“No,” she said, shaking her head and holding her hand to her temple. She frowned, blinked, and stared unseeing at the black comforter beneath her. “No, that’s not right,” she insisted. “I saw it destroyed.”
Shock buzz-sawed through Azrael. Impossible, he thought. He’d asserted his influence on her mind the moment he’d heard the sound of the crash up on the bridge. How could she be aware of what had happened to the Calliope?
And worse—if she recalled that, did she recall everything else? Like . . . him taking to the skies with her, for instance?
“Someone was hurt,” she went on. And as she said it, she climbed farther up, coming to her knees beside him. She seemed panicked suddenly. “We have to help them. Did we help them? Did we heal them?” She looked at Azrael, her gold eyes catching his in their sunshine warmth. “Az, what happened? And . . . oh my God,” she whispered, her hand dropping to the mattress beside her. “You . . . can fly?” Her expression was one of awe. “Without your wings?”
Chapter Sixteen
The events of the last hour were a blur to Sophie, but she recalled them clearly enough to know that something bad had happened. She’d been standing on the deck of the Calliope—kissing Azrael. And then there’d been a noise. It was distant, but jarring. She remembered looking up in time to see something fall.
Then there’d been a blur and another horrible crashing sound, this one much louder than the first. She had looked down to see Azrael’s boat in ruins, its fragments sinking along with the thing that had destroyed it—a truck. At least, she thought it was a truck. This was where the blur became thicker, like a fog obscuring the picture of her past.
But through the mists, she was hyper-aware of one vital fact: People had been hurt and they needed to be healed.
Healed.
That was the thought that had gone through her head. She’d known they needed healing. Not necessarily a doctor or an ambulance or a hospital. Just healing. And the most confounding thing about it was that she’d known—she’d absolutely known—that she could provide this healing herself. With her own two hands.
She remembered wanting to dive into the water after whoever it was that was undoubtedly sinking to the bottom of the bay. But something was stopping her. It was solid and yet insubstantial. It was strong but intangible. She felt pulled along in some kind of tide she couldn’t fight. Her body wouldn’t listen. Her mind didn’t comprehend.
Her hands felt warm and her heart was hammering and she so desperately wanted to get to the injured parties, she would have traded her left pinky to be able to do so. But she couldn’t find the injured people. She couldn’t touch them. She could barely even see.
And then she was slip-sliding into blackness and as she did, she knew any hope she had of helping anyone was slip-sliding inexorably along with her.
Now clarity was returning and a cold numbness was setting in. She felt slightly sick, slightly edgy. She didn’t recognize her surroundings and what she was recalling made no sense.
Either she was going nuts or she had just seen a horrible accident and Azrael had wrapped her in his arms—and taken to the sky with her.
She’d felt the deck of the boat leave her shoes; the solidness of it beneath her was gone. The wind in her hair felt different, as if the air was cocooned around her, supporting her weight. She’d been flying. It was impossible, but it was as insistent a memory as was the rest of the night.
Az told her she’d fallen asleep. If he was right, then she’d dreamed the things she’d seen and felt. But in her heart of hearts, deep down where she knew things really mattered—she knew that she hadn’t. The boat was destroyed. Something bad had happened, and someone was hurt. And she would bet everything she had, what little it was, that Az had taken her flying.
The archangel sitting beside her had fallen oddly silent, and he was gazing at her now with an enigmatic expression on his face. She had no idea what he might be thinking. “Az, what happened? Please tell me the truth. What’s going on? And . . .” She paused as she looked around at the bed she was sitting on and the torch-lit cave it furnished. “Where are we?”
It was a long, painful while before he said anything. She could see the light dance across his eyes, some of it a reflection of the flames on the torches along the walls, some of it his own internal fire. And then, finally, he sighed heavily.
He looked pained as he said, “Sophie, God knows I didn’t want to tell you like this. I just wanted to protect you.” He paused, looked away, and then stood. She watched as he moved around the bed toward the fireplace. A massive framed mirror rested above it, its edges seemingly gilded in gold.
A bazillion thoughts were racing through Sophie’s mind at that moment, but despite them she couldn’t help but admire the perfect proportions of Az’s tall body. His shoulders were so broad and his waist so narrow, he looked like an impossible dream draped in black. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up and she could see the veins in his sculpted forearms from his elbows to the watch on his left wrist.
Slowly, gracefully, Az leaned against the stone mantel of the fireplace. She could see his face in the mirror, as always almost painfully beautiful. And then he closed his eyes and bowed his head and his silken black hair cascaded over his face.
“Soph, clearly you’re coming into your powers now, and though I had hoped I would be able to ease you into this gently, it would appear I’m out of time.”
Powers? Sophie thought, feeling her fingers and toes tingle. Her heart was hammering. It was as if her body and mind were preparing themselves for something all-encompassing.
Azrael lifted his head and opened his eyes. Sophie stifled a gasp. They were glowing.
“What’s even more clear is that there is a force out there setting things in motion, and I have no idea who or what it is—or why it seems to be centered on you,” he continued.
Sophie watched, wide-eyed and silent, as he turned from the mirror then and pinned her with the full weight of that glowing gaze.
“You are an archess, Sophie Bryce.” He moved away from the mantel and took a slow, striding step toward her and the bed. “You were created two thousand years ago by an entity neither I nor my brothers have heard from in all of that time. You were created. . .” Here he paused, stopped in his tracks, and something strange flickered across his eyes. “You were created for me. And then you were lost, sent to Earth with the other archesses, and I have been searching for you for twenty centuries.”
He took another step, but Sophie could no longer hear the sound of his boots against the stone. The roar of her blood through her ears was deafening. Her chest felt odd and her head felt too light and there were stars dancing in her tunneling vision.
“You didn’t know,” he told her, shaking his head once and coming flush with the bed. “You didn’t realize how precious you are for so many reasons. Most important, your abilities have remained hidden from you until . . .” He stopped, shook his head helplessly, and then shrugged. “Well, until tonight.” He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. “I have no idea why.”
When he opened them again, they seemed dimmer than before. They weren’t glowing as hotly. But then, his entire face seemed dimmer to Sophie. In fact, the strange cavernous room and its torches looked farther away. Darker.
I’m fainting, she realized. Breathe, Sophie. Breathe!
Whatever was happening, whatever the truth was, whatever dream she may or may not be stuck in, the last thing Sophie wanted to do in that moment was become unconscious in front of this man. He was an archangel. She knew that much to be true. But he was also the former Angel of Death. And that was proof enough to her that being an angel did not necessarily mean you were good.
Breathe.
With a concerted effort, Sophie shut her eyes tight and drew breath in through her nose. She held it for a second and expelled it through her mouth. And then she did it again. Her head began to feel weighted once more, and the roaring in her ears lessened. Her fingers, which had been nu
mb seconds ago, were now hurting.
Sophie opened her eyes to find that Az hadn’t moved. He still stood at the edge of the bed, and he still watched her. His eyes still glowed.
Soph looked down to see her hands curled into tight fists in the satin comforter of the bed—so tight that her fingernails nearly sliced through the fabric. That was why they were hurting her.
Her head was beginning to ache as well.
“Sophie,” said Az. His voice was soft, his tone gentle. He was calling her attention to him, nothing more.
Sophie looked up from the bed to peer into his eyes. “I believe you,” she said. Her voice sounded so very far away. “Why do I believe you?” She spoke without forethought. Her words seemed to come from somewhere deep inside. She had no control over them. And as she said them aloud, she was baffled by them because she realized they were true.
She believed him. She believed that she was an archess. She believed that she was Azrael’s archess. She even believed that he was sorry.
Very slowly, as if Sophie were some frightened animal and he was afraid he would scare her off, Azrael sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sophie, I am so sorry.”
“Why did you lie to me?” As she spoke, she realized that she didn’t think she was crazy for believing him. Maybe that was the first sign of real insanity. Or maybe it was because she was an archess.
“You’ve known all along? Since you met me? But all this time . . . you let me believe I was human—mortal.” She swallowed hard as a spike of anger pierced her chest and found its way to her words. “You led me on. Christ . . .” Suddenly she felt bewildered by what had happened over the last few weeks. “At the wedding? The hockey game? Oh my God,” she said, her voice rising. “All that time, you knew what I was and I was killing myself with guilt, thinking I was messing with some precious archess’s archangel! That I was dabbling in something that I was unworthy of!”
She rose from the bed, all fury and fire now. She could feel it burning in her chest, sparking in her own gold eyes.
Thunder rumbled outside; the air felt thick with the moisture of an oncoming storm.
“Sophie, no,” Azrael said firmly, coming to his feet as well. “That wasn’t my intention at all. I was trying to protect you. You’ve suffered so much in your life.” He shook his head, his look beseeching. “You’ve endured so many atrocities at the hands of men. How could I add to that with news that you were made for a specific man?”
“So you were going to use me, get close to me, draw me into your world without telling me why I was there, and have your cake and eat it too?” she demanded.
“No, Sophie—”
“I hated myself for falling for you, Azrael! I felt like a groupie, a trespasser! Do you have any idea how much I’ve beat myself up over the fact that I’ve been obsessing over you?” She was yelling now, unable to hold back her anger or keep it from the sharp, frantic edges of her voice.
“Yes, Sophie, I do,” he said as he came around the bed and took a step toward her. Sophie took a step back, knowing that it was pointless but feeling as though she needed the space between them.
Az stopped in his tracks once more and his jaw tensed. She could see a muscle twitch as he said, “I do know, Sophie,” he went on, clearly determined to keep this exchange remotely civil. “In fact, I hated that you blamed yourself the way you did. I couldn’t stand your guilt; it tainted every wonderful moment I was with you.”
Sophie opened her mouth to offer another heated retort, but it just sat there waiting on her tongue as something struck a strange, uncomfortable chord inside her.
“What did you just say?” she asked, still at the mercy of words that had no filter.
Azrael went still. Something dark flashed across his eyes. Thunder echoed along the cavern walls once more, this time closer and louder than before. Azrael straightened, his expression hardening into some unreadable, unbreachable mask of stark, handsome coldness.
“Did you just tell me that you know about my past? My foster fathers?” Her tone lowered into icy accusation. “Did you just tell me that you hated my guilt?”
Azrael didn’t respond.
“Azrael,” Sophie ventured, her teeth gritted in a fury so strong she didn’t recognize it, “can you read my mind?”
Chapter Seventeen
It was a good question. Sophie Bryce was a very intelligent young woman. And Azrael was a complete idiot. He couldn’t believe he’d let slip what he’d just revealed. He never made mistakes. He never took a misstep. Everything he did was thought out and careful.
He’d been that way forever. His brothers sometimes second-guessed themselves. They overreacted, knee-jerked, and paid for their carelessness time and again. But Azrael stood apart from them and always had. It was a double-edged sword because it made his word golden and his trustworthiness absolute. It also made him lonely.
No being could ever truly feel close to someone who did not possess the means to empathize with them. Not even brothers.
But Sophie Bryce was throwing him for a loop. She was bringing out in him a messy side. An unpredictable, rash, sloppy side. She was making him act human.
And now he’d opened a can of worms he had seriously hoped to keep shut up tight. In fact, it was a subject so detrimental to their relationship that he’d inadvertently shoved it into the farthest reaches of his mind and steadfastly ignored it. He had no clue as to when he’d been planning to bring it up. To come clean. Maybe a part of him half hoped he would never have to be honest about this particular thing.
Because though he knew a part of her loved to fantasize and dream about the big bad vampire, when it came down to it and the cards were on the table, a man with real live fangs possessed the potential to be absolutely terrifying. Especially when he could read her mind.
“I asked you a question,” Sophie ground out. She was speaking through her teeth and her body was trembling. No doubt she was on information overload. He wasn’t even certain she was fully digesting what he’d told her so far. To say nothing of what he was about to tell her.
“I was,” he admitted finally. He realized, as he said it, that his own heart was pounding furiously. He was terrified—terrified—of what she would do or say. He’d never been afraid like this in his life. “I’m not now.”
“You were,” she repeated, her gaze narrowing into beautiful but cruel slits of gold. “But you’re not now.” She paused and cocked her head to one side. “I didn’t realize reading minds was an archangel ability,” she said, her tone like ice. They stood just two feet apart, and yet the space felt charged with bad possibilities. He wanted to reach across it and grab her. The space felt like his enemy; it gave her room to be angry.
“It’s not,” he said, knowing it was his eulogy.
Outside, lightning struck on the beach above their massive cavern. The walls of the cave shuddered under the attack and somewhere tiny pebbles cascaded to the stone floor.
It struck Azrael that this was not a normal storm. It had come on suddenly—and its fury reflected that of the archess before him.
Her powers were coming to fruition. A moment ago, she had asked him whether they’d healed the people in the accident on the bay. She’d used the term “heal,” not “rescue.”
She was causing the storm. Just as they had for Juliette and Eleanore, Sophie’s emotions were leaking into the atmosphere around her, bringing on the fury of nature’s gale. She was becoming what she was born to be. It would explain a lot—such as why his influence over her had slipped earlier. If he’d been in control, she shouldn’t have been able to remember the accident or the quick flight afterward. But she did.
Sophie the archess was turning out to be a hell of a lot more powerful than Sophie the Berkeley student.
“What do you mean, ‘It’s not’?” she demanded.
“It’s not an archangel power, Sophie. My brothers do not possess the power of telepathy. Only I do.”
And what makes you so special? her eyes asked. He could almo
st read the question on her face; he didn’t have to delve into her mind to hear it.
But she surprised him by remaining silent. And instead of asking that question, or one like it, Sophie straightened and took another tentative step back. Her expression changed, just a little. Now accompanying the rage on her beautiful features was the beginning of something resembling fear. Recognition.
Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth, where his fangs remained hidden and, at the moment, much shorter than they were capable of becoming.
Comprehension dawned on her face so fast, so suddenly, it sent a cold, hard chill down Azrael’s spine. This was it. It was time to pay the piper.
Her lips parted and he heard her heart beat once very hard against her rib cage. “You’re a vampire,” she whispered, the realization obviously having taken much of the breath from her lungs.
Thunder shook the cave, a mighty boom that for a split second caused Azrael to wonder whether the cave was actually stable enough to withstand the attack. But his gaze never left Sophie’s and she stared at him so steadily, it was clear she had no idea what she was doing with the weather.
He watched as she swayed just a bit, literally overwhelmed with the emotions raging inside her. Her eyes reflected a pain that tore at his gut. It was a sensation utterly new to him; he had never hurt this way for someone else’s sake.
The vampire in him wanted to enter her mind in that moment; it wanted to push through her unnaturally strong defenses and wipe the knowledge of what he was from her thoughts to make this easier for her. He could imagine what was going through her head—the fantasies she’d had about him, the way she had been attracted to him and he’d known it—the fact that all this time, he’d been inches away from her, a veritable monster capable of draining her dry—and she’d trusted him.
It was what any woman in her position would think. And a part of him really wanted to verify her fears by acting every bit like the vampire he was and asserting his control over her body and mind.
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