Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (13 page)

Once it reached the top and stopped, the doors dinged open and Juliette found herself facing an elegant foyer. The floors were marble and the walls were painted in tasteful murals. Gold-gilded mirrors graced the entryway. Everything shone.

“I think the elevator went too far,” she muttered as she stepped off the lift and her boots clicked on the marble floor. The stone had gold and silver veins in it, polished to perfection. “It’s dropped me off in heaven.”

Distractedly, she stepped forward so that the elevator could close behind her. The doors dinged shut and the lift descended without her.

Juliette turned to face the entryway to her suite once more. Massive double doors, also gilded, beckoned to her.
I don’t deserve this,
she thought. She’d been in Scotland a week already and had yet to do any real, hard research for Lambent’s show. To say nothing of the research she’d planned on doing for her own thesis.

In all fairness, her world had been turned upside down of late. First the healing, then the storms. And then she found out she had telekinesis. How was any of this possible? Why her? And why now? And then there was Gabriel Black and the stranger who had attacked her in Stornoway. It was all too much and her lapse in focus was logically forgivable. She’d gone from town to town so fast and so furiously, her mind wrapped up in the chaos of the moment, that any kind of quality work on her part had been all but impossible to undertake. But Lambent wouldn’t know that.

Juliette stood there in the entryway and rubbed her eyes. Her right hand still clutched the envelope that Lily, the woman at the front desk, had given her. Juliette glanced down at the envelope and sighed. Then she opened the double doors and stepped into the suite beyond.

It was everything she had feared it was going to be. Plush white rugs covered the marble floor in elegant disarray, the leather couches wore throws of cashmere and silk, and there were three different rooms—each with its own bathroom. Each bathroom possessed a jet tub, also constructed of marble. Each bed was draped in Egyptian cotton. And the honor bar carried a full bottle of Grande Siècle champagne.

Once she’d been through the entire suite, Juliette stood at the center of the massive hotel room and spun in a slow circle. Then she sat down on the couch and opened the envelope from Samuel Lambent.

She pulled out the folded document and read it carefully. And then she groaned and fell back against the thick cushions of the expensive leather sofa.

“Tomorrow. He wants to meet tomorrow,” she muttered to herself. “Figures.” She’d hoped she would have at least one extra day to actually do some research and concoct a halfway decent report by the time she met with her benefactor. But no such luck.

She didn’t even have the option of staying up all night to “study.” It was Sunday night and everything in the civilized world shut down early on Sundays. She hated Sundays for that reason, alone. She could always go online; the Trinity Hotel had an excellent Internet connection. But anyone could go online to research something and Juliette had a feeling that Samuel Lambent, the incredibly wealthy and intelligent
media mogul
, would know online research from the real deal.

“Christ,” she swore, as a feeling of dread sank heavily over her. “I am so screwed.”

* * *

Samael leaned back in the large leather chair and thoughtfully placed his fingers against his lips. His charcoal gray eyes watched the screen before him carefully as his mouth curled into the slightest of smiles.

“Welcome, Juliette,” he spoke softly.

The woman on the screen nervously clutched an envelope in her hand as the elevator she rode in sped upward through the many floors of the hotel. She was priceless—a treasure. And the fact that she was finally under his roof, within his reach, sequestered from the others who sought her, was fair consolation for the trouble that he had gone to in order to get her there.

His smile broadened as he watched her step off the elevator to stare, wide-eyed, at the double doors that led to her suite beyond. He chuckled softly at her innocent indecision. She was feeling guilty, no doubt. Unworthy.

As if.

She had no idea how precious she was. Samael had been forced to send one of his own men into the fray of her pursuers at the Muir of Ord train station in order to extract the archess before one of the others could get to her. She’d become the unwitting prey in a feeding frenzy of sharks. They’d scented blood in the water.

Juliette Anderson was painfully vulnerable at this stage. She’d only recently discovered her ability to heal. Her other powers were bombarding her all at once now, one after another, leaving her breathless beneath their supernatural onslaught. Naturally, she had no idea what was happening to her or why.

She was confused and lost and alone.

Again Samael chuckled, the sound as dark and sexy as the distant rumble of a Harley’s engine. “Don’t worry, little one,” he said as he watched Juliette finally step through the double doors and disappear into the suite beyond. “I’m right here.”
And I’m going to make it all better.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

J
uliette had been told that Mr. Lambent wished to meet her in the hotel’s restaurant for lunch at one on Monday. So she spent Sunday night researching online until she could no longer stay awake. Then she shut her laptop down and began going through the meager belongings in her carry-on bag.

She soon realized that she hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d hurriedly packed for the train ride the day before. She had no idea what people wore to fancy business lunches, but she was guessing it wasn’t the same kind of clothing a PhD student wore on campus.

If she woke up early enough, she might get lucky and find a shop nearby that sold suits or business-casual clothing. Otherwise she was going to end up meeting the world’s most powerful media mogul in jeans and a bulky sweater.

Juliette was literally too exhausted to worry properly about it. She set her alarm for six a.m. and crawled into bed still dressed.

The next morning, after a hot shower and several hot cups of coffee, she was a little more clearheaded. She took the elevator to the concierge’s desk and asked for Lily. When the girl at the desk went in the back room to see whether Lily was working that day, an incredibly striking young man came out.

He was tall and slim, with dark brown hair and stark blue eyes. The name tag on his crisp, dark blue suit read
JASON
. He smiled warmly at Juliette and took her hand to introduce himself. Apparently Lily wasn’t working that morning, but Jason was the concierge; he clasped her hand between both of his, and assured her that if there was anything at all she needed, he would be able to get it for her.

Juliette was more than a little self-conscious about asking him about shopping. She didn’t want to admit that she didn’t have the right clothing to meet Samuel Lambent. But before she could explain why she was asking, Jason was smiling and waving her concerns away. “Not to worry,” he told her confidently. “I know exactly what it is you need.”

It turned out that he wasn’t exaggerating. He sent her into the hotel’s café, instructing her to get anything she wanted for breakfast, and assured her he would take care of everything.

Two hours later, the bellhop arrived at her door with several enormous clothing boxes. Jason was a godsend. He’d managed to track down a formfitting skirt and jacket in lilac pin-striped silk, and a gorgeous white lace bustier to match. The color was incredibly flattering against her gold tan, and the shoes he’d purchased to match were a leather of the same lilac color with a high but firm heel and a rounded toe.

In a separate box were a small purple and gold handbag, a lavender-scented silk scarf, and a single amethyst-encrusted hairpin in what honestly looked like gold.

Juliette gingerly fingered the items for several minutes before taking them out of their boxes and laying them on the bed. Then she donned the clothing with an almost ritualistic kind of care. The material was so expensive, so soft, she was terrified of ever seeing the bill, which she was certain Jason would happily tack on to her credit card.

Except . . . that she hadn’t given them her credit card. They had Lambent’s instead.

Oh my God,
she thought as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was gorgeous. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had looked so good. The suit fit her like a glove, accentuating everything in a way that she’d never experienced. She felt like she was looking at a newer model of herself—one that was taller, sexier, and more confident. She looked radiant.

I have to make sure Lambent doesn’t pay for these things,
she thought to herself. She made up her mind to talk to him about it at lunch. But despite her trepidation over the bill, for the remainder of the morning, every time she passed a mirror in her suite, she would find herself smiling. It had been a while since she’d smiled so much. Amazing what a good set of rags could do for a girl.

When twelve forty-five rolled around, Juliette headed for the elevator. She got off on the third floor and made her way across a massive open area replete with fountains and a pianist. The restaurant’s giant double doors were wide open, and a maître d’ stood ready behind his reservation podium.

Several yards away, Juliette paused and took a deep breath. She was trembling.
I can’t do this,
she thought.
What if I blow it? What if I say something stupid? What if he’s pissed at me for not having anything substantial yet? What if I trip all over myself before I even reach the table?

“Miss Anderson?”

Juliette turned to see the concierge that had helped her earlier coming toward her from a door in the wall to her right. She instantly blushed, knowing he was now seeing her in the very clothes he had chosen for her.

“Well, how do I look?” she asked, deciding to own it. She knew her cheeks were pink, but it couldn’t be helped.

Jason’s smile told her everything she’d wanted to hear, and that admiration was matched by the twinkle in his blue eyes. “You look stunning,” he said as he reached for her elbow and gently took it with his hand. “Why are you waiting out here?”

She returned the smile and shrugged nervously. “Just trying to pump myself up.”

Jason nodded his understanding, then leaned over to whisper in her ear. “So long as you don’t psych yourself out.” With that, he led her to the restaurant’s doors and the maître d’ came out from behind his podium. “Miss Anderson is here for lunch with Mr. Lambent,” Jason announced softly.

The maître d’ nodded knowingly and turned to gesture toward the restaurant’s interior. “This way, Miss Anderson,” he said with a smile.

Juliette allowed him to take her inside, and tried with all her might not to stare openmouthed at her surroundings as she was led through more amazingly rich architecture. Finally, Juliette’s attention was pulled from the beauty of the decor as she neared the back of the restaurant and the private tables.

She turned to see where it was exactly that the maître d’ was taking her, and found herself pointed in the direction of an incredibly elegant table with two incredibly gorgeous men seated at it. Juliette stared at them and felt her legs grow heavy.

No . . . way . . .

One of the men she recognized instantly. He was the wickedly handsome actor who had played the evil vampire on the movie
Comeuppance
, opposite Christopher Daniels. His name was Lawrence McNabb, known by his adoring public as simply “Law.” The blond-haired, violet-eyed movie star was only slightly less drool-worthy than Daniels himself.

But more impressive yet was the man seated across from the movie star. Juliette had never seen anyone like him. She recognized him, of course, as Samuel Lambent, because she had seen vague, blurry profile photos of the man in newspapers over the years. But to say that they didn’t do him justice would be a gross understatement.

He looked like some superhero figure or manga drawing: an impossible representation of the ideal male. His hair was thick and so blond it was white, like the down of a dove. His stature was incredibly tall and well built, filling out what she could see of his expensive dark gray suit with delicious perfection. His bone structure was that of a model; he was nearly so handsome, he was uncomfortable to gaze upon.

And she hadn’t even seen his eyes.

And then the maître d’ was bringing her up to his table and both men were looking up at her. She thought she would die right there as two sets of eyes fell upon her face and she became the sudden object of both men’s attention.

“Mr. Lambent, may I present Miss Juliette Anderson.”

Samuel Lambent had charcoal gray eyes that seemed lit from within, as if statically charged with lightning. Juliette’s breath caught in her throat as those eyes trapped her in their thrall and Lambent gracefully stood. McNabb stood as well.

“Juliette. We meet at last.” Samuel’s voice was beautiful, smooth, and deep and reminded her of chocolate. She was right about him being tall. He was as tall as Gabriel Black, if not taller.

Black . . .
For the briefest of instants, Gabriel’s face flashed before her mind’s eye and her mouth watered at the memory of his kiss.

And then Samuel was coming around the table and taking the place of the maître d’ beside Juliette. As he drew nearer, the air around Juliette heated up. It was a familiar sensation, charged, electric, and heavy.

Lambent took the back of her chair and pulled it out for her, his smile warm and inviting. It was a killer smile. “I’m so glad you were able to meet with me,” he said, his voice continuing to pour over her like satin. “I know how busy you must be.”

Juliette smiled back at him and took the seat as gracefully as she could. She was so nervous, so self-conscious, that she was afraid she would make some horrible mistake just by sheer power of suggestion.

“Please allow me to introduce one of my clients,” he continued as he returned to his seat and sat down, smoothing his tie as he did so. Everything he did was practiced and easy. It was like watching a well-choreographed dance. “This gentleman is Lawrence McNabb, a very talented actor. I do hope you don’t mind that I’ve asked him to join us today.”

“N-no, not at all,” Juliette stammered, feeling her cheeks grow pink again. McNabb seemed to notice, but instead of thinking ill of her for her nervousness, he seemed to be charmed by it. His strange, violet eyes glittered and his lips curled into a sincerely amused smile. She was almost surprised, and admittedly a touch disappointed, not to see fangs peeking out from behind his lips. “I know who you are, Mr. McNabb—”

“It’s just ‘Law,’ please,” he chuckled, leaning forward conversationally. “And I know who you are, too. Mr. Lambent has been telling me all about you. He was quite impressed with your knowledge of the history of Scotland.”

Juliette blinked, felt herself tremble with shock, and chanced a glance at Lambent. His storm gray gaze was too powerful. She saw admiration in its charcoal depths, but to look closely almost hurt; it was too intense. She felt as if he could read her mind—possibly her soul. She fought to cover up her fumbling thoughts. “Mr. Lambent is too kind.”

“Not at all,” Samuel insisted calmly. Something dark flickered across his handsome face and was gone. He leaned forward, pinning her to her seat with his attention. “And please call me Sam, Juliette.” His tone had lowered, and his words wrapped around her like a silk cord, binding her before him. For several seconds it felt as if they were the only two in the room.

“I have to admit, though,” McNabb continued, breaking the spell, “that Sam didn’t tell me how lovely you were. I was expecting a spinster in black with a graying bob.”

Juliette somehow managed to pull her eyes from Samuel’s long enough to meet McNabb’s gaze again. “I already wore all of my black clothes this week,” she softly joked. When the actor chuckled, she cleared her throat. “But thank you.” She found herself looking down at the tablecloth, distinctly uncomfortable beneath their scrutiny.

“Juliette, may I get you something to drink?” Sam asked as he waved the waiter over.

Double Scotch,
she thought recklessly. “Yes, please,” she said. “I am a little thirsty.” In truth, her mouth had gone dry with apprehension. Samuel ordered a bottle of wine for the table and water for each of them and then he focused on Juliette once more.

“How are you liking Scotland?” Sam asked, folding his hands neatly before him.

Juliette thought of the castles and the moors and the forests, and she smiled. “I love it. It’s everything I thought it would be and more.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Sam told her, matching her smile with one that made Juliette’s insides melt a little. “I do hope that you haven’t done too much research already on the folklore of Caledonia, because I have some ideas about the show that I would very much like you to hear.”

A wave of relief washed over Juliette at those words. She tried to hide it, but was unsuccessful. Her smile broadened and she relaxed a little in her chair. “Not too much,” she said.

“Fantastic.” Sam nodded. The wine and water came and conversation was put on pause for a few seconds. Juliette hurriedly grabbed her glass and swallowed several long pulls of ice-cold water. When she set it back down again, Samuel was filling her wineglass with a wine so dark it looked like blood.

“I understand that you most likely already have a strong sense of what you need to learn for your thesis while you are here,” he told her as he set the wineglass down in front of her. “However, as far as your work for me is concerned, I would like to narrow the field a bit.”

“Oh?” she asked, eyeing the wine warily. She wanted to drink it; it would burn going down and settle her nerves and temporarily clear her mind. But it was still relatively early in the day, and if she drank it now, she’d be hungover by six.

“There is a specific legend in Scotland that originated on the Western Isles, where your family is from,” Sam told her. Juliette glanced up at him, a little surprised that he knew so much about her family. But then, her adviser had most likely filled him in over the last few weeks. “It has always intrigued me,” said Sam.

“The legend tells of a warlock who walked this land two thousand years ago,” McNabb picked up, his handsome face alive with the kind of expression that only an actor could manage. “Maybe you’ve heard of it? The
dorcha draíodóir
: the Black Wizard.”

Juliette frowned. Technically,
dorcha
would mean “dark,” but she was assuming that in this case, “dark” had been translated to “black” long ago. “I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I’ve never heard of the Black Wizard. But your Gaelic pronunciation is amazing.”

McNabb grinned, obviously pleased that she’d noticed.

“As legend would have it,” Sam continued, “this wizard achieved long life by absorbing the powers of young women through . . . a certain ritualistic behavior.”

Juliette’s blush was back. Her attention, however, was rapt.

“He would take them into his bed and by morning, the woman would be dead—and he would be twice as powerful as before,” McNabb went on. “He only chose certain women, apparently. They had to be special.”