A Caress of Wings: A Renegade Angels Novella (An eSpecial from New American Library)

by Day, Sylvia

  She plugged the drain and turned the water on, then summoned a pair of scissors into her hand with a thought, using them to cut his long black hair and scraggly beard as short as possible.

  When she graduated to using a straight razor on his face, she found herself riveted by the features she revealed with each careful swipe of the blade. Even haggard and drawn, the perfection of his bone structure was unmistakable. She found herself looking forward to seeing him at a normal weight, seeing his face filled out and restored to its former beauty.

  Finished with shaving, she set to work on scrubbing his body. She emptied and refilled the tub three times before she felt certain he was as clean as the mortal bathing process allowed. Then she wrapped him in a towel and carried him out to her sofa.

  Since she didn’t require sleep as mortals did, she had no bed, so she made him as comfortable as possible with what she had, bundling him in as many blankets as she could find. Then she pulled a chair next to him, set up an IV line, and transfused a pint of her powerful angelic blood into him.

  Trevor began healing before her eyes. A healthy flush spread across his alabaster skin, erasing his scars in the process. His flesh began to pump, his breathing becoming deeper and more even, his heartbeat becoming stronger and steadier.

  She surprised herself by reaching out to touch his jaw. “I’m very sorry it took us so long to find you.”

  His head turned as if he was responding to her, pressing his cheek into her palm. She reached gently into his mind, dulling the recollections of his ordeal. She sealed them behind a haze, like a song you know you’ve heard but can’t remember where. Later, she would take the memories from him completely, but for now it was best not to. It was bad enough to be emotionally empty; it would only make it worse if he felt mentally empty as well.

  Satisfied that he was on his way to a full physical recovery, Siobhán started a saline drip to provide him with necessary fluids. Then she stripped out of her blood-soiled clothes and showered. By the time she left to begin cataloging the new infected intakes, Trevor was looking almost healthy and she felt the strangest sense of deep-seated relief.

  Chapter 3

  With one last look at the rows of occupied hospital beds and endless stretches of hanging intravenous lines, Siobhán left the infirmary and headed to the lab to call Adrian Mitchell, captain of the Sentinels.

  She sat at her desk and hit the speed dial for Adrian’s home office, her mind turning to thoughts of her leader and the trials he was presently facing, many of which came because of his forbidden love for a once-mortal woman named Lindsay. It was an affection that Siobhán—and every other Sentinel—couldn’t relate to; they all remained as emotionless as they’d been created to be. Only Adrian had been changed enough by his time on earth to grow a heart.

  “Mitchell,” Adrian greeted her on the fourth ring.

  “Captain. Siobhán here.” Adrian had tasked her with studying the disease ravaging the vampire ranks and she’d been working ceaselessly on that assignment for weeks.

  She was the one who’d inadvertently discovered that Sentinel blood cured the illness. Considering the tens of thousands of vampires in North America alone and the less than two hundred Sentinels left in existence, it was information they couldn’t afford to have the vampires discover before an alternate cure was found. When panic about the disease spread faster than the disease itself—which would definitely happen, it was only a matter of time—Sentinels could be hunted to extinction for their healing blood.

  “How are you progressing?” he asked.

  “Slowly but surely. I’ve got a dozen infected in stasis now. We can keep them alive with steady blood transfusions, but they have to stay anesthetized or they’re impossible to control.” She didn’t have to elaborate; Adrian knew how mindlessly violent they were. When he’d come to visit her here in the lab, he had seen them in action firsthand.

  “How quickly do they lose higher brain function?”

  She was intrigued by the question. “How far do you want me to go to find out? They’re already infected by the time I get them. If you want a play-by-play of what happens from exposure to illness, I’ll need to deliberately infect healthy subjects.”

  “Do it. Our blood is a cure, so we can reverse the damage.”

  It was a brutal order, but Adrian had the strength of conviction to see it carried out. It was one of the many reasons why he was the Sentinel leader and why the Sentinels still respected that leadership, despite the fact that his love for Lindsay—who was now a fledgling vampire—broke the very law they’d been sent to earth to enforce. That law barring fraternization with mortals had been on Siobhán’s mind a lot over the last couple days since she’d found Trevor.

  It had all begun with the Watcher angels. The Watchers had been sent to earth to observe and report on the advancement of Man without interference, but they’d disobeyed and began mating with the mortals instead. This development displeased the Creator greatly and the Sentinels had been sent to punish the Watchers.

  The Watchers were stripped of their wings and became known as the Fallen—the first vampires from which all other vampires came into being. The Fallen were more powerful than the minion vampires they created. They were stronger, faster, and able to walk in sunlight—they also had nothing left to lose.

  “Have you been able to spot any patterns in the rapidity of progression?” Adrian asked.

  Some minions were dead within a few days, others lasted a few weeks, and still others appeared to be immune. Why?

  “I think I’m on to something in that regard.” Her excitement came through in her voice. “I’m not entirely positive yet, but it seems as if the advancement varies depending on how far removed the minion is from the Fallen heading their vampiric hierarchy.”

  “You need to test Fallen blood,” he surmised.

  “It would be helpful, yes,” she conceded, knowing how difficult it would be to attain. “Then I could see if it at least slows the development of the disease.”

  They discussed the logistics for a few more minutes. Then Adrian signed off with the order to keep him posted.

  “Yes, Captain,” she said. “Of course.”

  Hanging up, Siobhán found herself eager to return to one of her patients—a handsome mortal with the eyes of an angel. She’d spent more time in her room over the last forty-eight hours than she ever had, unable to resist watching the health return to Trevor’s body.

  She told herself she had a valid reason for being so focused on him; it was about time someone looked after him. He’d been through so much and since she was the one who’d claimed him, it was her responsibility.

  It was irrelevant that the duty just happened to give her a great deal of pleasure.

  * * *

  She was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. Trevor watched her as if from a distance, his warrioress angel. She was a small thing but fierce, her body clothed in urban camouflage and Army-issued jungle boots. Her hair was as black as his and her eyes just as blue, although her irises glimmered, as if filled with cerulean flames. She was such a contradiction—part otherworldly beauty, part contemporary woman.

  Her hair was styled in a sleek bob around her piquant face, and her trim, curvy body was stunningly framed by those awesome wings. They were massive and certainly heavy, but she moved them with ease. They weren’t white like the pictures and drawings of angels he’d seen all his life. They were multihued and reminded him of the dawn—pale pink feathers darkening to blues and purples with a touch of gold filaments. They were such feminine wings, both playful and seductive.

  With a sigh, Trevor settled deeper into the miasma he floated in, feeling warm and at peace. He’d gone from hell to heaven . . . because of her. She’d saved him. She’d killed the things that had tortured him for so long, taking their repulsive lives with gruesome deaths. He’d listened to their screams with a near maniacal joy, and when he had seen the copious amounts of blood splattered on his guardian angel’s clothes and h
er beautiful face, he’d loved her all the more.

  Then she’d ordered that hellhole burned to the ground. She had stood there with him and watched it go up in flames, making certain he knew that his ordeal was well and truly over. He’d been avenged.

  His gratitude and adoration for her was so intense it swamped him. It crashed over him like the gentle waves he laid upon, overflowing his eyes with tears.

  “Trevor.”

  He sighed at the sound of his name spoken in her melodious voice. There was a rhythm to her words that moved him, lured him. He thought he might follow that voice anywhere. Even out of blessed, comfortable unconsciousness.

  “Trevor, wake up now.”

  Opening his eyes, he looked up to find his angel leaning over him, and his breath caught at her incandescent beauty. She had such pale, creamy skin and it was beautifully framed by her inky hair. Her lips were plush and berry ripe, so soft-looking he wished he could touch them with his fingertips. She was the first and only thing he’d yet seen after endless days in pitch dark. If she was also the last thing he saw, he’d die a happy man.

  “Thank you.” He was startled by the strength and fullness of his voice. She seemed startled by it, too, blinking a moment before the faintest hint of a frown marred the space between her brows.

  Swallowing, he realized his throat was no longer parched and aching. And then he understood. She hadn’t saved his life; she’d come to collect him after his death.

  “Damn it,” he growled. “I died in that hell pit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m dead, right?” He looked around, finding heaven to be . . . not what he’d expected. They were in a small, windowless room. He lay on a couch. There was a coffee table and an entertainment center with the standard equipment. A door set off to the side appeared to lead into a bathroom, while another led . . . somewhere else.

  “No, you’re not.” Her mouth curved into something like a smile, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. “How are you feeling?”

  Trevor did a quick mental inventory, amazed to find that he felt pretty good. Awesome, actually. “I feel great.”

  “I did a hack job on your hair,” she said with a regretful wince. “Sorry about that, but it was in bad shape.”

  He sat up, allowing the blankets tucked around his shoulders to fall into his lap. He shoved his hands through his hair, assessing its length. Lowering his arms, he looked for evidence of the bites he’d endured and found none. Then he stared at her, wondering if he’d finally gone insane and this encounter was merely a figment of his warped imagination.

  “Where are your wings?”

  “Tucked away.”

  “I can’t see them.” Shit. What did it mean that he couldn’t see them?

  “Would you like to?”

  “Yes. Yes, I would. Please.”

  She stood and backed up to an open space.

  He watched, riveted, as sinuous tendrils of smoke appeared above her shoulders and gradually took on the shape and substance of wings. The same gorgeous-as-the-dawn wings he remembered. Unable to help himself, he pushed off the blankets and stood. He moved toward her with his hand outstretched, wanting to touch.

  “Trevor.”

  God, he loved her voice. Even now, when it sounded choked. “Yeah?”

  Her wings disappeared an instant before he touched them. “You’re naked.”

  “I am, yes.” He glanced down the length of his body and cringed inwardly. He was way, way too thin. And pale as a ghost.

  “I brought you some clothes.” She gestured to the neatly folded pile of clothes on the coffee table. “They’re probably going to be a little big, but you’ll grow into them. You should put them on.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is nudity a bad thing around here?”

  Her lips twitched; then an actual smile broke free, dazzling him. “You’re really, truly not dead. We’re presently in Ontario, California. And, yes, in Southern California nudity can still get you arrested.”

  “I’m alive.” He tried to let that information sink in, but it continued to hover in the realm of implausibility.

  “You are. You should sit down. You’ve suddenly grown very pale.”

  Taking her advice, he sat. “I’m still alive, and you’re an angel.”

  “That’s right.” She resumed her seat by the couch, looking like a wicked pixie with her diminutive size, black T-shirt and boots, and urban camouflage pants. “Two nights ago, my crew and I raided a vampire nest just outside of Seattle. We found you there, in the basement. You were kept captive for almost a year.”

  “Vampire nest.” Hunched over, he gripped his head. “This has to be some sort of madness-induced hallucination.”

  “You can go with that if you like. Whatever makes it easier for you to process.” She hesitated a moment, then asked, “Are you hungry?”

  His stomach was gnawing with the need for food, but he said, “I don’t know that I can keep solid food down. I’ve only been fed intravenously since I was taken.”

  By vampires. Taken by vampires. A harsh bark of laughter burst from his throat.

  She studied him with a contemplative tilt of her head, as if she was trying to gauge whether he’d gone off the deep end or not. “Physically, you’re completely fit. You’ve lost muscle tone, of course, but you’ll build that back quickly. What would you like? A Big Mac? A steak? Seafood?”

  The whole conversation was too surreal. “Do you have a name?”

  “Siobhán.”

  “Shiv-awn,” he murmured, absorbing the sound of it. “That’s beautiful. It suits you.”

  “Oh, well . . . thank you.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sighed, feeling very awkward and out of his depth, an extremely unusual state for him when talking with a stunningly gorgeous woman. “I’m not thinking well on my feet. My brain seems to have atrophied along with my muscles.”

  “You’re doing very well, Trevor,” she praised. “I’m amazed at you. There are very few mortals strong enough to come out of such an ordeal with their mind intact.”

  “It doesn’t feel intact,” he muttered. “It feels scattered to hell and back.”

  “Time will make it better, I promise.” She stood and set her hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I’ll just step into the hallway while you change. Come out when you’re ready, and we’ll talk more about what you want to eat and I can answer any questions you might have. I’m sure you have a lot of them.”

  He nodded. Oh, yeah.

  The moment the door closed behind her retreating back, Trevor felt bereft. Everything lost its color when she left the room, and a mild flare of panic vibrated in his chest. How much time did he have with her? He was certain guardian angels didn’t stick around indefinitely. At some point she would move on to another assignment.

  His heart began to pound and his hands shook. The room tilted and he sucked in a quick breath to stave off a wave of nausea. He needed her. She couldn’t leave him.

  “Siobhán . . .” He tried to call her back, but his voice was a pained whisper. She had to be nearby. He needed her to balance him and restore his equanimity. Without her, he was the terrified man in the pit.

  Swiftly yanking on the clothes she’d left for him, he hurried to join her.

  Chapter 4

  Trevor Descansos had a voice that made her skin tingle. Whether it was hoarse from endless screams and pleas for mercy as it had been in the basement, or deep, smooth, and utterly masculine as it was now that he was healed, Siobhán had never experienced anything like the reaction she had to every word that left his mouth. His voice struck a chord that resonated inside her and rattled her equanimity. His voice made her feel.

  The door to her room opened and Trevor appeared, looking human again in a black T-shirt and jeans that were indeed too big for his reduced frame. Siobhán was eager to see him return to the way he’d appeared in his memories—filled out and leanly muscular, his skin a warm golden color and
his eyes bright with happiness instead of haunted by shadows.

  “So,” she began, taken aback by her need to clear her throat. Something about him seemed to arrest all of her physical and mental processes. “What are you hungry for?”

  “How much time have you got?”

  That made her smile. “Come to the lab with me, and I’ll give you some paper to write a list.”

  “Lab?”

  Siobhán started down the hall. “Yes, you’re presently in an underground storage facility that I’ve converted into a laboratory, holding facility, and infirmary. I’m studying a disease that has been spreading through the vampire ranks. I’m trying to ascertain what it is, if there’s an acceptable cure, how quickly it’s spreading, mutations and variations . . . everything, really.”

  He stared at her. “You’re a lab rat?”

  “Well, yes . . . I suppose I am.” She smiled.

  “Isn’t that a bit . . . mundane for an angel?”

  “Someone has to do it. Might as well be me, since I like it. Plus I have an aptitude for it.”

  Running a hand over his head, he said, “I would think you’d have an aptitude for everything. You’re an angel.”

  She opened a door and ushered him into an impressive laboratory. When he whistled, she felt a rush of pride.

  “Do you like it?” she asked, trying to see the familiar space as he might.

  Glass-fronted refrigerators lined one wall, displaying the test tubes and Petri dishes she kept inside them. The opposite wall was lined with sinks and wall-mounted cupboards. Two rows of long, aluminum-topped worktables ran parallel to one another down the length of the room. Beakers, microscopes, centrifuges, and more littered the tops in organized chaos.

  “What’s not to like?” he said. “It’s a med geek’s dream room.”

  Reminded that Trevor had once been an EMT and med student, she said, “If you ever feel like lending a hand, I won’t say no.”