Bittersweet Magic (34 page)

What the hell was going on?

The Walker reached out a hand toward her. He murmured something and inside her, the door was flung open.

“Fuck.”

The word came from Piers. He was staring at her. She peered down and saw her skin glowing with a pale luminescence. White light blazed out of her, lighting up the cavernous chamber, flaring off the black walls. She turned slowly. Andarta stood motionless, her eyes stretched wide.

Roz threw back her head as the power streamed through her, bathing her in raw energy. She was on fire but didn’t burn, the tongues of white flame licking over her skin.

Focusing her mind on Andarta, the light poured out from her. The demoness screamed, as the flames engulfed her body.

Shock held Roz immobile. What had she done? But she couldn’t stop it now. In panic, she turned to Piers, but the fire hadn’t touched him. He huddled against the wall, his hand shading his eyes. Christian stood beside him.

And all around her, the white fire burned.

The Walker approached the invisible barrier that encircled her and the burning demoness. “Rosamund, call it back. You can do it.”

Could she? Did she even want to? But the flames were spreading, leaking out of the circle, crawling along the floor, up the walls.

She closed her eyes. Visualized the door. Pushed it closed. At first, it resisted. She gave a shove, and the door slammed shut.

When she opened her eyes, the fire was gone. In front of her was a pile of ashes—all that remained of Andarta.

Epilogue

“She’s an angel,” the Walker said.

They were back in Piers’ office at the Order. Everyone was there. And they were all staring at her. Even the goddamn cat.

“Hey, stop gawping at me like I’m about to sprout wings and a halo and start singing halleluiah!” Roz twitched her shoulders as if she could already feel the appendages growing.

“Really? An angel?” Piers asked. He sounded dubious, and who could blame him. He was also studying her as though she might explode. She scowled instead.

“Quarter angel, actually,” the Walker replied. “Her mother was the child of a fallen angel.”

“What happened to him?” Roz asked. Her mother had always said she was an orphan.

“He was hunted down and executed, along with your grandmother, but the child—your mother—escaped.”

“But who killed them?”

“The angels, of course. If you think the fae don’t like their blood being spread about, you should see what the angels do.”

“Actually, I don’t think I do want to see.”

“What sort of angel?” Christian asked.

“There are different sorts?” This morning she hadn’t believed in angels. Now apparently, there were different types. And she was one of them.

“What sort do you think?” the Walker said. “You saw the light, saw what she did to Andarta.”

“She’s an Avenger.” Asmodai sounded far from happy. “Shit, all these years...” He cast her a look of awe mixed with fear.

What the hell could put that expression on the demon’s face? “An Avenger? What’s that?”

“A Warrior of God, a Wielder of the White Flame.” Christian grinned. “Also known as demons-bane.”

Well, that sounded impressive. The white flame? Was that what she had locked behind the door inside her? It occurred to her that she could have done that fire thing to Asmodai at any time over the past five hundred years. If only she’d known. She bit back a grin.

She was an Angel. Who would have thought it? Problem was she didn’t feel particularly angelic. She glanced up to where Piers paced the room. He was still naked from the waist up, but the sigil was gone from his arm. He looked sexy as hell and suddenly, she wished this meeting over and done with. Piers glanced across and caught her watching him, and a slow smile curved his lips.

She forced her gaze away. There were still things she needed to know. And there would be time later, because she wasn’t going to die. At least not immediately. What a novel idea.

“How did you meet my mother?” she asked the Walker.

“I was the assassin sent to kill her.”

Piers grinned. “Well, that I find easy to believe.”

“And you weren’t tempted?” Roz asked.

“Once I’d seen her, I couldn’t—I loved her from the start. She was the purest person I’d ever met. So I lied, told them I’d killed her, and then helped her hide. Your mother was a latent. She had very little power. She could do some simple healing but nothing else. So she was easy to conceal. But you…” He got up and came to stand in front of her, his hand reaching out to stroke her face. “From the moment you were born, it was obvious you weren’t human. You glowed. We tried to keep you hidden, but it was almost impossible. We had to stay on the move—the angels sensed your birth and were hunting you. As soon as you were old enough, I taught you to hide the power. Lock it away, and after that things were easier.”

“And what about now?” Piers asked.

“They’ll have felt an echo of that power. They’ll know she still lives and will come after her. You must keep her hidden. But now I must go and tell my brother that Andarta has perished.”

Roz watched as he left, her brain processing the information. “Great, just great,” she muttered. So much for not going to die. That hadn’t lasted long. “Will I never run out of people who want to kill me? Just for once I’d like to go to sleep at night and not have to worry about waking up dead.”

Piers came across to where she was sitting. He sank down beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll protect you,” he murmured into her hair.

“You will?”

“Of course. You really think a bunch of asshole angels will get through me?”

She didn’t know. But maybe it was enough that he was there and wanted to protect her.

The truth was there were so many times since this whole thing had started that she could have turned her back and run for the hills. But she hadn’t and avenging angels aside, things hadn’t turned out so bad. She was free of the demon and had been reunited with her father—who loved her. And best of all, she had her very own hunky vampire protector. About time she showed him how grateful she was.

“Bedtime,” she announced. “Tomorrow, I guess I’m going to have to start living up to this angel thing. But tonight, well, tonight I want to be a little bit bad. So, goodnight, everybody.”

“Even me?” Piers asked.

“Of course not you—who the hell else am I going to be bad with? Let’s go, Lamont.”

He stood up, wrapped his big hands around her waist, and tossed her over his shoulder. Then he headed for the door.

“Hey wait.” She punched him on the butt. “Back up.” He stepped back and she grabbed the half-full bottle of scotch from the table. “Okay, let’s go.”

She managed to keep hold of the bottle and not spill any as he tossed her on the bed. Scooting up, she leaned back against the pillows, and took a deep pull before handing the bottle to Piers. He came down and stretched out beside her.

She’d faced a badass demon and sure death today.

Now for something even scarier.

Turning so she could peek up into his eyes, she held his face between her palms and remembered his words as he’d left her that morning. She could do this. “I love you.”

Piers leaned across and kissed her lightly. “I sort of guessed when you appeared and saved me from a fate worse than death.”

“Was it that bad?”

“I’d only been with the bitch two hours and I was ready to rip my own head off. Two thousand years—what the hell was I thinking of?”

“Me. Thank you, but don’t do it again.”

She snuggled up, wrapping her arms around his middle and laying her head on his bare chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of vampire.

“You know, I remember thinking at the start of all this that you make your bed and then you have to lie on it. And I have to say”—she wriggled against him—“this one is pretty damn comfortable.”

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her again. “And if you’re really lucky—you make your bed, and then you get to share it with your very own angel.”

Acknowledgements

Once again to my fabulous editor at Entangled Publishing, Liz Pelletier, and her assistant Robin, for all their wonderful comments and edits. To all the great women at Passionate Critters for reading my stories and letting me know what they really think. And finally, to Rob, who puts up with me, and encourages me, and does a great job of hiding it when he’s totally fed up with me being in my imaginary worlds and filling the house with vampires and werewolves..

About the Author

Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of nine-to-five work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain.

Nina writes all types of romance, often mixed with elements of the paranormal and science fiction.

www.ninacroft.com

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