Angel Unbound

by Sharon Saracino

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Angel Unbound

  by

  Sharon Saracino

  The Earthbound Series, Book 2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Angel Unbound

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Sharon Saracino

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2014

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-648-4

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-649-1

  The Earthbound Series, Book 2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedications

  To my editor Frances Sevilla, and my readers,

  thank you for believing in angels...

  especially those of the Earthbound persuasion.

  ~*~

  Much gratitude to Jan Romes and Sharon Buchbinder, who always cheer me on, set me straight,

  and help me grow.

  ~*~

  Endless love and appreciation

  to my own personal angels, the Vinces.

  ~*~

  And lastly, a special Grazie Mille

  to the incomparable Asterio Pascolini,

  who with his endless humor patiently corrected

  my pitiful Italian in a valiant effort to prevent me

  from inserting my foot in my mouth.

  Any errors in translation are mine alone.

  Buon riposo, dear friend.

  I miss you more than I can say.

  Chapter One

  Hell, he might be an angel, but he never claimed to be perfect. Luca Fiorelli hadn’t planned to visit Giovanna this trip. In fact, he’d made up his mind before leaving New York that he wouldn’t be seeing her again. At all. When his uncharacteristic restlessness failed to dissipate once he was back on Italian soil, he’d convinced himself that maybe her familiarity would provide some clarity amidst the chaos that preoccupied him lately. It hadn’t. He held a true affection for her, but it would never be anything more. The reality was he used her when it suited his convenience and she asked nothing in return. She deserved better. Of course, she also deserved better than to wake up in an empty bed to discover the man she loved was a selfish, cowardly bastard who’d skulked off without a word like a thief in the night.

  Giovanna barely stirred as he quietly untangled his limbs from the twisted sheets and the warm, damp embrace of the sleeping woman and methodically donned the clothes he had so enthusiastically shed mere hours before. His icy detachment was legendary. Even those who knew him well were rarely privy to what lurked beneath the sardonically cocked brow and the nonchalant shrugs. His cold indifference was valued by his allies only slightly less than it was feared by his enemies. At the moment, however, he was in danger of actually breaking out in a nervous sweat as he struggled into his jeans. Ordinarily, Luca stayed until the first faint fingers of dawn crept into the third floor flat in the Borgo, but the last weeks had been anything but ordinary and he found even a night of exhausting lust with the warm and willing pasticcera had done little to assuage his unease. He’d just wrapped his fingers around the doorknob when a soft voice, thick with sleep and hoarse from passion, reached him. Maledizione! Well, he’d almost made it.

  “Luca? Si lascia?”

  “Uh, yeah, Gia...I’m leaving.”

  He heard her sigh of disappointment. Like Giovanna, he was an Earthbound, an order of angels descended from Fallen rebels. Earthbounds had been reconciled to the Heavens millennia ago in exchange for an agreement to battle the evil Fallen. Like others of his kind, he could easily read her thoughts when she forgot to block them. Thus, he knew exactly how she felt. He tried to feel worse about it, but he had always been clear. She understood he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Though she usually hid it well, lately he sensed a certain desperation. She discounted opportunities for other, healthier, relationships as she continued to hope, one day, Luca would change his mind.

  He hesitated as Gia threw her long, shapely legs over the side of the bed. She wrapped the sheet around herself against the early morning chill and hurried across the cold, marble floor to the door.

  “Will you return later, tesoro?” Her long fingers cupped his cheek as her dark eyes searched his face for the answer he knew she hoped not to find. He covered her hand with his then gently pulled it away, lightly kissing her fingers before letting go.

  “I...don’t think so, bellezza.”

  “Perche, amore? Why?”

  He saw her blink back the tears that sprang to her eyes. Yes, he had always been honest with her and never led her to believe there would be anything more. Still, he knew she had hoped...

  “Gia, you are a beautiful and passionate woman. You deserve so much more.”

  “It is enough for me,” she whispered softly, reaching for him again. He caught her hand before it touched him.

  “It isn’t,” he replied quietly. “Sono molto cura di te, I care for you, but I can never give you what you want. It isn’t fair to continue to accept what you offer.”

  “I offer it freely,” she whispered in a tight, choked voice.

  “Mi dispiace,” he replied sadly. “I’m sorry, Gia.” And he meant it. She was bright, and beautiful, and funny. He enjoyed the sex, but he also enjoyed her company. He would miss her. But it wasn’t fair to monopolize her heart and rob her of the chance to find happiness with a man who could love her as she deserved.

  Luca Fiorelli was not that man.

  Giovanna swallowed hard and again blinked away tears, offering him a brave smile. He heaved a sigh of relief seeing she would not beg.

  “I, too, am sorry, bello. But, I hope you will still come to the shop sometimes when you are in Roma? Beating you at chess is one of the few pleasures remaining to my uncle.”

  “I don’t want to make this more difficult for you, cara. Your uncle will understand.”

  “Don’t be silly, Luca. I am a big girl. We are friends. Besides, where else will you find cornetti as delicious as mine?” she teased with a forced lightness.

  “I never shall,” he smiled fondly. “They are the best in all of Italia.”

  “Tutti il mondo,” she countered.

  “Okay, have it your way...in the whole world,” he laughed, then sobered quickly and leaned forward to kiss her tenderly on either cheek. He had hoped to
avoid a tearful scene. He should have known Giovanna’s pride precluded one. She made it easier for him than he deserved and would save her tears until he was gone. The relief he felt was entirely selfish, and he knew it.

  “Ciao, bella. Buona fortuna.”

  “Anche a te, Luca...good fortune to you, also. I hope you find whatever it is you seek.”

  The moment the door closed behind him Luca resolutely blocked her from his mind and faded to the deserted street below. As soon as he cleared her building, the faint prickles of energy running along his spine faded. It happened whenever he visited Gia. Someone or something unsavory resided nearby, but they had yet to reveal themselves.

  The sound of his boots on the dew dampened cobblestones echoed eerily back from the ancient buildings rising up on either side as he quickly made his way along the narrow Via del Falco to Borgo Sant’Angelo. He kept to the shadows cast by the imposing Passetto, the elevated passage linking the Vatican City with the Castel Sant’Angelo, until he reached Piazza Pia, then he turned decisively toward the river.

  He welcomed the long walk along the sluggish Tiber back to the villa owned by the mother of his best friend, Kassian McAllister. He and Mac had served side by side as members of the elite Defensori, the warrior branch of Earthbounds, for hundreds of years. He could have simply faded back to the villa, but Luca hoped the crisp night air would help to clear his head and alleviate some of the disquiet invading his every waking moment. A disquiet that exactly coincided with the moment he’d pulled a dagger from the chest of Callista McAllister and plunged it into the back of the evil Fallen Jacques Rapier, ending the century long reign of Jack the Ripper and the equally long term of Callista’s captivity.

  After more than a hundred years of frustration, Jacques Rapier was no longer a threat. Mac’s sister Callista, whom Rapier had abducted after the Whitechapel murders, turned out to be alive not dead for over a century, as they’d all thought. Even more unbelievably, Luca had blood family again. A sister, Katrina, who had recently married his best friend, making him and Mac truly brothers. Any one of these things should have given him a measure of peace. Still, Luca could not shake the nagging discontent.

  After Rapier’s death, they discovered the Ring of Aandalena and with it, the startling revelation that not only was Luca’s sister half Earthbound, she also descended from Archangels on her mother’s side. Kat had unequivocally refused to have anything to do with the ring or its power. Her insistence on returning it to its creator, Michael the Archangel, had been the part of the reason for their journey to Rome. That and bringing Callista home to be reunited with her mother.

  Mac and Kat were currently enjoying an extended honeymoon in the Tuscan hills near Fiesole. The sprawling farmhouse had been Luca’s wedding gift to his sister. The place had been in the family for generations, but Luca hadn’t used it since his father’s death and thought Kat might appreciate having some tangible evidence of the father she’d never known.

  Apparently, he thought correctly. In fact, according to Mac, his friend struggled with convincing her to leave. Luca might have conveniently forgotten to mention to Mac exactly how rundown he’d let the place become. Kat already had a laundry list of renovations and had spent the last week interviewing contractors. His little sister was giving her battle hardened Defensori a run for his money. It wasn’t a situation Luca could ever envision for himself, but it did his heart good to see the positive changes love had wrought in his best friend.

  Luca hunched deeper into the collar of his leather jacket as a rogue breeze whipped up from the river when he reached the Ponte Garibaldi. His acute olfactory senses detected the weak, metallic scent of blood. He tensed, then relaxed when he realized he stood almost directly above Isola Tiberina, the boat shaped island in the middle of the Tiber housing the Ospedale Fatebenefratelli.

  Of course, he would detect the aroma of blood so near to a hospital. He turned onto Viale di Trastevere and the scent faded, but as he approached the corner, he once again felt the faint and unmistakable shocks of energy creeping along his spine heralding the presence of evil.

  He quickened his pace, eyes scanning alertly for any threat on the nearly deserted streets. Almost dawn, lights already glowed faintly from isolated windows as the early risers in the Trestevere neighborhood shook off the remnants of sleep and prepared to greet a new day.

  Though early, people milled about here and there, making it impossible for him to fade to the villa unobserved. By the time Luca started up the incline toward the house on Via Dandolo, the sensation of evil grew stronger, and he picked up his pace until he flat out ran.

  He reached the Convent of the Ursulines and flattened himself against the wall, melting into the rapidly lightening shadows. There, parked at the curb, under the thick cover of the trees, between the convent and the McAllister villa, was a battered little delivery truck. Piero the baker delivered fresh cornetti and pane to both the convent and the villa every morning, but there were no parcels on the front stoop of the convent and no sign of the elderly Italian panettiere near the villa.

  Luca inched carefully along the convent wall until he reached the spot where it joined the one surrounding the McAllister villa. Graffiti covered the walls again, though they were routinely scrubbed and painted. After making sure he remained unobserved, Luca faded into the garden running along the side of the house.

  Again, he scented blood.

  Alarms screaming now, he quietly unsnapped the sleeve of his jacket and slid a dagger from the intricate tattoo covering the inner aspect of his forearm. He nearly tripped over a body where it protruded from the bushes.

  Piero. The gash on his head bled profusely, but the old man’s chest still rose and fell.

  Well, that explained the blood he’d scented, but not why a Fallen or one of their animorti servants would bother to attack a harmless old baker.

  He heard the faint sound of a knock coming from the back of the villa and suddenly everything fell into place. He spared a thought for the good old days when the Defensori were the hunters, never the hunted.

  He quickly faded again, materializing directly in front of the woman as she opened the door, forming a wall between her and the animorti carrying Piero’s fragrant box of warm pastries and freshly baked bread. Luca plunged his dagger into the impostor’s gut with his right hand and deftly caught the box of baked goods in his left as the creature disintegrated into a puddle of black slime at his feet. He nimbly spun on his heel and presented the box to the housekeeper with a flourish.

  Except it wasn’t the unflappable and rotund Maria regarding him with wide, shocked eyes.

  It was Callista McAllister.

  “What in the hell are you doing opening the door to a stranger?” he demanded hotly. “Setting sigils around the house doesn’t do a damn bit of good if you blindly open the door to any Tom, Dick, or Harry!”

  “I didn’t realize…I thought…” she began.

  “No, Callista, you didn’t think. You never think. That’s your whole problem. If I hadn’t decided to come home, you’d be dead. Again. For real this time!” Something ugly and unwelcome twisted in Luca’s gut at the thought.

  Still pale and fragile after her years in captivity, Callista’s slight frame was lost in the voluminous folds of a heavy fleece robe. Her long, dark hair hung in a thick braid over one shoulder, but stubborn tendrils escaped to curl charmingly around her small, heart-shaped face. Her wide, blue eyes fixed on Luca in astonished surprise and filled with tears. She snatched the box from his hand, and turned away to place it on the kitchen table.

  Luca stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him. Rubbing his hands together briskly, he turned the resultant blue energy emanating from his palms toward the foul remains of the animorti, vaporizing them instantly. Then he retrieved Piero’s still form from beneath the bushes and dragged him around to the back, positioning him in such a way it would appear he’d fallen on the stairs and struck his head.

  Satisfied that he had everything in
order, he pulled out his cell phone. There would be a cursory investigation by necessity, but Gianluca, a fellow Earthbound and member of the police force, would ensure few questions were asked. He would also ensure the money Luca arranged provided for Piero’s family while the baker recovered and that the injured man remembered nothing of the morning’s events.

  ****

  “You’re up early,” Luca observed, once Piero was on his way to the hospital and he finally stepped inside and closed the door. He helped himself to an espresso from the pot still simmering on the stovetop. It was already half empty. Callista had obviously been up for a while.

  “You’re up late,” she snapped back sinking into her chair and pushing the box of baked goods toward him.

  Luca shrugged, flipped open the box, and snagged a cornetto before dropping into the chair opposite her and stretching his legs out in front of him. He took a sip of the strong, fragrant coffee and sneaked a glance at Callista from under his lashes. The threat of tears had passed, but it was impossible to miss the dark purple smudges beneath her thickly fringed blue eyes and the dampness spiking her lashes. Since they’d come to Rome, he’d heard her cry out in her sleep more than once. He also frequently heard her walking the floors well into the morning hours. Maybe he’d been a little hard on her earlier, but she needed to start using her head.

  “Nightmares?”

  Her eyes darted to his face in surprise then narrowed.

  “Trollop?”

  “What?”

  “I assume you’re asking if nightmares are the reason I’m up so early. I’m merely asking if a trollop is the reason you’re up so late.”

  She sounded sullen. Luca realized he seemed to have that effect on her. Callista kept her eyes glued to her empty cup. Lately, he’d been avoiding her more and more. For all intents and purposes, she’d lived in the nineteenth century one minute and the twenty first century the next. She’d been frozen in time with little exposure to the outside world for more than a hundred years. Everything was different. Everyone was different.

  Every time he opened his mouth, he pissed her off, embarrassed the hell out of her, or hurt her feelings. He’d always been able to speak his mind around Calli, and she’d never been shy. But that was another time. He simply didn’t know how to talk to her anymore.