Northern Lights

by Debra Dunbar

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Nice of you to invite yourself for a sleepover. Don’t they teach you angels any manners up in Aaru?”

  I smiled, putting every bit of sexy into it. “For convenience sake, can I please stay at your house?”

  Her breathing quickened and she looked abruptly away. “The couch folds out into a bed. You can sleep there. And don’t expect me to cook anything special. If I’m making mac and cheese, you’ll eat mac and cheese or order yourself a pizza. And pay for it yourself. Got it?”

  She was so sexy, I couldn’t help smiling at her sass. “Got it. What’s your name, hot-stuff?”

  She squirmed and blushed. And something else sparked in those dark eyes. By all that was holy, did she…was she physically attracted to me? Maybe she didn’t have feelings for Nisroc. Maybe I did have a chance. And maybe this was the very angel who would be on board with all those interesting things I’d been eager to try.

  “Ahia.”

  A pretty name. “I’m Raphael.” I wasn’t about to list all my titles or brag about my position on the Ruling Council. For once it would be nice if an angel actually wanted me, instead of using me for a favorable ruling on some matter or to climb a few rungs up the angelic hierarchy.

  “So, Pretty-boy, does immunity mean you’re not gonna kill me after this is all over, or throw me through the gateway into Hel? Because if you are, I’m definitely not sharing my mac and cheese with you.”

  Like I’d ever kill her or throw her into Hel. Of all the angels in Aaru, I was the one least likely to rat out an Angel of Chaos here in violation of the treaty, let alone do one harm. Others would have immediately thrown her through the gates to Hel, and no angel would have batted an eye if they’d killed her. Angels of Chaos had been banished to Hel, and for one to be here…well, it was a death sentence.

  But things were changing. And even if they weren’t, I tried to follow the rules as little as possible.

  I grinned. “Well then, for the sake of mac and cheese, I vow that I will not kill you or send you to Hel either before, during, or after our project. Does that suffice, Hot-stuff?”

  She grinned back, making me feel as if I were on the verge of something wonderful. Or possibly catastrophic. Often, the two were one in the same.

  “Sure does, Pretty-boy.”

  “So what should we do first? Mac and cheese? Plan our course of attack for tomorrow? Or you give me a tour that ends in you showing me exactly how comfortable this fold-out couch is?”

  Again there was that spark of attraction in her eyes — the eyes that did a slow tour of my body before rising to meet mine. “Let’s plan out tomorrow. That’s why you’re here. Might as well get down to work.”

  Disappointing, but what did I expect? I’d been too fast. Like always I’d pushed things along at breakneck speed and now it was all about business. For now. This project would take some time to complete, and I’d have plenty of time to regroup and try again.

  Chapter 8

  Ahia

  I was alone with an angel whose power and looks made me weak in the knees. He didn’t regard me as an abomination. He didn’t have any intention of harming me. In fact, I was pretty sure his intentions were quite the opposite judging from how he was flirting with me. And yes, he was flirting with me. Five thousand years and I certainly knew flirting when I saw it. Two angels, both interested in me, but where Nisroc made me think of a kindly uncle, Pretty-boy elicited far different feelings.

  And down that road lay danger. Normally I’d be running full-speed straight into danger, but for once in my life I hesitated. Yes, I was a weird combination of awed and turned on, but I wasn’t going to let this angel get to me. I wasn’t going to jump him right here in my living room, ravish the heck out of him, and spend days or weeks working beside him in awkward silence. If hot, sweaty sex with this angel happened, then it happened — eventually, after a reasonable progression of time. I’d only known him five minutes. That was inappropriately soon. Twenty-four hours would be a suitable time to wait. Or maybe two hours. Yes, I’d wait two hours, then do him.

  But for now, work. So I straightened my shoulders, walked over to the computer and picked up my notebook. “There are quite a few of these rifts. Do you need particular conditions in order to close them? Noon? Full moon? Is there a priority you assign to these or do you want me to let you know which are the most dangerous to residents?”

  I was yammering away like an idiot. Part of me was still awed. Part of me wanted to drag him off to my bedroom. For once, the first part was getting the upper hand. I’d never in all my five-thousand-odd years met anyone who made me this nervous, even the first time I’d met Nisroc.

  “Why bears? I mean, I understand the symbolism of the stream. Landscapes evoke a feeling of eternity. They’re an unchanging background to a tumultuous existence. And water is meditative, calm and soothing. I prefer the skies, the rush of flying, but I get it. Well, I get everything except the bears.”

  My brain did one of the vinyl record screech noises. What the heck was he talking about? What had rifts and monsters to do with bears?

  “The colors are pleasing. It’s an amateurish attempt, but the work clearly has meaning to you if you framed it and hung it on your wall in such a prominent place. A friend painted it? Someone close to you?”

  Sweet stars above, he was talking about my painting, standing in front of it as if he were at an art gallery. He had one hand on his hip, the other stroking his chin, his head tilted to the side as he examined the artwork.

  “I painted it. I never made any claim to be a professional artist. I did it at one of those drink-and-paint events. And it’s not bears, it’s beavers.”

  The look on his face was priceless — a mixture of chagrin and horror. I realized that he’d been trying in some weird, charmingly goofy way to compliment my painting. He’d totally hosed it and was well aware of the fact. I was intrigued to find out how he was going to rebound from this one.

  A struggle of emotions ran across his face. “Those are not beavers. I mean, seriously? Who in their right mind would think that was a beaver?”

  Huh. Artistic sensibility won over polite flattery. “They’re beavers. In a stream. I wouldn’t expect you to recognize them, given that you’ve probably never seen a beaver before in your life.”

  His head snapped around. Those violet eyes had a wicked glint as they met mine. I hadn’t expected him to get the innuendo, but he clearly did.

  “Oh, I know full well what a beaver looks like.” He pointed at the painting, his eyes never leaving mine. “Those, Hot-stuff, are not beavers.”

  I opened my mouth, one breath from offering to show him my beaver for comparison, then snapped it shut.

  “Can we get back to the project at hand?” I went back over to the computer and sat down, fanning my face with the notepad. “We should probably start with the rift near Hoonah on Chichagof Island.”

  I heard him walk over to me, singing softly. It was that Kenny Rogers song Islands in the Stream, only he’d changed it to Beavers in The Stream. I was shocked at the bawdy lyrics. Well, not exactly shocked, but I wasn’t expecting that sort of thing from an angel. I bit my lip hard to keep from smirking and tried to appear uninterested. Gorgeous. Charming in a goofy, fun way. He was like a naughty little boy — a very powerful naughty little boy. And the attraction was irresistible. Would he really bowl with drop bear heads? Because I was starting to think Nisroc’s accusation wasn’t that far off base.

  “We’ve killed three chimeras in the last week,” I continued once he’d finished the tune. “The werewolves and I can’t keep running over there and tracking them down, not with the growing yeti population in Denali to manage, the hydra in the Martin Lake, and the stupid fucking drop bears near the Bering River. Do you have any idea how much a pain in the ass drop bears are? And I’m still puffy from the hydra bites. That thing almost drowned me.”

  He was silent for a moment, and I got the feeling he was trying to decide whether to continue ribbin
g me about my painting or go along with my change of topic.

  “Hydra are a two-angel job,” he informed me, putting a hand on the back of my chair and leaning over me to peer at the map on the computer screen. He smelled like the crisp, clean air of a mountaintop in spring, and beyond his hand on the back of my chair, I had the odd sensation that he was touching me — that warmth like I’d felt with Nisroc, only unlike with Nisroc, this sent a surge of electricity right up my spine.

  “Tell me about it. I tried to cut off a head and pour salt into it, but I lost my salt and then three heads grew back and it threw me into the woods.” I turned toward him as I spoke and found his face temptingly close to mine, his mouth turned up, a dimple creasing his cheek. Of course he had a dimple. Of course. Why couldn’t they have sent an ugly angel to do this job?

  “Maybe we should tackle that first, then the drop bears you seem to be having such an issue with. After that, we’ll go to Chicago Island and the chimera.”

  The urge to touch that dimple, to run my thumb along his lower lip was almost overwhelming. “Chichagof. And the drop bears are just as much of an issue as the hydra. We’ve already told Fish and Wildlife to put out a warning for the Martin Lake area as well as warned the locals, but these drop bears have to go. They’re trapping mink out of season, and they don’t even have a license. You have to have a license to trap. All the humans have a license or they get fined, maybe even go to jail. I can’t put the drop bears in jail, so I just kill them. Is that okay?”

  The dimple got deeper, as did the odd electric feeling of warmth. “I have no personal objection to you killing drop bears. Especially those who are trapping mink without a license.”

  “Good. They come through the gate faster than I can kill them, though. They’re going to affect accessibility of a major tourist hunting spot this year if we don’t get rid of them. That’s not fair. Human livelihoods often depend on these hunting tours. It’s wrong for these drop bears to screw them. Wrong.” I had no idea what I was saying at this point. All I could think about was the warmth of him, the weird sensation of every cell in my body coming alive, that damned adorable dimple.

  “We will definitely take care of these poaching drop bears and ensure the rift is closed. Highest priority. Drop bears. Then hydra. Then chimera, which, by the way, you have a lovely example of on your wall here. Did you say you killed three? Because you only have the one head mounted. Were the other two mangled beyond the skills of human taxidermy?”

  He was making fun of me. And I liked it. His teasing reminded me of the guys in the werewolf pack. It made me feel less nervous. It made me think that perhaps there was a chance of me getting laid in the very near future. Sex with an angel. Did they even have sex? They must. I was living proof of that. And this angel…I got the feeling that sex with him would rock my world.

  Chimera. That’s what he’d asked me about. “No, Brent has the other two. He delivered the killing blows, so it was only right for him to take the trophy.” I couldn’t help the pride in my words. Brent was fearless and strong. He was an amazing Alpha. I’d spent generations with the werewolves and he was the best that I’d seen.

  “Brent.”

  I was suddenly cold, like he’d pulled away from me. There was nothing untoward in his voice, but I got a feeling of unease from him. Why? Did he not like werewolves? How could anyone not like werewolves?

  “He’s the Alpha. Our previous one died in a boating accident. As powerful as werewolves are, they’re not all that great out at sea. Brent took over younger than most Alphas do, but he’s done a great job so far. He’s got charisma, is a strong fighter and a good leader. He was amazing to watch with the chimera.” Not so much with the drop bears, but it didn’t feel right to nit-pick, or to point out the werewolf’s failings to an angel I’d just met.

  Raphael walked over to the chimera head and stared at it a moment. “Is he your toy? Your lover?”

  “The chimera? Ew. Not in this lifetime.”

  The tension dropped down a notch. “No, Hot-stuff. I mean the werewolf. This Brad guy.”

  “Brent. We used to be lovers, but not anymore.” And now the tension was through the roof. “We’re best friends. He’s a great guy.”

  None of that seemed to help. The angel scowled at the chimera head, and for a second I thought he was going to rip if off the wall and punch it.

  “I’m sure he is. And Brad goes hunting chimera with you? And drop bears and the hydra too? What else do you do together?”

  “Brent.” He was jealous. It was adorable. He was jealous of Brent, even though our brief affair had been over twenty years ago. “He’s hunted chimera and drop bears with me, but not the hydra. That one is too much for a werewolf to handle. Other werewolves in my pack were there at the chimera hunt. They all hunt. I change into a wolf and go with them, although I tend to get distracted and wander off if we’re trying to track elk or something boring.”

  He walked back over to me, his violet eyes stormy as he put his hand on my chair once more. “Good. I changed my mind. I want to do the hydra first. Are there any other rifts we need to close, or just the three?”

  Just the three. As if that were no big deal. “There are ones here and here,” I pointed to the map on the screen. “Nothing has come through those that I’m aware of, but this one took a hunting party of twenty a few days ago. We’ve marked it with caution tape, but there’s always a chance some idiot will go through anyway. Oh, and the one the yeti came through. We definitely need to close that one before the yeti outnumber the humans in the state.” Should I mention the rift earlier today in the tourist shop? It closed on its own, so I guess that one wasn’t important.

  “Then after we take care of the first four, we’ll close the others and kill the yeti.”

  Was he insane? “No! The yeti are cool. They play by the rules, so we leave them alone. They make a nice fish stew too. They’re gracious with excellent hospitality. The ones already here are welcome to stay. But the drop bears, the hydra and the chimera have to go. I think we should probably tackle the drop bears first, then close the rifts in that area before heading to Martin Lake and the hydra.”

  Raphael nodded. “So, first thing in the morning we go kill drop bears, then close a bunch of rifts, then kill a hydra. Then close more rifts, and not kill the yeti. I’m guessing three to four days, then we should do a sweep of the state just to make sure we haven’t missed anything. Count on a few weeks at a minimum, more if these rifts keep springing up.”

  He sounded oddly pleased at the idea of roaming around Alaska, finding and closing rifts for the next few weeks to months. In all honesty, I was pleased too. This had been an annoyance, a worry, but suddenly the whole thing seemed like an exciting adventure. I envisioned us lopping the heads off hydra, having lunch with the yeti, bowling with drop bear heads — all the sorts of things I enjoyed doing that none of the werewolves or humans seemed particularly interested in.

  “I’ve got a few shifts at work that I can’t get out of, but other than that, I’m all yours.”

  That warm, electric feeling was back, and so was the dimple. “And I, Hot-stuff, am all yours.”

  Holy cow. And he meant it too. What would the fallout be if I actually did have sex with this angel? Several times. Many, many times.

  He leaned closer. “Anything else? Or are we free to make mac and cheese. And I definitely need a demonstration of the fold-out couch bed.”

  The couch bed. My bed. The backseat of my car. Out in the woods. But before we got to that, there was something else. I closed my eyes for a second, gearing up to ask something that had been worrying me since these rifts began opening. “Before you close the rifts, I want to go through and see if I can find the humans that fell in. I want to bring them back.”

  When I opened my eyes I saw sympathy in Raphael’s face. “They’re dead, Ahia. Most of these rifts lead to places incompatible with human life.”

  “How do you know that?” I argued. “If these places support chimera and
hydra that seem to adapt to life here just fine, then who’s to say humans couldn’t do the same in their home-world?”

  He shook his head. “Even if that’s so, they’d have starved, or died of exposure, or been killed by any number of creatures. There’s no sense in risking yourself to find dead bodies — even if you could manage to find bodies.”

  Now he was making me angry. Brent had used the same argument. The only reason I hadn’t already gone through the rifts was that I knew he and half of my pack would follow. I’d risk my life to bring back human survivors, but I couldn’t risk theirs.

  “Humans aren’t the helpless weaklings that you think. These people that went missing are hunters and hikers, mountain climbers and back-country skiers. They are used to surviving in adverse conditions. They’re used to thinking on their feet and coming up with creative solutions to problems. I’ve seen lost hikers manage for days before someone found them, building shelter from rocks under a ledge and eating berries and starting fires with two sticks. These humans would have rifles, survival packs, hunting knives. They’re fit, savvy. They have a chance. And I can’t just sit here and give up on them when they could be fighting for their lives, praying that someone would come to save them.”

  He sighed. “I get it, really I do, but the chance that these humans would have survived is very slim. While you and I are gallivanting around somewhere with twice the gravity and temperatures in the negative triple digits, more rifts will be taking more humans and spitting out more monsters. The best use of our time, the course that will ultimately save and protect the most humans as well as werewolves, would be to close the rifts, kill the monsters and pray those who fell through didn’t suffer.”

  I hated this. Hated it. It was that whole “sacrifice a few for the good of many” argument. He was right and I hated it. The thought of closing the rifts and potentially trapping humans on the other side made me sick, but it seemed a new rift opened every day. Did we really have time to take a few days per rift to try a rescue operation? Would we come back empty handed to find dozens of humans had vanished or been killed while we were trying to save five hikers?