by Lisa Hughey
“What do I do?”
“Close your eyes.” Such a simple request. With a meaningful inhale, she complied.
The silence in the little tree house was absolute. Outside their cocoon, death metal blared from the house next door. Neighbors across the street rolled their garbage cans to the curb. Two male cats growled and screeched as they fought over a female in heat.
As she waited, she identified the citrus smell from the hedge of pittisporum blooming in her yard and the slight hint of charcoal from the people one street over who barbequed year-round no matter the temperature. Somewhere a car door slammed.
And nothing happened.
“Everything okay?”
“You are so beautiful.”
Heat flushed her face. “Ah, well, thank you, I guess.” Still she waited for some sort of sign, some sort of lightening bolt to signify that she now had the power to heal.
She leaned forward, and breathed in his scent, all hot male and some indefinable aroma she would recognize as Rafe.
“Hold up your wrist.”
Angelina complied and the lightest of touches feathered along her skin, and drifted over the new spot. Then he pressed his lips firmly over the mark. A brief flash of sexual awareness zoomed through her as she waited for a jolt of power, some sort of shift in how she felt. But nothing else happened.
“Can I open?”
“Sure.” He sat cross-legged as she leaned forward into his space.
“It’s done?”
“Yes.”
She rubbed her hands together. “Okay. Great.”
“We must begin your training immediately,” Rafe said. “You are extremely powerful and you need to be able to control your gift.”
“You can teach me how to save my Grammy.”
Rafe blinked, leaned back slightly. “Save her?”
“Yes. Of course, you saw how she perked up tonight. I can save her. I just need you to teach me how.”
The sadness in his silver gaze, stippled by shadows, stopped her. “She wanted to say goodbye.”
“No. I’m going to save her.”
“Angelina,” Rafe sighed. “Not everyone can or should be saved.”
“But my Grammy should be saved.” Panic clawed at Angelina.
“That’s not possible. I thought you understood that.” He said gently, “There must be balance.”
The look on his face scared her. “What? What’s wrong?” Her heart pounded so hard, she thought it would bounce right out of her chest and flop at their feet. She had a bad feeling about what he was going to say next.
“Just because you can save someone doesn’t mean you should.”
“You mean I have to decide who is worthy and who isn’t?” She ignored the twist in her stomach at that thought. The first choice was simple. “Well, that’s easy. My Grammy is worth saving. Even you said she was amazing.”
“You can’t save your grandmother.”
“But I want to.” She had given Angelina everything. Grammy Angel was her compass.
“It’s not that simple.” Rafe paused. “There are some who are ready to depart. Some whose time to pass on has come. You must be respectful of that. “
“It’s not her time!” She shouted. “I won’t let it be.”
“Angelina.” He looked at her, sorrow in his deep gaze. “It’s too late.”
SEVENTEEN
Angelina had frozen. She held preternaturally still as if she moved, she would shatter into a thousand pieces.
“I am sorry.”
Strangely, he truly meant the sometimes meaningless words. He was sorry. Sorry for the Guerisse family. Sorry for himself. Angelina Guerisse would not last the night. Her passing meant he only had a limited time to complete Angelina’s training. And then he would ascend away from humans. Away from her.
He would be removed from their difficult, messy and sometimes self-absorbed presence. But he would also be removed from their capacity to love and their joy in the everyday and their childlike wonder of anything remotely magical.
He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe he could absorb her sorrow and the incredible beauty of her soul. Her enormous generosity of spirit shone through every pore of her skin.
“Are you saying my Grammy is...gone?”
“No. But she won’t last the night.”
She still hadn’t moved. Not even her gaze had wavered from his face. In the dark, intimate bubble of this tree house, her anguish filled the little room, burst out of the tiny cracks between the walls, and poured through the windows. Her soul cried out in devastating loss.
There was a strange tightness to his chest as he struggled to take in air.
When she finally moved, it was to speak, so low, he had to shift his feet and open his legs to lean forward to hear her. “Did you know?” The last word was almost a whisper.
“Did I know what?”
“Did. You. Know.” Her mouth formed the words with exaggerated precision, low and hard and imbued with some emotion he didn’t understand. She had gone from not moving to trembling so hard he worried she would fall right out of the tree house.
“I don’t--”
Angelina launched herself at him like a Rottweiler on guard duty. “Did you know it would kill her?” Her fists pounded against his shoulders, not hurting him although that was certainly her intent. Her rage and desperation and fear were palpable. She fell into him, tears scoring her face. Her body rocked and her hair flew as she pounded out her grief against his body.
“She is dying.” Rafe tried to comfort her, stroking her hair as he would a child’s. “Transferring the power wouldn’t kill your grandmother.”
“She woke up. She talked to me.” Her fists still pounded against him, ineffectual in her anger.
“To say goodbye.” Finally he captured her clenched fingers and held them in his hands so that she wouldn’t hurt herself. At this moment all he wanted to do was take away her pain. But healers could only heal the physical, not the mental. His only offering was comfort. “She loves you very much.”
As if a dam broke within her, she collapsed onto his chest. Her head thunked against his breastbone, and her body melted into his.
Great giant sobs shook her delicate frame. She shifted from rage to despair. Her body crumpled against his, as her tears soaked into his cotton shirt and her hips pressed up against his. Her head rested against his shoulder and her arms circled his waist.
“I love her.” Her breath caught in her throat. “So much.”
“I know.” She sprawled over him. His left arm cradled her and he stroked her arm. Her skin was so supple and soft. The tactile sensation tingled from her skin to his heart.
She sniffled and rubbed her head under his chin, her breath hot on the bare skin of his neck. Hardly an erogenous zone. Except her breast rested against the hard flex of his pectorals. And suddenly he was aware of her legs tangled with his and her sweetly scented shampoo. He recalled them twined together when she first called him.
And he was excruciatingly aware that her hand was mere inches away from his growing erection.
He stilled his hands, and let her rest against him. He wanted to let her absorb the comfort of his embrace without upping the level of their contact. He longed for that sexual component even though it was wrong.
Time broke down into tiny increments of movement. Her breath. A sigh. Warm air against his neck. Goose bumps on his arms. The delicate moist warmth of her tongue against his skin. The open suction of her mouth against his jaw.
This was a bad idea.
A very, very bad idea.
And yet, as if directed by an unseen force, he shifted slightly so that their bodies aligned. As if that signaled permission, Angelina skimmed her lips over the curve of his jaw. Her eyelashes brushed against his cheek lighter than the kiss of a butterfly.
She swept her hand over his bicep, and the gentle caress awakened more of his nerve endings. Blood throbbed through his veins, pulsing as his body primed for sexual release.
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Angelina had discarded her suit jacket in the kitchen so her breasts were covered only by a very thin shiny cotton t-shirt that clung so well he could see her budded nipples and lace bra through the fine fabric. He trailed his finger up her waist, frustrated with the material that covered her glorious skin. Her mouth found his just as he closed his hand over her breast, and her nipple stabbed into his palm. Cupping her curves, he squeezed gently, and marveled at the rounded, heavy softness.
But the material was an irritating deterrent. With a frustrated grunt, Rafe shoved the fabric out of the way, and tunneled his hand to cup her breast. Her decadent heat fired his blood. The tight shirt trapped his hand against her body and the urge to taste the ripe bud spiraled through him.
She cupped the rigid length of his erection over the soft fabric of his jeans, and pressed her hand erotically against him. His hips rose, begging for more pressure, begging for the heat and heaviness of her body.
Rafe groaned, low and hoarse, in his throat. He shifted her so she lay atop him. With his hands circling her ribcage, he pushed her up until the V of her sex cradled his erection, and her breasts were even with his mouth.
Their breath was harsh in the quiet night air. A bullfrog croaked somewhere below them and the crickets sang a melody to their primal drumbeat. Finally, finally his mouth closed over her nipple. He rolled the sweet berry on his tongue, then sucked to the pulse in his cock and the thunder of his heart.
He shut out everything and concentrated on Angelina until all he could hear was her breath, as she clutched his head to her breast and rocked her body into his. Her skirt was shoved up around her hips, her panties exposed.
Rafe slid his hands along the back of her thighs, and then over the globes of her bottom. Sheer perfection. He rubbed her clitoris, slick with desire as he ate at her breasts with a ferociousness that startled him. He wanted inside her any way he could get. Coming from behind, he slid his middle finger inside the slick welcoming channel and rubbed his other fingers alongside her swollen lips.
Every muscle in his body was hard and straining to pound into her. To stake his claim and mark her as his. The intense physical need to impale her blasted through him like a tornado that ripped apart his reason and threw away rational thought. He abandoned himself to the sheer explosion of joy rocketing like fireworks through his blood.
He gave himself up to sensation. Her hands around his cock, her breast in his mouth, his fingers inside her, her tongue stabbed into his ear. They were connected and entwined everywhere possible.
Her knees held onto his hips. His arms held her up.
Angelina fumbled with the button of his jeans as she gasped in time to their rocking and whimpered with the need to have him inside her to fill that empty space that had sat vacant, alone for so freaking long.
This felt like a rebirth, like a reconnection with some piece of her that had been shriveled and destroyed when Gary had abandoned her.
“I need you, I need you, I need you,” she panted.
She wanted him buried inside her, filling her and anointing her with passion.
Her hands gripped his thick steel and she rubbed her thumb over the bulbous head, and smeared the drops of his desire along his shaft. Oh, she wanted to inhale him, absorb his essence. “I want to suck you into my mouth.”
Rafe stopped his feast and gazed at her in the moonlight. Her breasts glistened. She lifted her thumb to her lips, and without taking her gaze from his, she sucked the tip into her mouth to communicate her thoughts.
Her head fell back, her hands dropped to his shoulders, and her breasts thrust forward into his face. He rubbed his stubbled cheeks back and forth across her incredibly sensitive nipples.
With a smoldering look, he squeezed her clitoris and bit down gently on her nipple. Her body convulsed and clamped down on him as blood and arousal thrummed through her. She rocked her hips into his. She moaned as she gave herself up to a sweet, mind-blowing orgasm. And gave herself over to the sexual sensations pouring through her, pulsing and grinding until all was wrung from her.
Neither spoke. To break the erotic silence would be to acknowledge the intimacy that had just taken place.
Rafe should be sorry, but wasn’t.
Her body had blossomed like rose for him, her petals moist with the dew of arousal.
She tilted her head forward, and her hands still rested on his shoulders. He could see she was considering how to go to a place that they shouldn’t. To do so would engender consequences far beyond the two of them.
Rafe slid his fingers from her body. While she gazed down at him, he inhaled the bouquet of her arousal, and pulled her musk into his lungs. And then he deliberately sucked his fingers into his mouth, and drew the essence of her into his body. He penetrated his mouth the way he wanted to penetrate her.
“Let me,” she said huskily.
“We cannot.”
He knew he should be remorseful. He should be concerned with his actions. Although he had not broken the express decree, he had broken the custom.
She eyed him speculatively. “How much trouble would you be in?”
“Too much to contemplate.” But he appreciated the sentiment. “And so would you.”
He took one last look at her, her naked breasts limned in the moonlight, her face flushed with desire and her skirt up around her hips. Wanton and uninhibited.
As if she realized her disheveled appearance, she tugged her clothes back into place. “I need to go be with my grandmother.”
“Yes.” Rafe felt the familiar buzz at the back of his mind. “Not again.”
He was being summoned. Emergency Archangel Council meeting. Now.
EIGHTEEN
Rafe translocated into the massive Archangel Council chamber. An oval mahogany table dominated the room. Around the table, seven intricately carved chairs represented the Seven and their responsibilities on Earth.
The other six Archangels lounged around the conference room in their specific chairs, upholstered in the color associated with their title. Rafe’s chair, the green one, was the only empty seat. They met regularly on Sundays, usually followed their meetings with beer, fried chicken and football. An emergency meeting had not been called in decades.
“We have a problem,” Uri said before Rafe even fully assimilated that he was the last to arrive.
Cautiously, Rafe eased into his chair. There was no way Uri could know what he’d just done. No way. And even if he did know, Uri wouldn’t reveal Rafe’s secret this way, would he?
Rafe didn’t want to wait for someone else to ask. Better to go on the offensive. If Uri planned to expose him, Rafe wanted to face his friend directly when he did.
“What kind of problem?” Rafe ignored protocol and asked first.
Michael shifted in his chair, indicating his surprise at Rafe’s actions.
“I just came back from the remnants of the fire in Poland.” Black streaks of soot smeared Uri’s face and sweat slicked his arms, angry with burn welts. Uri was the Bringer of Peace, Birth and Renewal. His weapon was fire but his power was controlling the fire.
“Why are you wasting our time with this?” Zachariel, Archangel of Forgiveness and Cleansing, muttered below his breath.
Uri and Zach fought constantly, their responsibilities at odds. Their weapons, complete opposites. While Uri believed in renewal and rebirth, he also believed in punishment. Zach believed in forgiveness. The only one Zach couldn’t seem to forgive was Uri. Uri always said if Zach was in charge the Grigori and Nephilim would rule the world because we would have ‘forgiven’ them without punishment. Their argument was long standing and boring.
“Someone torched the entire one hundred acres and several dozen humans.” Uri glanced around the table, his gaze touching on each Archangel before he continued. “Two Angels perished last night. Lev, a firefighter and Stanislaus, a healer.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?” Zach sniped. “Maybe they got too close to the flames.”
The fatal
flaw of some fire starters was their obsession with fire.
“Screw you.” Uri’s eyes glowed bright sky blue in the black streaks of his face.
“Focus, guys,” Gabriel snapped. The worry in his expression stopped Rafe. Gabe was the Announcer. He brought guidance, purity and joy to the world. He was also a gossip and part-time, tongue-in-cheek conspiracy theorist. He didn’t take anything too seriously and yet, he wasn’t laughing. “Tell them the worst part.”
“They were killed in the old way,” Uri said. Stabbed through the Angel’s mark. That form of execution hadn’t been used in thousands of years since the Nephilim had been eradicated from the Earth.
Everyone shut up.
“How did you learn of this?” Michael crossed his massive arms over his chest.
“Rafe and I discovered them last night.” Uri glanced at Rafe.
How could Rafe have forgotten to tell Michael? He’d been so caught up in his issues with Angelina that he’d neglected his responsibilities to the Realm.
“Could the Angels’ death have been an accident?” Zach wondered aloud, sounding subdued.
One, maybe. Two, no way.
“A spike through his Angel’s mark as an accident,” Uri said sarcastically. “Cause yeah, that happens all the time.”
Zach’s face turned a deep red as he made a move to go after Uri.
“Maybe it was the Rebel Alliance.” Jehudial the Glorifier, Archangel of Illumination and Wisdom, tried to lighten the tension.
Zach growled. “Shut up. How many times do we have to tell you that Tatooine and Skywalker don’t exist.”
“Hey, humans don’t think we exist either,” Jed shot right back. Most of the time Jed’s love of Star Wars amused Rafe but not today.
Michael held his palm upright toward Jed and Zach. “Let’s get back to our problem.”
“Just sayin’,” Jed replied as he fingered his three-pronged whip.
