Ashes of Angels (7 page)

And Cassandra now sought danger as if some kind of drug. And damn, didn't the man who'd just sat on her sofa exude danger. He held out his wrist, and she buttoned the sleeve cuff then gestured for the other wrist.

Of course she hadn't found time to chat with her sister about her new man. But could he be…a vampire? He had slain an angel. Normal mortal men weren't capable of that feat. Not without the proper weapon. Coco had said Zane owned a Sinistari blade. That may allow a mortal such strength and skill.
Hmm…

“I can't think about this.” She finished with his button, then stuffed the phone in a pocket and stood to pace. “The pregnant muse is missing. Her name is Ophelia. We've lost her, and she's to give birth any day now.”

Sam caught her in his embrace and, in lieu of a much-needed sisterly hug, she allowed the unwarranted touch. He was much taller and more solid than Coco. Standing in his arms made her feel a little less small, supported, and not so close to the edge.

It is what you want. Safety. Take it
.

“We'll find Ophelia. We'll find the vampires. We'll stop it all,” he said reassuringly.

“You have grand plans, angel. Don't you know it takes more than two of us to stop an army?”

“How do you know it's an army?”

“Tribe Anakim must be many. They have to be if they expect to capture a nephilim. And just because you took out the Sinistari doesn't mean another won't be summoned. Isn't that their job? The demons will pursue you relentlessly. Too bad we can't get them on our side.”

“Their alliance would help. Yet, the Sinistari are too lustful. One minute they're focused on the Fallen, the next they're following the shifting hips of a sexy looker. They are easy enough to distract.”

“You were easily distracted by my shifting hips at club Schwarz.”

“I, er, hmm…” No way to deny that one.

“How did you find me, by the way? Were you looking for me?”

“I was not. I do have a mission. But when passing the club, I felt the heat of the sigil on my hip and sensed you were inside. You know how it goes from there.”

The angel bowed over her and pressed the crown of her head with his lips.

“I can't fathom this,” she said.

“But you can accept it. You believe in everything you were taught does not exist. That goes miles toward your strength, Cassandra.”

“Not like I have much choice. I would love it if vampires had remained fictional characters.”

“Angels have never been fiction.”

“True.”

And had she imagined she'd one day be standing in an
angel's arms? Taking comfort from a supernatural being? And not at all frightened of their preordained connection?

Yes, she had. It had been a blissful, sensual dream of a warrior.

Sam stroked her arms and bent before her, which brought them eye level. As if to kiss. But he only lingered there, their mouths inches apart, breath dallying, eyes searching each other's.

She wanted the kiss. It was wrong on so many levels, but she needed it. Yet she sensed he would not give it. Could not. Because they were both fearful of the Pandora's box their desires could open.

Kiss him. It will be dangerous. How can you resist?

Cassandra tilted onto her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his. He pulled away, his eyes flashing at her as if to ask whether this was okay.

“Yes,” she murmured, and touched her mouth to his again.

He was cool, but he did not stay so for long. Heat blossomed at the point of their connection. His firm mouth remained unmoving against hers. He allowed her to explore with a soft brush of her mouth over his, to direct the kiss in the manner she desired.

Then she realized he might have never before kissed a woman. Sam had only been on earth two days. And she had no idea what he'd done after his original Fall, but surely after millennia of imprisonment in the Ninth Void, whatever sensual technique he may have possessed had gotten a little rusty.

The idea excited her, and also gave her concern. She might be his first experience.

Sensing his tension, she smoothed a hand over his jaw, measuring the pulse of his muscles once, twice, beneath her spread fingers. “Relax,” she said, “I'm not going to hurt you.”

He smirked, both of them aware that he'd said the same earlier, but in not quite the same context.

“This is new,” he started, then looked aside and chuckled. “I've not done this before. With any woman.”

“I guessed that.”

“Because I botched the kiss terribly?”

“Not at all. You kiss well. Your mouth is, um, it's soft but firm. I like it. You willing to follow my lead?”

“I would follow you to world's end, Cassandra.”

“All right, but I'd rather not stand at the end, if you know what I mean. Especially with all that's going on right now. Let's just keep it right here and now.”

His mouth softened to hers when she kissed him again, and he pressed gently, opening slightly. She caught his breath on her tongue, sweet, ethereal, unnamable. Yes, really something like that, perhaps even angelic.

Clasping his hand, which was planted at her hip in deference to politeness, she glided it around her back and higher. Taking direction, he pulled her closer without breaking the kiss. He assumed the mien of a seducer with ease. Perhaps he assimilated this experience as easily as he'd assimilated the world. It made sense to her.

If falling felt like this—a soft flutter of wings in her heart— Cassandra was all for it. Kissing Sam made her feel light, weightless. Unencumbered. It was a kiss like no other, because while it was new and experimental, it fed her danger addiction. She kissed the enemy. It didn't get more dangerous than that.

Yet the longer the kiss lasted, the quicker she forgot the bad stuff threatening to bring down the world around her. And danger segued into passion.

Opening her mouth, she traced his lower lip with her tongue and slashed a quick flick over his white teeth. He moaned an agreeing tone and caressed her petite curves against his lean, hard body. Her feet left the ground, and he held her easily, his tongue matching hers.

Cassandra raked her fingers through his soft, dark hair and
broke the kiss to stare into his eyes. “How are you able to do this?”

“I think it comes naturally. And you have a great method of teaching.”

“No, I mean, kiss me and not want to, you know…”

“Oh, right. I don't think I'm capable of feeling the relentless compulsion to mate unless I'm in half form.”

“So we can do this, over and over, with no repercussions? No wings, no worry?”

“Over and over sounds spectacular.”

“It does but—” It sounded
too
good. Nothing ever came so easily. Not without a devastating price. “Set me down.”

He did, shoving a hand over his hair and wincing with concern.

Cassandra exhaled deeply and offered the nervous angel in the tight shirt a weak smile. It was disconcerting being in the room with a man who sucked in all the air merely with his overwhelming presence. By simply
being
. He was a warrior from another realm. A mythological creature. A divine creation!

And yet he looked perfectly mortal waiting for her to make the next move.

“I just kissed an angel,” she offered with a nervous chuckle. “How weird is that?”

“I just kissed a mortal. I think I've matched you on the weirdness scale.”

She laughed and twirled a long strand of hair and ribbon about her forefinger. Dipping her head, she looked up at him. “Truce?”

“Most definitely. Though I never had reason to name you my enemy in the first place.”

“Still, I'm going to keep one eye over my shoulder. I don't believe you're completely trustworthy.”

“I'm probably not, since I'm focused on a specific goal. I
will do what must be done to ensure it is achieved. You're a smart woman, cupcake.” He teased his tongue over his lip. “And your mouth makes me want to fall to my knees and worship a new god. Make that a goddess.”

“That sounds blasphemous.”

“Don't tell the big guy.” He averted his eyes heavenward, and Cassandra realized he'd just made a joke.

But laughter eluded her. “Speaking of gods and goddesses, what is your relationship to Him now that you've Fallen?”

“He is my Father. I love Him. But as children are sometimes wont, we wish for things denied us and rebel. Forbidden fruits, and all. I pray He can still love me after my rebellion. I could not go on should The Most High abandon me.”

“So you plan to go back someday? To Heaven?”

“Above.”

“Right, you call it Above and Beneath.” A detail Granny hadn't cared for. As a good Catholic, she had preferred the traditional Heaven and Hell.

“If it is possible, I want to return Above, with all my soul.”

“They why Fall in the first place? It couldn't have just happened like that. You want to Fall, and you do it. You had to have considered it, planned it, thought about it.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet, you've changed your mind about that decision?”

He nodded. “I serve no purpose here on earth. I wish to get back to my real work Above.”

“Which was?”

“I led the ranks of the Seventh Kingdom. We, well…we did a lot of smiting.”

“Is that so?” It sounded like a band of warrior angels, slashing at things with swords. A guy thing. No wonder he wanted to return. “You do serve a purpose here.”

“Which is?”

She wasn't exactly sure, but he'd not yet harmed her, so that made his presence seem…right. But what a pitiful explanation.

She glanced to the halo hooked at his hip. Granny Stevens had explained how it worked, what it meant and what it contained. “What about that soul?” The halo held the Fallen's earthbound soul.

“It will remain unclaimed. Earth is no place for one such as me.”

She shrugged. “I don't know. You seem to fit in well. You look like the average guy, er, well, maybe not. You look like some kind of fitness model with perfectly tousled hair. But you look human, is what I'm trying to say.”

“Good thing, too. It would be difficult to walk the land with thirty-foot wings sweeping behind me all day.”

“Remarkably, no one would take notice.”

“I understand that. Your world is filled with dreamers, actors, thespians and what are those others…? Ah! Role players. They dress like orcs and Klingons—”

“And angels. That's why the wings wouldn't shock anyone. Only a few would know your truth.”

“Children. They are pure of heart and can see more truths than adults could ever fathom.”

“Truths we adults grow out of, like faeries and vampires.”

“Exactly.” Granting her a delicious smile, Sam asked, “Can we kiss some more?”

Not a bad suggestion. And yet… “I thought we were to hunt vampires?”

“The sun is high in the sky. We won't find them now.”

Cassandra yawned.

“You should get some sleep. I forget mortals require rest.”

“I should if I'm going to stake vampires later.” She sat on the sofa and patted it for him to join her. “Do you need to sleep?”

“Nope.” He sat beside her and took her hand and kissed it.
“But I'd like to lay beside you while you doze off, if you are okay with that.”

To lie in the arms of a protective angel? Who could ask for their guardian angel dreams to get any better?

She tilted a kiss against his mouth, and pulled him to lie beside her.

“Tell me the truths you've forgotten, Cassandra.”

Cassandra sighed and closed her eyes. “I wasn't allowed to forget for very long. Granny told me and my sister about the Fallen and muses when I was twelve and Coco was ten. I think I had stopped believing in Santa Claus right around then.”

“You mean the man in the red fur suit? You know he's not the meaning of Christmas. At least not for a good Catholic girl like you.”

“How do you know—you know everything about me?”

“Not at all. But I saw the statue of the Virgin Mary on your bathroom sink when I was looking for weapons.”

“That belonged to my mother. There are days I'd like to stop believing in it all. But I don't. How can I? You're right here in front of me. Looking so—”
sexy
“—angelic.”

“That's called faith.”

“Call it what you will, but it's not faith to me. Just…belief.” She yawned and closed her eyes.

 

It didn't take long for the muse to fall asleep beside him. Sam looked over her as she breathed softly, captive to sleep's unavoidable grasp. Of all His creations, mortals were the most exquisite. Each one different from the next and endlessly compelling in design.

Cassandra's red lips were like soft petals. They'd felt like fire against his mouth. A sweet fire he wanted to consume. Her skin was light brown, not tan, but of a mixed heritage that fascinated him. The soft sweater rose and fell with her breath, and he couldn't stop watching her breasts rise and fall with it.

“My muse,” he muttered. “Until I leave.”

He must return Above. It was where he belonged. He'd made a mistake Falling, and he'd meant it when he said he had no purpose here. He would correct that mistake.

A
fter supper at a nearby McDonald's, and Sam's declaration that fast food was very odd—one presses meat and bread together and eats with their fingers?—they decided to case the park across the river Spree from the Schwarz, since they'd been in the vicinity when Cassandra had been attacked by vampires. Where there had been two bloodsuckers, there could be others.

The sky was overcast, as usual in the wintertime, and the park lights had already flickered on and cast a circle about their steel bases that glittered on the bright snow. Sam had insisted they set onto the hunt early, while the vampires may not yet have emerged from hiding.

Casting a glance across the river, Cassandra sighted the patina domes of the Berlin Cathedral. The area was a tourist hot spot, but the park was empty. It was winter, and tourists usually preferred shopping to playing in the cold.

She tromped across the park grounds, which were laden with six inches of fluffy snow. Fur-rimmed winter boots hugged
below her knees. Black wool leggings and a long, chenille sweater kept her warm beneath the stylish Gore-Tex parka that was thin but made of material that repelled the cold like a dream. Leather gloves and a rabbit-fur hat with flaps over the ears topped off the unsexy look.

Sam followed close on her heels, quiet, but she thought she felt his breath at the back of her neck. Impossible, because her hair spilled from under her cap over her coat and down her back. And he wasn't that close.

She'd be okay with him walking beside her companionably, but she suspected she would have to teach him that bit of relationship etiquette. Interesting. A man with no sexual history whatsoever, and yet, he could wield sex against her as a weapon.

It made her feel powerful and, at the same time, weak. She didn't like the contradiction. She shouldn't want what she'd been thinking, a connection between the two of them. She was a big girl and could take care of herself.

Yet a little protection from a warrior angel would feel great. A relief, after years of always being alert and ready.

Not that they were in a relationship, by any means. But she did partially trust him, which made him more than a stranger and a little less the enemy. A
thwump
startled her. Cassandra spun to spy another Fallen across the park. It strode purposefully toward them. She knew it was an angel because black wings spread out behind his shoulders and he wore only jeans and biker boots.

These angels and their lack of winter clothing. Shouldn't they want to blend in?

But seriously? Another Fallen was not a good thing. And those wings were not black feathers, they were—she couldn't tell what they were fashioned from, but they looked like shards of coal.

“Stay back,” Sam directed curtly. “Behind those trees.”

Taking orders, Cassandra tromped to the blue spruce trees lining the edge of the city park. By the time she slapped a glove on the cold bark trunk, the angels were circling each other in the fresh-fallen snow. Sam did not bring out his wings, but his height and build matched the other in power and strength.

He'd made a promise to her. Would he be able to stand against one of his own without wings?

“Nazariah,” Sam said. “What brings you to this neck of the mortal realm?”

The burly Fallen rolled his shoulders forward in a classic wrestling intimidation move. “Same thing that brings you here, Samandiriel. I've been summoned.”

“Tribe Anakim. Vampires,” Sam confirmed. “They're up to foul deeds.”

“Vampires are easy enough to crush. But I do appreciate the release from the Ninth Void.” The new angel nodded toward the trees where Cassandra stood. “She yours?”

“She is,” Sam answered confidently. His fingers moved over the halo at his hip as if he was a gunslinger anticipating his opponent's flinch.

Nazariah chuckled. “Haven't gotten down to business with her yet, I'll wager.”

“I'm not going to—”

“That's right. Samandiriel is all about
admiring
the muses. ‘We should respect the mortal muses,'” he said mockingly, “‘not use them as we please.' Idiot outlaw angel.”

Nazariah charged Sam, catching him about the shoulders. The two soared through the air much farther than normal men engaged in fight were capable. The Fallen's wings flapped, and when Sam landed in the snow on his back, Nazariah's wings caged him in with feathers of stratified anthracite. A
shing
of metal hummed the air. Blue blood spattered in a line across the snow. Halo in hand, Sam had cut a line across the Fallen's forehead.

Snow flew and their tussle blurred into a blizzard. Cassandra stood at the tree line, silently urging Sam on and wanting to help him, to jump into the fray, but knowing he didn't need her intrusion. He may be in a form less strong than the half-shifted Fallen, but he held his own.

Still, she slashed a hand through the air, delivering a smart chop and an angled kick. Smacking a fist into her palm sounded in the still air. Cassandra winced as Sam took a wing tip to his solar plexus. Ooh, that one had to hurt. Would have knocked the wind out of a mortal man.

Nazariah had the advantage of wings, which, with a flap, swept him away from the physical clutch and briefly suspended him in the air. The Fallen could not fly, though they could apparently use wind currents to move about. He dive-bombed toward Sam.

With a shift of his hips, Sam stepped aside. The Fallen's landing, heels skidding over the icy ground, pushed the snow into a half crater before him.

Go,
whispered a voice in Cassandra's head.
Now is your chance. Get away from them both!

Abruptly ending a punch in the fight she wasn't a part of, she looked over her shoulder. Car headlights rolled by not two blocks south of the quiet city park. She could insinuate herself into the busy metropolis nightlife and return—no, she couldn't go home. It would be the first place Sam, and other deadly creatures, would look for her.

And did she want to leave him? The man was an innocent concealed behind the mask of the enemy. But he didn't feel like the enemy now. The enemy never kissed so sweetly, did he?

“You are not like us!” Nazariah yelled.

Cassandra's attention returned to the battling angels.

“For that I am glad,” Sam answered. He wavered, his stance
wobbling. Blood dripped from a cut on his cheek and blue streaked his white shirt.

“Do you think to win your return Above with such selfless admonitions?” Nazariah swung a wing around and cut Sam through the chest. Again Sam landed on his back across the mounded snow. The Fallen bent over him. “You make me feel pity, brother.”

Sam chuckled and spit aside blood. “It is good you can feel such a selfless emotion before dying, brother.”

Sam swung the halo and jammed it into Nazariah's chest. It cut deep through muscle and bone and he pushed it all the way in. The angel shrieked in the unnatural myriad of tongues that sliced like knives in Cassandra's brain. It vibrated in her ears, threatening to crush the fragile bones. Her mouth went dry, and she tried to scream, but the noise in her skull took away the ability to vocalize. Falling to her hands and knees, she gritted her teeth.

Silence swept over the park as if the angel's cry had been sucked into a vortex. The Fallen one's entire human form shattered, dispersing into a hail of glittering crystals. Dark wings dropped in a pile of anthracite ash.

Sound rushed back to Cassandra with a buzz in her veins and eardrums. The cold brushed her face as she pushed up from the snow.

Sam had slain one of his own. He stood over the carnage, head bowed and muscles flexing across his back, then dropped to his knees and fell to the side.

 

Cassandra ran toward Sam and plunged to her knees beside his body. Blue blood stained the snow. He still gripped the halo in a hand coated with more unnaturally colored blood.

“Sam?” The angel didn't move. His chest did not rise and fall, but she suspected it never had. Angel hearts did not beat. “Sam! Oh, you can't be dead. You'd be ash if you were—”

What could she do? Wasn't like she could call for an ambulance and have a team of doctors inspect him for life.

Her breath clouded before her face. Cassandra's lower lip wobbled. “Sam?”

He cracked open an eyelid and smiled at her. “Were you worried about me, bunny?”

“Yes. No.” Bunny? He was joking when she'd thought him dead. But at times like this, humor felt necessary. “What happened to cupcake?”

“You look like a bunny wearing that fur hat.”

A relieved smile swept over her entire body, relaxing her tense muscles. Surprised at her reaction to nearly losing him, instead of crying, she chuckled.

The moment had taken away her breath. Made her feel as though she'd lost something important to her. Coco was the only family she had. She'd let her down. She didn't want to lose this connection before it had even grown solid.

They looked over the pile of glittering angel ash.

“You killed him. Nazariah,” Cassandra whispered, feeling strange awe. A divine being had been slain while she had watched. It hadn't felt right, blasphemous almost. Yet why such terrific dread befell her now, and not earlier for the Sinistari, made little sense to her.

“Had to be done. He was my brother, as are all the Fallen. His intentions were not so pure as mine toward the muses.”

“He would have sought his muse, and—” Attempted to have sex with her, with or without her permission. Or he may have even come after her. “He called you outlaw?”

Sam stood and helped her up by the elbow. He shuffled off blue snow from his legs and replaced the halo at his hip. A slap to his pecs, revealed by the slashed shirt, dusted off more snow and alerted Cassandra just how sexy a half-naked man standing in a blue snow pile could be.

“Yes, I am the outlaw Fallen that all the others despise.”

“I don't understand.”

He dusted off his shoulders, then studied the angel ash. When he drew up and looked at Cassandra, she wanted to wipe the trickle of blue from his lip. But something about him felt rigid and closed. He'd killed one he called brother. That couldn't have been easy.

“I Fell with my brethren,” he said, “because we were under the seductive spell of mortal women. We wanted to make love with them and have sex with them, and indulge in all the pleasures their bodies could give us. And we knew only the muses could give us the pleasure we craved. It was a selfish means for Falling, but we did it because that's what children do, they rebel.”

Most, anyway. Cassandra thought of all the times she'd wanted to walk away from the cause, to stop studying angels and how to kill them or get away from them, and just be…normal. But normal always led to death. She hadn't been prepared to give up so easily.

Rebellion would have to wait.

“After I Fell, my mind did a one-eighty,” he continued. “I looked upon the mortal women, so gorgeous and seductive. They were real, living, thinking beings who had not asked to be hunted by the Fallen. I wanted them. I wanted to feel them, to taste them, to become a part of their softness. But to really look at a woman, to peer into her eyes and feel her heart beat and soul pulse? I saw that they were real human beings. Not mere objects to be used for selfish pleasure. I admired them for their beauty, but wanted to know them for their thoughts, their dreams, their desires and aspirations.”

Cassandra knew she gaped at him, but couldn't stir herself to speak. He talked a good game, but his actions would show his real truths.

He smirked, and those sexy lips teased dangerously. “My brethren did not care to have me preach the mortal woman's
beauty. They wanted to have sex with them, not admire them. So I became the outlaw. The Fallen who would not band with his brothers, and in fact, the one who would slay any Fallen who thought to harm or physically attempt a mortal woman. Then the flood came and swept us all away.”

The outlaw angel. Sounded sexy.

“And now I've been summoned to earth again, I have little desire to harm you, or any female.”

“You just want to go home,” she confirmed.

“When the time is right. I want to help the muses, Cassandra, to keep them from the Fallen ones' hands.”

“You—” Cassandra could wrap her mind around what he'd just said, but it was astonishing all the same “—
don't
want to have sex with me?”

“Oh, I do. I am a man on this earth, and like all others. And your kisses…” He whistled appreciatively. “Don't get me wrong, Cassandra, you are all things to me. Desire, beauty, humility, peace, life and sensuality. But I won't take from you what I want. You deserve better than that. Besides, I can recognize a want and know it's not a need or compulsion.”

“There's nothing wrong with wanting.”

“Is that so?” He tilted a playful smile on her.

If she'd had this conversation with a man in a nightclub they'd both understand that she had just given him permission to indulge his wants. And the angel did get it. That twinkle in his eyes was classic.

“I will slay any Fallen who thinks he can take a muse for his wicked pleasure,” Sam added.

Wicked pleasure sounded appealing.

Cassandra lifted her chin and chased away that thought.
Bad, Caz. Don't start wanting him.

“You're in control,” he offered shyly. “I will follow your lead. Should you kiss me, I will kiss you back. Should you
touch me, I will linger on the softness of your skin. Should you—”

She pressed her fingers to his mouth. “So you're saying I can trust you?”

“What I'm saying is, we are meant for one another through some greater means.” He lifted his sodden shirt to reveal the sigil on the back of his hip.

Cassandra stroked her wrist through the jacket. Though she couldn't see it, her sigil glowed warmly.