Chapter 6
“In truth, you really shouldn’t be in here.”
A warm breath gusted past her ear and Honor just about jumped out of her skin. She spun to see who snuck up on her and just about fell over. A tall but slender male with tousled, light brown hair stood much too close, smiling like the cat that got the cream.
“H-how is it you can see me?” Honor double-checked. Aye, her presence was masked, therefore, undetectable to immortals. But not this one. Confused, Honor tipped her head and squinted as her mind worked. She came up short, unable to figure out what kind of immortal he was, and that made her nervous.
Instinctually and logically, she understood the male was from the Hereafter, not the Underworld. Natural intuition made it fairly simple to distinguish good from evil. Determining the individual subclass of immortal… well, that was much more challenging as the types were numerous; angel, saint, Watcher, daemon, sitri, elf… and so on. Honor believed, given enough time, she would work it out, but the skill did not come easy and Honor required more practice.
In her short while on the Earthly plane, she had yet to encounter a practitioner. Despite that fact, Honor was confident she’d recognize a practitioner for what he or she was when she did meet with one. Beyond a doubt, Honor knew Bastien was not of the Earthly plane, which meant he was neither practitioner nor saint.
The stranger stuck out his hand in a very human custom. Stunned, Honor shook it as he spoke. “Bastien Wentworth.” Still clasping her hand in his, Bastien leaned in close, a smirk tugging on his lips. Honor turned away to hide her blush. Bastien was quite adorable in a boyish way. And no doubt quite mischievous. “Like you, I am a Watcher.” With that, Bastien released Honor’s hand and took a step back.
“Oh. Really?” Honor was pleasantly surprised. “I have to say, you’re the first Watcher I’ve met. I’m Honor. Honor Ward.”
“And I presume you were unable to determine my classification.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “No, I couldn’t. I figured it was because I am new, is that not the reason?”
“No. Not only can I hide from detection, I can also mask my true nature. Make you believe I’m something I’m not, or as in this instance, show you nothing at all.” Honor was stunned. “You can do it too,” Bastien explained. “With practice.” He waggled his brows playfully.
Okay. So she could hide her Watcher classification even when not masked. That still didn’t explain why Bastien was here.
“Like I said, you shouldn’t be in here,” Bastien repeated.
Honor frowned. Who does this Bastien think he is to tell me what to do?
“Why ever not?” Honor huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “The patient is my assignment.” She peeked over her shoulder at Michael. The angel remained fast asleep on the straw filled mattress that lay elevated on a wood platform to allow the healer easier access.
Bastien cocked his head and stared at Honor as if she were thick in the head. Jerk. His high and mighty attitude was beginning to rub her wrong. “You could watch from outside the room. Heck,” Bastien gestured toward the sleeping Michael. “Your task is unconscious and not likely to wake anytime soon. You utilize this opportunity to have a rest or report your findings to Gabriel.”
Why you little…
Annoyance pushed its way to the forefront. Sneering, Honor raised her chin and sniffed. “For your information, Bastien, I spoke to Gabriel a few days ago and already reported the required information before returning to the Earthly plane. Michael, my task as you put it, is injured and it’s my job to Watch him. Plus, I feel fine and don’t require rest.” Her weary body said otherwise, but Honor would rather cut off her own finger than admit her exhaustion to the bossy, intrusive Watcher.
Bastien held up his hands. “If you say so.” He peered around Honor to take another look at Michael. “Broken wing, eh?” Bastien shrugged. “No big deal. He’ll heal within a day or two.”
Irritation had every muscle in Honor’s body clenching tight and her hands curled into fists. “He’s already been here three days and isn’t healed as of yet, so clearly you know not of what you speak.”
Then Bastien’s words sank in and fear flooded Honor’s overtaxed system. What if Bastien was right and Michael should have been healthy by now? What if something was wrong? What if his beautiful wings were permanently damaged?
The Watcher seemed surprised by Honor’s admission. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“Hmm, oh.” Bastien peeled his gaze from the injured Michael and focused back on Honor. “Nothing.” He waved a hand dismissively.
Damn him. Now Honor was not only angry. Now she was worried for Michael’s health. Who is this Bastien to come here and tell me what to do, frightening me whilst speaking in riddles and half statements? He could take a flying leap off Eastlake Falls for all she cared.
“Well, no need to worry about me. You can go now.” Proud of herself for keeping her voice strong, Honor gave Bastien a pointed look. “I am perfectly capable of Watching Michael and will be more than fine without you.”
A brief moment of confusion passed across Bastien’s face then, with a blink, his expression transformed and he flashed that dazzling smile again. His odd mood swings made her want to scream in frustration. “Sure. No problem. My task is sleeping next door.” Bastien jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Honor stilled. “Next door? You mean—”
“Yep. Donovan Byrne.” Bastien gave her a crooked, boyish grin. A lock of hair tumbled over one of Bastien’s eyes and with long fingers, he pushed it back from his forehead. “You might have heard of him? Angel of Protection. Bright ginger hair. Incredibly tall.” Bastien stood on tiptoes and stretched his arm way up to where the top of Donovan’s head would reach. “At Michael’s side when they acted like a couple of idiots and faced Death alone?”
Uh oh. If Bastien was there for the fight… that means—
“In case you’re wondering, aye, I Watched you interfere with the Fates, and aye, I’m the one who told Gabriel.”
Embarrassment at being caught breaking the rules quickly morphed into anger that this stranger tattled as if she were a child. Honor couldn’t hide her irritation and snapped, “Stay out of my business.”
Bastien smirked, not caring in the least that she was upset. “As you wish.” The Watcher bowed in what Honor was certain meant to mock, and demanifested from the room.
“What a jerk,” she mumbled to no one.
Utterly exhausted, Honor collapsed on the only seat in the tiny stone room, an uncomfortable bench with one leg shorter than the other three. The darn thing wobbled every time she drew a breath, which forced Honor to remain absolutely still or deal with the bloody thing tottering back and forth until she grew ill from the motion. Half furious with Bastien and his spontaneous lecture and half on the verge of collapsing in fatigue, Honor ignored the stupid bench and for hours stared as Michael’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. For whatever bizarre reason, Honor found the sight mesmerizing.
I find everything about Michael mesmerizing.
In truth, Honor was much too infatuated with Michael to maintain a proper emotional and physical distance from her subject. It was wrong but nonetheless, Honor glanced around and seeing no one, stood and slowly approached the unconscious Archangel. She found it incredibly arousing the way Michael’s body dwarfed the infirmary bed. His impressive height and enormous breadth from shoulder to shoulder had the mattress appearing the size for a child. Honor feared Michael’s tremendous weight would mayhap break the thing, though the construction seemed solid. She would know as she checked.
How humiliating.
Honor stopped at the bedside, hands trembling, and saints above… her breath caught at the sight. This was Honor’s—most likely—last opportunity to get this close to Michael. Since it was dark the other night in the field she couldn’t see many details, but mercy, no way did she think it possible at the time, but under the flickering light of the torch on the wall, Michael was even better looking than she remembered. Even with his stunning blue eyes hidden behind closed lids, Michael was devastatingly handsome.
Greedy for whatever she could get, Honor took in every inch of exposed skin, and unlike the night Michael fought Death, there was a lot. Shirtless, the edge of the quilt folded back to rest low on his waist, Honor could hardly breathe let alone think. Michael’s upper body was pure perfection. Fates forgive me, Michael was a feast for the taking and Honor was salivating. Her gaze roved slowly and thoroughly over each chiseled muscle, every dip and groove on Michael’s torso—from his spectacular carved abdominals to the tiny hollow where his collarbones met at the base of his throat, the long groove that cut between his wide pectorals, and the sharp line of his jaw. All of it committed to memory for Honor to recall at will whenever she so desired.
Which will be all the time.
It was then Honor took note of a dark shape on Michael’s right arm. Curious, she studied the image for a long moment before recognizing it for what it was. Honor had heard of this type of art in passing, but never laid eyes on a real tattoo before. Michael’s tattoo was simple yet striking. Etched in black ink under the skin of his bicep was a detailed sword, the hilt at his elbow, with the tip of the long blade reaching to Michael’s sinewy shoulder. The image of the Maledictus Arma, embedded under layers of skin made Michael appear even more intimidating, if that were possible.
Fates, what it would be like to have his heavy muscles pressing down upon my own body. To run my tongue over that dark blade and—
Michael shifted on the bed and let out a quiet groan. Honor froze mid-fantasy. A burst of adrenaline had Honor holding her breath as her pulse galloped. Quite a few hammering heartbeats later, Michael settled back down. When he remained motionless for a short while, Honor relaxed and her gaze fell to Michael’s mouth. Enticing lips that were full and pink and soft looking held her attention. Later, she blamed it on being caught in the moment, unable to stop herself, though she knew exactly what she was doing. Honor lifted an unsteady hand, wanting—no needing—to touch those captivating lips. Honor couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Michael, not as she did on the battlefield, a mere peck. This time, she wanted more. With only the one exception, Honor never kissed a man before she died. In fact, she’d never done anything physical with a man beyond holding hands, and certainly not with one as blatantly masculine and commanding of presence as Michael. Her heart pounded and a tingling desire rose to the surface of Honor’s skin, sending a hot flush over her body. Just the very thought of Michael touching her—
No.
Honor brought her shockingly vulgar thoughts to a halt to keep them from wandering down this tempting and immoral path.
It was one thing to stare at the sleeping Archangel. Quite another to stand over Michael—helpless and unaware—and indulge in inappropriate fantasies. To say nothing of touching or kissing him without permission. Honor moved to step back, or mayhap go home and rest as Bastien suggested, when suddenly Michael’s eyes flew open and a huge hand darted up to wrap around her wrist. Michael moved so fast, Honor let out a surprised squeak and would have stumbled to land on her backside had Michael’s strong grip not kept her upright.
“Who are you?” Michael asked, his voice deep and raspy with sleep, eyelids heavy and open only a small slit.
“I-I…”
As usual, when she panicked, Honor did the only thing that came to mind. She vanished.
* * *
“Michael, did you hear anything I said?”
“What?” Michael jerked his head in Tony’s direction. A deep frown creased the saint’s face.
“Are you paying any attention at all? This is important.” Tony huffed in clear annoyance.
No. No I’m not.
Ever since that day in the infirmary—the day Michael envisioned a female so beautiful, so ethereal, he knew it must be a dream—she was the only thing Michael could think about. Her long, dark coppery hair and shining brown eyes lined by thick dark lashes. Her sweet, heart shaped face and Cupid’s bow lips. Her slender, yet curvy figure and her gentle touch. The vision was so real and detailed there was even a smattering of tiny freckles across the bridge of her petite nose. In essence, the female was… amazing, enthralling, extraordinary.
“Apologies, Tony. If you wouldn't mind repeating.”
Tony gave Michael a puzzle look, but did as asked. This time, Michael forced himself to listen as Tony described a message he received earlier today from… wait… the Son of Lust?
“All the note said was to meet him at the clearing in the northern forest five nights from this morrow. Michael, what do you think?”
It was just the two of them at Michael’s small cottage. As usual, Tony brought a spread of meats and cheeses and bread, knowing Michael never remembered the basic requirements that came with living on the Earthly plane. After their meal they remained at the table to discuss their progress—or lack thereof—in locating the Horsemen. Death evaded their attempted apprehension and in truth, Michael and Donovan were fortunate to escape relatively unscathed. Aye, it took a week for Michael’s wing to heal and Raphael to release him from the infirmary. But Donovan was let go after only four days, as his head injury mended much faster. All in all, Michael knew they were blessed to not have ended up much worse for the wear.
Michael folded his hands in his lap and steadied his gaze on Tony. “So, let me understand. The Son of Lust…” He quirked a brow at Tony, who flushed. “Sent a messenger with a note for you, and you want my opinion if I think whether meeting with the daemon is wise?” Michael hoped his incredulous expression and tone of voice conveyed his obvious answer.
“Half-daemon,” Tony corrected.
Michael had to hold back from rolling his eyes. Oh for the love of— “Half-daemon. Whatever. The Daemon Kings are almost as much of a nuisance as the Horsemen. The only reason the Kings are allowed to remain on the Earthly plane is because they don’t kill humans and they provide a necessary evil. Humans sin. There’s no way around the fact. The Kings give those who wish to sin a place to do so. Whether I like it or not, getting rid of the Kings won’t rid the Earthly plane of sinners.”
“True, but the Kings are also ruthless, corrupt bastards,” Tony admitted. The saint sat up straight and with a determined look on his face, leaned toward Michael, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “But Michael, believe me when I tell you, the sons are nothing like the fathers. As half-humans, you must be aware they have souls.”
Michael did know that. He simply chose to ignore it. Creatures of the Underworld were soulless. It was no secret. Only practitioners and saints, who were born human, and angels created by the Fates, had souls. The single exception to the rule was the sons of the Daemon Kings, each one a Prince in title. Born of human mothers, the seven half-daemons did in fact possess souls. That in itself made them less… barbaric than the Kings. Michael wouldn’t admit it out loud, but in truth, he did think there was a chance the Princes could live peacefully amongst humans and other immortals. Quite unlike their fathers, soulless bastards who wanted nothing more than to corrupt as many humans and immortals as possible.
“I am aware they have souls,” Michael said. Then he narrowed his eyes and stared at Tony. “How is it you know the Prince of Lust? And beyond that, you know him well enough to be in personal contact?”
Tony cleared his throat and his cheeks reddened. His gaze dropped to the table where he fidgeted with his hands. “I uh, there was this one time…” As Tony struggled to find the right words, Michael found it odd Tony was unable to meet his eyes. Michael waited patiently for his friend to gather his thoughts. After a while, Tony sighed and finally lifted his gaze to Michael’s. “I met him a very long time ago. I came across him once, when he was… injured.”
Whatever Michael expected Tony to say, this certainly wasn’t it. “Injured? How so? And why did you never speak of this?”
Tony’s blush spread to his ears and throat and Michael didn’t think it possible, but Tony, his headstrong and brave second in command, grew even more uncomfortable. “Apologies, Michael, but it’s um… a personal matter for the half-daemon. I don’t… It wouldn’t feel right to speak of Dante’s private business.”
“Dante?”
The rude tone Michael used to say the Son of Lust’s given name caused Tony to shoot him a dark glare. The saint’s brows arched high on his forehead and his lips pursed in annoyance. “Aye, Dante. That is his name, Michael.”
Interesting. There is more to this story than Tony is willing to share.
“I hadn’t realized we were on a first name basis with the enemy.”
Tony’s face turned purple, fury overtaking his embarrassment. In a fit, Tony slammed his fist on the table, rattling the remains of their supper and tipping over an empty cup. “Dante isn’t the enemy!”
Michael was astonished by the Tony’s passionate defense of the Son of Lust. The Daemon Kings and their spawn were the sworn enemies of the Hereafter. Tony’s odd allegiance to Lust made no sense. However, Michael did need to remember that Tony was not only a saint, but fought loyally at his side for over three centuries. There were times Michael still considered Tony to be young and inexperienced, when after many years of hard work and dedication, the saint was anything but. Tony was capable and more than worthy of both his position in Michael’s Guard and his patronage as the Saint of Lost Items.
It was high time Michael gave his full trust to Tony. Put faith in the male he mentored for so long.
“All right,” Michael conceded. “If you think it wise to meet with Dante…” Michael’s mouth twisted like he bit a lemon. “Then do so. Just be sure to report back.” Tony opened his mouth to speak but Michael held up a hand. “If the reason is personal in nature, I do not expect you to discuss Lust’s business with me. Anything else that transpires between you, I insist upon details.”
Tony closed his mouth and nodded. “Thank you.”
Michael dipped his head in response, but couldn’t help but worry about one of his Guard cozying up with a creature of the Underworld. He recalled Tony’s words. Half-human. Hmm, mayhap it was also time for Michael to rethink some of his old prejudices, especially when it came to the half-daemon Princes. Then Michael remembered the thousands upon thousands of humans who were systematically dragged into sin by the Daemon Kings and their various temptations and his vision turned red.
Mayhap my prejudices suit me just fine.
This one time, Michael would give Tony the benefit of the doubt, that with souls of their own, the Princes had the capacity to be upstanding and kind of heart. But Michael knew if anything were to happen to Tony, the Prince of Lust would spend the rest of his days suffering in the bowels of the Underworld and Michael would be the one to send him there.
* * *
Michael’s eyes opened to darkness, inexplicably roused from a deep sleep. Something wasn’t right, yet Michael couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. It was more of a feeling, a sixth sense that niggled at his consciousness. Cautiously, Michael pushed up in bed and studied his surroundings to discover not a thing in his modest dwelling out of place or unusual. Exhausted, even after spending a week on his back recuperating from a broken and singed wing, Michael shuffled to lie back down. He curled on his side. That’s when, out of the corner of his eye, Michael caught movement in a shadowed corner of the room.
He sat back up and watched as the air in the corner took on a strange shimmer. Michael’s mind scrambled to sort through centuries of experience yet no matter how far back Michael went he failed to come up with a reason for this bizarre occurrence. Straining his eyes until they ached and his head throbbed, Michael still couldn’t make sense of the rippling waves that distorted the appearance of the wall of stacked stone and the empty space in front of it. Frustrated at being unable to focus on anything tangible, the effort akin to trying to get his arms around an unseen fog, Michael rubbed his temples.
Any warrior worth their salt would have leapt to his feet and unsheathed their weapon. The Sword of Protection hung nearby, on a hook next to his bed. Yet Michael did nothing. Instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from the corner. As the odd shimmer thickened and began to take on a solid form, Michael found it strange he felt no fear. No urgent need to defend himself. Sensed no impending threat and no danger. Exactly the opposite he knew he should respond to such an event.
As he stared, unblinking, out of nowhere a streak of fiery heat crashed over his Earthly body. With a sharp gasp, Michael’s insides exploded in a shower of sparks. The intense heat built rapidly, quickly cresting to a peak to burst into a raging inferno. Fire rippled down Michael’s spine, the flames scorching every inch of his being whilst awakening long-dormant nerve endings. A long, deep moan tore from Michael’s throat as the conflagration consumed him from head to toe, igniting and overwhelming desire the likes of which Michael never knew possible. His flaccid cock swelled and stiffened and his flat nipples tightened into hard buds. Even the hairs on Michael’s arms and legs reacted and stood on end. It was as if dozens of sensual hands simultaneously caressed every part of his being. They skimmed over sensitive skin, moving down, down, down until they wrapped around his stiff member and squeezed. Michael grit his teeth, threw his head back, and swallowed a shout.
With sweat beaded on his brow, Michael squinted into the dark room, only to flinch when he discovered he wasn’t alone. By the Fates! A few feet away, in the very corner where moments ago the strange shimmer appeared, stood a female. And not just any female, his female. The stunning one with the copper hair and delicate freckles. The one Michael dreamt about at the infirmary.
Only… this was no dream. Or at least he thought not. Michael touched his torso to make sure he was tangible and not asleep. I feel awake, and the female appeared to be very real to Michael. Very real and very desirable.
“Who are you?” Michael asked the young beauty. To his shame, Michael couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to the female’s small, pert breasts, the outline of erect nipples evident behind the silky material of her robes. Responding instinctually, Michael swept his tongue across lips before forcing his eyes back to the gorgeous beauty’s face. He was an angel, aye, but also a male in human form, and therefore, fallible to his body’s needs.
Michael’s question was rewarded with a small smile before the female shyly ducked her head. By the Great Kingdom of the Fates. She was stunning.
“Greetings. My name is Honor.”
Michael’s muscles tensed and he gnashed his teeth as the hard length between his legs reacted favorably to the female’s soft, melodic voice and stiffened further. “I-I am Michael.” It was near impossible to speak, as Michael was busy attempting to control the flames of lust that were near to boiling over.
Honor raised her eyes and blushed. The sight was so endearing, both innocent and oh so wickedly seductive at the same time, that Michael could only gape. The female giggled and his cursed cock throbbed painfully. “I know who you are.”
She knows who I am?
“If you know me, then tell me why you are here, Honor. I am certain if we had met, I would remember you, yet I do not.” Michael fisted his hands in his quilt to keep from tossing the blasted thing aside and gripping his shaft, exposing his nudity to this sweet, demure temptress.
Honor drifted closer, her golden brown gaze never leaving his. Michael swallowed loudly as she approached. His Earthly body urged him to take her in hand, touch every single inch of her stunning figure, but his mind held fast and he managed to maintain a shred of dignity. Barely. Honor stopped at Michael’s bedside. He was rendered immobile when she was the one to move first. Her small hand reached out and cupped Michael’s jaw.
“By the saints,” he whispered. His eyelids grew heavy and the heat inside him flared and sparked. Honor’s touch set off a roaring inferno, the all-consuming flames centered around Michael’s aching groin. Mouth dry, Michael had to swallow again to moisten his throat before speaking. “I-I have never felt this… this hunger,” he admitted between quick, short breaths. Heedless to proper decorum in the presence of a female, Michael slid a hand under the quilt and fisted his desperate member. Pleasure like nothing he’d ever felt shocked his senses and Michael’s entire body jerked on the bed, his eyes practically rolling back in his head. “W-what are you doing to me?”
Honor, a creature more exquisite than anything Michael laid eyes on in his very long existence, had him completely ensnared in her web. As she danced her fingertips over his chin and slid them down to trace the taut tendons of his throat, Michael took care to hold perfectly still, only he lost focus when her innocent yet erotic touch brushed over a peaked nipple and caused Michael’s breath to hitch. A fresh wave of lust tore a rumbling, desperate sound from his chest.
Michael closed his eyes and tried to shake off this increasingly mounting desire only to find he couldn’t bear to not look at her. He opened his eyes to study Honor’s gorgeous, heart-shaped face. A sweet smile curled the corners of her luscious, red lips and her eyes glittered with lust. Michael swore his pulse skipped when her fingers trailed over his bare skin and stopped at the center of his chest, where Honor rested the flat of her palm directly over his hammering heart.
“I am in here,” Honor said, that lovely musical voice once again sending Michael’s blood racing through his veins, molten heat pumping to every part of his being.
Michael lowered his chin to stare at the place they connected. His eyes widened as Honor’s palm began to glow the most beautiful shade of lilac Michael had ever seen. A pulse of electricity probed at Michael’s own blue sphere of energy, his life force, his very soul. Michael turned his vision inward to watch as his bright blue flared and grew in both strength and brilliance. When long tendrils of lilac entered Michael, and the glowing threads made their way toward his source of life, he panicked. Without thought to the fact he was both naked and aroused, Michael leapt from the bed and staggered away from the bewitching female. One hand thrust out in front of him, the other clutching protectively over his life force, Michael warned the female—Honor—away.
“Don’t…” Michael struggled to breathe. “Stay where you are.”
Stunning or not, whatever this female tried to do could only be evil. Michael would not be tempted by her seductive touch and gorgeous face despite how much it hurt.
Mercy, she must be a succubus, sent from the Underworld to seduce my body and corrupt my soul.
Michael’s will was strong. He would not give in to temptation, no matter how amazing the sensations that made his skin tingle and his manhood come alive.
“I don’t know what you think you are doing here, but you shall not have my soul,” he snarled as his courage returned. Michael removed his hand from his chest and stretched it toward the Sword of Light. The weapon was just out of reach, but Michael was confident he could get it before the succubus could attack. Besides, a mere succubus was no match for an Archangel.
The female tilted her head, studying him curiously. She smiled and the breathtaking sight was so damn tempting, Michael had to take another step back and flatten his back against the frigid stones of the wall to keep from pulling her into a tight embrace. He opened his mouth to warn the succubus away once more when the strangest thing happened. Honor’s chest began to glow the very same lilac as the tendrils that attempted to steal his essence. He blinked and realized the light was Honor’s life force. Her energy. Her soul.
But succubi don’t have souls.
Michael’s hands fell to his sides. “You… what are you?”
Still smiling, Honor looked right into Michael’s eyes, into his soul, and said, “I am yours.”
Then, she was gone.