Revelation (34 page)

Demon-spelled fury fogged Lune’s mind scarlet, blotting out reason and syllables until he could only think one thing.
No. Must protect. Must keep safe.

He flung Morgan over his head, sending her flying onto the cushions. The furywraiths squealed, trying to change trajectory to avoid his scything blade. One fell, headless. Another exploded in burning flesh as he stabbed it through the heart. He somersaulted and flung his sword at a third, slicing its twisting body in two mid-air. And then he landed in a fighting crouch on the hardwood loft floor, and flung his palms out with a frantic prayer to heaven, the first angelspell that flew to his mind.

Grace. Keep them away from her. Bring them to me. Now.

Blue light flashed from his sigil, welling brighter, a blessed flash of euphoria. Ash sizzled like acid rain, and fell, the wraiths’ wrathspells dissolving. And the three cackling creatures poised to strike over Morgan’s huddled form halted, and curled their long birdlike necks towards Lune, infatuation gleaming on their gnarled black faces.

On the bed, Morgan screamed in alien fury, and curled her arms over her head, waiting for the hell-things to rip their beaks into her flesh.

They didn’t. And suddenly her anger evaporated, the spell washing from her body like hot storm water.

Her heart thumping, she let her hands drop.

Lune crouched, blue light welling from his outstretched palms, a sweet crooning sound low in his throat that raised goose bumps on her arms. The three demon-things muttered and writhed their skinny necks, their shiny red gazes fixed on him.

“Here, pet. Come to Lune.” Lune beckoned, midnight wings stretching in invitation. The creatures warbled, affectionate, and hopped towards him, all their fury drained away.

Morgan shivered, strange euphoria like a hot shower over her skin. She felt relaxed. Calm. Her head clear, her mind lucid. She rubbed her cheek in the cushions, so wonderfully warm and comforting, and yawned, delightfully sleepy. She wanted to take a nap right here. Curl up in Lune’s arms and doze off with him kissing her hair…

The creatures sidled up to him, rubbing their heads against his wrists like big leathery cats. He stroked one, slipping loving fingers around its neck, and crunched his hissing fist tight.

Snap. The thing’s neck broke, and it crumpled and sighed and died.

Morgan smiled, lazy. Mmm. Such a sweet lover. She’d never felt anything like it. Maybe if she crawled over there, he’d touch her, too.

The remaining two wraiths didn’t even blink. They purred and nestled into his night-dark feathers. Lune petted them, running his palms over their sleek heads before he jammed his thumbs into their eyeballs and broke their necks.

The mesmerizing blue glow faded. Lune flung the broken bodies aside with a curse and a hiss of burning flesh, and glided to his feet.

Morgan jumped to her knees, stung. Her wits slammed back into her head like a horrid back draft, sucking the breath from her lungs and setting it afire.

He’d loved those monsters to death. Seduced them to murder
with warm caresses. They’d believed he’d do them no harm, and he’d lured them to him and finished them off.

Lune landed on his knees in the cushions and pulled her into his embrace. “You okay? Did they touch you?”

He kissed her hair, and his heartbeat thudded against her naked breasts. The malicious memory of her desire struck her cold, and she shivered and pushed him away.

His blue eyes burned. “Sorry, I didn’t…what is it?”

Her voice dried to a croak. Her nerves screamed, betrayed, slicing her newfound peace to shreds. She had to know. “Lune…how did you do that?”

Lune stared. “What?”

“That thing. That spell.” Her gaze stabbed him like demonblades.

His mind blotted, confused. “That? It’s just a compulsion. A calming spell. There were too many, I couldn’t fight them all.”

She hugged a cushion, like a shield. “I felt it. It was horrible. I wanted to…” Her pretty lips trembled. “I wanted to crawl over to you and die.”

Broken glass jeweled her hair. He wanted to brush it away, but she looked so…distant. Unforgiving. Scared, all over again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it for you, love. They’re just hellspawn. What does it matter?”

“It matters!” Her voice ripped, tense. “I thought we were real, Lune. I thought what I felt was real!”

His blood spiked cold. “What? Of course it’s real! I don’t get it.”

“Oh, God.” Her face paled, and she clutched her cushion tightly, bending over as though her stomach cramped. “Oh, dear God. Lune, tell me you didn’t do that to me. Tell me you didn’t use that spell on me to make me fall for you. I couldn’t bear it. Please. For heaven’s sake.”

“Of course I never…” Lune’s voice withered. His heart teetered over a long, cold cliff, and fell. “Oh, shit.”

And Morgan’s beautiful amber eyes drained to empty gray.

Lune’s guts twisted, burning like hellfire, and his heart screamed. God, he wanted to lie. He’d never wanted any sin harder.

But he couldn’t. Not to Morgan. She deserved the undiluted truth, even if she hated him forever.

“When?” Her voice scraped, mechanical, a dull echo of the golden tones that had hypnotized him.

His throat constricted, trying to keep the words inside, but he forced them out. “The first time we met, in the morgue. I spelled you to stop you shooting me again. To calm you down so you’d talk to me. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Her gaze lasered sharp. “How the fuck is that all, Lune? You
held
me. We
kissed
.” She scrambled backwards off the bed, clutching the cushion in both arms to hide herself. “You tricked me. You made me want you! How could you do that?”

“I didn’t mean it that way!” Heaven, what a shitty excuse. “It’s just a euphoria spell. People are afraid of us, it’s how we get them to listen. I didn’t know it would do that!” Guilt seared his bones like brimstone. No, he hadn’t known for sure. But he’d let her kiss him. Let her melt into his arms. Enjoyed it.

“And what about after that? You touched me. God, I let you…Everything we’ve done was a lie!”

“No!” His guts crawled, salty, and he nearly retched. He scrambled to the floor at her feet, and the disappointment in her eyes stabbed him cold. “Look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me I’m lying now. I love you, Morgan. I’ll always love you.”

His throat swelled tight, but satisfaction thrilled him. There. Let the fucking sky fall. He didn’t care. Surely she’d understand.

But despair shone pale on her face. “I don’t believe you.”

A cruel fist of agony crushed his heart. Words were useless. Petty. Meaningless.

Morgan blinked helpless tears. “How can I believe you? How can I ever trust you now?”

“Because it’s the truth!” Desperation roughened his voice. Lousy fucking reason. But he’d no better one. He longed to kiss her hands, beg her to forgive him for all the stupid things he’d said and done. But it’d only make it worse.

Her ugly laugh hacked his nerves ragged. “Right. Sure. God, I’m such an
idiot
.” She grabbed his shirt and scrabbled it over her head. It reached to mid-thigh, and she tugged it viciously around her hips. She yanked her glorious hair back, defiant, and her blazing gaze hit him head-on with all the force of her rage and disgust. “You’re a hundred times worse than Vorvian, you know that? At least he’s got the class to admit it when he’s caught in a lie.”

“Morgan—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Her voice rose to a shriek. With an effort, she calmed herself, breathing deep, and when she spoke again, her tone licked frosty. “Don’t say anything else, okay? Just let me down, please.”

Woodenly, he took her hand. She flinched at his touch, and it slashed him raw. He lighted her down to the apartment floor. His wings ached, and he longed to pull her into his arms, but he just set her gently on her feet and stepped away, bereft.

“Thanks.” She stalked to the couch and tugged her jeans on, her mouth set tight. She wouldn’t look at him. Tears glimmered, but she didn’t let them fall.

She was so broken. So heart sore. He’d hurt her more than he’d ever imagined he could. “Morgan, please—”

“I’m leaving now.” Her disdain bit his heart like poison. “I don’t want you to follow me. Don’t come to my place. Don’t call me. I don’t want to see you again. Your little game is over, angel. I hope you had fun.”

She strode to the door and let herself out, and deep inside him, something wild and heartsick screamed in agony.

But all he could do was watch her walk away.

In the bright-lit lobby, Morgan stumbled, tears blinding her.

Her throat ached to scream. Her stomach twisted like barbed wire, and she stabbed her thumb at the elevator button, desperate.
Don’t let him follow me. Don’t let him see me.
Her legs shook, weak. Thank God this wasn’t a walk-up, or she’d never make it to the bottom.

Shame and loss jabbed her heart like a scorpion’s sting. She’d been so stupid. She’d trusted him—trusted an angel, for fuck’s sake—and it had brought her only pain. To think she’d believed it was real, the way she felt, the connection they’d forged over blood and heartache, the shivering delight of his touch, the glory in her soul when he looked at her.

Something so good could never be real.

Her mind stumbled and fell, tumbling over and over until it hit bottom, a cold midnight lake of truth and bitterness. Her heart was false, weak, not to be trusted. Trust brought only pain. Better to stay in the dark, where she couldn’t be hurt.

To think she’d believed that for a few sweet moments, she’d turned her face to the light.

The elevator slid open, and she walked unsteadily in. Her reflection glared at her from the gleaming metal wall, muddled and distorted. Her eyes burned. The shirt she wore still smelled
of him, his angel-fire scent an accusation. Frantically she wiped at her skin, her face, her arms, her belly. She wanted to rake her nails over it, strip naked, get him off her.

The elevator lurched to a halt, and she banged her head back against the wall, trying to clear her head, inject some rationality.
Don’t overreact. He was just some guy. He was gorgeous and charming, and the sex was great, but you made a mistake. So live with it. Forget him, and go back to your normal life. You’re a big girl.

But the irrational part of her mind screamed and beat its fists like a toddler throwing a tantrum, refusing to be silent.
Not just some guy. Not just sex. We made love.

She sniffled, and wiped her hair back, swallowing. Yeah. Sure. In a spell-drunk haze. The bastard lied, and she’d fallen for it.
That’ll teach me to lose the plot. Next time some hot guy tells you a story about needing you to save the world? Tell him he’s full of shit and walk away.

She walked out into the lobby, fighting unsteady legs. Crumbling plaster walls loomed, threatening, spray painted with ugly tags. A red New Anarchy symbol splashed like a bloodstain. The warm floor slipped under her bare feet. In the corner, a hobo sprawled insensible in a dirty black duster, whiskey-stained drool trickling from his unshaven chin.

Outside, through the barred window, the street flashed with neon rainbows, dark and dangerous. The park loomed, a threatening dark tangle, backlit by hellish bonfires that danced and spat shadows. A gunshot cracked, glass shattered, people shouted.

She shivered, tugging Lune’s shirt closer and tucking it into her jeans. Four in the morning in lawless Harlem. Sick freak happy hour. She licked parched lips, still swollen from kissing. Fatigue tore at her, and a deep ache still burned in her muscles. She’d wrapped her legs around him, strained her arms trying to touch him, clenched her inner muscles to soreness around his hot flesh as he loved her…

She shivered, fire and ice, and pushed the images away. Back to normal. Which meant, back to the lab. Manhattan virus was real. She’d seen it for herself, demon or no demon. People were dying. She’d no time for self-pity.

But she was alone. She didn’t have her knife, or even her
capsicum spray. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. On the subway at 4:00 a.m., she’d be fair game for any tweaked-out loser who took a fancy to her. Girls died screaming that way.

Determination forged icy steel in her spine. She was tough. She’d killed zombies and hellspawn. Resisted a demon. Conquered a lying angel’s spells. No way would she let some limp-dick gangsters spoil her night.

She edged over to the hobo, who snored and muttered, his dark hair lank and greasy. Still paralytic. Swiftly, she tugged his coat aside and felt for a weapon. No ankle holster. Nothing on his flanks. No…wait. Her fingertips brushed metal at the back of his belt. She wrapped her fingers around the grip and yanked it out.

Nine millimeter, laser sights, spring-locked trigger. With trembling fingers, she ejected the round and popped the magazine. Hollow points, only a couple of shots missing. She sighted, the laser buzzing to life, and a quivering green spot drilled the wall. She breathed, steadying her aim. Squeezed the trigger experimentally.

Click. Hair-trigger. Ugly.
Stupid thing to be stuffing down your pants, friend. Lucky you didn’t blow your own drug-sick ass off.

She reloaded, cocked and flicked the safety on, and with the weapon steady in her hand, her courage polished bright. She had no intention of stuffing it down her pants. She’d carry it in her hand, and if any dumb-ass god-sick gangboy with a hard-on decided she was his lucky night, he’d learn the hard way what it meant to mess with her. And if demons attacked her again…well, she’d just have to deal.

Because she’d learned her lesson.
Trust no one but yourself.
And Morgan Sterling, MD, wouldn’t pray for deliverance. Not from an angel. Not from anyone.

Morgan flexed tense fingers around the pistol’s grip, and strode out into the street.

Lune’s muscles shuddered, and he bit back a scream. Moonlight slashed in the broken skylight, accusing him, and glory scorched living warning through his veins.
Keep it real. Keep it frosty. What’s done is done. Don’t let her get to you.