying to frighten him. “The murders, the mysterious man and I don’t know…you.”
“Detective, this man is supposed to be in bed.” Cathy tilted her head at Scythe. “He had surgery and he’s walking around like he owns the place.”
Hewitt stood blocking the door, not uttering a word. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his legs wide apart. Heather groaned. No point in rushing for the door. God, her stomach hurt. This was all happening too fast, way too fast. She wanted to get out of here, but what if Blade sat outside on his motorcycle waiting? Once again, she was smack in the middle of two warring testosterone factions.
“What the hell is going on in here?” A woman stood behind him. She had long thick black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and looked of Indian descent with her dark skin and brown eyes.
Thank God. Estrogen to the rescue!
Hewitt glanced at the petite brunette. “Who are you?”
“I’m Dr. Bluejacket. Now get the hell out of my way.” She scooted passed him.
With that little maneuver, Heather snatched her purse and darted out of the room before Hewitt could return to his post. “Hey,” he called.
“Heather, wait.” Scythe’s incredible sexy voice almost tempted her to stay, but she was a coward and bolted. She wanted out of the room, out of the hospital, out of this mess. She sprinted down the hall to an exit sign. Heavy footsteps pursued her. Was it Hewitt, Mason, or Scythe? It didn’t matter. She refused to talk to any of them.
She flung open the door and ran down the stairs two at a time. Her heart pounded and her blood thumped against her temples. She whipped open the door on the next floor and darted inside a woman’s restroom. She slipped into the handicap stall and stood on the toilet like people had done in those cop shows on television. Please, let
this work.
The door squeaked. She bit her lip and held her breath. Sweat trickled down her temples, and her thighs throbbed sitting crouched on the toilet seat.
Soft footsteps walked across the floor. Please, go away.
The temperature dropped, and she could see her breath. Chills swept over her. Foreboding fear paralyzed her. Every impulse commanded her to scream. The stall door opened. She put her hand over her mouth and the blood drained from her face as the last person she wanted to see stared at her.
“So, we meet again, Heather.” Blade. His red eyes terrified her. A slow smile spread across his face, reminding her of a jack-o’-lantern. This time his black braid hung to the side, partially hiding his cobra tattoo on his chest. The cobra coiled and hissed. Terror gripped her.
Scythe, where are you?
How the hell did he find her? For once, she wished the dynamic dodos would have found her first. Where was Scythe? She wanted him to crash through the room and slam Blade against the bathroom stall. But what if Blade hurt him again, this time killing him?
Before she could answer, Blade lunged at her and snatched her wrist. He yanked her to him. His freezing touch matched his sneer. A shrieking wind whipped around her, blocking out her scream. Her hair spun in front of her face. She glanced at her feet. The tile dissipated one by one. She gripped Blade’s leather jacket. His eerie laugh penetrated the howling wind, piercing her ears.
She closed her eyes, blocking out those fiery pupils and gloating face. Her hair slapped her cheeks and mouth. She gagged spitting out strands. Freezing, chilly air seized her and her teeth chattered.
The next minute, the wind ceased. She lay face down on something plush that tickled her face and she inhaled the scent of sweet cut grass. Was she imagining it or was a bird chirping? She clutched grass, and dirt dug into her fingernails. What happened? Where the hell was she?
A dark shadow fell across her, gelling her blood. She raised her head and through strands of her hair, she stared at a pair of black boots that brushed against her fingers.
She scooted back on her knees and trembled.
“Hello, poppet,” Blade said.
His voice dripped with acid.
She stumbled to her feet. Hypnotized, she concentrated on Blade’s commanding face. Blackness flared around his aura, hatred emitted from his core. Warm rays brushed against her cheeks, but the chill remained. “Where am I? How did you do this?”
He shrugged as if this was something he did every day. “Outside the hospital.”
“What-what?” She stood on a patch of lawn lodged between a five story white brick building and a number of two-story buildings. Down the hill was a sea of cars where her Pathfinder was parked. She wet her lips. Could she make it?
“The answer is no,” he said.
“What?”
He held her gaze. “You would never make it to your SUV in time.”
She shuddered. God, what would he do to her if she tried?
He snorted. “You don’t want to know.” He walked toward her, and she backed up. A cloud blocked out the sun, and the warmth fled her cheeks. Above her, leaves and branches fluttered, revealing bits of white soft cotton floating in the sky.
In a flash, Blade gripped her shoulders, his fingers biting into her tender flesh.
She cried out.
He shoved her against something bumpy and hard, knocking the breath out of her. Inhaling, she frowned at the strong pungent odor of charcoal. Had Blade been by a campfire?
“Don’t hurt me.” Her voice was so puny. She wasn’t even sure he heard her.
“I won’t hurt you.” His eyes burned darker. “At least, not yet.”
Not reassuring.
“You’re going to keep your mouth shut and you’re going to listen. Capisce?”
She nodded wordlessly. What choice did she have? Whatever he was, he could easily kill her.
He released her shoulders and stepped back. “For being a social worker who can read auras, you’re a dumbass.”
She narrowed her eyes in utter defiance. “Excuse me?”
He half smirked at her. “Don’t you think it odd my brother wasn’t lying in bed, recovering from surgery?”
“Yes.” She wished Hewitt, Mason, and Scythe would come charging toward them, then lock up Blade forever.
“No one’s coming. The cops are still hunting for you in the hospital, along with my ass kissing brother.”
“Stop it! All right, I get it.” She tapped her temple. “You can read my mind.”
“Such spunk you have, my dear.” He folded his arms. “If you only knew the truth, you’d wet your pants.”
“Whatever.” She sounded braver than she felt, but looking into those glowing eyes, she knew he guessed the truth.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “So, about my back stabbing brother—”
“You’re the one who stabbed him.” Barely even knowing her, the big hunk risked his life for her. She still tasted him inside her mouth and felt his rough hands on her skin. Even now she wanted him. Blade cocked his eyebrow. Without a doubt, he knew she desired Scythe.
“True,” he said. “But one good turn deserves another. Isn’t that what you humans say?”
“Humans?” No man had ever stirred her feelings of passion like Scythe, making her want to jump his bones. “What do you mean by that?”
He smirked. “There you go with that stupid look on your face.”
She stiffened and clenched her fists, wishing she had the guts to punch out his arrogant smile.
He stretched his arms out to the side. “Do you think a mere human could do what I did?”
She tilted her chin, refusing to be intimidated, no matter how much her knees knocked together.
He walked over. “Knock off the act, missy.” With each word, he jabbed his finger into her chest. “I know what scares you—me.”
She grabbed his finger. “Make your point, Blade.”
He jerked his finger back and walked away, then glanced over his shoulder. “My brother and I aren’t human.”
She sucked in her breath. The back of her hair tingled. What had she kissed?
“We’re angels. At least, I used to be.” He turned around. “But now,” fire burned in his pupils, “I’m a demon.”
His words brought forth every horror movie she had ever seen …Paralyzed, she stared at him, waiting for him to turn into his true form. He didn’t disappoint her. Large black wings sprung from his back and horns emerged from his forehead. Blood drained from her face, and her lungs refused to exhale. Dizziness swapped around her head. Her hand clutched her throat.
Don’t pass out.
“And your so called hero is the Angel of Death.”
His hushed voice sent her worst nightmare crashing on her already unraveled sanity.
8
Heather gasped for air and fell to her knees. She dug her fingers into the wet grass to keep from passing out. Who knows what he’d do to her if she fainted?
Cars whizzed by, but no brakes squealed. A twenty something man jogged down the sidewalk and gave her a curious gaze, but didn’t stop his run. Crap, how come no one could see Blade? Maybe, she had lost her mind.
Chuckling, Blade knelt. He lifted her chin, unlike Scythe’s, his fingers were smooth. His grip tightened, his fingernails scratched her tender flesh. She trembled, too terrified to move.
“Oh, one more thing. Ask my dear brother about Rosemary, sweat pea.” He leaned close to her ear. His hot breath burned her neck. “Scythe was there when your sister bit the big one.”
She jerked her head, but couldn’t break loose of his evil grasp. She gritted her teeth. “Liar.”
He buried his face into her hair. “For such a bitch, you smell good.”
She cringed. With every effort she had, she slammed her fist into his crotch.
“Shit. Nimble, wench.”
She lifted her shaking hand and clutched his wrist and tried to break his grip, but only met with an evil laugh.
Scythe! Relief flooded her and she gave Blade a triumphant stare.
Blade forced Heather to stand, then dropped his hand. Heather scampered away. Scythe swept in front of her and shielded her with his large frame. The two brothers faced each other—one good, one evil. Or were they both evil? Blade had said Scythe was the Angel of Death. The man she had thrown herself at wasn’t human, not only that—he could kill her with the snap of his fingers.
Heather stepped around Scythe.
Blade flashed his gaze over Scythe. “I see you’re well, brother. Raphael?”
Scythe shrugged. “Of course.”
“Ah, yes. The great healer would do miracles for you, but not me, never me.”
“That was different.”
“Was it?” Blade snorted. “I don’t think so.”
Too many revelations slammed into Heather’s brain. Who was Raphael? Wait a minute. The Archangel Raphael? Too weird. She was trapped in one of Tim Burton’s bizarre movies and any minute some snake creature would swallow her whole.
She stepped back, prepared to run from this circus when her foot hit something hard. She glanced behind her. A cottonwood tree blocked her escape.
“Blade, listen to me. You didn’t know the plan…” Scythe said.
His voice was pleading. For all the evils Blade had done, Scythe loved him. She could understand it. Rosemary had done so many bad things when she was high, but she still loved her, except Rosemary had never committed murder.
Anger and hate flashed into Blade’s red eyes. “Fuck the plan.”
Heather trembled at the vengeance in his voice.
Scythe sighed and shook his head. “You broke the rules.”
“You mean falling in love with a human?”
Blade flashed open his wings and a shadow of fear fell across her. Heather’s mouth ran dry, and her scream died in her throat. She trembled and her bowels rumbled. For one frantic moment, she wished she was a gopher, and she could dig a hole and burrow away.
He flashed his eyes over her and glanced at Scythe. “Hypocrite, like you’re not tempted now.” He sniffed. “I smell your scent all over her. But you haven’t turned her yet.”