by Nina Croft
Finally, his gaze was drawn to her.
For a second, he lit up inside, a wild sense of elation washing through him. It lasted just the one second before an overwhelming sense of impending doom crashed over him, almost sending him to his knees.
She hadn’t seen them yet. He had to get out of there before she did. He needed more time to plan. He’d thought he was ready, but he wasn’t.
It couldn’t happen. He couldn’t let it. But he couldn’t stop it. Her gaze was searching the room. Of course, she wouldn’t recognize him. But that didn’t matter—the covenant would be set in motion the moment they laid eyes on each other. He glanced around. Could he dive over the reception desk? Hide?
But his movement must have drawn her attention, because her gaze settled on him. For a moment there was no reaction, then she went completely still. She blinked a couple of times. Shook her head. Then her eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened.
Oh, no, he knew that expression. She was pissed. Why was she pissed? She shouldn’t even recognize him.
“What the hell,” Finn murmured beside him. “She knows you. How the hell does she know you?”
He had no clue. He couldn’t move as she walked firmly toward their little group, her gaze never leaving him. His heart pounded as she came to a halt a foot away. She was a tall woman, but still she had to tilt her neck to look up into his face.
“Devlin?”
Her voice was filled with disbelief. Yeah, he reckoned he looked just a tiny bit different than the last time she had seen him. There was certainly nothing left of the angel.
Then she raised her hand, and she slapped him across the face. Hard.
“You’re a goddamn liar, and I hate you.”
She burst into tears, then she whirled around and ran. And he just stared after her, his mind a whirling mess of incoherent thoughts.
“Get after her, you idiot,” Torr snapped from beside him.
“Go.” Finn pushed him in the back when he still didn’t move.
He shook himself. She was already out of the door, and he raced onto the sidewalk, staring around, but she had vanished.
Hell.
Five days. He had five days, and she had to say I love you. Or she would die. And this time she wouldn’t be reborn.
And what were the chances of that?
He was a goddamn liar, and she hated him. That was the thing she wasn’t supposed to remember.
Fucking perfect.
CHAPTER 4
While shepherds watched their flocks by night...
It was the annual nativity play, and Imogen let the sweet voices of the children wash over her, hoping the carols would sooth her shattered nerves. They needed some serious soothing.
Agh!
Christmas was her busiest time of year. Otherwise, she was quite sure she would have taken to her bed and never come out.
Her mind was still reeling from what she had discovered during the regression analysis. And the really weird realization that she believed every last bit of it. It all made perfect sense.
She’d fallen in love with an angel. And she’d paid the price.
She’d walked out of the professor’s office in a daze. The professor had tried to stop her—apparently, she was a fascinating specimen. He’d never come across anyone who had lived more than one life before.
But then she’d drunk the Elixir of Life.
She couldn’t think of those other lives right now. All she could think about was the first. When she’d fallen in love with an angel. And the fact that the angel in question was still alive.
But then why wouldn’t he be? He was an angel. They were immortal.
Except he didn’t look like an angel anymore. At first sight, she hadn’t recognized him. Unfortunately, that state of blissful ignorance hadn’t lasted for long. Her soul had recognized him, and for a moment she’d been overwhelmed by a sensation of love and warmth and happiness. But only for a moment.
He looked a total badass. Black jeans and a long black leather coat, his dark hair was short, and he had a beard. That was new, but it suited him. His eyes were dark like bitter chocolate.
What had happened to him in the years since? To turn him from an angel into...she had no clue what, but nothing angelic, that was for sure.
The last she had seen of him, he’d been fighting with other angels, and she’d realized then what he and his brothers had done.
Stolen from God.
The angels of the Lord came down...
They certainly had. Lots of them.
She closed her eyes as she recalled her first-ever sight of Devlin... then her eyes flashed open and she groaned as she remembered something else from her former life.
“Are you all right, Vicar?” John Griswald, the head of the parish council, was watching her, a frown between his eyes. John was a handsome man in his early forties who had made it clear he would like to take their relationship to a more personal level. She liked him—he was rich, good-looking, amusing—what wasn’t there to like? He was one of the reasons she’d been trying to overcome her fears.
“I’m fine,” she muttered. Hah. She was turning into a liar. She was about as far from fine as it was possible to be. “I just remembered something I need to do.”
Would John be so interested in her if he knew she’d once been a prostitute?
Because that was another thing—she’d been a prostitute. It wasn’t fair. She’d done a lot of research before she’d finally given in and booked the session with a renowned regression hypnotist, and in just about every case study she’d encountered, the people had been princesses or priests or... But oh, no, not her. She’d been a prostitute.
Devlin had rescued her from a beating in a bar over an unpaid bill for services rendered, and from that moment on, it had been inevitable. For her anyway. Of course she hadn’t known he was an angel then.
From the start, she’d thought of him as her protector. She’d given up her evil ways—she’d been a bit of a drinker as well—and reformed herself so he might like her. And it turned out he did. He felt the same way. It had been unbelievable. That a man of such obvious goodness could fall in love with a woman like her. And when he had finally revealed he was a real angel, it had all made perfect sense. Her guardian angel.
She’d never felt good enough. And when he’d offered her the Elixir of Life, and eternity at his side, she’d seen it as a sign that God had forgiven her.
Ha.
Because it had become clear very quickly—about the time they dragged her away and tossed her off a high tower—that Devlin had lied to her. He’d told her—okay maybe just insinuated—that the Elixir was freely given, and it had never occurred to her that an angel would lie.
More ha!
Goddamn lying bastard.
After she had left the professor’s office, she had wandered the streets of London in a daze, trying to get her head around what she had learned and where to go next. And it had occurred to her that she did have a clue of sorts.
Those advertisements that had sent her down this particular rabbit hole. Advertisements run by a company called Stormlord Securities. Was there a connection? There had to be. They could have been written specifically for her, and others like her. Could it be possible?
So she’d looked up the company. They hadn’t been hard to find, and they had offices in the center of the city. And without giving herself time to think better of it, to at least wait until her brain was functioning again—she’d headed over there.
She had no clue what she expected to find. Certainly not Devlin standing right in front of her.
It had seemed as if only moments had passed since she’d seen him. She could feel the rough hands on her shoulders, dragging her away from him, the pain insignificant compared with the feeling of loss and betrayal. Because she’d known what he’d done.
So she’d slapped him. He’d deserved it. And then she’d run and not stopped running until she’d reached the safety of home.
Now she just
wanted to forget for a while. Pull herself together.
At least she knew now where her fear of heights came from. They’d dragged her up to the top of a tall tower. Below, she had seen the fight still going on. She’d screamed out his name—sure even then that he would save her. Hard hands had cast her from the tower and as she fell, she’d known he would come. The fall hadn’t killed her outright. She’d lain among the rocks at the base of the tower, her body twisted and broken. It had taken an age to die. And all the while, she’d waited and prayed.
Until the darkness took her.
She sighed.
After Christmas, she would decide what to do about all this. If anything. Could she go on with her life and pretend she hadn’t once loved an angel? If she was good in this life, would she finally earn her place in Heaven and not be reborn?
Her lives had not been happy. They’d all been haunted by the loss of a love she could not remember.
“Vicar?”
She jumped as John touched her arm. “Sorry.”
“The show’s over.”
She shook her head. He was right; the nativity play had finished. All around her, people were clapping, and the children were all bowing and grinning. This was one of her favorite parts of Christmas. The pleasure on the faces of the children. One day she’d hoped to watch a child of her own.
She edged out along the bench and made her way to the back of the parish hall and out the big double doors so she could say good-night and happy Christmas to the parents and children as they left. And mention that they were welcome at any of the many services over the Christmas period. Not that many of them would come. Except to the midnight mass on Christmas Eve. There were always plenty of people at that—slightly inebriated after a night in the bars and pubs.
She loved her job. She was based in the village of Barnsdale but covered a huge area of the surrounding countryside. Sadly, the Church wasn’t managing to recruit enough vicars, and they were spread thin. The area was mainly agricultural, but over the last few decades it had become popular with the hotshot city workers—like John. Only an hour into London on the train.
She shook hands on autopilot, wishing everyone a happy Christmas. She just wanted to go to bed. Forget for a while. Though she had a feeling that wasn’t really a possibility.
The parish hall was in the center of the village, next to the church. It was a beautiful church; a Gothic monstrosity complete with gargoyles—she loved it. Except for the tower. Somehow in the two years she’d been there, she’d managed to avoid going up in the tower. The vicarage was only a few feet away on the other side. She’d be safe home soon. Maybe a good stiff drink before she went to bed.
Ha—she was falling into her old ways. She’d be offering other services soon.
She became aware that the crowd of people leaving the hall had slowed. The ones at the door had stopped as though listening to something—a deep, rumbling roar approaching from the outskirts of the village. Beside her, John mumbled something about Hell’s Angels. Hardly likely. But he was right. It was the sound of motorbikes. A few of them, judging by the noise, and she turned to watch.
They appeared a moment later. Three huge black bikes—she recognized them as Harleys. She wasn’t going to admit it to her parishioners, but she was a big fan of “Sons of Anarchy.” She’d cried when Jax had died.
“Should we call the police?” someone asked.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “They haven’t actually done anything wrong.” They were probably looking for somewhere else, had gotten lost, and just wanted directions. Barnsdale was hardly the sort of place to appeal to people who rode Harleys.
The night was dark, the sky heavy with snow that refused to fall, but she could see them clearly as they pulled up beside the church. The silence was loud after the engines were switched off.
The rider closest to the parish hall swung his leg over his bike and stood up.
And she went still.
She couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a helmet. But she knew him all the same. She would never not know him now; he was indelibly imprinted on her soul. The cheating, lying bastard.
She so did not need this right now.
She tried to edge backward, into the building. She’d hide if she had to; she wasn’t too proud. But there were people blocking the way. People she knew.
What was he here for? What would he do?
Maybe he was angry because she’d slapped him.
It had felt good. She might not have been aware of it, but she’d been waiting two thousand years to slap him.
She held her breath as he pulled his helmet off, revealing that sinfully handsome face.
“Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Benson murmured behind her.
“Goodness has nothing to do with it,” someone else replied.
He looked more like the devil than an angel, and again she wondered what he’d been up to all these centuries.
He stood for a moment, looking around, taking in the crowd in front of the hall. Then his gaze locked on her, and something flashed in his eyes. Relief? For a brief second, a smile curved his lips, and something melted inside her.
She hardened her heart.
No melting. He’d betrayed her trust, and she’d died because of it. And not only once. Over and over. He couldn’t just smile and expect her to forgive him.
The people parted as he strode toward her. All black leather and attitude. There was something feline about the way he moved, and a shiver ran through her. He stared down at her, his gaze wandering over her body, heat in his eyes, and she melted even further. A little pulse starting to throb between her thighs. Very unvicar-like, and she resisted the urge to press them together.
“Zaria,” he murmured.
The name shivered through her like a caress. She was in so much trouble. Zaria had been her name in that first life. He’d said it so many times, in just that voice, as he’d made love to her.
“Can we help you?” John asked brusquely from beside her.
Devlin cast him a dismissive glance. “No.” He turned his attention back to her. “I’m here to talk to the vicar.” He nodded toward her, and a ripple of murmurs ran through the crowd.
“I think you should leave.” John stepped between them. “Come back in the morning if you have business with the church.” John was as tall as the other man though nowhere near as broad. It was very brave of him. And stupid.
Devlin raised an eyebrow in her direction. As if to say we can do this in public or... But no way was she going to do anything in private with him. He could go...jump off a tall tower.
Of course, he could probably just fly down. He’d had wings, at least in his angel’s guise. And she had a vivid memory of him swooping her up in his arms, flying them both into the air, laughing...
“You didn’t used to let other people fight your fights,” he murmured.
“Are we going to fight?” she asked before she could think better of the words.
“Imogen?” John sounded confused now. As well he might. He took a step closer to her, and Devlin’s eyes narrowed. At the same time, a bolt of crimson lightning lit up the dark sky.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll deal with this, John,” she said.
“Why? Who is this man?”
What was she supposed to say to that? Maybe that he wasn’t a man. He was an angel. That would go down well. She’d probably be carted straight off to the psychiatric ward. Spend Christmas in a straitjacket. She was still thinking of what to answer when Devlin took a step forward and answered for her. “I’m her husband.”
CHAPTER 5
“I can’t believe you said that.”
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide, her mouth tight. Her fists were clenched at her side. She looked angry. Really angry. Again. They’d always had a volatile relationship. He’d liked it. But right now, he could do with her just staying a little bit calm and not arguing with him.
And she was probably right, but that guy had been pissing him off. He�
��d been standing far too close to her. And the way he’d said her name... Devlin hadn’t liked it.
And he hadn’t actually lied. They had been married under God’s eyes. And they’d promised each other forever.
“Imogen?” the man asked.
Why the fuck didn’t he just leave?
She licked her lips, and heat shot through him. She was clearly trying to think what to say. She wouldn’t lie. No, he was the liar out of the two of them. But obviously, she wasn’t happy.
“Not anymore,” she said.
He supposed it was technically true. Or was it? He wasn’t sure. “We need to talk.” She frowned. She was going to argue. “Just give me five minutes,” he said quickly. “Tell me what happened, how you remembered. Just give me that much. You—”
“If you say I owe you, I’ll slap you.”
“You already did that.”
“Harder.”
She glanced around as if remembering they had an audience. She took a deep breath, then another, and a serene expression flowed across her face, her lips curving up in a smile. She turned away from him. “Well, everyone, that was a lovely play. And I hope to see you all at the carol service on Saturday night. Now I have business to discuss with Mr. Royce. He’s an old acquaintance I haven’t seen for...a while.”
Yeah, two thousand years.
“Are you sure, Imogen?” That man again. He didn’t know when to give up. Devlin turned to him, allowed some of the darkness to creep into his eyes, a growl to rumble low in his throat. The man paled, took a step back, and Devlin smiled.
Imogen glared at him, then turned to the man. “I’m quite sure. Despite his appearance to the contrary, Mr. Royce is perfectly capable of civilized behavior.” Her expression softened, and she reached across and patted the man’s arm. Devlin gritted his teeth. “Don’t worry, John. I’ll see you at the meeting in the morning. Now go home.”
They dispersed slowly with a lot of backward glances—clearly not wanting to leave her alone with him. This was probably the most excitement they’d ever had in this sleepy little village. Five minutes later, he was standing alone with Imogen on the porch of the building.
