In any case, she didn’t plan to be in danger for long. She was going to the police as soon as she could come up with a plausible story for her escape and lack of injuries. After all, Underworld General’s medical staff had done an amazing job of healing her. During the long, hot shower she’d taken within seconds of getting home, she’d noticed that the scar on her thigh was barely noticeable, and all the other bruises, cuts, and abrasions were gone entirely. A demon dentist had even fixed the tooth the bastard had nearly knocked out.
The microwave dinged, announcing that her mac and cheese was ready. What she wouldn’t give for a good plate of homemade pasta—not that she could cook worth a damn—but she was exhausted and would just have to settle for frozen stuff from a box. At least it was organic.
Inhaling the mouthwatering aroma of cheesy goodness, she headed toward the kitchen but without warning, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her protective ward had triggered.
A split second later, she heard the deep voice that had filled her ears during her dreams.
“What the fuck?”
Oh, shit. She ran to the window and pulled back the cheery yellow curtains that perfectly matched the floral pattern on her steel blue sofa. And there, standing motionless, arms pinned to his side on her doorstep, was the man—no, the angel—who had saved her life.
She didn’t bother to slip on shoes. She scrambled to open the door and nearly tripped over her own bare feet in her haste to get outside.
“Hey,” Hawkyn said through clenched teeth. “Nice security system you’ve got here. Could do without the electrical current frying my insides, though.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t meant for you.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on the low-level vibration emanating from the trap she’d set. An invisible thread of energy, much like a power cord, stretched from her to the protective bubble around the house, and with a whispered command, “Rojalis,” it snapped.
Instantly, Hawkyn relaxed, taking in gulps of air, his broad chest heaving under his black turtleneck and leather jacket. Damn, he was magnificent, his long, lean thighs encased in dark jeans that bunched around well-used combat boots. She never would have guessed he was an angel, but damn, it was a good look, and despite the horror of the past days, her body grew uncomfortably warm.
Damn her succubus genes.
“That was unpleasant,” he said in a deep, husky voice that turned up the temperature even more, “and I’m an angel. What the hell would happen to a human who got caught in your trap?”
“A good human?” She shrugged. “Nothing. The trap was calibrated for evil.” She paused, an icy finger of fear poking her in the libido, and she took a casual step back in case she needed to slam the door in his face. “Um, if you’re an angel, why would it snare you?”
“Long sto—”
“Don’t,” she broke in with a wag of her finger. “Don’t even go there.”
One blond eyebrow arched high, and she suspected he wasn’t used to being cut off.
“Okay, short story it is.” He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets. “My dad is evil. Sort of.”
Well, that wasn’t expected. “Isn’t your dad, uh, God?”
“No.”
“All right, then. I have a lot to learn.” She gestured in invitation. “Want to come in? Do you need permission?”
One corner of his mouth tipped up in amusement. “I’m an angel, not a vampire from some campy movie.” His voice, just like at the hospital, was so whiskey smooth she thought she could get drunk from merely listening to him.
“Well, you do have fangs,” she pointed out, feeling a little foolish.
He chuckled, but his boots didn’t make a sound on her hardwood floors as he walked inside, surprising from such a large male. She closed the door behind him and reached deep for her power, but now that the trap had been triggered and shut down, she didn’t have enough left to set it again. Well, she supposed that if worst came to worst, the angel standing in her living room would be adequate protection from the psychopath who’d tried to kill her.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were released from the hospital.” He swung around to her, more muscle and hotness than had ever been in her home. “I assume you took a Harrowgate home?”
“Yes,” she said, without elaborating. He didn’t need to know that her people couldn’t see, and therefore use, Harrowgates like normal underworlders could. That little tidbit of info could stay between her and Runa, who had been able to use the Harrowgate to get Aurora from New York to Portland in a matter of seconds. “And it’s perfectly fine that you weren’t there. You aren’t my caretaker.” She maneuvered around him to get to the kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink or anything?”
“No, thank you.” He followed her, his presence making her six hundred square foot home feel even more like a shoebox than it already did. “How are you doing?”
As long as she didn’t think about what had happened to her, she was A-okay. “I’ll be better once I go to the police.”
“Ah, yeah.” He raked his fingers through his hair and looked at everything but her. “That’s the thing. You can’t go to them.”
She pulled her macaroni and cheese from the microwave. “Excuse me? Why not?” When he didn’t answer, she slammed the microwave door closed and turned to him. “Well?”
She almost laughed, because it was pretty clear he wanted to use the “long story” excuse again. Finally, he gestured to the dining room table. “Maybe we should talk while you eat your... What is that?”
“What, they don’t have frozen macaroni and cheese in Heaven?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never been. But it seems to me that you can’t call a place Heaven if it doesn’t have pasta and cheese. And dogs.”
“Agreed.” She opened the silverware drawer. “But let me get this straight. Your dad is ‘sort of’ evil and you’ve never been to Heaven. What kind of angel are you, anyway?”
A nervous knot formed in her stomach as she palmed a fork. What if he wasn’t an angel? What if he was lying? Oh, gods, who had she let into her house?
And how effective were forks as weapons? As one of Portland’s most in-demand masseuses, she had a detailed knowledge of anatomy and could disable or even kill with one well-placed stab of a fork, but that was assuming the target was human. Even if Hawkyn wasn’t an angel, he definitely wasn’t human.
He must have noticed her alarm, because he lowered his voice to a soothing, almost lulling murmur. “I’m a special breed of earthbound angel called Memitim. I was born here, raised by humans, and my goal, same as every Memitim, is to earn my way into Heaven.”
She raked him from head to toe with her gaze, looking for any sign that he was telling the truth, but he looked like a normal humanoid male. Well, not normal. Or in any way average. Hell, as far as she could tell, he didn’t have a single physical attribute that wasn’t utter perfection, from his flawless tan skin and angular, masculine features to his strong jawline and lush lashes that framed eyes the color of smoked emeralds.
Now she wanted to see all that perfection with his clothes off. After all, if he was really an angel, he’d be perfect in every way, right?
He probably wouldn’t take kindly to her asking him to strip for proof, but surely he wouldn’t object to a very basic demand he probably heard often.
“Let me see your wings.”
A smear of pink brightened his cheeks. “Memitim don’t have wings,” he said, which sounded like a convenient excuse. “Not real ones. But I have something similar.” Before she could ask what he meant, a pair of misty, smoke-colored wings punched into the air behind him. “These allow me to move invisibly when I need to.”
Her mouth went dry with shock. He really was an angel. She was standing in the presence of a being she hadn’t thought was real. Heck, she had always been *this close* to being an atheist, despite the existence of demons which, some would say, proved the existence of God.
“Can I touch them?”
; “You can try.” He shifted, allowing her access. “But your hand will pass through them. They’re made of shadow.”
She reached out, expecting to feel empty air, but instead her fingers felt...something. Something electric. He went taut as she stroked the apex of one of his ghostly wings.
“I can sense your touch,” he breathed. “You can...feel them?”
“Yes,” she said, in absolute awe that she was in contact with a real, Heavenly being. Well, an earthbound Heavenly being, anyway. “They feel like warm water with an electrical current running through it.”
Curious, she concentrated on absorbing some of his energy through her palm, but nothing happened. She dropped her gaze to his perfect ass. Maybe if she touched a more solid part of his body...
“I don’t understand.” He stepped away, his expression one of genuine confusion. “No one has ever been able to touch them. This is the first time I’ve gotten any sensation from them at all.”
Huh. Weird. “What did it feel like?”
“Like...a caress. Like they were real wings and they were connected to my—” He broke off and gave her a cheeky grin. “Never mind.”
Too late. Her gaze slid downward, and she drew an appreciative breath at the impressive bulge behind the fly of his jeans.
So that was how you seduced an angel. Not that she planned to seduce him. She was an Earth girl, fond of the human realm and human people. Besides, she doubted angels fraternized with humans, let alone demons or human/demon hybrids like her.
Clearing her throat, she snapped her eyes back up to his face, but his amused expression said he knew she’d been ogling his angelic junk.
“So...other Memitim don’t have shadow wings?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too humiliated. “Why do you?”
“As I said, my father is evil. Less so now than when any of us were conceived, but back then, he was indistinguishable from a demon.” He rotated his shoulders, and the wings melted away like smoke in a breeze. “He’s a fallen angel, the father of all Memitim, so some of us inherit unique traits and abilities from him.” He snorted. “Pisses off Heavenly-born angels that we get fallen angel skills they can’t access.”
“Wow,” she whispered, trying to process this and failing. “How old are you?”
“A little over six hundred years old. Younger than most of my siblings. You?”
Six hundred years? Her people were long-lived, but not that long-lived, and their lifespans were only getting shorter as they bred more and more with humans.
“I’ll be thirty next month,” she said. “My parents are in their eighties, but they look my age.”
She sat down at her vintage black and red table with her pasta, but she was no longer hungry. She’d grown up in a human environment, in a human neighborhood, attended human schools, and worked at human jobs. Her parents and brother were, for all intents and purposes, human. She and her family members embraced the powers they’d been born with, but she’d never really considered them to be supernatural. They were simply part of her. Like her hair and teeth.
So this...was unsettling. Hell, the events of the last few days, starting with being kidnapped and tortured, to waking up in a demon hospital, to sitting down at a table with an angel... All of it was messing with her head. It had, in fact, started to throb.
Bracing her elbows on the table, she rubbed her temples. “I...I think I need a minute.”
“You okay? Aurora?” He appeared next to her, his hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even seen him move. “You’re a little pale.”
“I feel woozy.” The room was starting to spin, and her stomach lurched like it wanted to empty itself of the nothingness inside. Shit, this was happening because she was out of power, wasn’t it? She needed to recharge, and fast.
“I’m taking you back to Underworld General.”
“I’d rather go to the police.” Whoa. There were bright lights floating in front of her eyes now, and was she slurring her words? “Why can’t I?”
“Aurora—”
“Tell me,” she snapped, her patience worn down to a nubbin.
There was a slight hesitation, and then he said quietly, “You can’t go to the police because Drayger is under protection.”
The lights were starting to dim and darkness was closing in. “Whose protection?”
“Mine,” he said slowly. “My job is to keep Drayger safe.”
With those insane words, she welcomed the darkness.
Chapter Ten
Hawkyn caught Aurora as she slid out of the chair. Dammit, he shouldn’t have dumped so much information on her so quickly. The doctors at Underworld General had assured him that she was physically fine, so she must be in shock, horrified as hell by his admission.
How could she not be? It was seriously fucked up that people like Drayger, the worst people to have ever lived, had been, and would continue to be, protected from harm while decent people suffered.
Tucking her against his chest, he carried her over to the couch, a retro velvet floral thing that didn’t look like it could hold her petite frame, let alone his. He wondered why she favored ‘50s and ‘60s décor.
It was curious... He was hundreds of years old, and there was no single period in history that he looked back upon with fondness. Life sucked for humans for most of their history, and in some places, it still sucked. Really, he liked modern times, the technology, the entertainment, the food.
The females.
In modern times, females wore fewer clothes.
Even Aurora, in calf-length gray paisley leggings and a long V-neck teal sweater that complimented her creamy skin and bright blue eyes, was showing more of her curvy body than the women of his youth. And a good percentage of his adulthood, come to think about it.
In his arms, she started to stir, and he had to fight the sudden urge to hold her close instead of putting her down. She was the first female besides his sisters he’d held against his body in centuries. Even then, back when he’d thought he was human and before he was forced by Memitim rules into celibacy, contact with females had been purely sexual, quick fucks in alleyways and stables.
He’d been devastatingly poor, a thief when he couldn’t scrounge enough work to feed himself, but he’d been handsome and charismatic, attracting females like a magnet. Those moments, as fleeting and seedy as they were, had been his only source of pleasure and his only escape from a life of misery.
“Sorry,” she rasped as he set her gently on the sofa. “I think I used too much energy to power the protective ward around the house. I’ll be okay in a minute.” She shifted so she was sitting up, braced on the armrest, legs tucked beneath her. She was too pale, her eyes bloodshot, but she radiated an inner strength Hawkyn could feel like an electric current on the surface of his skin. “Did you really say that the bastard who tortured me and wants me dead is under your protection?”
There was no way to sugarcoat his answer. “Yes. He’s what we call Primori, and I have a duty to keep him safe.”
“Okay,” she said, a lot more calmly than he would have if the situation had been reversed. “Let’s come back to why an angel would be protecting a serial killer and focus on why that means I can’t go to the police.”
There was no way to sugarcoat this, either. All he had was a bunch of bitter pills to swallow. He could at least offer her some water to take them with.
“You can’t go to the police because I fucked up.” He sank down in the surprisingly comfortable aqua chair that matched precisely nothing in the house. “I interfered in the parking lot and you blasted me instead of him, potentially changing his fate.”
Her skeptical expression would have made him laugh if they’d been talking about anything other than a psychopath bent on butchering her.
“Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that mean that I would have killed him? So what’s the big deal about going to the police? Or, you know, killing him?”
“We don’t know that you would have killed him,” he explained. “It
’s possible you would have missed. Or only injured him.” It was also possible that Atticus was wrong and Drayger wasn’t entirely human or that he was protected by an enchanted object or a mystical spell. “You could still have ended up being abducted.”
“Then why did you rescue me?”
Because apparently he was good at compounding mistakes. “Because I didn’t want to take the chance that you weren’t supposed to be abducted.”
She sat up a little straighter, eyes flaring the way Suzanne’s did when she was about to lay into him, and he braced himself. “So you’re telling me that if you hadn’t been there but you knew he’d taken me, you wouldn’t have rescued me?”
“Memitim can’t interfere with the actions of those we watch over.”
“You asshole!” Color flooded her cheeks and her gorgeous eyes flashed angry fire. “You would have just watched me be slowly taken apart?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have watched...”
“Get out!” She picked up the bright red vase from the end table and hurled it at him, just like something out of a movie. He ducked as it whooshed past his ear and shattered against the wall. “Get out of my house!”
Clearly she needed some time to absorb all of this. Unfortunately, she also needed to be safe. “I’m not going anywhere until you put up the protection spell again.”
He’d be sure to cast a protective ward on the house as well, but he wouldn’t leave her for long. Wards weren’t his specialty and they tended to wear off quickly.
Jaw still clenched with anger, she averted her gaze, taking sudden interest in the coffee table. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because my power is drained,” she ground out. “I don’t have enough to light a candle, let alone weave a complex protection spell.”
“How do you recharge?” At her hesitation, he leaned back in the chair, hoping to appear less threatening, the way kind people had done to him during his childhood. He’d never forget how small gestures—a smile, a crumb of food, or merely a little patience had helped him survive. To be powerless was bad enough, but having to explain your vulnerability only made it worse. “It’s okay. I get it. I have to recharge too.”