Ramiel refused to answer and pressed harder. The young Nephilim breathed in through his nose, and his eyes watered.
If he let go, the kid would just start talking. The guy was either stupid or brave. Every time Ramiel came up for blood, he was there. Eli paid his bills while he was gone so that he had an apartment in the club and made sure his motorcycle was taken care of on a regular basis.
Saved the guy’s ass once, and apparently that meant a lifetime of random favors.
But now Eli wanted Kyria. Like hell that was going to happen. How convenient that Darius went missing and everyone was swooping in to get a piece of his gingersnap. Not that she was his. But none of these bastards could have her, either.
The police were out looking for suspicious activity. Ramiel survived this long by staying out of that kind of trouble. He spun around and lifted Eli up by the neck, dragging him into an alley for more privacy. Ram slammed the idiot against the wall.
Eli winced and shackled his hand over Ram’s. “Look, I could fight back, use my wings, but we’re on the same side here.”
“Shut up.” Ramiel let him go. Pulling one of the bottles out of the box, he broke open the top and downed pure, sweet whiskey. He closed his eyes to the pleasure of the heat before tossing the empty bottle across the pavement, leaving it shattered and forgotten.
Eli rubbed his now bruised neck and kept his smile. “I thought you liked my voice.”
“Stay away from me.”
“Not everything revolves around you, Ram.” Eli raised his hands in innocence when Ramiel threatened him with a harsh sound in the back of his throat. “Seriously, though, I’m not here for you. I came to help Kyria. Found her car with the scent of demons. I’m guessing they run in your circle. Had the smell of your mistress bitch. Know anything about that?”
A muscle twitched under his eye. He paced to the edge of the alley to scan the street for any sluggish pedestrians. So few. “They were after her. I got her out.”
The blond Nephilim frowned. “But you never help anyone. Ever. If anything, you avoid people at all cost. Ram, where is she? She’s been sheltered, a total innocent. You haven’t hurt her, have you?”
I gotta go. Kyria will be wondering where I am.
“None of your damn business,” he tossed over his shoulder.
The kid followed him. “Where is she?” An edge slipped into his friendly voice, and he grabbed Ram’s upper arm.
Mistake. Ramiel slammed Eli up against the dirty brick wall again and used his taller body to stand over him. “Stay away from me.”
But this time Eli didn’t smile. “You smell like her.” He brought his hand up to break Ramiel’s hold and tried to kick him. His wings unfurled, brushing the walls of the ally. “What’d you do?”
Anger blistered his common sense at the thought of this Nephilim punk touching Kyria. Each time Ram saw him, his wings were darker. The black that streaked across primary feathers proved how slippery that path between good and evil was.
Well, Kyria did have a way of bringing out the protectiveness in him. Maybe Eli was the same, an ally.
He relaxed his death grip and stepped back. Eli reached for a dagger and lunged at Ramiel.
Damn. The kid was fast, fluid, his expression devoid of emotion save for the heated determination in his eyes. He was way more practiced than Ramiel would have given him credit for decades ago. But that didn’t mean he was smart.
Before Eli could reach his target, Ram turned and lifted his unchained arm. The blade cut through the leather to his skin. The Nephilim pulled back the bloody dagger and stabbed again. This time Ram met him head on, gripping the kid’s wrist and ramming the hilt hard into his temple.
He went out like a light. His tall frame hit the filthy ground and his wings vanished.
Ram was taking no chances with Kyria. He had to protect her.
He took another bottle and pulled the cork out. After pouring the gin over Eli, he threw the empty bottle next to the unconscious Nephilim, then took all of his ID.
The idea of Eli trying to explain things to the police almost made him smile. The Nephilim would be tied up for a while. Now he understood why the kid enjoyed pranks so much.
This would give him enough time to figure out what to do with Kyria. Her father wasn’t exactly his favorite person. In fact, he’d spent years thinking of ways to hurt the angel for abandoning him in hell. Whether it was to save him or kill him, he still had to figure out where he was. There’s only one way to find out.
With his box a few bottles lighter, he turned and headed back to the motel with an idea already forming.
Chapter Ten
Twenty-two hours and counting. The amount of time Kyria spent pacing the motel room, taking power naps, showering, and eating all the trail mix her father had packed.
The amount of time Ramiel had been missing.
She paced as Buddy ran back and forth along the edge of the bed. She couldn’t just wait on the archangel. He might not even be coming back.
She rubbed her upper arm. Where was Eli? He’d never showed up. That was unlike him. Had the demons trapped him, or had he abandoned her? The way people were disappearing…
Arching her neck until it popped, she studied the stained ceiling, but it had no answers. Was it just two days ago that freedom sounded so good? She groaned.
“This is ridiculous, Buddy. I can’t wait here forever. Let’s go.”
Halfway into grabbing her things, she heard the doorknob rattle.
She searched for a weapon. Pillows were the only thing not attached to the wall or floor. Pillow in one hand, she braced for a fight.
Please let it be Dad. Please. Please. Please.
Ram stepped through the door with a box tucked under his free arm and glared at her like she caused all his problems.
Arching her back and gathering all the force she could manage, she flung the pillow. It sailed through the air and hit him smack in the face. It fell to the floor with a soft thud. Whoops.
Without a word, he stepped over the pillow and brushed against her on his way to the small table. He didn’t even look at her.
Was he mad?
He’s the only hope I have of saving Dad.
Even in a sneer, the man had the most beautiful lips. She touched her own, not understanding the desire to taste his. She sat and Buddy perched on the edge of the bed next to her, his eyes soft as if he totally understood.
How is this my life?
Ram sat the box on the table and lowered himself onto the bed and leaned against the headboard.
“I’m sorry about the—” A streak of crimson on his sleeve caught her eye when he raised a whiskey bottle to his lips. “Ramiel, you’re hurt.” She rushed to stand next to him. “Here. Let me look at it.”
“No.” He took another drink.
“Take off your jacket.” She moved to the bathroom and got a damp washcloth to rub in some soap. It was the best she could do with limited resources.
Standing next to him again, she pulled on his jacket. “How do you undress with that chain on?”
“I don’t.”
“That’s ridiculous. You have to shower and do laundry at some point. Right?” She pulled harder to get the sleeve off his arm. “And how do you put them back on?”
“Magic.”
Is he joking?
He sighed and leaned forward, taking his arm out of the other sleeve. Without looking at her, he took another long drink.
“I only get seven days up here. So, things like bathing and clean clothes are pointless.”
“Seven days of what?” The exposed skin was covered in tattoos that she wanted to trace. As she moved closer to the wound, her hair fell forward.
Calloused fingertips swept the loose curls behind her ear. She held her breath, fighting the urge to lean into his touch. Eyes closed, he took another swig.
“Drinking human blood.”
She dropped the rag with a heavy, wet plop. “Oh, God. Sorry.”
Her hand
shook as she picked it up and ran it over his forearm. His jaw flexed, the muscle jumping over the squared bone. “Does it hurt?”
“I’ve had worse.”
With more care, she cleaned the blood. He grunted and pulled back. “That’s enough.”
“I want to get all the blood off. I promise I won’t touch you more than needed.” Black designs covered his golden skin, familiar markings. It pulled her to him. She had lied…the slightly wicked desire to touch more, to see what else was under his clothes, bloomed within her.
More than anything, she wanted to know him. “So, that demon thing, he mentioned someone you both knew. Nema, I think? An annoying associate of yours?”
“Are you a detective now?”
“What? No, what gave you that idea?” She leaned forward again to wipe off the rest of the drying blood. He didn’t pull away.
“You seem awfully interested in my personal life.”
“I’m just trying to understand what’s going on.” And to ignore the way you smell, which is sort of irresistible.
His voice dipped lower into mild amusement. “Sounds like an investigation to me.”
I didn’t know he had a sense of humor. I like it.
“Fine. I’m curious.” Heat crept up her neck and burned her cheeks. Shoot, that came out too loud.
He raised a scarred eyebrow. “Careful, gingersnap. You don’t want to bite off more than you can chew.”
The charged look, along with his deep gravel tone, sent wild hot flutters through her chest.
She cleared her throat.
Eyes closed, lips pressed into a thin line, he made it clear there would be no more talking. It was for the best.
Washing the cut, she tried not to stare at all the scars. He wouldn’t want her pity. Fingertips brushed along the edge of the new wound. All the hurt he must have suffered from those chains on him. Too many questions, not enough answers.
“You could at least tell me why you need blood and what those chains are for. After seven days up here, where do you go? What do you do with the rest of the time? And where did you go when you disappeared earlier?”
The open edges of the wound connected before she even finished doctoring it.
Her lips parted in shock. “You can heal?” It made sense that archangels could heal fast. But to see it in action, her heart pounded.
“No. That was you.” He took another long drink of the golden liquid. “It’s your special ability. As a Nephilim, it’s expected—wait, how old did you say you were?” His dark gaze remained steady, unnerving her.
“I’m twenty-two.”
“Fuck. That doesn’t make any sense. You should have ten years left.” He finished off his bottle. “Get me another one.”
“Ten years? For what”
“At thirty-two, you either die or you feed from a human and transition into a full Nephilim. Damn.” He closed his eyes and lifted the bottle to his mouth.
If he wasn’t happy with any of this, he could get in line. Life sucked right now, and all she wanted was her father. Distance was what she needed, and the bathroom was the farthest she could manage. She put the toilet lid down and sat, burying her face into her hands.
When she had enough courage to face him without crying, she walked back into the room. He was already halfway through the second bottle.
“I’ll need to get blood from somewhere.” He muttered to himself now as he finished off the bottle and grabbed another one.
“You’re not going to get it from me.” The prospect should horrify her, right? Crossing her arms over her middle, she studied him. She obviously didn’t impact him the same way he did her.
But his expression had changed—extra focused on her, like he was contemplating something unmentionable. A frightening thrill ran through her. She focused on the liquor bottle to distract herself. “Can an archangel even get drunk?”
“Not drunk enough.” He took another guzzle. Then another. Half the bottle was gone before he switched topics. “I’m gonna take you to Bishop.”
“Who’s that?”
Buddy made his way along Ram’s right leg, then pulled himself up over the man’s hips and circled a few times before trying to dig under the dark shirt. Kyria’s throat went dry at the sight of hard muscle above his waistband.
Ram glared at Buddy but made no attempt to remove him. “What is he doing?”
Should she pick the hedgehog up? Her hands so close to his zipper… her head swam.
She swallowed. “He likes to hide.” She shook her head. “Can the bishop find my father?”
It was foolish to let so much hope seep into her words, but the idea of having her dad back righted her world.
With a slow and gentle scoop of his rough hand, he sat Buddy on the pillow beside him. Rising from the bed, the now familiar rumbling vibrating through his chest, Ramiel headed to the door. “He’s not a bishop; that’s just his name. Let’s make this quick. I got things to do, and babysitting is not one of them.”
He didn’t look back as he went through the door, just assumed she would follow. She looked down at Buddy, who gave her his full attention. “I guess I don’t have a choice. But I can’t let him just boss me around, can I?”
Hands on her hips, she waited for Ramiel to realize she hadn’t followed.
He stepped back into the room and glared at her.
“Sorry. But I don’t like being ignored.”
The meanest scowl twisted his beautifully scarred face as he loomed in the doorway like a predator. “Being ignored by me is better than what I really want to do to you.” It sounded more like a sultry promise than a threat. He turned and disappeared through the door again.
Her abdomen tightened, and her core flooded with warmth. What did he want to do to her?
She bit on the soft flesh inside of her cheek and quickly followed. Ram was only a temporary means to find her father, she needed to remember that fact and stop acting like a naive virgin with her first boyfriend. Okay, so she was a virgin, but she wasn’t stupid, and he was in no way boyfriend material.
Kyria protested stealing the truck. But according to Ramiel, another stolen vehicle in this city wouldn’t matter.
She sighed as they got out in front of an abandoned church. Crossing the ethical line was easier when survival was pending. Was that how her father justified lying to her for all these years? Her safety?
The early morning sun softly slipped through the hollowed-out windows of the crumbling structure, stone walls held up by decaying wood and cement. Old prayers brushed across Kyria’s skin like aged paper carried by the wind.
Ramiel spoke, breaking the thick silence that surrounded the block. “We gotta get below. If he’s still down there.”
One wooden door still stood in place. The others had fallen off their hinges a long time ago.
Ram stood at her back, close enough that his warm breath swept across the base of her neck. One large scarred hand on her arm, he pulled her through the old building. But even with his guidance, it took them time to find the cellar door buried under layers of rubble and debris. That led to a stairwell that disappeared into a dark abyss.
The doorway at the bottom of the stairwell was so small Ram had to duck to enter the room.
She gasped as she entered.
Notes with formulas, charts, newspaper clippings, grainy photos, and bright fluorescent weather maps cluttered the walls. Even some voodoo dolls hung down from the water-stained ceiling.
A waddling rat scurried across Kyria’s shoes, and she jumped into Ram. A messy-haired, wild-eyed man in a frock coat lunged out from behind a tower of cardboard boxes, which went flying as he made a nose dive for the rodent.
“Ah ha! There you are.” It ran just out of his grasp, and he crawled on his belly like a crab right after it. “Oh no you don’t. Not this time. They told you something. Tell me.” But the rat was too quick, squeezing into a crack between flooring and a ruined wall, leaving the man with a handful of rodent hair.
“Fr
ack mother ducking rabbit licker.” The man jumped back to his feet and patted down the wrinkled, stained frock coat he wore, causing dust to fly everywhere.
Kyria coughed. Ramiel tilted his head back then eyed the door, as if he regretted bringing her here. Too bad. She wasn’t leaving. Not without some answers.
The crazy man spun around in a crouch. Then he stood, straightening his long coat, all his attention on her. “You’re late.”
Confused, Kyria made eye contact with Ramiel. She had no clue what to say to that.
With a deep sigh, Ramiel took the reins. “Bishop. We need help.”
“Reluctant hero” should be stamped across his forehead. She wished she didn’t have to rely on him so much.
Bishop didn’t speak, his stare never leaving her. He took a step closer. Needing something to stop her from running, she stretched her hand until her fingers found Ramiel’s.
“Bishop, we’re looking for the girl’s dad. An angel called Darius. Where is he?”
Bishop nodded. “The jealous bastards think they can overpower Mother and take Heaven. We showed them. She exiled the whole lot of them to Earth. Now they fight each other, the ones of Hell with solid black wings, against ones that hang on to hope with wings of gray.”
What about Dad? She refused to accept he was from Hell. No way was he evil.
Strong fingers gently tightened around hers, giving her a solid place to stand while her world crumbled.
Bishop tilted his head and stepped behind them. In a smooth motion, Ramiel rotated, putting her to his back.
Was this really the man Ramiel thought could give them information? His appearance was more of a mad scientist than a pious being. She almost expected him to throw back his head in an evil laugh.
The crazy man narrowed his eyes on her.
“Bishop, give me a location. Where is Darius?” Ramiel said.
Bishop shook his head and clicked his tongue as if he were gravely disappointed. “That’s not the right question. But I guess it’s easier than the other one.” His hand went into his pocket, and there was a sound like he was rolling marbles through his fingers—the only sound in the chamber. “He’s back. Back where you all started together.”
Unchained Desire Page 5
