Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (11 page)

Juliette couldn’t help but wonder what the “evidence” was that the officers had apparently found. Was it chloroform? Something else? What did this mean for her? And for Gabriel Black?

If he’d been released, where was he now?

Juliette suddenly found herself imagining Black in his bed. It would be a big bed. With four posters and a canopy? Her mind trailed off. Would he sleep in the nude?

She swallowed hard, found her throat had gone dry, and then violently shook her head. Her heart felt racy and strange. Beads of sweat had broken out along her brow. Sleep would be a long time coming.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself off the bed and put out her arms like a blind person so that she wouldn’t bump into anything. She found the light switch, flicked it—backward, as all the switches ran backward in Scotland—and light flooded the room. In a few moments, she’d donned some leggings, sheepskin boots, and a huge pullover sweatshirt.

Then she grabbed her laptop from the bedside table and made her way into the cottage’s living room. The connection here was a dial-up, which meant that when she could hop on, it would be slow as Christmas, and that she would have to compete for computer time with anyone else staying in the cottages or the main house. But it was the middle of the night, it was better than nothing, and she’d been dying to reconnect and touch base with people.

Juliette plugged in her laptop, turned it on, and waited for it to boot up. While she waited, she raided the kitchen for crumpets and black currant jam and Scottish cheese and oatcakes with hazelnut spread and lots of tea. She would lose sleep, but she’d make up for it by eating twice as much.

Once the connection was up and running, Juliette opened her e-mail and gave a small gasp when she found that she had 172 messages, 31 of them from her adviser.

Juliette’s blood pressure shot through the roof. Fearing the worst, she opened the latest e-mail from Dr. Larowe first and braced herself.

Juliette, where in God’s name are you?? Lambent’s already on his way over there; I got a call from his assistant this morning!! I just wanted to give you a heads-up. He’s decided he wants to meet with you himself, so be ready! And be NICE!! Please, please let me know you’ve gotten these messages. Just a quick pong to my pings! Love you, kiddo.

—Tony

Juliette stared at the screen, utterly confused. “Lambent is coming here?” she whispered out loud.
Where, here?
she thought.
Is he coming to Harris?

With a sinking feeling in her gut, Juliette glanced at the date stamp of the e-mail. It had been sent the day before yesterday. She groaned, ran a frustrated hand through her knotted hair, and sat back on the couch with another dramatic sigh. In the tumult of recent events, she’d all but forgotten about her contract with Samuel Lambent. She was required to meet with one of his representatives once a week. And it looked as though she’d missed her last meeting without even realizing it. Now Lambent was most likely worried.

This wasn’t good. Juliette was going to have to call her adviser. Or she’d have to call Lambent’s office and find out where he was staying.

It looked like she’d be drinking her tea cold.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
t was easier than she’d thought it was going to be to get a train ticket from Ullapool to Inverness. It was a tribute to Scotland that its people were almost universally friendly and helpful; travelers in the station had directed her through the entire process from beginning to end. And now she sat in her own booth with her own table, and her carry-on was perched safely in the stowaway bin above her. Once she reached Inverness, she would switch trains and take another into Glasgow, where Samuel Lambent was planning to meet with her.

It was early Sunday morning and not a high-travel time; her car was empty but for her. She felt like Harry Potter when the trolley came by with teas and soups and biscuits for sale. There were no Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, but with a little effort it was easy to imagine that when she turned around and looked out the window, she would see the towering spires of Hogwarts rising over the hills in the distance. It was enough to take her mind off the attack she’d suffered and her burgeoning powers and what the hell they could possibly mean. At least for a little while.

But the sense of bereavement and haunted remembrance she experienced while traveling across Scotland was stronger on the train than it had been in the car. Perhaps it was because she had nothing to do but stare out the window at the passing countryside and its crumbling castle walls. Whatever the reason, though, Juliette remained nearly motionless as the world passed her by, and memories she knew she couldn’t have had assaulted her mind.

A flash of an ancient church, and a chill ran down her spine. A shadow across a painted red door, and Juliette felt sad. A path beckoned into the darkness through a tall wood, and Juliette had the sudden urge to jump off the train and run down the trail. It was almost frustrating the way the land made her want to remember.

“I see you feel a kinship with our bonnie Caledonia,” came a deep brogue from behind her.

Juliette jumped just a little, and turned in her seat to find herself staring up at the man who had kissed her in the pub. The man who had saved her from the stranger. The man who had, until only a few hours ago, been in police custody.

Gabriel Black. True to his name, he was dressed in head-to-toe pitch, his wavy, raven locks blending in with the leather collar of his jacket. His silver eyes sparkled with secrets as they locked on to hers.

Juliette’s jaw grew slack, and her tongue found itself knotted, useless and mute. She caught a whiff of him, a scent like sandalwood and cedar and hearth-fire smoke, and images of her dream flashed before her mind’s eye. Her fingers went limp on the tabletop; her legs pressed themselves together self-consciously, and her bottom lip began to tremble.

“B-Black,” she whispered.

Gabriel smiled and then, without being asked, he lowered himself into the empty space on the seat beside her.

His solid nearness washed over her like a blanket of intoxicating sexuality, and Juliette hurriedly scooted back a bit on the seat. She could go no farther when her left arm pressed against the cold metal beneath the coach window.

Gabriel watched her retreat, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “We need to talk, lass,” he said, his accent so much more broguish than that of most of the people on the Western Isles. By and large, Hebrideans sounded Irish and Gaelic. Black, however, sounded as if he’d come from all over Scotland; it was the timbre and lilt of his tone that bespoke the land.

“A-about what?” Juliette asked.
The kiss? The man in my room? The fact that you were arrested?

Gabriel’s smile broadened, his silver gaze flicking to her lips and back again. Casually, he turned toward her, caging her with the hard mass of his body as he reached across the table and picked up her cup of tea. It was still steaming. Without taking his eyes off her, he placed it to his lips and took a sip. “You’ve go’ good taste,” he said as he put the cup back down. “Bu’ then, you’re a Scottish lass by blood, so I’m no’ surprised.”

“Look,” she said, feeling a little dizzy. “I’m grateful to you for saving me from whoever it was that came into my room last night, but . . .” She lost track of what she was going to say when he reached over and nonchalantly took a lock of her long, thick hair in his hands and began rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “But . . .” She licked her lips, utterly distracted by the scent and sound and feel of him so close. The air around her felt too thick, too charged.

Somewhere in the distance thunder rolled, barely audible over the rhythmic sound of the train on the tracks. But Black’s eyes cut from the hair in his hand to Juliette’s eyes once more, and he cocked his head to one side. He said nothing, as if waiting for her to continue.

“But I don’t know you and you’re . . .” She trailed off again.

“I’m wha’, Juliette?” he asked softly.

He knows my name,
she thought. For some reason, she wasn’t surprised. He seemed unreal, sitting there only inches from her, more solid than a sable-draped statue of bronze. He seemed impossible, like a superhero. Like a dream.
You’re scaring me.

Thunder boomed closer to the train, the storm obviously having moved in, as it was easier to hear over the metal slide of the rails. Something strange flashed in the light gray depths of Gabriel’s eyes. He gently released her hair and leaned in a bit, closing the space between them. “You’ll want to control that, luv.” He smiled a decidedly dark smile. “Let it rage an’ it’ll drain your strength.” He leaned in even farther so that Juliette’s head bumped the wall behind her. “An’ then how will you fight me off, lass?”

Juliette could barely breathe now. Her mind fought to process what he had just said, even as her body fought with itself over the effect he was having on her. Enough of his words got through that her blood pressure shot through the roof, and adrenaline poured into her bloodstream. “Control what?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“The storm, Juliette,” he replied. “It’s one of your powers as an archess, is it no’? An’ from the way it’s growin’ stronger by the moment, I’d wager it’s a fairly new one to you.”

Terror thrummed its way through Juliette’s body, instantly chilling most of the heat Black’s nearness had awakened. Her stomach turned to lead in her middle, and her heart hammered bruisingly against the inside of her rib cage. “What are you talking about?”

Gabriel’s smile never wavered. The pupils of his eyes were expanding, like those of a predator singling out its prey. “You know verra well, luv. An’ I do, too. I know because I’ve been searchin’ for you for so long, I’ve lost track o’ the time.”

The world blurred around them and melted into slow motion as Gabriel slowly raised his hand and cupped her cheek. At the contact, Juliette felt trapped and possessed and wanted and cherished and more beautiful than she had ever felt in her life. Even through the fear, her body was responding to his as if it wanted him more than it wanted life itself. His hand held her as if she were a delicate treasure; she felt a tremble in his fingers, despite the apparent calm of his tone, and it echoed the chaotic beat of her heart—and the growing storm outside the train windows.

She wanted to close her eyes as he leaned a little closer, so close now, his next words whispered across her lips, a breath of mint and Parma Violets. . . . She loved Parma Violets. “You were made for me, Juliette,” he said. His thumb brushed possessively, enticingly, across her full lower lip. His gaze flicked to her mouth and back again; the silver in his eyes had become mercury: liquid lightning that reflected the gale building beyond the window. “How else would I know wha’ I know aboot you?”

Juliette kept her gaze locked on his as she shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted stubbornly. He couldn’t know. This was insane. She barely knew about her powers herself. “Please back off,” she added, almost desperate now for him to either kiss her or disappear. One or the other—or she would pass out.

“Och, no, I canno’ do that, luv,” he told her with a single shake of his head. His thumb brushed across her lower lip again, and she shivered. “There are men after you, if you’ll recall. The one who attacked you last night was no’ the first of his kind to come after an archess. An’ he won’ be the last. You’re no’ safe alone, an’ there’s no’ anythin’ I won’ do to keep you safe.”

Juliette’s gaze narrowed. “How do I know you didn’t set up that entire scene last night?” she asked him. “Scumbags sometimes work in teams, one to play the bad guy—the other to ‘save’ the victim.” She gritted her teeth, trying to believe her own words enough to deliver them with some conviction. “I’m not stupid.”

“No, lass, that you’re no’.” He shook his head, clearly agreeing with her. His eyes still twinkled with some secret merriment and it made him so handsome, she had never felt so close to losing control. She’d never thought herself the kind of woman who could lose her composure around a man simply because he was beautiful. Gorgeous. Godlike. But she may have been wrong. Because at that moment she wanted to kiss him—and do other things with him—so badly, her body was aching in the most embarrassing places.

As if her own need were a signal of surrender for the predator in him, Black’s pupils ate up the silver in his eyes and the sight of it made Juliette weak from the neck down. Before she could react, he was moving in for the kill, his lips slanting over hers even as his hands framed her face, claiming her for his.

God, yes . . .
She was lost now; there was no coming back from this. Nothing else in life would ever feel so good. Juliette was instantly on fire, her heart hammering, her body melting, her core throbbing as wetness wantonly gathered between her legs and her breath left her lungs. Her hands came up of their own accord and clutched at the thick black leather of his jacket, her fingers curling into the material as if holding on for dear life.

He was an expert kisser; he did everything right. He knew how to surround her, how to open her up and delve deep. He possessed her with that kiss, taking and tasting and destroying her defenses as if they were tissue paper. And then, suddenly, he went still above her. His body tensed, his hands slid to her hair and tightened their grip, and very, very slowly, he pulled away.

The moment his lips left hers, Juliette experienced such cold and emptiness, she actually shivered. It was like tasting despair, this abrupt separation. It
hurt
. But she retained enough control over herself to release his jacket and open her eyes.

When she did, she almost gasped at the change she saw in Black’s expression. The lust and need were still there in that handsome face, but there was anger there now as well, stark and dangerous. His own gaze had narrowed, and lightning reflected in the molten silver of his eyes. His stubbled chin was set with hard determination. “Do no’ move from here, lass. Stay in this seat until I return,” he told her firmly.

Juliette was too stunned to react in any way. He must have taken it for acquiescence, because with that, he pulled back, and in one fluid, graceful movement, he stood in the aisle on the opposite end of the table. Juliette sat up a little straighter in the seat as reality slowly flooded her world like a cold shower. She watched his tall, dark form take a step back, and in that brief moment of space and clarity, she entertained a hundred different thoughts.
He’s crazy. This is nuts. He’s dangerous. He knows. I have to get out of here. Wait until he’s gone—

As if he knew what was going through her head, Gabriel came forward again to brace his hands on the surface of the table and lean in toward her once more. “Know this, lass. There is nowhere you can go where I will no’ find you. Leave here an’ I promise you’ll no’ get far.” His eyes speared her like silver daggers.

She swallowed hard. He waited a moment more, trapping her in his metal gaze, and then he straightened and turned to stride down the aisle of the otherwise deserted coach. The automatic door opened before him. He stopped, turned to look at her over his broad shoulder, and captured her gaze with his. There was a world of meaning in the look he gave her. It was a brand of a look, hot and searing.

Then he turned back around and stepped through the plastic sliding doors and out of her line of sight. Juliette sat there in the seat, just as he had told her to, for several long moments. She couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that she was obeying his order; she simply couldn’t move.

The first time he had kissed her had been heaven. He’d torn down her walls and breached her world with seemingly no effort at all. The second time he’d kissed her, he’d marched right into her castle and claimed it as king. She was ruined now. No man in the world would ever kiss her like that again.

Slowly, Juliette raised her fingers to her lips. She touched the swollen, sensitive flesh and closed her eyes. No matter how perfect the man was, he claimed to know about her ability to control the storm—which was throwing as big a fit as ever outside the windows now. He had called her something strange—an archess. And now that she’d said it out loud, the possibility that he had collaborated with the blond in her room to set up that kidnapping attempt just so that he could rescue her seemed much more likely.

She didn’t trust Gabriel Black. She didn’t trust anything about him—not his tall, hard body or his piercing silver eyes or his incredibly handsome face or his accent, which melted her bones in her body. She didn’t trust the graceful way he moved or the sexy way he smelled or the subjugating perfection of his damnable kiss.

Definitely
, she didn’t trust the kiss.

Juliette’s fingers trembled on her lower lip. “I have to get out of here,” she whispered to no one.

As if the train had heard her and decided to become her partner in this venture, it slowed as the next station drew closer. Juliette lowered her hand and scooted to the end of the seat to peer down the length of the aisle. The doors on both ends were shut tight, and though she detected movement beyond them, it was blurred and indistinct: passengers disembarking in the neighboring coaches.

Without giving it further thought, Juliette jumped up off the seat, grabbed her carry-on bag from its place above her, and raced to the door on the opposite side from the direction Black had gone. It opened as she reached it, and she shot through it and off the train onto the landing.