by ML Guida
Not caring that he wasn’t an angel, he declared, “I claim you as my angel-mate.”
Tingles surged through his body. With each thrust, his power grew. He bucked harder and held onto her thighs, not allowing her to fall off him. He was whole again, but as what? Angel or human?
White light bathed Abigail. She was so beautiful with her red hair falling down her back, her eyes filled with passion. She arched her back and on her right breast, a pair of silver wings formed under her nipple. Had his angel powers returned?
She screamed his name, and her orgasm released. He never felt anything so fulfilling. He cried out her name and spilled his seed into her womb. She was his angel-mate, and she’d be bound to him for eternity.
Abigail panted. “Your wounds,” she gasped. “They’re gone.”
He ran his palms over her trembling thighs. “I know.”
She rubbed her hand over her right breast. “What is this?”
He swallowed, not sure how she was going to take it. She hadn’t been given the choice. Once said, the words could never be undone. Whether she liked it or not, she was his.
“I claimed you.”
Confusion marred her afterglow. “You did what?”
“Abigail, I think my angel powers have returned,” he said. “Or at least a portion of them.”
“You mean you have wings?”
“No, I don’t feel them.” He hesitated. “But another portion has.”
“What portion?”
“The ability to brand my angel-mate,” he blurted. He moved his hands up and down her lower back and she shuddered. He smiled as he felt her hips still slowing rocking.
“I’m sorry.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her flushed face. “What do you mean?”
“You’re mine forever, Red.”
She rolled off him and lay on her back. He sighed, missing her warmth.
“Excuse me?”
The chill in her voice sent his heart racing. Damn it! He should have asked her, not taken her choices away like Martin.
“Once bound, you’re mine. It can never be undone.”
She sat up and scowled. “I didn’t have a choice in the matter?”
He wished he could tell her it could be undone, but he refused to lie to his angel-mate. “No, you don’t,” he said softly.
“You didn’t even ask me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was caught up in the moment of being rescued, of being taken out of hell.” His voice choked. “And then seeing you…I never want to be parted from you again. You belong to me.”
“What does this mean I belong to you?”
He reached for her, but she pulled away. A lump of disappointment nestled in his throat. “I’ll always be able to find you. My scent has marked you. No angel or man can ever have you.”
“There’s nothing I can do about it?”
He winced. “No, there’s not.”
She stared up at the ceiling. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Um, no.”
“You branded me because you like fucking me?”
Hurt and anger pounded in each word.
His eyes widened, not believing he heard right. Didn’t she realize what an angel-mate meant? “No, of course not.”
“Uh, uh.” She scooted off the bed and grabbed her clothes. She jerked on her panties.
“What are you doing?” He reached for her, but she yanked away from him.
“Don't touch me.” She gritted her teeth. She quickly dressed.
“Red, don’t be like this.”
“I’ve told you my name is Abigail.” She flicked her hair back. “Angel-mate.”
She hissed out the word as if tasted foul on her lips.
“Abigail, what do you want me to say?”
“You’re a fucking idiot, angel man. I can’t believe—” She shook her head and pulled on her jeans.
“What, Abigail? Talk to me.”
She stormed to the door.
Blade darted across the room. “Abigail, wait.”
He grabbed her arm.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” With each word, she smashed her fist into his chest.
He was surprised at the strength in her punch.
She gripped the doorknob, and he pressed his palm against the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To find Raphael, where else?”
He didn’t want to know the answer but asked anyway. “Why?”
“To ask him to unbind us. I assume an archangel has the power to do such a thing.”
He lowered his hand, and for the first time, he felt tears welling in his eyes.
She ripped open the door and slammed it shut.
He stared at the shut door, not sure what to do. He had experienced the best healing sex he’d ever have and found his angel-mate, only to have lost her.
Chapter Eighteen
Abigail marched away. Her chest tingled. Angel-mate? Great, the man branded her, and not once, not once, did he tell her that he loved her. She was bound for eternity to a man who only wanted to fuck her. How romantic is that?
She wanted to burst out crying. Scythe was wrong. Blade hadn’t changed. He was still demanding and selfish. True, he’d offered to trade places with Brayden, but he had killed Jessy.
Barefoot, she made her way to Brayden’s room. She wiped away tears before she entered. Brayden still lay asleep. His face was tight and drawn. Ringmaster and Poison stood guard over him.
A loud snore caught her attention. In the opposite twin bed, Hamilton slept. He had a bandage wrapped around his arm.
Poison studied her. As her eyebrow lifted, a smile spread across her lips. Abigail stopped. Oh, shit. Did she know? Did she look different? Well, of course, she’d know. Poison was an angel.
Pretending not to notice Poison’s knowing smile, Abigail focused on Brayden. “How is he?”
“The same,” Ringmaster said. “But he’s stopped moaning.”
Abigail sat on the bed and pushed back Brayden’s red hair. “Moaning?”
“Yes,” he said. “It means the nightmares have stopped. He will wake soon.”
She studied Ringmaster. “Will he be the brother I remember?”
“No,” he said. “Being under possession changes you forever, but he will be wiser. Hopefully, he will know not to ever mess with evil. No matter the promises.”
She nodded, not sure what else to say. She needed to forget about Blade, about his stupid decision to brand her as his sex-slave for all eternity. If he would have just uttered he did it because he loved her, needed her, she would have been elated.
“What about Hamilton?”
“He’s fine too,” Poison said. “We decided it best to put them both in here in case Balthazar shows again.”
Abigail shuddered. The last person she wanted to see again was Balthazar.
Slow footsteps came down the hallway and stopped. The masculine scent of leather washed over her. She swallowed hard, fighting hard to keep her tears at bay. She refused to acknowledge the presence behind her, although she knew who it was.
“Hello, Blade.” Poison gave him a huge smile. “Back from the dead. You look ten thousand times better.”
“Thanks,” Blade said.
Abigail gave into temptation and glanced over her shoulder. She was irritably impressed. Blade did look a hundred percent better. He had on a tight black shirt and jeans. He had braided his hair. It hung down over his left shoulder, one tempting Native American, but he wasn’t a Native American. He was her angel-mate or more like a sex-slave. No, that’s right. She was the slave. He was the master.
She tore her gaze away and bit her lip. Her heart weighed heavy in her chest. She wanted it to be different with him.
When Brayden sighed, he fluttered open his eyes. Abigail forgot about Blade and stared at her little brother. His eyes were cloudy. “Brayden?”
“Abigail,” Brayden whispered, his voice hoarse. “God, I don’t feel very good.”
�
��No, you won’t for a while,” Ringmaster said. “Your system needs to get rid of the toxins.”
Brayden crammed his eyebrows together. “Who are you?”
Fear lingered in his voice.
“Ringmaster.”
“Yes, he has the distinction of being the inventor of the Zombie Board,” Blade said.
Ringmaster scowled. “Well, you’re damn lucky I’m here because I’m the only one who knows how to counter act the toxins.”
Blade walked over to the edge of Brayden's bed. “How?”
Abigail stole a glance at him. Her core still ached from where his cock had thrust inside her. When he met her gaze, she jerked away and directed her attention to Ringmaster. “Is there anything we can do to help Brayden get rid of the toxins?”
“He needs water and food. Chicken soup with garlic always works. Make sure there is red pepper in it.”
“Garlic?” Blade asked.
“Yes, it’s one of the best toxin cleansers,” Ringmaster said.
Abigail blurted, “I’ll make the soup.”
Avoiding Blade’s watchful gaze, she exited quickly, not giving anyone a chance to ask if she needed help. She needed distance, time to think, time to be alone. Cooking always helped her reduce her stress. In the kitchen, she took out frozen chicken and thawed it in the microwave. She grabbed a sixteen quart stock pot and filled it with water.
“So, you’re going to hide in here now?”
Blade leaned against the doorway.
Her body tingled and her hands shook as he followed her every move. She tried not to think about where his hands and mouth had been earlier. Her skin was chafed from his stubble where he had kissed her. She hated her body for responding to his sexy voice. Ignoring her desire, she slammed spices onto the counter, anything to keep from rushing into his arms and kissing him. “No, my brother needs something to eat. Ringmaster said he needed garlic chicken soup, so I’m making him some.” She whipped open the refrigerator door and yanked out the crisper. She grabbed a bag of baby carrots, a bulb of garlic, and a bundle of celery. She slammed the crisper shut and kicked the refrigerator closed. “Do you mind?”
She tossed the ingredients onto the counter, grabbed a marble cutting board and a butcher knife.
“No, I don’t mind you cooking. I do mind you walking away from me and wanting to try to sever our bond.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“What if I told you that there’s no way to sever it? Angel-mates are predestined.”
She cut the celery and chopped it into tiny pieces. “I don’t believe that. You’re lying.”
The air turned cold and the lights flickered. Uneasiness snaked down her spine.
“Shit.” Blade rushed over to Abigail. He wrapped his arm around her and pressed his body against hers.
“Release me.” She struggled and thought about slicing his arm.
“Why, he’s trying to protect you from me, of course,” a syrupy voice said. She curled her toes and leaned into Blade. Balthazar. The lights blacked out.
A cold hand gripped her wrist and pressed hard, nails digging into her flesh, forcing her to drop the knife, and it crashed onto the linoleum floor. Unbearable pain throbbed into her flesh, and she cried out.
“Balthazar, damn you,” Blade cursed. “Show yourself.” He tightened his arm around her waist. “Scythe. Saber.”
Panic filled his voice. If Blade was scared, then Abigail should be diving under a blanket and praying for God to save them.
“They’re busy fighting some friends of mine,” Balthazar said.
Foul, heated breath puffed into her face. God, he was standing right in front of her.
The lights turned back on. Balthazar was gone. Abigail's heart beat hard and each beat sent agony through her system. The pain turned red hot as if her hand was on fire. “It hurts.”
The understatement of the year.
Blade tenderly took her hand. Deep gashes marred her wrist. “Damn him.”
Her stomach tilted. Blade’s face became blurry and fuzzy. She had difficulty standing. Her strength faded. “I feel dizzy.”
He gently shook her. “Red, stay with me. The bastard is playing games.” His concerned voice touched her. Maybe he did care about her.
“I don’t always like to play games,” the same syrupy voice said.
Abigail jerked her head up. His eyes blazing red, Balthazar stood in the doorway.
Blade put his hand on her forehead. “She’s burning up. What the hell did you do to her?”
“Scratched her, obviously.” He studied his long finger nails, tinted with blood, her blood. “Hell’s poison is rushing through her luscious body. She’s not immortal. Not yet anyways.”
“You bastard,” Blade said through clenched teeth.
Balthazar pointed. “You didn’t play by the rules.” He flashed a sinister smile. “You’re not an angel, not yet. You uttered the words to claim her as an angel mate, but she didn’t claim you, did she?”
“I don’t—”
“But you do, traitor.”
Her stomach twirled again and she swallowed to keep from spewing onto the kitchen counter. She leaned against Blade. “What’s happening?”
“Deadly poison is seeping through your system, angel-mate,” Balthazar said. “You wanted to break the bond between you and Blade. I granted your wish. By the stroke of midnight, you’ll be mine. Forever.” He snapped his fingers and vanished.
Abigail’s legs lost the fight, and she collapsed. Blade caught her and carried her to a bar stool.
“I feel sick,” she said. Her voice was so weak, she didn’t know if she said it or thought it. She put her hand on her forehead. What an idiot she’d been. She wanted Raphael to break the bond, not Balthazar. “He’s not serious, is he? I mean I won’t be his, will I?”
Blade grabbed a paper towel, dampening it with water. He gently patted her wrist, but he didn’t answer her. His silence heightened her fear.
“Blade, I’m going to be sick.”
He lifted her off the chair and rushed her over to the sink where she emptied her stomach. Her cheeks heated and tears blurred her vision. “I’m sorry.”
Not just for being sick, but for wishing their bond severed, but she couldn’t utter the words. She was choking on her own foolishness.
“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.” Blade pulled her hair away from her. “Are you done?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
He carried her back to the stool, and she leaned against his chest, inhaling his masculine scent. Her betraying stomach stopped churning. He lowered her onto the stool again and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Red.” He held her tighter. “Raphael, hear my prayer. I ask for you to heal her.” He recited the Act of Contrition again. Closing her eyes, Abigail followed his lead and repeated the words.
“Never underestimate the power of prayer,” a familiar voice said.
Abigail opened her eyes and hope filled her. “Raphael.”
***
Raphael smiled, but his smile faded as he gazed at her wrist.
Blade lifted her wrist. “Heal her.”
Raphael’s eyes filled with sadness. “You’ve branded her, Blade. You know I no longer have the power to heal her. I’m afraid Balthazar is right. In order to save her, you must regain your angelic powers and she must utter the binding words with her whole heart.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “What?”
“You’re his angel-mate, my child,” Raphael said. “Only your angel-mate can heal you.”
“Then restore all of my powers,” Blade insisted.
Raphael shook his head. “It’s not that easy and you know it.”
“My faith has been restored,” Blade argued.
“Yes, that’s how you were able to locate your angel-mate and bind her to you,” Raphael said. “To gather all of your powers, you must face your accusers.”
“But Balthazar said that Abigail only has until midnight. That’s only five hou
rs away.”
“Yes, I know.” Raphael leaned on the counter. “That’s why I'll bring them to you. If they believe you’ve really changed then, only then, will your powers be returned to you. You’ll be able to heal Abigail.”
His sharp voice was unyielding. Fear edged into Blade’s very soul. How could he hope for any of those he killed to forgive him? He’d been merciless toward them. Why would his victims show any mercy toward him?
He ran his hand down Abigail’s back, regretting his deeds. Because of him, he put his angel-mate in danger. “If they don’t believe me?”
“She will belong to Balthazar,” Raphael said.
Blade wanted to scream at his there’s-nothing-else-you-can-do tone. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Abigail, not again. This was his fault. “No, let him take me.”
“You’re not the one racked with poison, Blade. You know this.” Raphael’s face darkened as his eyes blazed with suspicion. “You have nothing to fear unless you have not truly repented.”
Blade refused to answer him. He had changed, but he didn’t know if it was good enough. Repentance never came easy. “Fine, then let’s do this. I’m ready to face my accusers.”
Confusion filled Abigail’s cloudy eyes. “Where are Scythe and Saber?”
“Back in Heaven. They will escort Blade’s accusers one at a time, starting with your sister, Jessy, and ending with Scythe’s angel-mate, Heather.”
***
Abigail’s queasy stomach did another jump. She had to face Jessy? She was coming here? Shit. What would she do when she discovered that her sister was now the angel-mate of the man who was responsible for her death? A sharp pain shot through her gut. She sucked in her breath and doubled over. She had appendicitis once, but this was eleven times worse. It felt like the poison was digesting her insides. “When?” she gasped.
“Now.”
“Red?”
Worry filled Blade’s voice. Abigail wanted to answer, but she could barely breathe. How long would this take? She ignored the pain and through clenched teeth, she said, “Just do it, Blade. Get your damn powers back.”
