Angel Fire
Angel Fire, Book 1
Marie Johnston
LE Publishing
Copyright © 2019 by Marie Johnston
Developmental Editing by Jennifer Bray-Weber
Copy Editing by Tera Cuskaden
Cover Art by Mayhem Cover Creations
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
He doesn’t have to like his new mate, even if she is the only angel to accept him.
Bryant should’ve behaved himself. Now he’s been ordered to find a mate. Easier said than done when a bloke like him looks the way he does in a realm full of angels. He’d rather be fighting the good fight in the human realm. But mating the ravishing female that claims him shouldn’t be a hardship. If only her father wasn’t the reason for his scars.
Perhaps mating the surly, scowling warrior wasn’t Odessa’s best idea. But she’s committed, and he’s…frustrating. Enticing. Carrying a grudge she knows nothing about. Yet when her boss winds up dead and she’s attacked, he’s there to save her.
Digging into the danger Odessa’s facing uncovers an ambitious plot against the realm. Good thing Bryant’s a persistent guy. He’ll stick to Odessa’s side and keep her safe, all so he can let her go in the end. Because one thing he’s learned about the down-to-earth angel is that she deserves better than him.
Except Odessa doesn’t want to be rid of the loyal warrior. But that’s an argument for a day when someone’s not trying to kill them.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About the Author
Also by Marie Johnston
Chapter 1
Humiliating.
Bryant Vale scanned the crowd of angels milling through the ornate, marbled ballroom. Groups of the not-quite-divine angelic creatures murmured and laughed with their heads thrown back. Some sipped white wine made from the sweet grapes of this realm that had been dispensed into delicate crystal goblets. All wore white, elegant robes, their wings of varying shades of gray, held high as they mingled and flirted with one another. All were having a fabulous time—at his expense.
Beside Bryant, Director Richter frowned at the haughty party-goers, “I can’t believe it.”
“What did you expect, Director?” Bryant kept his gravelly voice low. “Numen angels aren’t like divine angels in attitude, just beauty. They take one look at my ugly mug and decide to wait an eternity for their sync mate rather than settle with me.”
“It’d help if you didn’t look like you were going to murder whomever you looked at.”
Bryant lifted his wings in a shrug. The scar tissue on his face made it hard to smile. So did the director’s earlier words. You did this to yourself. A mate will mellow you, and more importantly, be there to aid in your healing when needed.
He didn’t expect the director to understand. Like Bryant, Director Richter had been gravely injured in a demon battle on Earth when his sync brand appeared, and he’d made it to his destined mate in hopes to properly bond and heal. Their paths differed drastically from there.
Director Richter had settled here in Numen, the realm between Heaven and Earth, with his new love. Bryant had watched his destined mate die horribly before they were bonded. Rather, instead of being bonded.
Standing on display like a human’s prized stallion at auction was salt on his wound, almost literally because he hadn’t healed properly without a mate’s energy. Unlike a nice-looking horse, Bryant received no bids.
No female accepted his offer to mate. None met his gaze. He mentally rolled his eyes when a couple of them approached from his right side, only to catch a full view of his old wounds when he faced them. They veered off to the punch bowl.
The females didn’t leave, though. Interest in whether or not he’d land a mate was too great now. Who would take the damaged male home?
Bryant’s wings twitched in irritation. He was a warrior. A protector of humankind against the demons that sought to control them. His life was work and more work, thankfully not in his own realm of Numen among these wankers, but down on Earth, among those souls he fought for. His steady absence isolated him from the reactions of his own people to the way he looked. The injuries he’d endured were garish at best. Even with his gunmetal gray wings splayed wide and his best white dressing gown—or robes as most Numen called them—draped over his muscular frame, no one saw beyond his mangled face.
Check it out, ladies. This is the best I’m going to get.
He gazed at the ballroom floor where angels mingled, enjoying the free entertainment. Mating galas attracted more than just the lonely. Old angels looked for a life partner and young angels sought an exciting mate instead of risking who destiny paired them with. Galas were a damn good reason to party. Bryant studied the conversations, the flagrant flirtation, the way females and males alike sashayed toward his fellow warriors. Many would find a mate for the night. Maybe two.
Bryant snorted. At least some bloke would be getting lucky.
“All right. Time to wrap this ceremony up.” Director Richter set down his punch and nodded to a member of Bryant’s warrior team. Urban banged the ceremonial gong. The sound reverberated through the room. Conversations hushed and attention focused on the dais—and Bryant.
Bryant clasped his hands behind his back, his shoulders tight. What would the director do now? Hopefully, stop this foolish pursuit and put him back in the field. The director accused him of being careless. Bryant considered himself fearless. Perhaps he was meant to die in battle. It was far better than enduring another night like this. Bryant’s destined mate had the right idea. He’d throw himself in front of a bus, too, if the director scheduled another such event.
Director Richter flared his downy wings to signal he was ready to speak. The room sank into stillness, the guests probably wondering what now?
“Honored guests,” the director intoned, “it is time to close this ceremony with one final opportunity to claim acceptance of Bryant Vale, honored warrior team leader.”
The silence was astounding. Many females suddenly had to inspect the corners for cobwebs. The rest searched the room for the poor soul who would offer herself up to Bryant.
A few more tense moments almost had Bryant squirming in his dressing gown, but he refused to give the audience the satisfaction. He’d been sliced by demon blades, burned by angel fire, yet this night ranked as one of the worst in his life. Wrap it up, already.
Director Richter opened his mouth to speak when the ten-foot high doors at the end of the ballroom swung open.
Every head turned to watch a tall, graceful female glide in. Bodies automatically parted, clearing a path. Her long legs carried her co
nfidently through the crowd without slowing. Bryant absorbed the vision marching in his direction.
Long locks of glossy hair cascaded from the elegant style atop her head. Mahogany curls caressed a strong face with stunning teal eyes framed by dark lashes. Her lips formed a perfect red bow.
She carried her wings high and proud with a subtle flare, hinting at the rank of her family. They were the lightest gray, the feathers reflecting the light and complementing her dark hair and vibrant eyes. His gaze drifted down until the silky, tanned flesh of her legs snagged his attention. Her confident stride swirled her white dressing gowns, allowing the slit in each side to tease any male with a heartbeat.
His perusal eventually made it back up to her face. A jolt of awareness hit him in the gut. She had been placidly assessing him the entire time. She spent more time on his face than all the other females in the ballroom combined. Why? He cursed the first emotion that surfaced. Hope. That this ethereal creature might find him attractive. He was too old for fairy tales.
He met her dauntless stare boldly, giving her the full force of his scrutiny.
Tearing her unsettling gaze away only to seek out Director Richter, her rich voice sent electrical shocks through Bryant’s body.
“Director, I accept this male.”
Odessa’s heart beat so loudly she swore the imposing male on the stage could hear it. He was everything she had hoped for and, oh, so much more. Bryant Vale radiated power, danger, and virility.
One of the first things she had noticed about him, other than his height and a shoulder width that suggested his robe was hiding ropes of muscle, were his amber eyes. They practically glowed with the emotion he buried deep inside. She’d noted with satisfaction how his gaze had trailed from her wings to her legs—her best asset. They were bronze and toned, and she didn’t mind showing them off. Some angels abandoned the robes for human fashion, but she rarely did unless she was among humans and needed to blend in.
Odessa forced herself to maintain eye contact with the stunned director.
Was she too late? Had the warrior already accepted another?
Gulping her anxiety down, Odessa concentrated on exuding strength and confidence. Some called her arrogant.
If only they knew.
Director Richter snapped his mouth shut and rushed on as if he was afraid she might change her mind. “Absolutely. Yes, yes. Come, my lady.”
He stepped to the edge of the stage to offer her a hand as she climbed the few stairs. When she reached the top, she headed straight to Bryant. She buried her hands into the folds of her robe lest she betray her nerves by wringing them.
A few hours ago, she had worried her decision was rash, impulsive. She’d read the missive announcing the gala and, well, she had needs. After rushing home to clean up and change, she was here, accepting a mating offer with a stranger. Standing next to him confirmed the description of her feelings as rash and impulsive was inadequate. This was insane.
She peered up at him from the corner of her eye. No emotion registered on his face. His whiskey gaze bored into the far wall. Intense was how she would’ve described his picture. He was formidable in person, like a stone wall stood next to her.
The crowd stood motionless, spellbound to watch the scene play out. She imagined it was more drama than they all could’ve hoped for, and she was loath to give it to them. She preferred a quiet life, but any quieter and no one would notice if she suddenly disappeared.
Hence why she was here, in front of angels she’d known all her life, or had never cared to meet. The energy of the crowd pushed against the stage. She nearly frowned, but that’d give them the wrong impression. The anticipatory glee on their faces, as if they waited for her to run, aghast at his appearance.
Too bad. Wasn’t happening. Her sanity was invested in this decision. Bryant Vale’s fierce vibe didn’t scare her as badly as the males who’d attacked her all those years ago—who were still at large.
Were they the ones who were following her? Would they stop once she mated? Bryant Vale was an honored warrior for their people; he protected humans from the demons sneaking into their realm. If he’d had fewer accolades, she wouldn’t have gone through with this.
Resolute, Odessa faced Bryant as he pivoted toward her. Did he intentionally keep his damaged side away from the crowd? Her gaze roamed over his features. His scarring wasn’t atrocious. It gave him quite the thuggish appeal, especially with the twisted ear, but it didn’t overpower his masculine features. His dark hair was trimmed down to the scalp. At a distance, he’d looked bald, and he was, sort of. She didn’t think much of his left side could grow hair any longer. He had broad cheekbones and a square jaw, a straight nose and high forehead. From wingtip to toe, he oozed power.
Bryant’s brows drew in as if he waited for her repulsion, and when she didn’t express any, he didn’t trust why. In a realm of beautiful immortals, she doubted he’d been entirely accepted since he’d earned those scars. She could sympathize. Not all scars were external.
The director moved beside them to face the audience and preside over the ceremony. He leaned in. “May I have your name?”
“Odessa Montclaire.” She smiled, predicting his reaction to her name.
Bryant’s eyes widened. The director stammered over the introductions. Hushed conversation rippled through the audience. Most recognized her last name, but Odessa didn’t know many in attendance. She’d only been back a few years since her analyst training, and she hadn’t grown up in this section of Numen.
The Montclaires had been pivotal in top branches of Numen government. Her father liked to pretend he still was. She’d grown up in a privileged, spoiled house. At least until that night.
The ceremony continued. Since they weren’t destined mates, Director Richter used the power of his station to bestow the sync mark upon them. She had no time to wait around for her brand to organically appear like it did when a Numen finally had a destined mate somewhere in the world. Her inner left wrist tingled. She ignored the urge to glance down to see the outline of a single wing, one half of a pair.
When it came time for their vows, Odessa’s spine tingled as Bryant’s rough voice bit off her name in a clipped British accent.
He must’ve either lived in England for several years or had a parent from there. It wasn’t unusual for Numen to live on Earth before they settled into their angelic duties. Some chose to remain on Earth, conceal their true nature, and provide aid to those in need. Was it his mother or father? Or both? Odessa couldn’t wait to learn about him.
A shiver of anticipation flitted through her. They were getting mated. They would intimately learn about each other tonight. Her breath caught as the subject she’d been solidly ignoring in case it caused her to abort her mission crowded foremost in her mind.
Could she lie with a male she just met?
Would he be gentle? Or rough?
Either way, from the power radiating off him, it would be quite an experience. And probably not a bad one. At all.
It was time to clasp their wrists so their marks touched. Odessa willed her palms to stop sweating, but she couldn’t quit thinking about where else he’d be touching her later that night.
His skin was on fire. Warmth seeped in, soothing her fears and chasing her personal demons into the shadows. He had a strong grip and didn’t loosen it for her. She glanced up. Bryant’s expression was indiscernible. If she had to label it, she’d say he looked suspicious, and definitely not pleased. Was he not attracted to her?
No matter. As long as he slept under her roof, then she could finally sleep, too. Wouldn’t dread the memories her empty house dredged up or hide in her closet at every noise.
Director Richter completed the ceremony and presented them to the crowd. Her hand slid out of Bryant’s much larger one. She was caught off guard by enthusiastic clapping and whistling from a section toward the back, near the table with the drinks.
From the way Bryant scowled at them, and the information from his gala anno
uncement, Odessa guessed that was his team, six fellow warriors who trusted him with their lives. Maybe they could convince him this sync was a good thing.
The rest of the night was a whirlwind; they didn’t have time to say a word to each other. Strangers shook their hands and offered congratulations. His fellow warriors swarmed, but not even their exuberance cracked a smile on Bryant. She smiled enough for both of them, ever the dignitary’s daughter.
Finally, the gala wound down and angels filtered away. Bryant faced her and said the first sentence she’d heard him utter other than his vows.
“Lead me to your place, Odessa.” His tone snapped on her name. Without waiting for a response, he stalked toward the exit and disappeared through the tall, wooden doors.
Odessa inhaled a shaky breath. This was it. It was for real. She followed him out.
Her heart thumped and she was grateful her robe hid the flush creeping up her torso. The thought of him claiming her certainly wasn’t unwelcome, just…so soon. She wasn’t the one-night-stand type—she wasn’t her sister. Bryant was an imposing male, exuding an intoxicating scent that induced a rush of pheromones, but he was obviously not happy with being forced to sync. He actually seemed less pleased that it was her he had mated with.
It hadn’t occurred to her that the willingness to mate would be one-sided. Had the gala not been his idea? Why would he have been forced into mating? Regardless, he had been, and she had accepted.
Lifting her chin and gathering her courage, she lifted off, her wings whispering into the night. Bryant’s looming presence stayed behind her. She touched down outside her front door and waited for him to land before tapping the security panel of the door. He was a wall behind her. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go except into her own house that was now his, or smack against his wide, hard chest. Once they stepped into her foyer, she nervously peeked at him from under her lashes. Determination darkened his gaze.
Angel Fire: Angel Fire, Book 1 Page 1
