She’d look less vulnerable when she didn’t remind him of how close she had been to dying. Then he’d be able to question her. Discover just how much she knew.
He couldn’t think beyond that. Because no matter which way he looked at it, the whole thing was an unholy mess.
The bathroom door opened, and she came into the room. She wore a sleeveless tee-shirt and black jeans, and her feet were bare. The sight of her naked toes caused his chest to constrict. They gave her an air of vulnerability.
But nothing else about her screamed vulnerable, despite the way her damp hair framed her face and curled over her shoulders. She looked ethereal, in the way an ancient water goddess presented a deceptive air of fragility that hid a core of steel.
Rowan was no goddess. But she wasn’t fully human, either. Yet even knowing what she was, even with the vivid memory of the last day etched forever in his mind, when he looked at her he didn’t see the filthy, primitive dhampir she had devolved into.
That wasn’t the true Rowan. The real one stood before him, looking at him with a steady, unblinking gaze, waiting for him to say something.
Except that’s a lie. This Rowan was the façade. Without her drugs she reverted to her true nature. It didn’t matter if that repelled the essence of his being. It didn’t change the facts. The Rowan he’d known during the last two weeks was an illusion.
How desperately he craved to crawl back into that illusion and to hell with reality.
“How did you know where I would be that night we met?” He kept his voice dispassionate because there was no way he’d allow her to guess that she still retained such an unnatural hold over him.
“I didn’t. Meg and I were celebrating my birthday.”
Her birthday? Dhampirs had birthdays? That had never occurred to him before. How old is she?
“How did you plan on finding me?” There must have been a plan in place. Sakarbaal wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble with her if he hadn’t also masterminded a way for her to cross Azrael’s path.
“Azrael, I didn’t even know you existed until I saw you that night in the club.” She didn’t sound defensive. Was she as innocent as he wanted to believe, or was she the universe’s greatest actress? The nauseating vision of her sucking Sakarbaal’s blood pulsated through his mind, a noxious reminder she was not all she claimed to be.
“When did Sakarbaal tell you about me?”
She flinched. Finally, his words elicited a reaction, but it didn’t give him any satisfaction. He might just as well have thrust his dagger into his own gut.
“It was the day you and I had spent together in London. He caught me that night. I’d just got back after an assignment and was injured.” A shudder rippled over her. It was obvious the memory unnerved her, and he throttled the urge to pull her into his arms and to hell with the truth.
He needed the truth. No matter what.
“Yes?” The word was harsh but instead of intimidating her—not that he wanted her cowering before him—she straightened her shoulders and returned his fierce glare.
“He forced me to take his blood. It was the first time. And as his blood healed my injuries,” her eyes blazed with accusation, “he showed me the great massacre that took place in Romania nine hundred years ago.”
Chapter 29
Rowan
Azrael returned her glare, unblinking. The slender thread of hope that he hadn’t been the one who had slain those ancient dhampirs in cold blood irrevocably unraveled.
“You haven’t answered my question.” His voice was arctic.
They might have been back in the Tudor inn, with the disdainful gleam in his eyes. But that was a lifetime ago and it didn’t matter how he glared at her, or how his magnificent wings unfurled in unspoken threat. She’d heard fragments of his whispered words while she’d been struggling in the void between reality and oblivion. If he truly despised her the way she had once feared, he would never have begged her to fight for her survival. And he certainly wouldn’t have injured his pride by approaching Nico to try and save her life.
The Archangel Azrael might never want to share her bed again. But he wasn’t intent on murdering her either.
For years, she’d fantasized about finding someone who would accept the sordid reality of her life. How fate loved to twist things. Instead of a vulnerable human, she’d fallen for Azrael, an immortal who not only knew what darkness seethed beneath the brittle surface of humanity but had pledged to rid her kind from the face of the Earth. And yet he was the one she trusted above everyone else she knew.
“Sakarbaal told me about you that night. Said you were only using me to get close to him.” She hadn’t believed a word at the time. But considering the facts she now had in her possession that possibility was looking more like the unpalatable truth by the second.
After all, Azrael had approached her in the club. He had been the one to suggest they meet again. Maybe he’d grown to like her over the time they’d spent together and maybe his plan had been to eliminate her when his assignment was finished.
So many maybes. Only one thing was clear. If he felt nothing at all for her, he would have killed her that night in the inn when, presumably, his plans had disintegrated.
“And you believed him.” It wasn’t a question. And he sounded pissed off, as if he thought her contemptibly naïve to believe such a thing. Or was that just her sense of self-preservation kicking in, so she wouldn’t dissolve into a puddle of ignoble humiliation?
“No.” She resisted the urge to wipe her sweaty hands on her jeans. She couldn’t let him see any weakness, any uncertainty. “I didn’t. I had no idea what his real plan was, but I decided I’d had enough. I was going to make a new life for myself away from the Enclave. That night at the inn—I thought it would be our last night together. And I wanted to warn you about Sakarbaal.”
“And you just happened to have a phial of the Guardians’ lethal atmosphere in your possession.”
The Guardians? Who were they? “I don’t know what was in it.” She frowned, as the strangeness of his accusation penetrated. “Atmosphere? What do you mean by that?”
“That you were going to plunge into my bloodstream,” he said, ignoring her question, “in the hope it would incapacitate me for your master.”
She folded her arms, and irritation flared. He was so very quick to judge. So very sure that it was her who was in the wrong.
“That was Sakarbaal’s plan.” She didn’t bother trying to hide the edge of impatience in her voice. “I had no intention of following through. I’ve spent the last two weeks thinking you were a human man who needed protecting from the dangers of my life.” What a joke that had been.
He didn’t answer right away, as though her response had been unexpected. His wings, which she constantly battled not to gaze at in reverential awe, folded back and his stance became subliminally less aggressive. She didn’t want to read too much into it, because his expression gave nothing away, but it seemed he was genuinely considering everything she’d just told him.
“You’re telling me Sakarbaal knew nothing about you meeting me before that night you sucked his blood?”
He made it sound so vulgar. Depraved. Like he imagined she had enjoyed taking Sakarbaal’s blood. That she’d been given a choice.
She hadn’t any choice. But the stark truth remained. She’d relished every drop of his cursed blood.
“I don’t know how he knew about you.” She still had no idea how he’d discovered her illicit liaison. It certainly hadn’t been from Meg. Because Meg had put her existence on the line by going to the Strigoi and offering them amber acid in exchange for information about Rowan.
She might love Meg in a strange, hybrid mother/sister way but until now it had never occurred to her that the love might be just as strong from Meg.
Vampires won’t turn against their own for us, Brad had said. But he had been wrong.
Azrael’s feathers undulated in a beautiful, distracting shimmer of color. “Why was he follo
wing you the night we went to Estella’s?”
She tore her fascinated gaze from his mesmerizing wings and stared into his gold-flecked eyes. Would he ever again look at her with warmth and desire?
“I didn’t know he was.” A shudder inched along her spine at the thought of Sakarbaal tailing her.
Another thought struck her. Was it really her he had been following? Or had it been Nico?
Or had both vampires been tracking Azrael?
“I find it hard to believe he waited so long before giving you your orders.”
She thought she’d been so clever. Thought nobody had guessed her secret. But Brad had. So had Lily. And so had Sakarbaal from virtually the moment he’d returned to London.
He had known she was involved not just with any archangel but the archangel he’d crossed swords with in the past. He’d bided his time, waiting to see if the liaison continued. And only then had he made his move.
No wonder she hadn’t faced any repercussions from that night. Her role in the vampire’s victim’s outburst in Estella’s had been tolerated, because she’d been with Azrael.
She unfolded her arms. She’d answered his questions, told him the truth and still he accused her of things that were beyond her control.
She had accusations of her own.
“And I find it hard to believe that you could annihilate a thousand defenseless dhampirs, just because they offended your—” For a second words failed her, as blood-soaked memories—memories that weren’t hers— from that terrible night flashed through her mind. She hitched in a jagged breath. “Sensibilities.”
“We’re not here to discuss my past.” He took a step towards her, the breathtaking iridescence of his wings threatening to ensnare her. “We’re here so I can decide whether or not you deserve to live.”
“Why? Because you’re the fabled Archangel of Death?” Not a fable though, was he?
“No.” Irritation flashed across his face. “Because I never allow my would-be assassins to survive.”
“Do you honestly believe I would’ve attempted to kill you that night?”
“No, I don’t.” He growled the confession, as though it corroded a part of his soul to utter the words. She stared at him, shocked he’d admitted such a thing when he seemed so hell bent on proving her guilt.
“Well, good.” How lame did she sound? She’d expected more of a fight to prove her innocence and his sudden acceptance threw her into a spin. But no matter how he’d so easily disarmed her she still intended to ask questions of her own.
But he’d already answered one without even knowing it. He hadn’t been aware she was a dhampir that night in the club. He hadn’t picked her up solely because of her connection to Sakarbaal. Their time together hadn’t been a cruel fabrication after all.
“Sakarbaal didn’t send you to seduce me.” It wasn’t a question. It was like he stated a revolutionary fact. One he found devastating.
That didn’t make sense. Why would he rather believe she was one of Sakarbaal’s undercover spies who included sex in their lethal arsenal?
It was a mystery and one she’d return to later, but right now she had more important things to discuss with him. “I’ve answered all your questions. I think I deserve some answers in return.”
He looked at her for a long moment. It was obvious the thought of answering her questions filled him with despair. “You’ll remain here. I’ll ensure a supply of your medication is always available. You’ll be safe from Sakarbaal’s wrath while you remain under my protection.”
For a moment his bizarre comments made no sense. And then she realized, he thought he had just answered her concerns.
She wasn’t sure whether she was touched or exasperated by his presumption.
“Thanks for the offer, but we can discuss that later.” She didn’t miss the disbelief that flashed over his face at her words, as though he wasn’t used to having his benevolence swept to one side. “I’ve spent my whole life wishing I was fully human. But I’m not. I never can be.” The words lodged in her throat, but she pushed them out regardless. “I’m a dhampir.”
“I know that.” His voice was as expressionless as his face. It didn’t inspire her with confidence but at least it was better than seeing disgust in his eyes.
“And nine hundred years ago, you decimated my race.”
Silence screamed between them as primal rage pulsed from him and battered her with relentless psychic waves. But it was somehow off-kilter. The rage wasn’t directed at her or those ancient dhampirs but beyond them.
Sakarbaal.
That was no great surprise. Of course Sakarbaal was the reason behind that massacre. But she wanted to know Azrael’s part in it. Because unlike Sakarbaal and his potentially corrupted memories, she trusted Azrael to tell her the truth.
The way I trust Nico’s memories? She shoved the thought aside. She couldn’t deal with that, not yet. One thing at a time.
“Tell me the name of the order of vampires you’ve served all your life.”
“What?” She frowned at him, and disappointment surged through her. He had no intention of discussing it with her. “I don’t think I’m being unreasonable in wanting to know—”
He leaned towards her, and his wings unfurled in a magical, shimmering haze around her.
“Tell me.” It was a command.
She let out an impatient sigh, mainly in a vain attempt to hide just how much his wings fascinated her.
“The Enclave of the Phoenix. But you know that already.” He’d thrown it in her face back at the Tudor inn.
“Yes, I know.” There was a bitter note in his voice. “But do you know why Sakarbaal chose phoenix, Rowan?”
Shivers crawled along her arms although she wasn’t sure why. And although she had no idea where he was going with this, it was obviously important.
“It’s our mascot. It’s been our mascot for centuries.” The image of the phoenix was carved into balustrades, worked into tapestries and featured in many of the priceless paintings that adorned the interiors of the Enclave’s numerous properties. The legendary phoenix died, only to be reborn from its ashes. Her earliest memories were of being told it was a metaphor for how the superior vampire race arose from the embers of humanity. It was such an intrinsic element of her life she’d never really taken the time to think about it.
“Let me tell you why.” A thread of contempt scorched the words, as though her answer had been meaningless. “Nine hundred years ago I freed a phoenix Sakarbaal had kept captive. The dhampirs were guarding his castle.”
Phoenixes were creatures of myth. They weren’t real.
But how many humans believed in the existence of dhampirs? Of archangels?
She wanted to dispute his accusation but no matter how fantastical it sounded, she believed him. “What was he doing with it?”
“I don’t know.” Frustration seethed beneath the words. “But somehow he was manipulating its essence and distorting the astral planes.”
She didn’t have a clue what he meant. “Its essence? You mean its soul?”
“It took years to trace the elusive fragments back to the source of entry from the physical plane,” he said, as if that was a perfectly logical response to her question. “I finally hunted him down to his lair in Romania. His vampires fled, leaving only their mindless dhampirs between me and my quarry.”
Unwanted images from Sakarbaal’s memories of that time pounded through her mind. She wanted to believe they were untrue, distorted. That the dhampirs in question had been highly trained warriors who stood at least a whisper of a chance against an avenging archangel.
But superimposed on Sakarbaal’s bloodied carnage were Nico’s memories. A different perspective to that of their mutual lord but one thing remained harrowingly similar.
The indisputable fact that the dhampirs were woefully inadequate to fight anyone, let alone an immortal.
“Dhampirs aren’t mindless, Azrael.” But even as she defended her race the devastating reality ate
through her heart. Without her medication it took barely a day before she reverted to a dhampir’s base instincts. And while a tiny section of her mind had screamed in futile agony, it hadn’t stopped primal need from dictating her decaying body.
His gaze sharpened on her. “They were nothing like you.” His voice was harsh, as though he guessed her thoughts and refuted them utterly. But how could he, when he’d seen her at her worst? “Their only imperative was to obey their master and keep me from entering his lair.”
Sakarbaal’s half-truths and manipulated images faded, until all that filled her mind’s eye were the memories of Nico.
She knew Nico was just as capable as Sakarbaal of concealing the truth from her. Of letting her see only what he wished her to see. She knew full well he hadn’t revealed everything to her. But what he’d shared had been underpinned with a raw, primeval grief.
Azrael had to answer for what he’d done. Her gaze didn’t waver. “But did they all deserve to die by your hand that night?”
His wings unfurled in a blatant gesture of arrogant intimidation, but instead of cowering before the Archangel of Death, she struggled against simply embracing the glorious, heavenly sight of his iridescent feathers.
“Do you dare to question me?” He sounded like a god from Olympus and the leashed fury in his voice flayed her senses. But was the fury directed at her?
It didn’t matter. She was a dhampir whether she liked it or not. And someone had to speak up for the dhampirs of the past. To vindicate their pitiful lives and inherent inability to make their own choices in their fate.
“Yes.” She took a step towards him. They were close enough to embrace. Close enough to kiss. “I dare to challenge your choices that night, Azrael. You’re an archangel. You didn’t need to face the dhampirs. You could have teleported directly to Sakarbaal himself.”
Chapter 30
Nemesis: Paranormal Angel Romance (Realm of Flame and Shadow Book 2) Page 20
