Her Avenging Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 7)

by Felicity Heaton

  “That’s twelve.” Nevar looked at the boy. “Does Dante make thirteen?”

  How could the boy look after himself?

  “You’re lucky number thirteen.” Veiron bounced Dante in his arms, grinning like a madman at the infant, eliciting a high squeal from him and more wriggling.

  Nevar just stared at him, reeling and sure he had heard him wrong.

  “Oh, don’t give him that look, as if he’s gone mental.” Erin slapped Nevar on the arm and he staggered from the force of the blow, his bones aching and nerves stinging. “Shit, sorry. Since giving birth my power has grown because it’s no longer split between protecting him and protecting me. I don’t know my own strength.”

  “It was Erin’s decision.” Veiron settled the boy, holding him in the curve of his left arm while he covered him with his right hand, tugging the blanket up and tucking it around his tiny form. “I’m not saying we didn’t duke it out because of it, but the missus always gets her way.”

  Erin smiled and placed her hands on Veiron’s right biceps, her fingertips tracing one curved spike of the black and red tribal tattoo that swept around it and over his shoulder, matching the one on his left arm. She tiptoed. The huge male dipped towards her and she kissed him. When she pulled away, Veiron settled his free arm around her shoulder, pulling her into the shelter of his embrace.

  “This the girl?” Veiron jerked his chin towards Lysia.

  She was staring at Dante, her hazel eyes wide, barely blinking.

  Nevar nodded. “What’s wrong?”

  She jumped and her gaze leaped to his. “He’s of the Devil. Do they know?”

  “They know. Erin is the Devil’s daughter.”

  Her eyes went even wider and she grabbed his arm, her small hand grasping his right vambrace that protected his forearm. “The Devil has produced offspring? How many?”

  “Just the one.” He refused to look back at Erin when he said that.

  Lysia looked at her, and then at Veiron and the baby, and then beyond them and her eyes darkened. “There are angels here.”

  “I know.” He placed his hand over hers on his arm to reassure her. “They are friends though, not foes.”

  She nodded, but didn’t look fully convinced that the angels wouldn’t harm her. She didn’t need to worry. He would never let them lay a finger on her.

  “Fascinating language, although it must be a right pain for her. How does she understand you, and how the hell are you understanding her?” Erin eyed both of them.

  “She understands all languages, but only speaks the one. Both myself and Asmodeus can understand her. Do not ask me how I understand her, but Asmodeus is familiar with the language.” Nevar placed his arm around Lysia’s shoulders, careful to avoid knocking her wings, and drew her to him. “This is Lysia, and she needs your help. Will you help her?”

  Erin nodded.

  “It’s what I do.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Nevar stood at the periphery of the group, listening to them as they discussed Lysia and went over everything he had told them about her. Asmodeus had returned with Liora and was acting as Lysia’s interpreter, relaying her answers to every question the group posed. Erin had the most, but Veiron came a close second, with Apollyon in third. The dark angel stood opposite his twin, Asmodeus, making it easy to see the striking similarities and the differences between them.

  They appeared the same, with the exception that Asmodeus wore his black hair shorter, shorn around the sides and left wild on top, much like Nevar now wore his hair, and Apollyon wore his hair long, tied at the nape of his neck with a blue thong that matched his eyes. Their eyes were the biggest difference between the two. Apollyon had eyes like the endless blue skies. Asmodeus’s matched the Devil’s golden fiery ones.

  Apollyon’s petite blonde witch stood off to one side, deep in conversation with her dark-haired cousin Liora. Lysia constantly studied the two of them, her gaze leaving them only when someone posed her a question and she relayed her answer to Asmodeus.

  The original angel, Amelia, stood guard at her sister Erin’s side, her silver hair tied in a high ponytail that was all business, much like her choice of clothing today. Rather than wearing one of her usual pale summer dresses, she had donned her chrome armour and had her wings out. Silvery feathers covered the top half of them, but the lower half were leathery and dragon-like, a sign of her part-demonic blood.

  At Amelia’s side, her lover and servant Marcus stood sentinel, his matching wings on display as his silver-blue eyes closely watched Lysia. At least he had chosen not to replace his long black shorts with his armour, opting for a more casual approach to his safeguarding of Erin.

  Einar and Taylor stood close to Apollyon, forming a bridge between the powerful former angel of death and destruction and his twin.

  Lysia turned away from the group, wandering towards the shore. Nevar sighed and trudged after her, caught her arm and brought her back to the discussion. It wasn’t the first time she had drifted away from them. It was happening with increasing frequency. Maybe she was as bored of this conversation as he was. They were getting nowhere.

  Veiron didn’t have a clue what she was and neither did Apollyon.

  Asmodeus glanced at Nevar and he received the silent message loud and clear. Now that they had revealed that the Great Destroyer had awoken, it was time for them to leave Lysia with the others and go in search of it again.

  Fine with him.

  He needed some distance and space. He needed to be alone for a while.

  Erin and the others were more comfortable with dealing with the sort of situation Lysia had found herself in and they would figure out what had happened to her and help her. He couldn’t. He wasn’t any good at that sort of thing and wasn’t fit to help, not when he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

  His ward had given him a plate of leftover food to devour but it hadn’t been enough to begin restoring his strength. It had only been enough to keep him ticking over for a short time and now he was starving again, and with the hunger for food came a different sort of craving.

  One for blood.

  He needed to get a meal in his stomach, half a cow at least, and get on with his mission. If they delayed much longer, the Devil would find out and would send his minions after them, and he didn’t want the Hell’s angels anywhere near Erin and her son.

  Besides, he wasn’t fit to look after Lysia. He wasn’t fit to look after anyone.

  He couldn’t even look after himself.

  He growled under his breath and tamped down the voice that had said that, mocking him with his weakness, before it could conjure the memories of what he had done and batter him into submission with them, giving his darker self a chance to seize control.

  A darker self that he insisted on viewing as a separate being, even when he acknowledged deep in a small recess of his black heart that it was his true form now. He was the darkness, playing at being the light.

  He felt Asmodeus’s glare burning into him and lifted his head to meet his fierce gaze.

  Someone was missing from the group.

  Lysia had wandered off again.

  He huffed and stomped after her, and was about to grab her wrist and haul her back to the others when she spoke.

  “I prefer this place,” she whispered, her back to him and black hair fluttering in the light warm breeze that stirred the white sand. She wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking, luring him with her towards the waves that lapped gently at the shore. “I feel comfortable here.”

  That made him want to leave her here even more. She was happy here and safe. She didn’t need his protection anymore. He could continue with his mission, away from these people, alone again.

  “The other place is too loud and new.”

  That gave him pause. “New?”

  She nodded and walked forwards, until the jewel-blue water washed over her feet and soaked into the hem of her black jeans.

  Her last clear memory had been of Th
ebes, and that had surprised him, but he hadn’t considered that London might have felt alien to her and filled with unfamiliar things. Angels watched over the Earth from Heaven, able to see the world developing through the ages even if they never ventured there. Creatures of Hell had no such path open to them. They lived in that realm of darkness and fire, unable to see the mortal world above them, and uninformed of the changes that took place there.

  Liora had told him that Asmodeus had been shocked when he had first visited the mortal world, and the angel had had the advantage of seeing the pool in Hell in which the history of that world was recorded. He had known of the buildings and vehicles and everything the mortals had created.

  Something told him Lysia had not been so fortunate.

  No wonder she had felt vulnerable in Cloud Nine, surrounded by things she couldn’t comprehend.

  He moved closer to her, unable to ignore the powerful compulsion to protect her. It was so strong that it overrode his desire to return to the shade of the palms, escaping the fierce sunlight that felt as if it was burning his skin away like acid.

  “You are not used to the mortal world as it is now?” he said and she shook her head, her black hair swaying across her silver halter-top and her hazel eyes remaining fixed on the distant horizon. “You are unfamiliar with it and things like cars.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Cars?”

  He nodded and shifted another step closer. A small wave rolled over his boots but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to him right now was understanding more about Lysia. Everything else had fallen away again, leaving only her.

  “Large metal conveyances with lights and glass windows, and black round tyres that carry them.” Describing a car in such a fashion made him feel as if he were speaking to a child and he hoped she didn’t think he was treating her as if she were one.

  She was definitely not a child.

  His gaze betrayed him, hungrily dropping to her sensual curves and devouring them.

  She was all woman.

  His fangs itched for a taste of her.

  He dragged his eyes away and fixed them on the water. There was a fish dancing among the shallow waves.

  “Do they growl?” Lysia said.

  He shook his head. “I do not think fish make any noise.”

  She moved and snagged his attention, and he found her frowning at him. “Fish?”

  “Sorry. I was distracted by the fish.” He pointed to the water, hoping she would see the fish and not think he had lost his mind and couldn’t do something as simple as keeping up with a thread of conversation.

  She peered into the water. “There are many fish, but I was speaking of cars.”

  “Do cars growl?” He pondered that. “I suppose they do in a fashion. They have engines, a mechanical heart that gives them motion. Some are loud and some are silent.”

  “I believe I saw some of these monsters.” She waded into the water.

  “They are cars, not monsters… and what are you doing?” He went to go after her and the water washed across his greaves.

  He stepped back and frowned down at the black plates moulded over his shins and sent them away, leaving his legs and feet bare. She had advanced while he had been distracted with keeping his armour untarnished and was thigh-deep in the water.

  “I want to see the fish.” She looked back at him, her smile disarming him and making his step falter.

  He had never seen her so at ease. She was even more beautiful, an angel in form with the wings of a demon. Those wings dragged through the water behind her as she waded deeper.

  “You will spook the fish,” Nevar said when she scowled at the water. “Come out and they will return.”

  He held his hand out to her and she looked back at him. A jolt went through him when her eyes met his, a hot bolt of awareness that made his skin prickle and his blood burn. She reached out to him and he held his breath, anticipating the lightning that would zing through him when they touched.

  Her fingers brushed his palm and he hadn’t anticipated enough voltage.

  He twitched with the fierce current that went through him, lighting every inch of him up inside and dragging every drop of his focus to her. Her cheeks coloured and her eyes darkened, the deep flicker of desire in them awakening the hunger he felt for her and goading him into surrendering to it.

  “I like it here,” she whispered, her voice barely there, distant to his ears and her own judging by her lost expression.

  With you.

  He felt the words she didn’t say beating within him, filling his mind and taunting him. She liked it here with him and he meant to leave her. How would she react to that? She had reacted with violence when he had tried to leave her before. Would she do such a thing again now that she had found a place that made her feel safe?

  She no longer needed him to make her feel that way.

  She now had people around her who were more able to protect her than he was.

  And he had a mission to complete.

  She blushed and looked beyond him, towards the others. “Everything here is familiar.”

  He looked back at the camp. Small huts made from materials sourced from the island. A fire pit. There were only a handful of modern conveniences, including a generator that rumbled away at the other end of the island, set at a distance from the huts in the shadow of the palms, used to power the refrigerator in a shelter next to it.

  Everything else was basic and simple.

  As basic as the dwellings in Hell.

  “How long were you in Hell before you ended up in the mortal world a few days ago?” Nevar looked back at her.

  She paled, released his hand and clutched her hair. A startled cry left her lips, tearing at his heart, and she shook her head. Her hands trembled as they tangled in her black hair and her pain washed over him, stronger than he had ever felt it.

  “I cannot remember.” She threw him a look filled with fear and her knees gave out.

  Nevar caught her before she could hit the water and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her back to the shore. She muttered things beneath her breath, her entire body shaking against his.

  “I shouldn’t have asked.” He held her closer, cursing himself for questioning her without thinking about the consequences and the pain he would cause her.

  She looked up at him, her hazel eyes swimming with that pain. Tears lined her dark lashes and spilled onto her ashen cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered and kneeled with her on the sand, resting her backside on his thighs.

  Her dark leathery wings draped across his stomach and the sand beyond his knees, the grains sticking to their damp skin.

  Her trembling began to subside as he held her and smoothed her hair from her sweat-slicked brow.

  “Is she sick?” Veiron’s deep voice drew his gaze to the large male as he approached, jogging across the sand, causing threads of his scarlet hair to come loose from the thong that held it at the nape of his neck.

  The Hell’s angel crouched beside them, genuine worry in his near-black eyes.

  Nevar shook his head. “She experiences pain whenever she tries to remember events from a specific timeframe. Her last clear memory is of Thebes as a city, more than two thousand years ago.”

  Veiron’s expression turned grave and dark. “Do you think Heaven had something to do with it?”

  “I do not know.” Nevar looked back down at her, glad she was settling again, the pain in her subsiding. “But she doesn’t trust angels and can’t tell me why.”

  “Hurt me,” she whispered, her eyes darting between his. “They struck me down.”

  He growled, his lips peeling back from his emerging fangs, and his wings burst free, called by a dark desire to fly to Heaven and tear it down as payment for what it had done to her.

  A bright shaft of golden light shot down from the endless blue sky, stinging his eyes. The bolt struck the sand between him and the group near the fire pit, spraying it everywhere, and weapons appeared in the
hands of Marcus, Einar, Apollyon and Asmodeus.

  It appeared Heaven had come to him instead.

  He rose to his feet, set Lysia on hers, and recalled his greaves, completing his armour. He pushed her behind him and shielded her with his black wings as he called his obsidian blades to him. Beside him, Veiron growled and grew, his muscles expanding as he changed into his demonic form. His skin turned black and his eyes blazed gold and red, and his armour covered him, the red-edged black plates protecting his upper torso, hips, forearms and shins.

  Veiron growled, flashing twin deadly rows of crimson teeth, and the scarlet dripped from his wings like blood, turning them black before the feathers fell away, revealing the leathery dragon-like wings beneath.

  The angel who had travelled within the Heavenly beam of light straightened and as the golden shaft faded and died, Nevar saw a male he had hoped he would never set eyes on again.

  Fury flashed like lightning in the depths of the blond angel’s ice-blue eyes, a shadow crossing his face that was dark and unholy as he furled huge wings against his black armour.

  Nevar would never forget the time they had met in Hell on the plateau where the pool that recorded the world’s history stood, protected by the angels of Heaven. He had been at his lowest point, filled with a need for vengeance and bloodshed, despising himself and his master because of it. Blaming Asmodeus for everything he had done. Every innocent life he had taken. Every bitch he had screwed for a shot of Euphoria. Every inch lower he had sunk into depravity.

  He had been there to use the pool, but Lysander had blocked his path.

  He would never forget that he had promised this very male that he would halt his quest to seek out Asmodeus’s weakness in exchange for him revealing the location of that male’s fortress, something that had eluded him. He had made a pact with Lysander, swearing he would go directly to Asmodeus’s castle and battle him. It would have been a suicide mission, and the angel had known it. Lysander had wanted him dead and had thought to play him for a fool, so Nevar had played the bastard too.