by ML Guida
“You don’t understand. Stan had red eyes. He-he-he came at me with a knife.”
Her hysterical voice echoed off the metal walls.
“It’s okay. Let me put…”
Heather grabbed his wrist. “No, it’s not. I-I-I killed him. I called his name, but he walked like…I don’t know…like he was in some kind of trance.” She gasped again. Her chest burned like it was on fire. “God, I’m having a heart attack.”
“No, you’re having a panic attack.”
“A panic attack?” Heather closed her eyes. “You’ve got to believe me I didn’t have a choice.”
Greg nodded. “I do. Now, calm down. Let me put this on you. Shhhh.”
As he put the mask over her face, she gripped the blanket to keep from tearing the mask off and screaming. She was one step away of jumping out of the ambulance and running around like a terrified spider. She took a deep breath and inhaled oxygen. Her tight muscles unwound, and she opened her eyes. She jerked, but she couldn’t move her arms or legs. She was strapped tight in the gurney. Her heart beat hard. Blood surged through her.
She wiggled her arm free of the leather strap and ripped the hot plastic off her face. The blanket slipped down to her waist.
“Hey, lay back.”
She shook her head, her hair flying into her eyes. “Why am I tied down?”
“Not my idea. The detectives following us insisted, in case you decided to escape.”
“Scythe. Where he is? I need him. How come he’s not in here?”
He snatched the mask out of her hand. “You need to relax. Let me put this back on.”
“Not until you tell me where Scythe is.”
Greg pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. “Heather, I’ll tell you everything.” He held the mask a few inches above her face. “Now, put this on. I promise. Trust me.”
Heather bit her lip. She didn’t have much choice.
Greg took her silence as a yes and secured the mask. “Now, relax. Scythe’s the one who insisted you go to the hospital.”
She nodded, but a pit formed in her gut.
“I’m afraid they took him to jail.”
Heather turned her head away and clutched her hands together. How could she survive this? What if Blade possessed Greg to kill her? How could she combat a demon?
“Heather, listen to me. I’m going to give you something to calm your nerves. Lie still.” A sharp prick punctured her vein.
She looked at Greg. His face blurred. “I want you to lie still. You’re going into shock and need oxygen. Can you do that for me?”
She swallowed hard, but did as he instructed. His gentle voice seemed far away.
Greg smiled. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
From a demon? Not bloody likely. Her mind became foggy and she was too sleepy to be afraid. She breathed deeper. Her eyes grew heavy. What if Blade appeared? What if Greg’s eyes changed?
“That’s it, exhale. Breathe deep. You’re doing great.”
She shuddered, but focused on Greg’s blue eyes—nothing scary about them. They hadn’t turned red. She closed her eyes. Too bad they weren’t silver.
Something damp brushed across her forehead. She jumped and opened her eyes.
“Sorry,” Greg said. “You’re gonna be fine. Inhale and Exhale. Good girl.”
His smooth voice calmed her. This time when he wiped her forehead, she lay still. She closed her eyes again. The chills lessened on her body and she inhaled and exhaled slow and steady. The tingling stopped.
Greg talked to her in his soft voice. He undid her strap and put her arm back underneath. He tightened her bonds. He was gentle and she stopped fighting him. She wanted to forget. She had no idea what he said, but at his steady voice, her heart beat and breathing slowed. Her mind cleared. Xanadu. Stan must have taken it. She had been the target. How come she hadn’t dreamed about it? Had Blade wanted the attack to be surprise? Did Scythe know? No way. If he had, he would have tied her to a chair at Serenity House.
Stop. Sleep.
The ambulance slowed and came to a stop.
“We’re here,” Greg said.
She opened her heavy eyes. Greg unlocked the double doors. Another paramedic waited for him. Together, they lifted the gurney out of the ambulance and set it on the ground.
A motorcycle engine roared. In the parking lot, someone sat on a motorcycle with long hair. Terror seized her. Chills shot through her. Her heart thundered. She sucked in air. Blade?
She struggled, but her muscles refused to move and she was so sleepy? How could she out run a demon?
Greg and the other paramedic wheeled her into the emergency room. Bright lights shined in her eyes. She tried to sit up, but between the gurney straps and her lead muscles, she was helpless. Easy pickings.
Two men and one woman all wore white smocks and walked alongside her.
Heather gazed at the woman. Her ash blond hair was pulled into a loose bun and she wore pink lipstick that highlighted the tiny lines around her mouth. She gave Heather a tight smile. “What do we have?”
“Shock victim,” Greg answered. “She’s pretty shook up.”
One of the men asked, “What happened?” With his wire framed glasses and gray messy hair, he looked like the Unibomber.
“Stabbed some psycho trying to kill her.” Over his shoulder, he nodded. “Cops are right behind us.”
Heather flinched. Cops? No doubt, her two bloodhounds—Mason and Hewitt. She was a murderess—definitely going to hell. Would Scythe be her escort? Maybe she deserved to go to hell. Some social worker she was—couldn’t talk her client out of killing her. This was her fault.
“Take her to number five,” the woman said. She stuffed her hands in her smock. “I’ll deal with these two.”
“Hey,” Mason said. “We’re with her.”
“No, you’re not,” the woman said.
“She’s a suspect.” Mason whined like a little boy.
Heather lost track of their heated voices, but for once, she liked this nurse, especially since she put Mason in his place. He wasn’t the most compassionate man on the planet.
The other paramedic pulled back a white curtain. Greg pushed her gurney next to a bed. He loosened the gurney straps. “Heather, we are going to lift you to the bed, so relax. Can you do this for me?”
“Yes.”
Greg nodded at his partner. He clasped her ankles while the other man slid his hands underneath her shoulders. “On three,” Greg said. “One…two…three.”
They lifted her onto the bed, then Greg patted her leg. “You’re going to be fine.” He draped another blanket across her shivering body.
She wanted to beg him to stay, but she couldn’t talk with the mask on.
The nurse walked into the room. She tilted her head. “You don’t have to worry about them for a while. I told him they have to stay in the waiting room.” She gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m Nancy, by the way. The doctor will be in to see you soon.”
“Her blood pressure is ninety over sixty,” Greg said. “It was eighty over fifty, but increased with oxygen.”
Nancy patted her leg. “Not good, Missy, but we’ll it back to normal. Keep breathing steady.”
Greg saluted Heather. “Got to be going, Heather. You’re in good hands now.” He turned to the nurse. “See ya soon, Nance.”
“Bye, boys,” she said. She straightened Heather’s pillow. “Now, I want you to relax.” She frowned. “Are you cold, dearie?”
Heather nodded.
“I’ll bring you a warmer blanket than this one.” She gave her another smile and walked away, but not before shutting the curtain, blocking Heather’s view of the emergency door that led to the waiting room. Not that she wanted to see anything. Or have anyone see her.
Firm footsteps walked down the hallway. For some reason, cold fear seized her. What was wrong with her? It was just Nancy.
But when she exhaled, she could see her breath. Her teeth chattered. Relax or you’ll likely to end
up in the loony bin.
A large hand gripped the edge of the curtain. Heather held her breath. It was the doctor, right?
The curtain flung open. Her eyes widened. Her throat constricted. The blood drained from her face.
Blade flashed his eyes over her. He stepped into the room and shut the curtain, then rested his hands on her mattress. “So, we meet again.”
She tried to scream, but only sucked in the plastic and gagged.
“My, my, my.” He strolled around the bed. “Quite a mess you made, Missy.” He ran his fingers down her arm, and she trembled—too terrified to move. “You’re stronger than I anticipated. I’d never thought you’d kill poor Stan.”
A strangled groan escaped her lips. How could he not feel the slightest remorse for Stan? Staring into those cold red eyes, nothing but hatred reflected. He had been an angel? One of the good guys? No way. More like a fiend.
He slid his fingers down her side to her legs. Everywhere he touched turned ice cold as if he had dipped her into a vat of ice cream. The once light, soft, warm blanket turned heavy, scratchy and cold, imprisoning her body. She was glued to the bed, utterly helpless. God, what had he done to her?
“The next person I send after you, you won’t be so lucky.” He lifted the blanket and cold air hit her feet. He strangled one bare foot and squeezed.
She cringed, freezing pain seized her.
“But this time, my dear, just like Stan, I won’t appear in your dream. You won’t know when I’ll strike next.
He laughed.
The curtain swung open by itself. Was he doing that?
Soft footsteps approached. A young blond nurse walked by and smiled at her. Couldn’t she see Blade?
“No, she can’t,” Blade said.
Perspiration trickled down Heather’s temples. The hair on the back of her neck stood on edge. God, she was so dead.
The curtain closed by itself. Blade frowned. His haughty look vanished. The air warmed. Heather’s breathing and heart beat slowed. Fear slipped away. Why? She should be about ready to crawl out of her own skin.
“Why, Blade?” a familiar husky voice said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Hope gripped Heather. Could it be? Or was she imagining it?
Blade released her foot. “Show yourself, brother.”
Her foot immediately thawed. She jerked her foot away, but hot pain shot up her leg. What had he done?
Scythe materialized on the right side of her bed.
Heather wanted to tear off her mask and hug him, but she still couldn’t move.
Scythe shook his head. “Happy, brother?” Without looking at her, he waved his hand over her body. The blanket lightened and she could breathe easier. Warmth spread from the tips of her fingers down to her toes. The scorching pain disappeared. She could wiggle her fingers and toes.
“Such perfect timing, bro.” Blade smirked. “To answer, your question, yes, I plan to rip her heart out.” He gave her a two finger salute. “’Till we meet again.” He vanished.
She trembled and fear squeezed her beating heart.
Fingers brushed against her forehead. She jumped.
“Shhh,” Scythe said. “He’s gone.”
She bunched up the blanket.
“Relax, I won’t let him hurt you. Not now. Not ever.”
She inhaled. Oxygen breathed into her nose and into her lungs. Not answering, she kept breathing. Scythe brushed his fingers over her forehead and down the side of her head. With each stroke, the tension and cold subsided in her shivering body. She gazed at him, and he gave her a reassuring smile. His eyes mesmerized her.
She frowned. “How did you get here?” She sounded like she was talking underwater.
He smiled. “Don’t worry, I can understand you, even if you are wearing the mask. I faked a heart attack and the cops brought me here.”
She glanced at the curtain. “No armed guards?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, they were, but I easily escaped by erasing their memory.”
Her eyebrows knotted. He could do that? Of course, he could. He was the freaking Angel of Death.
He stroked her trembling hand. “Yes, I’m one of the Angels of Death, but not the Angel of Death. That title belongs to the Archangel Michael.”
She clutched his hand.
He laughed, dropping her hair. “I see your fire is coming back.”
Muffled voices came from the hallway.
“You’re in danger and too weak to fight an attacker.”
At the mention of another attack, a tremor ran through her. What if someone strung up on Xanadu tried to kill her and she had to kill someone again? Please, no.
“Yeah, you can.” He grimaced. “When humans take Xanadu, they no longer possess the ability to know right from wrong. They’re killers.”
She lifted her hand and yanked off her mask. “Will you please stop doing that?”
He cocked his eyebrow. “Doing what?”
“Reading my damn mind. It’s annoying.”
A voice yelled behind the curtain. “What do you mean? What guy? The fucking prick you brought in for a supposed heart attack? You got your head up your ass.”
Heather winced. Mason. “Scythe, you’d better get out of here.”
“Not without you.”
Heavy footsteps pounded down on the hall. “Check every damn room. Start with Heather Bowen’s. He’s here somewhere.”
Fingers appeared on the curtain. That was the last thing Heather remembered. The room spun. Wind roared in her ears. Cold air rushed over her. Scythe held her close to his chest. She pressed her ear against him to listen to his steady heart, hoping he’d calm her racing one. She clung to his shirt and inhaled his masculine scent and lost herself into a blanket of serenity.
The wind stopped. Or at least she had stopped moving, but not her vision. Her stomach swirled and her dinner slowly crept up her throat, but she gritted her teeth and using sheer willpower, forced it down. She gripped his shirt and warmth upon warmth spread over her. The cold and fright left her. She bathed in the sunlight. Had he just healed her? Could angels of death do this?
She put her hand on her forehead. “What happened? Did you heal me?”
Scythe carried her. “You’re back in your office. And yes, I did. Feel better?”
She dropped her hand. Sure enough, her familiar desk, computer, chairs, and couch were all there. “How?”
“I—”
She put her hand up. “Never mind. More important, why here? It’s not like Mason and Hewitt aren’t coming to look for us?”
“Yeah, so?” He frowned. “You were in danger. Plain and simple. No one threatens what is mine.”
What did he mean? He gave her a possessive look, but then desire spread into his eyes. Her cheeks heated. She squirmed. God, he was beautiful, but an angel. How could she?
Giving her a wicked grin, he lowered her onto the couch and cradled her in his lap. His strong arms wrapped around her. He nuzzled against her shoulder onto her neck and his lips grazed over her skin, his kisses chasing away the danger, erasing her worries. She wiggled, but he trapped her, molding her to his body. Before she knew what happened, he pushed her onto the couch and his lean body followed her. As he stretched out on top of her, his pounding heart matched hers. His lips found hers, pushing her mouth open with his tongue, devouring the tiniest protest.
He slipped his rough hand under her shirt, and cupped her breast. His kiss deepened and she couldn’t help but to respond. He pulled and teased her nipple. His slightest touch drove her into a frenzy of want. She wanted more, but she had learned so many times before not to trust any man until she could see deeper into his aura. Being an angel didn’t prevent Scythe from stomping on her heart.
Scythe broke off the kiss and nuzzled her neck. “I’ll never hurt you.”
His warm breath sent chills of desire over her. She wanted to believe him, but where had she heard that before?
“Let me make you mine, Heather. Forever. Let me show you that y
ou can trust me. A bond will be linked between us, unbreakable. I’ll be able to find you anywhere. I need you.”
His voice shook. Was he trembling? He was an angel of death. No force on Earth would scare him.
He pushed her hair back. He stared down at her with his hooded eyes. “You’re wrong. You scare me.”
His lips captured hers, leaving her filled with more questions, but she forgot asking any questions when he pushed up her shirt. She shivered. He broke off the kiss and lowered his lips onto her breast, his hair brushing over her bare skin. He took her nipple into his hot, moist mouth. She screamed as he suckled her. She threaded her fingers through his thick, silky hair.
She tingled with desire. It had been so long since she’d been with a man, but Scythe worshiped her like no other had by tending to her every whimper. Panting, she arched her back letting him take her deeper into his mouth. He snaked his other hand inside her panties and he edged his fingers toward her feminine core. He stroked her.
It was happening all too fast. Trust wasn’t an easy thing she doled out. “No, stop. I…I…can’t do this.”
He lifted his dark head. “What?”
“I don’t know you. I need to see the real you first. I have to paint you.”
“You want to paint me now?” He cocked his eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.” She lifted her chin. “Now. Please.”
He sighed. “You’re killing me.”
He refused to move. His muscles tensed beneath her hands. He narrowed his eyes. Terror seized her. She froze. She waited for his eyes to turn hell red. Shit, what if he forced her?
He cupped both of her cheeks with his palms. “Like I’d ever coerce you.”
In the next instant, he was off her. She didn’t even see him move.
Cold air rushed over her. Glancing down, heat beat on her cheeks. Her shirt was hiked up to her neck and one cup of her bra pushed down below her breast, revealing her budded nipple. She pushed back the desire to ask him to finish what he started. She needed to know the real him, angel or not.
Panting, she fixed her bra and yanked her shirt down. She slid her feet onto the floor and scooted to the end of the couch. She avoided looking at him, embarrassed at what happened. Around him, her treacherous body took command, craving his nimble fingers and hot mouth.
