"No! You must learn to deal with this!" Theo said, pulling me back. His fingers tightened on my arms as, around us, three streaks of lightning exploded so close that my skin buzzed with the power. "Make it stop!"
"I can't!"
"You have to believe, Portia. You have to have faith!" he yelled in my face, his voice barely audible over the roar of thunder immediately overhead. My skin tingled, heralding another round of lightning.
"I lost that years ago," I screamed, giving in to the horror and frustration that were roiling inside me. I threw myself into his arms, clinging to his rain-slicked body and wishing I could hide from it all.
"Believe!" he bellowed as lightning danced around us in a circle of blue light. "I know you can do this!"
His heartbeat was as wild as mine, and I knew instinctively that, about this, he was telling the truth. He believed I could stop this freak storm. For a moment, for the time between seconds, I considered the possibility that he was right. What if I could control the weather?
The storm overhead dissipated into nothing.
Theo peeled me off his chest, his black eyes unreadable. "That was very well done," he said slowly. "We'll make a virtue of you yet."
Water dripped down my face, down my soggy clothing, to fall with soft little patting noises at my feet. "I didn't just…no. It's impossible. It can't possibly happen."
He laughed and turned me toward the door of the pub. "Let's have that drink and we can talk about it, all right?"
My legs were shaking so hard Theo thought it wise to help me up the stairs to my room first. "Change into something dry. I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes."
"You're just as soaked as I am. You'll catch pneumonia or something if you sit around in wet clothes." I wondered why I cared whether or not the man who had tried to kidnap me got sick, but I did, and since I didn't seem to be able to change that, I decided it wasn't worth angsting over. There would be time enough later, when I had life in control again, to worry over the fact that I found my kidnapper incredibly attractive.
"My things are in my car. I'll bring them up here and change." He bent forward, his lips brushing mine for a moment in a caress that promised so much. I clutched the door frame to keep upright. "I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."
I peeled off my wet clothing, towel dried my hair, which was hanging to my shoulders in limp strings, and hesitated at the wardrobe over what to put on to meet Theo. It was inconceivable that I should be dithering over what to wear to meet a man I had tried to have arrested practically since the moment I'd met him, but dither I did. I selected and discarded a few pairs of pants, finally settling on a long crushed-velvet dress that I'd bought for visits to the theater and any publishing parties Sarah would drag me to. I twisted my hair up into an untidy French twist, wishing that it was a more attractive color than walnut. My hazel eyes peered back at me in the mirror with acknowledgment that they would never inspire anyone to write sonnets.
"You've never found yourself lacking in the looks department until now," I told my reflection with a grimace. "So let's just not go overboard, shall we?"
I tried, I really tried not to care what Theo thought about me, but in the end I broke down and dug out my bag of cosmetics, quickly applying mascara, eye shadow, and lipstick before telling myself I was completely insane.
"Sarah? You there?" I stopped at her door and gave a soft knock, in case she'd gone to bed early.
"Come on in. I'm just making some notes. I've had the most brilliant idea for a book."
I poked my head in through the door. "You OK?"
She looked up from her laptop, her face distracted. "Of course I am. Did you see Theo?"
His kiss still burned my lips. I licked them, tasting once again his masculine, woodsy taste, my nether regions throbbing heavily. "Yeah, I saw him. I'm…this is going to sound silly, but I've agreed to have a drink with him. Downstairs, in full view of everyone, I'd like to add."
"Silly?" Sarah wrinkled her nose at me. "Why on earth would you having a drink with him be silly?"
"Is the English water affecting your memory or something? Did you forget that we've been trying to have him arrested for assault and kidnapping?"
"You've been trying to have him arrested. I haven't done anything other than try to reason with you. He's your champion, Portia. You need him." Sarah turned back to her laptop and continued to type.
I shook my head, too tired to try to reason with her. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."
"Enjoy yourself for a change. And kiss Theo for me."
I shot her a piercing look, but her face was devoid of emotion, her eyes on the laptop screen as she tapped away.
Theo was waiting for me by the time I arrived at the pub proper. He had claimed a corner table, the one farthest away from the music videos. He had changed into black pants and a silky-looking crimson shirt that set off his dark skin, hair, and eyes. For one wild moment, he reminded me of a stereotypical pirate: deadly, dangerous, and very bad to know.
"There is a private room, if you would prefer to be away from all this noise," he said, standing up as I approached the table.
"No thank you. I'd rather be in full view of everyone in case you get any ideas about attacking me again." I sat in the chair he pulled out for me, the skin on my back tightening when his hand brushed the bare flesh of my neck.
He sighed. "Portia, I have told you repeatedly—"
"I know, I know, you didn't know I was mortal. But you haven't said what you expected me to be if not mortal."
"That will make up a good part of the discussion. What would you like to drink?"
"Gin and tonic, please." I sat primly while he went to the bar to place our drink orders, trying not to notice how wonderfully tight his pants were over his derriere. I didn't win the battle, but felt somewhat proud of the fact that I made the attempt.
"The opposite of a mortal would be an immortal, something that doesn't exist," I said as he returned with our drinks and took his seat. "Unless there is some definition to immortality that I'm not aware of."
"There are many concepts I suspect you are not aware of, and will probably resist accepting, but time is limited, so we will have to do this as quickly as possible. You recall the discussion we had about the Court of Divine Blood?"
"Yes. You claimed that Hope was something called a virtue, a person who controlled the weather, and that members of the Court couldn't be killed."
"They can be killed; it's just incredibly difficult," he said, sipping a glass of whisky. "More so than most immortals, and yes, Virginia, Santa Claus does exist. Or rather, immortality does. Would you care to hazard a guess as to how old I am?"
Since I was being offered the opportunity to examine him freely, I did so. Although his black hair was untouched by grey, there were faint laugh lines around his eyes that made me believe he might be older than he first appeared. "I would say somewhere in the mid to late thirties."
"If you add approximately seventeen hundred years to that, you would be correct."
I goggled at him. It's not a pretty expression, nor one I cultivate, but when someone tells you they are older than a millennium, a goggle is called for. "That's…very, very unbelievable. You do realize that, don't you?"
"I am a nephilim," he said simply, and went on to explain before I could ask him what that was. "A nephilim is the name given to products of the mating between members of the Court of Divine Blood and mortals. We are considered fallen because our immortal parent more or less breached the laws of the Court in order to reproduce with mortals. In the eyes of the Court, we are damned, non-beings, immortal, but not allowed any of the benefits of Court membership."
"So, you're seventeen hundred years old, but you know about Santa Claus and things like that?"
The look on his face was vaguely offended. "I'm long-lived, not an idiot. Of course I know about Santa Claus. I also know about iPods, the Hubble Telescope, and nanotechnology."
"My apologies. I didn't mean to imply
…oh man, this is a bit hard to get a handle on. Let me see if I have it straight," I said, setting down my drink. "I'm some kind of a weather angel, and you're a fallen angel? A kind of mixed-race fallen angel?"
"I've told you—the concept of an angel is something Christianity and other religions formed based on the Court, but it is not an accurate representation. My father was a power, one of the members of the Court. Seventeen hundred and eight years ago he mated with a mortal woman located in what is now southeast India. I was the product of that relationship."
I took a deep breath. A wholly irrelevant question popped into my mind. "Why do you have an Irish accent if your mother was Indian?"
"My father settled in Ireland once he was banished from the Court. He died a few years later, decapitated during a battle. I never knew him."
I mused for a few moments on the idea of angels being able to be killed, but decided the resulting headache wouldn't be worth it.
"I know this is asking a lot of you to digest in such a short time, but digest it you must. You are a virtue, although you have yet to be admitted into the Court. You are undergoing seven trials to test your fitness for the position. If you fail three of the seven trials, you will be refused admittance, and have your powers stripped from you."
"I'm going to take a grain of salt approximately the size of Montana, and just pretend that everything you've said is true and not in the least bit impossible. That being so, where exactly do you come into this whole thing?"
He sat back, lacing his fingers together on his belly. "As I mentioned, I am considered fallen. There is only one way a fallen may be redeemed—a pardon must be granted by either a member of the Court, or by a demon lord. The latter is almost impossible to obtain, since demon lords are notoriously shy about releasing someone they consider in their domain. The former is almost as impossible, but it has been done in the past."
A light began to dawn. "You were chasing Hope because you wanted her to pardon you?"
"I have worked through all of the other members of the Court without success. Hope had always been sympathetic to me, and I believed I could persuade her to grant me a pardon." He frowned into his glass of whisky. "Unfortunately, something happened at Court to scare her, and she went into hiding. I had just tracked her down when you summoned her. She obviously used the opportunity to pass on her position to you in an attempt to escape whatever trouble she was in."
"Where angels go, trouble follows," I quipped.
Theo gave me a look.
"Sorry. So, now you want me to give you this pardon so you can be a member of heaven…er, the Court of Divine Blood again?"
"Yes. It is the only way. For that reason, you must succeed at the trials, thus I must serve as your champion to make sure you pass them."
My grain of salt grew to encompass North and South Dakota. "That seems like a horrible amount of trouble. Why don't you just go the other route and talk to a demon lord?"
It was amazing how much expression could be seen in his black eyes. Amusement, anger, frustration, sincerity—they'd all been visible during the last twenty-four hours. But at my words, a screen seemed to fall, giving his eyes a dead look. "That would not be wise. Demon lords do not perform favors without exacting a steep price—too steep. I won't do it."
"Ah. Gotcha." I swallowed the last of my drink and set the glass down on the cocktail napkin, smiling as I stood up. "Thank you for the drink, and for not abducting me. It's been a trying day, so I think I'll be going to bed."
Theo slowly got to his feet. "You don't believe anything I've said, do you?"
"No. It was creative, though. You should talk to Sarah about writing it all down. I bet it would make a good book."
"You don't believe that I am a nephilim."
"Nope. I think you're an extremely handsome, quite possibly troubled man, but as for the fallen business? I'm afraid not."
I walked to the stairs that led to my room on the upper floor. Theo followed me.
"You don't believe that you and you alone have the power to save me?"
The laughter that burbled forward died in my throat at the look in his eyes. I stopped in front of my door, oddly disconcerted. "Theo, despite everything you've done to me, despite all the trouble you've been, I kind of like you. If there is something real I can do to help you, I would consider it, but this…" I waved my hands around in a vague attempt to explain. "This is beyond me."
He took a step closer to me, and his woodsy scent curled around me. "All you have to do is believe, Portia. You just have to have faith."
There was that word again. "I lost my faith when I was eight. It is long gone, never to return."
His jaw tightened. "Then I will help you find it in return for your assistance."
I did laugh that time, even though the expression on his face was one of grim determination. "Putting aside the fact that I am getting along just fine without faith of any sort, just how do you expect to do that?"
"The third trial is tomorrow." He took my chin in his hand, tipping my head back to look deep into my eyes. "It will be very difficult."
"More old ladies beating the crap out of me? I could really do without that."
He leaned closer, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss me right there, outside my room. "I will make a deal with you—if you can give me proof that the trial is mundane, I will serve as your champion without requiring you to pardon me when you are admitted to the Court. If you cannot provide proof, you will accept the truth, and will reward me when you are accepted."
"Mundane?" I asked, more than a little distracted by his nearness. Theo was an imposing presence by any standard, but when he was close enough that I could count individual hairs in his widow's peak, he was almost overwhelming.
"Ordinary. Not supernatural."
I smiled. "Oddly enough, I have a similar bet going with Sarah. I don't think taking on another comer will be a problem. You, sir, have yourself a deal."
He took the hand I offered, a light kindling in his eyes. "Shall I show you how a deal was sealed a thousand years ago?"
His lips brushed mine as he spoke, and before I could decide what I wanted to do about the overwhelming urge to kiss him, I was doing just that, my mouth opening to welcome his, my body all but melting when his fingers dug into my hips, pulling them against his. I am not the most feminine of women, but the steely, unyielding hardness of his body made me very aware that I possessed more curves than I had given much thought to. His mouth was demanding, hot, tasting faintly smoky from the whisky, insisting that I give him what he wanted. I had no qualms at all about kissing him, going so far as to jerk the back of his shirt out of his pants so my hands could slide up his back.
"Salus, woman, do you have any idea how good you taste," he growled into my mouth, one hand sliding around to cup my behind, the other sweeping up to my breast.
"It's the lime in the gin and tonic," I answered, unable to keep from wiggling my hips against him.
He growled again, deep in his chest, his eyes molten with sexual desire. He caressed my breast beneath the velvet of the dress, ever so slightly tweaking my nipple. "Of all the women on this planet, why do you have to be one who will fight me every step of the way?"
"Some men like the chase," I said breathlessly, arching my back to press more of my breast into his hand. I trailed my fingernails down his back, causing him to shiver as my hands dipped lower, to his oh-so-attractive derriere.
"I prefer the yielding that follows," he said just before he kissed me again, a kiss of so much blatant sexuality that I seriously considered the possibility of going to bed with him.
Luckily, Sarah chose that moment to use the bathroom next door to her room.
"Well!" Her voice was rich with amusement. I had no doubt of the picture we made—me groping his behind, while he had one hand on my breast, our bodies locked in a sensual embrace.
Theo and I parted, although he kept his hands on me as he half turned to look at Sarah.
She grinned a
t us both, and winked at me before proceeding to the bathroom. "I'm glad to see you're taking my advice about something."
Chapter 8
"It was just a kiss."
"You said that three times already. Would you turn off that light?" Sarah plumped up a pillow behind her, and tucked the coverlet firmly over her legs before sitting back.
"A perfectly innocent kiss!"
"Honey, there was nothing innocent about that kiss," she said with a knowing look.
I stomped over to the light she had left burning on the desk and turned it off, feeling awkward and unsure of myself. I don't know why I felt compelled to explain that the kiss Theo and I shared was not what it seemed, but there I was, wringing my hands as I tried to sort through my emotions and thoughts.
"I find him physically attractive even though he's got some issues," I explained. "There's nothing wrong with a healthy libido."
"Nothing at all, especially when the recipient of your attentions is a gorgeous angel. I looked up nephilim while you were occupied with Theo. That's what a nephilim is, you know. Kind of a sub-angel, the result of a union between—"
"Oh, I know all about that," I said, waving my hands around for a moment before I was aware of what I was doing. I am not at all the hand-waving sort of person. "It's part of this tale he spun me. That's neither here nor there—what I want to know is what is going to come of a relationship with a lunatic!"
"I thought you said it was just your libido?"
"It is!" I shoved the chair aside just because I could. "But you know me—I don't do casual sex, so if things progress beyond kissing, I'm going to end up in a relationship. With a madman!"
"Theo isn't a madman," Sarah said calmly, picking up the book she'd brought to read on the vacation.
"Well, maybe not mad by the strictest definition of the word, but you have to admit that he's not normal."
"Of course he isn't. He's immortal. Are you done trying to convince yourself that he's not handsome as sin, and twice as delicious?"