Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (16 page)

Sophie could barely breathe. She couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away. Azrael lowered his head, closing the two of them off from the rest of the world as everything she knew in that moment became only what she could see in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he told her. “If it had been me . . .” He paused and shook his head just a little. Sophie could only wait and listen. “I never would have hurt you.” His words whispered across her lips, he was so close. “
Never
, Sophie. I wouldn’t have allowed you that pain.”

There was no boat and no bridge and no sea and no bay as Azrael the archangel brushed his right thumb across her plump bottom lip. Sophie was no longer processing coherent thought. His words floated through her and away, and it was merely the sound of his beautiful voice that occupied the deepest recesses of her mind. She shivered once more beneath the incredible influence of his touch.

And then he was closing in and his power was all around her, inside of her, encompassing her. He bent, graceful and certain, and just before his lips found hers, she closed her eyes again, at once lost in a sensation so heavenly blissful she was sure that she would die.

Chapter Fifteen

H
e couldn’t help himself. It might have been wrong. She might have needed more time. But he’d been in her head all night, taking away her fear, using his vampire powers to put her at ease and erase her worries. He’d surrounded her with the calm and happiness he so badly wanted her to experience. And in doing so, he had left himself open and exposed to everything sweet and pure and beautiful that was Sophie Bryce.

It was a mistake. Regardless of what Randall had said, Azrael couldn’t trust himself around Sophie. Any other woman, yes. He’d existed for countless generations; he’d seen more, heard more, and felt more than most humans could fathom in their most altered of states. He’d been everywhere, and through it all, temptation had been on the back burner, always waiting, always potential, but never demanding his full attention.

Not since his transformation. Not until now.

It was her innocence that intoxicated him the most. She knew so little; all of humanity knew so little. But Sophie accepted it, was aware of it, and would never try to hide it. She watched him part the fog as Moses was said to have parted the sea, and she assumed it was simply an archangel power that she was unaware of. In truth, archangels could not control the weather; that was a talent reserved for the archesses alone. And for Samael, who was an enigma in so many ways.

However, Azrael was a vampire and vampires exerted a certain amount of control over the very air around them. It was this influence that allowed them to fly. If a fog existed, he could bring it in closer. He could also send it away. The older the vampire, the farther his reach. It was hardly a task at all for Az to clear a way to the bridge above and light up the fire in Sophie’s eyes.

That something so simple could make her so happy—this woman who had been through so much in her short life—was nearly beyond his ability to comprehend. She turned her smile on him and he felt the warmth of the sun . . . after all this time. He was instantly lost in that light.

And then she had opened up to him, so innocent and truthful. She’d shared with him something that she hadn’t shared with anyone else, ever. It meant she trusted him.

It was his undoing.

Now, as he took her head in his hands and held her beneath him, he caught the clean scent of her simple shampoo and the soap she’d used on her perfect flesh. On her breath he could smell the chocolate and caramel from the Ghirardelli shop on Pier 39. Above it all, he caught the sweet, sweet scent of her blood. It was all around him, teasing him, urging him on.

The monster within him awoke and came to attention, its head rearing, its eyes glowing. With a body that nearly trembled with need and breath that was painfully bated, Azrael leaned in and claimed Sophie’s lips in a kiss.

He felt the shudder move through her body, an instant wave of pleasure that he was helpless to keep from releasing into her. The archangel in him was slipping into the shadows; he was mostly vampire now, hungry and determined. She tasted like candy. She was warm and soft beneath his fingertips. He knew his fangs were lengthening; he didn’t care. He could feel them press threateningly against her plump lips as he parted them and took what he wanted.

Would they pierce her?

Yes
, he thought desperately. He wanted them to. His body was aching; he was painfully hard now; it had taken mere seconds for him to lose so much control. He wanted to let the rest of it go. He could rip the jackets from her body—or simply wave them way with archangel magic. He wanted to see her . . . her long, lithe form, the sweet tenderness of her milky flesh. She would shiver and melt into him and he could take her here and now.

Would Uro attempt to stop him? Try to save her?

No
, he thought. When a vampire took a female victim, the act was pure eroticism. Other vampires became entranced at the sight, instantly aroused. It was why Az had never fed from a female, not in two thousand years. He could not bring himself to get that close to anyone who wasn’t his archess.

But now here she was, caught in his embrace, and his teeth were showing. If anything, Azrael could have invited Uro to join him.

Azrael almost chuckled at the thought. It was Sophie’s fantasy, was it not? The archangel within him was nearly dead as he smiled against her lips and felt the tip of one of his fangs prick at her tender flesh. He was all vampire now, wicked and sinful. Any thoughts of waiting, of taking it slow for Sophie’s sake, were faint whispers and distant memories.

Give in to me.
It was an unnecessary command; physically, Sophie had all but surrendered. She was an archess, but her powers were as yet undiscovered and without them, she was for all intents and purposes a mortal. She was no match for him. Not here—not now.

Even if she had been, Azrael no longer felt like playing fair.

The softest moan escaped Sophie’s lips, vibrating gently against Azrael and then rushing through his system like gasoline on a fire. The flames of his desire roared to leaping life and before he knew fully what he was doing, his hand was fisting in her flaxen hair.

He broke the kiss as gently as he could, and the night was filled with the sound of harsh, ragged breaths. Whether they were hers or his or both, he could no longer tell. He was composed of want in that moment, dictated by need.

He opened his eyes to find the world colored in stark contrasts. His eyes were no doubt glowing like double suns. His fangs were pronounced, and his skin was probably just a touch too pale against the raven black of his long hair. The king of the vampires pulled his mate’s hair to the side and leaned in. There was no going back now. The song of her pulse called to him, rapid and inescapable. His grip on her tightened, his lips parted—and then he smelled it: the acrid stench of impending death.

He would never have noticed it if not for the heightened state of his senses. If Sophie hadn’t been so devastatingly tempting, he wouldn’t have been in full vampire mode and never would have caught the wafting note of a supernatural assassin on the misty winds of San Francisco Bay.

With a start, he straightened and fought the urge to slip into the nearest shadow with Sophie in order to keep her safe. At once he was communicating his findings to the vampires who waited and watched in San Francisco and beyond. He called them to his location; there was safety in numbers.

However, it made no sense. It had been
ages
since the particular creatures he sensed had shown their presence in any capacity. In fact, Azrael and his brothers had often wondered whether the very dangerous, very deadly monsters had all but become extinct.

But there it was, as icy and telling as a cold breath on the back of the neck. There was a phantom out there somewhere. And there was only one reason phantoms were
ever
found
anywhere
. They were the assassins of the supernatural world.

Azrael wanted to rip through the universe at that moment; it was conspiring against him. He felt his eyes flash to bright, boiling red and glanced at Uro to find that his first created vampire had already slipped into the same hyper-aware and fight-ready state.

As if to confirm his suspicions, a horrid screeching sound came from the bridge above them. Az looked up in time to see one of the massive cables on the side of the bridge vibrate dangerously. And then, before his eyes, a Mack truck jackknifed impossibly through the small opening between two of the strong cables and was airborne.

The enormous vehicle seemed to remain suspended for half a second, its trailer caught on one of the cables before it broke free and began its rapid descent toward the water, heading straight for the
Calliope
.

Az immediately wrapped his arms around Sophie, flooded her mind with his power to black it out, and took to the skies. He sensed Uro doing the same somewhere nearby.

Seconds after they were airborne, the truck went sailing past him and Azrael watched in furious fascination as the massive vehicle collided with his boat, splintering the vessel in an earsplitting display.

Shreds of white-painted wood and steel shot into the air in a bloom of destruction. The water heaved, metal groaned both above on the bridge and below on the sea, and almost at once the bay began to swallow the remains of the crash.

Azrael knew that someone was inside that truck. If the driver was still alive, time was running out for him He would need to be pulled from the wreckage and healed, and for that, Az needed either Michael or one of the two archesses who had realized their powers.

Az looked up toward the bridge and sailed higher, making sure to shroud his form in darkness so that no one would inadvertently see him. Somewhere, the phantom lurked. His presence could be felt more strongly up here, and Azrael’s skin was starting to crawl.

The mess on the bridge was substantial. At least a dozen cars had piled up. No doubt many passengers were either dead or seriously injured. There was no question that the phantom had caused the wreck. The fact that a vehicle the size of an eighteen-wheeler was able to make it over the railings of the bridge and into open water at all was testament to that. Such a feat would have been nearly impossible under normal circumstances; the bridge had been built with the intention of avoiding exactly such a catastrophe. A car would have to jump one railing only to surpass the pedestrian walkway and jump yet another railing before finally pushing past the imposisbly thick mass of giant cables that helped to suspend the bridge.

Az turned to find Uro hovering in the air close by. His normally black eyes were now glowing a hot, angry red.

I’m getting her out of here. I will summon Max and the others to clean up the mess
,
Az told him.

Uro nodded once and shot farther up into the sky so quickly that if Azrael had not been the vampire he was, he would not have been able to trace the movement. Az watched the mists swirl in a mini-vortex through the hole in the fog that Uro had left behind. A split second later, the vampire returned, only inches from where he’d gone up, and dove into the water like a blurred rocket. His streamlined dive barely made a splash.

Uro would be able to break the truck open and get the driver out. If the driver was alive, Uro could then direct Michael to heal him, and Max could wipe the man’s memory clean.

Az glanced up as he sensed the vampires he’d contacted begin to arrive. Quickly, he transferred the information they would need to monitor the situation, watch their backs, and make sure as few people as possible died that night.

When he was finished, he tightened his grip on his archess and shot across the night sky. When he got to the pier, he landed and turned toward the nearest shadow, formed by the moon and the building’s east wall. Holding Sophie close to him, Azrael stepped into the shadow and allowed the world to shift around him. Shadow transportation magic allowed a being to step into a space of inky blackness in one location and exit the darkness through a shadow miles away.

Their surroundings grew insubstantial and murky, and then Az was stepping through a shadow on the other side and coming out into a massive man-made cavern.

The interior of the cave was lit by the crackling flames of torches in sconces along the carved stone walls. It was one of Azrael’s many underground chambers around the world. This particular one existed not too far from San Francisco. He’d chosen it without giving it much thought; it had been instinctive. However, later he would realize he’d done so because it would protect Sophie from jet lag, since here she could stay on the same hourly schedule as far as day and night were concerned.

It would be strange enough for her as it was, having her mind messed with as much as he’d been forced to mess with it. She wouldn’t remember how she’d gotten from point A to point B unless he planted the false information in her head.

Azrael gently laid Sophie down on his black satin–dressed bed and stood back. Then he swore softly, ran a rough hand through his long black hair, and turned away from her. Everything was falling apart.

You have to do it, Az. You have to tell her, whether she’s ready or not.

He listened to his inner voice with reluctant acceptance. He knew it was time. Something had either tried to kill Sophie tonight or gone to a lot of trouble in order to scare Azrael. There was no way the phantom had caused the pileup on the bridge in order to kill Az; everyone knew Az was a vampire and could avoid such an attack. A phantom would know that for sure.

Either the Adarians were at some sort of plan that Azrael couldn’t figure, or there was another player on the field. If phantoms and Nightmares were roaming Earth again, it was entirely possible that other creatures were as well—perhaps wraiths, or even dragons. In fact, Az had a feeling that this vibration of change he’d been sensing in the air of late was the result of something more important and on a much larger scale than he’d originally thought.

Something big was either already going down—or was about to.

Azrael waved a hand dismissively toward the stone fireplace that had been carved into one wall. It immediately leapt to life with warm, crackling flame. Then he took a deep, slow breath and shrugged off his leather jacket to lay it over one of two nearby plush leather chairs. His trench coat had been draped over Sophie and was lost in the flight from the boat. He rolled up the sleeves of his button-down black shirt and then slowly sank into the empty chair. Both love seats were black. Everything in the room was. He liked black.

On the bed, Sophie stirred and her golden caramel hair spilled across the ebony satin like a honey-colored waterfall. It shimmered in the flickering torchlight that painted the walls in red and yellow, and Azrael’s fingertips itched.

Slowly, gracefully, he stood up and approached the bed. With the dexterous determination of a prowling predator, he leaned over the bed, braced his strong arms on either side of Sophie’s unconscious form, and leaned in.

Once more the scent of her shampoo, soap, and blood assaulted his hyper-aware senses. His vision shifted, his fangs erupted again in his mouth, and his body tensed. He knew he was torturing himself, but he couldn’t help it. He was a moth to the flame. Only it wasn’t the moth who could get hurt this time, but the flame—the beautiful, sleeping, unaware, and innocent flame.