Messenger''s Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels

  “He’s a good man,” Juliette insisted. “And he seems to think that you’re not.”

  Gabriel stared down at her for a good few seconds. Again, that something dark flickered in his stormy eyes. “An’ wha’ do you think, lass?” he asked, his voice now barely more than a whisper. “Am I no’ a good man?”

  Juliette gazed up at him and felt time slow down. The sound of the cold surf on the shore below was a gentle roar in the background. Seagulls cried. The wind was sharp and smelled like salt; she could see that saltiness in Gabriel’s hair. He seemed a part of the land in that moment, rugged, hard, uncompromising. His piercing, stark eyes were ancient. There were stories there by the thousands.

  What did she think of him? She could barely think at all.

  “I . . . ,” she started to reply, but when she realized she didn’t know what she was going to say, she fell silent again. Her chest felt strangely tight, her stomach warm. It was his eyes—they were doing odd things to her. His tall, strong body caged her in, towered over her. Everything about him begged to be touched—tested.

  How gentle would Scotland be with her? Would he bend for her? Or would he break her?

  There was a blur before Juliette’s eyes, and before she realized what was happening, Gabriel moved forward, bent, and lifted her, throwing her over his broad shoulder. She landed gently on the hard plane of his muscle; he seemed to be careful in that respect. But she was still too shocked to do anything but gasp and then cry out.

  “Sorry, luv,” Gabriel said as he reached out and closed her cottage door and then turned and began descending the steps to the driveway. “Bu’ we need some time an’ I’m no’ gonna wait for you to decide you trust me.”

  “Gabriel!” Juliette gasped, her fists curling into the hard leather of his jacket. “Jesus, put me down!”

  And then, suddenly, he did. In one swift movement, Gabriel was lifting her and setting her down on her surprised feet. She wobbled a bit and he steadied her with one hand, gesturing to the bike they stood beside with the other. “Get on, lass.”

  Juliette stared at the bike—a Triumph of all black and chrome. “Absolutely not!” she breathed, still somewhat shocked.

  Gabriel ignored her refusal and mounted the bike, his body moving with fluid and controlled grace. She felt herself flush when he started the engine, twisted the throttle, and then cut his silver gaze to her once more. “Juliette,” he said, somehow managing to make his brogue sound perfectly clear over the engine. “There’s nothin’ to be afraid of.” He shook his head, his smile horribly charming. “I promise you’ll be safe with me.”

  “I don’t even know how!” Juliette insisted, hugging herself. She’d never ridden a motorcycle before. Not once. How did she even get on such a thing?

  “Give me your hand, lass,” he said, offering her his. She looked down at it and then back up at his eyes. Again, time slowed.

  She took his hand.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “That’s it,” Gabriel said as he helped her swing her leg over the back of the bike. She straddled the seat and, because it was angled forward, she slid down until her body was pressed tightly against Gabriel’s.

  Heat rushed through her; he was solid and warm and the curve of his neck above the leather collar of his jacket was enticing in the extreme. Juliette was incredibly grateful that he couldn’t see her face when she was seated behind him, because she was flushing furiously.

  The bike itself was a strangely erotic experience for Juliette; the motorcycle vibrated between her legs and the leather was hard enough that it didn’t mute the sensation. The combination of the metal horse beneath her and the hard man in front of her was wreaking havoc on her senses.

  “You all right, then, lass?” he asked her over his shoulder.

  Juliette’s voice cracked as she replied, “I’m fine!”

  “Good,” he said, smiling broadly. “Now hold on to me,” he instructed.

  Juliette’s eyes went wide. She looked down at his waist and knew he wanted her to wrap her arms around him. But that would mean touching him—closely. And she didn’t trust herself to do that just now.

  In front of her, Gabriel chuckled. He turned slightly and grabbed her left arm with his left hand. She tried not to pull away when he wrapped her left arm around his waist and pressed the fingers of her hand into his ridged abdomen.

  “Oh Christ,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Wha’ was that, luv?” he asked, turning the other way now. His smile and the wicked twinkle in his silver eyes told her he knew damn well what he was doing to her. But that didn’t stop him from grabbing her other hand and doing the same thing with it.

  In the next moment, she had her arms wrapped securely around his waist and he was holding both of her hands with one of his, pressing them into his body. “Don’t let go, lass. Do you understand? Wha’ever happens, do no’ let go.”

  He turned back around then and twisted the throttle, kicking up the stand. The Triumph’s tires skidded a little on the gravel and then caught once more as the bike left the driveway and headed toward the road.

  Juliette found herself instinctively holding on for dear life as the wheels bumped onto the asphalt and the bike rocketed down the street. But a few seconds later, the planes smoothed out and Gabriel began to carve around the curves, expertly operating the motorcycle with practiced ease. And Juliette began to relax.

  The Scottish air was cold and clean and the sky was relatively clear. It was a gorgeous afternoon, warm for March, and Juliette couldn’t help but feel as if she were flying along only a few feet from the speeding ground. It was liberating. The closest she’d ever come to such a feeling was when she’d ridden her bicycle as a child, making her way laboriously to the top of the hill so that she could sail down it with the wind in her hair.

  That wind whipped through her long hair now, tangling it hopelessly. And she didn’t care. Several minutes into the ride, Juliette found that she was smiling—no, grinning. All sound was drowned out beneath the steady drone of the motorcycle’s engine. Her aviator’s jacket and boots kept her warm against the early-spring air, and Gabriel’s body in front of her felt like a protective shield.

  She settled into him, even going so far as to close her eyes as the feel of him wrapped around her. She lost track of the time, but as she straightened and opened her eyes to once more look out over the rolling land around them, a fog rolled in across the moors. It rose over the hills like a giant white beast and slid down the slopes like an avalanche, draping the landscape in cotton until it began to creep across the road and Gabriel slowed the bike.

  He had perfect timing. Just as the mist was beginning to block out the stretch of black in front of them, he was turning off the road and onto a gravel drive. He pulled the bike up to a wooden stop for a parking space and shut it down. Then he helped Juliette off. She felt a bit unsteady on her legs at first; the lack of vibration left her feeling slightly used. But it passed quickly and she looked around.

  There were a few other vehicles in the drive, but not many. The gravel gave way to a wooden pier overlooking a small port. There were fishing trolleys in the water, their mooring ringing out through the fog as if they were speaking their own language. They were easier to hear than see, but every once in a while a small mast tilted through the mist to reveal its slick surface. Seagulls cried in the distance.

  At the other end of the drive stood a small cabin. Gabriel gently took Juliette’s hand and smiled down at her, leading her toward the wood-beamed building. Their boots crunched the stones beneath them as they approached the door and Gabriel led them inside.

  The air was instantly warm and filled with delicious aromas. Juliette stood on the threshold and slowly inhaled. The smell of cooking wafted over and through her, chasing away the chill and welcoming her like a hug. The cabin was a small two-room restaurant, divided neatly between a bar with stools and a strong stock of Scotch and a formal seating area surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking t
he sea.

  It was beautiful and cozy and perfect. It was exactly the kind of place Juliette had always wanted to escape to. She caught the sound of crackling and glanced toward the end of the restaurant to find a massive stone hearth merrily ablaze in the formal area.

  “Come with me, luv.” Gabriel led her through the bar area and into the formal dining area. The restaurant was deserted but for them.

  Where is everyone? Juliette wondered.

  Candles had been set out on all the tables, but at one table, right beside the windows that sported the best view, the candles were actually lit. Place settings had been laid out, and a steaming pot of tea was waiting on the table’s surface. Gabriel led her directly to that table and Juliette stared at the wisps of steam rising from the kettle.

  Then her eyes drifted to the windows and the foggy scenery beyond. She imagined it would have been a gorgeous twilight view if it hadn’t been for the fog. Not that she minded fog at all—in fact, she had always been rather fond of foggy days. They made her feel as if she were being transported to some magical land and as soon as the fog lifted, she would find herself in Willy Wonka’s chocolate room or something similar.

  But how often did one get to gaze out over the sea like this?

  “No one will notice, lass.”

  Juliette looked up at Gabriel to find him staring at her knowingly. He looked from her to the window and nodded. “Go on, then.”

  Juliette needed no further encouragement. She already knew that Gabriel was well aware of her powers—that definitely wasn’t an issue any longer. And they seemed to be alone at the moment. And . . . well, she didn’t need any other reasons.

  Juliette concentrated on the thick blanket of fog and imagined it receding like a tidal wave in reverse. She felt the familiar, if rather new, magic swell within her and then escape with an almost whooshing sensation; the candles flickered—and the fog began to roil outside the restaurant windows. Juliette’s eyes widened as it spun, swirled, and then pushed itself from the shore, gathering cloud upon cloud until it had retreated a good half mile out to sea.

  “That’s my girl,” Gabriel said softly. She looked up at him to find him smiling out at the pier and the water beyond, a proud expression on his handsome features.

  “Aye, that’s a nice bit o’ view yae’ve go’ there, isn’t it?”

  Juliette blinked and spun to face the source of the new voice. An ancient-looking man stood a few feet away, his thick white hair flyaway, his rail-thin figure standing straight as an arrow despite his age. He was smiling broadly, his expression mysterious, his stark blue eyes glittering with vast intelligence.

  Beside her, Gabriel chuckled softly and turned to face him as well. “Stuart, ciamar a tha thu?” He moved forward and the men each patted each other on the chest in greeting. Juliette could only stare at them in confusion and wonder. And a little fear . . . Had this man, Stuart, seen her pushing the fog back?

  “Ah, Juliette,” Gabriel said, turning back to face her. “You need no’ worry about Stuart, lass. Burns is the one man in the world who knows our secret—an’ he’d fight to the death to protect it.” He nodded at Stuart and Juliette digested the information.

  Stuart smiled as tender a smile as his proud, rugged features would allow, and gave a hard nod in agreement. “Aye, lass,” he said. “Though I have tae admit, Gabriel dinnae tell mae yae could move the verra clouds. Tha’ could come well in handy some fishin’ days.” He chuckled and it sounded like the rustling of ancient parchment. “Yae enjoy yer meal, noo.” He turned then and headed back across the bar area and through a set of double doors that presumably led to the kitchens.

  “Burns owns this restaurant,” Gabriel said, taking off her jacket while she was still too stunned to say anything. He placed it on the back of her chair and turned back to her. “He fishes most mornings; his boat is out there with the others. His father left him this building an’ he and his wife live in the back rooms.”

  “And he’s a friend of yours?” Juliette asked.

  “Aye, that he is. An old friend.” He pulled her chair out for her and waited patiently behind it, his silver eyes shining bright. “I saved him from drowning off the bow of a fishing trolley when he was a lad. My secret slipped out, an’ he kept it—an’ we became close mates.”

  Juliette pulled herself out of her surprised state and sat down, allowing him to tuck her in. He then sat across from her. “Did you enjoy the ride, lass?” he asked as he poured her a cup of tea. Juliette stared at his strong hands, his broad shoulders, and the way the low light outside gave his hair blue highlights. She swallowed hard and nodded.

  He looked up, just catching the nod, and smiled, flashing those white teeth. “Well, then, are you hungry yet?” he asked, almost chuckling.

  She nodded again. She really was a bit hungry. The wind had been cold on her face during the ride. And controlling the weather to make the fog recede had sapped her just enough that the combination of the two had given her an appetite.

  “Good,” he said, and looked over toward the double doors. At once, they opened and several waiters came pouring out of the kitchen. Each one was dressed in the finest serving attire, black-and-white with white gloves, and each carried a steaming platter in his hands.

  Juliette froze in her chair as the waiters began to set the dishes down in front of them on the table. She gazed up at them, catching pleasant, friendly smiles on faces that looked remarkably like Stuart Burns’s. They’re his sons, she realized as the table quickly became overrun with food that looked and smelled so good, she was instantly reminded of Thanksgiving. Oh my God, she thought, as the realization of what the platters carried hit her. These are all of my favorite foods! She had expected some kind of fish or maybe even lobster, not that there was anything wrong with either of those. But this was an incredibly unexpected surprise!

  And how—how—had he known she loved these things? It was as if he’d pulled the favorites from the stores of her mind!

  Maybe he did, she thought. His brother is a vampire—maybe he read my mind!

  There was enough food to feed ten people before her, and from so many different ethnicities, it was like a cornucopia melting pot. Yet, she and Gabriel were the only two customers in the restaurant. There was no way they could finish it all!

  The waiters finished arranging everything to perfection and the one who was obviously the eldest deftly refilled Juliette’s teacup. Then the lot of them were heading back toward the kitchen doors. She watched them go. When she finally looked back up at Gabriel, he was positively beaming.

  “Who cooked all of this?” she asked, her voice breathless with shock.

  “Stuart an’ his wife,” Gabriel replied, still smiling brightly. It was such a beautiful smile. . . . “She’s a bonnie lass, she is. Can make a meal fit for kings.”

  “Or angels,” Juliette murmured, her gaze sliding over the vast assortment of foods before her. I can barely cook toast.

  “Aye,” Gabriel agreed, his tone dropping a little. “Your mouth is open, lass,” he teased her softly, picking up a fresh piece of sourdough bread and dipping it into a bit of gravy. “Let me fill it for you.” He put the bread to her lips.

  She blushed furiously—and after a few seconds, she took a bite.

  * * *

  Kevin Trenton stepped through the hatchway of his private jet and descended the stairs to the tarmac below. His boots touched down with a decided finality. “Ah, bonnie Caledonia,” he said, affecting a Scottish accent as his blue gaze took in their twilit surroundings. It had been a while since he’d been to this part of the world.

  Ely, Luke, and Mitchell were standing beside a black SUV a hundred yards away. The vehicle’s shining paint job was sleek beneath the tall lamps that illuminated the strip. The men nodded at him and made their way across the lot to join him at the base of the stairs.

  “How was your flight?” Ely asked as he took off a pair of mirrored shades to reveal his stark amber eyes.

  “Uneventful,??
? Kevin replied. He let his gaze slip from his first chosen to the thick blanket of clouds that hung low over the land around them. Fog curled across the tarmac in white, wispy fingers that clawed and receded, leaving the black ground damp and glistening. Beside him, he saw Ely and the others turn to glance around them as well.

  “At least you won’t have to contend with the sun much, sir,” Ely said softly. Kevin smiled at that, revealing a new set of gleaming white fangs.

  His three chosen were aware of the change that had come over him now. At the Adarian headquarters, Kevin had managed to hide his body’s alterations from the remaining Adarians because much of the facility was underground. And though it took Kevin a while to learn how to retract his new pronounced canines, he’d simply refrained from smiling or speaking directly to anyone in the interim. They assumed he was upset over Hamon’s murder, and he didn’t bother to deny the assumption. Problem solved.

  However, when Ely had called him to check in, Kevin had decided to brief him on the apparent consequences of ingesting an archangel’s blood to the point of death. Full disclosure had been necessary. Ely, Luke, and Mitchell were aware that their general had been the one to kill Hamon. And like the good soldiers they were, they possessed a loyalty that forced their understanding and quieted their tongues. After all, they were the chosen three. Whatever sacrifices had to be made to their beneficial ends were worth making.

  Kevin wanted Ely to know what he, Mitchell, and Luke were in for should Kevin’s plan to abduct and drain the archesses come to fruition. Such consequences being, namely, the transformation from Adarian to vampire. The archesses were for all intents and purposes archangels by their own rights. Therefore, if draining and ingesting their blood worked the same way that it had for the unfortunate Hamon, then there would be the same consequences to contend with.

  Kevin still possessed all his original abilities. What was more, he now possessed Hamon’s abilities as well. Furthermore, his vampiric transformation had blessed him with an even greater strength and speed than he’d known before. And he suspected that other abilities would be burgeoning in time. After all, the archangel Azrael was formidably powerful, and he was also a vampire. Kevin almost looked forward to his continued transformation.