TABLE OF CONTENTS
Blurb
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
About the Author
Special Preview: Devil’s Eye by Kait Nolan
MALAKH
HE HUNTS, SILENT AND UNSEEN
The string of mutilated bodies points to a madman, but the police are stymied. Trace evidence yields no DNA, animal or human. Male, female, young, old—the victims fall without a struggle to the killer in the shadows.
HIS NEXT VICTIM HAS BEEN CHOSEN
For a brief time, Suzanne Harper wielded supernatural abilities and super-human athletic prowess, but that was while she had been the lover of an angel. The murders point to her former lover, and the trail of bodies tells a terrifying tale: he’s working his way to her.
PREY BECOMES PREDATOR
Icarus, an angel who hunts those of his kind who have fallen from grace, enlists Suzanne’s help to stop the killer, for only one as close as a lover can anticipate his next move. Now she must reconcile her heart’s longing for her lost love with her sense of justice and honor, and she must do it fast ... because the next murder could be hers.
Malakh
Sharon Gerlach
Copyright 2011 Sharon Gerlach
Cover image copyright 2004 Jan Bily
Cover design by Sharon Gerlach
www.runninginkpress.com
Excerpt from "Devil's Eye" Copyright 2010 Kait Nolan. Used by permission.
For permission to use copyrighted material, please contact:
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
While the actual writing of a book is a solitary endeavor, no book is truly ever completed alone. From research to beta-reading to editing to publication, many hands craft a story into a magic your eyes can behold.
My family, who often has only my divided attention and puts up with me being tethered to
technology all the time.
My awesome husband Gail, who knows a little about darn near everything or knows where to find the information I need.
My Merry Band of Beta Readers, who faithfully read every word I churn out onto paper—be it
gold or pot metal: Christel, Nikki, Denise, Gini, and Julia, you are indispensible.
Editor Extraordinaire, NL Gervasio, who busts my chops on my run-on sentences and won’t let me put anything really stupid into my work.
"The sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful,"
and they married any of them they chose.”
Genesis 6:2
(NIV)
CHAPTER ONE
"Lost in your thoughts and not paying attention to where you're going," drawled a voice nearby.
I jumped, belatedly looking up. I had been walking to my car on auto-pilot after leaving the deli, not paying attention to my surroundings—a recipe for disaster. But I didn't worry very much about being attacked; all I needed to receive invincible help was to call out a name. I hoped I would never have to.
He lounged against my car door, ankles crossed, negligently examining his fingernails. I wasn't fooled; I knew his eyes never left my face. And I knew what he was, although he looked human enough—the ringing quality to his voice, as though his vocal cords were made of crystal, was unique to his species. He wore his human guise with a trace of disdain he was unable to completely hide, and his handsomeness was just a shade too perfect and somehow…blurred around the edges.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "Whatever you want, I can't help you. I'm not getting involved with your kind again."
"Once involved, always involved." His eyes half-closed, he sniffed the air. "I smell him on you, Suzanne, faint but unmistakable."
"It's been three years," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest even though such an action was futile. There was no hiding anything from them.
"You know why I'm here. Your heart mourns more than just his love; it mourns what you know he's become. Will you hear me out?"
He stepped away from the car, and quicker than a thought pulled the lapel of my silk blouse open, exposing the upper slope of my right breast above its lacy covering. His finger pressed the jagged scar that rose from the edge of my lace bra.
"You bear his mark; you have an obligation."
"It's not him." I didn't say it with conviction, but in denial. The truth was I didn't want it to be him. I couldn't wrap my mind around the possibility that my former lover had turned to serial murder.
He backed away from me and held out his hands, palms up. A gesture of subservience. An invitation to join forces. "Ten minutes of your time, that's all I ask."
"Who sent you?"
"I take orders from none but the highest."
I stared down at his hands, at their lineless palms like smooth, sun-blushed marble. My mind in turmoil, I took a step away from him. No, I couldn't possibly consider it. Raum had been my life—how could I hunt him down like a common criminal and deliver him into the hands of otherworldly justice?
But he was a criminal, albeit not a common one, and he deserved that justice.
"I'll speak with you, but I won't"—I motioned to his hands—"make any agreements."
His hands dropped to his sides, and he stared at me quite without expression. "Shall we?"
I didn't move. "I don't know your name."
He hesitated. To his species, giving one's name to a human gave power along with it. A name is a potent thing; with it you can call powers beyond your wildest imaginings, and you can define a being to your whim.
"He taught you the ancient tongue?"
"Yes. Enough of it to serve this purpose."
He named himself in the most ancient of human languages, the one his kind claim Adam and Eve spoke. Using the primeval tongue was a tricky thing; your mind translated it into modern speech instantly and you were unable to recall the actual words spoken. You would always remember what you said in your own dialect, and the words would present themselves in images. His was joyful soaring … sun and moon … day and night … sincerity and arrogance …
"Surely not," I said with a trace of amusement, taking in his well-worn tee-shirt, faded jeans that were sprung at the knees, the dark stubble that shadowed a strong jaw. He looked like any other young man on the streets at night, edging inexorably from grunge to down-on-his-luck. Put a spray can in his hand and he'd be the epitome of the American graffiti artist.
"It's what your mind translated. I'm bound to you by that name now." He scuffed his sneaker on the sidewalk like a small boy, his tone speaking volumes on his opinion of my naming.
"Icarus it is. Did you fly too close to the sun, then?"
His eyes changed from ice blue to golden, copper brown. Always showing off, I thought with impatience—and not a little envy. If I could, I'd change the color of my eyes from espresso-bean brown to that gold he just affected—and no doubt he knew it.
"Not exactly. I've worked in the darkness so long that the sun seems far away now. Shall we take this to a café? You look like you could use a cup of coffee, and I wouldn't mind a hot chocolate."
I arched a brow at him, satisfied to see his species' version of a blush. His kind didn't need sustenance, but they are fond of certain human food and drink. "Certainly."
We found an all-night diner nearby and didn't speak again until coffee and cocoa were served. I took an experimental sip and made a face; coffee at an all-night greasy spoon was always a dicey proposition. But it wasn't too awful, and it was something for my hands to do. Lift, sip, lower. Lift, sip, lower. Lift …
"There have been eight victims," Icarus said. "Or maybe I should say there have been eight victims found. I'd be a fool to think there aren't more."
"Why is that?" I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. I didn't want to talk about him; he'd broken my heart, left me mourning for his unique brand of love, abandoned me to mediocrity after knowing otherworldly sensuality. Could anyone possibly blame me for indulging in a slice of bitter pie? I thought not.
"His arrogance is legendary, but so is his cleverness. And he would find it quite clever to hide the scope of his sins."
My fingers clenched around my coffee cup. "I can't help you hunt him. He was my lover."
His golden eyes dropped to my breast again, giving me the sensation that he could see through my blouse. Perhaps he could, although I'd never known x-ray vision to be one of their abilities.
"When one goes out of control, it is the obligation of one's … mate to bring justice," he replied, the forcefulness of his voice betraying deep emotion under his calm, cool exterior.
"He was my lover," I repeated numbly. "I adored him. He broke my heart. Sometimes I still … I still can't breathe, it hurts so much. How can you ask me to do this?"
Icarus met my gaze, sympathy darkening his eyes. As he stared, his form shifted, and for a sliver of a second, I saw his true shape. How could one not fall in love with these beings when one was fortunate—or unfortunate—enough to cross their paths?
"What did you name him?"
"No. I can't tell you that; you can find him through the name I gave him because I still have feelings for him. I'm smarter than that, Icarus."
"Suzanne," he said patiently. "Eight victims, probably more. Brutally murdered, torn limb from limb and partially eaten. You may have heard on the news that the coroner found saliva in the wounds of several of the victims. What you will never hear is that the saliva evidence has no DNA."
"That doesn't mean the perpetrator is of your species."
"Think," he said harshly, and rapped his finger painfully against my temple. "Do you know of any other species that could have done it and left behind saliva with no DNA?"
"Vampires? Werewolves?"
"Both will have DNA, albeit modified, because both are hybrid species, created from magic. Only angels have no DNA. Suzanne, you know this."
"There are more things under the sun than I will ever know," I replied stubbornly, avoiding his eyes.
He thrust his hands across the table in challenge, palms up, sending my coffee cup skidding over the edge of the table and into my lap. Thankfully the coffee was only lukewarm. I stared at his blank palms again; no life, love, or health lines.
"Suzanne, please," he whispered with desperation.
I battled the irresistible pull his kind has on mine, the desire that runs so deep it's part of time and the elements, something so base it defies explanation or definition.
Don't do it! Betrayal is betrayal, regardless of the circumstances.
His eyes mesmerized me; I could almost believe I was falling—falling out of my world and into his, falling under his persuasion.
Raum is killing people.
That fact couldn't be ignored, regardless of who—or what—brought the news to my ears. Only lack of common sense would allow me to willingly become involved with another malakh; despite this fact, I raised my hands and held them, trembling, just above his. He didn't move; it had to be my choice, this bond, and it could not be given lightly because once I touched my palms to his, we would be bonded for eternity. But to hunt my lover, I would need his protection, and bonding was the only way to gain it.
"What did you name him, Suzanne?"
"Raum."
His mouth fell open in shock and his hands jerked back as though he were reconsidering. I smacked my hands down on them, glaring at him defiantly. Heat seared where our skin touched, and then I felt a burning welt rise on my left breast. Shocked, I raised my gaze to his.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, horrified. "You marked my heart!" I didn't understand why—or how—he had done it.
"I'm sorry, Suzanne. It's the only way to protect you."
"But … to be able to do that, you have to … "
"You named him Raum, the Great Earl of Hell, the commander of thirty legions of demons. The invoker of love. Is it any wonder you've not been able to move on?"
I tried to stand up, but Icarus held my hands in an iron grip. "You had no right! You just bonded me as your wife! I can never have—oh my God!"
My voice trailed off as I realized just what he'd done. No white picket fence and two-point-five children and a husband—a human husband—who went to work at eight and came home at five every day. No, not for me—me, whose path had crossed not one but two of these wonderful, terrible creatures.
"We can discuss the finer points of what I've done later. For now, I think we've outstayed our welcome, and we have many things to discuss about … Raum."
"Icarus—"
"Yes, about that—for the sake of fewer explanations, let's just shorten it to Russ, shall we?"
He released my hands and scooted out of the booth, heading toward our waitress, who stared at us in shock and horror. She'd seen when Icarus—Russ—had that unguarded moment and let his true form show. She backed away from him as he approached, but there was nowhere for her to go; the counter was directly behind her and the stools were fixed to the floor. Trapped between them, she could only tremble with dread as he approached.
"I will not hurt you," he told her calmly. "But I can't allow you to remember that we were here." He touched her forehead with his first and middle fingers. "Forget the last hour. And sleep for two minutes."
Her eyes closed immediately. Russ took our ticket from her apron pocket, went to the register and opened it, and stuffed a five into a bill slot. A long pin held a stack of tickets, and he stabbed ours onto the top.
"That should take care of our tab and tip. She'll reconcile it up later, but she won't remember serving us. Let's go—we only have about thirty seconds."
That was time enough for us to vacate the café. Once on the street, I stopped.
"Ic—Russ. What do we do now?"
"We hunt Raum."
I fidgeted uncomfortably. That wasn't what I meant. ""I mean about … well … the marriage bond."
He held my gaze for a long moment. "There's time enough to figure that out later. Let's go."
Russ strode off into the night, leaving me to follow or not. I could walk away or try to hide from him, but he could find me anywhere just by virtue of what he was. Now that he had marked me as a wife, he could find me with even greater ease.
After one last glance cast longingly back toward the café, I trotted after him, having to run partway to catch up with his longer strides. As I fell into step with him, his hand swung back and caught mine, and he twined our fingers together.
And that was how I married an angel.