Angelic Surrender: The Kavanaugh Foundation, Book 2 Read online

  He paused in the middle of the sidewalk and fought back a groan. Was this some kind of divine punishment? To make him crave the one human who knew how to resist him?

  Someone jostled him as they passed, jerking him from his mental whining. Even though the sun had barely risen half an hour ago, the streets of Manhattan already hummed with activity. He pushed thoughts of Anjali from his mind and merged with the flow of pedestrian traffic.

  Her favorite coffee shop was less than three blocks from her apartment. Over the past two years, he’d watched her make an almost daily trip there and order the same thing. She oversaw the entire process of her drink manufacturing with the eye of a hawk. Several baristas had been reduced to tears because of her criticisms of how long they let the espresso brew or the quality of their foam. But, on the other hand, she always left a nice tip when they got it right.

  The moment he entered the door, the two girls behind the counter looked up at him and giggled nervously. One even spilled the steamed milk in her pitcher. But their reaction didn’t provide the ego boost he usually got. Only one woman’s reaction mattered anymore, and that realization ate away at his gut like bad Mexican food chased with homemade moonshine. When it came his time to order, he leaned on the counter and said, “Anjali would like her usual.”

  The girl’s eyes widened at the same time her smile faded. He laughed inwardly. Yes, that’s right. I’m taken by none other than the woman you call the dragon lady. “Anything else?”

  “Eight shots of espresso in a single cup.”

  “Eight?”

  He nodded. Between the caffeine rush and the further erosion to the lining of his stomach, maybe he’d resist the urge to climb back into bed with Anjali until they captured the Skinwalkers. He stood back and waited for the girls to fill his order. Satisfied they’d made the mocha to her standards, he left with the two cups in hand.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up the second he stepped outside. Someone was watching him. Another angel to be precise. He knew their signature as well his own name. The question was who? And which side were they on?

  He weaved through the endless stream of people clogging the sidewalk, trying to pinpoint his spy. A gust of wind whooshed past his face, and he looked up. The air wavered above him. He followed the almost invisible currents to an empty courtyard. “Show yourself,” he ordered when they stilled.

  The air shifted like the screen of an old TV that relied on rabbit ears to get a reception. It flashed and swayed before showing the image of a scowling angel with white wings. His red hair fell past his shoulders, and two sword hilts hung from his belt.

  Vassago recognized him immediately and mirrored his expression. “Puriel, it must be torture to sully yourself here on Earth.”

  “Shut up, you arrogant Fallen,” the Angel of Fire growled. His wings shrank behind his back. “I’m here on divine business.”

  “Spying on me?” He sat on a small concrete bench and set Angali’s cup next to him. “I thought God knew and saw everything.”

  “No, I was sent to clean up your mess. It hasn’t escaped Him that four demons escaped from Hell last week.”

  “And He sends you to do the work of the Fallen?” He crossed his arms and made a tsking sound with his tongue. “I can only imagine how pissed off you must feel to be demoted like that.”

  Puriel drew both hilts from his belt, and blades of red fire materialized from their ends. “What I wouldn’t give to slice your head from your body.”

  Will took a sip of his espresso and stared down his adversary. Only one being could kill him, and as far as he knew, God hadn’t issued a death warrant for him yet. “When did you start carrying around two swords?”

  The angel’s upper lip curled into a snarl as the blades retreated, leaving them empty hilts. It was only then that Vassago noticed they weren’t a matching set. “I’ve come to deliver a message to you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “God wants these demons returned to Hell as soon as possible.”

  “As does Lucifer, which is why I’m on the case.” He tried to remain calm. If Puriel’s presence was any indication, God was getting a little impatient. “I have a lead, but taking down four Skinwalkers is not an easy task. I only managed to send one back last night.”

  “And three more humans died in the process.”

  He shrugged, figuring playing an asshole was better than admitting he cared. “Regretful, I know, but my resources are limited.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” A look of pure revulsion flickered across his face before he looked away and held out one of the hilts. “I was told to give you this.”

  “A sword of my very own? How generous.” He remained where he stood and continued to sip his coffee instead of taking it.

  A snicker broke the silence. Puriel turned it over into the palm of his hand. “Take a closer look, Fallen. Recognize this?”

  Vassago’s lungs refused to work for a moment, and the cup almost slipped from his fingers. The twisting vine design on the hilt called to him like a long lost friend. His hands recalled the way it used to fit perfectly in them. His sword. The one that had been ripped from him as he was cast out of Heaven. “Are you trying to tempt me?”

  Another snicker. “Real angels don’t stoop to temptation. Trust me, I wouldn’t be offering it to you unless God ordered it. Personally, I’d love to see you fail. Then I get to come in and handle things my way.”

  “Like you did at Sodom and Gomorrah? I think the people of New York have suffered enough fire and destruction this decade.”

  He snatched the hilt from the Angel of Fire and reveled in the familiar weight in this hand. How many millennia had passed since he held it last? He set his coffee cup aside, no longer caring about the sweet bitterness of the espresso. Fire flowed through his veins, and he directed it through the hilt. The cool blue flame sprouted and formed a blade. A rush of excitement set his nerves on edge and made his skin tingle. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to wield a divine sword.

  “You have three days to find those demons and return them. Otherwise, I get to have my fun.”

  “Only if God orders it.” Vassago pulled back his celestial fire, and the blade retreated. “It must be tough being a yes man.”

  “I choose to obey orders. I’m not forced to do anything I don’t want to do.”

  “Just as I chose not to obey orders and had the insight to question authority.”

  A cold smile crept up on Puriel’s face. “And that’s how you ended up here instead of remaining in paradise.”

  “One man’s paradise is another man’s Hell.” He tucked the hilt into his belt, savoring the way it dug into the flesh of his waist. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. There are Skinwalkers to catch, after all.”

  Anjali stood in the shower and let the hot water pound on her aching body. In addition to the knot on the back of her head, she discovered enough bruises on her back to impersonate a Rorschach card. Maybe she could convince Will to rub his magical fingers along it and get rid of the pain like he did with the pounding in her head. Of course, that meant he’s have to touch her naked skin, and she knew all too well where that might lead.

  At least Logan seemed satisfied that she’d live. He’d hovered over her for at least fifteen minutes, going on and on about this new vampire that was sucking victims dry all over the city. She only half-listened. Vampires were his problem. She was too busy dealing with demons that skinned people alive.

  He finally left when she announced she was taking a shower. They were friends, but not that kind of friends. Relief crossed his face when she told him she’d give him a call later today and update him on her condition. Big worrywart.

  Getting rid of Logan had only been part of her problems. The second one involved the continue ache between her legs. Leave it to Will Vassago to get her hot and bothered and then not follow through. The stream of water across her sensitive nipples lacked the stimulation of his fingers and tongue. The
tension deep in her womb demanded some form of relief.

  She slipped a finger between her legs and sucked in a breath through her teeth as it grazed her clit. Her body almost crumpled when she repeated the action. A groan worked its way up from her core. At this rate, it wouldn’t take her very long to come. The image of the lustful red glow in his eyes danced before her, like he was observing her from nearby and approving of her actions.

  She increased her pressure and whispered his name. Her hand seemed like a poor substitute for his touch. She closed her eyes and pictured him kneeling between her legs, his lips sucking gently on her clit while he watched her in amusement. Would his tongue delve into her pussy as he played with her? Keeping her palm grinding against her sensitive nub, she plunged a finger into her cunt and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. A second finger followed, gliding in and out of her, making her wish it were his cock.

  Why did she want him so much? Why did she wish he were standing here in the shower next her, performing these actions that left her tense and breathless, pressing his lips to her neck while whispering naughty things in her ear?

  A few strokes later, her sex clenched, and something inside her shattered. Her knees wobbled. His name broke free from her lips in a hoarse gasp. She clung to the soap dish to keep from slipping to the bottom of the tub as waves of pleasure crashed into her consciousness. The intensity of the orgasm almost blinded her, and all yet her thoughts still centered on the one man who’d taken her to edge and left her hanging. She fought the truth that made her want to scream in frustration. Will Vassago had gotten under her skin in the worst possible way.

  The water became icy cold, and she turned off the shower. When she pulled back the curtain, Will stood against the bathroom door with a cat that ate the canary grin on his face. A sharp cry echoed off the tile as she pulled the curtain over her body. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough.” He took a step toward her and pushed a paper coffee cup in her direction. “And here I thought you just needed some caffeine for stimulation. If you wanted something different, all you had to do was ask.”

  A flush seared her skin so that she almost welcomed the cold water that dripped from her hair. She yanked her bathrobe off its hook and wrapped it around her body as quickly as her trembling limbs would allow. “Fuck you.”

  He laughed. “From the sounds of things, you want me to fuck you.”

  She grabbed her mocha and held it between them. “If you don’t go back into the living room, I’m going to introduce your crotch to the extremely hot beverage in this cup.”

  Instead of backing away, he closed the gap between them. “I can think of another hot wetness my cock would enjoy.” His finger hooked around the belt of her bathrobe.

  Her heart hammered. Her mind screamed at her to make good with her threat, but her body refused to cooperate. The steamy air swirled around them, intensifying the scent of their desire. The ache reformed in her center. Why couldn’t she think straight around him?

  His laughter tickled her cheek. “Later, my pet. First, we have demons to catch. Then maybe we can explore our more primal needs afterwards.”

  A rush of cool air filled the bathroom as he opened the door and stepped outside.

  Anjali wrapped her robe tighter around her shivering body. She could only imagine what his primal needs entailed, but her body leapt at the challenge. Sex would probably be anything but boring with him.

  She closed her eyes and prayed for a distraction. What she got, she didn’t want. Images of the Skinwalkers invaded her consciousness and forced the air from her lungs. They were moving through the darkness. Their hunger made her stomach turn and her skin crawl. They were hunting.

  Chapter Nine

  Vassago stretched out on the couch and tried to slow his breathing. He’d somehow managed to keep his cool in the bathroom, even after he heard Anjali cry out his name when she came. Not that it was easy. He’d needed to lock down every muscle his body when he saw her slip her fingers into the one place his cock longed to enter. Was it possible to envy those fingers?

  Needing distraction, his hand trailed back to his sword. Its return troubled him. Was God finally showing forgiveness? A half laugh tickled the back of his throat. Not likely. God would show all the mercy in the world for humans, but none for the angels. Or so he decreed, anyway. More than likely, the sword served as a wake-up call that he should get off his ass and find the demons. After all, that’s what he did best—find things that wanted to stay hidden.

  Anjali appeared at her bedroom door with her blue-black hair tumbling around her shoulders in damp waves. Her eyes narrowed. “You have your dirty shoes on my furniture.”

  He glanced down at the polished sheen of his Italian leather shoes and saw his reflection wink back at him. “They don’t appear dirty to me.”

  She marched over with her arms ram-rod straight at her sides and shoved his feet off her couch. “They’ve still been outside and stepped in who knows what.”

  He laughed as he stood. Of course his little OCD human would be upset if something dirty got on her furniture. “Fine, I’ll stand.”

  He appraised her clothing for the day—a fitted T-shirt that highlighted the curve of her breasts. A pair of baggy cargo pants. Athletic shoes perfect for running down demons. “Ready to resume hunting?”

  She gathered her hair up into a ponytail. “Yes. The sooner I help you find your demons, the better.”

  He caught her chin with his finger and lifted her face until their eyes met. Her mouth tempted him far more than he cared to admit. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Those luscious dark pink lips parted in surprise, and a surge of self-satisfaction raced through him. Once they’d taken care of this problem, they’d have more than enough time to explore their mutual attraction, preferably in bed.

  She jerked her head to the side. “Let’s go.”

  “Where to?” Demons hated the sunlight almost as much as vampires, but in a city with over eight hundred miles of subway, they could find plenty of ways to travel without touching it.

  “South of here, close to the Financial District as far as I can tell.” She rubbed her temples.

  “Had another vision?”

  “More like it had me—for lunch. I feel like I’m connected with these demons, and I can’t shake them.”

  He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right, but the crisp way she snatched her jacket off its hook told him that was the last thing she wanted. He followed her to the door. “We’ll have to take the subway.”

  “What happened to your Audi?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “I left it behind in Harlem. Judging by how badly your head was injured, I didn’t want to deal with traffic when I took you back home.”

  She paused and cocked her head to the side. “How did you get me home then? I’m sure we must have caused a scene on the subway.”

  “I chose the fastest and most immediately route at the time, but I won’t be repeating that now.”

  “Flying?” Her voice wavered in the higher pitch, like she almost couldn’t believe she was asking the question.

  He remained silent as he jogged down the stairs. The less she knew about him, the less complicated their relationship would be.

  Anjali, on the other hand, could be far more stubborn than he first realized. She stood at the top of the stairs with her arms crossed. “I’m not moving until I get some answers.”

  Vassago swore under his breath. She had him by the balls, and she knew it. Without her, he had no chance of finding the Skinwalkers in their human disguises. And if he didn’t find them and return them soon, Manhattan would be razed to the ground if Puriel had his way. The events of 9-11 would seem like child’s play compared to what the Angel of Fire was capable of doing. “Fine, I’ll answer some of them, but I refuse to shout up a stairwell to you.”

  She traipsed down the stairs and joined him. “I’m glad we could reach a middle gr
ound.”

  They set off for the 86th Street station. About a block into their journey, she cleared her throat. “What exactly are you?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “What do you think I am?”

  “Damn it, Will, I’m growing tired of this game. Why can’t you just answer my question?”

  “Perhaps because you’re not the only person who belongs to a group that wishes to keep their organization secret.”

  “But you already know about the Foundation. All I’m asking for is equal treatment.”

  When he didn’t answer, a heavy sigh filled the silence between them. She took his hand and pulled him to a stop. The warmth of her skin sent a tingle straight to his gut. Memories of her face filled with desire flashed in front of him, and he resisted the urge to taste her lips again and distract her from the answer he wasn’t ready to give.

  When he finally made eye contact with her, her brows knitted together in uncertainty. “I should know by now that certain things exist, whether I want to believe in them or not.” She chewed her lip for a few seconds before she asked, “Are you an angel?”

  Her question shouldn’t have taken him off guard like it did. After all, this was Anjali, the same woman who could see him when he didn’t want to be seen, who dared touch him without permission. Why shouldn’t she be the first human to figure out what he was without him telling her? “In a sense, yes,” he replied and resumed walking.

  Her giggles halted him. “I thought you were supposed to be good. You know, messengers of God and all that.” She approached him and ran her fingers through his hair. He bit back the moan that built up inside him. “Where’s your halo?”

  He snatched her wrist and held it away from his head. Her questions revived an onslaught of memories he’d long forgotten. The pain of his exile. The taunts he endured from the others. His utter loneliness until he found a way to amuse himself with the humans around him. The bitterness seeped into his voice. “Just because I have wings doesn’t mean I have a halo. Not every angel is good, so get that image of a harp playing sissy in a white robe out of your mind.”