Gathering of Angels(10)

“You reek of goodness!” Those hands caught her arms, shoved her against the bars. The cold grip burned through the plaid shirt and straight into her skin. “One of your righteous kind tried to send me to Hell.” After a few deep, ragged breaths, he seemed to gain control. “They failed. It took years, but I learned how to control the living, then how to become one with them—why am I telling you this?”

He let her go and stumbled backward, one hand fumbling at his throat. His fingers finally grabbed a heavy chain and pulled it free of his shirt. A clear crystal point, wrapped in gold, hung from the chain. Smoke appeared in the center of the crystal, twisting and pushing against its prison. Even diluted, its power burst through the chill surrounding them, left Claire sweating and nauseous. He watched her as he held it up in front of him, dark eyes narrowing.

“You should be on your knees—” Footsteps cut him off. Heather stepped into the room, a neatly folded pile of navy blue fabric in her hands. “Well done, my dear. Now, help her change.”

He lounged against the cell door. Claire ignored him, let Heather undo the overalls. Strong, icy hands held her while she stood, letting the heavy denim slide to the floor. She stepped out of them, the oversized shoes slipping off her feet. The chief raised one eyebrow when Claire hesitated, fingers on the waistband of the boxers. She pushed them over her hips, watched his gaze drop to her pentacle tattoo. A thin, red scar bisected the tattoo, and he studied it, obviously satisfied that the broken symbol was no threat to him.

Swallowing, she gripped the hem of the oversized shirt, eased it over her head. Cold air blew across her bare skin, and she shivered, both arms crossing over her breasts.

With a curse the chief pushed off the door and grabbed her left wrist.

“Why did you not tell me she wore protection?” Heather recoiled, the deadly quiet voice more frightening than a shout. “Fetch my knife. Now!” He picked Claire up and threw her on the cot, one hand closing around her throat when she tried to sit. She stilled, flinching as he ran his fingers along the new scar on her hip, following the path Eric had forged with iron and pain. “Someone has already marked you. I will finish their work, and we will see how much you can hide from me.”





FIVE



Annie waited, all but dancing in place, while Eric’s plane slowly turned and headed toward the hangar. He had the door open almost before the plane stopped, climbing down the wing and jumping to the ground, wind from the propeller tossing his sun streaked hair.

With a shout Annie sprinted forward, leapt into his arms with such enthusiasm she knocked him back a step. He held on to her, a smile curving those beautiful lips.

“Hey, blondie.”

She kissed him, needing the contact, the connection. With a groan he deepened the kiss, one hand cradling the back of her head with such gentleness it tightened her throat.

They broke apart, gasping, and grinned at each other.

“God, I missed you,” she whispered, then buried her face against his shoulder when the tears she had been holding back all day stung her eyes.

“Just hold on to me, Annie. I’m not going anywhere.” He stroked the length of her back, his touch soothing, pushing back the tears again. “Ready to meet my friend? He’s heard about nothing but you the entire trip.”

She raised her head, smiling at him. “I hope I can live up to the hype.”

“You always do.” He winked at her, took her hand and led her over to the lanky man standing next to the small plane. “Jeff, this is Annie.”

Clear, ice blue eyes studied her. She forced herself not to squirm, wanting to make a good impression for Eric. He looked like he’d spent his life outdoors—lines radiated out from his eyes, his skin deeply tanned, and his blonde hair faded to almost white at the ends.

She couldn’t stand the scrutiny anymore. Stepping forward, she held out her hand. “Happy to meet you, Jeff. I owe you big time for hauling Eric out my way. So, dust any interesting crops lately?”

After an endless second, wishing she could take back her stupid question, he burst out laughing. The amusement changed his face so dramatically he looked like a different person. Those icy eyes warmed, and the smile that flashed across his face was brilliant, like sunlight on a window. Annie was dazzled.

“You didn’t exaggerate this time, man. She’s charming.” He took her hand, his palm hard and calloused. “The pleasure is mine, Annie. I understand now why he’s been chattering about you like you were the next sliced bread. Nothing like a tall, knock-me-out gorgeous blonde to rob a man’s breath. I’ll just get your bag, Eric.”