Archangel of Mercy (23 page)

She forced the image to the back of her mind. Why was she torturing herself with something that could never be?

“So what is it you do, exactly?” She glanced into the chest, so Gabe wouldn’t see the hopeless wish in her eyes.

“I track the missing.”

Whatever she’d expected him to say it hadn’t been that. Even her pathetic self-pity receded and she looked up at him, entranced. The old myths hadn’t got everything wrong. He really was the Angel of Mercy.

“You mean you’re like a private investigator?”

The look on his face suggested he didn’t think much of her comparison. At all.

“Do I look like a PI?” The disgust in his voice confirmed her suspicion. “Trust you to pick the least glamorous term.”

“It doesn’t matter what you call yourself. What’s important is what you
do
.”

He scowled as though her admiration for his occupation rubbed him the wrong way. “I don’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. My fees are astronomical.”

He charged? For some reason that hadn’t occurred to her. Then again, she supposed he had to live, and considering he’d already told her he amassed fortunes as a hobby it shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise.

“Well, I suppose that’s only fair. You need to cover expenses.” God, what was she saying? He was an archangel. What sort of expenses would he incur? It wasn’t as if he needed a travel allowance.

“I don’t charge to cover expenses. I charge so potential clients are fully aware of the magnitude of their request.”

Gabe resisted the undignified urge to shift on the chair.
He never squirmed
. But the look of unadulterated reverence on Aurora’s face, far from casting a satisfied glow across his ego, irritated him.

And to make it worse he wasn’t irritated at
her
.

“Oh.” She sounded completely baffled. “Okay.”

The fact she wasn’t even questioning him further only deepened his black mood. He wanted her to question him. To push his patience to its limits. Wanted her to annoy him, to give him the excuse he needed to put her in her place. To turn his back on her.

To continue as he had done so for countless centuries.

And since when did he need a fucking
excuse
to put a mortal in their place?

“Guess,” he said, torn between wanting to pull her into his arms, to hold her and forget his past, his present and eternal future, and wanting to wipe that enchanting expression from her face for good. “Give it your best shot. What do you think I demand as payment, Aurora?”

Chapter Thirty

F
OR
a long moment she continued to gaze at him. It was clear she didn’t have a clue what he charged and thought he was crazy to expect she might. And then a shocked comprehension clouded her eyes and her lips parted as if she was having trouble processing those thoughts.

“You don’t.” She sounded torn between awe and horror. “Tell me you don’t demand a person’s soul.”

“Fine.” He had no idea why her disgust bothered him. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted? “I don’t demand a person’s soul.”

“But you’re an
archangel
.” She made him sound like some kind of benevolent god. An oxymoron if ever he’d come across one. “Only the devil demands the soul in payment.”

“Define your definition of
devil
.” He’d been called that and worse in his time. It was all a matter of perspective.

A frown flashed across her face as if she didn’t think much of his flippancy. He resisted the urge to tell her that he was deadly serious. What did it matter what she thought?

It mattered.

He throttled the knowledge before it could fully form. But the echo remained; a haunting reminder that no matter how he denied it to Zad, his attachment to Aurora was a lot more than
spectacular sex.

“So let me get this straight.” She pushed herself from the floor and perched on the edge of the chest. “There really are souls and that’s your price?” She sounded disbelieving, although he couldn’t tell whether that was because she didn’t believe in souls or she didn’t believe he deprived people of them.
“Why?”

Now she was asking the right questions. Now she was pushing the boundaries and by rights he should remind her of the reason she was with him. And it wasn’t because they were equals.

It wasn’t her place to question his judgment. Wasn’t her place to make him doubt his own integrity. He owed her no explanation for his actions. So why did he have this gnawing urge to wipe the condemnation from her eyes?

“Proof.” She was only a mortal and it
didn’t matter
what she thought of him. “If a potential client is willing to sacrifice the possibility of ever being reborn, just to save the one they love in this life, then maybe—just maybe—the missing one is worth searching for.”

“Reborn?” It was obvious she’d never seriously considered that possibility before. “Are you telling me people really do
reincarnate
?”

“Only if they possess a soul.” He heard the thread of bitterness in his voice and didn’t even try to disguise it. “Otherwise once you die, that’s it. You’re gone forever. No second chances.”

She was silent for a moment, an enchanting frown creasing her brow. He rapped his fingers on the table, waiting for her further condemnation. And had no idea why he didn’t just get up and get out of there.

“So you return the one they love.” Aurora sounded doubtful but he was sure she understood perfectly. “And then take away the chance they may have of getting together in a future life?”

That was exactly the conclusion he wanted her to draw. She would retreat, and this strange sense of connection he was beginning to feel with her would shatter. Their relationship would be based entirely and exclusively on sex. Just as it should be.

Except the suicidal desire to leap to his feet, to drag her into his arms and tell her the truth hammered through his brain. Did she really think so little of him that she could believe he’d do that?

Despite the price his clients believed they paid, all he did in reality was wipe their minds. They retained no memory of ever having approached him, let alone what he’d done for them. But despite the rumors that he demanded not only his client’s soul but also their life as payment, still the desperate sought him out.

He battened down his illogical urge. Let her believe the worst of him.

“That’s right.” To his disgust he sounded belligerent. As if he, an archangel, was on the defensive.

“But that’s awful.” Finally she sounded shocked. It was what he wanted but he derived no depraved pleasure from her reaction. “I mean, after what you’ve just told me about reincarnation that sounds even worse than if you just killed them outright.”

“Like I said”—he offered her a feral smile but, typical Aurora, she didn’t flinch—“it’s the ultimate proof.”

“That’s ridiculous.” If any other mortal—or even another immortal if it came to that—had taken that tone with him, they’d feel the full force of his ire. But instead he remained mute, and took a morbid satisfaction from her obvious distaste. “There’s got to be other ways someone could prove their love was genuine. I can’t believe you’d do anything so”—she hesitated, clearly struggling for the right word to describe her utter revulsion—“
extreme
.”

He’d expected a far more vitriolic adjective from her, but for some reason the way she said
extreme
stung. “What criteria would you use?” The demand issued before he could prevent it. Gods help him, did he really seek justification? “How would you prioritize which case to take and which to leave?”

The silence stretched between them, into infinity, shattering forever the fragile threads that had inexplicably woven them together. A flimsy bond he had no use for, no need of and no desire to see flourish.

With the right one, sex can heal the soul.
But Aurora was not the right one. And his soul was beyond salvation.

Finally she broke eye contact and looked into the chest. She trailed her fingers over the contents as if she was clairsentient and could discover secrets from touch alone. He braced himself for her complete condemnation. Even though her condemnation meant . . . nothing.

“You would need harsh criteria.” To his disbelief, he detected a thread of reluctant acceptance in her voice. Or was he simply irreparably delusional? “Otherwise I imagine you’d be swamped with requests.”

He forcibly unclenched his fist. A fist he couldn’t recall making. Aurora wasn’t leveling accusations his way. She wasn’t looking at him as if he was something unspeakable. She wasn’t behaving at all the way he had envisaged.

He’d been prepared for her disgust. Had anticipated it.
Welcomed
it. But as always Aurora had caught him off guard and, gods help him,
he was relieved.

“That’s why I’ve never suppressed the rumors.” The words were out before he could stop himself. Except the truth was—he didn’t want to stop himself. Didn’t want Aurora thinking the worst of him, despite the way he’d attempted to delude himself. He wanted her to know the truth because she hadn’t condemned him. “What the hell would I do with a million souls, Aurora?”

When she looked up at him she had the same look on her face as when he’d first told her he tracked the missing. And this time it wasn’t irritation that clawed through his chest. It was an odd sensation of . . . peace.

“You’re looking for a child, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. There was no need when the contents of the chest told its own tale. “How old is she?”

“Four years old.”

“Do you”—she hesitated, as if unsure how he might react to her question—“want me to help, Gabe? I’d like to. If you didn’t mind.”

He stared at her as a surreal sense of disbelief enveloped him. She wanted to
help
him?

No matter her good intentions her request was impossible. For a start she couldn’t understand the Medan language. What possible use could she be to him?

Apart from the obvious obstacles that she had no idea what to look for, he didn’t need her help. But despite that logic he acknowledged, with a sense of fatality, that he wanted her help.

Even if all her help amounted to was simply keeping him company while he sifted through endless potential evidence.

—

CURLED UP ON
the sofa, Aurora stifled a yawn. She had no idea what the time was but it had been dark for what seemed hours. The remains of another mouth-watering meal Gabe had brought back a while ago was strewn across the floor, and he was at the other end of the sofa, focused on his laptop.

For a few moments she indulged her obsession and merely gazed at him, soaking in the glow of his hair, the sculpted perfection of his face, his total concentration on the task he’d set himself. She’d been touched that he’d accepted her offer, even if it was apparent that he didn’t think she would be of any help to him at all.

But he hadn’t thrown her shortcomings in her face. Instead he’d delegated the task of scrutinizing hundreds of pictorial evidence. At least for that she didn’t need to be able to decipher a strange, alien language.

Except no one in the pictures looked like an alien. The small child Evalyne, whose existence was catalogued in loving detail from the moment of her birth, looked like any adorable little girl from Earth.

With a sinking sense of failure, Aurora faced the truth. She wasn’t helping Gabe at all. How were they supposed to discover anything from looking at all these images? It was a total waste of time.

She picked up the next sheaf, since there was hardly anything else she could do, and gave the top picture a tired glance.

And froze.

Shivers raced across her arms and the nape of her neck. She clutched the picture, peered closer, and her heart hammered high in her breast, restricting her breathing.

“Oh my god.” The words tumbled into the silence and Gabe glanced up, a frown of concentration still etched across his brow. “I’ve found something.” She crawled along the sofa, uncaring of the pictures that fluttered to the floor. “Look. Look at what she’s
wearing
.”

Gabe looked, and didn’t comment. She edged closer until she was practically plastered across his chest, and jabbed her finger at the relevant spot. “Her necklace, Gabe. Can’t you see it? It’s the
image
of mine.”

“Yes.” His voice was emotionless, as if her discovery meant nothing. She glanced up at him, then looked back at the picture. There, around the little girl’s neck, was a replica of Aurora’s own necklace. It was opened and the vibrant shimmer of rainbows and gold dust was clearly visible. How could Gabe just sit there as if her discovery meant nothing?

“Well, but don’t you find that really amazing? I mean, it has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

He shifted under her weight and slid one arm around her.

“Children always dream of angels and rainbows.” He sounded as if he was reciting ancient knowledge. “It’s of no significance.”

No significance? She twisted in his arm and flattened her free hand against his chest. Against his heart.

“Of course it’s of significance. My one might be a fake but what are the chances this one is, too?” Her hand cradled his jaw and she forced him to look at her once again. “Don’t you see?” Why couldn’t he see? “It means Evalyne is descended from an
angel
.”

She felt him go rigid beneath her, coiled tension and granite-hard muscles clearly denying her words.

“That’s impossible.” His tone was final. “It’s a coincidence. Nothing else.”

Coincidence? In the space of three days she’d come across
three
necklaces identical to her own. God, she still needed to tell Gabe about that other one she’d discovered just before Mephisto had turned up.

No way was this simply a coincidence.

“Okay, I’m not saying this was made for Evalyne’s mother or grandmother or whatever. Obviously we’re talking generations ago here.” Her fingertips trailed over the rough stubble grazing his jaw. “But the original beloved would have passed it down to her daughter, who would have passed it down in her turn, a continuing chain of endless devotion.”

His hand tightened at her waist and the look on his face caused the words to dry in her throat.

“What?” His voice was oddly hushed, at odds with the savage glare on his face. “How do you know about that?”

Unease trickled along her spine.

“You told me.” Just the other night, when he had first looked at her necklace. And yet for an unfathomable reason it seemed she had known that fact for so much longer.

“No, I didn’t.” The words were uncompromising and she stared at him, baffled. Of course he had. Otherwise how would she have known? And there was no doubt in her mind. She was right about this. “I told you your necklace was based on an ancient archangelic design but I didn’t say who we gave them to or the tradition of passing from mother to daughter.”

“Well, so it was a good guess.” Except she couldn’t shake the feeling it was so much more than a mere guess on her part. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious that’s what would happen, isn’t it? And I’m just saying I’m positive that’s what happened in Evalyne’s case. She has angel blood, Gabe. I know it.”

“No.” There was a dread finality in his tone, but his gaze was riveted on the picture of the child. “There are no Nephilim left, Aurora.”

She didn’t want to disagree with him, not when it was agonizingly obvious that when he looked at the picture of Evalyne he was thinking of his own long-dead daughter. But she couldn’t let it go. He had to look at this objectively.

“How can you be so sure?” Her voice was soft and once again she pressed her free hand against his chest, against his wounded heart. “You can’t know for certain.”

Finally he looked at her, and the sorrow of ages glowed in his eyes.

“I’m certain.” There was no doubt in his voice, only ancient resignation. “Gods and mortals had children together ever since the Alphas discovered they were sexually compatible. At our most basic level all of us—gods, archangels, mortals—are made of the same stardust.”

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but the important thing was he was talking to her about his past. Would he tell her about his own daughter? She hoped he would. Desperately. Because it would mean Gabe thought her important enough to entrust with his most precious memories.

“Our goddess, for reasons known only to herself, wasn’t interested in procreating with her fellow Alphas. She wanted more than that. She wanted to create her own unique species.”

“The angels,” she whispered, awed, despite knowing how deeply Gabe disliked his goddess. “She made you in her image.” Was that how the myths went? Although admittedly, the myths had got a lot wrong.