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The car spun onto the main street, swerving, but he quickly got it under control. He drove right through a stop signal, riding the brake but not slowing. Passing cars honked at them.
“You’re very pretty, Cassandra. And the ribbons in your hair. So interesting.”
“Is that your idea of foreplay? A few awkwardly random compliments? Buddy, I’m not interested.”
“You were interested on the dance floor. Your eyes took me in, sized me up and decided to like me. You touched me.” He stroked his forearm where she had placed her hand. “I’ve never been touched by a mortal woman.”
“Yeah?” She had touched him, had even imagined wrinkling the sheets with him. Oh, Cassandra, get smart. Right now! “The only touch you’ll get from me is a punch or another kick. Want one right now?”
“No, thank you.”
Man, but his eyes were incredible. When she thought they were blue, she noticed the violet, and then, brilliant gold. Wow—”Pay attention to the road. The light is red!”
He drove through the intersection without causing an accident. Cassandra clutched the seat and tensely put her heels to the floor. “You don’t know how to drive, do you?”
“No, but I’m learning,” he said proudly.
She itched the sigil, which still glowed blue. “Hell.”
“Matches mine.” He tugged up his shirt and leaned forward to reveal the sigil on the back of his hip. The spiraling dark brown line resembled a tattoo.
The sigil was not a tattoo, but an indelible mark. Cassandra had been born with hers. It was the reddish-brown color of henna, but it never faded, as henna did. “Yours isn’t glowing,” she remarked.
“Only when I’m in half form.”
Cassandra’s heart dropped to her gut. The only way a Fallen could get his mortal muse pregnant was in half form. They assumed the wings of an angel on top, yet remained human in every way, including all the essential sexual organs.
Samandiriel.
She had known his name since Granny had found it in the book of names and sigils. Neither had spoken it out loud to the other. Yet after everyone had gone to sleep, and Cassandra lay in her bed staring at the sky through the oak tree near her window, she’d whisper it. Because that’s what teenage girls did.
The name had become a sort of mantra, and at the same time a death toll. Samandiriel, the one angel who existed to find her. Samandiriel, the angel she had sculpted in silver. Samandiriel, her death.
A dizzy wave washed through Cassandra’s brain. She had to remain alert. Stay strong. As soon as he stopped, she’d open the door and run, never mind her lack of coat and gloves. They were only blocks away from a busy restaurant area; she could find help before she froze to death.
“So you’re taking me somewhere, and then you’re going to shift shapes?”
“No. Cassandra, I would not assume you’d be so enamored with me you would allow such an intimate act so quickly.”
She could only gape at him.
Was this one for real? The Fallen were supposed to be focused on getting their muse pregnant. She’d never thought the Fallen would have a sense of right and wrong.
“Seriously, did you land on your head when you Fell to earth?”
He chuckled. “Actually, I originally landed in a shallow stream. I almost drowned, were it not for a couple of village children who pulled me out. But that was a long time ago.”
Uh-huh. Like during Biblical times. The angels originally Fell way back when, and God decided to punish them for Falling and swept them all to the Ninth Void courtesy of the Great Flood. Water and angels did not mix; they couldn’t swim.
She had to do something. She couldn’t let this go further. Opening the glove compartment, she shuffled through the manuals and parking tickets. Yes! She knew she’d put that in there last month.
The Fallen pulled the car to a sliding stop against a snow-stacked curb. Ice slicked the tarmac. The snowplows had not been out since the storm had begun earlier in the afternoon.
“You live close,” he said, “but I’m not picking up your heat trail. Can you give me directions?”
“To my place? Not bloody likely.”
Gripping the Taser in the glove compartment, Cassandra swung her arm around and landed the angel aside the neck, under his chin. He jerked, his hand releasing the steering wheel. His torso stiffened, unable to fight the high voltage.
A thrusting fist bent the steering wheel. He let out a sound that crackled in her eardrums. It sounded like myriad languages all at once. Gritting her teeth at the pain of the noise, she held firm on the Taser.
And he cried out as if struck through the heart by a blade. Something creaked and then a flash of thick silver something moved out from between his shoulders. Whatever it was, it cut through the car roof and smashed out the rear window.
Panicking, Cassandra dropped the Taser and kicked open the passenger door. She scrambled out onto the foot-high snow packed along the curb and looked over the destruction.
Wings had grown out of the Fallen’s back, bladed, thick wings that had cut through the car like butter. They looked like … silver? She was a silversmith; she knew her metals. The entire structure of wings looked forged from silver, yet appeared soft as feathers, for the downy barbs fluttered in the brutal cold.
Trapped, the Fallen looked at her and growled.
Not about to stick around, Cassandra took off across the street and headed in the opposite direction of her apartment—only a quarter mile up the street—and one very angry Fallen angel.
Chapter 2
Samandiriel shook off the vehicle from his wings. Metal creaked and split. A tire rolled up against the snowbank. The backseat wobbled and fell from the passenger half of the vehicle.
He eased a hand over his shoulder. That little misadventure had taxed his mortal muscles to weary bands. Though his wings were of silver—indicative of his mastery over the silversmith art—they were adamant and indestructible. Yet there was only so much damage this mortal body could take, even in its half form, which was as close to his original ineffable form he could get while on earth.
He glanced at the mangled car. He’d had to rip his wings out sideways to get free. “Bitch,” he muttered, but the anger that had spurred his shift subsided quickly.
It had been a common human reaction to fear. Yet the muse had known what to expect. She had known he would come for her. And it appeared the petite bit with the big brown eyes and beribboned hair could handle herself in a threatening situation.
With a smart cock of his head side to side, he then unfurled his wings completely and followed with a whole-body shake that flexed muscles and tested mortal bones for endurance. Nothing broken.
Thing is, he had no intention to hurt the muse, as she suspected. Cassandra Stevens was a beauteous creation to admire. He could look at her ever after, admire her fine bone structure, the soft brown flesh and long hair that seemed alive with depth. Her voice spoke to him in vivid pinks and violets, bathing him in a luscious sensory oasis.
But once in this form, and if he were near Cassandra, he would feel the compulsion, the need to mate with the muse.
After his original Fall, Samandiriel had observed his brothers. The Fallen went after their muses with sanguine intent and did not care that they harmed, hurt or damaged the muse psychologically and physically. Their only focus was to mate with them, to experience the carnal pleasures that had tempted them to Fall.
Yet after that initial Fall, the Great Flood had washed over the lands and swept his fellow Fallen from the earth. Samandiriel had been imprisoned in the Ninth Void, awaiting release. He’d had much time to think.
He wanted nothing to do with the wicked pact he’d joined in with his brethren. All he desired was to return Above. But to do so, he suspected he must prove his worthiness, which necessitated his current mission.
A mission to ensure his Fallen brethren did not achieve their goal. And for the other reason, once a Fallen mated with a muse a nephilim would germinate, be born, and destroy all living things in its path.
Yet that mission had been altered after learning about the vampires. So much work to do. And here he stood, having been defeated by an odd electronic device wielded by a tiny woman.
“Bloody bunch of good you’ve done so far.”
He’d walked the world upon arrival on earth yesterday. His kind could move swiftly over the land and sea, taking in knowledge of all things, places, ideas and emotions. He now knew all languages, cultures and history. He knew the modern world, and admired it as much as he worried for it. It was clean and beautiful and ugly and devious. Children suffered and adults wallowed in self-important luxuries. The pious existed right alongside the profane and psychotic. What an ugly yet necessary mix.
Once he had achieved his goal, he would not remain long after.
During his walk around the world, he’d only picked up flickers of knowledge regarding the Fallen. The vampiress with the halo hunter had provided the most curious information. He’d been summoned—by vampires.
Vampires and the Fallen? He suspected it had something to do with the nephilim but couldn’t piece that together.
Shaking his wings down, his mortal muscles screamed in protest. He’d not felt such pain, ever. But he did not condemn the pain. It indicated he was part of this world now. Not completely mortal—he intended to retain his angelic half at all costs—but appreciative of all The Most High had given the creatures of the earth.
With a shuffle of his shoulders, he assumed complete human form. His leather trousers and boots were intact, but the shirt was a loss. He picked off shreds of torn white fabric from his arms and shoulders. Snowflakes landed on his skin but did not melt. Due to his cold blood, he didn’t feel the winter chill as a human.
Fascinating how the tiny flakes fluttered down from the clouds. There was much to marvel over as he learned the world. Samandiriel cautioned himself not to get lost in wonder when the greater task demanded his complete focus.
A shirt was in order—he had to fit in. But first he must find the muse. If Cassandra Stevens knew so much, she could prove an ally on his earthly quest. And, he simply wanted to bask in her presence. Because she was his. And he wanted to be near her. To touch her and hold her and—not harm her.
He took two steps across the slick, snowy tarmac. A female scream spun him about, eyes tracking the unremarkable building fronts in the darkness. “Cassandra?”
He’d thought her long gone after witnessing his forced shift.
Again, she screamed, from somewhere in the vicinity a few blocks behind him. Samandiriel’s boots dug into the packed snow, and he took off running.
The thugs had knives, and Cassandra had left all weapons in the car with the angel. Samandiriel. Too weird that her Sam had finally found his way to her, yet why should she think it weird? She’d been expecting him all her life.
One thug sporting a huge diamond earring, but not resembling an NBA all-star, had demanded her purse, which she didn’t have—it was in the car. The other thug, who bore a closer resemblance to an all-star, only because he was so tall, waved a chipped blade menacingly. She could guess they weren’t going to leave her without getting something.
Yeah? She had an expert roundhouse kick she’d give them both. But the first smart line of defense was to run. So she dodged to the right and raced toward the chain-link fence blocking off the alley. Hooking her fingers in the frozen links, she pulled herself up, yet a boot toe slipped on the icy metal, causing her to drop.
Hanging from the fence by numb fingers, Cassandra struggled for hold. Her attackers did not come after her from below. One jumped over her head and landed a precarious balance on top of the fence. An impossible feat. How had he—?
He grinned down at her from his gargoyle post, revealing long, pointy fangs.
Shit. Her fingers slid from the chain links, and Cassandra dropped to the ground.
Vampires were not something she’d trained to defend herself against. Only recently her sister, Coco, had alerted her to the vampires’ involvement in the frazzled mess she called her life. She’d been doing research and had secured a weapon, but hadn’t expected them so soon. Or ever.
Straightening, she drew in a breath. When life gave her surprises, Cassandra snapped to all-systems-ready mode.
The fence vamp dropped and backed her up against a garbage bin in the dead-end alley. Snow swirled in from the street, and she was starting to feel some serious freeze on her thighs where her boots ended and didn’t meet her dress. Never mind the chill against her bare back that made it difficult to stand still.
Stupid to have abandoned her car in this weather. But it wasn’t as if it was drivable with an angel literally embedded within it.
Times like this she wished for superheroine powers. She’d often wondered what her muse powers were. Shouldn’t she have some? Granny Stevens had always shaken her head and smiled wistfully.
Her wrist itched and the sigil glowed. That could be very bad, or possibly a lifesaver at a moment like this one.
“You got some kind of funky tattoo?” the one with the blade demanded. He did not sound German, but rather Russian, though he spoke English well enough.
“Wait,” the not-all-star, diamond-earring thug said. “You know what that is, Russell?”
“Haven’t a clue. Some kind of club stamp?”
“I think we found her.” The biggest thug crushed her petite body against the wall with his two-hundred-fifty-plus-pound frame, most of the weight in his gut. “Go keep watch,” he said over a shoulder to his buddy.
“If she’s one of them, we have to bring her to the boss.”
“We will. Isn’t that right, pretty little muse?”
Now Cassandra screamed. It was involuntary, her body reacting against her brain’s better judgment.
The one who’d went to keep watch soared over her and her aggressor’s heads and landed on the top of the garbage bin with a dull thud. The blade dropped from the tossed man’s hand and landed in the snow.
“What the hell?” The vampire holding her switched his attention to the tall, shirtless man standing not ten feet from them. He held a Taser in one hand and wielded a cocky grin like a switchblade.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” the angel said.
“What took you so long?” Cassandra spit. The vampire still held her by a shoulder, but if he twisted farther to look at the angel …
“Sorry. I had to shake a car off my wings.”
“Your wings?” the vampire asked. “What, are you some kind of faery?”
The angel straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “I say wings, and your first guess is faery?” He shook his head and made a come- and-get-me gesture with the fingers wrapped around the Taser.
The vampire released Cassandra and turned to the angel in time to catch the Taser’s copper hooks with his thighs.
Sam preened over the powerful device and nodded. “This is nice. I gotta get one of these for myself.”
The vampire ripped out the hooks from his legs and growled. “Try again, you bloody faery.”
“You shouldn’t use foul language in front of a lady.” Tucking the Taser into a back pocket, the Fallen then held up a palm, fingers tight together, and pointed them toward the vampire. “You ready for this?”
“Ready for—”
The angel shoved his spaded fingers through the vampire’s chest, pulled him forward and slapped his spasming body onto the ground. A hot, meaty blood scent assaulted Cassandra’s nose. The angel roared in myriad tongues like he had in the car. And in one hand, he held a bloody mass from which a puddle of crimson rapidly formed around his boots.
“Mercy.” Cassandra’s knees wobbled. She was on the verge of hypothermia, too out of sorts, and she’d just watched an angel rip out a vampire’s heart.
“Too bad there aren’t any witches in the area,” the warrior angel commented to the blubbering vamp. “I know they have a use for vampire hearts. Keeps them immortal.”
The angel tossed the heart behind him, then made a gesture with his fingers that sent the vampire, seemingly weightless as a pillow, onto the garbage bin atop the other attacker.
He bent and plunged his bloody hand into the snow to clean it off, and Cassandra noticed the flesh on his back was seamless. No sign wings had been there. It was broad and burnished from the sun and it would probably warm her if she clung to him….
Just need heat.
“Shall we?” Sam offered an arm, glistening with fresh-fallen snow and vampire blood. “I don’t think these two are the sort you should be spending your time with, honey.”
“D-don’t honey me.”
