Ashes of Angels (11 page)

“Sam,” she gasped as the demon threw his opponent through the air.

The angel landed on the icy tarmac and slid against the wheel of a sports car. The impact moved the car and the rear of it crashed into the next car and the next in a domino effect.

Sam leaped up and whipped the halo toward his aggressor. The demon ducked, laughing at the ease with which it avoided the danger. The halo boomeranged back to Sam's grasp.

She needed to do something. To save her destiny.

No. He was capable.
Have faith, Cassandra
.

Faith? She'd lost her faith the moment Granny had filled her brain with her horrible destiny. Faith was for the lost, the desperate. Faith was a sham.

Sam stabbed the halo up into the demon's heart, stepped
back, then ran and kicked the creature in the chest. The demon soared backward, hung over the river momentarily, then dropped into the Spree's murky, cold waters.

Cassandra ran to Sam's side. “You did it! But your halo? You'll need it!”

“That's what I was thinking. Bad move. Wait here. I'll get it back.”

Running toward the river, the angel, fearless when he should be otherwise, leaped.

“No!” Cassandra raced to the railing. “Don't do it, Sam! Angels can't swim!”

H
ands clasped to her chest and clutching so tightly she might snap a finger, Cassandra peered over the still surface of the river Spree. Chunks of white ice dotted the brown water. He'd jumped in a minute ago.

A full minute.

“Where is he? He's drowned. Angels can't swim. That's the whole reason for the flood. God sent the flood to sweep the Fallen from the earth. Oh, hell, why did he do that? He's…”

She couldn't say the word
dead.
Didn't want to think or put it out there with her voice. He was not. But who could stay underwater so long?

Probably an angel. But not an angel who couldn't swim.

She mounted the railing, prepared to swing over it and climb down the riverbank but knew that would prove foolish. She could swim, but it was December, and the water would take away her breath and give her hypothermia in less than thirty seconds. She was not suicidal.

Another minute passed.

Pacing before the railing, Cassandra rattled her fists near her thighs. Snow fell silently, melting on the water's surface, unaware of the frantic crash of emotions colliding inside her.

She was angry Sam had done such a stupid thing. Fearful he could be dead. Torn, because now she'd been left to fend off the Fallen, the demons and the vampires by herself. How could he do that to her? Leave her like this?

Then she was proud because Sam had defeated one Fallen and two Sinistari. And it wasn't as though he'd jumped in after the halo because the earthbound soul it contained held value to him. He'd wanted to retrieve the weapon that could ensure further success. Sam did not think of himself, only of innocent mortals.

Why?

How could he have developed such compassion toward mortals in so short a time? She was the only one he'd related to since arriving on earth. She couldn't have had such a powerful effect on the guy.

No, it had happened thousands of years ago. After his Fall. He'd looked upon mortal women and decided they were real, feeling beings not to be used for selfish pleasure. That was when compassion had won over her Fallen angel.

Would it now prove his death?

Your Fallen angel? Oh, Cassandra, you fool. He doesn't belong to you
.

Nor could he claim possession over her. They were not an item. She didn't get to have relationships. Only other women, who didn't have the apocalypse hanging over their heads, could enjoy that.

Yes, yes, cry an entire river, Cassandra. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, right now.

Another minute—hell, possibly five minutes had passed!

Cassandra searched the calm river surface, not seeing air
bubbles or a waver on the brown sheen. He was gone. Sam had sacrificed himself without a second thought.

She fell to her knees before the railing and pressed her head against the cold iron bar. Tears slipped down her cheeks, burning trails to her jaw. Granny Stevens could have never anticipated a muse getting along with her Fallen counterpart.

Sam was not like the other Fallen. He had looked into her eyes and she had seen the respect in his. He was here on earth to save her from himself.

“Oh.” A lump caught in her throat and she gasped out sobs. “Please come back. Your bunny needs you, Sam. I can't do this without you.”

Turning her back to the railing, she put her head against her knees and sobbed.

Water splashed. Cassandra jerked her body up for a look down the bank. A head emerged from the river, followed by broad shoulders, and the dripping wet clothing that clung to her outlaw angel.

“Sam!”

 

He spit out cold river water, the most disagreeable substance he'd ever tasted. Water soaked his clothing, dragging him down, wanting to repossess him to the depths. A dense lethargy stretched his calf and thigh muscles painfully.

Sam fell to his knees upon the snowy bank, the halo clutched firmly in hand. He'd retrieved his only chance of succeeding against the enemy.

A saving grace embraced him. Cassandra slid into a kneeling hug and, sobs accompanying her repeated prayer of his name, she clasped her arms about him and clung to his sodden body.

Over and over she whispered his name. Claiming him. Making him her own.

It felt so good, he didn't say he suspected the cold water
would harm her more than him as it soaked through her coat and hair. Instead, he buried his face in her wet, beribboned hair and closed his eyes. So this was comfort? The clinging warmth of someone who cared for him? He never wanted it to end.

Or was it something more?

Why did she cry? He hadn't been under so long, had he? She knew he was immortal.

“You could have drowned!”

Ah. Yes, the whole “angels not being able to swim” thing. True, yet drowning was out of the question.

“I was walking along the riverbed,” he said. “I cannot drown, only I don't know how to swim and cannot float to stay above water. I had to find the bank and climb up it. Think about it, Cassandra. The Great Flood swept us all away, but did not kill us.”

She nodded and sniffled, sorting that information through her brain. Then she punched his shoulder. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“Sorry.” Despite the weakness his mortal muscles felt, he stood, lifting her in his arms. Already her body shook minutely. “You need to get warm.”

“The hotel is up the street,” she said on a shiver. “I—I can walk. Hell, this water is freezing on my sk-skin.”

“No time.”

He eyed the black van the vampire Rovonsky had driven. It was still running, spewing out exhaust in a thick cloud. It would provide Cassandra warmth, and it might offer a few clues to the vampires' location.

Inside the back of the van was empty. No blankets or even a tarp; nothing to aid getting Cassandra warm. Sam reluctantly set her down on the corrugated steel floor, and she chattered softly, “T-turn up the heat.”

He moved into the driver's seat and scanned the controls,
but they displayed tiny embossed symbols instead of words. This was the second time he'd been responsible for her nearly freezing. He certainly had no clue how to actually care for a mortal woman.

What made him believe he could ever earn her trust?

“The one with the wavy lines, like heat waves,” she said, then dropped to her side and curled her legs to her chest.

Sam turned the heat to high and adjusted the circular vents so they blew toward the back, then climbed beside her. “I'd snuggle against you, but I'm wet and not warm at all.”

“Take your clothes off, and we'll see about that.”

“How will that…?” He tugged off the wet shirt and tossed it aside. His body did not register the cold air against his skin. “I guess I do warm when I touch your skin. You're sure?”

“Sam, stop talking and just do it. I'm freezing!”

“Very well. Slip from the coat and take off your clothes, then I'll put the coat back on and nestle you close.” He shuffled out of his leather pants while she slipped from her clothing. They worked quickly, unconcerned for the other's appearance, and when she was bare, Sam curled next to her, pulling her back against his chest. The back of her wasn't wet, but she was very naked now.

Sam chided himself for noticing how hard her nipples were, tucked against his wrists, and when she pressed her bottom to his groin, he sucked in a breath at the utter pleasure of connection.

He held a naked woman against his skin. She felt fragile and smelled sweet. Vanilla and mint.
Mmm…
He inhaled.

“Jacket,” she chattered.

As she turned her body to face him, Sam pulled the jacket over her shoulders and arms and coved her between the fabric and his body.

Cold, thin fingers pressed to the base of his neck. The tip
of her icy nose nudged his chest. “Thank you. Shouldn't take long. To warm up.”

His erection stiffened, making him uncomfortably aware of how desire worked. “I'm not doing that on purpose,” he offered.

She chuckled softly. “I know. And were I warmer I might enjoy it, but right now…”

He rubbed her arms through the coat. “I'm sorry.”

“You've nothing to be sorry for.”

“I'm sorry. I don't understand as much about the human condition as I think I do. You may be strong on the outside, but you're delicate. So complex, yet easily felled. I should practice care around you.”

“I'm a big girl. For the most part, I can take care of myself. Just don't splash me with icy river water ever again.”

“I will not. This weather is not conducive to survival. Why do you live here?”

She chuckled. “I've been asking myself that a lot lately. Not that London is much warmer, mind you. I miss my sister. I think I'm moving back next spring.”

“Why not right now, to get away from the cold?”

“You forget the vampires are in Berlin. Probably I should stick around until we solve that little problem.”

That she could make light of their situation further enamored him. He admired her inner strength. “It's not your responsibility to save the world, Cassandra. Even a small portion of it.”

“Someone has to do it.”

That made him smile. This delicate mortal was hard as steel inside. “You warming?”

“Yes, and so are you. This feels good, Sam. Your skin against mine. Sacred.”

He flinched at that word. It suggested worship of something divine, or being devoted to something greater than oneself.
Could she possibly feel a connection to him? The notion was too grand to consider.

Nor should it be considered. Cassandra needed protection—not his desire.

She murmured a soft, satisfied noise and nestled closer to him, her hip nudging his erection, which ached for something he could not name but he knew would require a more intimate invitation.

It consumed his thoughts. Erection. Soft skin. So close. Must touch. Must…

No, he wouldn't force anything on her. Any intimacy must be directed by her.

Sam bent his head to Cassandra's and breathed in winter's flavor. It mingled with her scent in a cool minty tease. And she slanted her head to kiss his neck, there, where he swallowed. He tensed. The touch seemed to burn into his flesh and mark him.

“Cassandra, I have to warn you—”

“I know.” She pulled back and met his eyes. “This is awkward in an ‘I want to get closer but I don't think it's right' kind of way, yes?”

“It is right. It feels right. I don't know anymore.” Meeting her eyes, he wished he'd the ability to do a soul gaze like the witches could perform. He could scan her thoughts by placing his palm over her forehead, but he would not. It felt wrong. Intrusive. “You've pushed me beyond my understanding. I don't want to do anything wrong by you.”

“You won't. I trust you.” She kissed his chest, sparking a blossom of fire that he knew would remain long after they ceased to touch.

Cassandra shuffled to sit, clasping her arms across her bare breasts. The loss of her warmth against his skin was palpable, and for the first time Sam gauged the difference between the cold and the heat. And he hated it. He actually hated something.

“We should get our wet clothes on and head to the hotel,” she suggested. “I'll drive.”

“Good idea. And I'll search for clues back here.” He touched a chain hung overhead from a steel hook. “Looks like they had plans to contain something.”

Cassandra shuffled into her clothes and he followed suit, finding it not so easy to put on wet clothing as it was to take it off. Muttering about a wet wedgie, she climbed into the driver's seat and shifted the van into gear.

Pulling open a compartment on the inner van wall, Sam found a tranquilizer gun, rope and more chain. “I think they planned to hunt the nephilim, but I suspect this gun would do little but irritate the thing.”

“Keep it. We can use it,” she called back.

He liked the way her brain worked. Actually, he liked everything about Cassandra Stevens. Her brain, her beauty, her skin, her naked breasts, her kick-ass skills and her easy acceptance of him.

It would be tough to say goodbye to her after he won his return Above.

C
assandra and Sam snuck into the Radisson Blu through a back door because their wet attire left much to be desired. They took the elevator to the third floor, which overlooked the quarter-million-gallon AquaDom, a massive fish tank in the center of the circular hotel that boasted an elevator through its center.

Coco opened the door and the two of them slapped into a tight hug. “You're here!”

It had been months since Cassandra had been in London to visit. She felt like the same Coco, and smelled like her, too. She always wore cherry perfume.

“Oh, sweetie, it's so good to hold you. You're wet?”

“We had a little run-in with the Spree. Can I borrow some of your clothes? I didn't pack beyond a few weapons.”

“Yes, take whatever from my suitcase and change right away or you'll catch a chill.”

“Too late for that. Already beyond chilled.” But what a way
to get warm, with a naked man. “Did you track the nephilim here?”

“No, but we heard the radio reports of a creature stalking Berlin and Zane floored it to get us here.”

Her sister tugged Cassandra into the small room sporting a king-size bed, television and two chairs. “I'm so sorry, Caz, I lost track of the muse. One minute she was there, the next—oh.”

Coco peered around Cassandra's shoulder. She drew her tongue along her upper lip, eyes fixed on the man who filled the doorway. Coco was anything but discreet.

“Coco, this is Sam.” He stepped forward to offer her sister his hand. Which she took, and stepped up to study him blatantly from head to toe.

“Sam. Nice to meet you. He's wet, too,” she whispered back to her sister. Cassandra did not miss the curiously desirous tone in her sister's voice. “Where did you find this one?” Coco cooed.

Should she reveal he was a Fallen one? Probably not the best time to do so. She and her sister had never lied to each other, but a little omission of details never hurt now and then.

“Right here in Berlin,” Sam offered. “I tracked your sister through the sigil.”

“What?”

Cassandra winced and flashed Sam the evil eye before putting an arm around Coco, who had visibly shrunk back from Sam.

“Your sigil?”

Coco's shoulders shook, and Cassandra hated that her sister had been thrust into this nightmare when it was only she who was the muse. Coco got all the residual fallout on account she needed someone to share this with.

“That means he's a… Is he? Stand back, angel!” Infused
with a sudden rush of bravado, Coco thrust up her palm, which was painted with a henna angel ward.

Sam looked away from the symbol, but wasn't thrust against a wall and didn't start to burn or even sizzle.

Coco looked at her palm. Back at the unshaken angel. “Huh. That's supposed to work a lot better than that. Oh, Cassandra! He's really…?”

“He's a Fallen one,” she said, hugging her sister about the shoulders. “And put down your terrible ward. He's harmless.”

Sam cleared his throat.

“Well, not harmless,” she corrected with a smirk at the annoyed angel.

“To her I am harmless,” he interrupted. “I am your sister's Fallen, and she is my muse. See.” He twisted and tugged up the wet sweater to reveal the sigil on his hip. There upon the tanned muscle the spiral sigil sat like a beacon.

Coco's body slumped in Cassandra's arms in a dead faint. “So much for keeping secrets,” she muttered.

 

Sam helped Cassandra lay her sister's limp body on the bed. Coco Stevens had spoken in a pale blue voice, which was weird to him that he even noticed. Normally only the muse caused the synesthetic reactions to her voice that enhanced sound by superimposing it with color. Maybe it was because the two were sisters.

Cassandra was concerned her sister had fainted; she'd never done that before, but he reassured her because he knew Cassandra needed a guarantee that her sister would be fine.

Digging through Coco's duffel, Cassandra snagged a pair of black leggings and a soft blue chenille sweater and left the room to put them on.

When the light flicked on in the bathroom, Sam heard, “Oh, look at this hair!”

He smirked. He loved her hair. It was long, dark, betwisted
with curious ribbons, and it blew over her shoulders in waves. He wanted to crush it all against his face and lose himself within the luxurious depths.

He eyed the sister. Her hair was short, but as dark as Cassandra's. They had matching tiny noses, pert lips and the same soft cacao skin color. But no sigil on her thin wrist. Good for her.

Cassandra wandered back into the room, tugging down the sweater that emphasized her breasts and curvy hips.

“You two look similar,” he commented.

“Good thing.”

“What's your makeup?”

“My what?”

“Your features and your dark skin. You both are exotic.”

“French, British and African-American. Daddy was a merchant marine, so he traveled a lot. He met my mother on an expedition to Jamaica.”

“He and your mother are no longer alive?”

“Car crash sixteen years ago. On the day of their divorce.”

That made Sam curious, but he sensed questions would not be appropriate.

Cassandra rubbed a palm up her opposite arm. “The last few years of their marriage were volatile. Coco and I spent a lot of time with Granny.” She shrugged. “Love is dangerous.”

“It shouldn't be,” Sam offered. “I'm sorry for your loss.” He leaned over her shoulder, sniffing.

“It's my sister's perfume.”

“Smells like fruit. I like it.”

“I'm not sure what we'll do for a change of clothes for you,” she said.

“The leather pants are already dry.” He tugged out the sodden sweater from his abdomen.

“Let's use the blow dryer.”

She directed him toward the bathroom. The main door
opened and in marched a man with short, spiked blond hair, a coffee cup in hand and sporting a nasty scar from forehead, through his eye and down his cheek.

“Coco, I—oh.”

Sam immediately sensed the intruder's nature and grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the bathroom door. Coffee spattered his arms but he didn't feel the burn. His fingers crushed about the man's neck.

“Sam! Stop it!”

“He's a vampire, Cassandra.”

“A what? No, I—I think he's Coco's boyfriend.”

The vampire garbled nonsense words.

“Let him talk,” Cassandra demanded. “Who are you?”

His jaw tensed. Sam did not like taking orders from a woman when he was trying to protect her. The man was a vampire; he smelled the subtle remnants of blood.

“Zane!” The sister flew off the bed and tugged at Sam's arm, but it was as if a gnat going after a hawk. “Let him go, you big bully! He's my boyfriend!”

The vampire dropped, wobbled and caught himself against the wall. Coffee dripped down the walls. Coco snuggled into his embrace.

Cassandra and Sam shared stunned looks. He was glad she appeared as surprised as he because, if not, the world truly had tilted on its axis.

“Coco?” Cassandra stepped beside Sam and moved his arm around her waist. She needed his support. He liked feeling needed, and drew her closer. “What's going on? Is he really a vampire?”

The vampire stretched his neck and lifted his chin defiantly, but he let Coco do the talking.

“He is.” Coco gave a little lift of her tiny shoulders. “Surprised?”

Cassandra's eyebrow quirked.

“Guess we both have surprises, eh?” The sister angled a defiant stare at Cassandra.

Zane offered his hand to Cassandra. “Nice to meet you. Coco has told me a lot about you.”

Cassandra shook, but Sam felt her resistance and spread a hand across her back to reassure her he was there. “Coco hasn't told me enough about you.”

“It's not like you told me about your angel,” Coco defended.

“
My
angel? We just met the other night. And he's not mine.”

Ouch.

“The sigils don't lie,” Coco argued.

“And you are avoiding the fact you've been dating a vampire for months and you didn't think it was important to tell me?”

The woman who'd been caught in a lie lifted her shoulders and gave her sister the big sad-eyes treatment. Sam suspected it wouldn't work on Cassandra. She was a tough one.

What he wanted to do was get the vampire alone for a few moments to find out what he was up to, but he'd stand at the ready for now. Interesting, the bloodsucker had a scar. Their kind normally didn't scar.

“He killed the Fallen we tracked,” Coco said. “And we're in love. So! We've better things to do than judge one another's choice in men.” She angled an intense glare at Sam. Effective. He tangibly felt her forced yet curious scorn.

“I agree.” Cassandra squeezed Sam about the waist, which went a way in obliterating the “he's not mine” statement. “We have to act, and fast. The nephilim is running rampant. You bring the ash?”

Zane flipped open the lid of a hard-shell suitcase and drew out a large, clear bag.

“It's in a Ziploc bag?” Cassandra accepted the bag and held it up before the window to examine it.

Controlling an outright gasp, Sam reached to touch, but
retracted as if the plastic and its contents might burn him. “Is that really…?”

“Angel ash,” Coco confirmed gleefully. “Zane took out a Fallen in London a few months ago, and this was left behind. But I'm sure you know all about what happens when an angel perishes on earth.”

He did, but looking it straight on like this gave him a strange sense of mortality. And in a flimsy plastic bag? Sacrilege.

“I saved the feather that was left in the ash,” Coco said proudly. “It was black iron.”

“How does a vampire take out a Fallen one?” Sam asked the smirking vamp. “He should have made mincemeat of you.”

“To be honest,” Zane said, straightening and drawing on a serious demeanor, “I attribute most of it to luck. But I do have this.” He lifted a chain, coiled at his hip, to display a three-pronged blade curved like a scimitar.

“That's a Sinistari blade,” Sam said, utterly at a loss for further words.

Vampires were much less powerful than the slayer demons. When it came to angels and demons, vampires crept along the bottom of the food chain. They were nasty things that fed on mortals to survive. Sam felt the urge to wipe the bottom of his boot on the rug right now. Which was strange in itself.

When had he become so judgmental? First it was Raphael, and now the vampire. Was this mortal realm sinking into his psyche so quickly?

“Yeah, he wasn't using it,” Zane said. “We made a deal, actually. The blade for a serious stack of chips at the blackjack table. Those demons do like to gamble. And sin. A lot.”

Clever. The only way a vampire could compete with a Sinistari—lure it to sin.

“Well then, we're properly armed,” Cassandra said. “We've two demon blades. Sam has one, as well.”

“Not anymore.” Sam wasn't going to reveal the truth in front of the vampire. “I used it on a demon, but left it in his heart.”

“I thought you took it?” Cassandra asked.

“No,” he hurriedly provided. No sense in admitting Raphael had taken it away from him as if a favorite toy being removed from a naughty child. And yet the lie served another plunge into mortal depravity. “But I do have this.” He tapped his hip.

“Yes, he's got a halo.”

“So do we!” Coco tugged out a halo from the suitcase.

The weaponry and knowledge this group had of Fallen and Sinistari blew Sam away. But then he should expect nothing less from Cassandra's sister. The entire Stevens clan, actually. That Granny Stevens—he sure would have liked to meet her.

The sister offered him the halo to inspect but he politely refused. He didn't want to touch another Fallen's halo. “The weapon is ineffective in a mortal's hands.”

“She's discovered that,” Zane said, with a secretive wink to Coco. “Doesn't do the boomerang return to a mortal.”

“But it does give hope!” Coco enthusiastically chimed. “I love holding it.” She clasped the halo to her chest. The pixie's brown eyes gleamed with adventure untold.

“So let's get to it,” Cassandra said.

“She's not coming,” Sam said. He caught Coco's frown and it didn't feel right in his chest. What was with these women and their ability to make his glass heart ache?

“I agree.” Cassandra snatched the halo from her sister's hand. “It's too dangerous, Coco. You know you're not trained for this.”

The sister was about to protest, but she sighed, stuck out her bottom lip for an effective pout and conceded with a nod. “Of course, you should hold the halo. Seeing that you do have a Fallen angel who wants to do you serious harm standing right next to you.”

“I do not—”

“I'm holding the halo so you don't feel you can come along with us,” Cassandra countered over Sam's reply.

“Fine. But Zane can go.”

“We don't need fang boy to stumble over,” Sam said.

“Fang boy?” the vampire said incredulously.

“Cassandra and I know what we're doing. We'll take the ash—”

“But he's a ninja!” Coco protested.

Sam tilted his head at the vampire, who offered a sheepish shrug. “He doesn't look Japanese.”

“I've the skills and the know-how to track both the Fallen and vampires,” Zane said.

“Why would you help us track vampires?”

“I don't like what the Anakim are up to. Harming muses? That's not my bloody scene. I want to stop what's happening as much as Coco and Cassandra do.”

“You two should discuss this.” Cassandra pushed Sam toward the door. “I need to talk to Coco alone.”

“You want me to leave with the vampire?” Sam cast the vamp a glare. Where was the stake Cassandra owned?