Her Fallen Protector

by Nichole Severn

  “But it wasn’t them.” He closed the distance between them. Chest to chest, he ran his calloused palms down her arms. Goose bumps popped up along her skin, shoulder to elbow. “You’re safe here. I promise. Now, why don’t you go freshen up? Shower. Take a nap. When you’re ready, we’ll have dinner and talk about what to do next.”

  Next. Because Damien and Isabel wouldn’t just let them move on with their lives. Not when she supposedly had information they wanted. But what good could either of them do without rest and food? “Sure. Dinner. I want answers—”

  Agonizing heat bolted through her skull.

  She spotted him a mere twenty feet away, an Archangel, his hands busy with two of her brethren. She had to have him, needed the power of his blood inside her. She could almost taste the sweet, metallic liquid flowing down the back of her throat. The Archangel’s blood would make her invincible. With his essence, she’d rule the Underworld.

  Heightened senses made her skin sensitive to each and every brush of wind from the Archangel’s wings. Her entire body had never felt more alive. She stayed hidden, kept her body in the shadows as he destroyed her brethren with strong swings of his weapon.

  Israel.

  The scent of angel filled her nose, sweet, and unlike the other Guardians, pleasant. A sudden jerk of his head and she knew he’d found her. Emerald-colored eyes locked on her and she smiled. A Guardian would make a fine addition to her collection. Mine.

  “Not again.” Her stomach flipped. Fingertips digging into his shoulders, she fought for balance. The man from her vision steadied her a second time. Jacob. The Archangel. She licked her lips. Tasted blood. The backs of her eyes pounded with the headache ripping through her.

  “Vdarra, what’s wrong?” He swiped the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “You’re bleeding. What just happened?”

  “I must’ve bit my tongue.” Salt spread across her taste buds. Her hands shook. The night terror had felt so real. Like the first time just before she’d answered her door to Officer Psycho. Every scent, every word, echoed at the back of her mind. “I—I’m losing my mind. Turn around.”

  “What?”

  She grabbed hold of him and made him turn. Her fingertips and palms searched over the expanse of his shoulders, smoothed out his clothing. Isabel’s talons. The night terrors. The changes in her own damn body from Damien’s drug. They couldn’t all be hallucinations. Only one way to find out.

  “Vdarra—”

  “Take off your shirt.” Wings. He’d had wings.

  He swung his gaze over his shoulder. One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Well, I was hoping we’d take it slower this time, but all right.”

  Crisscrossing his forearms, he pulled the shirt over his head. Sunlight shadowed sharp valleys and ridges across his back. Her fingertips prickled. She’d run her hands over those ridges, followed those lines with her tongue. She sucked in a shallow gulp of air. Smooth skin stared back at her. “Where are they?”

  He faced her slowly, caught her hands in his. His warmth nearly overwhelmed her senses, but she couldn’t let him distract her. “What are you looking for?”

  Her mental defenses crumbled. The last ounces of strength drained from her body and she backed herself against the far wall. No wings. She ground her palms into her eye sockets. Lightning shot across the back of her eyelids. The streaks cleared, leaving him the center of her attention. “I’m just going crazy. I haven’t eaten in hours. Haven’t slept. What the hell did those people drug me with? Because none of this can be real.”

  He crossed the room, stopped in front of her. Physical heat emanated off his body from more than a foot away, surging against her. It penetrated down into her bones, relieved her anxiety from the inside. She breathed deep, but the swirling sensation in her lower abdomen wouldn’t relent.

  “They didn’t drug you, Vdarra. You know that.” His ordinarily bright gaze dimmed to an emerald shade, his brows pinched inward. “You’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry for that. I never meant for any of this to happen, but I can’t help you unless you tell me the truth. What’s going on? Did you see something? Remember something?”

  “You and me. Only not like we are now. You were…and I was…” Pressure built in her chest. Not night terrors. The twenty years of her life that had been stolen had tried breaking through. Memories. Which meant…Her skin went cold. “This is real, isn’t it? What I’m seeing is real.”

  The headache behind her eyes exploded.

  “You don’t have to go all the way to Hell to find me, Archangel.” She admired his backside, the strong shoulders and valiant wings. She’d tracked him down after discovering his scent in her private quarters.

  “You saved my life in our last battle. Why?”

  The sound of his voice brought chills to her long-dead skin. The warrior merely stood there, waiting. How had she been able to sneak up on him? Archangels rarely stayed motionless long enough for a demon to take a breath. The pulsing of the blood in her veins, the sound of the wind blowing through her hair, the clanking of her armor as she approached, they were all she could hear.

  “Are you out to kill me? Is that why you went all the way to the Underworld and broke into my quarters? I’m alone now. I won’t be much of a challenge.” She kept her weapons at her sides, waiting for him to relax, to summon her closer. She’d told the truth, but the apprehension in his eyes was well deserved. “I won’t even fight back.”

  He’d readied himself for an attack, his mace in one hand and sword in another. “You’re lying, fiend.”

  “Duemos,” she corrected. “I’m sure by now you know of the price on my head. For saving your life.”

  Israel didn’t answer.

  “I betrayed my father and my kingdom and I can’t even explain why.” Her attention remained glued to him and something deep within made her step toward him, despite the tension radiating off his body in waves. “Except it was because of you.”

  “Is this some ploy?” Israel motioned toward her with his mace. “You want me to throw down my weapons so you can manipulate me?”

  “No.” Duemos took another step closer. She dropped her sword to the earth in front of him, completely vulnerable. “This isn’t a trap. I’m here for your help.”

  “Vdarra, can you hear me?” His low voice reverberated through her like a caress.

  Frissons of fire and ice raced up her neck. Solid muscle held her upright. When had she collapsed against him? She shook her head hard and pushed back, unsteady. “What’s happening to me?”

  …

  His heart rocketed into his throat. She couldn’t stand him touching her.

  “Sorren alive, and these visions of the two of us, and Isabel…” She shuddered. “Her hands… What is she?”

  “Demon. So is Damien.” A storm raged in her eyes, and he folded his fingers into fists. What he wouldn’t give to hold her right now, though he knew she wouldn’t welcome the contact. No matter how much he wanted it, she’d made that perfectly clear. He had two strikes against him, including Rio. No way in hell he’d risk a third.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “It’s true.”

  “No, the ridiculous part is I believe you.” She met his gaze, but trembled. “I saw her hands. She was going to rip me to pieces if you hadn’t stopped her.”

  Her returning memories should’ve driven out the anxiety building in his chest, but the more she remembered, the more danger threatened her life.

  The battle raging inside exploded into a full-blown war. Every fiber of his being longed for her to remember the life they’d shared while his heart screamed for him to let her live her life as the happy, passionate, lighthearted woman she’d become. With or without him. “She won’t stop until she gets what she’s after. The Seal is all she and Damien care about.”

  “Well, I was telling the truth. I have no idea where it is. The only ring I’ve ever owned is a gold band locked in my safety deposit box at The Bank of New York on Broad Street.” She turne
d her back on him, increased the distance between them as she ran her hands over her face.

  “My father gave it to me a year after he rescued me from the ocean. Said it might help me remember who I was.” She scoffed, and dropped her hands. She traced her thumb around the base of her middle finger, where the ring used to sit. “How wrong he was. I think I’m more unsure of who I am now than when he gave it to me. Do you think that’s what they’re looking for?”

  When that mesmerizing gaze reconnected with his, he saw the strong, intelligent woman he’d sworn to protect, but specks of black hung around the edges of her irises. Duemos had eyes like that, bright with fire and danger, but the softness of the woman standing no more than five feet away revealed this would be how his mate looked if she’d been born mortal, living a normal life on earth.

  Free of her biological father.

  Free of him.

  How could he have been so selfish? He should’ve stayed away, should’ve left things alone in Rio. And because he hadn’t, the entire demonic race had her on their radar. His nails bit into the calloused skin on his palm. He wouldn’t lose her again. No matter the cost, he’d end this.

  “Jacob?”

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Do you think that’s what they’re looking for? The ring my father gave me?” She brushed a stray piece of hair behind one ear.

  What a selfish son of a bitch he’d become. He’d upended her entire life and all he could think about was how much he needed to touch her. How much he needed her to accept him, forgive him. “It’s a place to start, but we’re not going anywhere until you’ve gotten some rest.”

  “Right. The excruciating bombardment of memories made me forget I’m supposed to be taking a shower.” Her shoulders sagged. She started up the stairs, then froze on the third step. Her knuckles whitened on the banister. “This might sound insane and hypocritical, but, after my shower, could you…”

  He focused on her mouth.

  Nervous energy brought out the lopsided smile he’d craved since slamming that door behind them. “Could you lay down with me? The night terrors—memories—don’t hurt as much when I can smell you.”

  “When you can smell me?” He couldn’t stop the laugh from shaking his chest. Hadn’t heard that one before, but if she wanted him near, he wouldn’t argue. “It’s not hypocritical. Give me about ten minutes and I’ll be right up.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded, quick and efficient, and finished her climb up the stairs.

  The sound of water hitting the tile in his guest bathroom set him in motion. She’d been through so much already, he wouldn’t worry her about the security system. The back panel of the massive kitchen pantry disappeared behind a shelf of canned goods. A soft white glow illuminated the space concealed behind it. Security footage rolled seamlessly across the monitors, six in total, a monitor for every camera—one on the front door, two angled into the street, one at the back patio, another covering the entryway, and the last surveying the hallway upstairs.

  “Where are you, you bastard?” Hunched over the console, he studied the feeds for any sign of the Archangel. Someone had followed them to his apartment, and it had to have been Sorren. No demon would dare come this close to his safe house. Not with all the wards carved into the window seals and doorways. Step within ten feet of the brownstone and even a fiend as strong as Damien would die in an explosion of dust. But his own kind? That was another matter, and Sorren had always been a pain in the ass.

  New Yorkers walked the sidewalks, drove past, never stopped. Didn’t even pay the cameras any attention. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked without having to look over his shoulder. Without wondering who’d use him to get to Vdarra.

  The water shut off upstairs. Speak of the devil.

  He straightened, his gaze on the ceiling. The floor creaked under her footsteps as she made her way across the hallway and into the guest room. Pulling back his shoulders, he replaced the panel concealing the security room and headed toward the stairs.

  He had a date to keep.

  Chapter Eight

  What the hell had she been thinking?

  The shower hadn’t done her a damn bit of good. Her muscles refused to release. All because she’d asked him to lay down with her. She swung the bathroom door inward and the steam that’d built the last few minutes rushed past her into the hallway. The guest bedroom welcomed her in soft grays and yellows. She could hear the massive bed topped with more pillows than she needed calling her name. But where were her clothes? She could’ve sworn she’d left them on the end of the bed. The terrycloth robe protected her from the cold, but she couldn’t walk around with nothing but a quarter inch of material separating her from him. She needed a damn snow jacket. And pants. At least two pair. Maybe a chastity belt.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.

  “I threw your clothes in the washer.”

  Her body temperature rose fast. How long had he been standing there? “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Well, I figured you wouldn’t want to put the grime back on.” He moved into the bedroom. “How was your shower?”

  “Good.” She crossed her arms over her chest, counted the threads in the carpet. No point in telling him she’d started regretting her request. The pain at the back of her skull had already ebbed since he’d appeared at the door.

  “You stare at the floor like that when you’re lying. So what’s on your mind? Me?”

  She didn’t have look up to envision the smile lighting up his expression. “You see right through me.”

  “I do, and right now, I can see you’re exhausted.” One step closer. He drew her attention from his boots to his face. “We don’t have to do this. If you’re uncomfortable here with me in the bed with you, I can bring in a chair or I can stay downstairs—”

  “A chair will work.” Anything to keep the pain at bay. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He hiked a thumb toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  She hadn’t even turned down the covers when he set what looked like a kitchen chair in one corner of the room and sat. He’d been serious. Willing to sit alone, for at least a couple hours, just to ensure she got some rest. The past twelve hours had changed everything. She’d been kidnapped. Interrogated. She’d discovered that nightmares really existed. None of that compared to the fact that he’d become someone else. The man sitting in the corner on an uncomfortable chair had held her hand after Damien’s experiment, when the pain couldn’t have gotten any worse, protected her against Isabel’s second attack, and given her shelter when she had nowhere else to go. Definitely not the same man who’d used her, then run off in Rio. Could half a day really make such a difference?

  A brush of cool air drove her under the bedding, but even after bundling up, her skin refused to warm.

  “Can you smell me from here?”

  She burst out laughing. Actually, she could. The air conditioning made sure his divine cinnamon scent kept the pain on a low simmer, but she needed more than that to get to sleep. “Not really. Maybe if you sit closer.”

  He dragged the chair across the carpet, half the distance between the bed and his original position. He sat again. “How’s this?”

  “Better.” What she wouldn’t give to have him closer. She nearly begged him to climb into the bed with her, but Rio remained fresh in her mind. Huddled down into the bedding, she stared up at the textured ceiling. Just breathe. One inhale. Two. Three. His signature scent permeated every cell in her body, relaxed the ache in her muscles. The weight of his gaze sat comfortably on her chest, his soft breathing almost hypnotic. Her lids grew heavy and the world slid away.

  …

  Darkness had overtaken the guest room.

  The small clock radio on the nightstand said she’d slept for four hours. And what a nap. Dreamless. Painless. Filled with cinnamon and warmth. Jacob.

  Her gaze swung toward the empty chair beside the bed. He’d left her to
sleep in peace. Throwing back the covers, Vdarra fumbled for the switch on the lamp next to the bed. Yellow light flooded the room and she pulled the robe tighter against the cool air coming up through the vents. Her clothing waited for her on the chair, but he’d added a pair of boots, a roll of socks, and a bra and panty set to the pile. All hers.

  The bedroom door hung open, a soft glow from down the hall beckoning her downstairs. She dressed, leaving the robe across the bottom of the bed, and took the stairs slowly. “Jacob?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  She hit the landing and swung one hundred and eighty degrees into the dining room. Her stomach growled from the scent of meat and seasoning, but the vision of him hovering over the stove sent a thrill through her. Clean jeans and T-shirt. Damp hair. Barefoot. Where was the man who’d been adamant on carrying the weight of her problems on his shoulders? “Wow.”

  “Either you’re impressed with my cooking ability or I clean up nice.” He removed a pan from the stove and set it on the island behind him then faced her. His smile widened, and her heart skipped a beat like she’d been waiting to see it again. Insane. “Which is it?”

  “I just figured you for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich kind of guy.” Candlelight drew her attention to the dining room table, complete with china, silver, and wine. Beautiful. Romantic. Too carefree. “Not all this.”

  “You mind handing me our plates?” The oven door bounced as he pulled it down and the delicious aroma of roast and vegetables settled in her lungs.

  The cold china felt light in her hands, the cracks and chips along the edges signifying how much the set meant to him. A gift? From their wedding, maybe?

  He carved through the first quarter of the meat carefully and placed a scoop of vegetables beside it. Gently carrying them back to the table, he set the plates down and pulled out a chair. For her. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Smells good.” She sat at the end of the rectangular table and scooted closer with his help, and then waited for him as he poured the wine.

  He took his seat beside her. So close, yet too far away. He said, “To be fair, you can’t remember anything until ten years ago, and I haven’t been around since then. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”