Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (9 page)

Uriel nodded and Max was impressed with the archangel’s learned patience. “I know, baby, but wait until we know for sure that we need you there. I don’t want you walking into a trap or something.”

Ellie seemed to consider that a moment. She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and nodded. “Fine, go fast. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Uriel kissed her on the forehead—and then kissed her on the lips. And then he and his brothers and Max turned and made their way across the backstage area. None of them mentioned Jacqueline Rain or the show they were missing as they came to the stage’s exit. This was more important. It was the reason they were there on Earth to begin with.

Azrael easily dealt with the minds of the humans around them, hypnotizing them into stunned acquiescence as he moved past them. At the same time, he used another of his powers to scramble the electrical field in the building. The lights went out as the group reached the exit and pushed through the metal door. Chaos ensued behind them, but they ignored it.

Max closed the exit door and stepped to the side. Azrael was already raising his arm toward the very same door. As they watched, a portal swirled to life around the exit, expanding to reveal the foggy darkness of the Scotland night beyond.

* * *

Gabriel got up from the bench in the small cell and walked to the bars. There, he held out the phone he’d been given and Constable Fields, a young Englishman who had turned Scot when he’d fallen in love with the nation in his teens, took it back with a nod.

Then, as was expected of him, Gabriel turned and allowed the officer to cuff him through the bars once more, on Dougal’s orders. It was useless, of course, but humans wouldn’t know that.

Gabriel made his way back to the bench and sat down. Then he took a very slow, very deep breath and let it out through his tender nose. It was still healing from the Adarian’s assault. He glanced up and surveyed the room. There were three guards beyond the bars to his cell: one doing paperwork, another taking a phone call, and a third drinking coffee as he carefully watched the prisoner, which his chief inspector had told him was top priority.

Even if Gabriel had possessed the use of his hands in that moment, he would not have been able to call a portal to the mansion. There were too many witnesses and that was something the archangels had decided on preventing at all costs long ago.

Angus Dougal had left promptly after delivering Gabriel to the jail. He’d said he was going after the girl who had rented the hotel room. She was a witness in this affair.

Though Gabe had made a call to Max, he’d had to be covert about the details, using the language they’d spoken before coming to Earth two thousand years ago. He only hoped Max would remember enough of it to understand what was really going on and respond to the urgency of the situation. He was almost positive he would, but
almost
positive wasn’t good enough to quell his fears.

Juliette.

He closed his eyes and spoke the word softly, a whisper only he could hear. It felt like a promise across his tongue, sweet and smooth and perfect. It was such a beautiful name. Gabriel had fallen in love with the character from Shakespeare’s play immediately upon reading the work more than four hundred years ago. There had been something ethereal and yet strong about her. William had captured it sublimely.

“Comfy, Black?”

Gabriel opened his eyes again and stared out at the man on the other side of the bars. Jake Campbell was a sergeant in the constabulary and the kind of man who thoroughly enjoyed pulling his rank as often as possible. Even Angus Dougal wasn’t overly fond of the sergeant; Campbell’s pale face and somewhat watery eyes reminded Gabriel of the sticky, slithering features of a cave creature, trapped without light for too many years. As if to make up for an appearance he knew was less than perfect, Campbell used steroids and worked out at the local gymnasium nearly every day of the week. As a result, he was a walking combination of resentment and testosterone wrapped in the skin of a fish.

“Sod off,” Gabriel muttered, all but ignoring the man.

Keys instantly jangled in the lock of the cell, and Gabriel knew well what was coming. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Over the past two millennia, he’d been through much, much worse.

Still, it was irritating to know that he couldn’t knock the rat unconscious. He certainly couldn’t kill anyone—that went without saying. Maintaining a normal profile and hiding his archangel heritage aside, it was essential to appear all but human if you planned on returning to the same locale century after century. He’d managed it so far. He didn’t want to screw it up now.

Then again.

Juliette was out there in the cold and she was his archess, and a man reached a point in his life when he both knew what he wanted and
had
it, and if he didn’t hold on with tooth and nail in that moment, he could lose it forever. He could so easily break out of here. He could use any number of his powers to either melt the bars or send objects flying around the room with telekinesis or open a portal through the jailhouse door into the mansion.

And Max would be obligated to clean the mess up. That was what he was there for. He could wipe the memories of these officers, clear records, and destroy footage and no one would be the wiser.

So. Easy.

Just as he was making up his mind to do it, the sergeant entered the cell like a righteous storm and pulled the truncheon from his belt. Gabriel stood and broke the cuffs behind his back.

There was a scuffling sound beyond the bars of Gabriel’s cell and he knew that the other men were mobilizing. Someone rushed forward to pull Campbell backward, away from Gabriel, and Gabe looked up toward the doorway behind them in time to see a Colt .45 materialize out of thin air a split second before the invisible Adarian used it on one of the officers.

In the blink of an eye, the weapon was fired at Fields as the confused constable turned a stunned look on the floating firearm over Campbell’s shoulder. The Adarian pulled the trigger twice and Fields jerked backward, releasing Campbell to land on the desk behind him, then roll over it.

Gabriel rushed toward the Adarian, but was knocked viciously backward as the gun was turned on him and a bullet sliced through the air. The impact took him by enough surprise that he had to catch himself on the bars of the cell to keep from falling.

A few feet away, Campbell stared at the floating weapon, horror shaping his features. The weapon was then turned back on him and fired three more times.

Gabriel ignored the pain in his jaw and shoved himself away from the bars. He was on top of the Adarian then. There was a flicker, a blinding flash of light, and the Adarian was solid again.

His green eyes flashed malignantly. “How will you explain this one, Gabe?” he hissed as Gabriel tried to wrestle the weapon out of the man’s hand. “You’ve attacked two officers and escaped from your cell.” He
tsk
ed reproachingly, gritted his teeth, and then roared with rage as he grabbed Gabriel by the front of his shirt and spun with him until he could slam him up against the wall.

Gabriel hit the wall hard and heard the plaster crack beneath the impact. “It’ll be easy with your dead body as evidence,” he hissed back, taking one from the Adarian’s book and slamming his forehead into his opponent’s nose.

The blond man reared back, eyes closed, and dropped the gun as he covered his nose with his hand. Gabriel took the opportunity to lunge at him, ready to end this fight once and for all.

And that was when the Adarian reached his free hand behind his back, took the shard gun from the waistband of his jeans, and aimed it at Gabriel’s head. It happened so fast, Gabriel found himself literally skidding to a halt, his breathing ragged, his eyes burning in his face. He knew they must be glowing.

He hated shard guns. They were an Adarian invention, and evil to the core. Their bullets—if they could be called that—solidified flesh into stone upon contact, and the horrible poison of their effect spread until it encompassed a good portion of a victim’s body. The pain was immense and unrelenting, and being healed from such a wound was nearly worse. He should know. He’d been shot with the infernal weapons numerous times.

“Do you have any idea,” the Adarian asked as he wiped the blood from his nose on the back of his hand and cocked his weapon, “what it’s like to have all the power in the world but the one you need most?” With this, he quickly swung the gun down at Gabriel’s left leg and pulled the trigger twice. The gun flashed, the air warped, and Gabriel’s lower body was wrapped in horrid, solidifying pain.

He fell to his knees.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? Imagine you had no one to heal you from that pain,” the Adarian sneered, his green eyes glowing now as well. “No Michael, the fucking blessed. But someone out there
could
help you. And she was destined to be with someone
else
.” This time, he swung the gun to his left, put two shard blasts in Gabriel’s right leg, and again leveled the weapon on Gabriel’s head.

Gabriel’s heart hammered behind his ribs; he could hear the flow of blood through his eardrums.
This isn’t happening,
he thought.
Az!
he called out, wondering whether Max and his brothers were close enough yet for Azrael to hear him with his vampiric mind-reading ability.
Azrael!
He was in so much pain. There were no words for this kind of pain. Flesh was not meant to be petrified. . . .
Az, for fuck’s sake! People are dying!

We’re here,
came the calm reply.
We’re coming.

And then the Adarian pulled the trigger again and Gabriel knew it was coming. There was a split second of warning in his opponent’s green eyes—it was enough. Gabriel lunged to the right and took the shard blast in the shoulder as he went down, hit the ground, and rolled to a stunned, heavy stop a few feet away.

“You’re a bloody coward,” Gabriel told him with as much calm as he could maintain. Agony was warping his senses, but on the sidelines of his consciousness, he knew human lives were fading. Hearts were slowing and blood was going stagnant in emptying veins. What the hell was taking Max so long? These men needed Michael!

“And you’re a selfish bastard,” the Adarian hissed in return. “You have everything.” He shook his head and something strange flickered in his eyes. His sneer softened and his expression took on a faint poignant cast. “And I have nearly nothing left to lose.”

The door to the jailhouse slammed open as the Adarian weapon went off a final time. The bullet whizzed past Gabriel and blackened the plaster wall behind him as a red-gold mist cascaded into the room on a hurricane wind.

The Adarian cried out as the gun was knocked from his hand, and his body was picked up and tossed across the room. He hit the opposite wall with tremendous force and slid down its length, knocking a corkboard and various wanted posters to the ground beneath him.

At once, he was invisible again, vanishing from sight even as Azrael’s mist coalesced and solidified into his tall, strong form.

“Don’ let ’im get away!” Gabriel shouted, knowing the Adarian would make a break for it, slip past them, and be gone without a trace. But the warning was useless. Even as Azrael lunged forward with that impossible kind of speed only a vampire archangel could exhibit, it was clear the Adarian was already gone.

So, Azrael let him go and focused on Gabriel.

Gabe watched as his brother gracefully knelt beside him and surveyed the damage. “You’re fortunate he missed your vitals,” he said calmly, even while Gabriel just wanted to curl his fingers into fists in the black material of Azrael’s sport coat.

“Where’s Michael?” Gabriel asked, his words hissing shakily through clenched teeth.
Eleanore would work, too,
he added mentally, knowing Azrael could hear his thoughts.

“He’s coming,” Az replied, setting a gentle hand on Gabriel’s untouched shoulder. And then the vampire turned to glance over his own shoulder at the fallen officers behind them, and his expression became very grim. “He can’t heal all of you.”
We’ll need to get Ellie up here, after all.

Over Uriel’s dead body,
Gabriel thought. He knew the former Angel of Vengeance would never allow his wife to get involved in something like this. Then again, Eleanore wasn’t the kind of woman to be denied something when she really wanted it. And she would claw through anyone and anything who kept her from healing someone in need.

If necessary.
Azrael smiled, his own projected thought reflecting Gabriel’s internal reasoning.

CHAPTER NINE

“W
hat the—”

Azrael stood as Uriel and Michael came through the doorway, Max behind them. Michael surveyed the damage; his gaze fell upon the injured men, and at once he was at the constable’s side, his hand pressed tightly to Gerald Fields’s bleeding chest.

“Michael, save some of that,” Max warned softly, his worried tone drawing Michael’s attention even as the wounds in the man beneath him began to close up. Michael met Max’s gaze and Max nodded toward Gabriel.

Gabriel tried not to let his expression show how much pain he was in. His wounds were not life-threatening. The humans, however, would most certainly die without Michael’s immediate attention.

“Get Ellie,” Michael commanded calmly.

Gabriel glanced at Uriel to see the archangel run a rough hand over his face. He obviously had an objection to this. He also obviously knew they had no choice in the matter. Uriel waited two seconds more and then opened a portal to the mansion through the office door.

When he’d disappeared, Gabriel closed his eyes, unable to keep from succumbing to the pain any longer. The wound in his cheek and jaw smarted. Shard guns were an Adarian invention, and Adarian enemies were never human. The guns were made to defeat supernatural beings—
archangels
. And that, they did perfectly. At that moment, Gabriel felt as if he had three appendages with third-degree burns all the way down to the bone. A burning, throbbing, insistent, and horribly wrong kind of pain—that was as close a comparison as he could summon.

He heard scuffling and shuffling across the room and knew that Michael had moved to tend to the other officer. He also knew that healing mortal wounds was horribly draining for an angel. He wondered how his brother was feeling at that moment.

“Hang in there, bro,” came the sudden reply as Michael knelt over him and Gabriel opened his eyes.

Michael’s sapphire blue irises were glowing with stunning, unnatural light. He was pulling his strength from deep within at the moment. Gabriel could see that sweat was just beginning to dampen his thick blond waves.

“Ellie’s coming,” Gabriel gritted out. “Don’ bother.”

“Let me try.”

“Suit your bloody self,” Gabriel growled, letting his head fall back on his arm and closing his eyes. He felt Michael’s hand on his chest then, hot like a brand, and his teeth clenched so tight, he thought they might break.

What remained of Michael’s power seeped through the archangel’s palm and into Gabriel’s body, spreading across the muscles of his chest until it had enveloped his entire upper torso. From there, it traveled across his petrified shoulder and Gabriel felt a tingling. He sensed the healing power as if from far off, through too many layers.

It was too weak.

“I can do your arm, but then I’m tapped,” Michael told him, slightly out of breath. Just as he’d said, Gabriel felt Michael’s magic de-solidifying his arm; it crackled and popped as it melted back into living flesh, and Gabriel put his good wrist between his teeth to keep from bellowing with the agony.

When it was done, Michael sat back on his heels and ran a slightly shaky hand through his damp hair. Gabriel peered up at him through blurring vision. The pain was getting the best of him and he wasn’t even one-third of the way mended.

Behind Michael, Gabriel could see the air begin to warp and swirl. “Sorry, Gabe,” Michael said, glancing at Gabriel’s petrified legs.

“It’s okay, Mike. I’m here,” came a female voice from behind Michael. Gabriel watched Eleanore step through the widening portal and hurriedly make her way to his side. “Take a breather,” she told Michael, who slowly stood and stepped away.

Uriel was by Eleanore’s side. Max and Azrael moved closer as well; Az had picked up the shard gun and was holding it ready in his right hand. It was the first time they’d managed to obtain an Adarian weapon; Gabriel imagined Max would want a good look at it later.

“Christ,” Ellie whispered, surveying the damage. “How many were there?”

“One,” Az told her. She glanced up at him as she knelt and placed her hands on Gabriel’s chest. Then she turned back to face him and closed her eyes. Gabriel shut his as well when her magic began pouring into his body. It was different from Michael’s. He was probably one of very few people who would ever be privy to this particular realization. But her magic felt smoother—like a beer instead of Scotch. It went down a little easier, but it worked a little slower.

Despite her magic’s gentler touch, as Ellie worked, Gabriel jammed his forearm between his teeth once more to keep from screaming.

What felt like ten years later, she was finally done. Gabe opened his eyes and sat up in time to see Uriel catch her as she wobbled on her knees and fell slightly backward.

“How . . .” She closed her eyes, shook her head a bit, and began again. “How many times did he shoot you?”

“Five,” Gabriel replied. “Twice in each leg, once in the shoulder.” The men in the room seemed to still at the slightly stunning news. But Gabriel didn’t stop there. “He was aimin’ for my head on tha’ last shot.”

“He didn’t hold back,” Max stated, his expression deeply troubled. He stared at the floor, obviously deep in thought, and then took off his glasses, wiped them down with a cloth he kept in an inside pocket of his suit, and then replaced them on his nose. “He really hates you, it would seem. You saw no other Adarians with him?”

Gabriel shook his head. “He was alone. An’ he told me I had no idea wha’ was goin’ on.” Gabriel tested his legs and looked past his brothers to where the officers still lay unconscious. Max had most likely already wiped their memories and Az was probably keeping them under until the situation could be contained.

“Strange,” Max said. “I should think we were quite clear on what was going on. He wants you dead.”

“Any idea what the hell he was after?” Michael asked. “Other than your imminent demise, I mean?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, coming to his feet. “He’s after Juliette.”

* * *

Juliette’s body felt so heavy and weak, it was nearly delicious. There was no pain, just a slow, peaceful thickness that enveloped her form like a warm, soft blanket.

Wait a minute. . . .
Juliette frowned and rubbed her hand over the front of her torso. It
was
a blanket. Fleece, from what she could tell. She tried opening her eyes, but her lids were heavy. She tried again, managing to blink slowly, languidly, allowing light to suffuse her senses.

She was lying on a couch in a well-appointed living room. There was a fire blazing in the hearth across the room. A glass of water rested on the coffee table beside her.

A man sat in the love seat across from the couch. “How’re yae feelin’?” he asked softly.

Juliette didn’t answer. Alarm kicked off a fresh injection of adrenaline into her veins. She looked the man up and down, appraising him quickly. He was very tall—as tall as the man at the inn. The one who had kissed her and then saved her life. But instead of silver eyes, this man had green, and his hair was many shades lighter, at a sable brown. He was dressed in jeans and a thermal shirt and jacket. She could see leather straps running taut across his well-developed pecs.
Shoulder holster straps,
she thought. But in Scotland?

The man smiled a friendly, dashing smile, and as if he knew what she was thinking, he glanced down at the shoulder holster. He shrugged off his overcoat, revealing the holsters and their weapons.

“My name is Angus Dougal,” he told her softly, his brogue at once warming Juliette’s blood. “I’m the chief inspector in Lewis.” His smile broadened, flashing straight white teeth. “I promise I won’ shoot yae.”

“What am I doing here?” Juliette asked, deciding for now just to believe he was who he said he was. She was so tired.

“Well, I was goin’ tae take yae to the hospital, boot I happen tae know the nurse on dutae tonight, an’ fer yer own good, I brought yae here instead. This is ma home.”

Angus Dougal chuckled; his green eyes were sparkling. Juliette’s mouth went a little dry. Slowly, she rested back against the pillow once more. Her head was spinning. This man was a cop. She was in his house. Some other man had broken into her room in the inn and tried to chloroform her. The man who had kissed her had suddenly come in and saved her.

Juliette’s eyes widened at a sudden thought. “What happened to the stranger?” she asked, her voice still softer than she would have liked.

“The one who attacked yae?” Dougal asked, his eyes pinning her with sudden stark attention.

Juliette swallowed hard. There was something in his green eyes that left her feeling suddenly unnerved.

“Gabriel Black has been taken intae custody. Yae’re safe from his advances fer the time bein’.”

Juliette blinked. “What?”

“The man who attacked yae—his name is Gabriel Black. Black hair, gray eyes—ring a bell?”

“What?” Juliette repeated, feeling at once confused and angry. The man Dougal was describing was the one who had kissed her in the bar—the one who had saved her from the blond stranger.
Gabriel Black,
she thought. She liked the name. It suited him.

Angus Dougal’s gaze narrowed. He watched Juliette like a hawk and seemed to carefully consider her reaction.

Juliette sat up again. “Black wasn’t the one who attacked me,” she said, finding enough strength to defend the man who had saved her life. But her mouth was still dry, so she took the glass of water and downed several swallows before returning it and swinging her legs over the edge of the couch.

“Gabriel Black saved me,” she told him. “It was another man who attacked me. Black pulled him off of me and gave me time to get out of the room.”

Dougal considered this a moment more, his expression unreadable. And then he sat back on the couch and draped his arms over the cushions. “Oh?” he asked quietly. “That’s real interestin’ seein’ as how Black was the onlae man in the room when my men and I arrived.”

Juliette frowned and tried to digest this. She looked down at the glass of water—the coffee table—the couch. And then she looked back up at the inspector. “Was he okay?” she asked, finding that she truly wanted to know.

At this, Dougal cocked his head to one side and regarded her with renewed interest. She realized, at that moment, that in the space of half a second, she’d gone from being the victim to being a suspect. In what, she had no idea.

Angus Dougal chewed on the inside of his cheek a moment and then stood, coming to a very impressive six feet and three or four inches. Juliette’s mouth went a little drier.

Dougal stepped around the coffee table and closed the distance between himself and Juliette. And then, just when she was beginning to feel a little dizzy from staring up into his green eyes, the man sat on the coffee table in front of her.

“Miss Anderson,” he said, his brogue gentle and deep, “yae’ve been through a lot tanight. When we found Black, he was in yer room, alone an’ more or less unharmed.” He let this sink in a moment and then leaned forward, folding his fingers together in front of him as he pinned Juliette to the seat with a hard, searching gaze. “Are yae sure yae saw wha’ yae thought yae did, lass?”

Juliette could have groaned with the amount of foreboding she felt in that moment. She had no idea what was going on. Why Black would be alone. Who the stranger was who had just suddenly . . .
appeared
in her room. Something was happening that wasn’t supposed to happen. Something with a clearly supernatural bent.

Juliette swallowed hard and fumbled with the warm blanket she’d kicked off beside her. When she didn’t answer right away, the inspector leaned back a bit, his gaze sharp and penetrating.

“From wha’ I hear, Miss Anderson, Gabriel Black assaulted yae in the pub downstairs before comin’ to yer room an’ kickin’ the door in.”

Oh Christ,
thought Juliette.
The kiss.

“Um,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks grow pink. “He kissed me.”

Angus Dougal’s mouth curved into a knowing smile at this and he leaned forward once more. “Yae hit evera man who kisses yae, then?” he asked softly.

Juliette felt her blush deepen and became distinctly uncomfortable beneath the inspector’s keen gaze. She was all too aware in that moment of how handsome a man he was. And of the fact that she was sitting on his couch in his home. Alone.

She cleared her throat. “Inspector,” she said, “is Gabriel Black in custody right now?”

“Aye,” he said. “There be a fine amount o’ damage done tae the room, an’ by all accounts, yae were attacked.” He stopped there, as if waiting for her to contest his words.

She did so. “But he’s innocent,” she told him steadfastly. “I was being attacked by another man. He was blond and very large and very strong. Gabriel Black may have been a little drunk and maybe he shouldn’t have kissed me downstairs, but he did save me from the man who attacked me.”

The inspector studied Juliette closely for a moment in that ultraobservant way of his, and Juliette tried her best to stare unflinchingly back. And then Dougal shook his head. “We found no evidence of anyone else in the room, Miss Anderson.” He paused and his gaze narrowed. “Exactly wha’ did this other man attack yae with?”

“Well, for one thing, he was using chloroform.” If the cops hadn’t found evidence of anyone else in the room, then that meant that they hadn’t found the rag with the chloroform on it. The act had been completely covered up and Juliette didn’t know why. But whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.

Dougal considered this in silence as well, his green eyes never wavering from Juliette’s face. And then he sighed. “Miss Anderson, there was a lo’ of damage done tae tha’ room. Yer belongin’s were scattered everaewhere an’ the lamps are all shattered. Do yae mean tae tell me tha’ one man with a rag an’ a bottle o’ chloroform did all tha’? I cannae see why, tae be honest. Yae’re no’ a big lass, if yae’ll permit me sayin’. A verra large an’ verra strong man would no’ have sae much trouble as that, noo, would he?”

Juliette blinked. She found her throat felt tight and tried to swallow; it was hard. He raised a good point. The man who attacked her hadn’t broken the lamps and thrown her things around the room.
She
had. Telekinetically. And she was still trying to accept the fact that this new power of hers had surfaced; there was no way she could share it with Angus Dougal, the chief inspector.