The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

  As she wiped up the counter, she glanced across the yard at her own house. The tree in the front yard was starting to drop its reddened leaves. Her lovingly tended flower garden had closed up against the cold, but the mulch was holding up well. Automatically her thoughts turned to her grandmother, the one who’d taught her everything she knew about gardening. Well, what little she’d retained. The one who’d taught her what she knew about children, fairies, butterflies, and loving life. The one who’d taught her to love herself, though there’d been a time when she’d forgotten that precious advice.

  She leaned against the counter as the pain of losing the person she’d loved most burned clear and bright, fresh as the day it had happened.

  She dabbed her tears and stood. Enough of this cry-baby stuff. She borrowed Noble’s bathroom for a quick shower and dressed in one of his humongous flannel shirts, rolling the sleeves to her elbows.

  After nibbling on a sandwich and doing some online Christmas shopping for Tristan, she settled back on the couch with Noble, tugging the blanket to make him share, and changed the channel to a romantic comedy. She glanced over. Still out like a light. He’d never know the difference. She grinned and settled back to enjoy the show, enjoying the warmth and security of someone next to her.

  The next thing she knew, soft pink light was kissing the back of her closed eyelids and a warm hand was sliding along the back of her leg. He brushed the tender skin of her knee.

  She gave a soft, breathy moan.

  Lips brushed the flesh behind her ear and trailed down the column of her throat, behind to the nape of her neck.

  Her hands reached out and found themselves tangled in the silken mass of his hair.

  “Look at me,” he urged, his voice deep, coated with sleep, and something darker and much more dangerous.

  Slowly, she slid her eyes open and met his.

  His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing her chin as he studied her. Their breath mingled as his midnight gaze all but ate her up. But she couldn’t move. Didn’t have the capacity for thought.

  His eyes dipped as he toyed with the collar of his own shirt on her. “Nice,” he whispered. “Looks better on you.” The hot pads of his fingertips moved to trail down her neck to the open V of the flannel shirt. “Very nice.” Lower, until he brushed the top mound of her breast, nearly scorching her.

  She sucked in a breath. “Oh, God.” She had the fleeting thought that this must be a fantastical dream. If it was, she didn’t want to wake up. Please, God, no.

  He glanced up, his black eyes dancing. “God’s not gonna help you now, sweetheart. Try, ‘Oh, Noble.’”

  Heat licked up her spine. What had gotten into him? What had happened to just being friends? She couldn’t care as another hot hand cruised up the outside of her thigh and came to rest just shy of her panty line.

  “Noble.”

  His lips found the shell of her ear. “Yes, baby?”

  Suddenly she was flipped until she straddled his lap, his hands cradling her hips, his eyes peering into hers. And that’s when everything in her threatened to explode.

  Her blood.

  Her libido.

  Her heart.

  Good God, her heart. It was quivering on the edge of being lost to him if it wasn’t already.

  Someone banged on the door, saving her from having to make a fight or flight decision. Noble’s whole body tensed beneath her when the man’s voice called out, “Baptiste.”

  Chapter 30

  Braelyn jumped up from Noble’s lap, sensing the severe change in his demeanor. It was as if ice had begun coursing through his veins. Another insistent knock on the door had her glancing over her shoulder.

  “I don’t fucking believe this,” Noble ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Um.” Braelyn took an automatic step back and bit her bottom lip. “Do you want me to . . .?” She waved a hand in the direction of the door, then started when the pounding became louder.

  “Baptiste? I know you’re home!” Bang! Bang! “Please open the door and speak to me. I know you hate me, but I’m still your grandfather.” Bang! Bang! Bang! “I’m not leaving until you open this door. Please!”

  Braelyn shrank away when Noble rose from the couch, fury pouring from every fiber of his body. Pure rage filled his eyes like she’d never seen.

  She was torn with the urge to run and the need to stay and offer whatever support she could, though she felt sure he would shut her out. She should be thankful for the interruption. Her heart was a millisecond away from toppling like a boulder at his feet, and she’d be a fool to offer her heart to another man who’d crush her. And Noble would. Whether he’d mean to or not, he would, because he could never offer himself to her openly. He was too twisted up with anger. Plus, she had Tristan to think about and if Noble couldn’t give his heart to her, how could she expect he’d have anything to give her son?

  But, darn if her heart was listening to all the good reasoning of her brain.

  She closed her eyes to the rush of pain.

  “I didn’t realize you had a wife, Baptiste. She’s very beautiful.” A strange voice had her eyes popping open. The man approached her, his hand outstretched. “Ashkii Blackfeather. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young lady.”

  Her eyes darted over his shoulder to Noble’s face. He was stone still. He looked tight as a bowstring but, she noticed, he didn’t bother to correct his grandfather about her being his wife. She glanced back at the rail-thin man. Other than a few inches and several pounds, the resemblance was uncanny. She automatically accepted his hand, feeling the bones in his emaciated grip. “Hello. I’m Braelyn . . .” Again she looked to Noble for direction, but he was closed off like never before and gave her nothing. “ . . . Campbell. Noble’s friend.” Might as well give her heart the start of a clean break now.

  He glanced down at the flannel shirt she wore then over to the blanket on the couch, giving her a glimpse of the yellow-tinged whites of his eyes. He was kind enough not to say anything about a “friend” wearing only a flannel shirt at seven-thirty in the morning.

  “I see,” he said. “My mistake.” He glanced behind him to Noble, who’d yet to move or speak. “I’ve kept up with Baptiste pretty well over the years by reading the tattoo trade magazines and Gentry’s website. I’d hoped he’d found someone special and settled down and it was just kept private.” He looked her in the eye again. “He deserves it.”

  She swallowed, unsure what to say.

  Noble finally unglued himself from the entryway and took a couple steps in their direction, but his face was as impassive as ever. His eyes stayed trained on Braelyn, though his grandfather stared at him like a starving man. “Braelyn.” He spoke, his voice low, controlled. Nearly animalistic.

  Her heart shook. “Yes.”

  “I think it’s best if you go now.”

  She waited a beat. His body was rigid, as if he was waiting for her to argue. There would be no swaying him.

  “Okay.” Quickly, she moved to his room, changed back into her own clothes, grabbed her purse and ducked out the door without a backward glance.

  At home, Braelyn showered and popped a pan of cinnamon rolls into the oven. Her eyes strayed to Noble’s house for about the hundredth time, wishing she could catch a glimpse of what was going on between him and his grandfather. His emotional turmoil called out to her like a black hole sucking her in. Deep. Dark. Endless. She wished she knew what to do for him.

  “Oh, Bray, get yourself together.” She hung her head in shame. “You’ve screwed up with men too many times. You cannot do it again.”

  She would not give Noble the power to break her, or Tristan’s, heart. Never again. The time for foolish notions was over. He was a ticking romantic time bomb. Besides, they had agreed to be friends. What would a friend do? Not fall in love
with a friend, you dope!

  God, was she too late?

  She shook off her doubts. She knew what she had to do. It was time to draw a line in the sand and protect her heart and Tristan’s at all costs.

  Noble stared at the old man, still not believing he’d had the balls to come here. “What do you want?”

  Shoulders suddenly slumped, his grandfather ignored the question and turned to shuffle toward the couch. “You mind if I sit? I don’t have much energy these days.” He set aside the throw that had just covered Braelyn’s legs and sat, his weight hardly dipping the cushion. “Your friend seems like a nice girl.” He glanced up. “Real pretty.”

  Noble barely controlled the shaking of his body as anger rolled through him. “You don’t get to look at her, you hear me?”

  Sadness filled his grandfather’s eyes and his head dropped. “I understand you hate me. I guess I never knew how much.”

  “No. You never will. Now, what do you want?” He bit out the words.

  The older man glanced up with tear-filled eyes. “I want you to forgive me.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  As Noble stared him down, he didn’t flinch. “I know I don’t deserve it, but we’re the only family we each have left and I was hoping for the chance to prove to you how sorry I am. I want you to know that I’ve changed before, well, I just need to, Baptiste. It’s important. Please consider it.”

  Noble listened with cool detachment, his boiling anger subsided. He’d had plenty of fantasies of the different ways he could torture and kill the old man if he ever saw him again to make him feel just a fraction of the pain he lived with every day, but all he wanted now was to be alone. Defeated, he sighed. “You’ve done enough, don’t you think? Why don’t you go?”

  His grandfather nodded once. “I’m not giving up on you. You’re my blood, boy. I’m determined to fix this if I have to die trying.” He stood and headed to the front door. “Goodbye, Baptiste. I’m staying at the Old Tabernacle church shelter for now until I get things together. If you need to see me.” He let himself out.

  “Don’t count on it, old man.”

  Chapter 31

  Tristan kicked a clump of grass and walked as slowly as possible as he made his way home. Why did his mom always have to call and interrupt him and Nate during their zombie apocalypse wars? Seriously. It wasn’t even lunchtime.

  He jumped across the dry creek bed behind Nate’s house and skirted Mr. Nicoletti’s tool shed.

  “Good morning, Tristan!”

  He looked up and shielded his eyes from the sun. Mrs. Arnold was out weeding her garden. Again. “Good morning, ma’am.” He turned to keep going and nearly stepped on her stupid yappy Yorkie.

  “Boudreaux, get over here!” she called. The five-pound terror stopped barking to move closer to his master, but kept its beady, suspicious eyes trained on Tristan.

  He moved on again toward home and what awaited him. His ex-Buddy. That’s how he knew his mom was really a heartless harpy out to torture him. Why else would she make him come home on a perfectly good Saturday morning, giving up a day with his best friend and video games, just to be with her and the “Buddy” who’d rejected him?

  “This blows.”

  He pulled out his iPod and slowed his steps to a snail’s pace, hoping Michael would get sick of waiting around. Why was the big guy coming to see him anyway? Hadn’t he gotten the message yesterday when he dodged him the first time? Jeez.

  The wind whipped his hair and he reached up to swipe it from his eyes. That’s when he realized his eyes were damp. Not from tears. No way. Just the cold wind slapping him in the face. He sniffled against the breeze, cursed the dead battery in his iPod, and picked up his pace. No use avoiding the inevitable.

  He rounded the corner of his house wondering if he could talk his mom into dropping him off at the mall to meet Ashley, and stopped short at the sound of Michael’s booming voice. He ducked behind his mom’s big green flowering bushy thing before he was spotted.

  “Listen, Miz Campbell, I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta run. I’ve got an important meeting to get to that I just found out about. I can’t wait anymore. Please tell Tristan I’m sorry I missed him.”

  Phew.

  “I will,” his mother answered sweetly.

  Tristan peeked between the leaves as Michael took a few steps down the driveway and turned back. “And would you please let him know . . .?” He paused. “Please tell him I miss him a lot.”

  “Sure,” she said before she quietly went back inside.

  But Tristan couldn’t take his eyes off the way Michael’s shoulders sagged and his face took on that puppy dog quality that made him appear sincere. He very nearly stepped out to say ‘hey’ but a movement from Noble’s house caught his attention.

  An old, skinny version of Noble came out the door and hobbled down the walkway. He started to go in the opposite direction, but as soon as he caught sight of Michael, a strange expression came over his face and he made an abrupt turn. He went straight up to Michael and stared into his face. What the . . .?

  The two men eyed each other for several seconds in an almost eerie sort of recognition. Finally the old man spoke. “I know you.”

  Michael shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  The man was adamant. “Yes.” He turned his head to take in the space around Michael’s massive body. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

  Michael backed away a few steps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The man stayed stock-still. Confident. “Yes. You do. You’re an angel.”

  Tristan unconsciously backed up a step himself. An angel? Did he mean The Angel? Who was that old man? And why was he making Michael so nervous? Tristan had an uncomfortable feeling he didn’t really want to know.

  Michael fled in his blue bug and headed straight for the Tabernacle church as quickly as he could. How had that man seen his light so easily? Fear nipped at his wings as he contemplated what it might mean if Father thought he’d broken one of the angelic commandments.

  Never!

  He bypassed several of his brothers and sisters in the parking lot and loped into the church. He scanned the crowd in the lobby, seeking out his mentor, thankful that he’d arrived plenty early.

  “Gabriel.” He approached their leader, his nerves catching up with him, making him breathless.

  Gabriel’s golden eyes crinkled with immediate warmth, then clouded with concern once he got a good look at him. “What is it, Michael? Has something happened?”

  Michael shrugged out of his jacket and took a deep breath as he composed himself. Someone had put on a fresh pot of coffee. “May we speak in private, Brother?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Together, they moved to the church library where dust covered every available surface, the inky smell of the book pages filling the intimate space. An obviously much beloved Bible resided in a place of honor on the center table.

  Gabriel sat in one of the utilitarian metal chairs. “Tell me what’s on your heart, Michael. Your grave expression concerns me.”

  Michael paced several steps, gathering his thoughts, then sat across from his beloved friend. “So, here’s the thing. I think a human . . .” He bowed his head, unsure how to continue.

  “A human what?” Gabriel asked, his voice gentle.

  Michael peered up, his eyes swimming with the frustrating things humans called ‘tears.’ “I believe a human saw my light.” He waited a beat. “Without my intention or Father’s possession.”

  Gabriel tilted his head. “One of your love detail assignments?”

  “No.” That made it even more perplexing. And scary.

  “Hmmm.”

  “So, did I somehow breach the Commandments? Will I be punished? Kicked off Lo
ve Detail? Wings clipped? Cast out?” His mind whirled with all sorts of terrifying thoughts.

  Gabriel held out a hand. “Slow down. Who was this human, and what exactly was said to frighten you so?”

  Michael had a hard time slowing down as he tried to imagine what it would feel like to have his wings clipped. Would it be quick and mercifully done? Like pulling off a Band-Aid? Or a slow, painful, bloody process? He suddenly felt woozy.

  “Michael?”

  He glanced back up. “Yes?”

  “Who saw your light?”

  “An old man. Noble’s grandfather maybe? He came from his home and looked an awful lot like him, but I didn’t stick around for a formal introduction.”

  Gabriel shifted, sending up a plume of dust motes. His brow furrowed in concentration. “And what did he say to you, Michael? Think carefully, this is important.”

  Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember over the pounding of his head and heart. All he wanted was for this to go away and for things to go back the way they were. Why did Father have to give angels light anyway? “He said he saw my light and he knew I was an angel.”

  “That’s it?”

  A tap sounded at the door and Uriel popped his head in. The thin blond with wire-rimmed glasses looked like some kind of surfer-librarian hybrid, and though he was an unusual new addition to their love crew from Crossovers, he’d proven himself after an initial bumble.

  “Hey, guys.” He smiled. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He turned his questioning gaze to Gabriel. “Listen, after the meeting wraps up we were going to meet up with some guys from Prophecy at Dreamboats for burgers. Wanna join us?”

  Dreamboats. Michael only heard the murmur of Gabriel’s response as something sliced through his memory. He slapped his hand down on the table, startling both of the other men.