The Fallen 01 - Raziel Read online

  “Shit,” I muttered, kneeling beside him to get a closer look at the burn on his arm. The skin was smooth, glowing slightly, but there were no blisters, no burned flesh. He was nothing more than a big baby. I reached out to shake him, then yanked my arm back with another “Shit,” as I realized that beneath the smooth skin fire burned.

  That was impossible. It looked as if coals were glowing deep under the skin, and the eerie glow was putting out impressive amounts of heat.

  There was a shuffling noise in the underbrush, and I froze. My comatose abductor/savior wasn’t the highest priority. The danger in the darkness beyond was worse. Whatever was out there was evil, ancient, and soulless, something foul and indescribable. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, a nameless dread like something out of a Stephen King novel.

  This was just wrong. I wrote cozy mysteries, not horror novels. What was I doing in the equivalent of a Japanese horror movie? Not that there’d been any blood as yet. But I could smell it on the night air, and it sickened me.

  I glanced back at the small pile of twigs and grasses that I’d assembled. My fingertips were scorched, and on impulse I scooped up some dried leaves and touched them against his arm.

  They burst into flames, and I dropped them, startled; they fell onto the makeshift pyre, igniting it.

  The fire was bright, flames shooting upward into the sky. But darkness had closed in around us, and the monsters were still waiting.

  I put more leaves on top of the fire, adding twigs and branches, listening to the reassuring crackle as they caught. It was only common sense, using fire to scare away the carnivorous predators in the darkness. Even cavemen had done it. Of course, cavemen hadn’t started fires from the scorched skin of a fanged creature, but I was handling things the best I could. Hell, maybe saber-toothed tigers had had fire beneath their pelts as well. Anything was possible.

  I rose, turning back to my own personal saber-toothed tiger. We were too close to the fire, close enough that my companion would go up in flames if we stayed there. If I could pull him back against the rock face, we might be safe, and it would be easier to defend only one side of the clearing. I reached under his arms and tugged at his shoulders.

  “Come on, Dracula,” I muttered. “You’re too big for me to move on my own. I gotta have some help here.”

  He didn’t stir. I looked down at him, frustrated. He wasn’t huge, more long-limbed and elegant than bulky; and while I didn’t waste my limited time and money chasing after the perfect body in one of the many fitness clubs in Manhattan, I was strong enough. I should have been able to drag him a short distance away from the fire. Nothing was making any sense, and all the possible explanations put him in a fairly nasty light. Even so, I couldn’t just let him die.

  I couldn’t get a good enough grip on his body, so I caught hold of his jacket and yanked. He was unexpectedly heavy, though it shouldn’t have surprised me—the man had towered over my meager five foot three, and I’d felt the crushing strength in his hand as he’d propelled me toward the . . .

  I couldn’t remember. Five minutes later, and I couldn’t remember a damned thing. I didn’t know how he’d managed to get burned, or what he’d been trying to do. It was a blank. Everything was a blank. The last thing I remembered was stepping off the curb outside the office building on my way to meet with my editors.

  They were going to be pissed as hell that I’d stood them up again.

  How much time had passed since then? Days, weeks, months? The short, sassy hairstyle I’d spent a fortune on was now an unruly mane hanging down to my shoulders, and I could see that it was its original mousy brown instead of the tawny, streaked blond I’d gone for. That certainly couldn’t have happened in a matter of hours. How long had I been gone?

  His heavy body finally began to budge, and I dragged him as far as I could until he let out a piercing cry of pain. I let him be, squatting beside him, staring at his burned flesh. It was the weirdest thing—it seemed like he had flames beneath his skin, as if his bones were made of burning coals.

  His entire body was radiating heat, but apart from his arm he wasn’t painful to touch. The night had grown sharply colder, and the shapeless thing I was wearing wasn’t made for late autumn nights. My patient shivered as I put more wood on the fire. Thank God I’d grabbed an armload. The nighttime marauders seemed to have gone, but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t return if I were fool enough to let the fire go out. Wolves didn’t actually attack people, did they? But who said they were wolves?

  It was going to be a long night.

  I sat back on my heels, studying him. Who was he, and what the hell had he done to me? There had to be a reasonable explanation for what had appeared to be fangs. There were crazies out there who filed their teeth to points so they could resemble vampires—I’d seen it on one of the rotting-corpse television shows like CSI or Bones.

  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 pl
ace 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 Finding Nemo—two seconds later and the thought was gone. I only knew one thing. Lying in this man’s arms was good, and there was no place else I wanted to be. Not back in my apartment in the Village, not doing any of the thousand empty things that had seemed so important just a short time ago. This was where I belonged.

  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 détente 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 feel the light enter his body again. “I think I hear her,” he said softly.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  IT WAS ALMOST DAWN, AND THE MAN next to me was dying. His body felt as if it were on fire, and the coals had spread beneath his skin, emanating an unearthly red glow that lit the darkness after the fire had finally died out. He hadn’t made a sound in hours; even his moans had been silenced. Sometime in the night he’d released his hold on me, and the heat from his skin had become unbearable. I wondered why his clothes hadn’t burst into flames.

  I’d done what I could to cool him down—I’d managed to strip the leather jacket from him and put it beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, then unfastened his denim shirt and pulled it free from his jeans, opening it to the cool night air, feeling oddly guilty about it. The skin on his chest and stomach was smooth, with just a faint tracing of golden hair. Human, I’d thought, and laughed at myself for thinking anything else. I’d reached out a hand to touch him, unconsciously drawn, and yanked my hand back, burned.

  His mouth was a grim line of pain. At least I was spared the disquieting view of those disturbing teeth. I must have been hallucinating, and no wonder. I didn’t know where I was, when I was, or how I’d even got here, and the night had been filled with the terrifying sounds of predators. No wonder I was imagining things.

  Even now my brain wasn’t working properly. One thing was clear—I wouldn’t have come here on my own.
So it was only logical to assume this man had brought me here; and being a city girl, I wouldn’t have come willingly. While I liked a pretty face as much as the next female, I was preternaturally wary.

  So why was I so determined to protect this man? This man who didn’t seem to be quite human, teeth or not? The glow of fire beneath his skin was far from normal. Yet I knew that I had to keep him alive, I had to stay with him.

  The first light of dawn was beginning to spread over the tall trees that guarded the clearing. Whatever foul things had lurked in the bushes were long gone, and there was nothing keeping me here. I could walk out of this forest—it couldn’t go on forever. The man was dying; there was nothing else I could do for him except see if I could find help. I should save myself, and if he survived, fine. It wasn’t my business.

  But it was. I moved closer to him, as close as I could get to the ferocious heat that burned deep inside his bones. “It serves you right,” I whispered, wishing I dared put my hand on him, to push the tangled hair away from his face without getting scorched.

  Except that he’d been hurt pulling me back from whatever horror I’d somehow imagined behind what was most definitely solid rock. I couldn’t remember, but that much I knew. He’d been trying to save me, and for that I owed him something.

  I edged closer to him, and the heat seared me. I felt tears form in my eyes, and blinked them away impatiently. Crying wouldn’t do any good. If I leaned over and let them fall on him, they would sizzle and evaporate like water on a skillet.

  “Oh, hell,” I muttered disgustedly, wiping them away. “You shouldn’t have to die, no matter what you did to me.” I moved closer, and my face felt sunburned. “God help me, don’t fucking die on me,” I said desperately.

  The sudden flash of light was blinding, thunder shaking the ground, and I was thrown back against the stone wall. Panic swept through me—what if it opened again; what if this time he couldn’t save me? I scrambled away from it, then turned to look for the dying man, and I knew I was hallucinating again. His body was surrounded by a circle of tall figures, shrouded in mist, and there were wings everywhere. Maybe he’d died. They must be angels coming to take him . . . where?