Her Avenging Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 7) (14 page)

But Nevar was too busy looking at Erin again, that strange glimmer of hope mixed with guilt back in his heart.

Lysia’s claws extended and she turned her back on him and the group, struggling for control. What was wrong with her? She didn’t understand what was happening to her or why she was unable to stop herself from feeling angry towards Erin when the woman had done nothing wrong.

She feared that if she remained with the group much longer that she would end up harming the woman and that would turn the entire group against her.

Shadowy memories surged into her mind, a flood of them that swept her away, distorted and fragmented and impossible to see.

She could feel them though.

She could remember a sensation that everyone was against her.

That she was alone.

Her heart clenched, gripped in icy claws, and she breathed harder, trying to combat the crushing fear that seized hold of her and refused to let her go.

She could remember feeling alone, and that had terrified her.

She never wanted to feel that way again.

“Lysia?” Nevar said and she jerked away from him when he reached for her arm. His hand fell to his side and he was silent for long seconds before he sighed. “Take a break. Go to the water or something.”

She closed her eyes on hearing that.

He wanted her to go away.

He hadn’t offered to go with her, to escort her in case the angels returned and keep her safe.

He wanted her to go alone.

She wrapped her arms around herself and curled her wings around herself too. She didn’t want to be alone. She had a horrible feeling she had been alone ever since the angels had defeated her. Nevar had spoken of her being dormant, but she wasn’t sure that she had been in a sleep state, not as everyone thought it to be anyway, a peaceful darkness where she wasn’t aware of anything.

“Who were the angels with Lysander?” Einar asked, his voice as deep and smooth as a calm ocean.

She had hated the tawny-haired angel when she had first met him, but now she liked him the most out of all the angels. He was kind and gentle, and had been the only one who hadn’t looked at her with ice in his deep brown eyes. He hadn’t changed from the way he had been when they had first met, and had been the one to tell everyone to give her a minute to rest when they had first started questioning her. He had enforced several breaks in questioning since then, giving her a moment to recover.

“I knew of their existence. They were created after me. There was a rumour among the other angels at the time that they were the second incarnation. I remember that no matter how many times I am reborn.” Apollyon’s voice gained a cold edge as he spoke. “I do not know what happened to the first incarnation. I was given the duty of training Lysander after he had been reborn around two millennia ago.”

“Did you know what his true purpose was?” Marcus said.

“I was informed, but did not link him with the angels we met today until Lukas came to me.”

“Lukas?” Marcus’s voice took on an incredulous note and Lysia couldn’t stop herself from turning back to face the group. The look on his face matched his tone and his pale blue eyes searched Apollyon’s darker ones. “What does he have to do with anything?”

Apollyon looked upwards, to the endless blue sky. “Lukas was responsible for the training of the former mediator… the one we know as Mihail. Lukas came to me when he discovered the angel was different and he wanted to know more. I warned him to leave it be… to not ask questions and train the male as instructed.”

Marcus’s expression darkened.

“Two millennia ago… you argued with Lukas then. I remember it. The whole sky turned black. Shortly after that, Lukas died in a battle in the mortal world.” Marcus’s blue eyes widened and the silver in them swirled brighter. “Heaven killed him off and reset him because he found out about Mihail’s true purpose.”

Apollyon’s handsome face turned grim and his power rose, as dark as midnight and edged with a hunger for violence that shocked her. Asmodeus truly had been born of this male, of everything dark and malevolent he held within him.

“I did not realise that at the time.” Apollyon ran a hand over his long black hair, smoothing his ponytail, as if that action would also smooth his anger away. “But yes, I believe they reset him in order to keep knowledge of their angels of the apocalypse hidden from others. Even the angels themselves were unaware of their true purpose.”

“Until someone woke her.” Veiron looked towards Lysia and she stood her ground, refusing to let the large male intimidate her. His dark eyes slid across to Nevar. “I hope to the Devil your rehab is going swimmingly and you’ve got your shit together now… because I have a feeling you might need to step up to the plate and stop the whole world from going to Hell in a hand-basket.”

Nevar turned on the scarlet-haired Hell’s angel with a snarl, his eyes flashing violet, and she felt his pain beating within her, sharp and fierce. It was destroying him.

She reached out to him and he instantly turned on her instead and smacked her hand away, the force of his blow sending a thousand hot needles stabbing up her arm from her wrist to her elbow. She recoiled and clutched her arm to her chest, her eyebrows furrowing as she gritted her teeth against the pain.

Asmodeus was there before she could blink, shoving Nevar in his black breastplate and pushing him away from her.

Nevar bared his fangs at his master and the skin around his violet eyes turned black.

Asmodeus rose to his full height. “Calm down and consider what you just did, or I will calm you down.”

Nevar’s purple eyes flickered to her and widened. He blinked, shock written across every line of his handsome face, and his gaze slowly fell to her wrist where she still held it to her chest.

He shook his head and a bolt of fear struck her heart.

He was going to leave her.

N
evar wrestled with the dark urges running rampant through him, flooding his mouth with saliva as his fangs itched to taste blood. Whether it was the blood of his enemies or his own, he didn’t care. He craved the coppery tang on his tongue. Hungered for the sweet flow of it down his throat.

With the rising need for blood came a rising need for the violence that would spill that precious liquid.

He faced off against Asmodeus, anger curling through his veins and eating away at them like hot acid as the male stood in a protective stance between him and Lysia.

The darker part of his heart told him to leave her with Asmodeus and the others. He didn’t care that he had awoken her and was her master. He wasn’t fit for that role. It would be better for everyone involved if he turned his back on her right now and left her with this motley band of warriors. They would know what to do and would no doubt save the day, triumphing over anything and everything that stood in their way and protecting the world.

They could deal with Lysia and take care of her for him.

He had just proven that he was not the person for that job.

He had struck her.

“Clearly the rehab isn’t going well,” someone muttered, just within range of his sensitive hearing.

Nevar cursed them and the way they spoke about him in front of Lysia, and cursed Asmodeus for protecting her.

His master believed him capable of hurting her.

Nevar wasn’t sure what to believe.

He had struck without thinking, only meaning to stop her from touching him when he was losing himself to the darkness. He hadn’t meant to hit her with such force that it would hurt her.

He had sworn to protect her and had been incapable of protecting her from himself. What hope was there for him? The only hope for her was him leaving her with these people, with his master. He could have laughed at that had his heart not felt as if it was breaking apart in his chest, ripped into pieces by the knowledge that the man he had cursed to Hell and believed to be pure evil was more capable of taking care of Lysia than he was.

He was the evil one now.

Asmodeus had good in him and more of it shone through his dark exterior every day.

The more of it that Nevar saw, the less he felt there was any left in him. He had become more evil than his master, more wretched and despicable, quick to violence and forever hungry to spill blood.

What hope indeed?

Lysia would see it too in time. She would come to realise that he was no good for her and that these other men were far more capable of protecting her, far more powerful than he could ever be, and far more good than he could dare hope to become.

He growled at his despairing thoughts, a manifestation of the weakness living within him now. Perhaps he had always been this weak but had refused to see it. He had clung to his duty like a fool, even after Asmodeus had forced the contract between them. He had clutched it to him as if it could redeem him.

As if Erin would ever desire him as her protector when she had a man far more capable of that role.

She had a whole family who were more capable than he was and had protected her countless times already.

He looked across at her and snarled a black curse when he saw the pity colouring her amber irises. She thought him weak too, a wretched creature without hope.

Veiron shifted in front of her. “We going to have a problem, Nevar?”

He wanted to shake his head and vow he would never harm Erin, but hadn’t he vowed the same thing to Lysia?

Asmodeus offered his bare forearm. “Feed.”

Nevar’s stomach clenched, coaxing him into taking his master’s blood. He was starving, out of his mind with hunger, but he forced himself to shake his head at the same time as he cursed himself for refusing the one thing that could help him claw back his sanity.

He wouldn’t take Asmodeus’s blood in front of everyone, with them staring at him, as if he was an animal. What would they think of him then? They would see how truly wretched he had become. These people who had known him before he had fallen so far. These people who had seen him at his best and now saw him at his worst, but couldn’t see how hard he fought to pull himself out of the abyss and find some solid ground again, a balance between the good and evil within him.

They would never see it.

They would always view him with suspicion and lack trust in him.

He shoved Asmodeus away from him, snarled at everyone as they stared, and unleashed his black wings and took off with a single hard beat of them.

Come back.
Asmodeus spoke in his head and Nevar shut him out, refusing to return.

He kept flying, heading high into the darkening sky, needing the cold air in his lungs and the space from everyone. He wasn’t strong enough right now to deal with everything. He was drowning and there was no hope of saving himself, and he couldn’t bear how the others had been looking at him. He despised them for it.

The further he flew, the calmer he felt, until he could breathe again and the dark urges began to subside. He had to keep flying. He felt sure that if he could just keep flying away from everything that he could escape what he had done and the expectations everyone had placed on him, setting him up to fail.

He couldn’t do this.

His heart clenched.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave Lysia behind either.

He halted in the cool night air, beating his broad black wings to keep him steady, and looked down at the island far below him, watching everyone around the bright glow of the fire. He felt certain they were talking about him, filling Lysia’s head with poisonous words and making her believe he was weak and evil, and no good for her.

Which he was, but he couldn’t bear the thought of her believing that about him.

He couldn’t bear the thought that the others might do such a thing either.

He didn’t belong in the group and had proven himself unworthy of a position within it more than once, but a small piece of his heart wanted them to welcome him, rather than look upon him with distrust and hold him at a distance.

He hovered in the cool air, breathing deep of it, fighting the darkness beginning to rise inside him again, born of his emotions this time. The ferocity of his need to protect Lysia warred with his need to leave and gain some space, seeking a place where he could rediscover his strength. She would be safe on the island, but that thought only made the darkness rise swifter and grow blacker, flooding him with a terrible urge to attack every male who would dare to protect her in his stead.

Nevar closed his eyes and fought to smooth the turbulent waves of his emotions, trying to grasp hold of them and centre himself again. It was impossible.

The thought of the other angels on the island protecting Lysia twisted his stomach and filled his heart with darkness, a dangerous hunger to force them all away from her. That hunger only grew worse when he recalled how Lysia had looked at Asmodeus with awe in her beautiful eyes and he thought about how his master was more suited to protecting her.

Jealousy caught his heart in a tight grip, crushing it in his chest, and his lungs constricted. He couldn’t breathe through it. The idea that Asmodeus would now take care of her, that he would do a better job than Nevar ever could, and would secure her admiration and affection, tore at him like claws, savaging his heart until he was bleeding inside.

A dark, possessive need rose within him, obliterating everything else he felt, spawning a compelling hunger that demanded he returned to her and protected her, keeping her away from all the other males on the island.

He wanted to be the only male she needed.

He wanted to be the only man she could see.

Was that possible?

Could he make her need him as much as he needed her?

Nevar placed his hand on his chest, resting his palm on the cold metal of his violet-edged obsidian breastplate over the spot where the mark existed on his skin, and focused on it.

Something akin to hurt flowed through their link, mingled with fear.

A tiny figure broke away from the group and drifted across the sand, heading into the darkness.

His gaze tracked her, following her progress and how her feelings deepened as the distance between her and the group grew, beating stronger within his heart.