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Authors: Heather Killough-Walden

Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (12 page)

BOOK: Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels
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“I hope you’ll forgive me,” he told her, glancing at the yoga pants and shirt she still wore. “I’m afraid I bled a little on your clothing. However, I thought you would most likely prefer changing yourself.” He gave her a sheepish grin then, and it was utterly disarming.
She blinked and glanced down at herself. He was right. She was still fully dressed and there were bits of dried blood here and there. She was entranced by him and he was far too handsome for anyone’s good, but he’d been chivalrous. She had to give him that.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Sam,” he told her simply. Then he bent to sit on the bed beside her and her heart leapt into her throat. He raised his hand and gently cupped her face. She was helpless to pull away. In fact, she felt frozen to the spot as he tenderly brushed his thumb over her cheekbone and studied her as if she were just as beautiful as he was. “And you are Eleanore.”
Her heart rate thrummed madly. “How—how do you know?”
“A long time ago, I made it my job to know everything.” He smiled a mischievous smile. “I’ve gotten rather good at it.” He chuckled.
When he removed his hand, Eleanore felt slightly strange. A little bereft. But his smile filled the tiny void and she found herself relaxing once more.
Wake up, Ellie,
her inner voice warned.
She knew nothing about this man. Not really. She knew he was rich—that much was obvious from her surroundings. You can’t rent a fully furnished house with marble floors and tapestries unless you’re loaded. She also knew he liked motorcycles.
“Sam what?” she asked. The least she needed was a last name.
He chuckled again and there were more delicious shivers. “Lambent.”
Eleanore thought about the name, which sounded familiar. “You mean like Samuel Lambent, the media mogul. . . .”
What a coincidence
, she thought
. I’ll have met two famous, gorgeous men in one week.
But of course this was a different Sam. Lots of people had the same names. And the extremely wealthy, extremely famous Lambent didn’t come to small towns in Texas. She was pretty sure he lived in Chicago.
“I won’t keep you.” He sighed, his smile almost sad now as he changed the subject. “I’ll provide you with fresh clothes and a ride home. And I promise that your secret is safe with me. But”—he paused, his eyes darkening—“I would ask that you allow me to see you again.” She watched as his pupils expanded.
She was nearly trapped in that look of growing hunger until she realized, suddenly, that he hadn’t denied it. He hadn’t denied being Samuel Lambent.
“
Oh my
,”
she whispered. “You
are
Samuel Lambent.”
For a long, silent while, Sam just stared at her.
And she stared back.
Finally, he nodded. “Yes.” He sighed and shrugged, pushing off the bed to stand once again. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”
She swallowed hard, looked him up and down, and realized she recognized him now. She’d seen profile pics, snapped hurriedly, in magazines and newspapers. He never gave interviews, so the photographs were of poor quality. But there was the tall, strong build. There was the shock of white hair. They sure as hell didn’t capture his insane handsomeness.
“Why
did
you keep it secret?” she asked. Why was he so secretive in general?
“I suppose I’m nearly as used to hiding as you must be.” This he said with a lowered head and a meaningful look through the tops of his charcoal-colored eyes. She knew damned well what he was referring to. She had saved him, so he obviously knew she could heal people. And he must realize that a power like that was too valuable. He knew she must always be on the run.
And, of course, in the back of her mind, she wondered whether she would have to run from him as well. And whether it would do any good to run from one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the country.
Eleanore looked away. “Frankly, I doubt it.” What could he possibly have to hide that was as bad a secret as hers?
Sam slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You don’t think so?” he asked.
She glanced up at him. He was looking at the floor, his gaze contemplative. He turned away from her to walk to a plush overstuffed chair beside a folded screen on the other side of the room. He gracefully sat down and then pinned her with his powerful gaze once more.
Eleanore was instantly arrested. His expression was painfully intense. She fidgeted and sat up straighter to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She still felt weak, but not uncomfortably so.
“In truth, there are people that I’d rather not have knowing where I am.”
“You’re hiding from them?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer. He just smiled a small, secret smile and the glint of his eyes told her that an answer wouldn’t be coming anytime soon.
“It’s really that bad?” she asked, bewildered.
His smile turned rather nasty. “You have no idea.”
Again, he stood and this time he strode all the way across the room to the door. “I’ll have some clothes brought up for you,” he told her as he pulled the door open and turned to face her. “There’s a light meal waiting downstairs; I know you must be hungry.” He smiled a tender, gentle smile. “Healing people obviously takes a lot out of a person. I’m indebted to you.” He paused long enough to let this sink in.
Eleanore blushed and looked away.
“When you’ve finished, I’ll be happy to give you a ride back to your apartment.”
She nodded. Then he opened the door, stepped out into the hall, and closed it behind him, leaving her alone.
 
Out in the hall, Samael stopped and ran a shaking hand through his white-blond hair. Then he lowered his hand and looked at it.
This is unexpected
, he thought.
I’m trembling?
She was getting to him. Her nearness. Her perfection. Knowing what she was and what she meant—it was too much. He couldn’t stop thinking about how she might feel.
And she was so
good
. She’s been created as a mate for an angel—and yet here she was, her own woman, replete with her own thoughts and morals and her own lifetime to back them up. She was her own person.
She no more belonged to Uriel than Samael had belonged to the Old Man.
It was strange for him to realize all of this. He’d never thought so much about one human being before. It was making him feel . . .
off
. Not quite himself.
Samael moved down the hall to the top of the marble staircase.
“Jason, where is Lilith?” he called down to the young man who was walking through the foyer below, a cell phone to one ear.
The man immediately disconnected the call and pocketed the phone. “I’m not certain, my lord. But I will find her for you right away.”
Samael nodded once, and then descended the stairs. Jason met him at the landing.
“Do you mind my asking how our guest is doing?” Jason inquired. He was a handsome young man with brown hair and blue eyes. As he had been when he was with Sam in Eleanore’s apartment, he was once more dressed in a very expensive blue suit. He appeared tall, though not as tall as his master. He was also fairly well built.
There was the air of wisdom and silent obedience about him that utterly belied the youth in his handsome features. He waited patiently as Samael glanced once back up the stairs and then turned to face him again.
“She’s beautiful,” Samael whispered. “And precious.” He frowned then, and stared at something unseen, somewhere in the vicinity of the marble ground. “I believe I have her trust. And I’m fairly certain she’ll wish to see me again.” He looked back up and met Jason’s gaze. “Any word from lover boy?”
“Not yet, my lord. But soon, I’ve no doubt.”
“No.” Samael smiled and shook his head. “Nor do I.”
 
Eleanore sank into the fine leather of the passenger seat and tried not to fidget. Everything was happening so fast and it was all so unbelievable, she didn’t really know what to make of it.
First, Christopher Daniels. And now Samuel Lambent. Two extremely big people in one very small town in two extremely short days. It was a little overwhelming.
Eleanore closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest of the luxury vehicle. It smelled nice in here. Like well-oiled leather, new car scent and gentle, wafting cologne.
Money
, she realized.
This is what real money smells like.
She’d always thought her family was well off, but there was something subtly different about this. Maybe it was the fact that none of them had ever driven a Bentley.
“I apologize if I’ve made your life even more complicated,” Sam said suddenly.
Eleanore opened her eyes and turned to gaze at him.
Jesus, he’s beautiful
, she thought. His profile was straight out of a manga comic. So perfect. The gold watch on his left wrist glittered momentarily under a passing streetlight and Eleanore shook her head, allowing it to fall back against the headrest once more. “You’ve made it more interesting, that’s for sure,” she whispered.
He chuckled, the sound sending delicious rivulets of pleasure through Eleanore’s body.
How does he do that?
“I’m about to make it even more interesting,” he said then, his voice dropping to become even quieter.
Eleanore stilled. She watched him as he turned to glance at her. “I’m sorry, Eleanore, but I wasn’t lying when I told you I make it my business to learn everything I can about people I deal with. And I know about your association with Christopher Daniels.”
She blinked and frowned, not sure how to feel about that. “What about him?”
Sam’s grip on the wheel tightened and then loosened again. She saw the tension riding up his arms and into his shoulders. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he surveyed the streets outside. “He isn’t what he seems to be.”
That’s mysterious
, Eleanore thought.
Okay. Elaborate, please.
“What do you mean?” she asked out loud.
At that, Samuel Lambent turned and fixed Eleanore with a hard gaze. “Let’s just say you and I aren’t the only two in the world with something to hide.”
CHAPTER SIX
 
U
riel glanced up from where he sat in the wooden chair before the dark windows, their curtains pulled back to reveal the blackness of the earliest Monday morning hours beyond.
Michael felt the archangel’s green gaze and turned to meet it. Uriel’s tall figure was framed by the night behind him. His expression was eerily calm and yet a touch too determined for Michael’s tastes. He’d never seen his brother like this before. Uriel had been named the Fire of God in closed quarters. The name was spoken in hushed tones by those who knew they’d done wrong. He was justice cloaked in shadow; the one whom guilty men feared seeing when they looked over their shoulders. The Angel of Vengeance had an indomitable will. An eye for seeing souls. And a sword that was sharp and quick and merciless.
And yet Michael had still never seen him like this.
He couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. He was just . . . stark. Stoic. Scary as hell.
The two angels simply stared at each other, neither speaking. Michael wondered how long it would go on when Uriel finally stood, gracefully, slowly, and strode through the room toward the halls and bedrooms beyond.
He was headed toward his wing of the mansion. Michael was worried; Samael’s challenge still hung over them unanswered, and Uriel was impulsive. He stood to lose too much. His archess was all he’d ever really wanted. Michael was certain that if Uriel was given the chance, he would try to contact Samael and take him up on his deal. But he couldn’t leave the mansion without Max at least knowing about it. The guardian was intricately tied to the magical building; he always knew what it was doing.
Michael took a deep breath and released it slowly. The situation was unbearable, but Uriel couldn’t be allowed to barter with the Fallen One. Not under any circumstances.
 
Uriel moved through the halls wrapped in an utterly belying calm. His mind had been made up from the get-go. And when he’d felt the envelope in the pocket of his black leather jacket, he’d known it was from Samael.
All he needed now was some privacy.
He reached his quarters, entered his room, and shut the door behind him. Then he paced to the fireplace, waved a hand over the hearth, and gazed into the flames that suddenly erupted into existence. They crackled and glowed and provided enough light for him to read the small envelope that he then took out of his pocket.
It was light gray, with a charcoal-colored seal. The image embedded in the seal was of a pair of angel wings. A note had been hand scrawled on one side of the envelope: “Do not break this seal.” It was a half-warning. Uriel was very familiar with those. The Old Man had been quite fond of them and Uriel had been assigned to dole out the justice to all who disobeyed them.
BOOK: Avenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels
13.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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