Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Randall McFarlan was one of the vampires Azrael had created over the last two thousand years. He was a wise man, an ex-cop, and had helped Michael on occasion in the past.

  Azrael nodded, just once. It was a simple response, but his brother knew it well and was satisfied with it. “Thanks,” Michael said. “I know this isn’t really the right time or place, but it’s been on my mind and you’ve been out of reach.”

  That was true. Az had been returning to the mansion only to sleep lately. His job as the Masked One was keeping him busy. And this case had been bothering Michael. Az had caught a few of his brother’s surface thoughts of late, and many of them were troubled by a serial rapist case that hinted at something supernatural.

  Michael straightened, taking a quick breath. “Why don’t you go get something to eat and I’ll let Gabe know,” he said, changing the subject once again. He dropped his head a little and his gaze slipped to the floor. “And be careful,” he added. “The Adarians are still out there.”

  Azrael considered that for a moment. The Adarians were a separate race of archangels who had caused nothing but trouble for them over the last few months due to the fact that their leader was hell-bent on getting his hands on an archess of his own. Michael was right. They were still out there and no one knew when or where they would strike next.

  Az didn’t strictly need to feed again that night, but doing so might not only help him prepare in case the Adarians did attack, it would also strengthen his resolve and fortify his will where Sophie was concerned. He was going to have to take things one step at a time with her, and every little bit of strength he could come by would help him see this to fruition.

  He turned to step past his brother, but Michael’s hand on his chest stopped him. Azrael was taller than Michael by an inch or so. He was taller than everyone. He looked down into Michael’s blue, blue eyes and waited.

  “I’m here for you,” Michael told him. “You know that.”

  Again, Azrael brushed his brother’s mind. Flashes of memories were assaulting the Warrior Archangel. He was remembering their first few horrible days on Earth. The pain he had endured on Azrael’s behalf had been much more immense than Az had been capable of appreciating. Michael had been there for him in those hellish moments. He always would be.

  “I know,” Az admitted softly. Michael dropped his hand and Azrael waited a few more seconds before moving past him and through the door.

  * * *

  “Soph, there you are.”

  Sophie turned from the view she had been lost in as Juliette stepped through the open archway of the castle ruins. “Wow, girl,” Sophie whispered. “Have I told you how awesome you look in that dress?”

  “Only about a thousand times.” Juliette laughed.

  “You’re gorgeous, Mrs. Archangel,” Sophie said, smiling broadly. She’d never seen Juliette so radiant. So happy. It made her already beautiful features glow with impossible perfection.

  Juliette smiled and shrugged her shoulders shyly. “Thanks.” She bent, lifted the mass of her white wedding gown, and joined Sophie on the cliff’s edge. The wedding ceremony had taken place at night and the reception, also at Slains Castle, had gone on long into the evening hours. It was now very early morning and the threat of dawn lightened the smooth, eternal edge of the North Sea. The seagulls were already hard at work hunting for their food; their cries pierced the morning air along with the crashing of the waves against the black rocks below.

  “I heard that Gabriel’s brothers actually bought Slains Castle for you,” Sophie said, unable to take her eyes off the view once more.

  Juliette sighed happily beside her. “Can you believe it?” she asked softly. “I’m pretty sure this is the most beautiful place in the world. This—right here. And I get to wake up to it every morning.”

  Sophie turned to face her best friend. “You deserve it, Jules. And as long as you invite me for a visit every summer, I’ll forgive you for moving out of the country.”

  Once she said it, Sophie realized that the truth of the statement had been bothering her. It had been there, in the back of her mind, niggling at her. Ever since she’d heard that the castle was now Juliette’s, she’d known that it could mean only one thing. Juliette would leave the States and move to Scotland permanently. She loved the land of the thistle too much to do otherwise. Scotland was in Juliette’s blood.

  Juliette gave Sophie a sidelong glance and then nodded. “I knew you would figure it out even before I did,” she said. “And you’re right. This is where I want to live.”

  Sophie waited a few seconds and then said, “I guess it’s okay if I tell you, then.”

  Juliette turned to fully face her. “Tell me what?”

  Soph smiled what felt to her like an awkward smile. It was half happy and half extremely nervous. She’d been wanting to share this particular news with Juliette for weeks now, but Jules had been in Scotland and more or less incommunicado. And then she’d met an archangel—and things had gotten complicated, to say the least.

  Now, just after the wedding and while Jules was still wearing her gown, was probably not the best time to share it either. Juliette was about to embark on her honeymoon and Sophie was still reeling from the twenty minutes she’d spent standing a few very short feet from the lead singer of Valley of Shadow.

  The mere thought of the man made Sophie’s insides heat up almost painfully.

  But the subject of moving had brought Sophie’s secret rushing back to her, and now she simply had to get it out. There was no reason for her to stay in Pennsylvania, especially now that Jules wouldn’t be there any longer. There was also no reason why Jules wouldn’t be happy for her.

  “I got a scholarship to Berkeley,” she said quietly, feeling a rush of elation even as she admitted it. It was the first time she’d said it out loud. It was like she’d been afraid she would jinx it.

  Over the years, Sophie had acted in countless plays and musicals. It was one of the ways she had made money while working various minimum-wage jobs. The roles didn’t pay much, but they reminded her of her mother, who had been a big fan of Shakespeare and of the arts in general.

  On Halloween, Sophie almost always managed to dress up in three different costumes for the chance to act out the roles of three different people or monsters. She liked losing herself in a role and escaping from her own life for a while. But what she really loved to do was dance. She’d wanted to be a dancer since she was a child and she and her mother had spontaneously begun dancing in the aisle at the grocery store. Sophie’s mother had loved music, and it was one of the genetic, bone-deep, instinctive things that she and her mother had in common. There was something about slipping into the lyrics and letting them take over that had always appealed to both of them. It was like acting without having to speak.

  When Sophie lost her parents, music carried her past the pain and fear and loneliness. At the orphanage, she wore her earbuds day and night. And when she was alone? She moved to that music. And she was good at it. Not that anyone but her closest friends knew this.

  As it was for so many little girls, getting a degree in dance and somehow earning a living through it was a dream. For Sophie, it was an especially impossible one. She was an orphan, after all. Money was tight or nonexistent, and she lacked the essential support of proud, advocating parents.

  So she shelved the idea of dancing professionally. Then, a year ago, she’d realized that she was twenty-five and wasn’t getting any younger. Most of her friends were pursuing advanced studies. Like Juliette. For a dancer, she was especially old. Dancers became prima ballerinas at age fifteen. At twenty? They were nearly finished with their careers.

  At this point Sophie was no longer interested in being in the spotlight onstage. She would always love dance, but her priorities had changed with age. Now she was far more interested in learning whatever it took to teach dance to others. In particular, she wanted to teach children.

  Regardless, time wasn’t waiting for her.

  A
nd with that realization came the nerve Sophie needed to finally give it a try. She took the necessary exams and filled out applications. Berkeley was a shot in the dark; she only applied there because if she could get in, then she could rest easy knowing that the money her parents had left her was going toward an education at one of the best schools in the world.

  She’d never expected to actually get in, much less to receive a scholarship. But being an orphan had helped on that front, since considerable financial assistance was often available for such prospective students. And now here she was. If she wanted to, she could begin classes in the fall.

  San Francisco was outrageously expensive, but luckily for Sophie, her parents had left her a bit of money when they’d died. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to help pay for a place to live. Sophie had been granted access to the account when she’d turned twenty-one, but she’d never touched it. To her, it felt like all that was left of her parents’ legacy. She didn’t want to squander it on something perishable. And everything seemed that way to her—perishable.

  But not this. This was knowledge. It was a solid foundation upon which she could stand. She could live with spending her inheritance on an education. It was perhaps the one thing in the world worthy of its cost to Sophie.

  She had also saved most of the money she’d made working as a housekeeper at various hotels in Pittsburgh. She loved the job. She just put on her iPod, let AC/DC or Leonard Cohen or Valley of Shadow seep into her bones, and danced her way through the rooms, making each one as welcoming as possible. She was good at her job, and though it didn’t pay much—just enough for rent, food, and clothes—she almost never failed to receive a tip when her clients left. More often than not, there would be a twenty sitting on the bedside table with a note of thanks. Or a ten-dollar bill and a hand-drawn picture from a five-year-old. These tips she put into the same savings account that held her parents’ money.

  She’d received the acceptance letter from Berkeley almost four weeks ago, and the fact that it was in a ginormous envelope filled with a folder and course catalogs had given the acceptance away even before Sophie had read the words on the front page. The acceptance and scholarship constituted a change in her luck that she was completely unprepared for. She hadn’t known how to react to it. She was afraid that if she was too happy, the fates would take it away from her. If she celebrated, she would ruin it. She was afraid to brag, afraid to even smile.

  Now, finally speaking the words out loud had a dual effect on her. It was liberating. And it was also terrifying.

  For a moment, Juliette just stared at her and blinked. Sophie was sure that a number of questions were most likely going through her best friend’s head: Berkeley? Sophie applied to school? When did this happen? A full scholarship?

  And then a smile spread across Juliette’s face and her green-brown eyes glittered with understanding. “So that’s why you were talking about going back to school the other day,” she said, referring to the afternoon that she and Sophie had spent walking through the Hogsmeade-style streets of Edinburgh. The subject had turned to school and aging and now Juliette obviously put two and two together and figured out why. Sophie had been thinking of her own situation, her own acceptance, and the fact that she would be a twenty-five-year-old freshman working on her undergrad degree at one of the most famous universities in the world.

  Sophie mirrored Juliette’s smile and nodded. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

  Juliette turned to fully face her and took Sophie’s hands in her own. Her smile was so genuine, it melted Sophie’s heart. Again, she was struck by how lucky she was to have a friend like Juliette. It was what Sophie imagined having a sister would be like.

  “I’m sorry I can’t act surprised,” Juliette said with a laugh. “’Cause I’m not. I knew you would break down and apply one day, and I knew they would beg you to come once you did.” And then Juliette’s eyes were shiny with what looked like tears. “You’re a dancer, Soph. I bet your audition tape knocked ’em dead.” They hugged. A wealth of unspoken congratulations for each other passed between them in that moment. They both had a lot to be grateful for.

  “Can I get in on this?” came a deep brogue.

  Sophie pulled away enough to see Gabriel Black, Juliette’s new husband, standing on the stone steps of the castle behind them. His silver eyes were shining and his smile was stunning. He looked like a model in a tuxedo catalog, too good to be real. And then Michael and Uriel joined him on the top step. The three of them together in their respective finery was a breathtaking sight. Sophie blushed and Juliette laughed.

  But under the blush, Sophie realized she felt something else. Azrael wasn’t with his brothers. Where is he? she wondered. It was incredibly disconcerting to find that she felt immense disappointment.

  Oh no, she thought. I’m crushing on him bad. No, it was worse than a crush. Sophie actually felt an ache in her chest as she stood there and scanned the faces of the men before her. She just wanted them to be Azrael. She would have traded them all for his tall frame and golden eyes.

  My God, she thought as she swallowed hard. I just met him! One night—a few short hours—and I’m obsessed. I need to get out of here. She could feel her smile slipping, and just as she knew her friend would, Jules noticed. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie could see Jules do a double take.

  “Soph?” Jules asked, her tone concerned. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Sophie swore, feeling at once guilty for the lie. I need to get back to the States and move to San Fran before I start stalking him, she told herself. She glanced up from Juliette to find Michael’s impossibly blue eyes pinning her to the rock upon which she stood. He seemed to be looking right through her. She remembered that he was a cop. It fit him because she felt as if he were reading her for clues.

  “I just forgot to eat, that’s all,” she insisted.

  “Well, we can’t have that,” said Michael. He came forward, as did Uriel, and the two men hooked their arms in Sophie’s. She could have inhaled her tongue right then and there. It was an immensely strange feeling to be touched in such a friendly manner by two men of their stature. Not only were they gorgeous—they were archangels.

  And yet . . . they weren’t Az.

  Still, she couldn’t help the deepening of her blush as they pulled her away from Juliette, whom Sophie could hear laughing and softly speaking with her new husband where they left them overlooking the North Sea.

  Chapter Three

  Azrael watched the exchange in silence. He went unnoticed where he waited in the shadows above Slains Castle’s highest crumbling turrets. He crouched low and still as a gargoyle and allowed his power to surround him like a shroud. It protected his presence from his brothers’ detection. And from Sophie’s.

  He listened to the news about her scholarship, which he was already aware of, having pulled the information from her surface thoughts as she’d stood opposite him at Gabriel and Juliette’s altar. He made a mental promise to himself then and there that at some point in the very near future, Sophie Bryce would dance for him. He would make sure of it.

  And then he entered her mind once more, stepping onto the complicated grid of her consciousness as if he couldn’t stay away. He couldn’t. She was a drug to him already.

  And it was there that he tasted her desire for him—and heard her self-deprecating guilt over those emotions. He listened as she vowed to flee to California in order to get him out of her head, and he tried not to laugh. As if there were any location on the planet to which she could flee to escape him.

  But that was beside the point. The fact of the matter was, she didn’t want to escape him. She just had no idea that her feelings were completely natural. She was his archess. He was her archangel. There was no fighting that kind of fate.

  “Okay, Sunshine,” he whispered to himself from where he remained hidden atop the castle walls, his black trench coat flapping about him like a cloak in the cold wind coming off of the sea. “If you want to go to Frisco, t
hen to Frisco we will go.”

  He watched as his brothers led her off toward the reception hall, and for the first time in his existence he met the green-eyed monster of very real, very possessive jealousy. This he tamped down with a steadfast resolution. He wasn’t going to lose control. Somehow, he’d managed to hold it together all night. He wasn’t about to let go now, just when he was starting to get a handle on the situation.

  He waited until Sophie and his brothers disappeared over the rise and Juliette and Gabriel wandered away from the castle wall. Then Az leapt down from his hiding place and landed on the black rock of Cruden Bay’s cliffs with unnaturally perfect grace. He turned to face the dark waves of the North Sea, pondered his destination, and blurred into vampire motion.

  Within seconds, he reached the doorway of an ancient kirk.

  Shortly after their arrival on Earth thousands of years ago, Azrael and his brothers had been blessed with the use of a massive and very magical mansion. That mansion existed in so many dimensions and so many times, it defied all logic and physical law. It also imbued the archangels with the magical ability to open a portal through any doorway in the world—then through said mansion—and out the other side again, so long as there was a door to exit through at their destination.

  Using this magic now, Azrael opened a portal through the old church’s doorway and stepped through. By the time he closed the swirling vortex behind him, he was in California’s Bay City. There, he again blurred into motion and took to the skies.

  He could feel the heartbeat of San Francisco beneath him as he soared above its glimmering skyline. It was the pulsing culmination of a kaleidoscope of emotions. Several people he passed over were crying. More were laughing. A few were fighting. Firetruck sirens called out in the night while waves crashed onto a shore and slowly receded again. Sailboat rigging clinked rhythmically against boat masts, sea lions barked, and gulls cried to one another through the fog. Squealing brakes on cable cars synchronized with warning bells, and San Francisco weekenders gathered in squares and coffee shops to make the most of what remained of their time off.