Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Uro straightened slowly, gracefully, and Sophie found herself watching him with a sense of fascination. His skin was the color of honey or melted caramel and seemed to glow under the suite’s lights. His hair was black, like Devran’s, and it fell to his shoulders in very gentle waves that he now ran a hand through to push it back from his beautiful face.

  Sophie felt devastatingly sorry for the women of the world in that moment. They had men like this to fall in love with. But so many of them actually wound up with short, fat, balding men. And some of those threw beer bottles at the television during football games and then went after their foster daughters in a drunken rage. . . .

  Sophie blinked when Azrael suddenly moved around her, his arm sliding along her shoulders. His closeness was at once all-encompassing. Instinct demanded that she step back, give herself room to breathe, to think. But his arm around her prevented the retreat, and when she looked up, she was caught in the pull of a pair of eyes so powerful, she felt as if she were staring into the sun. She would go blind.

  “Sophie,” he whispered, his voice thrumming through her like magic. She shivered once violently. Her breath caught when his forefinger curled beneath her chin to hold her in place as he peered down at her, something like concern etched in his painfully perfect features. All thoughts of foster fathers melted away.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  No, she thought. You’re killing me. But it was a pleasant death, and one she would suffer a thousand times. And how fitting, she thought next, considering what you used to be.

  “I’m fine,” she croaked.

  Azrael smiled. Again, she caught sight of the tiny hint of fangs that tantalized her imagination. “Why don’t you come and sit down with us?” he asked. “There are plenty of seats.”

  Sophie stared up at him for several more long moments and then, realizing that she was staring, she blinked and yanked her gaze away. It actually hurt. It was like the sun had stopped shining on her world. She shook the feeling off, steadying her breath. “Okay,” she said. “That sounds nice.” She was proud of the fact that her voice shook only a little.

  You’re being an utter idiot, she told herself. What the hell? Cut it out. Grow up and get over it. They’re just people.

  With that punishing thought, she squared her shoulders and pulled out of Azrael’s comforting embrace. He let her go, but instead of allowing her to pull completely away, he gently caught her hand—and Sophie sucked her lip between her teeth for the second time that night. It was better than gasping out loud.

  Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. He felt good. Very, very good. For half a second, she forgot that he was an archangel searching for his lost soul mate. It was a beautiful half a second.

  Az turned to lead her toward the rows of seats overlooking the balcony of the impressive suite.

  “May I get you a drink, Sophie?” Uro asked.

  She glanced at him, was caught in his dark gaze, and nodded. “Yes, please.” He smiled and nodded back, moving toward the other side of the large room, which included an entire kitchenette complete with microwave oven, sink and faucet, and full-sized refrigerator. There was a long table set up with platters of dessert foods and drinks, and there was a wine cooler that appeared to be fully stocked.

  The room had that brand-new paint and furniture smell that Sophie loved. She’d so rarely smelled it in her life. In fact, the only time she really had was when she’d gone to work for a hotel in Pittsburgh that had just been constructed. It was such a pleasure to clean a brand-new room. Not that she particularly loved cleaning, in and of itself, but it was easy, steady work and it gave her a lot of time to think.

  Beside her, Azrael gestured to one of the seats. “So I guess this was why you couldn’t tell me about your reasons for being here when I was with my friends,” she said, trying her best to carry on a normal, human conversation with a man who was obviously so much more than that.

  Azrael nodded, taking the seat beside her. “I’m not sure a Penguins game would be a great place for the Masked One’s secret identity to get out,” he said, smiling mischievously. “I’d hate to steal any of Sid’s glory.” He chuckled and she joined him. She couldn’t help it; his laugh was contagious.

  Over her shoulder appeared an A&W Diet Root Beer, which happened to be one of her all-time favorite drinks. And it was in a bottle that actually had ice on the outside. “Wow,” she said, taking the bottle from him with grateful hands. “This is my favorite drink.”

  “Really?” Az asked. “It’s Dev’s, too, which is why we have to keep a dozen of them stocked everywhere we go.” He nodded toward the drummer, who grinned guiltily and held up his own half-empty bottle of A&W. Sophie smiled and took a sip. She loved that first ice-cold taste that seemed to quench the worst thirst.

  She could feel Az watching her carefully as she swallowed, and she chanced a glance at him. There was a strange, secret smile on his lips. She lowered her drink, but before she could ask him what he was smiling about, the atmosphere in the arena changed.

  Sophie scooted forward in her seat and peered over the railing. Cheers erupted throughout the building as the players returned to the ice. Second period was beginning.

  Chapter Eight

  It turned out that the Valley of Shadow band members were excellent company during a hockey game. Each of them seemed to know exactly what was happening at all times. They were able to follow the puck as well as, if not better than, the announcers, and anytime Sophie missed something, they happily told her all about it. They joined her in cheering, and when Staal made three goals, getting his hat trick after all, and Sophie was stricken because there was no way she could throw her cap from the suite room, Azrael gently took the hat from her, winked, and sent it sailing across the arena. It landed at center ice, a few feet from Staal’s skates.

  Sometimes, it really paid to have an archangel for a friend.

  He’s a friend? She gave him a sidelong, surreptitious glance and sipped at her second A&W. He was laughing about something one of his mates had said. The five of them seemed very close. They were amazing together, and they’d been amazing to her as well.

  She had to wonder why. Was he including her like this just because she was Juliette’s closest friend? Is this how tight-knit the archangels were? Any friend of a friend?

  Or . . . She blushed and looked down, hiding her face behind her root beer bottle and a lock of her hair. Could it possibly be something more? She pretended to watch the game as a shred of guilty hope rushed through her. She knew damn well it was impossible. He was immortal. He was destined to be with someone else. She was a human. It didn’t get much more impossible than that.

  But he was So. Fucking. Hot. It was making her insane. She felt like she was trapped in a dream there with Azrael and his band. She never wanted to wake up.

  Second period came to a close and the Pens were up by two with a score of five to three. Whether they won or lost this game, they were seeded for the play-offs, which would begin in a week and a half. Sophie was lost in her thoughts about hockey—and about Az—when she felt him go still beside her.

  She looked over to see him straighten in his chair, a broad grin spreading across his gorgeous face. “Sophie, look,” he said softly.

  She loved it when he said her name. It never failed to flush her with warmth. She looked in the direction he was pointing and found herself staring at the four-screen digital monitor that hung above the ice. The crowd began to coo in unison, a vast chorus of “awww” and giddy whispers.

  Somewhere in the locker room, a video camera was focused on Sidney Crosby—who was holding up a big white sign with black lettering on it. The sign read, VALERIE, WILL YOU MARRY ME? LOVE, DONOVAN.

  Sidney had the most perfect smile on his face. He was loving this. He cared about his fans—and this was good press. Plus, it was probably just plain fun for him.

  “Oh my God,” Sophie breathed, covering her mouth as if that could hide her own mile-wide grin. Someone was popp
ing the question—and they’d managed to get Sidney Crosby, arguably the most valuable player in hockey today, to do the proposing.

  At last, the camera flicked off Sidney Crosby and reappeared on a man kneeling in front of a woman in the narrow space of their row. Everyone around them was flushed with excitement. They were right there with the action! A few of them waved at the cameras.

  Sophie held her breath and stopped moving. And then the woman nodded, and the arena erupted in a cacophony of cheers. Sophie felt elated. She felt giddy. She felt happy for people she didn’t know and hopeful for their futures and jealous.

  She stilled, her heart thumping hard.

  Jealous?

  She frowned, still staring down at the couple hugging and laughing on the screen, and slowly sat down. They seemed to be the same age as her. But they would soon be getting married. Just like Juliette. Soon, they would be buying a huge house in the suburbs and having tons of kids.

  Sophie was a housekeeper at a local hotel and was just now going to college. She wasn’t even dating anyone. They were at completely different stages of life, despite their relative age similarities. Sophie had the sudden sensation that she’d missed the boat. And now she was standing alone on the pier, looking out at a sea she had no hope of swimming.

  “Sophie.”

  A rush of pleasure rolled through her, jolting her from her unhappy thoughts. Sophie turned in her chair to find the indomitable archangel watching her carefully. Every time she met his gaze like this, she wondered how long she would be able to do it.

  “Juliette tells me you’ll be moving to San Francisco,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t realize that Pittsburgh is the place you’ll be moving from.”

  Sophie nodded, again trying hard to appear easygoing and calm. “I leave the day after tomorrow,” she admitted.

  “Starting at Berkeley, if I’m not mistaken,” he said.

  Sophie blinked. Juliette sure had been talking a lot. “Yeah,” she said, pulling her eyes away to peer out over the crowd again. Wow, she thought, you lasted a whole ten seconds that time. “I start required courses in the fall.”

  “What will you be majoring in?” he asked.

  Sophie chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment and considered whether she should tell him. It was one thing to say “molecular biology” or “law,” and it was quite another to blurt out “dance.”

  But he saved her the trouble by sitting back in his chair and cracking another beautiful grin. His gaze slipped from her face to her neck—and farther down. “Let me see if I can hazard a guess,” he said thoughtfully. Then his eyes shot back up to hers and his expression became wicked. “Dance.”

  Sophie’s gaze narrowed. “My friend has a big mouth.”

  Azrael threw back his head and laughed, the sound so sinfully delicious that Sophie actually felt a dampness between her legs.

  “Okay, you got me,” Az admitted. “But I could have guessed. You look like a dancer.”

  “And that has to be the oldest pick-up line on the planet,” Sophie said, smiling right back at him.

  Azrael’s gold eyes twinkled merrily. He cocked his head to one side and regarded her carefully. He seemed to settle down a bit. “Well, I’m one of the oldest men on the planet,” he whispered. Then he leaned forward a bit and his expression became a touch more serious. “If I was trying to pick you up, Sophie, would it have worked?”

  Sophie felt the blood drain from her face—and then climb right back up her neck and into her cheeks. She felt dizzy, and there was a roaring in her ears. Was Azrael, the former Angel of Death and lead singer of Valley of Shadow, asking her out? Was he flirting with her?

  “Um . . .” Her mouth closed. Then opened again. Jesus, say something, girl! her mind screamed at her. “Yes?” she finally croaked, her face on fire.

  Azrael grinned widely and then chuckled. He leaned closer, at once filling up her world. “Good,” he said. “Because I was.”

  * * *

  Az listened as Sophie’s heart tap-danced and the scent of her blood filled his senses. Her long golden hair shimmered beneath the suite lights, setting off the sunshine spark in her eyes and begging him to touch it. She couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

  She was thinking that Azrael was toying with her. That he couldn’t be serious because he was Azrael, the archangel, and she wasn’t meant to be his.

  As if.

  He was beginning to grow irritated with the way she continued to belittle herself. Over the last few nights, he’d listened in on so many of her thoughts, and far too many of them were punishing. She was the single most precious woman in the world and she treated herself like the lowliest of creatures. In all fairness, she had no idea she was an archess. But even if she hadn’t been, she was still beautiful, inside and out. How could she not see and appreciate these qualities?

  Every human male they’d passed on their way from her seat to the elevators had noticed and appreciated her. There was grace in her every step, a glow to her skin, a brightness to her beautiful, sunshine-filled eyes that was captivating. She was walking charisma—and she had no fucking clue.

  He was tempted time and again to subjugate her mind, bend her will to his, and simply pound it into her brain. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Not really. If a slave was what he had wanted in an archess, he would have broken her to begin with. No. One of the most beautiful things about Sophie Bryce was the inherent strength that radiated from her tall, slender form. He knew she had been through hell. There were parts of her memory so dark and twisted, they were knotted woods that even he couldn’t get through. Not without hurting her.

  And yet she’d come through it all to be what she was now. A good person—a gorgeous person, in spirit and mind. An angel.

  He wanted Sophie to realize her worth on her own. He wanted her to learn to love herself . . . so that she could then learn to love him.

  In that moment, he was so tempted to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her that she was his archess—and that he was a vampire. If she freaked and ran, she wouldn’t get far. Not now. Not from him. Especially not while he was surrounded by some of the oldest vampires he had ever turned. The five of them knew each other so well at this point, had been together so long, they worked as one. Onstage, each of them was so in tune with what the others were going to do that the end result was a cohesive synchronicity unlike any the human race had ever known. It was part of the reason they were at the top of the charts and poor Max was inundated with requests from interviewers across the globe who wanted a chance at the Masked One.

  Right here, right now, if Sophie turned rabbit, the moment she even considered bolting, Uro and the others would be mobile and she wouldn’t get far.

  Not that he couldn’t have handled her on his own. The point was, she wasn’t going anywhere. But that wasn’t what he was afraid of. He wasn’t afraid of losing her physically. He was scared that he would lose her mentally—spiritually.

  He couldn’t tell her. Not after the way she’d just recalled one of her foster fathers and his abuse. She was hurting too much inside. These thoughts sprang up in her head at the slightest provocation. She’d simply been through too much. In fact, he knew this was the basis for her lack of self-esteem. It happened to the most beautiful people; they eventually believed what humanity, in its inhumanity, told them. Especially the lies.

  Sophie wasn’t ready. If he sprang the truth on her before she learned to trust him, he would lose her for good. With that thought, Azrael pulled himself out of her mind and asked, “Sophie, will you join me for dinner tonight after the game?”

  Sophie pinched her lip between her white teeth again, as seemed to be her habit when she was feeling really nervous or shy, and Azrael found his gaze once more locked on the plump, pink object of her torture. Every muscle in his body tensed up as he waited for her to either answer him or break the skin. Answer me, he thought, but forced himself not to put the command into her head. He was leaving her to her own free will for the moment
. He had to know that her agreeing to go out with him was through genuine desire. Answer me before I kiss you and pierce you myself.

  “Az, I . . .” She trailed off, obviously unsure. He didn’t have to read her mind then to know what was going through it. She was unsure because she thought she wasn’t his archess.

  “Say yes,” he demanded out loud. It was old school. But effective.

  Sophie’s breath hitched, her lips parted, and then she smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Yes.”

  Azrael was completely helpless to stop the broad smile that spread across his face.

  “But I get to pick the restaurant,” she said. “I’m not a big fan of garlic.”

  Az wanted to laugh. He wasn’t going to tell her why he agreed. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’m not either.”

  “Okay, then, how about Panera? I love the soup in a bread bowl, though I can’t wait to get to San Francisco and try Boudin’s. I hear it’s to die for.”

  Azrael’s gaze flashed with something dark. It happened sometimes—when people mentioned dying without giving it any thought. But it was gone as soon as it had come, and though Sophie in her sensitivity noticed the darkness reflected for a moment in his eyes, she didn’t mention it. He was glad.

  “Panera it is,” he said.

  A few minutes later, after Uro had gotten her another drink and Sophie had shamelessly downed her third A&W in less than an hour, the third period opened and the Penguins won. Azrael watched in proud fascination as Sophie jumped up and hollered and cheered with more vigor than most of the men in the arena. When she shouted, “I love you, Geno!” at the top of her lungs, he didn’t even feel any jealousy.

  Well, he felt a little. But it was fleeting.