Mystic Realms: A Limited Edition Collection

by Nicole Morgan

  Dalila propelled her body back onto the bed to get closer to the scent. It was affable and comforting, and her head bounced twice as she landed on the mattress. She balled her hands into fists, squeezed her eyes closed, and planted her feet at the edge of the bed. Then she took a deep breath to inhale the scent of clean rain and hot earth. Wow, the scent had gotten a bit stronger. Must be one of those pillows that emit the smell as you jostle it around…do they even make those? Letting out a groan and a curse, she threw herself out of the bed, stood, and stretched turning to her left and then to her right. The blood pumping in her heart ceased its movement. Heat seared her flesh. Her mysterious stranger stood in the doorway. Arms folded across a well-chiseled chest, his body rested up against the doorframe in a stance that radiated all kinds of warnings. Danger—heat—were two she could see first and foremost. He stared back at her with gunmetal gray eyes. Harsh lines furrowed his brows, as he stared back at her.

  Breathing ceased. Everything around her seemed to go in slow motion. A strange sense of calm enveloped her like a warm blanket, almost making her close her eyes. Dalila shook the feeling off. She looked around for a blunt object to defend herself. She wasn’t going to be a victim of kidnapping. He’d have to kill her, and she wasn’t giving up without a fight. Her personal horror movie would end now. With a firm voice, she said, “Look, mister, I don’t know who the hell you are, but you better let me go. I don’t have anything you want. In fact, I have a scorching case of the clap, raping me will only make your dick drip.” Yeah, this is working. He tilted his head to the side, studying her. Then grunted like some mighty ass barbarian from Gladiator. Someone can shout cut at any time here. Shit. She was still scanning the room for a blunt object.

  “You’re neither sick nor suffering from any illness that would make my dick drip,” he stated clearly. He unfolded his arms, bracing them at his sides. “I’m not going to hurt you, mortal. You will not be suffering rape or any other bodily harm at my hands, but I would advise that you not try to harm yourself.” He grinned as if goading her, and then relaxed his position against the doorframe.

  “Hurt myself?” And what the fuck is with the mortal bullshit? Was he trying a play for Comic Book Villains 101?

  This time he tossed her a lopsided grin and took a step forward into the room. Dalila almost forgot she’d been kidnapped. He was a thing of masculine beauty. The harsh lines of his face disappeared and in their place was a man worth submitting to. Oh gees, no. Not this fantasy. It was all those romance novels she devoured. Dalila needed to get a grip on reality, not drool over her captor. An image of soft lips kissing down her neck to her shoulder flashed briefly before she shook it off. Focus, Lila, focus.

  “Yeah, you’re looking for something to strike me with. I would strongly advise against that.”

  Am I that easy to read?

  Dalila gawked at him as if he’d grown two heads, an extra arm, and some other things she didn’t feel like imagining. Holy shit, Batman, the man was massive. Like on a ginormous scale of, ‘I had two helping of Wheaties and devoured a small country.’ Thick ropes of muscles screamed for breath as they flexed beneath his shirt. There was a long scar on his left forearm, jagged, as if it was ripped apart then put back together wrong. And his eyes were dangerous; kindhearted was not his middle name. He wasn’t unpleasant at all to look at, quite the opposite: he was death and sex incarnate. He oozed both qualities, with not a care to match. He wore basic jeans and an understated gray shirt that clashed with his gray eyes. His skin had been warmed by the sun at least a dozen times, or he frequented a tanning salon that was flawless in their work. He was a Titan; there were just no words to describe the power that radiated into the room, permeating every nook and shadow. And why the hell was she so focused on him? She glanced down at her feet and then back at his face. For a split-second, he seemed softer, and then the hardness was back. She couldn’t call him a soldier because his whole persona screamed warrior.

  The calm feeling came over her again, and this time, she thought maybe it was her senses telling her she wasn’t in danger. Her heart was singing a whole other tune: get the fuck out now, you’re in way over your head.

  “Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it.” Dalila hissed.

  “I have no doubt of that, mortal, but for now let’s just say that you’re stuck with me until I’m finished here.”

  “‘Finished here?’” Dalila’s voice squeaked. And again, with the mortal.

  “You’re right to assume the worst. But there is something far worse than me out there,” he gestured toward the window, “if you try and leave, without my escorting you, bad shit will happen. I don’t have time to babysit you either, so do us both a favor and just listen to my every word. If I say we’re moving, you move.” He held up his hand to stay her words. “If I say you eat, you eat; run, you better fucking run, or you will be sorry. Your life is now in my hands, and if you want to fucking keep it, stay the fuck out of my way and do as I say.”

  Oh no, he just didn’t. Dalila squared her shoulders and stood straighter. She was not going to be pushed around by Mister Beefy; it just wasn’t going down like that. This movie was ending, and she was ending it now.

  “Now you listen here,” Dalila took a small step forward, and continued to talk in a low, controlled voice. “For starters, I have a name, and it sure as hell isn’t ‘mortal.’ Another thing, you,” she pointed at the large mass of a man, “You, just stay the fuck out of my way. I don’t care what you’re mixed up in; I don’t want any part of it so just, Let. Me. Go.” Her breathing harsh, she took a step back and tried to come to grips with her situation. Could things truly get any worse?

  “I can’t, and I’m not going to hurt you.” He nodded in her direction and then took a deep breath. “Dalila, as soon as I find what I’m looking for and I know they guy I’m after won’t come after you, then you can leave. All right?”

  “Wait... you know, you know my name?”

  “I brought your purse in last night and went through your things,” he answered.

  “You’re a cop?” Relief finally rushed through her bones, warming her skin. He was a cop. He certainly looked strong enough to be a cop, one magnificent officer at that. His coal black hair rested wildly unkempt on his shoulders. He had solid shoulders. What the heck, a collar around his neck? She hadn’t noticed the collar around his neck earlier, but there it was, a collar of some sort. The intricate patterns scrolling around the band drew her attention. Dalila couldn’t make out the symbols on the collar. It was weathered and worn; only the markings on it seem to shine in its dull shell. Dalila closed her eyes and shook her head to clear out the notion of this man standing in the doorway; the warm glow of red that crept over her face was bound to be evident. “Your name is Officer...?”

  He took another step inside the room. “My name is Isaiah, and I never said I was a cop. You mortals always try to replace fear with calm, deluding yourselves about what’s right in front of your face, or writing it off as just a coincidence. There are no coincidences, female, and you would be wise to remember that. Everything happens for a reason.” His face became stone. “Everything.” Then he stood straighter and headed for the door.

  “It’s over there.” He pointed down the hall, Dalila walked toward the direction he was pointing. Dalila looked down the hall and noticed the restroom; before she could ask he had answered her question.

  “It’s all over your face, and just so you know, there are no windows. Don’t make me chase you, I don’t want you to be any more frightened then you already are. Take a shower. I will see to it that you have some fresh clothes.”

  Ω Ω Ω

  Isaiah watched as Dalila eyed him closely. “What do you mean, ‘don’t make you chase me’?” she argued. Damn, she just wouldn’t shut up and let him think, which he was barely able to do now that she was up and about. Isaiah raked a hand through his hair and groaned. This one woman was going to be a handful; he could see it now. He should just keep her
in sleep stasis ‘til his job here was done. Dalila was still speaking to him, prattling on. Her words buzzed in his ear, but at this point he genuinely couldn’t hear what she was saying. His collar was annoying the shit out of him, and he needed food.

  “Get in the shower, please,” he said behind clenched teeth. “We can talk more about what’s going on later, but right now I need to think, and you’re preventing that from happening.”

  “Me... preventing you? I’m the one that is being held against my will and being prevented from following my schedule, not you. Then you come in here all surly and threaten me and try to scare me with all your macho talk. Well, I’ve had enough of your shit.” Did her eyes just flash? She took another step toward him, not toward the restroom. Isaiah found himself reaching for her. Instead, he took a step back. It was distressing enough he couldn’t wipe her memory, and now he had a walking, talking problem that wasn’t listening to a damn thing he’d just told her.

  “Fuck, woman!” he roared. Isaiah threw up his hands and figured, what the hell, she asked for it. This was the part he was trying to ease her into, but she just wouldn’t listen. Summoning his true form would shock her, hell she’d probably faint. Isaiah grinned. Yeah, fainting might work to his advantage and then he could call for backup. Have one of the others sit on her until he was done, and they could wipe her memory clean of everything, and they could start over. Isaiah stood with both legs apart and arched his shoulders. They were always there, never truly hidden, just folded and masked from her. She was still going on about how he was going to let her go when she looked up and stopped dead in her tracks.

  “You were saying?”

  Isaiah knew the moment that Dalila and the carpet were going to become quite close friends, her body swayed for a second, then as if time were standing still, her body simply folded, directing her to the floor. He should have just let her fall and bump her head, for all the shit she was talking earlier. He reached for her before she would have been on a first-name basis with the floor and he scooped her up, placing her back on the bed.

  Foolish woman.

  Ω Ω Ω

  He had wings. He had tremendous-ass black wings. How the hell did he get wings? “I’ve been drugged,” Dalila croaked. “You gave me some psychotropic meds, and I’m having a reaction,” Dalila groaned. She was back in bed, with Isaiah looming over her with his wings. It almost had a cocooning effect. The wings were the same color as his hair. They looked lethal and soft at the same time. Dalila reached up and gently ran her hand down the side of his wing. She made it halfway down one of his plumes before Isaiah grabbed her wrist tightly. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. They both stared at one another, as if they had an internal conversation. His eyes bored into her soul, his gaze reached out and touched the heart of her. She tried to look away, even tried to pull her wrist back, but his grip was too strong.

  Between gritted teeth, he said, “Don’t touch my wings. Don’t ever touch my wings again.”

  Dalila jerked her arm back, and this time he let her go. “Right, got it. I don’t know why I did that.” Why aren’t you panicking? Because there is a Herculean man, with enormous hulking black wings, sitting on the bed next to you that is just oh-my-fucking-gosh, too hot for words. Dalila scooted back up against the headboard, while Isaiah sat a bit straighter on the bed. Yeah, she was taking this way too well for her own peace of mind. You did faint, that counts as a total freak fest, right? Right. But there was something else about him. Something drew her to him. In a way it was comforting, but at the same time it scared her. He reminded her of a caged beast. On the outside of the glass, everything was safe. Comforting. But should a person fall in, or find themselves on the other side, they’d been in for the fight of their life. Dalila was done fighting. All she wanted now was to live and survive whatever situation she’d gotten herself into.

  “Like I was saying, Dalila, don’t make me go after you. You’d never make it, and even if you don’t want to believe me now, there are worse things besides a Seraph.”

  “Did you say a Seraph, as in the Burning Ones?”

  “How did you come to know of that name?”

  “I only studied them like about a gazillion times for a world religion class. My friend, Lyric, and I did a dissertation on Seraphim. Back in the day, they referred to your kind as the Burning Ones, likely due to the poison that you emitted through your wings... Oh my God,” Dalila put her hand to her mouth and took in a sharp breath. “That’s why I can’t touch your wings.” Isaiah continued to stare at her now with a quizzical glance.

  “I liked you better when you were scared and yelling. I am not what your history books would have you think. I don’t have six wings.” He flexed his shoulder then and his wings drew taut. “I am not cute and cherub-like, I don’t carry arrows of love and joy, and I sure as fuck don’t sing all day. I’m a Warrior and I am of the highest order of Angels next to the Omurukai.”

  “Omurukai?”

  “Yes, but that is none of your concern. Your only concern is doing what I say, and by doing that, you’ll live a long and healthy life.”

  “Whatever,” Dalila mumbled.

  She scooted off the bed and gave a wide berth to Isaiah and his wings. She wanted to touch them again; they were soft just like she thought and silky too. The amazing smell of rain and earth was him. He must have laid his head on the pillow. Knowing that she’d slept in the same spot that he had slept prior to her did funny things to her insides. As she inched her way to the door, she looked over her shoulder at him. He hadn’t turned around. He still sat in the same position, his back to her, and she could see the spine of his wings. She could see the muscles in his back and knew from their size he could use them for flight. Long, pointed, and angled, the tails were deeply forked. Not a single feather out of place. They lay perfectly flat against him. His wings were beautiful. Dalila should have been scared, she still was, but the fact that there was a man in a room with immense black wings, claiming to be a Seraph was far too appealing to her. The excitement outweighed the flight-or-fight mode.

  “Stop staring and go to the bathroom, Dalila.”

  “You don’t have to be such a jerk.”

  “And you don’t have to be so rude. I may not be human, but there are some courtesies that extend even to your world and staring at a person is one of them.” Isaiah twisted his upper body, so that he could look Dalila straight in the eye. If his eyes could throw daggers, she’d be dead. Again, she thought she saw warmth, but just as quickly it was gone again.

  “My bad, I forgot my ‘meeting a Seraph for the first-time manners,’ my apologies.” She brusquely walked out of the room and headed for the bathroom. Now would be an appropriate time to have that nervous breakdown you’ve been threatening to have.

  Chapter Three

  Isaiah watched her walk down the hall into the bathroom. His lungs burned from lack of oxygen, from a marathon he hadn’t run. His chest released air. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. Dalila was undeniably beautiful. Mouthy, but beautiful. Isaiah pulled the cordless phone from the bedside table and dialed his brother, Grey.

  “Unless you have Azazel, I don’t want to hear it.” Annoyance poured from his brother’s voice into Isaiah’s ear, causing his eyes to squint.

  “We have a problem.” Truth.

  “When don’t we have a problem? The Book of Gates is missing, Demons are roaming the Earth, oh, and my dick has been hard for the last three thousand years, perpetually. So yeah, we got problems,” Grey said.

  “Man, I so didn’t want to hear the dick comment, miss me with that. There was a complication, and before you go bastard on me, just know there was no other way to handle the situation. I need you, and at least two others, to come to the farmhouse.” Sharp arrows stabbed the phone in a staccato that penetrated far past the receiver on the other end of the phone. He could feel his brother’s anger.

  “What’s the problem?” There was silence over the phone for what seemed like
forever before Isaiah spoke. He pulled his hand through his hair and told Grey the whole story about Azazel and how he fell on Dalila’s car, making her a part of the problem.

  Deflated, small, weak: all three words floated to the surface to attack. “I touched her, man.”

  “Fuck all, you touched her, you know you can’t wipe a mortal once you come into physical contact.” Grey was going to pop a blood vessel if he continued his ranting over the phone. Isaiah didn’t need to see him to know a vein on the side of his brother’s temple pulsed in cadence with his voice, bulging to the surface, straining to breach his skin.

  “You obviously haven’t been listening, Grey, just get the hell over here, and bring the mortal some clothes. She’s in the shower.” He could have just willed her clothing, but why put all his qualities on display? Flustered and more irritated by the conversation with his brother, Isaiah hung up the phone. How was he supposed to feel about her? There was a reason they crossed paths. Could she possibly know something? Isaiah’s mind began to wander over all the different reasons and scenarios as to why the two of them could have met.

  Ten minutes later, he was still pacing. He’d walked back and forth for what seemed like hours. He stopped in the middle of the room and decided he would head toward the front; his brothers should be arriving shortly. Isaiah walked down the hall, passed the bathroom, and headed straight for the kitchen. Lustful thoughts and vivid images of him and Dalila wreaked havoc in his mind, awakening a side of him he’d long thought dead. This shit was ridiculous, and there was no way he was going to play out any of the ideas that were running through his head. Isaiah heard his brothers’ descent before they came through the back sliding glass doors. Heavy wings manipulated the air, a steady pulse that breathed and extracted life from the displaced molecules encompassing the area filled his ears. The deep thrum of air being displaced and strong shadows covered the back patio as they descended. Grey, being the biggest of his three brothers, entered first. They’d all gone into service together; Grey, Castiel, himself, and their younger brother, Raz, all from the same father but different mothers. Their sister, Uriel, was the youngest and the brothers did their best to keep her from harm’s way. Isaiah was glad they hadn’t brought her. The four of them were unstoppable in battle. When it came time for them to take their roles as Seraphim, none of them had turned down the calling. Warrior Angels were fierce, master strategists. They had many purposes. One was to make sure the Book of Gates was overseen by its keepers and to ensure the gates stayed closed. All was going as planned, until Azazel had fallen, and the Book mysteriously disappeared. Their other duty was to maintain order between the realms.