Authors: Lisa Kessler
Night Angel
Night Angel
Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Kessler.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Visit Lisa’s website at
www.Lisa-Kessler.com
Edited by Double Vision Editorial, Danielle Poiesz
Cover design by Luminari Studio, Eva Layne
Interior Design by Angela McLaurin,
Fictional Formats
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition March 2014
Other Novels by Lisa Kessle
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The Night Series
NIGHT WALKER
NIGHT THIEF
NIGHT DEMON
NIGHT ANGEL
NIGHT CHILD
The Moon Series
MOONLIGHT
HUNTER’S MOON
BLOOD MOON
Stand Alone Works
BEG ME TO SLAY
FORGOTTEN TREASURES
ACROSS THE VEIL
For my Night Angel Legion...
You are the best readers any author could ask for.
Thanks for all your support and for encouraging me to write this one.
Juliana lifted the water-filled bucket of sunflowers and placed it inside the refrigerated case for the night. Hopefully, she’d be able to use them in a bouquet tomorrow before they started withering. Seeing a sunflower go to waste pained her. The big, bright flowers emanated pure joy, like a smile from Mother Nature herself.
She slid the glass door closed with a sigh. Finally. Time to go home for the day. As she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, she caught the reflection of a man in the glass. He was standing directly behind her. Her breath hitched, and she slipped her hand into the utility pocket of her apron, gripping her canister of pepper spray before she turned.
He put his hands up in mock surrender and grinned. “Don’t shoot, lass.”
Her heart didn’t stop racing but her expression softened into a smile at the sight of him. She couldn’t hear Benedict’s voice, but she imagined it was deep and dark like his eyes, mysterious and cultured. And reading his lips was a pleasure. He had a generous mouth of stunningly white teeth, and he moved his sensual lips slowly, as though he was slowing his speech just for her. Heat blossomed in her cheeks and she tamped it down quickly.
He was a new customer in her flower shop. He’d first come in just a couple of weeks ago, but it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him. His face had haunted her dreams before he’d ever set foot in her store.
For the past few weeks, the faces of two men came to her while she slept, leading her to believe they would both wander into her life soon enough. But recently a Banshee’s wail had also invaded the dream. Her grandmother had instilled a respect for the old Irish legends in her, and she recognized the shriek, waking her from the dream. The Banshee symbolized a coming death, but for who?
Since the bombing that stole her hearing and nearly took her life, she’d grown accustomed to glimpses of the future invading her sleep, but usually they were vague, brief events, and rarely did a clear face appear. And never a Banshee’s cry. Until now.
The other man in her dream was the stark opposite of Benedict, with dark-red hair like liquid fire and eyes as green as Belvoir Forest. Their paths hadn’t crossed.
Yet.
She knew their lives were meant to collide—otherwise they wouldn’t have appeared to her at night—but for now she wasn’t sure how or why.
Still smiling, she withdrew her pen and tattered notepad from her pocket.
Good to see you. I was nearly closed up.
He grinned, placing his large well-manicured hands on the counter. “I am in need of a few long-stemmed red roses.”
She nodded, dropping her pad and pen back into her apron. The roses were already tucked into the cooler, but she made her way over to retrieve five stems. Most customers requested an even number of buds, but Benedict’s usual request was for five.
She clipped off the ends and pulled a length of cellophane from the roll. She held up a branch of baby’s breath, but he dismissed it with a shake of his head. Only roses. Easy enough. She began to wrap the flowers and couldn’t help but wonder about the lucky lady who’d captured his fancy. A wife? A girlfriend, maybe? Before Juliana’s father had died, he’d made it a habit on Fridays to bring her mother fresh bouquets of wild flowers from their property. Back then, she’d imagined her husband would do the same. But life had changed quite a bit since she was a girl.
She shook off the thought, stapling the cellophane around the roses, and returned to the counter. After ringing up his purchase, Benedict handed her an extra bill and smiled. “Thank you, Juliana.”
He tilted his head slightly, and she nodded in reply, closing the door behind him. She glanced at the clock and tucked her notepad and pen into her purse before untying her apron. If she hurried, she could get to the pub before the regulars.
Giving the shop a final once-over, she set the alarm and locked up.
Colin stretched and stepped out of Belfast International Airport, breathing the mist of Ireland into his lungs. He’d flown back on a bloody airplane. How far the once-mighty God of the South had fallen.
He’d never fly on his own again, never experience the freedom he found in his spirit animal form.
He yanked up the collar on his wool coat and wove through the bustle of travelers waiting on the curb for transport. It would’ve been even worse during the day, coming in on the red eye wasn’t all bad. At least he still had his preternatural speed. He remained a Night Walker. The demon could not take that from him.
Once he was free from the mortals, he broke into a run. They’d never even seen him pass by.
He slowed as he approached his estate and walked up the cobbled drive. The chill in the air sent a shudder down his spine. After spending a few weeks back in the jungles of the Yucatan, his true homeland, he’d already adjusted to the heat and humidity. While Ireland also boasted rain and moisture, with it came the bite of frigid wind off the churning sea.
“Colin? That you?” His groundskeeper held up a lantern, illuminating his young face. He had dark eyes and hair to match, but his smile, exposing the dimples in his cheeks, was infectious.
Even in Colin’s current state, a halfhearted grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Aye. It’s me Bartley.” He shook the man’s rough hand.
“Ye came in on foot?” He tugged the brim of his hat. “Was expectin’ the giant red-tailed hawk to soar through the window one night and scare the crap out of Claire.”
Bartley’s younger sister, Claire ran the household for Colin. Acting as human resources, literally, she made it possible for the farm to run without requiring him to have contact with the staff. Claire handled hiring and firing, paid the bills, and ordered supplies. She kept Sea Haven running smoothly and his secret from being discovered.
Colin rotated his mangled left arm under his jacket, ignoring the mental pull of his spirit animal. The hawk didn’t understand his reluctance to shift forms. “Looks like I’ll be on foot a lot more now.”
Bartley frowned. “What happened? Anything I can do?”
“Nope.” He draped his right arm over Bartley’s shoulder. “That’s the bloody hell of it. There’s nothing any of us can do.”
“Did someone bespell ye?”
Colin shook his head. Although Bartley and the previous generations of his family had tended Colin’s property and knew his immortal secret, he had no desire to share the details of his recent battle with the Night Demon. “Catch me up. What have I missed?”
Bartley walked with him toward the house. Colin tried not to focus on the sound of his pounding heartbeat. Inside his mouth, he teased the tip of his fang with his tongue.
“That bastard Benedict is back in town. Claire caught sight of him walking the paths in Belvoir Forest.”
“Dammit.” Colin clenched his fists. If Benedict discovered his new handicap, the aughisky would be a thorn in his side, and potentially deadly to the women in his care. Damn water spirits were like that. “I’ll find the bastard and remind him of the boundaries of my territory. In the meantime, be sure Claire warns the rest of the staff. Benedict can be charming.”
