I could certainly see why some people would want to dress up like vampires. After all, bloodsuckers were hot and elegant; they dressed well and clearly had a lot of sex, if all the fiction was to be believed. They also didn’t exist.
But this particular man didn’t need to dress up or pretend to be anything he wasn’t. He was hot, in every sense of the word. I snickered at the notion. No one was around to appreciate my feeble wit, but I’d always managed to amuse myself.
“So what’s up with you?” I demanded of his unconscious figure. “What are we doing here? Did you abduct me?” Wishful thinking on my part. This was a man who clearly had no need to kidnap women. All he had to do was snap his fingers, and they’d be lining up around the block.
I had no illusions about my own charms. I was no troll, and I cleaned up pretty well, but next to this man I was clearly only ordinary. All the gym memberships in the world couldn’t seem to get rid of the unwanted ten pounds that hugged my hips. With the right clothes, hair, and makeup I was someone to reckon with, but even so I’d never be in this man’s league. Right now, dressed in sackcloth and ashes, I probably looked like a bag lady.
Not that I cared. My only company was passed out, presumably for the night. I leaned back, stretching my legs out in front of me, then realized I was leaning against the stone wall. I scrambled away from it, thoroughly creeped out. Hadn’t it split open, revealing some kind of horror . . . ? No, that was impossible.
And yet, where had the fire come from? It seemed to me I could remember flames, like the flames of hell, before he pulled me back again—no, the night must be sending my imagination into overdrive.
Smoke billowed up into the inky- blue sky, and I shivered again, wrapping my arms around my body in a useless attempt to warm myself. I could feel the thin, loose clothing beneath my fingers—it was little wonder I was freezing. And there was a delicious source of heat lying at my feet.
He was nothing special, apart from his rather spectacular good looks. And I lived in the Village—I saw any number of beautiful men on a daily basis and they never made me weak in the knees. Of course, in the Village most of the men would be patently unavailable, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate them. I seriously lusted after Russell Crowe, and he was just as unlikely to find his way into my bed.
This man wasn’t my type. I liked rugged men, a little on the beefy side, with broad shoulders, and average height so they didn’t make me feel small and inconsequential. I hated being loomed over, and if I could have found a boyfriend shorter than my five foot three, I would have grabbed him.
He had dark gold eyelashes fanned out against his high cheekbones. Even unconscious, he was still clearly in pain. If only I could remember how the hell I’d ended up here with him, I might figure a way out of it. But my mind was a blank, and all I could do was sit next to the unknown man at my feet and worry.
I put my hand on his hot forehead, brushing a lock of his hair away, and he muttered something beneath his breath.
“Hush,” I murmured. “Hush, now. We’ll find help in the morning if you’re not better.” I could hike out of this place and find the police as well as a hospital, and maybe come up with some solid answers.
But in the meantime I was freezing and he was warm and I wasn’t going anywhere. And while I couldn’t remember how he’d been hurt, any more than I could remember how the hell I’d ended up here, I had the unmistakable conviction that he’d been wounded trying to help me. So I owed him.
I lay down beside him, the ground cold and hard beneath me despite my natural padding. I’d always wondered why metal chairs hurt my butt when I clearly carried my own built-in cushion—if I had to have those extra pounds, I ought to have had some benefits.
I inched closer to the living furnace beside me, leaning against the comforting, solid feel of him. The dangerous heat sank into my bones, and I let out a blissful sigh.
He moaned, restless, and suddenly moved, rolling onto his side and putting his good arm around me. I was pressed up against him, and he was hot.
Too hot. Burning up.
But for some crazy reason, he felt so safe. He lay back, still holding me, and I went with him, letting my head rest against his shoulder. For the moment there was nothing I could do to rescue us. For the moment I could close my eyes, listening to the wild creatures out there in the darkness, and know that I was safe.
I could remember nothing; it was all lost and fuzzy. I was like that fish in
Beyond in the darkness, the hungry creatures howled their rage.
And I closed my eyes and slept.
CHAPTER FOUR
AZAZEL LOOKED OUT AT THE sky from his perch atop the high cliff. His only company was the occasional night bird—the rest of the Fallen knew well enough to leave him alone at times like these. He could be very dangerous when roused.
He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on Raziel. He had gone out for a routine pickup—should have been back hours ago. But there was no sign of him.
He had been with Raziel since the beginning of time. They were brothers, though born from no woman’s womb. He had always known when Raziel was in any kind of trouble, but right now that connection was blocked.
There could be any number of reasons. Raziel could turn off the mental connection anytime he wanted to, and he often did. During his jobs. During sex.
Though Raziel had sworn he would never bond again, and his brief sexual encounters were rare.
He could be underground, or caught in an electrical storm. Strange atmospheric conditions sometimes interfered with the strong bond that lay between them.
Or he could be dead.
No, that was unthinkable. He would know if Raziel had died—they were too much a part of each other, from back in the mists of prehistory.
He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, searching for the smell of him, the merest trace of him. He sent his questioning mind in each direction, and finally he felt it. The faintest spark of life—he was barely holding on. He wasn’t strong enough to signal for help, but Azazel sensed he wasn’t alone.
Whoever was with him might be able to help. All he or she had to do was ask.
Unless Raziel’s companion was the one who had brought him close to death in the first place.
Azazel’s eyes flew open. There were others in their hidden stronghold who had different gifts. Someone else might be able to narrow down where Raziel was. And if they were to have a chance of saving him, he would need help.
He looked out over the stormy ocean, the thick mists of daylight moving in, the mists that kept them hidden from everyone. Their home was tucked away on the northwest coast of North America, between the United States and Canada, shrouded in shadows and fog. Sheol was safety, secrecy, literally “the hidden place.” A place where they could dwell in peace until Uriel sent one of them out to collect one of the infrequent souls that actually required guidance.
Sheol had been in its current location for hundreds of years. A physical place that sheltered both the Fallen and their human wives, it could still be moved if Azazel deemed it necessary.
But there was no way to shield it from Uriel’s inimical gaze. He would find them, as the Nephilim would, and the uneasy detente would continue.
They had no choice. The Fallen lived precariously, doomed to eternal life, to watch their mates age and die while they stayed young. Cursed to become a feared and hated monstrosity.
By day they were free. And they’d learned to harness their blazing need, to control it and use it. No one outside the community would understand, and he didn’t expect them to. Ignorance was safer. They would keep their secrets, whatever the price.
He rose, his wings spreading out behind him, and soared down to the rocky outcropping in front of the great house. By the time he landed, the others had gathered, Raphael and Michael, Gabriel and Sammael.
“Where is he?” Azazel demanded roughly. “We cannot lose him.”
“We can’t lose any of us,” Gabriel said somberly. “He’s been betrayed.”
Michael snarled, his dangerous anger barely in check. “Who the fuck betrayed him? Why hasn’t Uriel looked out for him?”
Tamlel was the last to join them in front of the dawn-struck sea. They were the oldest of the Fallen still left on earth, the guardians, the protectors. Only Sammael was newer. “I don’t know where he is,” he said, his slow, deep voice leaden. “I don’t know if we’ll be in time. He is very weak. If I could just get a fix on him . . .”
Azazel hid his reaction behind a cold, unemotional exterior. If Tam couldn’t find him, there was no hope. Tamlel’s gifts were specific but strong. If one of the Fallen was lost, he could find him, until the very last spark of life was extinguished. If the energy was too weak even for Tam, then Raziel was doomed.
Unless someone found him and called for help, he would die, countless millennia after he’d first come into existence. The Fallen were not even given the comfort of death, but something far more terrifying.
Falling had made them close to human. The curses that accompanied that fall from grace might have finally caught up with Raziel. No hope of redemption, not even the dubious blessing of Uriel’s hell. Just an eternity of agonized nothingness.
Azazel shut his eyes, pain lancing through him. There had been so many losses, endless losses, so few of the original left. This might be one loss too many.
And then he lifted his head, and he could
