Ashes of Angels (4 page)

That sounded nifty, but she didn't say so as he marched her south. She allowed him to do so because she wasn't thinking straight and she needed to conserve her energy so she could think once she got home. “So…you're S-Sam?”
My Sam,
she thought. Then she mentally kicked herself. Hard.

“You know much. I had expected you would initially be quite surprised by me.”

“My Granny Stevens taught me everything she knew about angels and demons and me being a muse,” she said.

They turned west. Her apartment was just up the street. She was not leading him, but her shivering limbs homed on it like a beacon and he probably sensed that.

“You know angel names?”

Time to shut up. If he wasn't going to tell her his name again, it didn't matter to her. As soon as she got home, she'd perform an angel repulsion spell and kick his ass back to the Ninth Void.

After she warmed up. Would she ever warm? Her blood
had stopped moving, she felt sure. And her skin burned with frostbite.

“Samandiriel is my name,” he finally confirmed. “And please, release your worries regarding our connection. I Fell with a greater purpose than merely tupping mortal females.”

“Right. You're holier than holy then? Tell me another one.”

“Have I tried to attempt you yet?”

“No, but you are taking me home. What are you going to do with me once we get there?”

“That's up to you, Cassandra. It's all up to you now.”

Sounded ominous, and like a cop-out. She couldn't control anything but keeping her own ass safe. She'd done it for twenty-seven years. She had sacrificed a lot over the years. Intimate relationships, for one thing. It was always difficult explaining why she spent all her time studying angels and martial arts to a boyfriend who preferred her to focus on him.

For the same reasons, good friends also fell by the wayside.

But that sacrifice meant she was now prepared for the worst—doom. And doom had just come knocking.

Though she hadn't been prepared for Sam's conflicting behavior. He
didn't
want to have sex with her? She'd been taught that was the Fallen's principal purpose for walking earth.

Coco should leave for Berlin tomorrow with a pregnant muse in tow. Ophelia O'Malley hadn't been so lucky avoiding her Fallen. Cassandra wasn't sure what they could do for her, since she was but days from delivery.

Now that Sam had landed on earth she might have to call off the gathering of muses she'd convinced to join her. It wasn't safe with a Fallen in Berlin. Right next to her, actually. Carrying her. Which her shivering limbs appreciated right now.

The best she could do was to kill Sam before Ophelia arrived.

That was a plan she had covered. Although it would come off much easier if he were not carrying a Taser and not seemingly
able to read her mind. The man knew too much about her already.

“You l-learned the world after you were summoned?” she wondered.

“Yes, it's an interesting place, I must say. I imagine the earth is a Sinistari's pleasure dome.”

The Sinistari were demons forged specifically to slay the Fallen. She could really use one of them right now.

“So vampires summoned you?”

“I learned that truth from a vampiress who was in love with a halo hunter.”

Cassandra would not allow him to see her gulp. She knew exactly what couple he was talking about. She'd developed a network of muses and, as a result, others in the know, like halo hunters.

Sam marched her up a snowy path and kicked open the door to her building. “The vampires want you and me to get together much more than you or I do, trust me on that one.”

He set her inside and she stumbled forward, but hit the stairs at a run. It felt like a run, but was actually a laborious climb up four steps. Her limbs bent with great difficulty. Icy fingers didn't properly grasp the iron railing.

He beat her to her apartment door. Cassandra huffed with exhaustion, stunned she hadn't seen him pass her up. The angel flashed her his cocky grin, and—was that puppy-dog look admiration?

Wrong time; wrong guy. If only Marcus had been more romantic, she might have avoided this date with destiny.

Wrong, Cassandra. The angel would have found you. Be thankful Marcus hadn't revealed a hero complex when that happened. Protect the innocents
.

She leaned against the wall, thankful for the support. One thing she never minded about this building was that the land
lord blasted the heat out into the central hallways. Already she felt melty and the tingling in her fingertips had stopped.

“My house keys are in the car. You owe me a car. I'm not rich, and I just paid that thing off.”

“You won't need a car to do what we've to do.”

“I don't need your help to stop the apocalypse, buddy.”

“I prefer your shortening of my name to Sam over some senseless nickname,” he offered. “And who said anything about the apocalypse? I want to slay the Fallen and annihilate the vampires. That's far from end of days.”

“You really hate the Fallen, eh?”

“I do not subscribe to hate. I don't know how. But I will do whatever is necessary to make things right.”

He didn't know how to hate? Made sense in the greater spirit of angels and divine goodness, but the Fallen were not the good guys, so why couldn't they hate?

He gripped the doorknob and twisted it hard. It splintered the wood around the lock and he opened it and walked inside. “Don't worry, you won't be returning.”

“Like hell I won't. You are not the one who gets to tell me what to do,” she said, feeling her energy return in spurts of warmth rushing through her veins. “Why wouldn't I return? This is my home.”

“Because as of right now, you are on the run.”

“Yeah?” Rubbing her hands together, Cassandra soaked the loft's toasty warmth in through her pores. “Generally the person one runs from does not accompany them on that escape.”

“You're not running from me.”

“Oh, right, the vampires. I forgot.”

She lived in a vast third-floor loft that stretched the building's width. The highly glossed cement floors flashed with moonlight, and at the south end gray velvet furniture nestled before the floor-to-ceiling window. Tiny blue spotlights—she
always left them on—in the ceiling tracks to her right lit the kitchen with what she'd always called an ethereal glow.

The angel strode about and sorted through her things, lifting the couch cushions and tugging open the drawers on the coffee table. He found the pistol in the coffee table and tucked it into the waistband of his pants, next to her Taser.

Shaking first her left foot then her right, Cassandra worked the blood back to her extremities. She wasn't completely warm yet, and sensed her blazing cheeks may have developed a touch of frostbite.

Sam turned to her, too sexy in only leather pants and boots. In the midst of a winter storm, he had marched her home wearing nothing but that. Stunning.

His shoulder-length dark hair, scruffed this way and that, spoke more of the bed-tousled look than angry warrior. Muscles and, well—who could disregard those guns? And since when had a man accessorized with deadly weapons appealed to her? She liked danger, but not the sort that could kill.

“Where is the rest of your arsenal?”

“In the bedroom,” she offered sweetly.

He stalked down the hallway.

Cassandra made a beeline for the shelf of cookbooks above the stove. She pulled out the red leather-bound grimoire Granny had given her and paged to the spell designed to put a force field of white light around her to protect her from angels.

She found the dog-eared page and began to chant the Latin verse.

A hand slammed the book shut, pinching her fingers in it. An overbearingly sexy male leaned over her shoulder, whisking her bare back with the hard curve of his pectoral muscle. “No, sweetie. You don't want to keep me at a distance.”

“I'm pretty sure I do.” Mostly. Yes, she did! “Back off, will you?”

“And what will you do when the vampires come? How will you protect yourself?”

“If you'd stop raiding my arsenal, I'd give 'em what-for with a bullet to the brain.”

“Won't kill a vampire. You need a wooden stake.”

“That's Dracula movie stuff. The stake doesn't need to be made of wood, and that's definitely not the only way to kill a vampire. A bullet will slow a vamp down, and I've a machete to slice off their heads, and…”

And something special she wasn't going to reveal to anyone. She had to keep at least one ace up her sleeve.

“That'll probably do the job.” The angel slid a hand along her jaw, and when Cassandra thought he was feeling her skin, deciding if she were soft enough for him to have his way with her, he abruptly tipped up her chin. “You want a repulsion spell against me? I'll give you a simple one. A means to put me back and give you space. You can use it if I ever feel the compulsion come upon me.”

“The compulsion?” She knew what he was talking about, but wanted to hear it from him.

“To have sex with you.”

She swore at the back of her throat and her body sank against the stove. Granny had explained all this and had made Cassandra and her sister repeat it until they'd known it by rote. But until now she'd never felt the implications of what it would be like to stand before the man who wanted to ruin her life.

Why must he be so handsome? And his eyes. All angels had kaleidoscope eyes, but she'd never imagined the mix of colors could be so utterly captivating. She didn't want to run from him, she wanted to put her arms around him, and—no!

Snap out of it, Caz. The moment you start thinking you're a muse—an object that an angel seeks to use—then you've lost the battle. You're more than that. You are strong. You've trained for this!

“Listen, Cassandra.” He lifted her by the elbow to stand straight and she met his eyes. It was peaceful there. His voice soothed her too sweetly for a man she should fear. “The word is
agothé
. Try it.”

“Agothé.”

As if struck by an invisible force, the angel was slammed against the kitchen wall, his arms pinned out and his feet dangling above the cement floor. His bare chest, impossibly strapped with muscles of steel, heaved.

He smiled. “See?”

“How long does that work for?” She slunk along the counter, backing away from him.

“Not long.”

Not long was long enough for her.

Cassandra raced down the hallway and into her bedroom. Kicking off her wet boots, she grabbed a pair of black wool leggings and slipped them on. Pulling out of a drawer a thick red sweater she knew she was going to need to stay warm, she first put on a tank top, then yanked the sweater over her head and tugged it over her hips.

Because the angel was right. She couldn't stick around here any longer. Not now that the Fallen knew it was her home.

Her computer flickered, and she grabbed the flash drive from the USB port. It was on a nylon lanyard, which she pulled over her head. Next important item was her rosary, which she slipped on next to the lanyard, then thought about it and tucked it under the sweater. Granny had given it to her; she didn't want to lose it.

Another Taser from the bedside drawer she fit into her back pocket. The pocket-size Ruger she kept stuffed between the mattresses wasn't there. The angel must have found it during his swift reconnaissance.

She ran out of the bedroom and slammed into a solid object. Her palms slapped against hard, muscled flesh. For a moment,
she stared at his skin, nicely tanned and stretched like silk over steel. How could a body be so hard? And why did a flash of her tongue tracing between his nipples disturb her thoughts?

“Told you it only works a short while,” he offered with a wry grin.

She began to say the word again, but he pressed a palm over her mouth. “It was just for you to try. Hear me out before you turn the word into a Tourette's tic.”

She nodded.

“What's this?” He grabbed the flash drive and pulled it from the plastic cover.

“Nothing. Just important papers. Financial stuff, you know. If I'm not returning…”

Pushing her back into the bedroom, he inserted the USB in the computer drive, and Cassandra was so shocked at the angel's actions she stumbled to sit on the bed. It was as if he knew her every secret. Or had been given a clue to finding each one. Could their sigils have something to do with that? She just didn't know.

She averted her gaze to the silver angel posed on the dresser. The face resembled the live angel poised before the computer. Had she brought him to life by invoking him in silver?

She caught her head in her palms. The silver rings she wore reminded her of another time she'd tried to invoke danger. Would she never learn?

The monitor beeped, prompting her attention, and a list flashed on the screen. Sam turned and eyed her. “Financial stuff?”

“It's just a list,” she murmured. “My grandmother gave it to me.”

“A list of all the Fallen ones' names and…their sigils.” He whistled, impressed. “Honey, you do not want this to fall into vampire hands.”

“It's not going to.”

“No, because I'll make sure it doesn't.” He dragged the computer file to the trash.

Cassandra dove for the flash drive and tugged it out. He gripped her wrist.
“Agothé!”

The angel was forced against the wall again, arms spread. He struggled futilely. “Fine! Keep it,” he said. “But you make sure it is erased from the computer and any other copies you have are destroyed. Your home will be searched, I can guarantee it.”

She thought about it. He seemed to know what was up in this whole war between the vampires, Fallen and muses. Double clicking the trash icon, she emptied it.

“Where's the original?” he asked.