Deliver Me from Temptation (17 page)

“Okay. Five minutes starting now.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath. “You see…”

He trailed off, because the truth was, she couldn’t see, and that was part of the problem. She was human and had no ability to sense the otherworldly creatures around her. And he knew, just knew, that no matter what he said it wasn’t going to matter because no sane person, even having had some of those creatures reveal themselves, was going to believe him. They’d pass it off as a dream, or a hallucination, or even their own insanity, but there was something about the human psyche that would not allow them to believe. And with Jessica’s cynical view of God and divine judgment? Yeah, he was so screwed.

She stared at him expectantly. The clock ticking its irreversible countdown across the room. And he was at a loss of words.

Something hard and horrible tasting rose in his throat. It took him a moment to understand what it was: despair. Because even if he could convince her—which was looking doubtful—it didn’t matter whether she believed. Belief, acceptance. What did either of those things really fucking matter? He’d have what? Twenty? Forty? If he was damn lucky maybe sixty years with her?

She was human. Sooner or later she was going to die.

But
I
have
her
now. I have her this moment. And damn if I’m not going to fight for another.

As he grasped on to the thought he closed his eyes, drawing to him the memories of their night together. The average female in this country had eighty years or more. That meant that if he could keep her safe, fifty-four of hers could be with him. Piddling really, but calculated out that meant he could have her for 19,710 days which equaled 473,040 hours or, still further, 28,382,400 moments. And that number didn’t seem nearly so bad.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he began. “But there are demons. Just as there is a devil.”

He opened his eyes, knowing his eyes shone, and that if she looked, she would note that his skin glowed as well. She didn’t gasp or scream or say anything, but she sat before him, her eyes wide and round, the sheet clenched tightly in her hands, one hand raised slightly over the other. Yup, that was his little warrior, confronted with a possible threat, she brought out the fists.

“The good news is there is also a God and even though He can’t help directly for fear of freeing Lucifer from his banishment, He cares enough to have sent His angels to help.”

Logan lifted his hand, curling his fingers through the air as if circling a ball. Pulling the light, he formed a globe of light in that space of air. The gesture wasn’t needed, of course, but he wanted to emphasize the fact that he did it so that later, when she began to doubt what she’d seen, she’d have no choice but to admit that he was the cause of it.

This time she did gasp, her chest rising and falling in time to the pulsing flutter at the base of her throat. He hated that he was the cause of her anxiety but could see no other way.

She had to believe. She had to understand. Because no matter what she might wish or what his father would claim was his duty, Logan would not block her memories again.

Not when it meant abandoning her. Not when it meant cutting himself completely from her life.

“How did you…What is it?” Her voice was trembling, but there was a quality of awe to it that gave him some hope. If she could open her mind to what most humans would consider to be impossible, then they had a chance.

“Touch it. It won’t hurt you.”

She reached out tentatively, like a child trying to touch a bubble. When her fingertips met the light it fluxed, shining brighter. She jerked her hand back, and rubbed her fingers.

He frowned. “It shouldn’t have hurt.”

She shook her head. “It didn’t. Not really. It tingles though. Kind of felt like an electrical zap.” She frowned. “Actually, it kind of felt like when you first touched me.”

He extinguished the light. “When I’m charged with His power I probably emit some of the properties of His light.”

“His light. As in God’s?”

He nodded.

“Sorry. Not buying it.”

“Why not?”

“Because buddy, after the things we did?” She laughed, though it wasn’t a good kind of laugh, more the world’s-messed kind. “Let’s just say I know for a fact that you’re no angel.”

He frowned. “I never claimed to be.”

“But you just said He,” she glanced upward, shifting slightly, “that, um, God sent his angels down to help us.”

“That’s the short of it. The long of it was he asked for volunteers. It was a great thing to ask because it would mean certain sacrifices, and not just because the angels would have to leave His heavenly realm.”

“Uh-huh,” she muttered, her skepticism obvious. But then she pursed her lips, her face skewed into a considering look. “What sort of sacrifices?”

“A true angel cannot yield a weapon. To take up arms against another, a man must have the capacity to feel such human emotions as love and anger. Otherwise, the act of violence is being done in cold blood, and to let that sort of unemotional violence loose on the world would be too dangerous.”

She pounced on that like a scientist would in the ring with a monotheistic philosopher. “Why? Wouldn’t it be akin to a soldier being given an order from his commander?”

“Yes and no.” He gnawed on the inside of his lip, trying to think of a way to answer that correctly. “Yes if the commander were always present, always assessing the situation and always giving orders.”

“And God’s not?”

“He can’t be. His presence is not allowed here on earth. Not without risking Lucifer breaking free from his prison.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “So instead he asked for volunteers to come down for him.”

He nodded.

“And you? You were one of them?”

He heard the doubt in her voice, understood it. He also knew he had to give her all the facts or those seeds of doubt would grow bigger and there would be no hope of her believing any of what he said. “I am a descendent of one of them. Originally there were only twelve warriors. Twelve Paladin as he called them.”

“So, what? These Paladin got it on with a bunch of human women and made little baby Paladin?”

“Not exactly,” he hedged. He’d have to explain how unusual their bond was to her later, but right now he wanted to focus his efforts on getting her to believe in the possibility of the Paladin’s existence. “After the first twelve came down and the other angels saw the good they could do, there were more who volunteered. Of those there were some female Paladin and they mated.”

“Were? Why do you talk as if there aren’t anymore?”

“There is only one female Paladin. And she cannot bear children.”

“Why?”

He shook his head. “That’s not important. What you need to understand is that the Paladin, my brothers, fight as His warriors. And that we don’t engage in violence heedlessly, but only to protect His children from evil they cannot see.”

“Like the woman from the alley?”

He nodded. “And the demon from the garage.”

She shuddered at the reminder, one arm wrapping around the other as she fingered the punctures on it. He wanted to reach over and pull her to him, but was afraid she would not accept his comfort.

“Jessica, I promised you that all I did was for your safety. I did not lie.” Her brow rose into her hair with that. He quirked his lip. “Okay, I did evade your questions, but I would argue they were not outright lies.”

She glared at him.

“My point is that I have only wanted to protect you.”

“Why?” She lifted her chin, drawing attention to a slight dimple in its center which he hadn’t noticed before. Funny, considering how much time he’d spent worshipping her body last night.

“Why do you care?” she continued. “If you’re some sort of heavenly warrior why do you give a rat’s ass about one stupid human?”

“I’d care about any human. But I care most about you.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t, to you.” He tugged at his bottom lip as his mind churned for a way to explain well enough that she could understand, but wouldn’t be too much information too soon. He dared not speak of things such as mate-bonds and destiny to her yet.

“I care about humans because it’s my duty. You are His children and I’m sworn to protect you. I enjoy humans. They are refreshing in a way that you could never fully understand, since you are one.”

Her lips pursed, her tongue running across her top teeth as if she was considering biting it to keep from retorting.

He reviewed his words and cringed. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

“Very high and mighty,” she agreed.

He blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s a hard thing to explain. I guess what I want you to understand is that, though I do care, there hasn’t been anyone I cared enough about to sleep with since my mother’s death.”

Her eyes softened, her head tipping to the side. “I’m sorry. And really, given your grief it’s understandable that you weren’t up for that sort of intimacy.”

He shook his head. “Tell that to my brother, Bennett. He thinks almost a hundred years of celibacy is a bit much.”

“A hundred?” her face closed up, her tone revealing her disbelief. “You’re a hundred years old?”

Cursing his loose tongue—she wasn’t ready for that—he reached out to ease her with his touch. She shrank back, her body coiling up until she hit the headboard and couldn’t go any further.

“Don’t touch me.”

Fisting his hand, he forced it back into his lap. The rejection tore through him more completely than any blade ever could.

“Can I ask why that upsets you so much?” He tried to keep his voice soft and gentle when all he really wanted to do was grab her up and shake her as he berated her for not believing in him. In them.

She shook her head, the gesture implying that he was dense for not getting it. “Because one, um, I just slept with a really, really old man. And okay, yeah, you are a really hot old man, but damn it, this is like one of Julia’s stupid vampire novels where the hero, who’s never fallen in love in all the years of his existence,” she tagged on, lowering her voice, “falls for the weak, vulnerable human heroine and then yada, yada, yada, something happens and she has to be turned. Only you’re not a vampire, you’re some sort of freaky angel spawn, which, unless you’re somehow hiding one impressive set of canines, or filed them down or something, means that you’re not inclined to such evil aspirations as stealing the heroine’s, aka my, soul—which, don’t get me wrong, I’m kind of happy about, but really, when you stop and think about it, I’m not, because
you’re a hundred freaking years old
, if not more, which means that
you’re going to live longer
than
me,
and I’m sorry, but I can’t just buy that. But even if I did, I couldn’t live like that.”

She finally ended her tirade, her chest heaving up and down, her hair loose and frazzled around her face. And God forgive him, even as hope crumbled around him, all he wanted to do was yank that sheet from her, flip her onto her back, and plow into her again. But then the very last thing she said fully penetrated.

He narrowed his eyes. “Live like what?”

She threw her arm up in the air. “Always wondering how old was too old. Waiting for the time when you would get sick of me and my wrinkles and trade me in.”

“You think I would leave you because you aged?” The insanity of that statement had him half laughing—sick of her wrinkles, he’d worship every one of them if he could keep her safe and alive that long—but the pure fire in the glare she gave sobered him quickly.

Oh but wasn’t this ironic: They had the same fear, but for two obviously different reasons.

“I would never,
could
never get sick of you,” he said solemnly as he carefully stood up, forcing himself to step away from the bed. “But I will go. Let you think about this.”

Five minutes were more than up and she needed time. Not that he’d go far, but a few hours for her to think and for him to regroup and hopefully come up with a better plan for getting her to give them a chance than the major clusterfuck that just went down.

She nodded emphatically. “I think that’s a very, very good idea.”

Jaw tight, he nodded and started gathering up his clothes from the room. He pulled on his jeans and boots, tugged on his shirt. His phone was missing. Probably fell out up in the loft. He stepped out into the chilly air of the rest of the cabin. He wasn’t all that surprised when he heard a shuffle behind him, the sound of drawers slamming. He
was
surprised when he made it up to the loft and began the task of searching for the little black device among the jumble of clutter to hear her light footfalls barely squeaking the treads of the ancient stairs.

Probably
making
sure
I
actually
leave.

When the sound of her advancement ended on the last step he didn’t turn to her or acknowledge her presence in any way, figuring she’d speak if she wanted to. Besides, there wasn’t much he could say that wouldn’t come across as either desperate or crazy…or both. He’d told her the truth and she couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t accept him.

Maybe
it’s for the best. You wanted her to be able to walk away? Well looks like she’s going to.

The question was to whom would she run? That Mike guy?

Hot anger pulled at the back of his neck, jealousy of the faceless man. He tried to tamp it down by taking deep breaths, but the image that kept playing in his mind was of Jessica, her eyes glazed with pleasure as some other man came between her knees.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

Fisting his hands to keep from smashing something, he forced himself to fix his gaze on the artwork that was spread around the loft.

As he studied the paintings, the beauty of each one, he felt the anger receding. What rose instead was curiosity. There wasn’t any real rhyme or reason to the paintings. Still lifes, portraits, even a splash of modern in the mix. It didn’t matter what the subject was, everything her sister had painted celebrated life.