Nobody's Angel (The Earth Angels) (8 page)

“What do you mean?”

She fished out her phone. “Do you get reception here?”

“Of course.”

Of course.
She shook her head and tapped the screen. What sort of secret stronghold would it be for a winged avenger if it didn’t have awesome cell phone reception? “The first and second murder-suicides have one person in common, a young man by the name of James Denton—college student, amateur artist and Internet rapper-wannabe. I spent all day researching him online, and in addition to some emo-gangsta rap lyrics about sucking living souls out of human bodies and feasting on their emotions like the psychic vampire he is, I was particularly interested with his Divine Art site.”

“His what?”

“Divine Art is a hosting Web site where artists from all mediums post their work. And James Denton’s site is an eyeful.” Finding the correct file, she closed the distance separating them and leaned close to show him the screen. “Denton’s called this piece
The First Time
, and posted it a year ago. I could be wrong in my interpretation, but it seems to me this painting depicts a soul being pulled out of this person here, who looks like she’s falling to the floor in a stupor, maybe even death. The work called
The Second Time
is much clearer, showing tendrils of what look like cobwebs of energy clinging from the person’s prone body to the soul, with some of those tendrils having already snapped.”

“That’s the geist,” he muttered, leaning closer. “See that swirled thatch of blond hair over the eyes and pug nose? The geist has been warped from being in the physical realm for so long, but those features are still present.”

“I’m not surprised to hear you say that.” She flicked her finger across the screen. “This latest piece posted about two weeks ago is called
Puppet Master
. It’s more of a self-portrait than the others, because James Denton depicts himself clearly here at the top of the painting, while he holds the strings that control this hideous hunchbacked monster covered in boils. A monster that has that thatch of hair and pug nose you just mentioned.”

“He can see the geist.” His words were faint, stunned. “That’s
exactly
what the spirit looks like. Denton must be profoundly psychic if he can see it as clearly as I can.”

“I don’t think you fully understand what I’m trying to say. It’s not just that he has the supernatural ability to
see
it. I believe Denton
created
the geist.”

That made his attention swing back to her, and though she couldn’t see his eyes through the darkness, she felt them rake over her like a longing caress. “Kendall, I think you might be the one who doesn’t understand. No one can
create
a geist.”

“If you put his rap lyrics of sucking out souls together with the scene depicted in
The Second Time
, I believe Denton made this person into a ghost, then kept that ghost with him until the poor thing devolved into a geist. But it gets worse than that.”

“It can’t get much worse than the unnatural removal of a soul from a living body.”

“Since James Denton depicted himself as holding the strings on the geist, and this piece is called
Puppet Master
, I believe James Denton is psychically controlling that geist to do his bidding.”

“You’re right. That is crazy.” He shook his head while the darkness around him dissolved. “He’s human, Kendall. Humans don’t have that kind of power. I don’t know of
anything
that has that kind of power.”

“I think I do.”

He sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I’ve done research on the thing Denton mentioned in his lyrics—a psychic vampire.” She pressed on, ignoring him. “It’s possible this guy possesses a psychic ability that feeds off another person’s life force, or soul, to the point where he might be able to manipulate it from a living body, and then have it do whatever he wants.”

“But a human using a geist to commit murder? Even if a fraction of this is true—and I’m all but convinced it’s impossible—it’s not like the police can handle something as bizarre as a psychic murderer.”

“Look, I know it sounds insane, but you did say this geist was acting like no other. People who are personally connected to James Denton are dying, and I believe the source could be a psychically gifted human.”

“No.”

“But—”

“
No
, Kendall. I don’t want to hear another word about this.” Without warning he caught her by the chin and stilled her mouth with a kiss that was searing and hungry and so familiar the shock of it forked through her like lightning. Heat rushed along her nerve endings even as reality had her jerking away, and as she stared into his eyes—those beautiful golden-brown eyes—she didn’t know if her pulse raced from desire or amazement.

“Zeke
.
”

Chapter Eight

The barks of sea lions on the rocky shore below reached Zeke’s ears as he hunkered down on his favorite perch on the edge of the balcony. Though it was still dark, the sun was making the sky blush over the forty-four hills of San Francisco, and his shift at Bayshore would begin in less than three hours. If this was a normal day he’d be in his apartment, probably headed for a shower and a cup of coffee strong enough to wrestle his eyes open after a long night of searching for that demon who’d slipped his grasp, and the geist that had turned his world upside down.

But this wasn’t a normal day. He was at The Roost, his family’s stronghold, which was to be used only in cases of emergency. And there was no way he was going into work when the one woman who needed his protection had just become the biggest danger he’d ever encountered.

She knew who he was. And damn, she’d looked at him like he was a freak.

A tight knot of anger twisted in his gut, only to be cut in two by the sharp blade of despair. He shouldn’t be surprised. Wings weren’t exactly a turn on, after all. Hell, he should probably count himself lucky she hadn’t gone into screaming hysterics over his extra hardware. It was just a shame she’d figured out who he was. Now he no longer had the luxury of seeing her during “normal” life. No more going for coffee, or delighting in the way her gaze clung to him, or necking in restaurant booths. He’d be lucky if he didn’t wind up on the frigging ten o’clock news.

No, he thought, staring at the mask in his hands. Kendall wouldn’t do something like that, even if there was a chance in hell someone would actually believe her. Dedicated as she was to uncovering the truth, with her beautiful heart and unwavering integrity, she would never destroy a life. That was only one of the many characteristics that made her the definition of
magnificent
.

Whereas he was the definition of
circus freak
.

“Zeke?”

He made the mistake of glancing back. Sleep-rumpled and irresistible in a borrowed T-shirt that fit her like a shapeless dress, Kendall stood barefoot in the threshold leading to the shag-carpeted living room. Quickly he looked away when her gaze slid to the arc of his wings, now open and relaxed, free of the harness he wore daily beneath his uniform and draping all the way to the balcony floor. He’d pretty much had all the horrified shock he could take for one night.

“I’ll have to head into the city for supplies,” he said to the dark sky before him. “Other than water, electricity and about a thousand cans of Spam, this place doesn’t have much in the way of—” He sucked in a sharp breath when hesitant fingers slid over the arch of a wing in a curious—and undeniably arousing—caress “—provisions.”

“Zeke.” Her voice was as soft as the whisper of the surf below. How could it be strong enough to turn him inside out? “How?”

It took all his concentration to keep from shuddering helplessly. Now was not the time to discover his wings were an erogenous zone. “I was fourteen when the wings showed up. Until then, I thought I’d been lucky enough to escape the family curse. But there is no escaping this damned existence. The moment I was conceived I was doomed to be...what I am.”

“Which is?”

He didn’t want to tell her. But her gentle touch was loosening something inside him, something he’d had locked down for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to be free. “There’s a story of a time when the sons of God—angels—came to earth to lay with the daughters of man. Their offspring were called Nephilim. Ever heard of them?”

The delightful slide of her hand traced the base of a wing, then slid down the indentation of his bare spine, and he could only thank his lucky stars he’d discarded his armored vest hours earlier. “Enlighten me.”

“Um.” Her touch was as curious as a child’s, while still being the most erotic thing he’d ever had the great good fortune to experience. His blood heated with the maddening fever of desire, and he was fiercely glad he was crouched and turned away from her. If she knew how hard he’d become just from the skin-on-skin contact alone, she’d know he was both a freak
and
a perv. “It’s pretty much a guessing game exactly when the Nephilim came into existence, though the first mention of them pops up in Genesis. Whether you believe in Genesis or the Book of Enoch later found in the Dead Sea Scrolls, the bottom line is that a few angels somewhere along the way—perhaps fallen, perhaps not—were serious about making babies with human women. The man upstairs wasn’t too happy with this turn of events. Apparently there wasn’t enough room in the world for a hybrid model, so the Nephilim were wiped off the face of the earth with a worldwide flood. I’m sure that event must ring a bell.”

“It is kind of famous.”

“Yeah.” For a moment he allowed himself to close his eyes as she moved on to the base of the other wing, savoring the lush thrill of her hands on his body until he thought he might lose what little mind he had left. “What’s funny is I can understand it. Who the hell did those angels think they were, getting it on with human women? They were the ones who should have been punished, but somehow it didn’t shake out that way. It was the Nephilim—the ones who didn’t even ask to be born as freaks—who got bitch-slapped out of existence, not their horny fathers.”

“But some Nephilim survived?”

“Unfortunately.” He balled his hands on the mask to stop them from reaching back to pull her close. Heavy, sweet heat pooled low in his gut, the mere thought of holding her against him making his already stiff member throb with a hunger he had to deny. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m comfortable with the guy staring back at me in the mirror. I like who I am. But as for
what
I am...I hate it, Kendall. I’m locked into a fate I can’t escape because thousands of years ago some selfish asshat of an angel of death couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Wow, an angel of death?” The small, downy feathers that covered the large plane of wing sifted through her fingers. A groan bottled up in his throat as honeyed pleasure spilled into his system like a drug. “No wonder you know so much about ghosts and geists.”

“My family’s progenitor was Ezekiel, one of the lesser angels of death. Because of him I can see spirits of all kinds, and pass them into the next life with something called soulfire. These are abilities only angels of death possess.”

“Were you named after him?”

“It’s tradition.” Stroking. Touching. Exploring. If she wanted to torture him, she was doing a bang-up job of it. “We can’t ever forget where we come from. It would be certain death for me and my kind if we do.”

“Your kind? You mean there are
more
of you?”

“Oh yeah, though I have no idea how many more there are out there.”

“Can they all do what you do? See spirits and...and fly?”

“I’d be willing to bet we’re as different from each other as our progenitors. But that’s only a theory.” He had to bite his lower lip to keep from sighing out loud when she inched closer. “I don’t go looking for them, and they don’t come looking for me. We make sure we never live in the same city with each other. It’s too dangerous.”

“What a lonely life.” For a moment she rested her hand on his back, palm flattened against his spine, and the gentle comfort that flowed from it made his chest clench with excruciating sweetness. “Why would it be dangerous to be around your own kind?”

“Nephilim were exterminated simply for existing. Back then they were easy to find—actual giants among men, and generally located in one area. Heaven’s wrath lowered the boom on them because they were stupid enough to put themselves on the radar, so it’s understood that if modern-day Nephilim are interested in staying alive, they won’t congregate.” Zeke tried to even out his breathing, but it was a losing battle. She had moved on to his lats, both hands sliding over his back with all the bold fervor of a blind woman taking in a statue through touch. “Kendall, what are you doing?”

“Learning you. I don’t want any more surprises.” She moved to the remiges, or flight feathers at the end of a wing, absorbed in her examination. “So you try to keep off the radar, for want of a better phrase?”

“Pretty much.” God, the woman had no idea what she was doing to him. This time he couldn’t stop the shudder of pleasure as she moved to the other wing. “The key to survival is to lay low and keep my corner of the world clear of all problems.”

“Problems like the geist?”

“And other things.”

“Like the dead guy with glowing red eyes in Stern Grove?”

That startled him enough to glance back at her, only to find her face kissably close. “That was no dead guy. That was some weird demon wearing the face of a dead guy that slipped through my fingers. How do you know about that?”

Her slow smile was so alluring he had to look away before he pounced on her. “I guess you keep forgetting what I do for a living.”

Ha.
As if he could ever forget a damn thing about her. “Just as long as you don’t forget what I have to do to stay alive. I hide in the shadows, and even wear a mask in the hope that I won’t be seen by an uncaring deity who wants me dead.”

“I think you’re fooling yourself if you believe you’re not known to the heavens,” she said after so long a pause he’d thought she wasn’t going to answer. “I’m not exactly religious, and I’m certainly no expert, but I do know you’re hard to miss.”

Zeke nearly smiled at the unintended compliment. “Heaven’s wrath wants all Nephilim dead.
All
of them. We’re abominations.”

“Don’t say that. Think of all the people you’ve helped. Think of how you’ve saved me.”

“I’ve only done that so San Francisco never pops up on any celestial radar as a problem requiring the attention of the heavenly host. I’m no hero. I’m nothing more than a self-serving coward looking out for number one.”

“Now who’s being an asshat?” Before Zeke could brace himself, she pulled him backward by the shoulders to tumble him off the low balcony wall. A grunt escaped him when he landed flat on his back, the mask tumbling from his grip. To his surprise, her bare foot came to plant itself right over his heart as she jammed her hands on her hips. The breath left his lungs, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the fall, or from the fact that this new position allowed him to see she wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath the T-shirt. “You’ve been so busy telling yourself what a mistake you are that you’ve started to buy into that load of crap. But I’m not going to help you enjoy your pity party, Zeke. There are no mistakes, not like this. You’re meant to be the way you are, and whether you like it or not, you’re a good man who does all he can to make his corner of the world a better place.”

Before she could take her foot off his chest and stalk away, he caught it by the ankle. Her skin was baby soft, the bones so small and delicate he felt brutish in comparison. Taking great care not to upend her balance, he ran a fingertip along the arch of her foot and smiled when he surprised a breathless laugh out of her.

Oh, yeah. A ticklish woman was worth her weight in diamonds.

“Keeping the world safe isn’t all I can do, you know.” He smiled, and wondered if it looked as predatory as it felt. “I do have other talents.”

Her eyes widened, then darkened with a sultry seduction that made him want to beg her for mercy. “Could you expand on that?”

“Trust me, I already have.” At last giving in to temptation, Zeke brought her toes to his mouth and ran his tongue along the sensitive pads while his gaze lingered on the glimpse of dark curls under the T-shirt. He’d always loved the view from this balcony, but never more so than now. “Tell me, Kendall. Have you ever thought about having sex with a winged man?”

A shaky breath whispered out of her, and she smiled when he took her toes into his mouth. “You’re slow on the uptake, flyboy. That’s all I’ve been thinking about since I came out here. Or did you really think I was learning your unusual anatomy for intellectual purposes? I wanted to know if you were built for...for that sort of thing.”

“Really?” Humbled by her bravery and seduced beyond all reason by her adventurous spirit, Zeke was on his feet and backing her into the house with a breathless grin. “Why don’t we find out?”

* * *

The bedroom Zeke had given Kendall the night before was a circular crow’s-nest loft that had a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the Pacific Ocean and the mainland nearly thirty miles away. The custom-built bed was also round, a platform-style thing that had been popular in the seventies, and big enough for a winged man. When she had curled up in the center of it the night before, the sheer size of it had only underscored how alone she was. The desolate yearning to have the strength of protective arms around her had been an agony to bear, and the need for a warm, powerful body fusing to hers had nearly driven her out of her mind.

But she’d been alone. The moment she had murmured his name, he’d all but slammed her into this bedroom before vanishing. He couldn’t have made it any plainer he wanted nothing to do with her, and at the time she’d tried hard to feel the same way. She’d tried to be upset he’d made a fool of her with his mask and assertions she was a wigged-out PTSD victim. She’d struggled to drum up anger over how her heart had been pulled in what she’d thought was two different directions, when in fact she’d had feelings for only one man. In the end, though, these attempts were so feeble they couldn’t stand on their own. She wanted Zeke there with her, and not just because he’d left her alone on an inaccessible island with a thousand cans of Spam. She wanted to hold him until he stopped looking at her like he believed he deserved a kick in the gut for being born different.

Okay.
Very
different. But there was nothing wrong with that. It was past time he stopped hating himself for it.

His mouth was better than any dream, capturing hers again and again as he guided her backward to the bed, each kiss a new and glorious seduction. She loved the way his lips molded to hers, as if he knew exactly how to melt against her, and she was thrilled she’d made the first move. It had taken most of her courage to approach him on the balcony; if he had rejected her again, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to recover from it. Her feelings for Zeke weren’t casual, or superficial. How could they be, when the mere thought of a rejection from him darkened her world?