Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (15 page)

“She’s completely out of it,” said a man with brown hair and glasses. He was dressed in a conservative but expensively tailored brown suit. The man came to stand before Juliette, gently nudging Gabriel aside. He pulled off his glasses and peered into her eyes. “You don’t mess around, do you, Az?”

Azrael said nothing to that. He was still as a statue clothed in shadows.

Juliette closed her eyes and shook her head gently. She didn’t feel bad—not at all. She just felt as if nothing mattered, and everything was fine, and there was no danger. None. Despite the ridiculous evidence to the contrary all around her.

“Let ’er go,” Gabriel commanded then, pulling Juliette behind him so that he stood between her and Azrael. She craned her neck to peer around him.

The vampire cocked his head to one side and narrowed his gold gaze. “Are you certain that’s what you wish?”

Gabriel said nothing. Juliette couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine the look he was giving the vampire.
His brother.

“Very well,” said Azrael. He turned away from them then, and made his way to the double glass doors that led out onto what looked like a balcony. “I’m going to eat. But before I do, you should know,” he said as he glanced at Gabriel over his broad shoulder, “Sam’s been in her head.”

The double doors swung open as he neared them, and when he stepped through and disappeared into the darkness, Juliette felt the blanket of calm that had been draped over her lift. Her thoughts were no longer fuzzy. She was no longer relaxed. A hard, sharp anxiety spiked through her blood, heavily laden with cortisol and adrenaline. Her stomach roiled with what felt like a sudden hangover and she felt nauseated. Her head ached.

She stepped back from Gabriel, who turned to peer down at her. Unsteadily, she looked around the room as if seeing everything for the first time. There was a cop, a famous actor, a beautiful woman she didn’t know, a man in a brown suit and glasses, and, seconds ago, there had been a vampire.

Her stomach lurched and she swallowed down bile. She’d just been ripped out of an elevator, mentally controlled, and taken through some kind of portal through space and time.

Her heart hammered hard, increasing her nausea and her headache. She’d just had lunch with Samuel Lambent and another famous actor, and they’d all but told her that Gabriel Black was an evil warlock who wanted to have sex with her to steal her powers, and then kill her.

“I think I’m—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Reality was bent on sending her lunch back to where it had come from. She slapped her hand over her mouth and fell to her knees.

Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see the cop and the woman with black hair racing toward her. She could do nothing to stop them as they both knelt before her and the woman pressed her hand to Juliette’s chest. That nearly did it—the food almost came up.

But then, miraculously, the nausea was ebbing. It felt like heaven—that cessation of what Juliette considered the worst kind of pain. She closed her eyes and moaned softly. The pain in her head lifted next, leaving with an almost crackling relief.

After a few moments, the woman removed her hand and Juliette raised her head and opened her eyes. “Feel better?” the woman asked softly. Her light blue eyes reflected a kindness and an empathy Juliette had rarely seen in another human being.

Juliette nodded. “Thank you.”

The woman shrugged. “It was nothing. You could have done it yourself if you hadn’t been so overwhelmed.” She and the cop stood back up, and Gabriel was back at her side then, offering her his hand. Juliette glanced down at the hand and trepidation flooded her. She stood on her own, ignoring his offer of help, and Gabriel took a deep breath through his nose.

“Who are all of you?” Juliette asked, taking several steps back from them to give herself space. She felt immensely better physically, but her mind was still spinning. The man in glasses came toward her, but Juliette held up her hand. “Please. Don’t come any closer. Just answer my question.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, drawing everyone’s attention to the windows. The flash of lightning could be seen illuminating the curtains. Juliette knew it was her fault. The storm was reflecting her emotions.

“Well, here we are again,” mumbled the cop as he ran a hand through his wavy blond hair. “Ellie, can you help her with that?” he asked the black-haired woman, gesturing toward the windows and the storm beyond.

The woman shook her head. “Sorry.” Then she turned back to face Juliette. “I’m Ellie,” she said kindly. “That’s Uriel, my husband. Azrael is the one who brought you here, this is Max, and this is Michael.” She introduced the party one at a time. “I know you’re confused, and I don’t blame you for thinking this is insane. But I promise that no one in this room would ever harm you in any way.”

Juliette looked at their faces, trying to memorize their names. The woman had introduced Christopher Daniels as Uriel. Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe this wasn’t the actor after all, just some look-alike. “What do you want?” she asked the room.

“We just want to help you,” Max said, replacing his glasses and gesturing beseechingly with his open hands. “We know you’re going through a lot right now, and you probably don’t understand any of it. That’s why we’re here.”

Juliette thought of the way she’d dropped to the floor in the elevator and pleaded for someone to save her. Had the fates heard her? Had the gods sent her a hero? If so, they were rather unlikely heroes . . . a movie star look-alike? A vampire? And a man who might be a warlock who wanted her dead so that he could continue to be immortal?

At least there’s the cop,
she thought, desperately wanting to believe that a badge automatically made a good man. Even while she knew it wasn’t true.

Lightning struck closer this time, and they caught the sound of a tree being felled. It crackled harshly in the night and crashed to the ground.

“We need to talk, little one.” Gabriel came to stand before her again, and this time she didn’t back away. Her attention was instantly arrested by him. His nearness subjugated her with memories. His kiss. His scent. The silver of his eyes.

“That’s what you said on the train,” she told him.

“Aye,” he said. “Bu’ we have yet to speak of anything.” He gave her a small smile and Juliette felt her gaze narrow.

“I don’t trust you,” she told him flatly.

Lightning struck just outside the window and a few in the room found themselves ducking out of instinct.

“Lass, you need to control that,” Gabriel told her with a wary glance toward the windows.

“Why? Because if I don’t, it’ll drain me and I won’t be able to fight you off?” Juliette asked. “Isn’t that what you told me? And why would I have to fight you off, Black? Can you tell me that?” Her bottom lip was trembling; in fact, she could feel a tremble begin to thrum through her entire body. She might be healed of her hangover, but her temper was taking over now.

“I’m heading out for my shift,” said Michael, the cop. Gabriel turned to glance at him and something unspoken passed between them. “I’m in the middle of a nasty case involving a serial rapist,” he said as he pulled a brown leather bomber jacket on over his shoulder holster and guns. “Give me a call if you need me.”

“Thank you, Michael,” Max said.

Michael picked up a black duffel bag, gave Juliette a nod of farewell, and headed toward the mansion’s front door. Juliette watched him go and fought the urge to call him back. He was a cop—he was the good guy here.

When he was gone, Max again came toward Juliette and Gabriel. “Miss Anderson, we haven’t handled this properly at all. I’m so sorry. But what Eleanore says is true. We would never harm you. You are more important to us than you can know.” He took off his glasses and pocketed them and then gently took Juliette’s elbow in his hand. “Please, won’t you at least come and sit down?”

Juliette allowed him to lead her to the nearest couch. She decided that pulling away from him would accomplish little. If she needed to escape them, she could use telekinesis to slam something into someone’s head or call lightning through the window. And anyway . . . Eleanore had actually healed her.

Juliette chanced a glance at the dark-haired woman. Was she like Juliette? Could she control the weather and use telekinesis as well?

Max sat her down and pulled a throw from the back of it to drape over her shoulders. The warmth was definitely welcome.

“I’ll make you some tea,” said Eleanore as she hastily made her way across the living room toward one of many archways that led to halls across the room.

“Wait!” Juliette hurriedly stood from the couch, at once apprehensive. Eleanore was the only one in this mass of people that Juliette had any reason to trust. The others were . . . strangers to her. And Gabriel Black was too close. Juliette’s eyes cut to him. He was watching her so intently, his head lowered, his silver gaze cutting through her as if he couldn’t wait to get her alone.

She swallowed hard, confused by the warmth that gathered between her legs at that thought. Then she looked back at Eleanore, who had stopped and turned to face her. “Please don’t leave,” Juliette said.

“Ellie, you stay here with Juliette, and I’ll get the tea,” said Max. He nodded at Eleanore and she nodded back, taking his place beside Juliette.

“All right,” she said with a warm smile. “Sit with me, Jules.” She sat down on the couch beside Juliette and patted the cushions, indicating that Juliette should do the same. Juliette stared down at her hand and thought of the way she’d just referred to her as “Jules.” Only Sophie, Juliette’s best friend, had ever called her that. Even her parents used her full name. And yet, somehow it sounded right coming from this woman. It sounded natural, in fact.

Juliette found herself sitting down and even feeling a bit calmer as she did so.

But then Gabriel was coming toward her again, and Juliette’s body once more went on high alert. He knelt before her and she caught a whiff of his cologne. It washed over her like a drug and her mouth watered. As he knelt, he placed his hands on the cushions of the couch on either side of her legs, and she was painfully aware of the nearness of his fingers to the skin of her thighs.

Juliette steadfastly stared at the coffee table. She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes. She knew if she did, she would be lost.

“Look a’ me, luv,” he told her softly. His brogue was like fingers through her hair, a hot breath on her nipples. It seduced her as little else could. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Ah, lass,” he breathed. “I mean you no harm. Can you no’ see that?”

“What are you people?” Juliette asked, her eyes still shut tight.

“They’re archangels,” said Eleanore. “And we’re archesses.”

Juliette’s eyes flew open at that. She looked over at Eleanore, meeting her blue-eyed gaze. “What did you say?”

“Archesses,” Eleanore repeated patiently, her smile genuine. “I’m an archess—a female angel made as a mate to one of the four favorite archangels,” she explained. “And so are you.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

L
ilith warily glanced upward when the overhead lights began to flicker. She wasn’t surprised; she’d been here before. The air in the room was thick with pent-up power, and it licked out at the world with white-hot electric fingers. At the center of this barely kept tumult stood Samael, gazing steadily out over the cityscape of Chicago below.

Jason stood opposite Lilith on the other side of the room. As usual, the man was wearing a blue suit and blue tie that matched the blue of his eyes. He watched his employer—his master—with an expression that spoke of both trepidation and thrill. He was enjoying this. It was in his nature.

Jason was not a normal man. Once long ago, he had walked the Earth as a human, and in that state he had committed monstrosities against the human race. As punishment, Uriel, the Angel of Vengeance, had been sent after him. The battle between the two was woefully short, and of course, Jason lost.

His spirit was trapped, as all such spirits are, in a place that no mortal spoke of—because no mortal knew it existed. Thousands of years later, Jason’s spirit had been pulled from its waiting place and put to work.

For Samael.

Only Samael could control the spirits of that realm—no one claimed to know why—but control them he did. Jason was his assistant, but there were other not-so-human minions in Samael’s employ. Some could not hide their otherworldly natures, such as his Dark Riders, black-armor-clad humanoids atop sable steeds with burning eyes. Others, however . . . others looked utterly human and walked among the mortals of Earth without detection.

Her gaze flicked to the violet-eyed man standing on the opposite side of the room to Jason. Lawrence McNabb watched Samael with an unreadable expression. Lilith’s skin prickled.

“Gabriel and his brothers are more reckless than I imagined,” Samael finally said. His tone was low, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “Azrael could have harmed Juliette in his methods.”

“But he didn’t,” Lilith quietly insisted. “He knew what he was doing.”

Samael looked away from the window to glance at her. His storm gray eyes were glowing as if lit by the very lightning she could see in their depths. “No doubt,” he said simply. “They all did.”

Sam turned from the windows and paced slowly to his desk. His expression was introspective. The quiet tension coming from him was wholly unnerving. Lilith would almost have been happier if he’d have let loose with his emotions, so that she would at least know where she stood with him.

There was a manila folder on his desk, among other documents. Samael slowly picked it up and flipped it open.

Apparently unable to stand the tension any longer, Jason spoke up. “Will we be going after her, sir?”

Samael allowed the question to linger on the air unanswered for several long seconds. Jason swallowed hard; Lilith could hear it. And then Samael plopped the folder, still open, back onto his desktop. “No,” he said simply. “There’s no need.”

A mixture of relief and worry coursed through Lilith. She glanced down at the open file, wondering what it held. All she could see of it, however, was illegible, typewritten text and a pair of lines at the bottom, each bearing a signature. She frowned; one of the signatures was readily recognizable.

Lilith’s eyes widened. It hit her. “That’s Juliette’s contract,” she said. It wasn’t a question—just a statement of realization. Sam glanced over at her. The hint of a smile, cold and calculative, curled the corners of his mouth.

And that was when Lilith’s heart sank. She knew what he had done. History had a way of repeating itself and contracts were Samael’s specialty. She glanced over at McNabb, as if for confirmation.

His steady, knowing gaze said it all.

Young, eager Juliette Anderson had no doubt signed her agreement without hesitation. Not that it mattered. No one but Sam could unravel the spells he wove within his contracts. Well, no one but Sam and possibly Max. But it wasn’t easy for the guardian to do so.

Max had been forced to unravel one such contract four months ago, when Uriel had signed an agreement with Samael over the “acquisition” of his archess, Eleanore Granger. It hadn’t gone well for Uriel.

“It’s a simple nondisclosure agreement, Lily,” said Sam, using the nickname that only he ever used with her. His smile broadened. “More or less.”

* * *

Gabriel was certain that this must be the kind of apprehension one experienced right before heart surgery. Or before giving birth. Or negotiating a hostage crisis involving a school bus full of small children.

Because as he watched the expression on Juliette’s face change as she took everything in, he felt a growing sense of unease. Something wasn’t right.

Thus far, he, Max, Uriel, and Eleanore had all painstakingly explained the situation to Juliette. They’d taken great care to go easy on the shock factor of her powers and their being archangels, and go heavy on the empathy so that she would know she wasn’t alone.

Through the course of the night, Eleanore had been an angel in every sense of the word. She’d been so patient and kind. She’d actually managed to win Juliette’s trust, from what Gabriel could tell, and for that alone he could have kissed her. If Uriel wouldn’t have killed him for it.

But despite their efforts, something wasn’t sitting well with Juliette. He could see it in the wariness of her hazel eyes, which at the moment were a strange light green-gray-brown color that seemed to glow in the frame of her perfect face.

He could tell she wanted to leave. He could even sense that she wanted to run. He felt like a wolf staring down a fawn; she was all caution and barely contained panic, frozen in some sort of cosmic headlight. Of course, allowing her to leave was out of the question. Samael was out there and he was bad enough. The Adarians were fast proving themselves to be far worse. She was a sitting duck, and there was no way in hell he was going to let her out of his sight.

At the same time however, he knew he’d messed up on the train when he’d told her she would never be able to escape him. He knew he needed to make up for that. He wanted to calm her fears, let her know that she would be all right. It was painfully important to him that she not fear him—that she trust him. This was not some Saturday night fling. This wasn’t a comely wench on a rainy night in the dark of a tavern’s hallway. This was his archess and as difficult as her nearness was making things for him, he had to rein himself in and take it slowly.

At the moment Juliette sat curled up on one of the living room’s two leather sofas, a chenille throw draped over her legs. Gabriel stood leaning beside the fireplace, his thick arms crossed casually over his broad chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Every now and then, it hit him that she was really there—that she was real and not a dream—and he simply couldn’t believe it.

He had to touch her to be sure. So despite his silent oath to take things slow with Juliette, his manipulative side shoved its way to the fore and took over. Once, he pretended to head to the kitchen for more tea, and on the way he allowed the backs of his fingers to brush along her upper arm. She shivered at his touch, warm and supple beneath his fingertips, and a new and different kind of tension thrummed to life between them.

A few times over the past few hours, he’d been more devious. At one point, he used telekinesis to will her blanket to the floor. It slipped from her body, revealing her bare legs beneath the lavender silk suit she still wore, and Gabriel was forced to exercise immense control over his all-too-male body.

She bent to lift the blanket again, but he never gave her the chance. He moved forward and knelt before her, picking it up before she could do so. Then, as his eyes caught hers and held them, he proceeded to lay the throw over her once more. She pulled her gaze from him and stiffened as his hands tucked the soft material around her hips and over her legs. But he continued to watch her closely, noting the pinkening of her cheeks, the parting of her lips, and the way her pupils expanded beneath her lowered lids and long lashes. “There, now, lass. All tucked in.”

She thanked him, although begrudgingly. No matter how she might pretend, he could tell he was getting to her. This was an oddly ambivalent position for Gabriel to be in. On the one hand, he had never had to try to win a woman’s trust or affections before. And God knew there had been plenty of women. On the other hand, however, whenever he looked at Juliette, he didn’t feel like himself. He felt like a fledgling man, new and uncertain and in utter fascination of the female before him. And he hated it.

And he adored it.

It was like being in love.
Being in love . . .
Gabriel rolled the idea around in his head as he watched his archess play with the stitching on the edge of the throw. Her profile was intensely feminine. Her long, thick hair fell in lustrous waves down her back to her tiny waist and her long, slim fingers fidgeted nervously—delicately. He’d never been in love before, of course. No archangel had ever experienced love until Eleanore came along and claimed Uriel’s heart.

But there was a stirring of something wholly different inside of Gabriel. It was like a gentle hand in some ways—it forced the animal in him to heel. But it was also more vicious. Because while he had never had trouble letting a woman go before, he knew in his heart that if it came right down to it, Gabriel would die rather than let go of Juliette.

She’s mine.
Gabriel’s eyes widened.
Och, Christ,
he thought suddenly, as he ran a hand through his thick black hair. It was a thunderstorm of a realization—loud and blustery inside of his head. It shook the rafters of his spirit, drenched his soul, and left him quivering in its aftermath.

I love her.

“Samuel Lambent,” Juliette suddenly said. She hadn’t spoken for a while, but someone had obviously just asked her a question. And the name she’d replied with cut through the fog of Gabriel’s inner musings like a shark fin through water.

“What?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Uriel looked up at him, green eyes narrowed questioningly. Everyone was watching him now. They’d been talking among one another, but he’d gotten so wrapped up in his own dawning realizations, he’d lost track of what they were saying.

That feeling of something being wrong washed over Gabriel again. He wanted to know why Juliette had just said, “Samuel Lambent.”

“I said, Samuel Lambent is the one funding my research,” Juliette told them, as if she could read his mind.

Uriel spoke before Gabe could. “Lambent is paying you to conduct your PhD thesis research? Is that why you were meeting with him in Glasgow?”

Juliette looked nervous. She ducked her head in something akin to righteous embarrassment and nodded. “Well, yes,” she said. “And no. He’s creating a miniseries on the legends and cultures of ancient Caledonia and I’m supposed to supply him with the information he needs to make sure it’s accurate.” At that, she looked up at Gabriel and something secret flickered in the depths of her hazel eyes. For just a moment they turned more green. And then they darkened once more. “However, the fact that you ripped up his elevator is probably going to put a thorn in his side. I doubt he’ll continue to fund me now.”

Gabriel’s teeth pressed against each other, his jaw tightening as she went on.

“Somehow, he found out that I was doing the same kind of thing for my dissertation that he would need for his show, and he contacted my adviser. I guess he wanted to save himself the hassle of hiring someone else to do it.”

She was growing angrier as she spoke, and Gabriel was bewildered by the outrageousness of it all. Samael had fooled her completely. She’d fallen for his lie hook, line, and sinker. She thought she had a right to be angry with them for saving her from the Fallen One? She had no idea. The man was without scruples, and Juliette was far too innocent. And yet she was on the defensive with Gabriel and his brothers and trusted Samael completely.

Well, you did threaten her,
he reminded himself.
I doubt Sam threatened her.
And then Az, the bogging red-eyed vampire, ripped her out of an elevator and whisked her through a fecking portal. Can you bloody well blame the lass for not trusting you?

But he’d also saved her as well. He’d taken on the Adarian in her room for her. Did that not win him any trust points with her at all?

She glanced up at him, once more as if able to read his thoughts. This time, he caught her gaze and held it, unwilling to let go just yet. But she didn’t back down. “He’ll most likely go with someone else to do the research now anyway, I suspect,” she said. “Contract or no contract.”

Gabriel felt his rage spike and knew it had been visible in the quicksilver of his eyes when Juliette leaned back a little, her expression suddenly a tad more wary than it had been a second before. “You signed a bloody contract with Samuel Lambent?” he asked.

She hesitantly nodded. “Of course,” she said, obviously unsure as to whether she should be admitting as much. But then, true to her Scottish heritage, she seemed to steel herself against him. “That’s how these things are done,” she told him, her eyes hard.

“Aye, lass, it is,” he said. “An’ no one knows it as well as Samuel Lambent.” He almost spit the name; he was so disgusted. “Wha’ was in that contract?”

“None of your business,” she retorted hotly. She was a true thistle, both beautiful and painful to hold.

Gabriel’s ire was now sharply rising, but he wasn’t angry with Juliette. Not really. It was Samael and his infernal mechanics that were boiling Gabriel’s blood. “You have no idea wha’ that man is capable of, Juliette,” he told her. “He’s no’ wha’ you think he is.”

Juliette came to her feet as thunder rumbled overhead. “And what about you, Gabriel Black? Are
you
what I think you are?”

Gabriel cocked his head and narrowed his gaze. “Well, now, that depends, lass,” he said, his teeth gritted tight. “Wha’ exactly do you think I am?”

Juliette’s icy glare matched his. “You don’t want to know.”

“Wha’ horse shite has Lambent been puttin’ in your head, Juliette?” he asked, moving forward to close the distance between them. To her credit, the archess stayed right where she was, glaring up at him despite the fact that he had a good foot of height on her. The teacups on the coffee table began rattling against their saucers. He heard it, but ignored it.