So where the fuck was she? Why wasn’t she home?
He stared at the dark windows of her house.
Since the “transaction,” he felt different. Not empty, just…waiting to be filled. By his Destiny.
But it wasn’t just that. A low whine filled his head, as if a taut wire stretched behind his eyes, plucked by something cold and hard. Faint at first, the closer he drew to Destiny’s home, the louder the whine got. And as it grew louder, an itching burn began to crawl over his skin. It was excruciating in its pain, and yet at the same time, it fed his lust.
Something told him the moment he had her, the moment she was his—in body and soul—the whine would disappear and the fire engulfing him would change to one of desirous rapture.
But now the whine screeched, loud and angry.
She wasn’t home.
Someone had taken her. The one he’d been warned about.
An angel may come for her, he’d been told as he felt his soul leave his being. If that is the case, you must deal with him.
How? he’d asked.
I’ve equipped you, came the answer, a soundless voice. Replaced that which was freely given with the means necessary.
He had no clue what the means necessary meant, but it didn’t matter. He would go to his Destiny’s home, he would claim her, make her his, and the whine and the fire would stop and they would spend an eternity together. That was the only thing that mattered.
And so he had come to her home.
And she wasn’t here.
“Where is she?”
The burn crawling over his skin told him the angel had her.
Deal with him, the soundless voice—a whispered shriek in his head—instructed. Use that which I’ve provided you. Before he takes that which belongs to you.
A wall of fury smashed through him, and he curled his fist. The itching fire flayed his skin. The whine tore at his mind. The air particles around him began to burn.
No one could have his Destiny. She was his. Only his. And when he found her, he would—
“Can I help you?”
The male voice behind him—friendly but guarded—made him turn.
A man stood a few feet away, one hand lightly resting on his hip, revealing a glimpse of a gun holster. Cop. His bulk and job would have been imposing to Gilbert, once upon a time. But now…now Gilbert was more.
Now he was Wraif.
He showed his teeth in a slow smile.
The cop frowned, and the air displaced around him as he closed his fingers tighter around his gun’s hilt. “Any reason you’re standing here in the dark, buddy? Looking at Ms. Sheridan’s house?”
Rage rolled through Wraif. “Don’t call her that.”
The cop blinked. “Call her—”
“Her name is Destiny!”
Wraif lifted his hands toward the cop and unleashed the burn.
* * * *
This is not smart.
Ha. That was an understatement.
He’d brought the reason for his fall from Heaven to his personal home, the one place no one else—neither human nor otherworldly being—knew about.
Not smart.
Neither is still holding on to her.
The sharp thought slid through his mind, and he pulled his arms from Billie’s body. Took a step away from her.
She regarded him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
Her fear hung on the air, tainted it. As did her anger. And something far more raw and primitive. The very thing he’d been able to tap into when he’d influenced her to kiss him.
Desire.
It threaded around him, tendrils and wisps of an emotion he had little defense against.
Bringing her here was not smart at all.
Here, no one would ever interrupt them.
He remained motionless. Held her steady gaze.
“Where are we?” she asked, her tone as level, as unreadable as her expression. “And don’t say somewhere safe. I want specifics. Geographical coordinates if you’ve got ’em. Longitude and latitude would be helpful.”
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Somewhere safe” was exactly the answer he’d been about to give. “My place.”
Saying it aloud gave it more weight. Significance. He’d never brought anyone to the home he’d bought on the perimeter of the Angeles National Forest. Had never invited anyone here.
That he even had an earthly residence was a fact his Heavenly brethren would find abhorrent. He’d bought it the day Billie moved to LA from Australia. Until then, he’d existed as any fallen angel did, moving from place to place, asking no one for anything, requiring nothing of anyone.
Not that many of his fellow angels talked to him now. Erah was the only one, and he suspected it had little to do with affection and comradeship, and everything to do with keeping tabs. Nathanial was the angel equivalent of a lone wolf, which always made the actual lone wolf at Guarded Souls—wolf shifter, Kitt Newton—chortle when any of the others said it.
Alone and with no family.
Why else had he sought out those not of the human world on Earth since his plummet from Heaven’s grace? His position at Guarded Souls allowed him some semblance of human ordinariness, and despite the fact he could influence any human to his will, he preferred the idea of earning a living.
But despite the fact he owned a place to call home, an actual brick-and-mortar residence, he still hadn’t been able to bring himself to invite anyone here.
Until now.
Now, he’d brought Billie here.
“My place,” he said again, running an objective eye over the room he’d re-substantiated them both in. The living room. Decorated by himself a few years ago in a style he could only describe as “extreme minimalism.” A leather lounge suite sat in the middle of the room, flanked by two matching armchairs—all gray in color. On the wall hung a massive television, and in the far corner sat a potted two-meter high Japanese maple he kept alive via not-so-natural means. “It’s not much,” he said, frowning at the maple, “but it’s—”
Something hard thumped against his shoulder, and he went down.
Not from pain or force, but shock.
She’d kicked him? Hit him with something? When he wasn’t paying attention?
Leaping back to his feet, he watched her sprint from the room.
Did she have any idea where she was going? “Billie?”
Exasperation laced his shout.
Damn it, she’d lulled him into a false sense of security. He should have known she wouldn’t make this easy.
The vibrations on the air, in the floorboards, told him she’d reached the front door.
Closing his eyes, he willed the lock to remain unmoving, no matter how hard she fought with it.
“Billie,” he said, shaking his head.
“Goddamn it!” Her frustrated groan floated back to him from the door. “Open up, you goddamn pain in the—”
He materialized behind her and closed his hands around her wrists.
She screamed. Slammed her elbow into his chest. Smashed her heel down on his foot. Smacked the back of her head into his nose.
This time, however, he was ready for it all.
“Are you done?” he asked. Oh, she was not going to like the low chuckle in his voice.
“No, I’m not.” She thrashed in his arms. “And you can stop laughing at me!”
“I’m not.”
She punched her head back into his face again.
“This will hurt you more than me,” he pointed out, keeping his grip on her wrists loose but inescapable.
She writhed in his hold, glaring up at him. “So none of that achieved anything?”
“Sorry. No. A human cannot physically injure or wound an angel, no matter how much they’re channeling Bruce Lee.”
She snarled and struggled harder. “Bite me.”
“Billie,” he intoned, the rapid tattoo of her heart reverberating through his core.
She grew motionle
ss in his arms.
“I promise you,” he murmured, caressing her soul with a gossamer thread of calming influence, “I am not the bad guy.”
A shaky breath tore from her, and she slumped against his chest. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”
He couldn’t. And he’d been fooling himself if he’d expected otherwise from her.
Withdrawing the filament of his influence from her will, he released his arms and stepped back.
Slowly, as if waiting for him to attack, she turned and looked up at him. “So, what happens now?”
You kiss me again.
The taboo command whispered through his head. If his influence had still been caressing her will, her lips would be pressed to his now, and her tongue would be lashing against his.
And that’s a bad thing?
“Now,” he said, taking another step away from her, “you get some sleep and I plan how to deal with Gilbert.”
Her eyebrows shot up, disappearing behind the thick auburn curtain of her messy bangs. “Sleep?”
“It’s almost four am. Human time.”
“Human—Wait.” She narrowed her eyes. “So, we’re still in the Northern Hemisphere. West Coast time.”
“Are you planning on escaping?”
A light gleamed in her eye. Damn it, he shouldn’t find it so appealing. “If I am?”
He let out a melodramatic sigh. “Remember how you couldn’t unlock the door?”
She dipped her head.
He arched an eyebrow and smiled.
“Really? You can just…what? Make things happen with your angel mojo?”
Her ferocity would be his undoing. “Really. Now go sleep.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
He let out an exasperated groan. “Go read, then.”
“What?”
“There’s a library down that hall.” He pointed to his right.
“Are you trying to win me over the way Beast won over Belle?”
“Who?”
Billie frowned. “You’re kidding, right? How much do you know about normal stuff?”
He grinned. “Kidding. I know about normal stuff. I’ve been watching humanity for many a millennia, and have been personally interacting with your kind for almost as long. I know about normal stuff.”
“Phew. I’d hate to think I’ve been abducted by some kind of weird freak.”
He shook his head, even as he perched his ass on the edge of the console table. “I think the word you’re looking for is rescued.”
She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “You don’t want to hear the word I’m looking for. And at this point in time, I’m happy with abduction.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I’m not happy you’ve abducted me, I’m pretty damn pissed about that, but I’m making the assumption angels can’t lie, so if you say I’m in serious not-normal-human-stuff danger from Gilbert the stalker, then I believe you. I’m in danger.” She stopped, a frown pulling at her eyebrows Nathanial wanted to smooth away with his thumbs. “Angels can’t lie, right?”
He smiled. “Angels can’t lie.”
Even fallen ones.
“I promise,” he said.
Her gaze searched his, and whatever she saw in his eyes made her relax. A little. He could taste her emotional shift on the air. “Okay,” she said.
“Now, will you go sleep?”
He had work to do. Foremost, he needed to find out who exactly had orchestrated the sale of Gilbert Sanders’s soul in exchange for Billie’s love. He knew it wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill crossroad demon. The transaction itself had shuddered the very fabric of existence, which a normal sell-my-soul agreement didn’t do. So who had arranged it? Who had sensed Gilbert’s obsession with Billie? An obsession so deep and unhinged, he’d give up everything for her? And who had the power and the connections to deliver on such a potent—
“I think I’m just going to curl up on the sofa and watch some TV.”
He frowned at Billie’s off-handed declaration.
She marched into the living room.
Growling, he followed, just in time to watch her drop onto the sofa facing the television on the wall, tuck her long legs beneath her, and smile at him. “Got Netflix? HBO? I could catch up on Game of Thrones.”
“The TV isn’t plugged in.”
He’d never turned the thing on, let alone watched anything on it.
“That’s easy to—”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to sleep? Or read?”
“Hey, you abducted me. Not my fault I’m not the agreeable victim you were wanting.”
If only she knew what level of wanting he experienced when it came to her. Grinding his teeth against the sudden urge to show her, to tap into her base sexual desire for him that he’d already experienced, he shoved himself from the back of the armchair. “Stop saying I abducted you.”
“Then let me go.”
“Can’t do that. You’re safer here.”
“So this is just about me? Are you my guardian angel, or is this a service you offer all humans with stalkers who take it too far? Soul-wise?”
“Let’s go with I’m a guardian angel worried about the fact your stalker has been granted…powers beyond a normal soul-selling situation.”
You don’t think you need to let her know you’ve been aware of her since before she was born?
“Beyond normal soul-selling… Y’know, I’m still halfway convinced this whole thing is an elaborate prank. I mean, Joe Abbott, Destiny’s Knight’s showrunner, did not think it was funny when I replaced his Nutella with Vegemite. He swore he’d get me back. This is kinda his level of revenge. Some of the pranks he pulls on set are—”
“This isn’t a prank, Billie.” She needed to understand that.
She chewed on her bottom lip and pinched her thumbnail. Did she know she did that? When she was feeling uncertain?
“Can I call Adelaide?” she asked. Concern filled the question. “She’ll be freaking out by now, wondering where I am, and I’d hate for her to be worried. She’s trying to kick a pretty nasty nicotine habit. I don’t want to be the reason she opens another packet of cigarettes.”
Adelaide Williams already had the early stages emphysema, but neither she nor Billie knew that.
“It’s taken care of.”
She blinked. “What does that mean?”
He swallowed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Kade had a unique talent for mimicry. Nathanial had asked him to call Billie’s agent and, using Billie’s voice, tell the woman she was okay and the cops were taking care of the situation.
“It means, you don’t have to worry about Adelaide Williams. And if it helps, I can cure her of her addiction.”
“Whoa.” She gazed up at him. “Are you serious? I’ve been petrified she’s going to get lung cancer, and I’ve wanted her to quit for years.”
“I am serious. If it’s important to you, I’ll make certain she will be o—”
She threw herself from the sofa, wrapped her arms around his neck and smacked her lips to his.
He froze.
So did she.
“Shit,” she muttered, jerking away.
The back of her knee collided with the armchair’s seat and, another shit bursting from her, she tumbled sideways.
He caught her. Righted her. The warm softness of her skin branded into his palms, the soft inhalation of her gasp flayed his sanity, and before he could stop himself, he smoothed a hand up her arm and cupped the side of her face.
He’d experienced a lifetime of being aware of her, an eternity, and here they were.
For a fleeting moment, she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his palm—and then she stepped backward, avoiding the armchair this time.
She studied him, the little pulse in her neck beating like a frenzied butterfly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I shouldn’t have—” She stopped, eyes narrowing. “Did you do that? Did you just use your Jedi—your angel powers to make me kiss you?”
“No
.” The denial rumbled deep in his chest. “You did that of your own accord.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I promised you, I would never make you do that a—”
She closed the tiny distance between them, tangled her fingers in his hair, and crushed his lips with hers.
He opened to her without hesitation. Instinctually. As if he’d been the willing recipient of her kisses for his entire life.
Her tongue stroked over his, and unlike the kiss they’d shared outside her house, this one destroyed him. The kiss on her pathway had been a product of his influence. Yes, he’d tapped into her visceral attraction to him, but he’d been responsible for it happening. This kiss…
He’d had nothing to do with this kiss. And he was lost to it.
Pleasure unlike any he believed possible rushed through his existence. His head swam and, as she drew herself up onto tiptoe and deepened the kiss, he fisted his hands in the back of her tank top and hauled her body harder against his.
She moaned, the raw sound vibrating through her chest, feeding a need for her beyond his comprehension.
If his only purpose for being created was this one moment, this one honest, willing kiss, then his existence was served well.
But it’s not. You know that. You know why you were created, and it has nothing to do with this.
Billie tore her lips from his and twisted out of his arms. “Shit! Again.”
The soft mutter twisted a cold fist in his heart,
He stood motionless. Studied her.
“Shit,” she whispered, pulling at her thumbnail as her gaze flicked all over the room, the floor, everywhere but to him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… Damn it!”
Shuffling her feet, she scrunched up her face. “That was…whoa, I mean, seriously… Kissing you is like kissing raw sexual energy and electricity and…and…whoa.”
He remained still. Immobilized by the fear she was about to accuse him of influencing her again.
He’d faced down some of the worst Hell spawn birthed by Lucifer; he’d fought in brutal wars no mortal mind could comprehend. But right now, the possibility Billie might think he’d compelled her to kiss him robbed him of movement. Action.
All he could do was wait.
And hope…
“I think…” She scratched the side of her nose, her eyes flicking to him for a split second before dropping to the floor. “I think I will try to catch some sleep after all.”
Destiny's Knight: A Fallen Angel Protector Paranormal Romantic Suspense Book (Guarded Souls 1) Page 6
