Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Rhiannon was still smiling that smug, caught-you-red-handed smile when she said, “That’s a real nifty little power you have there, being able to turn things to gold.”

  Michael bit the inside of his cheek and eyed her hard. This conversation was both frustrating the heck out of him, and turning him on beyond belief. His gaze slipped to her mouth, and his gut clenched. He wanted to kiss her so badly….

  She licked her lips.

  His heartbeat sped up.

  Her smile broadened.

  Michael blinked. She was playing with him!

  Michael pushed away from the car and took a deep breath, schooling his senses. Never in his entire existence had he been the one not in control of any given conversational exchange with a woman. Until now.

  “Ladies first,” he said, gesturing to the side door of the restaurant.

  Rhiannon moved away from the car and approached the door with him. He pulled it open and waited for her to go in, but there, she stopped and turned to face him. They were very close, and Michael could not only smell the shampoo scent of her hair, but her own, unique scent underneath. His heart thrummed harder in response. “When I was little,” she said softly between them, “a priest told me to ‘turn my back on the devil,’ and I told him that if I ever came across the devil, the last thing I would do is turn my back on him because I would want him right in front of me where I can keep my eye on him.”

  “I’m not the devil,” Michael replied, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to keep the secretive, seductive, and admittedly somewhat cruel smile from spreading across his lips.

  “No, of course not,” she said, still smiling. “You’re probably an angel.”

  She turned away from him then, offering him her back as she said she would never do, and it took him a moment to pull his big, strong self together enough to follow her into the restaurant.

  She was right about one thing. If she hadn’t had reservations, he could easily have procured for them any table they’d wanted, and it would have come with the best service. The owner of the restaurant was a friend of Michael’s, and Michael was an influential force with the police department. And if that hadn’t been enough, then yes. He could have pulled what she’d so eloquently termed the Jedi Mind Trick.

  But as luck would have it, she did have reservations, and the experienced cop in Michael knew that the more they stuck to doing things the good, old-fashioned human way, the less tempted he would be to abuse his powers with her.

  For some reason, that had become important to him. It was a new development, it was somewhat surprising, and it had come all of a sudden. But it was what it was.

  They managed the privacy of the more or less secluded, admittedly romantic shadows of a corner table. Michael helped her remove her jacket, a very expensive Burberry Brit number that he knew she used for camouflage, and then he removed his as well and laid them both over the backs of their chairs.

  A floating candle in the shape of an orchid dressed the table in soft, yellow-white light, a basket of various, fresh-baked breads and dipping sauces was set before them by the maître d’, and the waiter was at their side in an instant with the wine list. They ordered a well-aged red, another taste they seemed to have in common. When the waiter left to fulfill their order, Rhiannon laced her fingers over the table and leaned in. “So how do you do it, anyway?”

  “Do what?” he asked innocently, even though he knew good and well that she was referring to the chest filled with gold coins he’d left in her apartment living room.

  “How do you face your job every day when you have the means to do and be anything you want? I may not have figured out exactly what kind of supernatural you are just yet, but I know damned well you don’t have to fight crime for a living. You don’t have to face the pain of what you face all the time. So, how, and why, do you do it, detective?”

  Michael blinked, once more completely and utterly taken aback by the woman sitting across from him. He hadn’t been expecting that. He hadn’t figured her out after all.

  The waiter came with the wine while Rhiannon was waiting for his response, and he could tell that she could read the surprise in his expression. He waited for their glasses to be filled and for their server to once more leave before he focused on the wine, lifted the glass, and said, “To changing the world.”

  Rhiannon didn’t miss a beat. She smiled as she lifted her glass as well. “For the better,” she added softly. He nodded in silent agreement, they toasted gently, and each of them took a sip.

  “I see,” she said as they set their drinks back down. “So I’m to believe you do it for altruistic reasons.”

  “You’re one to talk, Miss Dante.”

  Rhiannon’s smile slipped a little, and she averted her gaze.

  “I’d imagine you could very easily find a way to make an extremely comfortable and danger-free living using your powers,” he told her. “Let’s see....” He looked up and pretended to attempt to remember scenes of the gargoyle battle. “If I’m not mistaken, you utilized surprisingly strong telekinesis, manipulated loads of fire in all sorts of interesting manners, and even called lightning from the very skies.” He cocked his head to one side, re-captured her gaze, and added, “Very nice job toning down the noise, by the way. That was especially impressive.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’d wager the scope of your abilities very nearly rivals my own.”

  “I can also heal.”

  Michael froze.

  A darkness moved through him, so heavy it pulled his heart downward and filled his lungs with shadow. “Well then,” he said softly – so softly. “You’re one up on me.”

  “I know,” she said, her tone also very soft. However, hers was tentative, not surprised or angry. Her gaze skirted to his left bicep. “I figured that if you could heal, you probably would have mended that back at the studio.”

  Michael looked down at his arm. A gash peeked out from beneath his black tee-shirt. He hadn’t seen it earlier because it had been hidden by his jacket. At some point during their fight, something had slammed into him hard enough to break his skin even while it left the leather of his coat intact.

  The wound was not overly bad, but it had bled, leaving dried red in the grooves of his inner elbow. It was several inches long and at least an inch deep, and looked like it was going to bruise like a mother.

  He wondered why his vampirism hadn’t healed it. Had he not fed enough? Or was it something else? Something about it not being a vampire-related wound like a sunburn? Or something having to do with Samael taking his healing ability away? He still had a little to learn about his current condition.

  “I can heal it,” she offered gently, nervously. “I mean, if you’d like.” Her voice was no more than a whisper now, and when he looked back up to meet her gaze, he realized that she was actually afraid to offer such a thing. Not because she thought she couldn’t do it, but because she thought he wouldn’t want her to. Because maybe he was jealous he couldn’t do it himself.

  Oh, Rhiannon….

  Emotion swirled within him, crazy and strong. So many thoughts chased each other through his head one after another, he was lost in them. He had been able to heal once, and had even been nicknamed The Healer by his brothers, but the Fallen One had taken that from him. And there was anger there, but not at Rhiannon for having an ability he didn’t have, but for the fact that he didn’t have it any longer in the first place. And he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed the wound until now; Rhiannon was that much of a distraction. Finally, the fact that she was so very weak and yet generous enough to want to heal him – him, the man she really didn’t trust as far as she could throw him – was the icing on the amazing cake.

  He was completely thrown by her.

  The waiter chose that very moment to approach the table. Michael looked up to find that it wasn’t the waiter after all, but the restaurant owner. “Oh dear. Detective, are you quite all right?” He was looking very worriedly at Michael’s wound.


  Michael forced himself into control mode. It took more effort than he would have liked. “It’s fine, Giancarlo, I promise. Just a scratch.”

  He pushed out his chair and stood. As immature as it might have been, rising to his full height gave him a little more air and a much-needed boost of confidence. “I’ll just visit the men’s room and clean it up. If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded to Rhiannon, who smiled shyly back, and then he left the table.

  His archess was unwittingly making him an out-of-control wreck. He was a vampire, a Nightmare, and a goddamned archangel, for crying out loud, and Rhiannon had turned him into a bumbling moron.

  Maybe while he was in the restroom, he could not only clean his wound, but locate his balls too. That would be good.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I’ll return in a moment for your orders,” said the waiter, who, if his name was any indication, was actually the owner of the restaurant.

  He left, and Rhiannon sat unmoving, still feeling stunned from head to toe by everything that had transpired that day. She watched the detective leave, her eyes roving over his broad, strong back and long legs and his tight little bubble-like –

  She swallowed, closed her eyes, and put her elbows on the table. Then she placed her head in her hands. Her forehead was hot to her fingertips. Maybe she was running a fever. It would explain her behavior.

  Of all of the abilities she’d been mysteriously granted in this life, healing was the one that drained her the worst. She was so tired right now, she should not have offered to heal anyone who didn’t desperately need it. It would have taken what small bit of strength she had left and turned her into a crabby, sluggish, basically miserable piece of flesh.

  And yet, the words had come out of her mouth. She barely knew the man, and really didn’t have reason to trust him, especially since she now knew he was the masked man from the gala and therefore was keeping secrets from her. But she’d seen him bleeding, and she’d imagined how much it must have hurt, and the healer in her had simply stepped forward. As shameful as it may have been, she was desperately relieved that he hadn’t taken her up on her offer. She had an almost OCD-like desire to spare the last bit of her strength after a fight. She always did this just in case someone had a heart attack near her or she came across a little boy with leukemia or there was a car accident, something like that. She would have hated herself if she’d closed up a scratch and ruined her chances of helping someone who really needed it.

  Rhiannon sighed. She was so confused.

  She lifted her glass, put it to her lips, and was just about to swallow a much needed second sip of her wine when someone suddenly slipped into the chair across the table from her. When she saw who it was, she choked a little, barely got the liquid down, and felt it burn the back of her nose as she narrowly avoided allowing to squirt through her nostrils.

  As soon as she could talk, she leaned forward and whispered, “Mimi! Oh my God, what are you doing here? How the hell did you know where I was?” Her inner mommy-ness was scolding her for her language, but she was too shocked to care much.

  Mimi grinned from where she sat straight as a bolt in the detective’s chair. “I put my phone in the upper zip pocket of your jacket when you weren’t wearing it at the studio,” Mimi explained to her and pointed to the leather jacket over the back of Rhiannon’s chair. “Then all I had to do was use the lost phone app.” Her grin broadened and she blinked innocently.

  Rhiannon looked from her to the jacket and then back again. Then she set down her wine glass and felt the space behind the zipper of her jacket pocket. Sure enough, there was a very flat rectangular bulge behind it. She never used that pocket, and it was always zipped up. Mimi must have known that.

  She unzipped the pocket and extracted the phone, which had been set to silent. Mimi continued. “Of course, I asked Angel where you were going next, but she wasn’t sharing.” Mimi’s face contorted into a look of frustrated concentration. “That girl is pretty slick. She skirted all my questions with real skill.”

  “Mimi, you can’t be here right now. What about your aunt? She’ll be worried sick! I have to call her.”

  “She’s asleep already,” Mimi said, rolling her eyes. “She got up way too early this morning and now she can’t stay awake at night, even when we’re playing cards together. Emanuel and I actually beat her and Alex at Bridge the other day just because they were partners and Aunt B was falling asleep on Alex. Mr. V told her to take a vacation, but she thinks she has to take care of him or something.”

  Rhiannon was struggling to find the right thing to say. Mimi was not supposed to be there right now! She was supposed to be at home! Angel had taken her there personally! Mimi must have immediately gone upstairs to her room, then turned around and crawled out through the laundry chute again. She certainly hadn’t wasted any time.

  But she must have had a reason for escaping and finding Rhiannon. Mimi wasn’t a hot head. She was a very logical, mature child. Usually.

  And it was also clear that Mimi was upset about how tired her aunt was. Mimi’s mother, Adrienne, had died when she was just a baby. Mimi’s father, Daniel Tanniym, had died of cancer when Mimi was five. Mimi’s aunt, Bess Tanniym, was the only family she had left.

  She also knew why Bess worked as hard as she did. Bess respected Mr. Verdigri, thought of him as a grandfather to her niece, and she was also worried about him. Mr. V was rather elderly, though he neither showed nor acted it. Bess wasn’t just the cook of the household, she was more or less its mother hen.

  There was so much to discuss with Mimi, and the situation was so unexpected, Rhiannon found herself shaking her head. “Mimi, I have to at least tell Mr. V where you are, just in case your aunt wakes up.”

  Mimi bit her lip. “You get to stay out late tonight and you didn’t tell anyone you were going to.”

  “I’m a big girl, Mimi. I’m allowed to stay up late once in a while.”

  Mimi blushed at this, and averted her gaze. It was very, very difficult for nine-year-olds to come to grips with the fact that they weren’t yet adult. Normally, they just chose to ignore that little verity, figuring that it would go away in time – and usually, it did. But every now and then, a reminder inexorably popped up. And those always sucked.

  Rhiannon told her phone to “Call Mr. V,” and like the ever-dependable Gal Friday that she was, Siri obeyed. Rhiannon made the call short and sweet. “Mr. Verdigri, Mimi is with me, and she’s fine. She’ll be staying with me for dinner and I’ll bring her home as soon as we’ve finished.”

  Though he was understandably surprised to hear that Mimi had vanished for the second time in one day, Mr. V said very little as well, obviously trusting Rhiannon to do what was best.

  When Rhiannon hung up and re-pocketed her phone, she fixed Mimi with a hard gaze. “Mimi, I don’t even know where to start – ”

  “Rhee, please,” Mimi interrupted. “I don’t have much time to talk to you. I had to wait until Detective Muscles left the table, and I’ve been hiding in the coat check closet for the last fifteen minutes.”

  Rhiannon’s eyes widened.

  “I saw something, Rhiannon,” Mimi said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Back at the warehouse. I know I did. But when I mentioned it to Angel, she changed the subject like she hadn’t heard me. And so did Mr. V when I told him about it. And there’s no way I’m going to tell my aunt about it. If I do, she’ll know I skipped school.”

  Rhiannon closed her mouth and sat back. She studied Mimi’s face carefully, and she saw something there in the depths of the girl’s eyes that made the base of her skull feel cold. “What did you see?”

  “It was a face. I know it was. It was in the bricks of the studio wall, and it was watching me when Angel and I were getting into a cab. We were leaving the smoothie place and I just looked back, and….” Her voice drifted off, and Rhiannon could tell that she was stuck in her memory, and that it was an uncomfortable place to be. “Rhee, please be honest with me. You’re the only one I know
I can really trust no matter what.” She waited a minute and then leaned forward. “Did I imagine it? Or was there a person in the rocks?”

  Children were wonderful, alien-like creatures. They were human, sort of, but only in all of the good ways. They hadn’t yet learned how to be truly deceptive, other than what little bit of deception would keep them up later at night or help them skip gym class or get them an extra cookie. They hadn’t closed themselves off to the lessons of history and science. They could walk and talk and laugh, and the feel of a small, freely offered hand within your own in times of pain was a great comfort. They could read and write and reason, and in fact they were better at the last one than most adults were. Their minds were open to fact and physics and the wonders of the Cosmos.

  But this came with a downside. It was a small down side, and in general, it was certainly worth the expanding universes of their young minds. It was just that in this specific case, the downside was that because children had open minds and they could reason, they sometimes noticed things that adults refused to. And when they did, you were faced with a choice: Either validate what they had noticed, or lie to a child.

  Rhiannon had done a lot of things in her life, and some of them would be deemed immoral by many. But she would die a slow death before she out and out lied to a child. Angel obviously hadn’t seen the gargoyle for herself, and had probably not wanted to bring any attention to Mimi’s “wild imagination.” But Rhiannon knew better, and she wasn’t going to do Mimi the Snuffleupagus-like injustice of not believing her.

  “You didn’t imagine it,” she said softly.

  Mimi didn’t move. She barely seemed to breathe as she stared at Rhiannon, most likely searching for any hint of artifice.

  Rhiannon took a deep breath and leaned in once more. She placed her hands on the table, laced her fingers, and said, “What you saw was –”

  “Mind if I join you two?”