Fall From Grace (2 page)

A few yards away, a
ragged man lay sprawled on the ground, several dark rivulets
running from his body. Three black dogs the size of ponies stood
around him panting, their long red tongues hanging out over sharp
white teeth. The dogs looked up from the man to Evie as she paused
there by the dirty dumpster and licked the blood from their
lips.

A ripple of energy
stirred the mist at Evie's feet into a tidal ebb and flow. She
tensed, swinging the sword around in a quick circle to loosen her
wrists, leaving a trail of fire in the bright blade's wake. The air
around the dogs appeared to shimmer, like heat in a mirage. All
three dogs stood gracefully, impossibly erect on their hind legs.
Evie shivered. The dog shapes shifted, folding back as though they
were only fur cloaks. In their place stood three tall beings. Male
or female, or maybe something in between, it was hard to tell.
Their hairless bodies were black and shiny as obsidian and their
eyes blacker still.

Evie stared at the
strange, dark creatures looking for the Death Mark – the burning
cross and circle that would mark her quarry. The text message had
explained why she'd been sent to that bar in West Hollywood. Her
mission was to avenge four innocents. Loyal acolytes, killed
defending a relic of terrible power taken from a tiny church in
Hungary. The Celestials of the Otherwhere, she was told, had
tracked the blood of the murderer and dispatched the Death Mark to
show her their killer. She stared harder, calling on her spirit
vision to manifest. A tickling, prickling sensation skipped along
her nerves, telling her he, she, or it was near but it was not
these dark beings. Nor was she called to avenge the ragged man's
death. Poor guy, he just picked the wrong alley to scavenge today.
She looked for the shadow of his soul. Nothing. It had already
fled. Not for the first time she considered the capriciousness of
her mandate. She never understood why some deaths were avenged and
others went unnoticed by the Higher Ups. With a mental shrug she
thought, also not for the first time, that was why she wasn't a
Celestial and probably never would be. And thank God for that.

As if on cue, the
three beings raised their arms. Evie jumped back, holding her sword
ready, the flame flaring brightly in response. Her wings flashed
out and she allowed some of her power to manifest until she, too,
was as shining and golden as her weapon.

The three held their
pose for several heartbeats. Bringing their hands together almost
reverently, each bowed their head. Evie shifted her stance, all her
nerves tingling in anticipation. Something was coming. Something
wicked.

An explosion of inky
darkness shot through with red momentarily engulfed the alley and
everyone in it. With the darkness came a blast of icy cold air that
swept through the space between the buildings and nearly knocked
Evie off her feet. The temperature plunged to teeth chattering
levels. As swiftly as it had appeared, the smoke cleared and before
her stood a tall, thin man in an elegant velvet suit from another
age. He had one large, feathered wing. Only one. The wing and his
hair shone with the same shade of deep metallic gray. He flexed the
wing and the long flight feathers seemed to beckon to her.

A Celestial. Fallen
from light to darkness long ago.

Above his head, a
glowing cross inside a circle of fire formed. Evie swallowed.

The Fallen had
extraordinary power. It would not be an easy fight. In fact she was
pretty certain it was not a fight she could win.

The elegant man
seemed to sense the Mark and looking up, gave a tight, mirthless
smile.

At the other end of
the alley, the sound of footsteps running caused all of them to
turn and stare. The Death Mark moved as well, drifting almost
lazily away from the Fallen. As the figure burst through the fog,
Evie exchanged startled glances with, of all demons, people, or
spirits to appear: the Reaper from the bar, Trick McKitrick. Above
his head the burning cross in the circle come to a stop. He gave
her one horrified look, then all hell broke loose.

A swirl of ethereal
energy from the Fallen shoved the line of dumpsters up against the
back doors leading to the alley and the entrance to the street,
effectively blocking any interference from the humans. Trick leaped
over one dumpster as it swung by in a gravity-defying jump, coming
down in front of the three dark figures. He pulled what looked like
a short, iron bar from his coat and that was all Evie had time to
see.

Evie dropped into a
sword fighter's crouch, waiting. The elegant man was not her
mandate and, as far as she knew, she had no quarrel with him.
Apparently he did not think the same way.

The Fallen's eyes
turned scarlet. The same color as the blood in the street. From
beneath his beautifully cut velvet jacket he drew a slim, black
sword burning with dark flames. Cold, not hot. Even from where she
stood, Evie could feel the icy flare. He rushed at her so fast the
speed made her eyes water. Their blades met, releasing a sonic boom
of energy. Gold flame against black ice smashed together with such
force the shock wave blew out every window in the alley. A thousand
pieces of shattered glass seemed to move in slow motion as Evie and
the Fallen slipped between time with paranormal speed. Jagged
shards refracted the flare of their swords into a million bits of
light.

The laws of physics
are very liquid in the spiritual realm. A hundred blows between
them was just the blink of an eye for a mortal. Evie was very good,
but she was an earthbound Angel and despite his Fallen state, the
one-winged man was a Celestial. The odds were definitely in his
favor. Gripping her sword with both hands, she pressed desperately
against the strength of the other, beating her wings hard and fast.
They were nearly forehead to forehead now, jostling for position.
His face very close.

He smiled, showing
brilliantly white pointed teeth,“Surprise!”

Evie gasped as an
agonizing stab of glacial cold ripped through her chest. Time
seemed to slow even further and she took it all in: the Fallen,
holding his sword with only one hand now, the other gripping a
shard of black ice, thrust halfway into her chest. The golden glow
of her power wavered, sputtering like a candle in the rain. Time
sped up and she heard someone shouting as though from far away. Her
wings drooped and she felt them brush the ground. The Fallen's
magic gripped tightly around her heart, squeezing hard, pulling her
under. Down, down she fell into a black well.

The icy cold clutched
at her arms and legs with frozen fingers, dragging her deeper until
she had no breath left. The last thing she saw was the beautiful,
wasted face of the one-winged man, so near she could feel his
breath on her skin.

“Hey there,” said a deep voice by her ear, the
warm breath a silky caress on her bare neck. “Are you awake?”

Evie gave a sleepy
smile as memories of her past life and waking up in a soft bed next
to a hard body coursed through her. Then she caught that whiff of
smoke and the events in the alley came rushing back. Nathan
McKitrick lay next to her, his handsome face just inches away, head
propped up on one tan, muscular arm. Directly above him floated the
Death Mark.

Throwing the covers
off, she leaped to her feet in one swift move, gathering her mantle
of energy around her. In her hands an energy ball formed, sparking
and spitting with power. Raising it high, she prepared to throw it
at the Reaper.

He scrambled out of
the bed, backing away from her, hands held high in a placating
gesture. “Wait, wait, wait. I'm the good guy in this picture.”

She stared.

He was naked.

Oh gosh, he was
wonderfully, beautifully, wide shouldered, flat ab, narrow hip, and
rippling muscle naked.

She
let her eyes linger on the rugged body and smooth skin. The energy
ball in her hands flared brighter. Dang it. '
Control
,' she implored her inner
self. Evie's eyes strayed a little further down.
Forget control. What lay between this man's legs
was truly a thing of beauty. Her wings popped out fully extended
knocking over both bedside tables with a crash, lamps and
all.

“Oh, that's comin'
out of the credit card,” Trick sighed.

“You
were,” her voice came out in a squeak. Clearing her throat, she
tried again, “You were in the alley. I
saw
you.”

“Of course you did. I
was fighting to reach the guy in the fancy suit with only one wing.
You know, the one who tried to take you out with a black ice
crystal shoved directly into your soft, white, bouncy breast?”

She
looked down. There was a blue mark with spidery black veins spread
across the middle of her chest between her breasts.
'
Wait
,' she
thought, '
blue mark on my
chest.
' Chest. Breasts. Oh
stars.

She
looked up at him, “
I'm
naked
!
”

He gave her the same
engaging crooked grin as in the bar, “Oh yes, you are.”

She
threw the energy ball straight at him. Nothing but a blur of
motion, he turned
slipstreaming
between time, literally running up the wall,
throwing himself into a backwards somersault in a back bending,
eye-popping twist. The momentum carried him up and over the ball of
light. The blast burned a hole through a poorly colored print of
Santa Monica, several layers of wallpaper, plaster and cement,
before disappearing out into the night and setting off car alarms
far into the distance.

He gave her an
affronted stare, “Hey! That would have hurt!”

She pulled her sword
from its scabbard and it flared into life. Despite being naked, no
one and nothing could remove the sword belt except her.

Instead of running or
putting up his fists to fight, Trick stood very still, his hands at
his sides. “You were freezing, from the inside out.”

“I'm an Angel, I
can't die.”

A look flashed across
his face, as though there was something he wanted to say, Evie
thought. He ran both hands through his hair and when he met her
eyes again, his face was composed.

“That doesn't mean
you can't be hurt – at least temporarily – or captured. The
Fallen's weapon was meant to weaken you, render you helpless.
Pardon me for thinking you might have wanted an exit strategy right
about then. I grabbed you and ran like a jackrabbit with a coyote
on its tail. Brought you here. My powers are heat based. You were
blue with cold, Ms. Grace. I was healing you.”

“Oh,
healing
.
Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” She didn't bother
hiding the sarcasm in her voice.

He let his eyes
linger on the smooth, full curves of her body. Her round breasts,
the swell of hips and thighs. Healing had been the last thing on
his mind as he held her through the night.

Getting her here,
however, had required quite a bit effort. The hotel he chose ended
up being booked right up to the fifth floor. Key card in hand, he
had dashed up to the room, thrown open the sliding window and,
pulling a shadow over himself, jumped down to get her. Trick had
stashed the Angel in the bushes camouflaging the property's venting
system near the parking lot. Trying to jump straight up with an
armful of Angel trailing her wide, white wings had not gone so
well, even for someone as strong as Trick. After several tries,
he'd finally had to get a running start across the parking lot and
launch himself from the top of a van before landing – just barely –
inside the room.

Undressing had been
more a matter of urgency than lascivious intent. She was cold and
getting colder, the blue tinge on her skin deepening as he worked.
Throwing off his own clothes, he pulled the blankets around them,
belly to belly, and ramped up his energy level like an electric
blanket on high.

Holding her tightly, skin to skin, gradually the sense of
urgency that had driven him began to diminish. Replaced by
other,
different
sensations. The touch of her hair. The feel of her neck and
shoulders. The jut of her hip bone against his. A sweet perfume as
she began to warm against him. Like lavender in bloom under the
afternoon sun. The smell of angels.

He'd grown so hard.
Suddenly. Unexpectedly. More than anything he wanted to slip
between her thighs, enter her fully and let the two become one. He
was many things in the nasty half-life of his; rapist was not one
of them. Yet how delicious during those long hours of the night to
contemplate the feel of her strong legs wrapped around him,
squeezing his waist, pulling him closer. He wanted to bury himself
in that velvet soft sheath of muscles and let the passion there
consume them both.

Not
that he ever got the chance, morals or not. Her damn wings kept
flipping out, knocking him off the bed again and again and
again
.

Dogs ran in their
sleepy dreams.

Apparently, Angels
flew.

Climbing up off the
floor for about the tenth time as the afternoon turned to night, he
felt his ardor cooling a little. It was all he could do just to
keep hold of her and let his magic do its work. He wasn't lying
when he told her he was healing her. Hours passed before he was
able to warm her back to consciousness.

“No weapon?”

Trick blinked,
pulling his attention back to the here and now. “What?”

She pointed to his
empty hands, “You had an iron bar-type thing, in the alley.”

“Oh, yeah, iron is
very good against supernaturals.”