Ashes of Angels

Protect the innocents, Granny Stevens had always warned. At all costs.

Darting off the dance floor like a banshee called to the grave, she pushed through the crowd of dancers, lovers and chatterers. A swing of her elbow spilled a drink, and someone swore at her in hearty German. She couldn’t bother to apologize.

Without looking to see if the stranger would follow she headed down the dark hallway toward the back exit door. Pinpricks of light spattered the walls like a constellation, but did not serve illumination for any more than a careful stroll to find the restrooms.

She shoved a man out of the way. He called back, wondering if she was okay.

She’d worn her thigh-high boots today. The heels were only two inches, but slippery as hell on the tiled floor, which was wet from people entering with snow on their shoes. Grabbing the door, she swung it open and glanced back. The man followed.

It was him. Samandiriel. Her dream man. Her destiny.

Her danger.

Her wrist would not itch were it any other man in the universe. And the sigil glowed! Granny Stevens had said it would. She’d always wondered how that would work.

There was only one reason a muse’s sigil glowed: it was near another sigil that matched it. Playing angel-to-muse sigil matchy-matchy was not a game Cassandra had signed up for, but certainly, she was prepared.

“Right,” she muttered to herself. “You went all kick-ass on him for two idiot seconds!”

Wishing she’d had the time to swing by the bar where her now ex-date sat to put on her leather coat, Cassandra cursed the wicked cold air as she plunged into a wall of prickly snowflakes. A burgeoning storm swirled relentlessly. A drift consumed the bottom step and swallowed her boots ankle deep.

She kept another coat in the boot of her car, along with gloves, hat and other necessary items. No one drove around Berlin in December without the essentials.

The club door smashed outward, cracking the outer brick wall. The stranger marched down the steps, his pace determined. He wore no coat, and appeared unaffected as the bitter wind buffeted his chest and face.

Cassandra’s teeth had already begun to chatter. Slipping her hand inside her boot, she claimed her car keys from the inner pocket. She’d parked five rows back and in the corner.

Slipping on the icy surface, she slapped a palm on the closest car to steady herself. A hand grasped her by the shoulder and swung her against the hood of a vintage BMW.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, Cassandra? I was having a fine time dancing with you. Were my moves not correct? I thought to follow your direction.”

Seriously? She kicked his knee, landing her toe hard, but he didn’t register pain with a wince. In fact, he instead winked at her.

“Let go of me! I’ll scream.”

He slapped a palm over her mouth. His square jaw pulsed and his eyes flashed a mad array of colors at her. “You are—” he trailed his gaze over her face and down her body “—mine.” The words came out in a wondrous gasp.

Oh, bloody hell in a handbasket.

She kicked and managed a boot toe behind his knee. “Let me go!”

“Calm, Cassandra, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah? You call having sex with me against my will not hurting me?”

“I—no, I won’t do that. I admire you. You’re like nothing I have ever imagined beauty can be. Your voice is the color of happiness. It is gorgeous.”

The guy was actually trying to flirt with her?

Chill wind whipped across her face and cut off another scream. Cassandra kicked and shoved, but he was too strong. “I’m ready for you, buddy. I know what you want, and no matter how you phrase it, it’s not going to happen.”

“Please listen to me, Cassandra—”

This time a kick to his inner thigh, so close to the family jewels, managed to present her with freedom.

Dashing for her car, Cassandra said thanks for the Walther semiautomatic pistol she kept stashed in the car’s boot. It was over-the-top, but it had been easiest to obtain, and was as easy to use. It wouldn’t stop the guy, but it should slow him down long enough for her to escape.

The man who chased her was a Fallen angel. Yes, a real bloody angel. She didn’t need an ID card or divine beam of light to convince her. And she, being a muse, wore a sigil that matched only one Fallen. And his idea of admiration was not in alliance with hers.

Everything Cassandra had been taught about angels and their muses was falling into dreadful place.

She’d been born a muse, a female mortal who would ultimately attract a Fallen angel. Said angel would one day come for her, impregnate her, and she would give birth to a vicious, giant nephilim. Or so, that is how Granny Stevens had related it to her.

Slamming her palms to the boot of her car, she skidded and hit her knees against the chrome bumper. Struggling with the key, her icy fingers inserted it into the lock and the boot popped open. She grabbed the pistol and turned as the angel slid up to her. His chest met the barrel.

“Back off,” she commanded firmly. Holding the weapon gave her a confidence she’d never expected to need. This adrenaline junkie knew how to use nervous energy, yet her dreams of angels had always been merely dreams. “Or I blow you back to the Ninth Void.”

He raised his hands in surrender but did not relent by stepping back. Wind blew his dark hair across his face, underlining his eyes. “You’ve not the power to do so. And please, that place was miserable. I’ve only been out a day. Won’t you allow me a holiday?”

He was trying to charm her? Did he not feel the menacing semiautomatic she held against his chest? One squeeze of the trigger would—well, it would damage him, but not kill him. Only an angel could kill an angel. Unless the nonangel was armed with a divine weapon.

Coco should have mailed the halo to her. What she wouldn’t give to have that in hand right now!

“You step back,” she directed in a surprisingly calm tone.

“Nein. We need to talk.”

She chambered a round with a metallic click.

“Try it, beautiful one. But you’ll only piss me off. And splatter your pretty dress with my blue blood.”

So it really was blue? Bloody hell, it was all true. In a moment of utter bewilderment, Cassandra looked aside, her mind fighting to grasp her new reality.

The Fallen grasped the pistol and turned it on her. “Get in the car. Through the driver’s side.”

Teeth chattering, she was shoved inside the midsize coupe. Probably her brain was already half frozen, which was why she’d been overtaken so easily. She wasn’t able to remain on the driver’s seat because he slid in right after her.

“Don’t hurt me, you … you monster.” Oh, nice, Cassandra. As if begging will help.

He grabbed the keys from her numb fingers and shoved them in the ignition. “You’re calling me a monster?”

No, he was some kind of male model with gorgeous eyes and a sexy smile. Cassandra blinked. Idiot!

When she tried to open the passenger door he pressed the automatic door lock on the steering wheel. The lock tab fit flush into the door so she couldn’t pry it up.

“Yes, a monster! You’re a freakin’ Fallen angel who wants to rape me.”

The car swung out of the parking spot, swerving on the ice. “Don’t use that word. It is an awful mortal word for a cruel act. I would never profane a woman. You are sacred to me, Cassandra. I want to protect you.”

He smiled at her. Actually smiled as he navigated the lot with starts and stops and some wild swerves. Did the guy even know how to drive? He said he’d been on earth only a day.

A shake of his head flicked off the heavy snowflakes from his thick, dark hair and shoulders.

Sacred? Is that what he labeled the woman he wanted to get down and dirty with, and without asking first? And protect her?

Had she gotten a damaged one? This Fallen must have hit his head upon release from the Ninth Void and landing on earth. Everything he said to her was the complete opposite of what she’d been taught.

Twisting on the seat, she wondered if the backseats would pull down to open into the trunk. She’d never tried it before. The angel had tossed the semiautomatic in the snow back in the parking lot, but she had another pistol in the boot.

The car spun onto the main street, swerving, but he quickly got it under control. He drove right through a stop signal, riding the brake but not slowing. Passing cars honked at them.

“You’re very pretty, Cassandra. And the ribbons in your hair. So interesting.”

“Is that your idea of foreplay? A few awkwardly random compliments? Buddy, I’m not interested.”

“You were interested on the dance floor. Your eyes took me in, sized me up and decided to like me. You touched me.” He stroked his forearm where she had placed her hand. “I’ve never been touched by a mortal woman.”

“Yeah?” She had touched him, had even imagined wrinkling the sheets with him. Oh, Cassandra, get smart. Right now! “The only touch you’ll get from me is a punch or another kick. Want one right now?”

“No, thank you.”

Man, but his eyes were incredible. When she thought they were blue, she noticed the violet, and then, brilliant gold. Wow—”Pay attention to the road. The light is red!”

He drove through the intersection without causing an accident. Cassandra clutched the seat and tensely put her heels to the floor. “You don’t know how to drive, do you?”

“No, but I’m learning,” he said proudly.

She itched the sigil, which still glowed blue. “Hell.”

“Matches mine.” He tugged up his shirt and leaned forward to reveal the sigil on the back of his hip. The spiraling dark brown line resembled a tattoo.

The sigil was not a tattoo, but an indelible mark. Cassandra had been born with hers. It was the reddish-brown color of henna, but it never faded, as henna did. “Yours isn’t glowing,” she remarked.

“Only when I’m in half form.”

Cassandra’s heart dropped to her gut. The only way a Fallen could get his mortal muse pregnant was in half form. They assumed the wings of an angel on top, yet remained human in every way, including all the essential sexual organs.

Samandiriel.

She had known his name since Granny had found it in the book of names and sigils. Neither had spoken it out loud to the other. Yet after everyone had gone to sleep, and Cassandra lay in her bed staring at the sky through the oak tree near her window, she’d whisper it. Because that’s what teenage girls did.

The name had become a sort of mantra, and at the same time a death toll. Samandiriel, the one angel who existed to find her. Samandiriel, the angel she had sculpted in silver. Samandiriel, her death.

A dizzy wave washed through Cassandra’s brain. She had to remain alert. Stay strong. As soon as he stopped, she’d open the door and run, never mind her lack of coat and gloves. They were only blocks away from a busy restaurant area; she could find help before she froze to death.

“So you’re taking me somewhere, and then you’re going to shift shapes?”

“No. Cassandra, I would not assume you’d be so enamored with me you would allow such an intimate act so quickly.”

She could only gape at him.

Was this one for real? The Fallen were supposed to be focused on getting their muse pregnant. She’d never thought the Fallen would have a sense of right and wrong.

“Seriously, did you land on your head when you Fell to earth?”

He chuckled. “Actually, I originally landed in a shallow stream. I almost drowned, were it not for a couple of village children who pulled me out. But that was a long time ago.”

Uh-huh. Like during Biblical times. The angels originally Fell way back when, and God decided to punish them for Falling and swept them all to the Ninth Void courtesy of the Great Flood. Water and angels did not mix; they couldn’t swim.

She had to do something. She couldn’t let this go further. Opening the glove compartment, she shuffled through the manuals and parking tickets. Yes! She knew she’d put that in there last month.

The Fallen pulled the car to a sliding stop against a snow-stacked curb. Ice slicked the tarmac. The snowplows had not been out since the storm had begun earlier in the afternoon.

“You live close,” he said, “but I’m not picking up your heat trail. Can you give me directions?”

“To my place? Not bloody likely.”

Gripping the Taser in the glove compartment, Cassandra swung her arm around and landed the angel aside the neck, under his chin. He jerked, his hand releasing the steering wheel. His torso stiffened, unable to fight the high voltage.

A thrusting fist bent the steering wheel. He let out a sound that crackled in her eardrums. It sounded like myriad languages all at once. Gritting her teeth at the pain of the noise, she held firm on the Taser.

And he cried out as if struck through the heart by a blade. Something creaked and then a flash of thick silver something moved out from between his shoulders. Whatever it was, it cut through the car roof and smashed out the rear window.

Panicking, Cassandra dropped the Taser and kicked open the passenger door. She scrambled out onto the foot-high snow packed along the curb and looked over the destruction.

Wings had grown out of the Fallen’s back, bladed, thick wings that had cut through the car like butter. They looked like … silver? She was a silversmith; she knew her metals. The entire structure of wings looked forged from silver, yet appeared soft as feathers, for the downy barbs fluttered in the brutal cold.

Trapped, the Fallen looked at her and growled.

Not about to stick around, Cassandra took off across the street and headed in the opposite direction of her apartment—only a quarter mile up the street—and one very angry Fallen angel.

Chapter 2

Samandiriel shook off the vehicle from his wings. Metal creaked and split. A tire rolled up against the snowbank. The backseat wobbled and fell from the passenger half of the vehicle.

He eased a hand over his shoulder. That little misadventure had taxed his mortal muscles to weary bands. Though his wings were of silver—indicative of his mastery over the silversmith art—they were adamant and indestructible. Yet there was only so much damage this mortal body could take, even in its half form, which was as close to his original ineffable form he could get while on earth.

He glanced at the mangled car. He’d had to rip his wings out sideways to get free. “Bitch,” he muttered, but the anger that had spurred his shift subsided quickly.

It had been a common human reaction to fear. Yet the muse had known what to expect. She had known he would come for her. And it appeared the petite bit with the big brown eyes and beribboned hair could handle herself in a threatening situation.

With a smart cock of his head side to side, he then unfurled his wings completely and followed with a whole-body shake that flexed muscles and tested mortal bones for endurance. Nothing broken.

Thing is, he had no intention to hurt the muse, as she suspected. Cassandra Stevens was a beauteous creation to admire. He could look at her ever after, admire her fine bone structure, the soft brown flesh and long hair that seemed alive with depth. Her voice spoke to him in vivid pinks and violets, bathing him in a luscious sensory oasis.

But once in this form, and if he were near Cassandra, he would feel the compulsion, the need to mate with the muse.

After his original Fall, Samandiriel had observed his brothers. The Fallen went after their muses with sanguine intent and did not care that they harmed, hurt or damaged the muse psychologically and physically. Their only focus was to mate with them, to experience the carnal pleasures that had tempted them to Fall.

Yet after that initial Fall, the Great Flood had washed over the lands and swept his fellow Fallen from the earth. Samandiriel had been imprisoned in the Ninth Void, awaiting release. He’d had much time to think.

He wanted nothing to do with the wicked pact he’d joined in with his brethren. All he desired was to return Above. But to do so, he suspected he must prove his worthiness, which necessitated his current mission.

A mission to ensure his Fallen brethren did not achieve their goal. And for the other reason, once a Fallen mated with a muse a nephilim would germinate, be born, and destroy all living things in its path.

Yet that mission had been altered after learning about the vampires. So much work to do. And here he stood, having been defeated by an odd electronic device wielded by a tiny woman.

“Bloody bunch of good you’ve done so far.”

He’d walked the world upon arrival on earth yesterday. His kind could move swiftly over the land and sea, taking in knowledge of all things, places, ideas and emotions. He now knew all languages, cultures and history. He knew the modern world, and admired it as much as he worried for it. It was clean and beautiful and ugly and devious. Children suffered and adults wallowed in self-important luxuries. The pious existed right alongside the profane and psychotic. What an ugly yet necessary mix.

Once he had achieved his goal, he would not remain long after.

During his walk around the world, he’d only picked up flickers of knowledge regarding the Fallen. The vampiress with the halo hunter had provided the most curious information. He’d been summoned—by vampires.

Vampires and the Fallen? He suspected it had something to do with the nephilim but couldn’t piece that together.

Shaking his wings down, his mortal muscles screamed in protest. He’d not felt such pain, ever. But he did not condemn the pain. It indicated he was part of this world now. Not completely mortal—he intended to retain his angelic half at all costs—but appreciative of all The Most High had given the creatures of the earth.

With a shuffle of his shoulders, he assumed complete human form. His leather trousers and boots were intact, but the shirt was a loss. He picked off shreds of torn white fabric from his arms and shoulders. Snowflakes landed on his skin but did not melt. Due to his cold blood, he didn’t feel the winter chill as a human.

Fascinating how the tiny flakes fluttered down from the clouds. There was much to marvel over as he learned the world. Samandiriel cautioned himself not to get lost in wonder when the greater task demanded his complete focus.

A shirt was in order—he had to fit in. But first he must find the muse. If Cassandra Stevens knew so much, she could prove an ally on his earthly quest. And, he simply wanted to bask in her presence. Because she was his. And he wanted to be near her. To touch her and hold her and—not harm her.

He took two steps across the slick, snowy tarmac. A female scream spun him about, eyes tracking the unremarkable building fronts in the darkness. “Cassandra?”

He’d thought her long gone after witnessing his forced shift.

Again, she screamed, from somewhere in the vicinity a few blocks behind him. Samandiriel’s boots dug into the packed snow, and he took off running.

The thugs had knives, and Cassandra had left all weapons in the car with the angel. Samandiriel. Too weird that her Sam had finally found his way to her, yet why should she think it weird? She’d been expecting him all her life.

One thug sporting a huge diamond earring, but not resembling an NBA all-star, had demanded her purse, which she didn’t have—it was in the car. The other thug, who bore a closer resemblance to an all-star, only because he was so tall, waved a chipped blade menacingly. She could guess they weren’t going to leave her without getting something.

Yeah? She had an expert roundhouse kick she’d give them both. But the first smart line of defense was to run. So she dodged to the right and raced toward the chain-link fence blocking off the alley. Hooking her fingers in the frozen links, she pulled herself up, yet a boot toe slipped on the icy metal, causing her to drop.

Hanging from the fence by numb fingers, Cassandra struggled for hold. Her attackers did not come after her from below. One jumped over her head and landed a precarious balance on top of the fence. An impossible feat. How had he—?

He grinned down at her from his gargoyle post, revealing long, pointy fangs.

Shit. Her fingers slid from the chain links, and Cassandra dropped to the ground.

Vampires were not something she’d trained to defend herself against. Only recently her sister, Coco, had alerted her to the vampires’ involvement in the frazzled mess she called her life. She’d been doing research and had secured a weapon, but hadn’t expected them so soon. Or ever.

Straightening, she drew in a breath. When life gave her surprises, Cassandra snapped to all-systems-ready mode.

The fence vamp dropped and backed her up against a garbage bin in the dead-end alley. Snow swirled in from the street, and she was starting to feel some serious freeze on her thighs where her boots ended and didn’t meet her dress. Never mind the chill against her bare back that made it difficult to stand still.

Stupid to have abandoned her car in this weather. But it wasn’t as if it was drivable with an angel literally embedded within it.

Times like this she wished for superheroine powers. She’d often wondered what her muse powers were. Shouldn’t she have some? Granny Stevens had always shaken her head and smiled wistfully.

Her wrist itched and the sigil glowed. That could be very bad, or possibly a lifesaver at a moment like this one.

“You got some kind of funky tattoo?” the one with the blade demanded. He did not sound German, but rather Russian, though he spoke English well enough.

“Wait,” the not-all-star, diamond-earring thug said. “You know what that is, Russell?”

“Haven’t a clue. Some kind of club stamp?”

“I think we found her.” The biggest thug crushed her petite body against the wall with his two-hundred-fifty-plus-pound frame, most of the weight in his gut. “Go keep watch,” he said over a shoulder to his buddy.

“If she’s one of them, we have to bring her to the boss.”

“We will. Isn’t that right, pretty little muse?”

Now Cassandra screamed. It was involuntary, her body reacting against her brain’s better judgment.

The one who’d went to keep watch soared over her and her aggressor’s heads and landed on the top of the garbage bin with a dull thud. The blade dropped from the tossed man’s hand and landed in the snow.

“What the hell?” The vampire holding her switched his attention to the tall, shirtless man standing not ten feet from them. He held a Taser in one hand and wielded a cocky grin like a switchblade.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” the angel said.

“What took you so long?” Cassandra spit. The vampire still held her by a shoulder, but if he twisted farther to look at the angel …

“Sorry. I had to shake a car off my wings.”

“Your wings?” the vampire asked. “What, are you some kind of faery?”

The angel straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “I say wings, and your first guess is faery?” He shook his head and made a come- and-get-me gesture with the fingers wrapped around the Taser.

The vampire released Cassandra and turned to the angel in time to catch the Taser’s copper hooks with his thighs.

Sam preened over the powerful device and nodded. “This is nice. I gotta get one of these for myself.”

The vampire ripped out the hooks from his legs and growled. “Try again, you bloody faery.”

“You shouldn’t use foul language in front of a lady.” Tucking the Taser into a back pocket, the Fallen then held up a palm, fingers tight together, and pointed them toward the vampire. “You ready for this?”

“Ready for—”

The angel shoved his spaded fingers through the vampire’s chest, pulled him forward and slapped his spasming body onto the ground. A hot, meaty blood scent assaulted Cassandra’s nose. The angel roared in myriad tongues like he had in the car. And in one hand, he held a bloody mass from which a puddle of crimson rapidly formed around his boots.