Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) (14 page)

And the bitch of it was, so was she. Her grin was as big as his.

Salvatore finished scanning the warehouse, taking in the wreckage, and assessing the damage, and then he turned to her. His grin didn’t slip a bit when he said, “That was fun.”

And neither did hers when she said, “Yes, it was.”

Chapter Fifteen

“He could be hurt.” Max curled his finger against his lips thoughtfully and paced once more across the Mansion’s
living room. As usual, the Guardian was dressed in his brown suit and tie, and wire rimmed glasses graced his nose. “Or dead.” He stopped and looked at the others.

“He is no’ hurt. He wants to be alone.” Gabriel shook his head from where he sat on the couch beside his wife, Juliette, who had been the second archess to be found by the Four Favored archangels.

“If he were hurt, he’d call. And if he were dead, you would know it,” said Uriel, addressing Max. As their Guardian, Max was connected to them in ways inexplicable and intricate. If Michael were seriously in dire straits, Max would probably feel it in his blood. Hell, they probably all would.

He sighed. “You’re probably right.” He stopped at the massive hearth that more or less served as the heart of the Mansion. The Mansion was not just any house, constructed by man and erected on mortal soil. The Mansion had been a gift to the Four Favored by the Old Man. It followed them, was always there for them, changed to suit their needs, grew and shrunk for them, and its heart always beat
. In other words, the hearth was always warm, the fridge was always full, and the cooler was always well stocked with beer.

Another purpose the Mansion served for the archang
els was as a vortex of sorts, a transporter tunnel, more or less. All that any of the Four Favored needed to do in order to travel from one area on the globe to another in the blink of an eye was find a doorway. Any door would do, from car door to church door to bathroom door. Even stone archways over older, fallen doors would work, so long as they had at one point opened and closed. The archangel would open the door, think of where they wanted to go, and step through. The Mansion did the rest.

The archangel would pass through some area of the Mansion as it picked them up and carried them through space and time to their destinations. A second later, they would step through a door on the other side. From Firenze, Italy to New Orleans,
Louisiana from Reykjavik, Iceland to Brisbane, Australia, from Hong Kong to New York City – just like that.

The Mansion was their constant companion, their sanctua
ry in a weary world, and Max, their Guardian, had come right along with it.

There had never been any other title for what he was, and it was, after all, a fitting description of the role he filled amidst the archangels. He was their
immortal guide, their father figure, and their best friend.

He also acted as agent for both Azrael and Uriel, as they were both public figures
of some renown. Uriel was the famous actor who played the vampire lead in the book-to-movie series adaptation of
Comeuppance
, and Azrael was
The Masked One
– the lead singer of a rock band called
Valley of Shadow
.

Of course, Max hadn’t always been an agent. Throughout time, his “mortal” roles had shifted and changed as the cultures and expectancies of the decades had demanded. But throughout it all, he was still their Guardian.

And he was still worried about Michael. He couldn’t help it; it was just who he was.

“Max, you look constipated,” Gabriel grumbled, his brogue lacing his words to take the edge off them. “I’m tellin’ you, ‘e just wants to be alone. Told me so ‘imself.” Gabriel, the Messenger Archangel, took a swig of the beer he had in his hand, and gave his wife’s thigh a gentle squeeze before he winked at her.

Juliette rolled her eyes and smiled at Max. “What Gabe is so gallantly trying to say is that Michael is the most….”

“Uptight?” Uriel provided.

“I was going to say
careful
,” corrected Juliette with a narrowed glare at Uriel, “one out of all of us. If something is really wrong, you know he’s going to let us in on it. He does things by the book, and he’s not fond of taking unnecessary risks.”

“Juliette is right,” chimed in Eleanore, who was Uriel’s archess. “I don’t think we should worry until we get a call from him that suggests otherwise.”

*****

It took the better part of an hour to get things straightened out explanation-wise at the warehouse. It would take quite a
bit longer to get things
physically
straightened out.

No one had been harmed, which was an enormously fortunate factor
that aided in Rhiannon’s cover story. After she and the detective had finished dispatching the last of the gargoyles, she’d approached the members of Samael’s team who had witnessed the commotion, and she made sure to plaster a very pleased smile on her face.

Twenty minutes later, they’d all been convinced that the show was carefully planned, that it had been done so under the table so that actor reaction would be very real, and that this was just a small taste of what Swallowtail Foundation had to offer in the realm of special
effects.

The cameras throughout the building had, against all reason, continued to roll through the ordeal. This was due in part to the fact that Rhiannon had long ago made it clear to Mr. V that special cameras were going to have to be set up that wouldn’t fry out every time she filled a room wit
h lightning. He’d had his men take care of it.

It was also due, in part, by sheer dumb luck.

And the footage was stunning. “Mr. Lambent is going to be very, very pleased,” the liaison for Lambent’s enterprises gushed. He was a nervous man in khaki pants and a white button-up, with a nametag that read: “Niles Prichard.” He was fidgety and a little sweaty due to the extravagance of Rhiannon’s “show,” but he was sweet, and he was pleased. “When he sees this footage, he is going to want to sign you on for good!”

A short amount of time later, Alexander appeared on the scene in his suit and a pair of dark glasses. He placed a hand gently on Rhiannon’s back, gave her a reassuring nod, and began taking over in the
cleanup.

She’d been
officially dismissed from the scene. It was pretty obvious that Alexander could tell this hadn’t been a normal scene filming. He’d been to enough of them to be able to tell the difference. And the piles of rubble here and there were a sure give-away that gargoyles had been involved. Alexander and his cleanup crew no doubt wanted to get to work right away.

Mr. V was the first person he commu
nicated with any time there were developments of a suspicious nature, especially decidedly supernatural ones. Rhiannon wondered what he was going to tell her employer about this one.

She
moved out of the warehouse and through the double metal doors that led to the adjoining alley. They closed loudly behind her, leaving her alone in the quickly darkening path – with Detective Michael Salvatore.

He
was leaning against a brick wall at the end of the alley, one leg bent, his boot braced against the rock behind him. His thick muscled arms were crossed casually over his broad chest, and his gaze was easy, but his eyes were as bright blue as ever.

He watched her walk toward him, and she could feel that gaze scouring every single inch of her body as if she were completely naked. But she made sure not to show any discomfort or
embarrassment. She especially made sure not to let herself blush.

“Okay,” she said frankly when she approached h
im and stopped a foot away. “So, what are you?”

His brow rose
. He pushed off the wall and turned to fully face her.

“I saw fangs,
” she said, being brave. “I know I did.” She shook her head. “But you can’t be a vampire because you’re out during the day.”

He didn’t say anything, and that silence filled the space between them with
more questions.

She pursed her lips and went on. “Your eyes were glowing,
and you crushed a gargoyle’s stone throat like it was glass. No mortal can do that. So, come clean. What are you, detective?”

“
Please,” he said softly, tilting his head to regard her thoughtfully. “It’s Michael. And as to the rest of what you said, I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you.” His voice was wonderfully deep and resonating.

“
Believe you,” she repeated, shaking her head as if to clear it from the magic in his tone. “Like I should believe you when you come to my apartment and give me the third degree for blowing up a warehouse that I
know
you know was owned by really bad men, and that I
also
know you are fully aware was being protected by gargoyles? Believe you when you say you were here today in an official capacity? Like I should believe you claim that Denton actually
flirted
with you? I’ll have you know that man has been faithfully married for fourteen years!
Yes
, it might be to another man, but he’s still faithful!”

Oh… s
hit.

She blinked a few times and took a step back. She’d just given herself
completely
away.

But to her great surprise and even greater relief, the good detective did not immediately begin reading her rights to her. He didn’t radio in for backup. And he didn’t break out his cuffs and try slipping them on her.

Okay,
so maybe she was slightly less relieved about that last one.

The detective sighed and uncrossed his arms. “
We have a lot to talk about. And I’m hungry.” His gaze flitted to her neck, and Rhiannon’s blush finally broke free. So did a bit more of her suspicion about his fangs. “Let me take you to dinner and we can talk it all out over a bottle of wine.”

Rhiannon
thought for several long moments. She turned her back on him, which was not the smartest move in the book, but she needed to break free from the inextricable pull of those blue, blue eyes. She needed to clear her head, and he was poisoning her with nothing more than his gaze and voice.

“Detective, please understand that I t
ruly appreciate your help back there in the warehouse,” she said, referring to the battle against the gargoyles. “But you’re confusing the hell out of me. One minute, you’re interrogating me for crimes downtown.” She turned to face him, her gaze narrowed. “And the next, you’re bowling with gargoyle pins and inviting me to dinner.” She paused, and assessed him again in silence. Her voice was lower when she asked, “Which of you is the real Detective Salvatore?”

He smiled – no fangs
this time. “It’s Michael,” he reminded her softly. He put his hands in his pockets and allowed his gaze to travel up the alley walls as if, even now, he were scoping them out for trouble. “And truth be told, they both are.”

H
e looked back down, his eyes slicing to the point. “Let me take you to dinner, Rhiannon.” He moved toward her, taking the few steps that brought them toe to toe. To her credit, this time she didn’t step back. “And I promise I’ll explain everything.”

Rhiannon swallowed hard as a wave of leather and after shave-scented masculinity washed over her, making her dizzy.
He smells like night
. It was an inappropriate and misplaced thought, riding on some sort of post-fight high. The man was intoxicating, whether he was a swaggering, know-it-all cop with fangs and glowing eyes or not. If she wasn’t careful, the next thing she knew, she would be doing him against the alley wall.

She could not go with him. Whatever she did, she needed to distance herself. He was getting under her skin, making her blurt things out that she would never have admitted to anyone otherwise. He was a complete stranger, changing her and making her weak.
Don’t go to dinner with him, Rhiannon,
she told herself firmly.
He’s dangerous.

“Okay,” she said, against ever
y ounce of intelligent reasoning she possessed.

Chapter Sixteen

He was worried about Mimi. Angel had taken her out of the warehouse with incredibly apt timing, but that was the last he’d seen of her. Had she witnessed any of the fighting? Had Angel taken her somewhere far enough away to keep her out of harm’s reach?

Michael
had an inkling what the gargoyles would do if they knew how much Mimi meant to Rhiannon. He’d read the minds of a few of the gargoyles who’d attacked them. Reading thoughts embedded in rock was much more difficult than pulling them from flesh, but gargoyles were both. They transitioned from one to another with no more than sheer will, and Michael focused his ability so that it struck when the gargoyles were flesh.

Even then, the scouring was sluggish. It was like pushing through wet sand. He succeeded, however, and in doing so, he learned that the gargoyles wanted Rhiannon Dante as they had never wanted a woman before.

Somehow, they’d learned of her abilities –
all
of them. They not only knew that she could throw things with her mind and manipulate fire and lightning, they knew she could
heal
. And they wanted that ability, especially, for themselves.

Just like the bloody Adarians.

The gargoyles planned to breed her into their society in the hopes that their children would possess any and all of what Rhiannon did, combined with the flesh-to-stone abilities of gargoyles.

How they had come upon this knowledge was something he hadn’t been able to pull from them. It was hidden further down in their minds, as if whoever had put it there had guarded it well, specifically against him. But he planned to find out.
Once he had Rhiannon safely back home, he was going to pay the gargoyle community a little visit.

It was an hour past sundown and he was executing a turn on wet city streets when Rhiannon received a call in the passenger seat beside him. He glanced at her as she pulled the cell phone from her
inner coat pocket and answered.

With his hearing, he could make out
every word said, of course. Hell, even a human could hear the caller on someone else’s phone most of the time; iPhones weren’t exactly eaves-drop proof. It was Mr. Verdigri. He was calling to let Rhiannon know that Mimi had been dropped off by Rhiannon’s friend, Angel.

Michael watched as Rhiannon’s expressions changed in rapid succession, going from relie
f to surprise and then to guilt and confusion.

“Crap,” she whispered as she hung up and re-pocketed her phone. “I forgot about Angel. I was supposed to meet back up with her for dinner.”

Michael’s ears pricked. “Who’s Angel?”

Rhiannon looked sidelong at him, her expression making it evident she didn’t feel like explaining it or going into it, but not because she was tired so much as
because she felt ashamed. “A friend. A very good friend actually, though believe it or not, we never met face to face until today.”

Michael said nothing, allowing her to gather herself a bit and simply go on telling her story.

“We met online in a chat room about six or seven years ago. We were put in the same group because we both live in Manhattan. We have the same taste in books and movies and even music. Pretty soon we were talking every day, sharing stories and stuff. She confided in me that she’d been given up by her parents, and I finally felt like I could tell someone I was an orphan too. The more time passed, the more we realized we could have been separated at birth. Except that she’s two years older than me,” she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Not that you’d ever know it.”

Michael watched the road, but every now and then
, he glanced her way to take in the play of emotion on her face.

“Anyway, we’re both really busy women… you know how it is in New
York. We’ve never met in person; there was always some reason. Until today. She came to the studio before the shoot. We were supposed to go to dinner after it was over, but….”

“But gargoyles happened.”

Rhiannon glanced at him. “Yeah. Luckily, it looks like Angel felt the need to play truant officer with Mimi long before the fighting started, so neither of them saw anything.” She smiled. It was the kind of smile that said she didn’t really trust him, not yet, but she was
starting
to and she was tired enough to be unwilling to put up much of a fight with her inner alarm system. It also said she had so much to ask him, she had no idea where to start. Which was probably why she’d just opened up to him instead about something as personal as being an orphan and meeting a friend for the first time in seven years.

He understood
her weariness well. It was a weakness for the archesses that they became drained as they used their powers. Rhiannon had put on quite a display during their battle against the contingent of gargoyles at the studio. And she hadn’t limited herself to a supernatural effort, either. Michael had never witnessed anything quite so beautiful as she had been while in action. Each move she made against her enemies could have been choreographed. The power, the speed, the agility…. She’d bewildered him enough that he’d slipped up once or twice, losing himself while watching her when he should have been fighting. She was a warrior, in the truest sense of the word. She was stunning.

And s
he was probably knackered.

If he concentrated, he could hear h
er heart beating. It wasn’t beating the slow, even rhythm of pre-sleep yet, but it wanted to be. She was just too nervous to let it get that comfortable just yet.

“I can’t quite understand it, though.
I didn’t even know Mimi was
at
the studio today. I mean, I guess Mimi was skipping. But how did she and Angel meet? And how would Angel know where Mimi lived?”

“As to how she knew where she lived, Mimi probably told her,” Michael offered logically. “And Angel probably just saw her there at the studio and introduced herself. She sounds like that kind of person. Maybe she thought a fireworks stunt for a movie was no place for an unsupervised kid and took it upon herself to escort Mimi home?”

“I should call her,” Rhiannon said, turning back to look at the road ahead. “I have her number. We never talk because neither of us like to get sucked into voice conversations. We’re both better with written words. We text all the time. Still, in this case, I guess should probably just call.”

“I’m sure a text would be fine,” he offered softly.

She smiled a relieved smile at him, and he found himself momentarily ensnared. His head felt balloon-like, as if it were floating off his shoulders. She was so beautiful to him in that moment, it was bewildering. Her smile was so natural, so heart-felt. It just really threw him.

He blinked and turned back to the road.

“I hope you’re right.” She pulled her phone back out and began pressing in letters. “I hate these itty bitty keys….”

Michael let her type for a
moment in silence. Then he asked, as nonchalantly as he possibly could, “So what made you choose this career, Rhiannon Dante?”

Rhiannon stopped typing and looked over at him. It took her a moment, but she caught his innuendo. He wasn’t referring to special effects.

She swallowed hard enough that he could hear it, and he assumed she was just realizing that if there had been any pretense about her remaining, it was gone now. “You mean beating up bad guys, don’t you?”

Michael smiled.

Rhiannon sighed. “I didn’t choose it. It chose me.”

Street lights made blurred smears on the windows as the clouds overhead opened up and rain began to fall. He wondered if it had something to do with Rhiannon. Her expression was changing, her gaze growing distant through the windshield.

“Like I said, I was an orphan,” she began, absentmindedly looping her finger under her gold chain and bringing his attention to the gold rectangle pendant hanging from it. It was simple and matte and possessed a single word written across its surface: Fearlessness. Every now and then, he caught a flash of the back, which read, “Joyful Heart, Me & Ro.” He recognized the name of the foundation. It was a charity aimed at helping the victims of rape.

“I ran away from the orphanage at the age of nine. Started running with what you woul
d probably call a bad crowd.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and he knew she was lost in the past. “But that would be both an understatement and a shallow, two-dimensional representation of the people in that crowd.
Some
were bad. But I wasn’t afraid of them. I can take care of myself.” Her smile was winsome, and he could imagine her using her powers even as a child to put people in their places. “But some of them were good. One, in particular, was like a big sister to me. She took me under her wing, taught me how to read – and how to steal. She also taught me how to dress in baggy clothes so the boys in the group wouldn’t notice I was growing up. It was something she struggled with herself because of her age. Her name was Willow.”

She lapsed into a long silence, and for the first time since meeting her at the warehouse, Michael was truly tempted to read her mind. But he didn’t. He watched the road and the traffic and waited.

“We lived in a bunch of adjoining rooms in a condemned apartment building. Willow and I shared the basement. One night, I came home to the basement to find her laying in a blood stain on her mattress. She was still alive,” she shook her head, “but barely. The boys in the group had done a number on her.”

Michael’s blood ran cold and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“I found someone on the street outside and they called an ambulance. Willow struggled for a week and a half in ICU. They let me see her because I told them I was family. They never asked for any kind of proof. I think they were just happy she had someone who wanted to talk to her.

“For a while, she was just asleep. I g
uess doped up to kill the pain, I don’t know. I was so little, I only knew her eyes were closed, but she was breathing and the machine next to her kept making beeping sounds, so she was still with me.

“On day ten, she opened her eyes. I had been
reading to her.
Don Quixote
was her favorite. She opened her eyes and told me, ‘Rhee, read that part again. I like that part.’”

Rhiannon smiled now, this memory clearly less painful for her, and Michael’s grip on the steering wheel let up.

“I could tell the doctors were surprised when she pulled through. But she did. They told her there would be scarring and pain for the rest of her life. They didn’t think she would walk again at first either, but she proved them wrong there too.”

Rhiannon took a deep breath and released he
r necklace. “She’s a cop now, believe it or not,” she said, shooting a look his way. “In Detroit. She told me she was going to make damned sure she did her best to save other girls from going through what she went through.”

“And you decided to do the same.”

Rhiannon nodded. “Between the two of us, I had the ability to make more of a difference. I had no excuse for not doing all I could to make the world a better place.” She paused, and asked, “You know?”

Michael chuckled softly and felt a warmth in his chest. “Oh, I do.”

They drove in silence for a moment before Rhiannon broke it and asked, “And what about you? What made you decide to become a cop?”

Michael had no idea where to start. He hadn’t just been a cop. He’d
had hundreds of different jobs over the years. But, if he thought about it, he guessed they were all similar. In each, he’d attempted to do exactly what Rhiannon was trying to do: Make the world a better place.

“It’s a long story,” he said, suddenly wanting to tell her every single bit of it.

“Well, I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night,” she said, smiling.

Michael gazed at that smile, and for the second time since they’d gotten into his car together, he felt light-headed.

Amazing
, he thought.

The road demanded his attention, and he
flipped on his turning signal and navigated another high-traffic, wet-street turn. But he wasn’t really driving. Nearly every ounce of his consciousness was on the woman beside him.

He’d been prepared to throw everything at her. He’d been ready to use every single one of
his new-found abilities to force Rhiannon to his side. He could have sent her careening into an orgasm with no more than a wave of incubus will if he’d wanted. He could have scoured her mind for her likes and dislikes and pretended to share them. He could have simply subjugated her with a mesmerizing gaze or a piercing bite in the manner Azrael had no doubt perfected over the years.

But instead… they were talking.

It took him aback for a moment when he realized how naturally it had come. His entire existence had been a fight. He realized, then, that he’d been expecting nothing short of yet another battle in this. Michael began to feel hope. Maybe things were going to be just a little easier than he’d thought. For once.

Rhiannon
turned back to her un-finished text to Angel, completed it at last, and again re-pocketed her phone just as Michael pulled into the parking lot of one of his favorite restaurants. “You like Italian?” he asked. He’d been coming here since it opened years ago. He loved the Insalata Pizza, and hoped Rhiannon would too. She needed some food. With his newfound powers, he was beginning to actually sense her growing weakness from the gargoyle battle.