Angelic Surrender

by Crista McHugh

  Her heart skipped a few beats.

  “It’s still here.”

  Chapter Five

  Vassago curled his hands into fists. “Where?”

  “Upstairs.” Anjali’s normally caramel-colored skin matched the dull beige hues of the painted walls.

  He could almost smell her terror.

  “Don’t move.”

  “No, you don’t know where it is upstairs.”

  Her determination to follow him earned his respect, even if it meant she bordered on being suicidal. For any human to acknowledge her fears and still face them amazed him. Most of them turned and ran. It made him want to wrap her in his arms and take her straight back to the safety of her apartment where he could lock her away like the precious treasure she was. “I think I can figure it out for myself.”

  She lifted her chin and hardened her expression. “Partners, remember?”

  “Employer,” he replied, pointing to himself, “and employee.”

  The floorboards creaked overhead, sending a shudder that made the feathers on his wings stand on end. He needed to stop dicking around and catch that demon before it killed anyone else. He rushed up the stairs and gathered the unholy fire at his fingertips.

  At the top of the staircase, he caught the demon stretching the skin of a man over its body like a diver putting on a wet suit. Flat, black eyes stared at him. Then it curled its lips into a snarl and rushed him like a linebacker would a quarterback. The loose skin flapped around its face and limbs as it moved, adding to the distortion around it. The force of the blow knocked them into the room at the end of the hallway.

  Vassago released his fire at the same time the air left his lungs.

  A high-pitched shriek rose from the demon, but it still attacked. Razor sharp claws broke through the surface of the human skin-suit and raked across Will’s chest.

  His vision seared red from the pain. Out of the few times he’d taken on a Skinwalker, he’d never faced one this aggressive.

  A flicker of golden light danced on the edge of his vision, and something yanked the demon off his chest from behind.

  “Quit playing around,” Anjali ordered. “Vanquish it or send it back to Hell or whatever you do.”

  Her face was a mask of concentration as she strained to bind the demon with her magic.

  Two shadows appeared behind her, and for the first time in his existence, he understood the meaning of fear.

  Instead of aiming his fire at the bound demon, he slung it at one of the shadows. Flames consumed it, and a void opened under its feet. A vortex formed around it, sucking it deeper into the red glow below. It fell back into Hell, leaving scorch marks on the carpet to testify to its presence.

  A surprised yelp escaped her lips just before the other shadow swung its thick tail. She managed to jump to the side, avoiding the venom-tipped stinger but not the powerful girth of the appendage. It caught her squarely in the gut and hurled her through a wall into the next room.

  Rage fueled his fire like never before. He unleashed it at the demon that attacked her, but the beast rolled out of its path. The bound demon in the skin-suit retreated to its brother and blocked the hallway, preventing Vassago from reaching Anjali. A third shadow loomed in the recesses behind them.

  His throat tightened.

  He’d been told one Skinwalker had escaped, not four.

  What the bloody hell was going on here? Pale blue flames pulsated at his fingertips. When he got done with these demons, someone in Hell was next on his list.

  The sound of ripping fabric filled the hall, and a dark tunnel appeared behind the third demon. Wind whipped his hair into his face. His feet started sliding forward as if the tunnel was some kind of inter-dimensional vacuum. It sucked the three demons into it. He grabbed the nearest doorframe and held on for dear life.

  A limp figure slid along the floor in the dim light, slipping closer and closer to the tunnel.

  Anjali.

  He forgot his fire and directed his energy to his muscles. When he released the doorframe, his feet stumbled backwards under the pull of the vacuum. His legs alone wouldn’t keep the two of them from following the demons into God-knew-where.

  A groan rumbled in his chest as he pulled his favorite jacket off. It blew into the tunnel like a piece of paper caught in a storm.

  A soft moan pulled at his heart over the loud rush of wind. Anjali’s body continued to inch toward the blackness.

  He stopped fighting the suction and let it carry him between her and the opening.

  Then he unfurled his wings.

  His arms curled around her limp body, scooping her up off the floor while his legs and wings fought to resist the incessant tugging that wanted to plunge them into the darkness. He gritted his teeth together.

  Not without a fight, assholes.

  They wouldn’t get their hands on her if he had anything to say about it. A new surge of strength raced through his body, and he managed to add a few more feet between them and the hole.

  Wood splintered around him, slicing tiny cuts into his skin. His eardrums throbbed from the howling wind. Dust filled his mouth, and the muscles in his legs and wings began to tremble under the force of the suction.

  As much as he hated to resort to this, he closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer to the one being who had the power to destroy him or save him. The same being who had cast him out of Heaven and sentenced him to an eternity on this plane of existence.

  God.

  The prayer left a bitter taste in his mouth as soon as he let it fly up. He lowered his head and shielded Anjali with his wings from the increased debris. The soles of his shoes dug holes into the carpet as the vacuum slowly tugged them backwards.

  He closed his eyes and accepted his fate.

  Then, as quickly as it appeared, the rift sealed itself.

  Vassago tumbled forward, nearly crushing the human in his arms. He rolled over into his back and listened for the quiet pounding of her heart.

  When he saw the shallow rise and fall of her chest, he pulled her close to him and tucked her head under his chin. Relief washed over him. She was still alive. He almost laughed at himself. Here he was, a fallen angel, a divine being who had once looked upon the face of God, and the mere tickle of her breath on his skin brought him more joy than he’d felt in centuries.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up, ending his moment of bliss. Instead of sensing demons, he felt the presence of another enemy. He pulled Anjali into a corner and wrapped his wings around her, hiding her from the blinding white light that floated up the staircase.

  “Hello, Vassago.” He could almost hear the smirk in her voice as the light took the shape of a woman’s body. “Having a little trouble with demons?”

  “Sraosha,” he growled. “What are you doing here?”

  Angelic laughter was supposed to resemble music, but hers sent a jolt through his body as if he collided with a power line. “Doing what I always do. Taking the souls of the deceased to their final destination.”

  The light dimmed around her, allowing him a glimpse of her face. Perhaps it was a good thing she let the light conceal her when she gathered souls. The bright light described by most people who’d had a near death experience was her presence. When she revealed herself, the hollow black eyes always caught his attention. They marred the otherwise pale beauty of her face.

  He tightened his hold around Anjali. “You seem to be busy lately.”

  Sraosha flicked her nearly white hair back. “It’s sometimes good for a girl to feel wanted, even if it is collecting the souls of humans who’ve been skinned alive. They seem so grateful to know…” Her pink lips curled up into a predator’s grin. “Peace.”

  “Glad to know you’re still useful.”

  “I’m always useful. The minute a human’s born, I add them to my list.” The flat black discs fell on Anjali. “Getting a little fond of one?”

  “Piss off, Sraosha. You can’t have her.”

  Another peal of laught
er made his gut clench. “Every human in this world will eventually come to me, and you can’t do anything to stop it.” She reached her hand out toward Anjali, but Vassago sliced his wing through the air with the force of a guillotine.

  “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her.” One touch was all the Angel of Death needed to capture her soul.

  A golden brow arched in silent anger. “You dare deny me what’s rightfully mine?”

  “Remember who you work for. Nothing belongs to you. You’re just His minion.”

  “And if you had just learned to nod your head when you were told to do something, you’d still be in Heaven instead of existing among these mortals.” She took a step back and cocked her head to the side. “But maybe you like them. Maybe you like them a little too much.”

  “Don’t you have other things to do besides taunt a Fallen?” The way her gaze lingered on his demon hunter had him alternating between wanting to fly away to a safe place and wanting to claw Sraosha’s eyes out.

  “I have other souls to collect.” She leaned closer to them.

  “Not hers.” Fire flowed through his veins. He couldn’t kill another angel, but he could sure leave her a broken mass of feathers.

  Her lips parted, revealing two rows of pearly white fangs. “Are you so sure? Did you even notice that she’s bleeding?”

  Something warm dripped on his hand, and he felt his way up to the sticky mat forming in Anjali’s hair. Fear gripped his heart, and he wished he’d learned the healing arts from Raphael before he’d gotten kicked out of Heaven.

  “Don’t worry so much, Vassago. She’s not on my list tonight.” Sraosha stood, and the white light surrounded her once again. “But she is on my list.”

  The Angel of Death vanished in an intense pulse of brightness, leaving him alone with the injured human in his arms.

  Chapter Six

  The sound of sirens pulled Vassago back to reality. One of the neighbors must have heard the battle and called the cops. Once they saw the puddle of gore downstairs, they’d shoot first and ask questions later. Time to disappear.

  He knew his glamour would hide him, but he’d never tried to conceal a human before. In truth, he’d never cared enough about one to hide her or take her with him. The thought chilled him. Maybe Sraosha was right about him getting a little too fond of Anjali.

  Footsteps pounded on the pavement outside. His glamour extended over her, warping the air around them. Then he carried her to the window and took flight over the chaotic streets of Harlem. Down below, the people scurried around like ants, paying no attention to him or the demon hunter in his arms. A few flaps of his wings carried them above the thin clouds.

  During the whole trip, she didn’t stir, not even to shiver when the air grew cold around them. The only positive thing he noticed was that the bleeding from her head wound seemed to have staunched itself by the time he hovered outside her apartment. He juggled her in his arms and slid the one window without a lock open.

  He’d entered her apartment numerous times before, but this time, fear tempered his actions. He laid her on the richly colored bedding, being careful not to soil the covers with the congealing blood. If rearranging her pantry sent her into a fit, he could only image how she’d react to any stains. Once he dampened a washcloth in the bathroom, he returned to her and began the slow process of cleaning her matted hair.

  She stirred, and her eyelids fluttered open. “Will?”

  “Yes?” He resisted the urge to kiss her lips and taste every sweet essence of her life.

  “What happened?”

  “You hit your head.” He’d tell her about the extra demons in the morning after he’d had a chance to find out a bit more information.

  “Oh.” She nestled closer to him and pressed her soft curves against the hard planes of his body.

  Warmth pooled in his groin. He clenched his jaw. Talk about an inopportune moment to have desire seize control of his body. She was injured—barely even conscious—but thoughts of lying next to her and slowly coaxing her to an orgasm filled his mind. Had he really been around humans so much that their baser nature had tainted him?

  Soft fingers traced his cheeks. He glanced down at her and saw concern on her face.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “Not nearly as bad as you.” He tried to push her away, but she wove her fingers into his hair and held tightly.

  “You saved me from the Skinwalkers.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t let any harm come to you, but so far, I’ve done a poor job.”

  She shook her head. “I’m the one who followed you when you told me not to.”

  Only the slight slurring of her words reminded him she wasn’t playing with a full deck. Otherwise, she sounded as coherent as she normally did, which helped ease some of his worry. “Maybe you’ll learn to listen to me from now on.”

  “Maybe, but I wouldn’t hunt demons if I didn’t enjoy the thrill of playing with dangerous things.” Her eyelids lowered to the sex kitten level just before her lips brushed against his.

  Heaven never felt this blissful. Ambrosia never tasted this sweet, and sin never tempted him the way she did. He savored the delicate contact of their kiss, unsure where to take it. None of the other women had been bold enough to kiss his mouth, even when he’d taken them the brink of ecstasy. How could one simple gesture between two people shatter his perception of reality?

  She pulled away with a sigh of contentment and licked her lips. “You taste good.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. She almost seemed too innocent for all the naughty things that ran through his mind. “Like what?”

  “Chocolate caramel ice cream.” Her eyelids slipped lower, and her arms relaxed around him.

  “Perhaps you’re just dreaming.” He spread a towel under her head and lowered her back on the pillows.

  “Figures,” she mumbled and drifted off to sleep.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and watched for an unknown amount of time. He soaked in the tiny details of her face, from the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks to the small scar along her jaw. The rise and fall of her chest remained deep and slow, and he couldn’t find any signs of distress in her expression. Just the dreamy half-smile that remained on her lips after their kiss.

  The clatter of crystal from the next room pulled him from his obsessive observation. He jumped to his feet and crept to the door. Fire gathered his hands.

  “Relax, Vassago,” a familiar voice said from the darkness. “It’s just me.” The air rippled around the source of the voice, and Caim stretched his wings, causing a table with picture frames on it to wobble. “Oops, sorry. I forget how small human dwellings can be.”

  Vassago leaned against the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  “Lucifer sent me to check on you.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said with a nod. “More like he’s hoping I don’t spill the beans about the four Skinwalkers that got loose.”

  “So you know about that, huh?” The other Fallen angel stared at the floor and scratched the back of his head.

  “Kind of hard to miss them when they’ve ganged up on you.” He moved to the couch and indicated Caim should sit before he broke something. “What’s going on down there?”

  “I wish I knew.” He sat with a sigh, taking care not crush his wings. The damn fool was far too vain about them. “I was hoping you might be able to give me some answers since you’re in this realm.”

  “I’m probably more in the dark about this than you are. Five days ago, I received a message from Lucifer telling me to find an escaped Skinwalker. Not four—one. Then I hear rumors from Bareth that the demon didn’t escape, but was kidnapped. And now I find there’s more missing than even the boss is willing to tell me. Imagine how I feel.”

  Caim leaned forward and glanced around as if he was trying to make sure no one was listening in on them. “What to know what I’ve heard?”

  “Information would make my job a bit easier. I hate having all these run-i
ns with Sraosha when she comes to collect the souls of the victims.”

  “The boss man’s pissed off because someone in this realm found a way to open a rift between here and Hell. Whoever it was, ripped open a portal right in the middle of the containment units and took the Skinwalkers.”

  “Ripped open a portal?” The memory of the way the black vacuum appeared this evening and sucked the demons through it played over again in his mind. “Did it cause a storm?”

  “Storm is putting it lightly. We’ve been rounding up escapees since it happened. As far as we know, only the Skinwalkers crossed over.”

  “Any clues about who or what did it?” He strolled across the room and began righting the knocked over picture frames. He had enough problems to deal with without having Anjali up in arms because someone disrupted the order of her home.

  “None, and that’s what really has a stick up Lucifer’s ass. He hates being challenged, and whoever opened the rift makes him look like an incompetent warden.”

  A chuckle escaped from Vassago’s lips. He could only imagine how the Brightest Star reacted to his tarnished reputation. “So why did he send you if he’s trying to cover this up?”

  “That’s part of the problem. Apparently, someone upstairs caught wind of it, and they want this taken care of ASAP, or they’re sending in their own infantry.”

  “Ouch.” He rubbed his cheek as if it had been slapped. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of holier than thou art angels tripping into his territory. “You know, I would appreciate some extra help.”

  “Believe me, I’d love a vacation from Hell, but we’re too busy down there at the moment.”

  “Then how about some extra ammo?” He pointed to the onyx hilt without a blade that hung from Caim’s belt.

  The other Fallen covered it with both hands. “No way. You’re not getting my sword. I earned this baby.”

  “Do you think you can bring me another one similar to it? It will make catching those Skinwalkers a bit easier, if you know what I mean.”

  “You’ve been itching to get your hands on a celestial sword ever since you lost yours.”