Immortal

by ML Guida

  Heather stepped around Scythe.

  Blade flashed his gaze over Scythe. “I see you’re well, brother. Raphael?”

  Scythe shrugged. “Of course.”

  “Ah, yes. The great healer would do miracles for you, but not me, never me.”

  “That was different.”

  “Was it?” Blade snorted. “I don’t think so.”

  Too many revelations slammed into Heather’s brain. Who was Raphael? Wait, a minute. The Archangel Raphael? Too weird. She was trapped in one of Tim Burton’s bizarre movies and any minute some snake creature would swallow her whole.

  She stepped back, prepared to run from this circus when her foot hit something hard. She glanced behind her. A cottonwood tree blocked her escape.

  “Blade, listen to me. You didn’t know the plan…” Scythe said.

  His voice was pleading. For all the evils Blade had done, Scythe loved him. She could understand it. Rosemary had done so many bad things when she was high, but she still loved her, except Rosemary had never committed murder.

  Anger and hate flashed into Blade’s red eyes. “Fuck the plan.”

  Heather trembled at the vengeance in his voice.

  Scythe sighed and shook his head. “You broke the rules.”

  “You mean falling in love with a human?”

  Blade flashed open his wings and a shadow of fear fell across her. Heather’s mouth ran dry, and her scream died in her throat. She trembled and her bowels rumbled. For one frantic moment, she wished she was a gopher, and she could dig a hole and burrow away.

  He flashed his eyes over her and glanced at Scythe. “Hypocrite, like you’re not tempted now.” He sniffed. “I smell your scent all over her. But you haven’t turned her yet.”

  Turn me? Turn me into what?

  “Blade, drop this. There’s still time—”

  Blade threw his head backed and laughed. “Time? Time for what?” He stopped, then raised his fist toward the sky. “I don’t want to be saved. Do you hear me?” His veins throbbed at his temples and his face turned a bright red. “Raphael! Damn you! Damn you…for letting her die!” His voice choked. He dropped his arm to his side and hung his head as if the disappointment of the universe weighed on those broad shoulders.

  The cottonwood’s branches rustled above Heather’s head. Tingles crawled over her skin. Was there something in the tree?

  Blade raised his head and looked away. “I’ll drop dead before I’ll ever join your army, Michael. Never again.”

  His voice was a low hiss filled with pain. With that last statement, he vanished.

  Scythe knelt next to her. “Heather?”

  She scampered away. “Stay away from me.”

  Scythe held out his hand. “Wait, I can explain.”

  “Explain? Uh, right.”

  Rosemary’s face flashed in front of her eyes—the dream, her murder, her funeral. Was that true what Blade said about Scythe and Rosemary? Had Scythe let her die?

  “Fuck that.” She knocked his hand away and pushed herself off the ground. “I want answers and I want them now.” Bracing her back, she glowered at him. He was the Angel of Death and she was treating him like he was a bad schoolboy. She didn’t care. “Was Blade telling the truth?”

  Scythe clenched his jaw. “About?”

  “Don’t fuck with me. I’ve had my world turned upside down. I know you can read my mind, so don’t jerk me around.”

  He lifted his chin. The wind blew his hair across his handsome face. His eyes glowed brighter. Dread ran through her like a runaway freight train, but she met his gaze. God, would he strike her down? But before she died, she had to know, had to know the truth about Rosemary.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re not what?”

  “Going to kill you.”

  “And?”

  He remained silent.

  She slapped her hand on her thigh. “You’re refusing to answer?”

  “No.”

  “Fine.” She stuffed her hands into her jeans to keep from pounding her fists into his face. It’s not wise to slap the shit out of the Dark Angel. “I’m leaving.” She walked-ran toward her Pathfinder.

  Firm footsteps overtook her. Strong fingers gripped her arm and spun her around. “Heather, you don’t understand.”

  “I don’t understand what?” Her voice shook. Tears stung her eyes. “That you were there when my sister died?”

  He shut his mouth and turned his head.

  “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you didn’t kill her.” Heather burst into tears. She hated being vulnerable. People used it against you. She didn’t care if she lived or died, and rushed the Angel of Death. She pounded her fist against his broad chest. “You killed her. You killed her. You bastard.”

  She banged on a brick wall. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He didn’t hurt her or strike her down. She inhaled his masculine scent of spice. She seized his shirt, and she wept onto his hard chest. His calloused hand brushed her hair. He never said a word, but he held her. Her bravado vanished, and she was that little girl again, trapped in her bedroom of horrors.

  She lifted her head and sniffed. “I miss her so much.”

  He put two fingers underneath her chin and forced her to look at him, but it wasn’t brutal or cruel like Blade. As he crushed her to his body, she trembled. He tilted his dark head and leaned closer. His lips parted.

  She pulled away. “Did you kill my sister?”

  Her voice was barely louder than a puff of air.

  Scythe sighed. His arms dropped to his side.

  Her wrath drained from her. She wanted to go home and forget about angels and demons. Cold rushed over her body where moments before he held her. He grumbled under his breath and glanced away. Without warning, he seized her arm and half dragged her to her car. “The police. They’re coming. Get out of here now before they find you.”

  “I don’t have…”

  He snapped his fingers and her purse appeared in his hand. Her heart pounded harder than a jackhammer. Her hand shaking, she took her purse, afraid the thing would turn into a snake and bite her. She was definitely going crazy.

  Scythe tilted his head. “They’re in the parking lot. What the hell are you waiting for?”

  She didn’t need to be told twice and jerked out her keys, then hit the keyless remote. Too bad, the remote button didn’t start the car.

  Suddenly, the headlights turned on and the engine roared. She stopped, not believing what she was seeing or hearing. Scythe gave her a knowing look.

  Not caring if it was by magic, she hoped into the SUV, then slammed it into reverse. She blinked. Scythe had vanished, like Blade had. Maybe she was dreaming.

  She peeled around the corner. Mason darted in front of her SUV.

  She swerved, tires skidded. “Shit!”

  Mason chased after her, waving his arms. “Stop.”

  Her heart racing faster than the SUV, she spun out of the parking lot and onto Lutheran Parkway. She gripped the wheel. A horn honked and tires squealed. She slammed on the brakes, but she was too late. An iron grill of a city bus barreled down into her. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Brakes squealed, and the SUV skidded. Pain exploded everywhere. Bones broke.

  Brilliant white light drenched her, and tingles swept over her. Agony subsided. She wasn’t trapped in inside her car. What happened?

  Cool wind blew her hair. A loud roar whooshed in her ear. Dizziness gripped her. Her stomach did an Olympic swan dive.

  Police cars whizzed by, swirling their sirens shrieking, but nobody noticed her. The bus had turned her SUV into a smashed pop can. She put her hand on her sweating forehead. “What happened? I feel like I’ve been inside the Wizard of Oz tornado.”

  The muddiness in her brain faded. Strong arms cradled her. She inhaled Scythe’s familiar masculine scent. Below her, cops and people milled around. “Oh, my God! I’m flying?”

  Scythe tightened his grip and stared straight ahead. “I couldn’t let you die.
Not now—not ever.”

  “God, your little rescue is making me sick.”

  “I swear, you’ve got to quit using his name in vain. Each time, it marks your soul.”

  She frowned. “So, you are the…” The next words died on her lips.

  “I’m a Dark Angel. Part of my job is to escort the dead to their destination.”

  His aura beamed around him a dazzling white but on the fringe was a thin line of pink— tenderness, caring. He told the truth and on some level cared for her. Auras never lie.

  “I have to get you out of here.”

  She closed her eyes and clung to his arm wrapped around her waist. “Could we touch solid ground?”

  He landed them on the hospital’s lawn. Heather swayed, but Scythe kept her close to him. “Let’s not do that again.”

  He lifted his eyebrow. “You’d rather I’d left you in the car.”

  She yanked free. “No.” She looked around the sea of police cars. “Why are we here? It’s not like Mason and Hewitt can’t find me here. All they have to do is turn on their spidey tingles.”

  He shrugged. He clasped her hand and led her back to the parking lot, multiplying with cops. “I can’t leave my bike.”

  “Your what?”

  He looped one long leg over a black motorcycle. “My bike. I’ve grown rather fond of it.”

  She looked at the huge motorcycle and at the hospital. “But you came here in the ambulance? How…”

  “Get on.”

  Heather bit her lips. What if someone got hurt on the bus? It was her fault.

  “Nobody died.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I said—”

  “Ohhh, stop doing that. I’m tired of you and your brother reading my mind.”

  He snatched her wrist. “Get your ass on this bike.”

  She broke loose again. “Hey, I’m not your slave girl you can order around—Angel of Death or not.”

  He gazed at her with dark possession glowing in those silvery depths. Not love, but desire, domination. He was all naked sensuality. Her body responded as if in a trance, but her brain screamed danger. This man wasn’t human. He was an angel, not any angel, the Dark Angel, a killer who could read her mind and force her to obey his every command. And she was a crusader, a fighter, a no-surrender woman.

  He pulled her toward him, not forceful, but gentle. He crushed her to him. “Interesting choice of words. Slave girl?”

  The way he said it, naughty images flashed through her mind.

  “But you’d never be my slave—you’re my soul mate, mine to protect.”

  At those very words, her knees weakened. The depth of his feelings hit her. Could she trust him? No one had ever uttered something like that to her before without strings or in her case--chains. Even as a little girl, she believed no one wanted to protect her. She wanted this to be true; she was desperate for it be true. She ached to belong to this man, this angel, this warrior. Was this some kind of spell? Was he saying this just to get her into the sack?

  “I don’t believe you.”

  His teeth nibbled at her neck, finding her pulse, his tongue caressing her throat. “I claim you as my angel mate.”

  She lifted her head, opened her mouth to object, but his mouth locked on hers, stealing her breath. Her legs turned to straw and to anchor herself, she clasped her hands around his neck. Scythe’s silky veil of hair fell across her hands. She intertwined her tongue with his in a long, sensual dance of pure forbidden pleasure.

  The kiss deepened and for the first time in her life; she fell for a man. Her very soul yearned for Scythe, wanting to merge with his. Why was she feeling this way? She’d only met this man.

  The hell with being proper. Her breasts ached and grew heavy. The damp eagerness in her sensitive feminine core surprised her, and her foggy mind clouded with the rising fervor, building inside her. His hands brushed over her back, igniting every erotic nerve. The same desire to lay naked with him consumed her.

  A car honked that was like a bucket of cold water hitting her. What was she doing? My god, Rosemary. She released him, then pushed on his chest, but she’d have more luck moving a bull elephant. Scythe seized her arm, his intoxicating scent distracting for a moment, but when his fingers unfastened the button on her jeans, she broke free. “No!”

  “Why? You were enjoying it.” His arrogant voice and smug look reaffirmed her objection.

  “I said no. Release me now.” Her puny voice barely registered in her own ears.

  “As you wish.”

  He slowly released her, his fingers caressing her bare arms. His gaze focused on her breasts. She followed his sensual look and gasped. Once again, her shirt gapped open revealing her bra. “Damn you!”

  She turned away and fumbled buttoning her jeans. An elderly couple hobbled by and the woman mumbled, “Should be ashamed of themselves.”

  Her cheeks grew hot. Behind her, Scythe chuckled. Without thinking, she whirled around and slapped him across the face. His smile vanished. What had she done? His brows furrowed and for a moment, with that dark look, she thought he’d put her six feet under. “Get. On. Now.”

  Not wanting to press her luck, she lifted her leg and plopped down behind him.

  “Now, that wasn’t so bad.” He gave her a half smile, one that would have melted Frosty the Snowwoman’s heart.

  “Go.” She snapped her fingers and pointed.

  He winked, then the motor hummed. As he pulled out of the parking space, she lurched backward. She clung to the backseat but her fingers slipped. She slid her trembling arms around his waist and clung to him, praying he didn’t burn her or whatever angels did to humans. But earlier when he had kissed her, it had been —did she dare say it—heavenly.

  Scythe turned right onto Lutheran Parkway south of her accident. An overwhelming feeling of loss hit her. She loved her SUV and now it was totaled—a scrunched accordion. She felt tears fall on her cheeks. And what was worse, people could have been hurt on that bus. Scythe had said none had died, but they could be in pain. She buried her face into his back, trying not to think of the people in misery.

  The wind blew her hair. Warm rays caressed her arms. Heat radiated from the engine or was it the exhaust? Scythe maneuvered the bike through traffic. His hair tickled her cheeks. She turned her head to the side and laid her cheek on his back. She slid her hands over his waist to his rippled stomach. Shit, he was hot.

  They passed Crown Hill cemetery. A bike path ran alongside the graveyard. She and Rosemary had walked that path many times, and the same hollow hurt filled her heart. She pushed her lips together. Had that only been three months ago? “I miss you, sis.”

  Scythe glimpsed over his shoulder. She hid her face, not wanting him to see her pain. He had refused to answer, but she already guessed the truth. He was the Angel of Death. And he killed her sister, and she was attracted to him, another betrayal to Rosemary. When would she stop? No wonder Rosemary hated her.

  Chapter 9

  Scythe had a hard time driving the motorcycle with Heather molding her curvy body next to his. Her sweet scent drove him out of his mind and he almost ran a red light. Why the hell had he claimed her as his angel-mate? He was an idiot. It was not like he could undo what he did.

  He’d never wanted to be a pansy ass angel catering to some fussing mate. Shit, now by his own words, he’d just chained himself to Heather.

  He could have let her die, but he couldn’t let a bus slam into her SUV and turn her into a sardine. Not a chance. True, he could have whisked her off to heaven and she’d be happy, but their bond would be broken and he wanted her alive. Blessed it, he wanted her for himself. Dead, she had no flesh, no scent and he wanted to run his hands over her silky skin, to taste her luscious lips again. He was a total selfish asshole.

  She leaned against him. “You’re taking me to Serenity House, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Why?”

  The light turned green. He gunned
the engine, blocking out her voice. Thank Zeus for small favors. He had no freaking idea what he planned to tell her once they arrived there, but she was his mate and deserved the truth.

  There were a couple cars in the parking lot, but no signs of cops. He maneuvered his bike next to a gray Toyota Corolla. She slid off his bike as if the seat were red hot.

  She stumbled. “Ow!”

  He frowned. A small round red burn marred her beautiful shaped calve. He hopped off the bike and hurried over to her. “Here, let me see it.”

  She hobbled away. “No, don’t touch me.”

  “Heather.” He walked toward her. “Don’t be like this.”

  “Quit telling me what to do.” She stopped and faced him. Fury filled those doe brown eyes. “Besides, I have a right to be upset.”

  “Yeah, you do, but we need to talk.” Before she could utter another protest, he dragged her inside Serenity House.

  She slapped his arm. “Let go of me.”

  He kicked open her office door and shoved her. “Stop hitting me. You’re like an angry beaver.”

  Panting, she whirled around. She raised her fist. “You drag me around one more time. And I’ll punch your lights out.”

  For such a petite woman, she had spunk. He sensed her fear, but a fierce Amazon glared at him. “Fine.” He cocked his eyebrow. “Are you going to hit me or what?”

  She lowered her arm. “Start talking, pretty boy.”

  “Pretty boy?” He walked over to one of her chairs and sat. “Yeah, right.”

  She stuck her nose in the air and sat behind her desk. She skepticism oozed from her glare. Fucking great.

  He folded his arms. “You wanted to know about Rosemary?”

  She sucked in her breath, but kept silent.

  “On the night she died…”

  Running footsteps pounded outside. Someone pounded on the door. “Heather, Heather, are you in there? Open up, please.”

  Before Heather could answer, the door swung open. His face pale, Stan McGinley barged in. “He’s coming for me. I know he is.” He skidded to a stop and pointed. “You, you’re here.”

  “Stan.” Scythe cocked his eyebrow. “You’re having second thoughts?”