Wounded Angel (The Earth Angels)

by Gail, Stacy

  “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening...” Riding the edge of hysteria, she bent her head and bit the first thing she could get her teeth on—his thumb.

  A hiss of pain escaped him before he surprised her by shoving his hand deeper into her mouth, yanking himself free when her jaw loosened and the taste of his skin flooded her mouth. Before she could even think to move he repositioned himself so that he lay on top of her, one hand caught underneath them and holding her hands, the other holding her head back against the place where neck met shoulder to keep her from head-butting him. “Fight me all you want, that’s fine with me,” he muttered, his breath ruffling her hair. “Go ahead, do your worst. I’d rather have you fighting than that catatonic mess you were earlier.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Anytime.”

  She almost swore at him again. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “I told you my name is Nathanael. What I didn’t tell you was that it seems to be an ancient tradition of our kind to be named after the family’s progenitor, probably so we never forget where we come from. Look him up—the original Nathanael is one of the twelve angels of vengeance, whatever the hell that means, and the angel governing over all things that are hidden.”

  “This is crazy.” She ground the words out through clenched teeth until they were almost unintelligible. “Crazy, crazy, crazy...”

  “Yeah, that’s my family, my mother especially. I think the only reason she stuck with the Nathanael naming tradition was because she was afraid to forget the unbelievable insanity of our bloodline.”

  She shook her head furiously, but there was no escape from hearing his words. “I don’t want to listen to any more—”

  “My family’s history bounces from one screwed-up nutcase to the next, with lots of mayhem and killer doses of self-loathing in between. My great-grandmother was kidnapped and put on a leash by some crazy bastard who wanted to find the Lost Dutchman’s mine, only to be killed when she wouldn’t comply. My uncle was supposedly locked up somewhere in Fiji and used as some kind of stud to make lots of little treasure-finders. My own mother lived in constant fear of being hunted down and used like an animal, so she never admitted to having any sort of talent. Unfortunately she was more gifted than most. No matter how many times she mutilated herself by chopping off her own wings, they’d spontaneously reappear like a lizard growing a new tail. She had the gift of apportation, the ability to teleport missing objects out of thin air. Whenever she’d accidentally do it, she’d be suicidal. Eventually it happened one too many times and like her father before her, she killed herself before anyone else could get the chance.”

  Ella struggled beneath him. What she wouldn’t give to slam her hands over her ears and hide from this flight from reality. “You must think I really am nuts if you expect me to believe any of this.”

  “I’m telling you this because I believe this thing used you to target me. I don’t know why it didn’t come at me straight-on, and I sure as hell don’t get what it meant when it said it can’t see me the way it can see everyone else. The one thing I do know—that shape-shifting atrocity that first looked like the woman you called Lana before it morphed into Charles Rainier is actually a demon who’s hunting descendants of the Nephilim all across the continent. I’ve been expecting an attack, but I never dreamed it would come through you. I owe it to you to get you out of this, but you’ve got to help me by listening to me.”

  “Damn it, let me—”

  “According to my mother, I’m the least-talented person my bloodline has ever produced,” he went on, ignoring her struggles. “Apportation, treasure-finding...I’m nothing like that. In fact, I’m what you’d call a dud. All I ever did was feel where things were generally located if I concentrated on them hard enough. That was all. But I was so arrogant, I believed what little gift I did have should be put to good use, so I became a cop. Then my locating gift left me around the time I found what should have remained hidden. Once that happened, it should have been the end of all this goddamn Nephilim crap I’ve had to put up with. But because life sucks, things haven’t worked out that way. This demon doesn’t give a shit that I don’t have wings or a single drop of power anymore. It’s after me, and it’ll use any weapon at its disposal to get me, including you. That’s why I won’t let you out of my sight. I’d love to, believe me, but I can’t. I refuse to be responsible for any more deaths.”

  By degrees his words sank in, seeping through the cushioning walls of denial in which she tried to wrap herself. As much as she wanted to cling to the idea this was all in her head, that was hard to do when she could feel his massive weight bearing her down into the mattress.

  I won’t let you out of my sight. I’d love to, believe me, but I can’t.

  Now there was a dose of realism she couldn’t ignore. If there was one thing that could bring on the clarity, it was rejection. Nevertheless, letting go of a world she’d always known without putting up a fight just wasn’t her style.

  “You do know how irrational all of that sounds, right?” Even to her own ears, she sounded weak. “Angels and demons and...oh, man. Wings.”

  “You’ve seen my back. I don’t have any wings.” And it sounded like he hated himself for it. Another shot of reality her brain couldn’t possibly have conjured up on its own. “Unlike the other descendants, I’ve never known what it’s like to fly.”

  “Whoa, wait. There are more of you?”

  She felt him nod. “It’s funny, but of all the things my mother took from me, her maiming me is the one thing I regret most of all. I don’t care that it no doubt killed the bulk of my locating ability. Without ever having flown, I still miss doing it with every part of my soul.”

  “This is just...I don’t know. Such a bagful of crazy.” Then she shook her head. “So much so that I almost believe it. After what I saw today...I mean, what I think I saw—”

  “You did see it. And it saw you. That’s where the pain-in-the-ass trouble comes in.” Very carefully, as if expecting her to launch a ninja sneak attack, he inched to one side. The bulk of his impressive weight eased, though he left no doubt that he’d body-slam her the moment hysteria tried to pop up again. For a fleeting moment she toyed with the idea of throwing a hissy fit, just to see where it got her.

  I have to be crazy to think that at a time like this.

  “You’re going to have to explain that one.” To her dismay her bottom and thighs grew disproportionately warm as he shifted around on top of her, and her nerves began to tingle in the most distracting way. “What do you mean by trouble?”

  “Newsflash—it’s never a good thing when a demon looks right at you with those glowing red eyes and makes note of your existence. Worse yet, it saw me run in front of a bus to save you before it took off with its buddy Richard. That means it knows it can get to me through you. And it will if I let my guard down. Which I won’t, in case you’re wondering.”

  “That’s good to hear,” she said, while her brain snagged on a point that made all the doubt come flooding back. “I didn’t see any red eyes. All I saw were a couple of dead people. A couple of dead people whose faces were being worn by the same person...”

  When she shuddered he pressed back down on her, as if he wanted to crush out the fear and madness. The hand that kept her from head-butting him in the face gentled, his fingers sliding rhythmically through her hair as if she w
ere a tantrum-prone child. But there was nothing childlike in the way he caressed her temple or massaged the nape of her neck. His touch communicated a deep need to both soothe and please her, as if he wanted to blot out the bad with what little good he could offer. Her forehead dropped to the mattress, her neck arching like a kitten being stroked, and it was nothing short of a relief to sink into the simple comfort of human contact.

  “Not everyone can see those telltale red eyes, so I’m not surprised you didn’t see it. Even though I no longer have power, I can still spot the demonic from a mile away. Worse yet, the demon’s eyes weren’t the only ones showing red. For whatever reason, Richard Rainier has sold his soul. This makes him as dangerous as the demon itself.”

  “Oh.” It was a nice, safe word that didn’t reveal how much the whole subject made her want to bury her head in the sand and pretend it didn’t exist. “Do you think Richard and...and that thing he had with him were behind the deaths of Gabrielle Litte and Briella Fields?”

  “Yeah, I do.” His voice was as dark as night with no hope of a sunrise. “I think it’s pretty obvious it was Rainier’s intention to wipe out everyone who could be Gabriella Littlefield.”

  “But why? And why would he sell his soul? It couldn’t just be because of the money his grandmother willed to me, could it?”

  “I don’t know. The only thing I know for sure is that he and the demon he had with him won’t get another shot at you. I’ll make damn sure of that.” He shifted to free the hand that was trapped beneath their bodies and stretched for the bedside phone, partially squishing her in the process. “For now let’s order some room service and rest up. I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to make today look like a leisurely walk in the park.”

  * * *

  Nate heard water lapping against the side of the rowboat. Rhythmic. Gentle. A full moon hung low over a lighthouse perched on the lonely end of a jetty. Onshore far in the distance a giant circle of light shone like a beacon, while behind it a massive glass box flashed as if it contained a hurricane’s worth of lightning.

  A storm is coming.

  His hands tightened on oars he didn’t remember picking up, and as he looked at them it occurred to him that once again he was dreaming. Without a doubt he was a Grade-A landlubber. There was no way he’d voluntarily be in a rowboat out in the middle of what appeared to be an ocean.

  “Nate.”

  Ella. Her voice was fast becoming his personal drug of choice, though he wasn’t about to let her in on his blooming addiction. After the hell life had put her through, the last thing she needed to know was that the mere sound of her voice both soothed his nerves and excited him as profoundly as an intimate caress. When that voice called his name, the troubles of the world melted away.

  “Nate.” She was seated across from him in a fancy off-the-shoulder ball gown that was the same color as the night-darkened water around them. “We need to get to shore if you want to finish this.”

  “I know.” And suddenly he did know. Every instinct he possessed screamed for him to move, move, move; the storm brewing within the glass box called his name. He dug the oars into the water and pulled with all his might; muscles strained and lungs burned with the effort as he rowed for what seemed like an eternity. But no matter how hard he pulled, the shore remained a distant impossibility.

  “That won’t work.”

  “I don’t know how else to do it.” He looked up to find Ella standing precariously on her seat, facing the shore and now dressed in her kickboxing outfit, complete with pink boxing gloves. “Get down from there, it’s dangerous. You’ll fall.”

  “It’s worth the risk. The question is, what are you willing to risk?”

  God, he hated it when dreams made no sense. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You mother was a coward, you know. She wasn’t willing to take a risk and live up to her full potential. It’s sad how you share that trait.”

  Fury sliced through him. “That’s bullshit. I always embraced my gift. I tried my best to help people with it, though I was nowhere near as talented as she was. I never once denied what gifts I had.”

  “But the moment things didn’t go exactly the way you wanted, you killed part of yourself, just like your mother.”

  “I’m. Not. Like. Her.”

  “Then why can’t you see what you must find?”

  “I already found you. I don’t need to find anything else.”

  At last she pulled her attention away from the shore, and a jolt went through him when he noticed the eyes staring back at him were a vivid cornflower blue rather than the dark brown he was used to. “Need? What you need to do is move, Nate. When are you going to cut free of your anchor?”

  Nate bared his teeth. “I mean it from the bottom of my heart when I say that I don’t have time for this shit. What anchor?”

  “Don’t you see it?”

  “What...?” Automatically he looked around, only to discover a chain looped around his wrist and up his arm, winding all the way around his body. The other end trailed into the inky dark water, but it was still clear enough for him to see there were people tangled up in the heavy links. He recognized the faces of the family he’d found and returned to their deaths. Beyond them on another chain branching off from the original strand, floated Briella Fields and Gabrielle Litte, along with Jasmine Sims. They all stared back at him as if waiting for him to...

  What? What was he supposed to do?

  Avenge them.

  “Let go of this anchor, Nate. It’s crippling you at a time when you’re needed the most. You need to find him before he’s ready. If you don’t...”

  When Ella didn’t finish, he looked back to where she stood, only to find himself alone in the boat. “Ella?” More chains clinked over the boat’s side. Sick dread washed over him when he looked back into the water and saw Ella with the rest of the dead.

  “Ella!” His scream echoed in his ears when he bolted wide awake into Ella’s arms.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ella squinted as she turned on the light over the combined kitchenette-living area, then stubbed her toe on the pullout sofa bed she’d been sleeping on when Nate’s yell woke her. She’d never been stellar first thing after waking, but being hollered out of a surprisingly sound sleep had her at a new uncoordinated low.

  “Looks like water’s pretty much the only thing I can offer up.” After cussing out her stubbed toe and perusing the mini-fridge, she plucked up a cold bottle and moved to the king-sized bed she’d insisted he take. The very idea of him trying to fit on the flimsy sofa bed was snort-worthy, and after the information overload she’d endured she’d felt like she could sleep anywhere. “If we were at my place, I could offer you some merlot.”

  “At four in the morning, water is about as much as I can handle.” He took the bottle with a nod of thanks, and by the time she’d settled next to him, he’d downed half its contents. “Sorry about this.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  That was that, then. “I’m not sure, but I thought I heard you call my name.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t believe him, but she’d had enough nightmares to know there were some kinds of pain rooted too deeply to be tugged out in just one idle conversation.

  That he was hurting was obvious; the light streaming in from the living area of the suite struck harsh lines in his face, underscoring the haggard restlessness she sensed prowling inside him. But even exhausted and strung out he
was still the best-looking man she’d ever crossed paths with. She’d never known anyone with such an aggressively masculine jaw, now covered in the black shadow of a days-old beard. And there was something about those strong brows hooding intense eyes that had the ability to put a spell on any female over the age of consent. His body was pure centerfold material, fueling her dreams with a hair-roughened chest as thick as a cinderblock wall and a muscle-padded rib cage that made her fingers itch to learn his contours like a blind woman memorizing a statue through her sense of touch...

  Those eyes were watching her as she took her time drinking in his savage masculinity. He wore the familiar sweatpants and nothing else, and she had a feeling he’d only slipped those on to sleep in out of respect for her.

  Respect was overrated.

  Ella moistened her lips, only to find her mouth had gone dry. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had any idea how tempting it was to have all that manly acreage within inches of her. It would be so easy to lean to the side, brush his gleaming golden-hued shoulder with hers, glide her hand down that whiskered jaw, past the surprisingly elegant column of his throat, to roam over the curve of a pectoral to the shallow valley where his heart lay...

  “Maybe you should think about putting your eyes back in your head and getting back to your own bed.”

  Slam.

  It was a miracle her teeth didn’t pop out, she was brought back to earth so hard.

  The acid burn of humiliation stung her face with white-hot pinpricks, and she jerked to her feet so he couldn’t see the crimson glow of it. But by the time she’d crossed into the living area of the suite, the agony of that humiliation melded with a razor-edged anger that cut at her until she was a bloody mess. After a rejection like that, there was no way she could accept the idea of just meekly crawling into her cold and lonely bed without so much as a whimper in response. If he didn’t find her appealing, fine. His prerogative. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to get away with making her feel like an idiot for being attracted to him.