The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (69 page)

The immortal stared at her for a moment, flickers of white fire dancing across his golden skin. “You are protected,” he said. Then he stepped back and disappeared. No blast of cold or rips in the air, just there one moment, gone the next.

A string of French curses rent the air as the two men released Christian.

“I warned you that another would claim her,” the duke said.

“This is your fault,” Christian pointed at Luca, the man who’d challenged him for her. But if he wanted a fight, he was out of luck. Luca shrugged, then stepped back into the ether and disappeared.

The other Sons of Ra departed, including the duke, leaving her and Christian alone. The sudden silence and peace seemed unnatural after the terror and noise of battle.

Christian’s strange garb shimmered. She blinked and he was clothed in a pair of tan trousers and a blue shirt. He walked away from her and dropped down on the bench where she’d been waiting for him before Anubis attacked.

His gaze ran over her incredulously. “He renewed you so fast.” He snapped his fingers. “Twenty years gone in a second.”

“What?” Tricia touched her face. The skin felt smoother. The twinge in her knee had vanished. “My god, are you saying he’s knocked twenty years off me?”

“I would have done this for you,
mon amour.
If only you’d let me.”

Her pleasure at her newfound youthfulness faded at the look of desolation on his face. If she hadn’t rejected him last night, he’d have already claimed her. There would have been no need for Runihura to bathe her in his fire. Part of her regretted hurting Christian, but another part was relieved that she wasn’t his property. Twenty-two years ago, the blind devotion of teenaged love would have made her give up everything to be with him, but she’d have felt trapped in such a relationship.

“I still want to be with you, only now it’s my choice. Isn’t that better?”

“You don’t understand, Tricia. You belong to Runihura. I can never touch you again.”

“You don’t seriously believe
he
wants
me
?” She snorted at the idea. “He was simply protecting me so I didn’t cause him any more trouble.” And giving her the freedom to choose her own man. Maybe Runihura wasn’t such a misogynist after all.

She sat beside Christian on the bench and reached for his hand. He snatched his arm clear and jumped up. “Don’t! The pain is excruciating.”

The blood drained out of her head as understanding dawned. “It’ll hurt for us to touch?”

“Of course. Didn’t you listen to me?”

“No, you . . .” Her words trailed away when she remembered what he’d told her the previous night.
You’ll be marked as mine, untouchable by any others of my kind
. She hadn’t understood he’d meant it literally.

“Have you ever tried to touch a woman claimed by another Son of Ra?”

His angry gaze snapped to her face. “That is forbidden.”

“Then how do you know it’s true?”

His breath rushed out in irritation. “Luca touched my countess when he tried to save her life. They both suffered for his noble act.”

His countess?
“What happened to her?”

“She lost her head to Madame Guillotine.” Christian pivoted away from her and paced to the river. That must have been the woman he’d mentioned the previous night. Tricia pressed her temples, feeling rotten. Had Runihura bathed her in fire as punishment for defying their customs, knowing it would prevent her from touching Christian again? She hadn’t sensed anger in the Egyptian.

“Runihura isn’t a Son of Ra, is he?” she asked, thinking aloud.

For long moments, Christian didn’t answer. Then he swung around with a frown. “No. He’s one of the old ones.”

“Perhaps his fire’s different. He summoned it as a ball in his hand rather than from the end of a sceptre.”

Christian shook his head but the tension on his face had faded and a spark of hope lit his eyes. He came to stand before her and held out a finger. “One fingertip only.”

She swallowed, spooked by the talk of excruciating pain. Her finger hovered in the air a fraction from his. He closed the distance. As their skin touched, a sound like distant wind whistled in her ears. A rushing sensation flowed through her body. White fire burst from her fingertip and engulfed Christian’s arm.

She squeaked with surprise and yanked her hand back.

“Tricia, are you all right,
mon amour
?” Christian dropped to a crouch before her, his face a mask of concern.

“It didn’t hurt,” she assured him, embarrassed that she’d made such a fuss.

“When you cried out, I thought you were in pain.” Christian levered himself on to the bench beside her. Before she had time to think, he pulled her into his embrace; his lips pressed against hers. The rushing feeling gradually eased until it was no more than a gentle tickle across her senses. Christian pulled back, blinking in astonishment. Flickers of white fire danced all over him. “I’ve never seen the like. Runihura did more than protect you; he’s given you fire that eclipses mine.”

Tricia stared at him, totally nonplussed. “Why?”

Christian shrugged. “He moves in mysterious ways. What matters is that I can touch you; we can be together.”

He pulled her on to his lap and nuzzled her neck. Tricia giggled at the sudden release of tension. She held out her hand to see if she could summon fire. Instead, a curved dagger with a mother-of-pearl handle appeared on her palm, white fire skating along the blade. She dropped the knife in shock and it disappeared again. “Good gracious, what does Runihura expect me to do with that?”

Christian rubbed his thumb over her lips and flickers of sparkling white fire danced between them, tingling against her skin.

“We have the rest of our lives to find out,
mon amour
.”

A Marked Story

S.J. Day

One

“You want me to babysit
cupid
?” Evangeline Hollis’ fingertips drummed against the wooden arms of her chair. “You can’t be serious.”

“That is not what I said, Miss Hollis.”

Raguel Gadara’s reply was laced with the compelling resonance unique to archangels. He sat behind his intricately carved mahogany desk in his expansive office with a leisurely sprawl that didn’t fool Eve for a minute. Gadara was watching her like a hawk from beneath slumberous lowered eyelids.

From her seat in one of two brown leather chairs that faced him, Eve raised both brows in a silent prompt for him to explain. The eternal fire crackling in the fireplace to her left and the portrait of the Last Supper decorating the space above the mantel were tangible reminders that her formerly agnostic view of the world was shattered forever.

Her secular world was behind her, displayed to breathtaking effect by the wall of windows overlooking Harbor Boulevard. Gadara Tower sat a few blocks south of Disneyland and California Adventure, just outside the city zoning that ensured no skyrises were visible from inside the amusement parks.

“I said ‘cherub’,” the archangel reiterated. As he leaned back in his chair, the diamond stud in his right ear caught the light. “We received a report of suspicious activity in San Diego. Zaphiel has been sent to address it and requires an escort.”

Eve’s guard went up. Raguel’s job on earth was to manage the infestation of Infernals in North America. Why would a cherub intercede? And why wasn’t Raguel more upset about that? All the archangels were intensely ambitious. It didn’t make sense for him to concede any power to anyone, even an angel of considerably higher rank. “I get that pairing him with me instead of giving him a full contingent of your personal guards sends a message that you’re annoyed, but as far as impact goes, it’s more of a ‘meow’ than a ‘roar’.”

“I send no message,” Raguel denied, attempting to look innocent, which was impossible.

“Right.” Diplomacy and showmanship were utilized just as often in the celestial underground as they were in the secular world. The cherubim topped the angelic hierarchy. Even the seraphim ceded rank to them. Exposing such a high-level celestial to her bad demon karma was stupid enough to have a really clever motive behind it.
“I asked for you.”

The rumbling masculine voice was dangerously soft. Eve turned her head, knowing a small, childlike figure just didn’t fit that mature voice but she was still unable to shake the image of a chubby baby with tiny wings and a big diaper.

Catching sight of Zaphiel, she blinked.
Holy shit.

He was massive. Ripped with muscle and terribly beautiful, with eyes of the same blue hue found at the heart of a flame, and golden hair that hung past his shoulders. Fan-fuckin-tastic. There was only one reason angels and demons went out of their way to get to her: they wanted to irritate the two men in her seriously screwed-up romantic life – Cain and Abel. They went by the names Alec Cain and Reed Abel in present day, but they were the infamous brothers of biblical legend nevertheless.

She glanced at Gadara. “This
really
isn’t a good idea.”

The archangel smiled. That flash of pearly white teeth within the framework of coffee-dark skin told her he had an ulterior motive for agreeing.

“I have every faith in you,” he said, practically purring.

Oh boy. Not too long ago (back in her old life) working for Gadara Enterprises had been a career dream of hers. Raguel Gadara was a real estate mogul rivalling Donald Trump and Steve Wynn, with property developments all over North America just begging for an interior designer of Eve’s calibre. In reality, however, the dream turned into a nightmare. Her years of interior design education and experience had been relegated to the sidelines of her “real” job: demon bounty hunting.

“Time to go, Evangeline,” Zaphiel said, jerking his head imperiously toward the private elevator that would take them down to the lobby level. The deliberate use of her name cemented the suspicion that she was – yet again – being used as a pawn in a bigger game.

It was a game she didn’t play well; something the cherub would be figuring out soon.

Eve stood. In her former life, she’d be sporting Jimmy Choo stilettos and a svelte pencil skirt. As a Mark – one of thousands of sinners cursed with the Mark of Cain – she was wearing Doc Martens and worn jeans. The thick, straight black hair she’d inherited from her Japanese mother was pulled back in a simple ponytail. Dressing for the job was 24/7; Marks never knew when they’d be called out to vanquish a rogue demon.

She walked to the cherub, expecting him to shift/teleport them to wherever it was he wanted to go, but he just smiled smugly.

“You will drive me,” he pronounced.

“O-kay . . .” Moving on to the elevator, she pressed the call button.

Within minutes, they were buckling into her red Chrysler 300. When she glanced at him for directions, he told her to drive toward Anaheim Hills. As he spoke, a pair of sunglasses appeared on his face, reminding her that he was yanking her chain by making her drive to their destination.

She pulled out of the shadows of the subterranean parking lot and into the bright Southern California sunshine. Grabbing her Oakley sunglasses from the centre console, she put them on.

“Why are you not with Cain?” he asked.

“He’s busy and I’m babysitting you.”

His lips pursed at the dig. “I am not speaking of the present moment. You are in love with him, yet you are not involved with him romantically.”

She made no effort to deny her feelings. It would have been pointless, considering how pivotal her prior relationship with Alec was to the existing state of the Marked system. “It’s too complicated,
and none
of your business.”

Cain was the original and most bad-assed Mark of them all. He functioned outside the Marked system hierarchy as an autonomous hunter taking orders directly from the Almighty. He was a revered and polarizing figure for other Marks, a lofty and undefeated ideal that each of the archangels longed to exploit for their own advancement. Eve’s attachment to Gadara’s firm came with Cain as a bonus. Cain gave the archangel a massive advantage over his fellow firm leaders.

“I could further your cause,” the cherub said. “Cain’s advancement to archangel was only supposed to be temporary.”

Her grip on the steering wheel whitened her knuckles. “Don’t you dare take that promotion away from him and blame it on me! Alec is right where he wants to be.”

“Without you? The archangels are barred from feeling romantic love.”

“I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” Her voice was tight and she made a concerted effort to relax. Zaphiel was rubbing salt in her wounds, knowing damn well that she’d broken things off with Alec because he was no longer capable of loving her the way he used to. He admired her, lusted after her and was determined to remain faithful to her, but her unreciprocated love was a huge liability to them both. “Killing demons has a high mortality rate, if you hadn’t noticed.”