Archangels Creed Box Set 1-3

by Azure Boone

  Toren paced the room, thinking with minimal capacity and effort so as not to spark any spiritual fires that might light up his location to any demon within range. His body felt harnessed in an unfamiliar, uncomfortable way. Of course it had something to do with not knowing exactly what Samantha needed and how to provide it without using his powers. Why hadn’t he anticipated such a scenario? He’d been too preoccupied with how to convince her to marry him to consider the elements of everyday life, that’s how. Definitely something to note for whichever archangel followed him.

  He stood over her for a moment. Why was she still shaking? The fire had warmed the room appreciably and her breath no longer created steam plumes in the air. At a loss for what to do, he pushed a lock of hair off her forehead, his fingers brushing her skin. Unless he was mistaken, she felt far hotter than she should. He double checked and found her burning up.

  Didn't that usually mean they were sick? His heart slammed against his ribs. No. he hadn't coaxed her back from the brink of death after her ordeal with the demon, and then dragged her from a fire and through a blizzard just to lose her to some germ. Determination focused his mind.

  What caused the fever? Shock from the cold or her injuries? Or had the flu epidemic chosen the worst moment to strike? He put his face to hers to ascertain as much as he could naturally. Over a hundred degrees. So damn quickly. Amazing that such a fragile and vulnerable species had ever prospered and survived while far sturdier species of hominids had fallen prey to a simple inability to adapt. Perhaps one day humans might realize how the components of evolutionary theory and natural selection worked within the paradigm of Creation. Then they could focus on learning about the strengths to be found in understanding the unknown.

  The thought of Samantha's fragility reminded him of her hauling that big bright orange bag. Emergency gear, she’d said. Toren stopped wondering and ran to get it. He yanked out a smaller red bag labeled First Aid that sat right on top. Thanks to Uriel, he knew at least the basics of human needs and functions.

  He examined all the contents of the small bag, only to find none of it of obvious use. Frustrated, he resorted to reading the damn packages, instead of just using his senses and determining what Samantha needed. Being hobbled by the need for secrecy was becoming a serious handicap. Toren had a new healthy respect for the common guardians that looked after the frail species.

  He bit open the pack that had the words fever reducer and dumped the two little red and yellow pills into his palm and paused. She would need— The food container had drinks.

  He ran to the truck and got it. The snow fell even heavier than earlier, having already entirely obscured his tracks. Trying to plan more than a few seconds ahead for the first time since the blizzard began, he quickly ransacked the truck and grabbed every item he found that looked even remotely useful. If the snow kept falling at that rate, he might not manage to get back to the truck under purely human power. Just pushing the cabin door open against the accumulated snow had been a real task.

  The heavy plank dropped into the brackets by the door to secure the entry, keeping the storm, and everything else, out. Toren moved fluidly to the bed and set his burden down. Sliding a bottle of water from the food carrier, he stopped to think. How would he get her to drink it while unconscious?

  He could lift her head and shoulders and maybe she would drink when he put the bottle to her lips. He slid one arm under her shoulders and found her clothes were wet. Not dripping of course, but damp enough to be uncomfortable and cold. Combined with the fever, it seemed likely to cause worse problems. He could dry the clothes over the stove. She could stay covered with… what? That disgusting blanket? Unthinkable. The idea of it touching her made his skin crawl.

  Toren stood and removed all his clothes except the layer the store clerk had called underwear. Everything was dry but his coat and he hung that over the stove. As soon as it dried, it’d make a good cover and until then, he’d use his shirt to cover her and leave her…underwear on. Surely she had the same as him. Except for the female kind, of course.

  The elemental mercury in his body, already heated by the room’s temperature and exerting its influence upon his psyche, became hotter. With no time to waste, Toren gave himself a stern reminder to maintain control. He sat on the edge of the bed and lifted Samantha's arm. It took some maneuvering but he eventually managed to get it out of the sleeve, then repeated the operation on the other side. Satisfied with the result, he raised her upper body up and tugged the coat from behind her, only to find it trapped under her lower body. After a moment of consternation, he gently leaned her to her side and worked the garment out from under her.

  Now for her shirt. And then…pants. Maybe he could wake her and explain what he was doing so she didn’t wake up and think he was molesting her. “Samantha? Hey, Samantha, can you hear me?” He took her hand between his and tapped firmly. “Samantha, wake up. I need to get you out of your wet clothes. I’m going to put mine on you. They’re dry. You have a fever.”

  She didn't even stir so he tapped harder, finally getting a moan. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel better. He leaned to her ear. “Samantha, please, wake up.” Toren couldn’t resist speaking delicately to her. “I need you to help me undress you.” He clenched his eyes, realizing how bad that sounded. “To change your clothes. They’re wet and you’re sick. Can you wake up for me?”

  She suddenly gasped and sat up, looking all around then at him. Her wide eyes scanned his naked body and he held up his hands to show it wasn’t what it looked like, what he saw in her eyes. “I took my clothes off to give them to you because yours are wet and you’re running a fever.” Without taking his eyes from her wide shocked gaze, he pointed to the stove. “I’m drying our coats so you have something dry to wear.” He kept his voice gentle and hypnotic as he could.

  “Why…” she swallowed and winced as though her throat hurt, “are we here?”

  “You passed out and the storm hit. I couldn’t see the road and didn’t want to get stranded in the blizzard.”

  Her jaw trembled and she looked around, holding her arms and shivering despite the fact that the room felt like an oven. Her delicate oval face was incredibly pale, except for the spot of bright red high on each cheekbone and the dark hollows under her eyes. Her hair hung in a stringy, damp brown mass, except for the right side, where it was burned nearly to the scalp. Damn. It didn't even resemble the silky chestnut he'd noticed when she strode into the ranch house kitchen.

  “You can’t waste the wood. Don’t put any more on. We don’t have much as it is. We'll have to make it last until we can get out of here.” Her fearful gaze flicked over him again. “You look different without your… hat.”

  What had she been about to say? Before he could ask, she coughed, deep and painful sounding, reminding him of her condition. How could he let that detail slip his mind for an instant? “You need to take this.” He held the medicine to her. “For your fever.”

  She took the medicine from his hand not arguing. He handed her the water bottle and watched as she tossed the pills in her mouth and drank, then wiped her mouth on her arm before a violent chill took her. “Turn around, I need to get out of these wet clothes.”

  Finally, something he could do to really help. “Oh. Here." He nearly dropped his shirt twice before he managed to hand it to her. "You can wear my shirt while you wait for your clothes to dry. Let me see if my coat is no longer wet, you can cover up with it.” He went to the stove and checked it. “Five more minutes.” He turned back toward her and she jerked her gaze up. She’d been staring at his body. Had she liked what she saw? “I only got out of my clothes to give them to you until yours dried.”

  “That’s fine.” She seemed to try for no problem but her voice came out sounding small and tired. She indicated with a finger that he turn around. “Can’t wait for your coat, you’ll have to just deal with a half-naked woman. I hope you can?”

  Her tone said he’d better deal and not
give her any problems with it, she had enough already. He smiled after he turned. “Of course I can.” He allowed a hint of insult into his tone for added measure.

  “Yes, of course you can. Don’t worry, I won't present any challenges to your virtue anyway. I’m my father’s daughter, the only thing not making me a man is what’s between my legs…or not.” Her derision tapered off toward the end of her sentence, and Toren heard the dark depression that lie had brought over the years.

  He suddenly wanted to smash in the face of every human who’d rejected her. “That’s not at all why I’m able to not look.”

  “Oh? Are you gay? Or married?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “Maybe you’re a virgin.” Her derogative tone said she knew he wasn’t.

  Toren tried to decide if her thinking that would help him in his cause to win her. He checked his coat again. “Are you done?”

  “Yes.”

  He returned his coat to hang above the stove and went to the food container where he'd left it sitting on the bed, taking care not to look at her. Directly. But his peripheral only teased his curiosity, making him want to examine what it was about her body that she thought was so masculine. Everything he could make out was delicate, intriguing female.

  He opened the food side of the ingenious container, reversing what Kassie had done to close it. “Hungry?” He handed her one of the napkin wrapped crusts and despite his best efforts, his gaze landed briefly on her chest.

  “Thought you wouldn’t look." She took the food, her bold gaze drilling into him.

  Toren choked on surprise. Before coming to Earth, he'd spent some time studying acceptable human social behavior. Samantha kept forcing him to reassess what he'd learned. “Sorry.” What else could he say?

  She snorted back, not really seeming to care. “There isn’t a thing there to see darling, but I’m damn well glad for it.”

  Toren looked her in the eyes, making sure not to look anywhere else. He didn’t know how to respond to that and the way she stared back, chewing her food, felt like a test. But how to pass?

  “I think…”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t bullshit me. I like you and if you bullshit me I won’t. I’ve come to terms with what I am and have no problems with it. It’s the opposite sex that needs to get a notion.”

  “A notion?” Toren sincerely didn’t understand where she was going with her logic.

  Her gaze turned nearly flinty as she leveled it on him. “Please. Pretending ignorance is so not becoming for you.” She took another bite and mumbled around her food, flicking her finger at him, eyes on his body, “You got a big man’s body, I have a small one. But cross me and see just what I can do with this small body. I assure you it isn’t feminine.”

  He grinned at her spunk. He loved that about her. “Are you trying to tempt me?”

  She raised her brows. “Tempt you? Honey,” she patted along her chest, “there isn’t a thing to tempt with. You don’t believe me? Here, feel, I’m not kidding.”

  Toren’s grin faded and he went stand by the stove, his back to her. Rage roared through him like a freight train, demanding he punish those responsible for her feelings of hurt and inadequacy. Knowing her father lay at the beginnings of all that pain made him anxious to meet the man. And stake him out in a desert for predators, as the TV westerns sometimes showed the Injuns—no, Native Americans—doing.

  “Sorry to disappoint you bubba, but—“

  Toren took a breath to get a handle on his anger so it wouldn't come out in his voice. “I’m not disappointed, quit pretending like you know me.”

  She snorted. “Whatever, Mr. Get Any Woman You Want. You men are all alike, you want the voluptuous bodies that come with the legs on loose hinges that flop right open with only a breath. That isn’t me and never will be, on every level. And I’m glad.”

  Toren turned around and faced her halfway through her adorable rant, captivated by the anger and passion that animated her features. She paused for a breath and the rise of her chest caught his attention. Before he knew it, he found himself trying to measure her breasts. Sure they weren’t voluptuous, but they were damn well there, no doubt perfect. He nodded at her body. “Sorry to say but…you definitely do not have a man’s chest.”

  He raised his eyes to her glare but now he saw more than anger there. A spark of…damn he itched to let his mercury power loose on her and name that look. Maybe doubt. That she might be wrong and he might be telling the truth. Why else would he say it? What would lying accomplish?

  Her gaze turned guarded as though she thought the exact same thing. What was his angle? Rather than saying anything, she straightened his shirt and pulled it on, bunching it over her chest as if to form a barrier against his gaze and speculation.

  He put a hand over his heart. “It’s just the God’s honest truth. I’d bet you look nothing like a man. Anywhere.”

  A look of incredulous disbelief contorted her beautiful features, making her look…somehow edible. “Well wouldn’t you be the only man in Montana to say that, which—“

  “Means nothing?” he suggested with raised brows.

  Her eyes flashed, high emotion intensifying the color. “Just because I’m the only living heir to this place doesn’t mean I have a lot of money. Any man stupid enough to marry me—“

  “Is one blessed son-of-a-bitch.”

  Her jaw hung open then snapped shut. “Stop interrupting me dammit. Whoever marries me is likely inheriting a huge financial headache and one pissed off heiress.”

  He couldn't hold his grin back any longer, despite the risk of turning her general anti-man anger toward him specifically.

  “Wipe that smug smile off your face. I swear if you turn out to be anything like that arrogant ass Joe, I’ll shoot you between the eyes with a cow pie loaded sling shot.” She took a bite of her pastry and closed her eyes. The dark shadows under her lashes reminded Toren she was ill.

  “I promise you, I’m nothing like him. From what you’ve said at least.” He forced himself to leave it at that in the interest of conserving her strength.

  “Huh.” She finished her food in silence, studying him over her water bottle.

  Toren took an experimental bite of his own little bread-wrapped meal, unsure what to expect. To his surprise, the blend of textures and flavors was extremely pleasant. He finished it quickly, impressed with the sense of warmth and well-being it created.

  Before he could comment, Samantha grimaced and shivered, rubbing her hands along her arms before putting her forehead on her drawn up knees. “I’m so damn cold and tired.”

  Toren’s heart skipped a beat at the note of vulnerability in her tone and he hurried and brought his coat to her. He should be ashamed, pursuing his own agenda with her so sick and at a disadvantage.

  She openly roamed her eyes over his body making the mercury in his cells heat, and prepare for engagement. The nearly physical weight of her gaze glided across the contours and highlights of his arms and chest in a way that made him think she liked what she saw. He could easily imagine her fingers following the same path.

  “At least you’re extremely…fit…” she took the coat and covered herself. “What with the flu going around, maybe you'll be a little less likely to get anything secondary.” The light from the stove's grate danced over her small face, making her look more delicate. The singed hair on the right stuck out a little. The simplicity of her short straight hair suited her and fascinated him. The strands looked like the most exquisite silk, making his fingers ache to touch.

  He forced the thought of her hair away from his mind. “Lay down Samantha. Rest. I’ll be here watching over for you.” Toren made his voice liquid smooth for her.

  Surprisingly, she didn’t argue and just slid down on the bed, pulling his coat close. “I’m so cold,” she moaned.

  Toren went to her and felt her forehead. God, she was hot. Why wasn’t that medicine working yet? Surely it s
hould have after so long? She must be miserable. He lay his hand along her jaw in an attempt to offer a little comfort at least.

  She took hold of his hand before he could draw it away. The feel of her frail fingers on his strong ones stilled his breath. She kept her eyes closed and tugged his hand closer.

  He had to do something more for her. The fire and his coat were a start, and if she hadn't been ill, might have been all she needed. But with whatever germ she'd caught quickly draining her resources, he had to give more.

  “I’m going to lay with you and warm you.” He waited for her protest. When it didn’t come, he climbed into the bed behind her, carefully molding his body to hers and wrapping his arm around her.

  She moaned softly and snuggled close to him sending Toren’s mercury into a frenzy of unfamiliar want. He found himself in a panicked struggle to maintain control of its disobedient behavior. Nothing could have prepared him for such battle.

  Samantha's slight body quaked with violent shivers and faint whimpers followed each breath. He ached to use his abilities and heal her, or at least ease her suffering a bit. She was too precious, too pure, to have to endure so much. Following a series of bone rattling tremors, she turned over and pressed her burning face into Toren's chest.

  God. He froze for an instant, then, in an irresistible reflex, his legs and arms went around her and pulled her closer. His mouth pressed a soft kiss onto the top of her head. He inhaled, drawing her scent deep. Smoke and burnt hair prevailed as the strongest and most recent, and beneath that, fear and sweat. But at the foundation lay her unique female scent combined with some fruity soap concoction she washed her hair with. Some addictive quality therein made him want to absorb every molecule, to savor and relish.

  He fought the impulse to exploit his advantage. The competitive warrior within him demanded he take any opportunity that brought him closer to his objective. His common sense told him he dare not approach winning his chosen mate as if the relationship were a military campaign. She was desperate and vulnerable, the exact conditions to make it all happen. He could set the wheels in motion toward completing his part of the mission. But the ease of his success would be because she was sick. He didn’t find that a very noble way to win a woman’s heart. And Toren knew that if he wanted success, winning her heart was necessary. No doubt that was why he craved it so desperately.