Sweet Disgrace

by Cherrie Lynn

  He was silenced by the hand that shot down to grasp his throat, cutting off even a thin whistle of air, planting him hard against the seatback. “I can’t hear any more,” Damael grated. “I tried to let you go, and I failed. If I don’t take you, he will. So it’s all the same.” Now that Adam was in his death grip, it was better to get the entire affair over with. So he could go home and try to find himself again without that angel hounding him, stirring up emotions he shouldn’t even have.

  Dispassionately watching Adam struggle and tear at the marmoreal hand around his throat, Damael put his other hand flat on the man’s chest. But the dark magic that would loosen the soul and suck it free from the husk of his mortal body wouldn’t gather beneath his palm.

  Frowning, he focused and tried again, more an experiment than any attempt to actually succeed. When he felt nothing yet again, he slackened his crushing grip on Adam’s throat. Adam, whose face had been turning purple, sucked in a desperate breath.

  The power wouldn’t come. He didn’t know if it was gone, if it really was some case of Celeste’s divinity “rubbing off” on him, or if he simply didn’t have the will to summon it any longer. Either way, he wouldn’t be the one to take this man down. That time had passed the moment he’d ripped up the contract. He should have known.

  “I can’t,” he said aloud to Saklon, though he didn’t take his eyes off the wheezing Adam.

  “For fuck’s sake. Step aside.”

  “I don’t think so. I released this one, and I say he’s still free. If you try to defy me on this, I’ll rip you to pieces.”

  He’d been prepared for more of Saklon’s babbling; what he hadn’t anticipated was the sudden, violent blast of power that wrenched him sideways and flung him across the plane’s cabin. Pain radiated through him as he was pinned against the cockpit wall, momentarily blinding him and invoking a cold blast of rage he could scarcely contain. If the bastard wanted to play dirty, Damael could give as well as he got. The counterattack spell he unleashed was meant to be catastrophic, aimed straight at the demon who fancied himself a superior. Even with his senses mostly immobilized, he felt it hit its target.

  But the cry that rent the air wasn’t Saklon’s roar of answering fury. It was high and feminine, and Damael wrenched his eyes open just in time to see Celeste crumple to the ground, wisps of smoke rising from her. As the source of the power that had hit him full blast was severed, he could move again.

  Horror lanced through him. She’d been the one to attack him, not Saklon. Where the hell had she even come from?

  He peeled himself from the wall and dove toward her. Saklon was nowhere to be seen, but there was a massive scorch mark on the floor. Apparently his little non-fighter angel had banished his colleague straight back to Hell, and good riddance. She hadn’t made Damael suffer the same fate. He’d nearly killed her for it.

  “Shit. Celeste?” She flopped limply in his grip as he pulled her up and cradled her in his arms. Like a ragdoll. A ragdoll with black fluid trickling from her eyes and nose, streaking her terribly pale face. If only she’d paused for a second to listen to what he’d been saying…but all she’d seen, surely, was him standing over a very terrified Adam. And she’d struck.

  He’d retaliated with everything. Could she possibly survive that? The horror lodged in the pit of his stomach yawned wide, engulfing him whole. She was lifeless. Something as simple as a kiss couldn’t undo this.

  “Will she be all right?”

  He’d nearly forgotten the human. In his agitation, he almost killed the man on the spot for daring to speak. Instead, he lifted his desperate gaze to Adam’s face. “What difference does it make to you?”

  “I remember her,” Adam said. “I dreamed about her last night. She said she was going to help me.” He narrowed his eyes on Damael. “What difference does it make to you?”

  That mortal was either very brave or very stupid.

  He was also very safe. Ten seconds ago, Adam’s deadline had passed. Damael could tempt him, entice him, whisper in his ear to do the dastardly things humans sometimes did, but he couldn’t take him. Not anymore.

  He lowered his gaze to the angel in his arms, but spoke to Adam. “This no longer concerns you. She saved you. That’s all you need to know. Now go, live your life, and remember none of this.”

  “But how will I know if she’s all ri—” The sentence trailed away, and Adam looked around in bewilderment as Damael raised the shields protecting them from mortal eyes. After a moment, the human dropped into his seat and sighed, settling back to admire the starry expanse outside the window again. As if nothing had ever happened to him.

  He was the lucky one.

  “Please speak to me,” Damael whispered, stroking the hair away from Celeste’s forehead. It felt brittle and dry, nothing like the cool slide of silk it had once been. As he went on touching the strands, they began to break between his fingers. Her skin was growing more ashen by the minute. “Tell me how loathsome and hateful I am for what I’ve done, tell me how much you hate me, how you hope to never see me again…anything, so long as you speak to me.”

  She didn’t move. His poison had infiltrated her. A trickle of blood slipped from her mouth, and this more than anything else spurred him to action. He leapt to his feet, taking her shriveling body with him. The body that had once been so soft and delicate and eager to be pressed against his. There was no time to waste. But what did he do? How did he fix this?

  Only one answer came to him. He had to take her home. Surely they would know there if anything could be done.

  Both Heaven and Hell possessed amulets that protected its bearer from the hostile atmosphere of the opposing land. They were kept well hidden and used only to conduct the most crucial business. He didn’t have time for that. Even if the journey killed him, better he should be unmade than Celeste. She was selfless and brave and good. He was nothing. He had nothing to exist for.

  Gathering her close, he pressed a kiss to her cold forehead and shot through the heavens. The journey didn’t prove a smooth one. He breached the veil between worlds, and almost immediately felt life begin to ebb away from him. The very environment here seemed intent upon stamping him out, and by the time the fabled gates came into view, he was weak enough to collapse. No longer able to sustain the magic that kept his humanlike veneer in place, he felt it bleed away, and the beast emerged.

  Which only made it worse. He could’ve been plunged into a vat of Celeste’s tears for the pain that sluiced over him. Holding her protectively close, he trudged nearer, but it was like making his way through quicksand. The brightness became more blinding with every step. He kept his gaze steady on her face, looking for any sign of awakening as she drew closer to home.

  If there was any, he could no longer see it. His vision winked out, and he staggered to his knees. But his presence had been noticed at last. Raised voices greeted him, all of them like wind chimes, alien voices, at once beautiful and terrible. Someone removed his burden from his arms—she’d grown so heavy he could hardly hold on to her any longer—and he let himself pitch forward onto the ground. He’d hoped to find relief there somehow, but even the grass beneath him seemed to reject him, stabbing painfully into his flesh. He only had time for one whispered plea before unconsciousness took him, and he managed to lift his head to utter it.

  “Save her.”

  Chapter Seven

  Two years later…

  No one noticed the angel in the corner.

  This time, they could all see her. She wore torn jeans and a sheer white blouse under a black leather jacket. Her auburn hair spiraled down her back. But there was too much excitement, too much adrenaline in the air, for the mortals to notice she was a little different than they were, with an otherworldly sheen to her complexion and eyes that were a little too bright. Too knowing.

  The exhilaration positively scented the air in the arena. Celeste deftly maneuvered her way through the crowd, heading for the nearest exit. Adam had first walked out onto the stage w
ell over an hour ago, sending the crowd into a frenzy. It had yet to subside. He was still there now, working the stage like a whirlwind. His vocals were incredible. She didn’t care for the growling, roaring and screaming, but when he truly let go and let his voice soar, it could bring a tear to the eye. Apparently Damael’s contract had dictated people would love him, but that was all over now, Adam’s soul was free…and they still showed up night after night to adore him. His faithful minions.

  She liked to peek in from time to time, check up on him. He was looking well—most likely because he had no memory of the ordeal on the plane. He and Melody had married, and he spent far more time with his daughter than he used to.

  Just now, Melody stood in the shadows at the side of the stage, stroking her swollen belly as she watched her husband with a gaze of pure love and delight. Every night, he sang for the crowd as if grateful to each and every person in the audience for the life he had. Now, it would be a long one. A good one.

  Celeste had sacrificed her wings and her home in Heaven to make it so.

  Of course, she’d rather the human not know what she’d been through on his account. Adam seemed to sense something had changed in his life, and that was enough. He’d been placed under divine protection in case the demons ever tried to strike at him again. It was something she’d fought hard for during her tribunal. Saklon and his cohorts had called for the forfeiture of Adam’s soul because she’d attacked him and Damael first. Nicolae had shrugged and pointed out that Damael had offered a compromise for Adam’s soul, and it was fairly common knowledge Celeste had accepted. So as far as he was concerned, no matter what the demons’ secret intentions had been, Adam was free.

  Damael was nowhere to be found, and if anyone knew where he was, they weren’t telling. Many times she’d been sent from the room while secret conversations took place. She’d been afraid to ask too many questions. She could still recall Tanan’s stern disapproval as he’d informed her after she awoke from that horrible ordeal that she often cried out Damael’s name in her sleep. His wasn’t a name they liked to hear spoken aloud in their territory.

  It had been a very scary time as she’d awaited her final judgment. The demons had wanted her. They had demanded atonement, and she’d loved one of them, so shouldn’t she belong with them? Their sly arguments had repulsed her, and she hadn’t been foolish enough to think she’d have ever laid eyes on Damael if she’d been banished to Hell. Most likely she would have become a concubine to any of the devils who desired her.

  Thankfully, her superiors were nowhere near as cruel as his. The archangels had been shocked, stricken by everything she’d done, but they hadn’t thought she’d damned herself simply by protecting someone. Or by loving someone she shouldn’t.

  So she was still favored in Heaven. But her job now was to roam the earth, helping people when she could. Completing small assignments and moving on. She would live out a life cycle and then go home again, at which time her case would be reevaluated. In some ways it was a relief, really—not nearly as heartbreaking as her former position. She also didn’t mind spending time among the mortals. But sometimes she got lonely.

  Humans were inquisitive by nature, and any of them who got close asked too many questions. What did she do for a living? Where was she from? Where was her family? She couldn’t very well tell them the truth, that there were earthbound angels among them everywhere, and their secret society saw she had every need met. Her true family wasn’t of the earthly variety—even if at the moment she was their black sheep. So she went her way mostly alone.

  “Fallen” wasn’t a word she liked, but it fit better than anything else. She just hadn’t fallen as far as she could have. She was lucky she hadn’t earned herself a one-way ticket. That didn’t stop her from thinking about him, and wondering if…

  No. You’ve moved past all that. It’s over. He’s everything you knew he was from the start, and you’ll never see him again.

  As people bumped and jostled past her, laughing and shouting, she coursed deftly through the steady stream and slipped out through the main gates. But not before she glimpsed a face in the crowd.

  Stopping dead in her tracks regardless of the people who plowed into her from behind, she stood on tiptoe trying to see over the tops of heads. Her attempt was futile. She was frustratingly short and lacked many of her old powers…levitation and flying being among them. Could that have been…?

  It was probably her imagination. She saw him everywhere she looked, after all, no matter how she tried to exorcise those final moments on the beach from her mind. They replayed in her head every night as she laid her head down to sleep. Even if she did see him again somehow, she might want to run in the other direction. He’d already tried to kill her once.

  Sighing, Celeste continued on, her sense of sound bombarded on all sides even in the parking lot. Cars crept by with music blaring, people chattered with excited intensity about the show. Overhead, a full moon swiftly rose, orange and bloated. She pulled her jacket closer against a sudden blast of biting autumn wind. The temperature affected her more now that she was earthbound.

  Her apartment was within walking distance of the arena—a long walk, but manageable. Her legs ate up the distance quickly, the boisterous sounds of the post-concert buzz receding until the clack-clack of her boot heels was all that filled the night aside from an occasional honk and the gentle rush of faraway traffic. The side streets were mostly empty.

  A clatter sounded from behind her, and she whirled to see an empty can roll across the pavement. A sheet of paper scratched lightly down the sidewalk beside her boot, propelled by a sudden blast of wind. Casting a glance around and shoving her hands deep in her pockets, she suppressed a chill and dashed up the steps into the warmth of her apartment building.

  Ah, relief. She slammed her door behind her and stripped on the way to her bedroom, eager to put this strange, haunted night behind her. It had rubbed her raw, brought everything rushing back. She should stay away and let the wounds heal, but without fail, when she heard Adam’s band was coming to whatever town she was living in, she couldn’t help herself. She had to go see him and marvel that he was still here.

  Whatever else she’d lost, at least she’d won that battle. She hadn’t had to watch another one perish. She never would again.

  Bed felt wonderful as she slid under the covers wearing only her underwear. Closing her eyes, she snuggled under the covers.

  The dream came hot and fast and staggeringly vivid. She and Damael, making love with a passion to rival what they’d generated on the beach. She twisted in the sheets and arched, breaking out in a sweat, as she imagined him taking her in those long, relentless thrusts she remembered. “You’re mine,” he breathed against her ear. Her own hands drifted over her breasts, her fingers teasing her nipples until he grasped her hands and slammed them back on the mattress with a growl, replacing them with his lips. His teeth. “Mine.”

  She cried out and struggled awake, sobbing into the empty silence of her room. Only the dim glow from the streetlights poured through her small window. Nothing was out of sorts, no black-eyed demon hovering in the corner, no dream lover by her side.

  Wiping sweat from her brow, she swung her feet to the floor. How could she forget, how could she push him from her thoughts when he haunted her dreams like this? It was asking the impossible. Seeing Adam might bring everything back with a vengeance, but she had to be honest with herself: it never truly left her. And she hated Damael for that, for everything—lying to her, trying to trick her. She even hated him for the torment of not knowing where he was, what was happening to him right now—and the guilt for caring.

  He’d almost killed her. Would she have to keep reminding herself of that forever to keep this infernal longing for him at bay?

  She trudged into her bathroom, flipped on the light switch and nearly cried out when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Hollow, sorrow-filled eyes, mussed hair. She looked like…

  Like you’ve just taken a tu
mble with the man you love, who then left you heartbroken. Does that cover it?

  Yep. It did.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she muttered to her reflection. Then, resolving not to meet that broken girl’s gaze in the mirror again, she busied herself filling a glass with water and taking several desperate gulps. It cleared some of the fog from her mind. Not all of it, but enough. Sighing, she flipped the light off and reentered her bedroom.

  “Hello, sweet angel.”

  Her heart nearly burst in her chest as the voice spoke, and she almost dove back into her bathroom to lock herself in. That was before her gaze caught the shadowed figure sitting on her bed, and she froze to the spot.

  Damael. Even though he was only backlit by light filtering through the window behind him, she would know those shoulders anywhere. And the voice, the deep, smoothly ironic voice.

  Was she still dreaming? It didn’t matter. First instinct took over, and she scrambled back against the wall, vainly trying to cover her near-nakedness and searching for something, anything, to put between them. As if that would stop him from…whatever he meant to do.

  “Oh my God…”

  “Well, no, unfortunately. Do you realize you didn’t lock your door? Tsk. Anyone could come creeping in, you know. Anything.”

  What should she do? Run and hide? Grab her crucifix? Jump him?

  Every movement as precise and graceful as she remembered, he stood and stepped toward her. Given the small area of her bedroom, that brought him almost close enough to touch.

  Seemingly from nowhere, the hazy pleasure of her dream drifted over her again. Tears filled her eyes. Damael’s gaze roamed her face, her body. Irrationally she worried that he might not find her as attractive as he once had.

  Was she mad? He could be here to finish the job he’d begun on the jet, and she was worried he was mourning the loss of her wings.

  He stepped even closer, crowding her against the wall. Something soft brushed her skin: a sweater. His scent filled her nostrils. Exotic and fiery and… Oh, God, she couldn’t help it. She moaned and let her eyes fall closed as desire pooled between her thighs, dampening her panties. His hands met the wall on either side of her head, trapping her. His lips trailed down her hair.