by Michele Hauf
Ashur rolled over and pressed Six into the mattress. “Stay here. And don’t scratch your neck!”
He ran for the window, serrated with broken glass, and hit the air, his arms spread and his head angling downward to quicken his free-fall descent.
Eden clung to the iron bedpost. Wind whipped about the room, stirring the silk sheers to angry flags and pushing the finer shards of glass across the floor in tinkling slides.
Ashur had jumped out the window. Both of them had jumped!
However, that wasn’t the freakiest thing. When the angel had plunged through her window, she had expected it. Sitting up on the bed, she had known exactly what he’d come for. To have sex with her. To create a monster baby.
How did she fight a creature as powerful as an angel?
But what Zaqiel had revealed about Ashur shocked her the most. He was a demon. She’d thought him an angel, on her side.
“A demon has been in my home? And I let him touch me.” She stroked the flesh between her breasts where Ashur’s touch had stirred her desire. “He convinced me he wanted to help me. Oh, God.” She bent over on the bed and clutched her roiling gut.
The maid came screaming down the hallway. “I called 911! What happened?”
“Don’t come in, Rosalie!” Eden called in Spanish. “You’ll step on glass. Will you get me my boots from the hall closet so I can walk out of here?”
The maid ran off to retrieve the boots.
“911,” Eden muttered, forming a plan even as her brain operated on panic mode. “I have to get out of here.” How could she explain a broken window on the thirty-second floor? The police wouldn’t buy that an angel came crashing through. Hell, she never imagined something like this could happen. She didn’t like this strange war between angels and demons that she was in the middle of.
None of her dreams had gone beyond the image of an angel. No wars. No evil angels stalking her.
The maid tossed her a pair of Ugg boots and Eden slipped them on and scrambled across the broken glass to her closet where she pulled down a Dolce & Gabbana suitcase and stuffed it with clothes.
“What happened?” Rosalie asked.
“Not sure,” she called. “I need to leave. You’ll stay to meet the police?”
The maid could only shrug and watch as Eden opened the closet safe and drew out her passport, credit cards and some cash. She grabbed her blade, something she’d had Todd purchase for her because she wasn’t brave enough to go into the knife shop. Then she thought better of it. It would never make it through airport security.
“Are you all right, Miss Campbell?” Rosalie asked when Eden met her at the door. She brushed the shoulder of Eden’s shirt. It was torn. “Maybe you should call your father?”
It had been weeks since she’d talked to Peter Campbell. She’d actually had to make an appointment because he was busy with a new project in Greece. He didn’t need to worry about this. What could he do that Ashur—a demon—hadn’t already attempted?
“You were crying,” Rosalie said through her own burgeoning tears. She had worked for Eden eight years. At times Rosalie acted like a mother to Eden. “And then…this.”
“I didn’t do this,” Eden said, “but I can’t explain it, either. You have to trust me.” She unbuttoned her shirt and scrambled for another in the closet. The red silk with the ruffled short sleeves would do. “When the police arrive, tell them it was a bird. A big one. And I wasn’t here. You were cleaning, as usual.”
“But—”
“That’s all I can say right now.”
She hugged the maid. At that moment the doorbell rang. The police couldn’t have possibly gotten here so quickly.
“I’m so sorry to do this to you, Rosalie. I need to get away. Maybe a few weeks.”
“Maybe you need to just sit down a bit. Relax.” Rosalie got that worried look that signaled she was thinking about calling Eden’s father. He had warned her that Eden might get out of touch with reality on occasion.
“Rosalie, I’ve never been more rational in my life. Trust me. I just don’t want to be in New York right now. Lock the door when you leave, and make sure a repairman gets access to the bedroom. The building will no doubt send someone to fix it immediately.” She handed Rosalie a small stack of hundreds she’d taken from the safe. “For your trouble.”
Rosalie nodded and tucked the money away in her hip pocket. All her children were in grade school; she could use it. Eden trusted her completely.
The doorbell rang again.
Suitcase and purse in hand, Eden ran down the hallway and opened the front door. She slammed into the mailman and he handed her a brown padded envelope. “Sorry, Miss Campbell, didn’t think you were going to answer.”
She knew what it was, and stuffed it in her bag. “Thanks, Henry, I’m in a rush. Can you hold my mail for a few weeks?”
“Will do, Miss Campbell. Have a good trip!”
The difficult thing about chasing an angel was the Fallen could flash great distances quickly, much like a Sinistari could do, and Ashur had done the previous night to learn the world. But once the angel flashed, his telltale vibrations dissipated.
Ashur followed Zaqiel on foot through Central Park. The angel had dodged the mounted policeman, chuckling and looking over a shoulder to ensure Ashur was still in his wake. He toyed with the slow chase, though mortals barely registered the passing blur as angel and demon sped by them.
When he reached a large pond, Zaqiel leaped into the air and flashed. Ashur, following, had stopped midair because he’d lost the vibration, and landed in the pond. He flashed to shore and kicked the turf. An elderly couple seated nearby on a bench gawked at him, so he restrained himself from vigorously swearing out loud.
No sense in attempting to guess where the Fallen had flashed. He’d lost him.
A glance to Six’s building revealed the broken window thirty-two stories up. He wondered if any glass had fallen to the ground, and hoped no mortals had been injured.
Ashur stood straight and shook the water from his hair. What was he doing, wondering after the safety of mortals? He did not care! He should not care.
But he did.
Treading across the dew-moist grass, he slapped the water from his jeans. “I am failing with each breath I take.”
For with each breath it was as though he drew in compassion and concern for those surrounding him.
Either the angel would be the end of him, or Six would be.
Todd was waiting tables at Cloud Nine so Eden stopped in briefly to tell him she was leaving and to tell him about the show selling out. The gallery had canceled tonight’s showing because she hadn’t any pieces to replace the sold ones.
“That’s amazing, Eden. All of them?”
“Cool, huh?”
“So you’re leaving to…celebrate? This is sudden.”
“Um…I’m heading to Italy to meet a friend.”
“I’m your friend. Who’s your friend in Italy?”
“A girlfriend from college. You don’t know her. I barely know her. We agreed to meet for lunch overseas sometime.”
“And you need to meet her so desperately you’re willing to forego a champagne celebration with friends tonight?” He wasn’t angry so much as confused.
“Todd, you’re making that up.”
“I didn’t know you had anything to celebrate until now. Of course I just made it up.”
Eden squeezed his arm but couldn’t look him in the eye. “My friend…she’s in trouble.”
“Oh.” He bought it, but then he was busy setting up table settings and folding napkins so his attention was divided.
“Is anything wrong, Eden? You don’t look right. Your hair is spilling all over, and you always like to keep it contained—”
“So I’m going with loose and flirty curls for once. You always said the style would look good on me.”
“Yes, but the boots are puzzling me.”
She looked down at the Uggs that did not go with her pencil-thin s
kirt and red silk blouse. “I want to be comfortable on the flight.”
“Uggs are so five years ago.”
“The day I taught you to shop Barneys changed you forever, geek boy.”
“Hey, I proudly wear my Ralph Lauren pencil protector.”
“So I’ll see you in a week or so. Not sure how long I’ll be there.” She hugged him and squeezed his hand. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
Todd waved at Eden as she exited the restaurant. Scratching his neck where Eden’s neck had touched his as she’d hugged him, he wished her well. The celebration could wait. She needed to get laid. The woman needed real love. She’d been searching for it all her life.
Maybe she’d find a handsome Italian to fulfill those needs.
Chapter 8
Ashur charged into Kennedy Airport, but checked his demeanor. He was aware of the stringent security measures of modern airports so he was careful not to push anyone or draw attention to himself in any way.
He sighted Six leaving the ticket counter. She saw him, turned and walked the other way—quickly. Why was she avoiding him? Didn’t she want his protection?
A fine job you’ve done of it thus far. The Fallen almost dropped her thirty-two stories. And now she knows your ugly truth.
“Six!”
She kept walking. He sped up, using his natural pace and gained her side, slipping an arm through hers. “Don’t scream. Don’t make a scene.”
“Let me go.” She struggled but he contained her with a squeeze of her wrist. An older couple passed by, the woman’s gaze slicing through Ashur’s nonchalant brutality. He nodded to her and smiled. She frowned and turned away.
“What are you doing?” he said in a loud whisper. “I thought you understood the seriousness of having Zaqiel tracking you.”
“I do. That’s why I’m leaving the country. And getting away from you.”
“Me? But I’m here to—”
“To what? Protect me? I thought I was your bait.”
He had, too. “It appears Zaqiel wants to play, which is entirely unexpected. Normally the Fallen sights its muse and zooms in for the—” Six’s gaping mouth kept him from finishing that thought. “I’m not sure bait will be as effective as I’d hoped.”
“Ugh. You have no idea what it feels like to be called bait. So not romantic.”
“Where does romance fit into all this?”
“Exactly. I was stupid to consider—” She tugged her wrist from his grip. What she’d been about to say didn’t make any sense at all to Ashur. “What he said about you. That you’re…a demon,” she gasped out. “Is it true?”
Ashur lifted his chin and closed his eyes. No matter the truths of him, the media had designed angels to equal one thing—goodness—and demons the complete opposite. They’d got one side right. Public opinion had not changed since the biblical times when he’d first walked the earth. He was evil to the core of his black heart.
But some evils were necessary to counteract other evils.
Six struggled. “Let me go, or I’m calling security.”
“Go ahead,” Ashur said low and forcefully. No matter her beliefs, he could no longer risk losing sight of her, especially when Zaqiel was changing the rules of the game. “Tell security a demon is after you. Who do you think they’ll lock up?”
He allowed her to wrench her arm from his grasp, but she remained standing before him, huffing and unable to meet his eyes. Six’s hair tumbled in soft waves, spilling down to her waist. It was so long and sensual. She’d spilled free of the contained world he suspected was her norm. Since he’d taken her under his care she’d been put through the wringer.
Care? Hell, she was bait. Had been bait. Now that Zaqiel had changed the game he wasn’t sure what he could actually do with Six. She may not prove an effective lure. But he wasn’t prepared to leave her to her own devices.
She clasped a hand at her breast. He’d touched her there. That sweet spot between her breasts was again visible, and the soft skin called to him.
A person should feel some compassion toward Six for what she’d been through, but Ashur was not a person. He was a demon. And he was jonesing for some sin.
“Is it true?” she asked.
He knew what she wanted to hear. Not the truth.
“I thought you were an angel.”
“I never said I was.”
“Damn you!”
“Do not subscribe to the prefabricated judgments formed by literature and media, Six. What do you think I am?”
She lifted a hand to her neck, where she’d tied a blue scarf. The new angelkiss must drive her mad. The one on her forearm would cease to itch now that another had been placed on her skin.
Soft skin. She had touched him. Could she know what that did to him? It conjured up memory. It promised pleasure. It spoke to his easy need for debauchery. Now he wanted more. And want manifested into a desire to protect, to keep what he wished to indulge in safe.
“I think…” she started. “I don’t know. I mean, I know angels can be bad, but all I know about demons is they are evil. But there’s a possibility you could be good. You rescued me and…”
“I am not good, and do not try to make me so. I am here on earth to do my job, which is to slay the angel intent on making you his breeding bitch.”
She sucked in her lower lip. Tears glistened in her eyes. “You’re not good?”
“I am demon. Sinistari.”
“What’s that?”
A cursory glance ensured no passersby were close enough to hear their unorthodox conversation. “My breed. We were forged specifically—and only—to slay angels. I was summoned from Beneath to perform my job. I bear no intent to harm mortals, but must do what is necessary to complete my destined task. And in doing so…”
Should he tell her the next part? Her breath was shallow and erratic as it was.
“What happens when you slay an angel?” she asked. “Do you go back to where you came from?”
“Not unless commanded. And in payment for my task, I take the souls as reward.”
Because he was Ashuriel, Stealer of Souls. No other Sinistari had dared do the same. His fellow Sinistari sought the easy way out, a painless escape to a new existence—the possession of a human soul. And yes, he was proud of stealing souls.
An overhead speaker announced the various boarding flights.
Six said hers didn’t board for another half an hour. She stepped aside to allow a family of five to pass by, then shuffled up to stand right before him.
Ashur noticed her eyes held color—a soft, pale green. And her lips were tinted with rose. The juxtaposition of such unexpected color against her pale skin startled him. He wanted to touch her mouth, to see for himself that the color would not rub away.
“What does that mean?” she whispered, while taking in their periphery. “You take the soul.”
Ashur exhaled and tugged her over to the wall so they were out of the way of pedestrians. Six touched her neck as her eyes silently pleaded him to speak.
“Don’t scratch your neck,” he said. “Not in such a public venue.”
“I won’t. I’m trying not to. Explain. If you want me to trust you.”
An explanation wasn’t going to forge her trust. But he couldn’t justify hiding his truths if it would calm her. Besides, lying was so boring, a mere venial sin.
“Very well, then listen. When angels fell to earth so many millennia ago, they fell with the intent to fornicate with human females and seek their muse. But they also taught man the arts, which was forbidden at the time.”
How that had changed over the millennia. The arts were an accepted part of society now, and better for it.
“Forging metal, woodworking and creating cosmetics for the skin—even painting—and other creative endeavors were considered a sin. As a result of consorting with the angels, the mortal man’s soul was sacrificed and taken by that teaching angel. The man wasn’t aware of it, of course. And when he died, his stolen soul was alread
y trapped within the fallen angel.”
Six bit the corner of her lip. Wide green eyes entreated him for clarification.
“When I slay an angel, those souls are released. And before they can go either Above or Beneath, I steal them.”
He wanted to touch her mouth, to stroke the softness and offer tender words of reassurance. But it would be a lie. And he didn’t do tender.
“I take those souls into my black heart because it gives me agonizing pain.”
Her lashes dusted the air. Her mouth fell open in wonder. The expression was far too sensual to keep his thoughts from imagining the texture of his mouth against hers.
“It is what I am, Six. It is the punishment I claim for my task.”
“Why do you seek punishment? You’re a demon. Isn’t murder normal for you?”
He didn’t have an answer for that one.
“And the souls… If you didn’t steal them,” Six said, thinking it through, “those souls would go on to heaven?”
“Presumably. Unless they were destined elsewhere.”
“Above and Beneath,” she muttered, working over what he’d explained. “The arts? Seriously? If the angels hadn’t taught us the arts we would be a boring society.”
“The world has changed remarkably since the time when the arts were once considered vile and sinful.”
“And what about me? I would not be a painter without what the fallen angels taught my ancestors. Those souls were innocent, not sinful,” Six said. “They deserve freedom, the right to go where they must. Does all your kind do that?”
“Only me. If the souls are allowed freedom upon the Fallen’s death, the Sinistari wins a mortal soul in reward.”
“Then why don’t you stop? You could have freedom from—”
“Because it is my just punishment. I have no need for a human soul.” Leave it at that, nosy woman.
“That’s a stupid excuse. You have free will, yes? You can choose to steal the souls or set them free if you wish.”
“I wish to steal them.”
“I see.” She turned away and looked out the window. Cars rushed past, their passengers unaware of the incredible conversation going on mere yards away inside the building. “That’s your truth?”
