Ashes of Angels. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
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