Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels
Read Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels Online
Authors: Heather Killough-Walden
Table of Contents
LOVE FOUND
Uriel’s heart stopped beating. His jaw dropped open.
He couldn’t be seeing what he was seeing in that moment. He
couldn’t
be feeling what he was feeling. Not now. Not here, in a
bathroom
—after two thousand years. Maybe he’d slipped in the rain outside and hit his head.
couldn’t
be feeling what he was feeling. Not now. Not here, in a
bathroom
—after two thousand years. Maybe he’d slipped in the rain outside and hit his head.
No, that was impossible. He was relatively invincible. Being hit on the head would do nothing to him but make him a little cranky.
She was really standing there before him. She was real; he could see her, hear her—he could even smell her. She smelled like shampoo and soap and lavender.
Jesus,
he thought, unable to refrain from letting his gaze drop down her body and back up again. She was everything that he had ever imagined she would be, from her tall, slim body to her long jet-black hair, and those indigo blue eyes the color of a Milky Way night. Her skin was like porcelain. Her lips were plump and pink and framed perfect, white teeth. She was an
angel
.
he thought, unable to refrain from letting his gaze drop down her body and back up again. She was everything that he had ever imagined she would be, from her tall, slim body to her long jet-black hair, and those indigo blue eyes the color of a Milky Way night. Her skin was like porcelain. Her lips were plump and pink and framed perfect, white teeth. She was an
angel
.
She was his archess. And she was . . .
scowling
at him?
scowling
at him?
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Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,
Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124,
Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park,
New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckalnd 0632,
New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue,
Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, November 2011
Copyright © Heather Killough-Walden, 2011
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN : 978-1-101-55869-0
For Fran, who really is an angel now
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With deep, heartfelt thanks to:
My husband and dearest friend, who inspires me, advises me, has faith in me, gives me hope, keeps me going, and holds me tight. I would be nowhere without him.
My daughter, who tries so very hard to let me write even though she really just wants to be with Mama.
My parents, who never stopped believing in me.
My brother, who always asks how my writing is going.
My dear friend Mary, whose reviews and advice keep me honest.
My dear friend Meagan, for giving me the rare time I need to pen my words.
LSU’s Religious Studies Department, for fostering within me a deep love of all things eldritch.
Erotica Republic, for their immense help and invaluable feedback.
Bob Mecoy, who gave me a chance.
My wonderful agent, Robert, the miracle worker who makes magic happen.
My editor, for her invaluable insight.
And my überprecious “sources”: Susan Stewart, Bruce Officer, and the myriad of willing, friendly storytellers in Scotland.
INTRODUCTION
L
ong ago, the Old Man gathered together his four favored archangels, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Azrael. He pointed to four stars in the sky that shone brighter than the others. He told the archangels that he wished to reward them for their loyalty and had created for them soul mates. Four perfect female beings—archesses.
ong ago, the Old Man gathered together his four favored archangels, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Azrael. He pointed to four stars in the sky that shone brighter than the others. He told the archangels that he wished to reward them for their loyalty and had created for them soul mates. Four perfect female beings—archesses.
However, before the archangels could claim their mates, the four archesses were lost to them and scattered to the wind, beyond their realm and reach. The archangels made the choice to leave their world, journey to Earth, and seek out their mates.
For thousands of years, the archangels have searched. But they have not searched alone. For they are not the only entities to leave their realm and come to Earth to hunt for the archesses. They were followed by another. . . .
CHAPTER ONE
2,000 years BCE
T
he archangel Michael gripped the rock in his right hand so hard that his fingers left imprints in the stone. His jaw was clenched, his eyes shut fast against the pain coursing through his veins. The woods were sparse this far north and the ground beneath him grew colder and harder as the strength was sapped from his inhuman body.
he archangel Michael gripped the rock in his right hand so hard that his fingers left imprints in the stone. His jaw was clenched, his eyes shut fast against the pain coursing through his veins. The woods were sparse this far north and the ground beneath him grew colder and harder as the strength was sapped from his inhuman body.
His brother, the archangel Azrael, transformed as he was to a predatory creature, had his fangs embedded deep in the side of his throat, and with each pull and swallow, Michael experienced a new and deeper agony.
“Az . . . that’s enough,” he ground out, hissing the words through gritted teeth.
I’m sorry
, came Azrael’s hesitant reply. He didn’t speak the words, but Michael could hear the genuine regret skating through his brother’s mind. Azrael had yet to pull out—to stop drinking him down.
, came Azrael’s hesitant reply. He didn’t speak the words, but Michael could hear the genuine regret skating through his brother’s mind. Azrael had yet to pull out—to stop drinking him down.
Not for the first time, Michael knew he would have to use force. He picked up the rock that his fingers grasped, and after another grimace and wince of pain, he slammed the stone into the side of Azrael’s head. His brother’s teeth were ripped from his neck, tearing long gashes in his flesh as Azrael toppled to the side, catching himself on strong but shaking arms.
“Az,” Michael gasped, dropping the rock to cup his hand to the side of his neck. “Az, I’m sorry.” He slowly rolled over, propping himself on one elbow as he attempted to heal the damage. Light and warmth grew beneath his palm, sending curative energy into his wound. But Azrael’s head was still down, his long sable hair concealing his features from Michael’s sight.
“Az?”
“Stop, Michael. I can’t bear it.”
Michael felt the healing complete itself, heard his heart beat steady within his body and closed his eyes. His brother had an incredibly beautiful voice. And yet now it resonated with despair.
Michael let his hand drop and sat up the rest of the way. He opened his eyes again and looked upon his brother’s bent form. “This pain you’re going through can’t last much longer,” he said softly.
“A single moment longer is too long,” Azrael whispered. Slowly, and with what appeared to be great effort, his tall dark figure straightened. He raised his head to meet his brother’s gaze and Michael found himself once more staring into eyes of glowing gold, eerie and mesmerizing, in the handsome frame of Azrael’s face.
“Kill me,” Azrael said.
Michael steeled himself and shook his head. “Never.”
If any one of the four archangel brothers could have summoned the will to kill the other, it would not have been Michael or even Azrael, but rather Uriel. He was the Angel of Vengeance. Only Uriel would be capable of comprehending what it would take to smother empathy and reason and love long enough to deal the final blow Azrael begged for.
But Uriel was not with them. He and their other brother, the archangel Gabriel, had been lost in their plummet to the Earth two weeks ago. The four archangels had been separated and scattered, like dried and dead leaves on a hurricane wind. Michael had no idea where the others were, much less what they might be going through.
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