A Gathering of Angels (17 page)

“Even knowing what would happen after, I would come for you.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, tightening his grip. “I will always come for you, sweet, should you need me.”

Pain squeezed her heart, and she closed her eyes. “You’re leaving.”

He let out his breath, eased back. “I have no choice. I need to feel the sun I was created under, to touch the sand that I walked before Karana—before my wife died.” His hand slid up her back, into her hair. “I am still surprised, every time I look at you, that my heart can be touched again, can feel again.”

Claire reached up to cradle his face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I am not healing.”

She let out her breath. “Why didn’t you say so before now?”

“I hoped—” He shook his head and pulled away, turning to face the front of the shop. “Returning home may not make a difference, but I must try. It is where I was made, and my essence is tied to the land. My power has diminished to the point I can no longer—it does not matter.” He ran his good hand through his hair, the wild curls brushing his shoulders. “I never planned to stay, when I first came here. Now I find myself unable to leave. Even when I must.”

Swallowing, Claire moved to him, slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. He didn’t move, simply watched her, those green eyes dark, unreadable. Before she could talk herself out of it she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

With a groan, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her off her feet. Claire simply held on as he deepened the kiss, his heat coiling around her heart. She knew he could cajole, entice, charm—instead he just gave.

He broke off the kiss, staring down at her. Then he cursed under his breath and came back for more. She let out a startled gasp, and the heat burst through her. Her own curse had him smiling against her lips, before he gently and thoroughly explored every inch of them.

When they finally came up for air, Marcus brushed his lips over hers. “I meant to leave without knowing the taste of you, the feel of you.” He lowered her to the floor, brushed her cheek. “I don’t know if returning will be possible.”

Fear clutched her. “Marcus—”

“For a Jinn, a wound to our power equals constant, bone deep pain. And a not so pleasant temper to go with it.”

“God above—” Claire took his hand, tightening her grip when he tried to pull away. “Is that the reason for your disappearing act?”

“I owe you my life, Claire. I did not want to repay you with anger.”

“I can handle the anger, Jinn.”

A smile flashed across his face. “I have no doubt.” That smile faded as he swallowed, closing his eyes.

“Marcus—”

“All right.” He twined their fingers together. “My plane leaves tonight.”

Claire leaned against him, her free hand sliding around his waist. She refused to give in to the tears that stung her eyes. Later, after he was gone. Looking up at him, she made her decision. “Stay here. I’m going to close up the shop.”

“Claire.” He looked panicked. “There is no need to say goodbye at the airport—”

“Oh, I’m not going to the airport.” She let go of him and freed her hand, backing toward the door. “But you are getting more than a taste, Jinn, before you leave.”

*

S
prawled on top of Marcus, Claire took in a shaky breath. Every sweaty inch ached, in an incredibly satisfying way.

She rarely allowed this kind of contact, because she was never sure how she would react if she lost control. But Marcus was more than a match, even if she had still been a demon.

Under her, Marcus groaned.

“Oh, God—” She started to slide off him. His right hand spread across her back, held her. “I’m not hurting you?”

“You have ruined me. But I am feeling little pain at the moment.” Smiling, she kissed his shoulder. Just above the bandage hiding his wound. His hand moved up her back, fingers tracing the knife scar left by Natasha. “And you did not lose all your magic.”

She smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure. Truly.”

Laughing, she slipped over his equally sweaty chest to kiss him. He trapped her there, fingers tangling in her hair as he stretched the kiss out. They were both breathless by the time he let her go.

Claire pressed her face into his throat, relishing the feel of him against her skin, the taste of him against her lips. Hot, salty, with a touch of exotic spice.

He brushed his hand through her hair, gentle, soothing. “I miss the beauty of your length, how it followed every graceful move. I wanted nothing more than to bury my hands in it.” He pulled a strand free, let it fall to her shoulder. “But this does suit you, my beautiful mortal.”

Claire felt the subtle brush of his charm, as if he tested her resistance. “Don’t bother trying, Marcus. I’m still immune to your tricks.”

Laughter rumbled against her ear. “My—what did you call it once? Ah, hocus pocus. It never did work on you, and that is a first for me. I have always been able to work my way in. But you,” he cupped her chin and tilted it up until their eyes met. “You flicked me away like an annoying insect, every time.” She swallowed when he kissed his way down her face, whispering against her lips. “It is how I know what I feel for you is real, and not the flashback from my own manipulation.”

He kissed her, with such tenderness her throat ached. She pulled back and laid her head on his chest to keep him from seeing the tears that filled her eyes. Instead of confronting, or asking, he simply rubbed the length of her back, until she relaxed under the smooth, gentle strokes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I am sorry, sweet. I didn’t intend for my words to—”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” She lifted her head. “All of—this, caught me off guard. And knowing that you’ll be leaving—”

“I cannot stay.”

“And I understand. I do, Marcus; when I was trapped in that jail cell, hurting, all I could think about was getting home. It kept me from giving up.”

His fingers brushed her cheek, then curved over her shoulder and trailed down her arm, touching the bandage on her wrist. “How is it?”

“Healing. Slowly.” Along with her power, she lost her ability to mend quickly. In addition, every injury she earned in the last eighty years decided to remind her of its existence. Loudly. “And your arm?”

“Still there.” She knew he used it during their lovemaking. He gasped every time he moved it—until she laid her hand on his wrist and eased it to the bed. “Still useless.”

“True, for now. But you still have one very talented arm.” He laughed, just as she intended. “So, do we have time?”

He raised one eyebrow. “For?”

Pushing herself up, she brushed his lips with her own. “Another exploration of my magic.”

SEVENTEEN

A
nnie opened the door to her new apartment and gathered Claire into her arms.

“How are you doing, honey?”

Claire let out a shaky breath, finally able to drop her cheerful mask. “He’s gone. And there’s a damn fine chance I will never see him again.”

Annie rubbed her back, then guided her inside. Eric stood and held out his hand. That simple gesture undid her.

“Oh, Claire.” Annie lowered her to the sofa, let her cry herself out. When she pulled away, mortified by her outburst, Annie caught her around the waist. “No, you don’t. You’re completely human now—time to embrace all of it, even the sticky, embarrassing emotion.”

Claire let out a watery laugh. “Leave it to you, Annie. And that won’t be a problem. I can’t seem to control it like I used to. Not since I came back.”

“Don’t make it sound like a death sentence.” Annie squeezed her waist. “There’s nothing like a good cry to clear out the negative. Then you get ice cream.”

Claire dropped her head to Annie’s shoulder. “I really love you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Eric leaned in and kissed Claire on the cheek. “I’ll go get that ice cream.”

Sighing, Annie watched him walk out of the living room. “I do love that man.”

“Speaking of love,” Claire wiped her eyes, held out her hand. “Let’s see that ring.” The sapphire glowed against Annie’s finger, a physical reflection of her joy. “This is powerful protection—and it seems to have chosen you. I may no longer have power, but I can still teach, if you—”

“I don’t want any other teacher. And I have a question—I’ll understand if you say no, considering.” She took in a deep breath. “Will you be my maid of honor?”

Claire sandwiched her hand, the blue glow of the sapphire spearing through her fingers. Here was what she fought for, what she gladly gave up her life to protect. “I can’t think of anything I would enjoy more.”

With a squeal, Annie hugged her. “I want you to help me decide everything. Unless—if this all gets too uncomfortable, I want you to let me know.”

“Because of Marcus?”

“Well, yeah.”

Claire pushed her hair back, still surprised when her fingers met air near her shoulder. “My life does not end because he left—”

“Do you love him?”

Claire blinked. “I—that has nothing—”

“Easy question.”

She let go of Annie’s hand, rubbed her face. “And easy answer. Yes. As hard as I tried not to, I let him get under my skin.”

“Good. Because that great fool is in love with you. He’ll find his way back, honey. You got under his skin, and he’ll be scratching that itch until he realizes it’s you.”

“Excellent.” Claire shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. “I sound like a rash.”

Annie burst out laughing. “You’ve been hanging around me too long.”

“I expect to do much more of it—especially if I’m helping you plan the wedding.”

“Are you sure? Because if—”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Kissing Annie’s cheek, she pushed herself up, her leg aching. “Can you give Eric my apologies? I need to be alone for a while.”

“Sure, honey.” Annie stood, followed her to the door, concern in the warm brown eyes. “You need to talk, call me. No matter what time.” She opened the door. “Enjoy the sunset.”

“How did you get in past all my defenses? I never expected to have a friend, never mind one I consider a sister.”

“Oh, damn.” Annie hugged her. “Now get out of here, so I can get sloppy all over my man.”

Claire smiled—until Annie closed the door. With a sigh, she limped out of the building, aching and heartsick, and tired of feeling sorry for herself. She headed for the beach, glad to see there were few people on the boardwalk. The cool evening, and a brisk wind that promised rain kept most people inside.

Standing on the boardwalk, she watched the sun set over the ocean. Her hand went to the amethyst pendant at her throat, remembering as she closed her fingers over it. She paid Lea far more than it was worth—enough to replace her shop window, and repair any damage. She looked forward to visiting soon, walking through the shop in daylight, without a vengeful ghost dogging her.

The bracing wind turned cold. With a sigh, Claire stirred, buttoning her sweater. She walked along the boardwalk, headed back to Forest—and halted when a tall figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Annie told me I’d find you here.”

“Simon—” She limped forward; he met her halfway, lifting her in his arms. She wrapped both arms around his neck and held on for a long moment. Easing back, she met the clear green eyes. “You’re early—by about a week.”

“I had business close by, decided to extend my vacation.” He lowered Claire to her feet, took her hand. “So this is your beach. I like it.”

“Simon.” He glanced down at her. “Talk.”

With a sigh, he started walking along the boardwalk, slow enough for her to keep up. Her leg still bothered her, and would most likely be her weak point. She never blamed Eric—and he didn’t remember hurting her, which made it easy to keep it from him.

“The deaths in Huntsville are still an open case. I resigned last week, before they could boot me out. Don’t start, Claire—I never planned on staying, and the new chief had no choice. Too much went unexplained, and I look mighty suspicious, coming from another town with similar deaths.”

“Simon—”

“So here I am. Fresh start. The business was with a local church. I just signed on as the resident priest.”

“You’re staying?”

“Looks like.”

Claire smiled, sandwiched his hand. “You owe me a story.”

“Same goes, sweetheart.”

“Can you call me that, being a priest and all?”

“Yes.” He leaned in. “And you are not going to distract me forever.”

Her heart skipped. He was right. Sooner or later, he would have to know. She voted for later.

“Simon.” He looked down at her, strong, proud, gentle. A good man. A friend she knew she would treasure. “Welcome home.”

~*~

Reader’s Guide to the Claire Wiche Mythology

As a fiction writer, I do take liberties, but I always start from a point of truth, or mythology, depending on the subject. Because I pulled from so many different sources, I decided to add a reference guide. Now you can see where I started, and where the mythology for the book took off. Happy reading!

Azazel
—there are several stories about Azazel, depending on the religion. In the Hebrew Bible, in the rite of the scapegoat, a goat was sent “to Azazel” in the desert, with the sins of Israel on its back. This rite was performed every year on The Day of Atonement. Azazel was the desert demon, the spirit of desolation and ruin, and the source of all impurity. In the Book of Enoch, Azazel is listed as one of the leaders of the Watchers, the angels who bred with women and created the Nephilim. They taught men the art of warfare in the time before the flood, and taught women to beautify and adorn themselves. For these sins, he was bound hand and foot by the archangel Raphael, and cast into darkness. He is also referenced as one of the three leaders of the fallen angels.

For my purposes, Azazel is a fallen angel, and sits at the right hand of Lucifer in Hell. Claire was his first, his Lieutenant, his most trusted. Until she began to care about the humans she was supposed to torture. For this, she was banished to earth, to wander among those humans, alone. When they meet again, at the Gates of Hell, Azazel must finally let her go.