by Michele Hauf
Stating the obvious was not going to win his favor. But that cute, defying stare she cast him was. “That’s not the point. What’s important is that the creature is of my ilk—”
“Sam, listen,” she said as she followed his hasty strides down the hallway. “I agree I don’t want Coco involved. But her boyfriend has once already slain an angel.”
“Mortals are not capable of such a feat.”
“Yes, I know. But he did it, so I think I want to put my trust in that he may have some crazy skills should they actually find the nephilim. And do you even know what is the one thing that can kill a nephilim?”
“Certainly a Sinistari blade, and I’ve the halo.”
“Wrong. You don’t know?” She jumped before him, stopping them at the door that opened to the snowy parking lot.
Actually, he didn’t have that knowledge, but he didn’t want to say so. He’d developed a sense of pride since arriving on earth and didn’t want to reveal his lack of knowledge. What could kill a creature born of the divine and earthbound?
“I’ll enlighten you,” Cassandra said. “Granny taught me there’s only one thing can kill a nephilim. And that one thing? Coco has it.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but realized she wasn’t a stupid woman. She knew things. And much as he did know it all after walking the world, the precise method to slay a nephilim wasn’t coming to him at this moment. And the vampiress had not that knowledge when he’d scanned her mind. “What is it?”
Cassandra leaned the back of her head against the door, which was frosted with snow flowers, and gave him the most serious brown eyes. “Angel ash.”
Those words darted an icy chill up his spine, and he didn’t normally feel things like that. There was only one way such an item could be obtained. “From a dead angel?”
She nodded.
Sam swallowed that information awkwardly. That made him key to slaying the nephilim—in a way that did not sit well with him.
“So that’s why you were upset when the wind took away Nazariah’s ash. How’d your sister get her hands on something like that?”
“I told you. She and her boyfriend killed a Fallen a few months ago.”
“That’s too incredible to believe that mortals—”
“It was Zane who did the slaying. But Coco was the one smart enough to gather up the remains. She is bringing the angel ash with her, but the two can’t possibly be in Berlin yet.”
“Exactly. I think it wise we pick up the task your sister began and stop the monster before it starts killing innocent people. You saw the news report. It’s creating chaos. It won’t be long before it gets hungry and—”
“All right. I get it.” Her brown eyes flashed at him. She’d heard something she hadn’t wanted to hear, and it twinged deep inside Sam’s chest to know he’d caused that aggravation.
He shouldn’t be feeling things like regret or sympathy. Or desire. He sure as hell should not have been kissing his muse. Because he wasn’t positive he could resist the compulsion should their kisses stoke those dark desires that he knew lived within him. He felt a desire to take her, his newly developed morals be damned.
Was it so wrong to want what He had given man? A woman, a lover, a friend and companion. Someone to hold his hand.
Sam looked at his hand, not daring to clasp it within Cassandra’s gloved hand. He wanted someone to hold it and mean it, not as a simple gesture.
Was this the struggle mortal men experienced when attempting to accomplish something important while in the company of a beautiful woman?
He had not expected to be distracted by the muse. But there it was, or rather, there she was. Distracting him with every syllable, every move, every soft sigh. Hell, even watching her swing a stake at invisible vampires had turned him on.
“Sam? What’s going on in that brain of yours?”
“Huh?”
“You’re giving me the glad eye.”
He rubbed his eye, wondering exactly what that meant and hoping it wasn’t something he’d got stuck in there. Then he looked at his hand again. Would she ever hold it?
Why do you care? You want to go home!
“I thought we were discussing monsters and methods to annihilate them. What’s up with your hand?”
“Hmm? Oh.” He tucked his hand into the pocket of his leather pants. “I was thinking about mortal men,” he said.
Her forehead quirked, and he laughed, realizing what he’d just said could be construed incorrectly. “Women are such a treat. It’s no wonder men will walk worlds for them, do crazy things to impress them, perhaps even die for them.”
“That only happens in fiction,” she said bluntly. He sensed a distinct lack of belief in her. Had she never been with a man who would walk the world for her? “This is real life, buddy.”
“Is it? Real life with monsters?”
She sighed. “You got it. Like a horror movie come to life. Are we going to stalk nephilim, or what?”
He pulled her in for a hug, because it felt right and good to hold her close. And it felt as though he gained strength from her, a reason to continue, to jump forward into the fray and slash away at the enemy even though he was going against his brethren and their progeny.
And if she chose not to hold his hand, then he would find a way to earn that respect and trust from her. He would champion her.
“Nephilim it is. Let’s do this.”
They stomped through the park where Cassandra guessed the nephilim may have passed. The news video clip had not shown street signs, but she felt sure she’d seen the Berlin Cathedral in the background. Of course, if the nephilim had walked from Hamburg to Berlin in such a short time, there was no telling where it was now.
She wished they had a car, but it seemed Sam was not aware of creature comforts that made her life a little easier. She wasn’t going to pout like a girl. So it was cold. She had a warm jacket, gloves and boots.
The night was still, bright with city lights and a sprinkling of snow. Ahead, a vast parking lot fronted the river Spree. Cars covered in a foot of snow sat here and there. Nothing else could be heard except for the hum of an overhead streetlight and the distant thump of subwoofers in a cruising SUV.
Racing up to parallel Sam, she nudged his arm with an elbow. He slowed to allow her to keep pace.
That’s right, angel boy, I’m still here.
A week ago she would have answered hell, no had anyone asked if she’d ever join with the enemy to fight the cause. Sam wasn’t the enemy.
Yes, he was.
Truth? On the list of her enemies, Sam landed fourth after vampires, other Fallen and the nephilim. She’d term him a friendly hostile.
Glory hallelujah, Cassandra, you are certifiable.
Whatever. She would probably require a padded room after all this was done.
A black van rounded the corner and entered the lot behind them. It was moving too purposefully for a random drive through a quiet lot this late at night.
Cassandra tensed, ready for anything.
The van skidded to park and the driver hopped out, leaving the vehicle still running. Dressed in jean jacket and gray army-issue camo fatigues, he banged out a bowlegged race toward them. No gloves, no hat.
Not mortal, Cassandra guessed.
“Vampire,” Sam growled and pushed her behind him.
Cassandra didn’t stay there. She stepped to Sam’s side and, before he could protest, the vampire charged him. The two went down, Sam kicking high and the vampire somersaulting over him to land on his feet.
“Nice to meet the two of you,” the vampire said in thick Russian, bouncing on his feet and punching his fists in the air like a prizefighter. “Name’s Rovonsky. My boss wants a word with you both.”
“Let me guess,” Sam said. “Antonio del Gado? The Anakim tribe leader.”
“Oh, you’re good,” Rovonsky said. He winked at Cassandra. “But not so pretty as the muse.”
A great thump shook the ground, and Cassandra spun to spy
a hulking black creature approaching with arms pumping and armor glinting.
“Sinistari,” she whispered.
Not as if she hadn’t expected another one to be summoned. But seriously? Didn’t they have enough trouble already?
Dropping her backpack, she unzipped it and rummaged about inside. “You take the Sinistari,” she yelled to Sam. “I’ve got the vamp!”
“I’m on it!”
Without pause, Sam charged past her, leaving the vampire with fists raised for a fight he wouldn’t get. Metal and muscle clashed as the Fallen and the Sinistari met in the parking lot beside the black van.
“I guess I get to play with you,” the Russian bloodsucker teased.
Cassandra swung toward the leering vampire with the spring-action stake—and missed.
The vampire kicked her in the calf, knocking her sideways and she went down. The titanium cylinder rolled across the snow-and-ice-packed tarmac, away from her grasp.
The key hazard fighting a vampire was blood loss. If she could keep away from its fangs, she could survive this tussle.
Her hips crushed to the cold ground as the vampire landed on them with his knees and grabbed her neck. “I can’t kill you, but the boss didn’t say anything about not biting you. You are going to taste sweet.”
Fangs grew over his lower lip and he lunged toward her neck. Cassandra blocked the move with a forearm. Fangs gnashed through the Gore-Tex sleeve and she felt the cut at her elbow. So much for avoiding the teeth.
She would not become a vampire cocktail tonight.
Ramming up her knee, she managed to place it below the bastard’s rib cage. He grunted and spit blood. Must have bit his own lip. Heh.
Pulling her leather glove off with her teeth, she threw it aside. Clawing her hand, she slashed it toward the lunging vampire’s face. Two fine red lines appeared on his cheek. He snarled and slapped at her, but missed when she slithered out from under him.
The slippery ground worked to her advantage, and one push of her boot toe slid her on her stomach to the stake. Slapping a hand on it, the cool titanium shaft fit against her palm.
Air huffed from her lungs as the vampire landed on her back and lifted her by the neck. Without so much as a grunt of exertion, he brought her to her feet. Then her feet went airborne as he swung her about and slammed her onto the boot of a car.
A thick blanket of snow softened her landing. Stake hand flung high, it sank into the fluffy snow above her head, disguising her weapon from the vicious vampire who climbed upon her.
Swinging the stake forward, she aimed. The vampire chuckled when he saw it. “Looks like your pointy thing lost its pointy part.”
She shoved it against his chest. He smirked to reveal his fangs.
“We’ll see about that.” Squeezing the trigger released the stake. The jolt of connection thumped against her palm, but she held firm as the stake pierced bone and heart muscle in one easy glide.
The vampire opened his mouth. Blood dripped out and splattered against her cheek. He winced, looked ready to cry, then ashed.
A gray cloud formed in the shape of a man over her, and then dropped like a heavy blanket onto Cassandra’s body. She scrambled off the boot to shake the nasty ash first from her arms and then, with a few jumps, the rest of her body.
“Take that, bloodsucker,” she said, and clicked the stake into the titanium receptacle. “One vampire down, one…”
She’d forgotten about the demon and the angel. Where were they?
Growls rose from the other side of an RV. Cassandra walked a wide arc around the Silver Bullet camper, stake held at the ready. On the other side, Sam held the Sinistari pinned against the dented metal wall.
The demon slashed its deadly blade, missing Sam’s face by a whisper. The blade was supposed to be dipped in qeres, an Egyptian poison effective only against angels. One slice from that blade and Sam was a goner.
If the demon won, it would walk away and leave Cassandra untouched. Its only goal was to slay the Fallen. And that had once been her goal: to make sure the Fallen didn’t get anywhere near her, and if at all possible to slay it to prevent it from harming other muses.
But Sam was the outlaw the other angels despised. He was on her side. She needed him more than the Sinistari needed another feather in its cap.
But most of all, she had to admit she wanted Sam around because she liked him as a man. Behind the warrior lived a new, curious man who marveled over everything and who had a sexy sense of tease, which attracted her like no man ever had before.
She entertained the idea of them having a relationship. Of getting as close as two people could. Of not having to do it all on her own. Because…he was hers. They were destined for one another. Just because destiny ruled she should carry his monster child didn’t mean she couldn’t change that destiny.
“Sam,” she gasped as the demon threw his opponent through the air.
The angel landed on the icy tarmac and slid against the wheel of a sports car. The impact moved the car and the rear of it crashed into the next car and the next in a domino effect.
Sam leaped up and whipped the halo toward his aggressor. The demon ducked, laughing at the ease with which it avoided the danger. The halo boomeranged back to Sam’s grasp.
She needed to do something. To save her destiny.
No. He was capable. Have faith, Cassandra.
Faith? She’d lost her faith the moment Granny had filled her brain with her horrible destiny. Faith was for the lost, the desperate. Faith was a sham.
Sam stabbed the halo up into the demon’s heart, stepped back, then ran and kicked the creature in the chest. The demon soared backward, hung over the river momentarily, then dropped into the Spree’s murky, cold waters.
Cassandra ran to Sam’s side. “You did it! But your halo? You’ll need it!”
“That’s what I was thinking. Bad move. Wait here. I’ll get it back.”
Running toward the river, the angel, fearless when he should be otherwise, leaped.
“No!” Cassandra raced to the railing. “Don’t do it, Sam! Angels can’t swim!”
Chapter 9
Hands clasped to her chest and clutching so tightly she might snap a finger, Cassandra peered over the still surface of the river Spree. Chunks of white ice dotted the brown water. He’d jumped in a minute ago.
A full minute.
“Where is he? He’s drowned. Angels can’t swim. That’s the whole reason for the flood. God sent the flood to sweep the Fallen from the earth. Oh, hell, why did he do that? He’s…”
She couldn’t say the word dead. Didn’t want to think or put it out there with her voice. He was not. But who could stay underwater so long?
Probably an angel. But not an angel who couldn’t swim.
She mounted the railing, prepared to swing over it and climb down the riverbank but knew that would prove foolish. She could swim, but it was December, and the water would take away her breath and give her hypothermia in less than thirty seconds. She was not suicidal.
Another minute passed.
Pacing before the railing, Cassandra rattled her fists near her thighs. Snow fell silently, melting on the water’s surface, unaware of the frantic crash of emotions colliding inside her.
She was angry Sam had done such a stupid thing. Fearful he could be dead. Torn, because now she’d been left to fend off the Fallen, the demons and the vampires by herself. How could he do that to her? Leave her like this?
Then she was proud because Sam had defeated one Fallen and two Sinistari. And it wasn’t as though he’d jumped in after the halo because the earthbound soul it contained held value to him. He’d wanted to retrieve the weapon that could ensure further success. Sam did not think of himself, only of innocent mortals.
Why?
How could he have developed such compassion toward mortals in so short a time? She was the only one he’d related to since arriving on earth. She couldn’t have had such a powerful effect on the guy.
No, it had
happened thousands of years ago. After his Fall. He’d looked upon mortal women and decided they were real, feeling beings not to be used for selfish pleasure. That was when compassion had won over her Fallen angel.
Would it now prove his death?
Your Fallen angel? Oh, Cassandra, you fool. He doesn’t belong to you.
Nor could he claim possession over her. They were not an item. She didn’t get to have relationships. Only other women, who didn’t have the apocalypse hanging over their heads, could enjoy that.
Yes, yes, cry an entire river, Cassandra. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, right now.
Another minute—hell, possibly five minutes had passed!
Cassandra searched the calm river surface, not seeing air bubbles or a waver on the brown sheen. He was gone. Sam had sacrificed himself without a second thought.
She fell to her knees before the railing and pressed her head against the cold iron bar. Tears slipped down her cheeks, burning trails to her jaw. Granny Stevens could have never anticipated a muse getting along with her Fallen counterpart.
Sam was not like the other Fallen. He had looked into her eyes and she had seen the respect in his. He was here on earth to save her from himself.
“Oh.” A lump caught in her throat and she gasped out sobs. “Please come back. Your bunny needs you, Sam. I can’t do this without you.”
Turning her back to the railing, she put her head against her knees and sobbed.
Water splashed. Cassandra jerked her body up for a look down the bank. A head emerged from the river, followed by broad shoulders, and the dripping wet clothing that clung to her outlaw angel.
“Sam!”
He spit out cold river water, the most disagreeable substance he’d ever tasted. Water soaked his clothing, dragging him down, wanting to repossess him to the depths. A dense lethargy stretched his calf and thigh muscles painfully.
Sam fell to his knees upon the snowy bank, the halo clutched firmly in hand. He’d retrieved his only chance of succeeding against the enemy.
A saving grace embraced him. Cassandra slid into a kneeling hug and, sobs accompanying her repeated prayer of his name, she clasped her arms about him and clung to his sodden body.
