Bound Angel (Her Angel: Bound Warriors paranormal romance series Book 4)

by Felicity Heaton

She stirred again and he smoothed another kiss across her damp brow. She calmed and pride welled up again, causing a flicker of light in his black heart, one that made him want to kiss her again just so he could absorb the way she reacted, how she relaxed and sought more, tried to lift herself to press against his lips.

  He strode towards the portal, aware he was going to have to swallow a lot of that pride when he hit the other side.

  Paris.

  As much as he hated the idea of turning to an angel for help, he had to go through with it. If there was even the smallest of chances that Apollyon’s witch could help Isadora, he would take it. He would do whatever he had to in order to make sure Isadora received the care she needed.

  Because there was nothing he could do for her.

  In his current condition, he couldn’t even protect her.

  He was useless to her until he healed, and even then he wasn’t sure he could keep her safe, not if his suspicions were correct and his master wanted him here with her for some reason.

  Rook stepped out of the portal onto the roof of a large pale stone building in the centre of the city. It was quiet around him, the elegant streets empty save a few vehicles moving along them. Clouds hung heavily in the air, glowing orange from the city lights, and the scent of snow laced the night.

  He held Isadora closer as she trembled in his arms and wrapped his wings around her as best he could. When fire blazed through his right one, he gave up trying to move it and settled for having his left one around her, keeping her warm.

  He stared at the twinkling city that stretched around him. Waiting. Feeling even more useless.

  Hell’s angels couldn’t communicate telepathically with angels of Heaven.

  He had come to Paris, but he had no clue where Apollyon lived, was banking on the angel feeling his presence and finding him.

  “Hang on, Isadora,” he murmured and brushed another kiss across her brow when she moaned and curled closer to him.

  It was a risk, but he had to take it.

  He kept his eyes on her as he called on his demonic form, willing her to remain asleep because he was sure she would freak the fuck out if she woke to find herself in the arms of a Hell’s angel.

  He had to do it though.

  His demonic form would send a stronger signal across the city, one Apollyon was more likely to notice.

  Although, any other angel in the city would feel his presence too.

  He gritted his teeth as his wings transformed, the crimson running from them to leave black feathers, and grunted as those feathers fell to reveal the leathery membrane beneath. His vision wavered, the fire that rolled through him so intense he struggled to breathe through it.

  The hands that gently cradled Isadora turned as black as basalt as he grew in size and his eyesight sharpened as his irises shifted to scarlet.

  He expected the switch to his demonic form to alter him in different ways, to harden his heart and turn it cold, but as he gazed down at Isadora where she rested against his blackened skin, he felt only warmth and hope.

  The king of fools.

  She could never love him.

  A flash of the way she had looked at him on the lake before she had passed out overlaid onto her.

  Although, maybe she already loved him.

  Or at least she had loved the angel he had once been.

  “Rook.” The deep male voice startled him from his reverie and he growled at the intruder, flashing all-sharp red teeth. Apollyon landed, his black wings furling against his back, and held his hands up. “I apologise.”

  Rook held his ground as the angel advanced, but tucked Isadora closer to his chest, unable to deny the need to protect her from the male.

  Because he didn’t want the angel to take her from him.

  Because he was falling for her.

  Or maybe he was just remembering that he loved her.

  He glanced down at her, and lingered, unable to tear his gaze away from her.

  “Is that Isadora?” Apollyon moved another step closer and canted his head to his left, causing his long black ponytail to sway that way as he tried to peer past Rook’s leathery wing.

  Rook nodded.

  “I found her. She remembered me… but then she forgot. I think it’s a spell.” He couldn’t stop the words from spilling from him as he looked at her, as he dared to hope again that somehow she would remember him and would look at him with that glimmer of affection in her eyes again. “She remembered me again after she had fought a witch and killed him.”

  “Some sort of magical exhaustion,” Apollyon muttered and studied her as Rook moved his wing, allowing the angel a glimpse at her. “Serenity has studied such things. How a spell can be affected when the witch is weakened and how it reacts when the witch regains their strength.”

  Isadora had truly remembered him then. In that moment, when she had looked at him with so much love in her eyes, she had known him.

  “Hell’s angels took her before.” The words slipped from his lips and when he glanced at Apollyon, the male didn’t appear surprised to hear it.

  “I know. I am sorry, Rook, perhaps I should have told you before… but I needed to give you a reason to find her, and the truth wasn’t it.” The look in Apollyon’s blue eyes backed up that apology, so while it was tempting to bust the angel’s balls over the fact he had been holding out on him, he let it go.

  There were far more important things he needed to do. Taking care of Isadora ranked the highest, but now that Apollyon was with him again, questions were forming in Rook’s mind and they wouldn’t be ignored.

  “The truth? You said I was a guardian angel once… her guardian angel.” He dropped his gaze to her again as the pieces fell into place. “I followed her there, didn’t I?”

  “You did. You went to save her.”

  “And I failed… or did I succeed?” He brushed his fingers along her arm where he held it.

  She had survived, had escaped the realm he now called home, and she had lived, at least a thousand years, because he had been in the service of the Devil for that long.

  “I thought she was dead,” Apollyon said, drawing his focus back to him. “I thought you were dead. But then I saw you again, a long time ago, and I knew something terrible had happened.”

  Because he had fallen.

  Because of her?

  He didn’t remember her. Was that a spell? Had she made him forget her, or had someone else?

  No, it hadn’t been her. She had been shocked to see him, and she had remembered him. He had witnessed the pain, the grief that had filled her eyes, and the relief. Apollyon wasn’t the only one who had thought him dead. She had too.

  So who had taken his memories of her from him?

  His gut gave him the answer to that question, but it didn’t give him the reason.

  His master.

  The Devil had the power to manipulate those in his service. It was possible the male had made him forget his past life, one he should have recalled as the other Hell’s angels did. Why? What purpose had it served?

  Another piece of the puzzle slipped into place.

  Isadora knew a spell that had made her immortal.

  He looked at his hands, focusing not on them but on his wrists and the ink his vambraces concealed, and the answer to their origin and meaning hit him hard.

  She had made them. It had been her voice in his mind, promising him forever, when the marks had burned back in Hell.

  She was bound to him.

  CHAPTER 13

  Isadora woke to the sensation of being watched. Not in a bad, creepy sort of way, but in a way that left her feeling protected. She lifted her hand, rubbed sleep from her eyes, and slowly opened them. She settled them on the black-haired warrior sat on a white wooden chair beside her bed.

  His wings were gone, and so was his armour. Black jeans rode low on his hips and a t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, hugging his muscles in a way that looked as if someone had painted him obsidian. There were black lea
ther cuffs covering his forearms from wrist to close to his elbow.

  She saw a flash of darkness crawling over his golden skin, covering it.

  Of crimson feathers falling away to reveal dragon-like wings.

  He wasn’t an angel of Heaven.

  But as she looked at him, his origins didn’t matter to her. He was the same handsome, gruff, and protective angel who had rescued her from the witches, had avenged her and taken care of her.

  And had brought her to what appeared to be a rather expensive apartment somewhere.

  Paris?

  She recalled him mentioning wanting to take her back to that city.

  “You’re awake.” His deep voice was low, a little rough, and her stomach somersaulted as another memory assaulted her.

  One where he had been sinking into the black abyss of the lake.

  A chill swept down her spine and she sat bolt upright, a desperate need to be close to him, to touch him and feel he was with her rushing through her.

  “You shouldn’t move.” He rose from his seat, came to the bed and sat beside her.

  A flicker of something crossed his stunning turquoise eyes, an emotion that resembled fear. Nerves? The reason for it became clear when he lifted his hand and carefully brushed her silver hair from her face, clearing it from her cheeks and hooking it behind her ears. His touch was light and sent a shiver through her, a pleasant sort of heat that had her wanting to lean into his tender caress.

  “You had me worried there for a moment.” He gave her a tight smile.

  “How long was I out?” She looked at her surroundings again. “And where are we?”

  “We’re in Paris… with… friends. At least, you might remember him.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door set into the white wall beyond the foot of the bed and sighed. “The witch who lives here has been taking care of you. She did something to funnel magic back into you or some shit like it… and now I have to tell her she was right about you recovering and waking today.”

  Which upset him for some reason. Because he hadn’t been able to do that for her? Had he wanted to be the one to bring her back from whatever dark place she had been in?

  She remembered being furious when he had been hurt. She remembered unleashing all of that rage on Country Estate.

  And then she remembered… something.

  She couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Whenever she tried, her head ached and faint pain bloomed in her bones.

  “Don’t.” Rook shook his head and captured both of her cheeks in his warm palms. She let go of trying to remember and fell into his eyes, lost herself in them a little as he looked at her as if she was causing him pain by hurting herself. “The witch says she can help you with the spell you cast… so you can remember.”

  Mother Earth, she wanted that.

  She schooled her features so he didn’t see how badly she wanted the spell broken because the way he refused to call the witch who lived in the apartment by name told her something.

  He didn’t like the female.

  Because this witch could help her and he couldn’t?

  A petite blonde bustled into the room and Rook’s expression darkened as he eased back, confirming Isadora’s suspicion.

  “I felt you wake.” The words held a French lilt.

  A shadow loomed in the doorway beyond her and Isadora’s eyes shifted there and widened as she recognised the dark angel.

  “Apollyon.” The name burst from her lips on a smile, one filled with all the relief she felt as she saw a familiar face, the very one she had hoped to see when she had come to the city.

  Rook grumbled something and stood, and cold arrowed through her as he moved away, distancing himself.

  She wanted to ask him to come back to her, but the witch and Apollyon moved to the spot he had been, blocking her view of him and stealing her focus.

  “I thought if I funnelled some of my power into you that you would recover.” The witch kneeled on the bed beside her and shook her head. “Where are my manners? I’m Serenity.”

  Isadora took the hand she offered and froze as they made contact, a sensation rolling through her that had her eyes leaping to meet Serenity’s hazel ones.

  Serenity smiled softly. “I felt it too, when I was helping you. We are of the same blood.”

  The comfort Isadora had felt on realising that gave way to panic and she gripped the blonde’s hand, holding it tightly so Serenity couldn’t pull away. “Be careful. There are forces at work that are a danger to our bloodline.”

  Serenity nodded, her expression turning grave as she looked between her eyes and her wrists. “Is it the reason you cast a spell on yourself?”

  Isadora shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “I told you. She did it to protect a spell.” Rook’s deep growl reeked of the irritation she could feel in him and she ached to have him move so she could see him.

  He was annoyingly determined to distance himself though.

  Well, he could try to pull away from her all he wanted. She wasn’t going to let it happen.

  She released Serenity, pushed the bedclothes aside, and slipped from the bed, not caring that she wore only her underwear and a long black t-shirt that was five sizes too big for her. She hazarded a guess that it belonged to Rook. Or at least, she hoped it did.

  She ignored Serenity as the woman tried to stop her and walked on unsteady legs around the bed.

  The moment Rook noticed she had moved, he was in front of her.

  “Holy fucking hell, Isadora.” He glared off to his right, toward Apollyon, and growled, “You’re not dressed.”

  “I’m as dressed as I need to be.” She placed her hands against his chest and his heart thudded against her palms, a strong rapid beat that spoke of anger.

  Anger that wasn’t directed at her.

  It was directed at Apollyon.

  Because she was ‘not dressed’ in front of another male?

  The t-shirt reached her thighs, covering everything but her legs. She wasn’t flashing anything at Apollyon, but Rook reacted like she was naked, and that told her something that warmed her heart and brought a smile to her lips.

  Rook liked her.

  He couldn’t remember her, just as she couldn’t remember him, but he was still attracted to her.

  Just as she was attracted to him.

  Heat burned in his eyes as they came back to rest on her and a faint ring of crimson encircled his dilating pupils, glowing brighter the longer he looked at her. As it fully emerged, he turned his cheek to her and lowered his gaze.

  She frowned, cupped his cheek with her right hand and tried to make him look at her again.

  He locked up tight, making it impossible, and she sighed as it hit her that he didn’t want her to see the scarlet in his eyes. He was afraid of it happening.

  “I’m not scared of you, Rook,” she whispered, tiptoed and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. She breathed against it, “So stop thinking I am… or I ever could be.”

  His gaze slid towards her, his irises a strange blend of turquoise to scarlet. “You remembered.”

  She nodded. “And now I want to remember you.”

  She focused on her body and conjured a knee-length black dress that hugged her curves.

  Rook’s eyes dropped to it and the way they darkened made her feel she was wearing even less than she had been a moment ago, not more. That familiar heat built in them, and damn she wanted to act on it this time, was wound tight with a need to touch him and lose herself in him, to know him fully at last and know he was with her, safe and unharmed.

  Those urges and desires were confusing as much as they were consuming.

  Her mind couldn’t recall him, but she felt connected to him, drawn to him and unable to breathe when she was close to him like this. The way he crowded her with his big body, the way his gaze hungrily raked over her, and the heat of him had her wanting to step into him, to press against him and tempt him into surrendering to the need that flared
in his eyes.

  Need that echoed inside her.

  She forced herself to break contact with him and peered past him instead. “Serenity?”

  The blonde nodded. “I can lift the spell. I will need to concentrate though.”

  Serenity shot a look at Apollyon and Rook, her hazel eyes silently conveying her desire for them to leave.

  Apollyon left without hesitation. Rook lingered, his eyes locked on her, concern written in their blue-green depths.

  Isadora smiled slightly. “I’ll be fine.”

  He still didn’t move.

  She cupped his cheeks, tilted his head down towards her, and stared up into his eyes as she swept her thumbs along his cheekbones.

  She didn’t want him to go either, but Serenity needed quiet to perform the spell. It would be complicated and dangerous. Even the slightest slip in concentration could prove disastrous.

  Isadora really didn’t need another spell going haywire inside her.

  “I’ll call you if I need you, Rook,” she whispered and stroked his cheeks.

  His eyes darkened, turning stormy, and then he huffed and tossed a glare at Serenity. “I’ll be right outside.”

  He broke away from her. She watched him go and wasn’t surprised when he planted his fine ass against the wall on the other side of the open door, folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against it.

  Serenity muttered in French, “And I thought Apollyon could be moody and protective.”

  Isadora smiled at that and couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering over Rook. She liked it. He wasn’t protective in an overbearing way, one that belittled her strength and left her feeling as if she was feeble and couldn’t take care of herself.

  He was protective in a way that made her feel stronger, supported by him, as if no matter what happened, he would always be in her corner. He would always be there for her, to help her if she needed it, to do whatever she asked of him, whatever she desired. He had her back.

  It left her feeling as if they were a team.

  As if she was no longer alone.

  Her chest tightened at that, heart aching at the thought the long cold centuries she had endured might have finally come to an end and that from now on, she might never be alone again.