Demon's Delight (8 page)

She couldn't believe it. That was gratitude for you. “Fine, then, Gabriel whatever-your-last-name-is. I won't come to your aid again. And believe me, if you hang around here with that baby-faced innocent look, you will soon be facing those punks again, or others like them.”

“Baby-faced?” He seemed genuinely affronted. “Is that how you see me?”

Not really, but she wasn't in the mood to stroke his ego. She folded her arms across her chest and nodded.

He looked heavenward. “She thinks I'm baby-faced.” His gaze returned to her. “As I told you, I can handle anything that comes my way.” He extended his arm, palm up. “Watch.”

She didn't want to. What she wanted was to put as much distance between this man and herself as possible. Besides the fact that he made her very uncomfortable, there was the little problem of his knowledge about her and his being immune to her glamour. “Forget it. I'm leaving.”

“Wait. Watch.”

There was a powerful compulsion in his voice, and she simply didn't want to expend the energy to fight it. He wasn't a vampire, so what, exactly, was he?

A sudden shaft of light exploded from the palm of his hand, shooting upward. Rachel was so startled, a small scream erupted from her throat, and she stumbled backward. But she couldn't take her gaze off the beacon of light. It was both mesmerizing and terrible, a swirling mass of blue and gold flames within the brightly glowing beam, which went way up into the sky, disappearing into a starburst of more light. It crackled with energy she could feel, even as she backed away. The air around them was charged, sending tingling sensations through her body.

Gabriel was lit up like a freaking solar explosion, with bursts of light shooting out from all around him. And his hair was blowing around his face, even though there wasn't a hint of a breeze. All the while, that horrifying light kept streaming out of his palm.
Oh, my—
No. She was not saying
His
name. Add one more thing to her list of dislikes about this man: He scared the crap out of her. She was out of there.

Rachel whirled and ran. He called after her, but she only ran faster. Terror shot adrenaline through her body, making it hard to breathe, to think, to function. But the primal need to survive was strong and clear. It was no longer a question of
who
this man was, but
what
he was. She didn't want to know. In a world where vampires were a certainty, the possibility of numerous other monsters was too real. Not to mention the human monsters plaguing the world throughout history.

With her superhuman speed and the adrenaline jolt, she ran the miles to the hospital parking garage in record time. Heaving a sigh of relief, she dug her keys from her fanny pack as she jogged up the ramp to the third level. She looked toward her car, and utter shock jolted through her. The keys slipped from her fingers, clattered on the concrete.

“I didn't mean to frighten you.” Gabriel pushed away from where he'd been leaning against her car and came toward her.

She backed away. “Don't come near me.”

He stopped. “I won't hurt you, Rachel. If I had evil intentions, I could have fulfilled them at any time. Right?”

That made sense, except she was so freaked, her mind wasn't functioning very well at the moment. She took another step back.

“I'm here to help you,” he said. “I swear on all that's holy it's the truth.”

Holy didn't have a place in her life anymore. “I keep telling you I don't want any help. Go away.”

He sighed. “I can't do that. Look, maybe I shouldn't have shown you that power flash, but I wanted to assure you that I can take of myself. And to give you a glimpse of who I am.”

“I don't care who you are. I just want you to leave me the hell alone.”

“I already told you I can't do that.” He took a step closer, held out his hand as she turned to bolt. “Running is futile. I can track you wherever you go. Why don't you hear me out before you do anything rash? You know you want to.”

There it was again—that hint of compulsion. She resisted it, as she debated what to do. She sensed sincerity behind his words. The fact he'd beaten her to her car—hell, that he even knew what she drove and where it was parked—showed he was very powerful. She probably couldn't defeat him. She hated feeling powerless. When she left Germany, she had sworn she'd never be helpless, or at anyone's mercy again.

“This isn't about control or domination,” Gabriel said quietly.

Startled, she stared at him. Was he a mind reader as well? Here in the semilighted garage, he didn't look very threatening. He appeared to be just an attractive man with thick, dark-blond hair and unusual blue eyes. Even the brightness he emanated was less obvious here, probably because of the lighting.

“I know you've suffered a lot, Rachel.”

She stiffened, realizing he was suddenly in front of her. How had he moved so quickly, without her seeing his movement?

He touched her, clasping her shoulders. Warmth tingled from his hands into her chilled body. She gasped, tried to step back, but he tightened his grip. “I'm here to show you how to move from a minimal existence to a full, meaningful life. The life you were denied in Germany. The life God wants you to have.”

That word again. “I don't believe in Him. Let go of me.”

He ran his hands lightly down her arms. The electricity followed. “That doesn't matter. She believes in you.”

“She?”
Rachel realized she was getting distracted, brought her attention back to the matter at hand. “Never mind. I don't want to know.”

He grinned, and the light around him surged. Damn. She needed sunglasses. “We can accomplish a lot without talking about She whose name you will not say,” he said.

How did he know about her aversion to God? And…
She?
“I still don't understand.” Rachel tried to tug free of his grasp, failed. Tried again, using superhuman force this time. Failed again. “Damn it! Let me go.” When he just looked at her, she considered, added, “Please.”

He released her, and the chill returned. She rubbed her now-cold arms, her mind running through options. She was smart, had been very bright when she was human, the top of her class in school. But it really didn't take much intelligence to conclude she might as well listen to what he had to say. She couldn't glamour him, couldn't outrun him, and couldn't overpower him. He had the upper hand—for now.

“So talk,” she said.

He stepped back, shoved his hands into his pockets. “You already know I'm here to help you. You suspect I'm some sort of monster. That's not exactly right. I am, however, a supernatural being. But I'm on the good side.”

She couldn't stop the question that tumbled out. “What are you?”

His gaze locked with hers, and his eyes grew even more luminous, taking on an otherworldly glow. “I'm an angel.”

R
ACHEL
stared at Gabe, her dark eyes huge in her porcelain-white face. She was fairly tall, probably around five feet, seven inches, but she was very slender, almost delicate. Her boots and suggestive clothing, along with her attitude, made her appear bigger and tougher, and her current incarnation as a vampire gave her superhuman strength. But he knew she was emotionally vulnerable.

“I don't believe you.” She took a step backward. “Angels don't exist. Just like G—Just like He…Her—oh, hell,
whatever
, doesn't exist. You're just another weirdo. Go mess with someone else.”

“We do exist. If I'm not an angel, how do you explain the burst of light from my palm earlier? Would you like a replay, just to be sure? Or some other display that might convince you?”

She shuddered. “No.”

“Then I guess you're just going to have to accept my word in good faith.”

“Faith,” she scoffed. “Just what exactly should I have faith in?”

He hesitated, knowing she wouldn't be receptive to him suggesting she place her trust in a higher being, or in the basic goodness of most humans. “How about in yourself?”

“Oh, yeah, I'm the ideal role model for young girls everywhere.” She looked away, seemed to be considering. Looked back at him. “If you're an angel, where are your wings?”

“I don't happen to have any on me at the moment. I'm in a human body, just like you are.” He felt a twinge of regret about the circumstances that had convinced him he needed to visit Earth in the flesh.

“But I'm not human.”

“Yes, you are. You're just a…variation.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right. That's a good one. Tell me something that's true.”

“All right. Despite this body, I
am
an angel. You can't glamour me, beat me up, or outrun me. That should be proof of sorts.”

She turned and walked slowly past several cars. Her shoulders were hunched slightly, as if she was protecting herself from the world. She stopped, stiffened. Even from here, he could feel the tension rolling off her, then the anger. She whirled, her gaze fierce. “If you're really an angel, where were you when we were being herded like animals into cattle cars and taken to Dachau?
Where, damn you?
”

She strode toward him. “Where the hell were you when my family was murdered?” She reached him, shoved him so hard, he stumbled backward. She followed, twisted her hand in his jacket, yanked him back him to her. “How about when those soldiers took me behind the barracks and—” Her voice broke, and her eyes glistened. But he could see the rage had not abated.

Could feel it, too, when she slammed him against a concrete support beam, knocking the breath from him, and probably crushing a few vertebrae. He offered no resistance. She was entitled to her pain and fury.

“And when that Nazi soldier decided to turn me, were you watching?” Her eyes bore into his, dark pools of eternity and suffering. “How about when I was in agony, begging for death,
praying
to be destroyed so I wouldn't become the monster he was? Why didn't
He
—
She
—
anyone
answer?”

He stared back, compassion and his own burden of failure beating at him. “Because of free will,” he said quietly. “We can't stop events that are set in motion by free will and human actions.”

“Then you're worthless, aren't you? Damn you to hell and back!” A new glow came to her eyes; her hand tightened on his mangled jacket. “Maybe I should make you a freak like me. Let you experience firsthand what it's like to be a monster that has to drink human blood just to exist in misery.” She gave him a parody of a smile, let him see her gleaming fangs. “Yeah. That's what I should do.”

With her free hand, she gripped his head, tilting it to the side and exposing his neck. She leaned so close, he felt her breath on his skin, felt the brush of sharp incisors. He wanted her to choose—oh, he wanted her to make the choice.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Take what you need. I know you only had one client tonight. I can feel your hunger.”

She hesitated, growled. Pressed her teeth closer.

“Yes, Rachel. Do it. Blood is life. You deserve to live.”

He really thought she was going to. Steeled himself as her fangs scraped over his jugular vein. But then she jerked back, dropping him as if he were a white-hot brand.

“No! I wouldn't sink so low to drink from you,” she hissed. “You're crazy, you know that? Why would you allow me to suck you dry, turn you into a monster, like me?”

“Would you really do that, Rachel?”

“Hell yes!”

He almost smiled at her belligerent tone. “But I wouldn't be
allowing
you to do it. You would be
choosing
to do it. Free will.”

Her hands clenched by her side. “I don't remember my family choosing to go to Dachau. I certainly didn't choose to
dally
behind the barracks with those Nazi bastards, or become…” She gestured down her slender body.
“This.”

“I know.” He straightened his clothing, tried not to groan as his abused spine cracked and popped. “The Holocaust was the direct result of many people's decisions and choices. Hitler's actions, those who chose to follow him; those who chose to live and have families in Europe. Celestial beings can't force decisions, choices, or actions on anyone. Nor can we interfere with the results of those actions. The Law is clear—humans have been given the gift of free will. All we can do is guide and encourage someone to take the higher path.”

She tossed her dark, wavy hair over her shoulder. “I'm on a set path now. I can't change what I am. My only choices are to take blood and stay alive, or commit suicide. Do you think I should kill myself?”

“Certainly not!” he said, shocked.

“Then I have to drink blood, so there's nothing you can do for me, is there?”

“It's true there's nothing
I
can do for you, Rachel, except guide you. But there's a lot
you
can do. You can live the life you've been given. You can make choices that are fulfilling on physical, mental, and spiritual levels. Help others. Grow closer to Go—uh, do things that will purify your soul.”

She rolled her eyes—a trait that was almost as endearing as it was exasperating. “I don't have a soul.”

“That's a topic we'll be debating over the next week.”

“What?”

“That's all I'm asking of you. A week of your time.”

She stared at him, her eyes flared wide. “You want us to spend an entire week together?”

“It won't be that much. Just every night for a week.”

“That's insane. I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“I have to…eat. And I need to earn money, too.”

“That's fine. You can spend the first part of the evening with me, and then take the rest of it to attend to business. One week, Rachel. That's all I'm asking.”

“But
why
?”

“If I could explain it all right now, we wouldn't need that week, now would we?”

She didn't want to do it. He could almost see the wheels turning in that quick mind of hers. Her full mouth took on a sulky slant. “You can't make me spend seven nights with you. Especially if I
choose
not to.
Free will
.”

“Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before.” He walked over and picked up her keys. “I can't make you do it, Rachel. But you can't make me stop hanging around every night, either. Can't keep me from observing as you ‘do business.'”

She glared at him as he handed her the keys. “You're a real bastard.”

“You need to expand your vocabulary. You're starting to get repetitive.”

If looks could kill, his mortal body would be dead right now. She gripped the keys so tightly, her knuckles were white.

“It's just one week,” he said persuasively, using a touch of compulsion. “Then I'll be gone from your life—for good, if that's what you want.” He hoped that wouldn't be the case.

“So I really don't have a choice.”

He shrugged. “You always have a choice. But then you have to live with the consequences.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes again and looking none too happy. “Fine!” she snapped. “I'll do it, if you give me your word that you'll leave me
completely
alone after that. Seven nights—that's all!”

He felt as if a ten-ton load had been lifted from his shoulders. “You have my word on it. I'll meet you at the corner of Harry Hines and Shea tomorrow night, at seven. It should be dark enough then. And don't think of reneging—I can find you.”

Without another word, she whirled and strode to her black Honda. To her credit, she didn't slam the door when she got in. But she was driving overly fast as she screeched down the ramps.

He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath, until it flowed out of him in a sigh of relief. He'd made the first hurdle. But Rachel was very strong minded, as well as resistant to mild compulsion, which
was
allowed. Not only that, she'd had more than sixty-five years of pain and misery to harden her. He'd known she would be one of his tougher cases, which was why he'd made the decision to enter a physical incarnation in order to help her.

His odds of success with her weren't any higher than those of his charges who had refused to be helped, despite his best efforts. He remembered each and every one of them, every detail of their hopeless faces, every sensation of their fear and despair. They, along with the weight of his failures, would be with him through eternity.

Gabe ran his hand through his hair. This free-will rule was a bitch.

 

Rachel strutted back and forth, waiting for Gabriel. It was quiet, way too early for much action, so she was alone with her churning emotions. She
hated
being manipulated, hated being forced to do anything against her will. Years ago—lifetimes ago—she'd sworn she would never be at anyone's mercy, or subject to their whims.
Never again.

But here she was, stuck with an angel—an
angel
—for the next seven nights. She didn't see where she'd had a choice, though; it didn't appear she could shake Gabriel. Plus she'd given her word, a rare happening for her; but vampire or not, she did have some integrity. She hissed in frustration.

A car horn interrupted her fuming, and she looked over to see a white Acura turning onto Shea and stopping. Caitria rolled down her passenger window and leaned over. “Hey, lil' bitchhomie, how you doing? Haven't seen you in a few weeks.”

Caitria was a black woman who'd been hooking a long time. She was in her late twenties, but drug use and too many backhands from her long-term boyhomie, as she referred to him, had left her looking used up. She was a tall, hefty woman who liked her food. “Girl, you need to be eatin' more—do some of that carb loading,” she often told Rachel. “Men don't like scrawny women. They like some meat on them bones, somethin' they can sink into, you know?”

They'd met when Caitria had been driving by, just as a street person went nuclear and attacked Rachel. Caitria had parked her car in the middle of the road and come out swinging a purse that had to weigh more than a bowling ball. Of course Rachel could easily have handled the man, but Caitria had no way of knowing that. She'd chased him halfway down the block and then strutted back in four-inch platform shoes, her ample hips swaying. “I showed his ass. You okay, girl?”

That had been the start of an unusual relationship—with them speaking when they saw each other, which led to occasionally having coffee, with Caitria venting about her abusive man. She'd been with him for years, had two children with him, and wasn't willing to leave him. Caitria apparently considered Rachel a friend, a baffling and uncertain experience for her. She'd avoided all relationships since she'd left Germany, but this woman had somehow barged past her barriers.

She walked to the car. “Hey, Caitria. I'm all right. How about you?”

“Business been a little slow.” Caitria self-consciously raised a hand with inch-long, bloodred nails and numerous sparkling rings to a swollen cheek. “Them damned police makin' it harder and harder for a ho to earn a livin'.”

Which meant her man Danyon was whaling on her because she wasn't supporting him in the manner he wanted. Rachel would love to meet him in an alley someday, give him some of his own medicine. But he never made the Harry Hines scene, so she hadn't met him at all.