Her Demonic Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 5) (12 page)

One of them struck Veiron in the face, cutting across his cheek. He growled, grabbed the leathery wing, and snapped it.

The demonic angel’s shrieks annoyed him so Veiron closed his hand over the man’s mouth, suffocating him at the same time. His struggling slowed and Veiron grinned as the man began to change back into his human form.

Veiron snarled. “Give God my regards.”

He snapped the man’s neck.

His red gaze fell to Erin.

Her eyes were on him.

Veiron dropped the body and shook the blood from his hands. White light burst against the darkness and disappeared just as quickly, leaving no trace of the man behind. He would be back in Heaven by now, being reborn as an angel.

Veiron’s skin paled again, muscles shrinking and body returning to his normal appearance. His armour disappeared and he called his jeans to him and his boots. He called his leather jacket too. Erin would need it to keep her warm.

“Erin?” he whispered and her eyelids drooped.

She struggled to open them again.

He crouched beside her where she lay on the pavement. A torrent of crimson flowed from the deep wounds across her chest. His stomach turned and he used his powers to produce crepe bandages out of the air. He bent over her, carefully raised her off the ground and set one end of the roll of bandage against her back. She moaned and twitched as he tightly wrapped the bandage over her shoulder and across her chest. It turned red each time it passed over the wound, blood instantly soaking through the pale cream material. She was losing too much but it was all he could do and he could only hope it would stem the bleeding enough to buy her and himself enough time.

She groaned and grimaced, her blood-streaked face contorting in pain he could feel flowing through him.

“I’m sorry. I need to make sure it’s tight.” He kept his voice low and soothing. Her brow crinkled and her whole body tensed in spasm. He paused and stroked her cheek with one trembling hand, trying to relax her so he could finish tending to her wound. She slumped again and her breathing slowed. Veiron growled. “You stay with me... you hear me, Erin?”

She didn’t respond. He quickly finished bandaging her wound, laid her down and pressed one hand against the wad of material over her chest, applying as much pressure as he could without breaking her ribs.

“Erin?” He patted her bloodstained cheek. “Wake up. Don’t go to sleep. Don’t leave me.”

She murmured something and relief beat through his blood. He had to get her to Wingless and fast. Taylor’s angel lover was fallen but he still had the power to heal.

Veiron carefully slipped his beaten up leather on Erin’s small frame and picked her up. He focused so his leathery wings shrank into his back and called a portal. He couldn’t use it to go to Taylor’s house but he could exit somewhere close to it. He stepped through it and out into the square where he had tossed the angel into a car. The alarms were silent now but there were people out on the street. Not the sort of audience he needed when he was carrying a bleeding woman.

“Stay with me, Erin,” he whispered to her and her head lolled backwards. He jostled her carefully so she was more comfortable. “You hear me? You fight. Don’t you dare give up.”

She mumbled again, a welcome sign that she was still with him. He called another portal and then let it disappear. Hopefully the angels the Devil sent to track him would think he had gone through it.

He crossed the street and stuck to the shadows as he walked swiftly towards the next street. He couldn’t run when Erin was injured. He stared down at her, gaze constantly on her ashen bloodied face. His heart pounded in his ears. His own injuries stung but he ignored them, focusing everything on her. He wasn’t important. She was.

She had to be all right.

He carried on at a brisk pace through the next square and then along another elegant street full of Georgian townhouses. They towered over him, three storeys above ground and one below. Expensive cars lined the streets outside them, marking the affluence of the neighbourhood his ex-lover had chosen as her new home.

Veiron shoved the black wrought iron gate on one of the townhouses open and carried Erin along the path to the porch. He took the stone steps up to the wide black door and knocked with his foot. Loudly.

His eyes darted back down to Erin, monitoring her for a sign that he was losing her.

“Keep fighting, Sweetheart,” he whispered and held her closer.

She was tougher than his spinning mind gave her credit for. She had to be. The smell of her blood choked him. He could feel it on his hands and hear it dripping down her back. He had probably left a trail to Taylor’s house but he didn’t care anymore.

He kicked the door again and growled.

They had to be in.

He clutched Erin to him, hating how fragile and pale she looked in his arms.

A light finally appeared through the stained glass on either side of the large black door. It swung open.

Taylor stood before him, dressed in her favourite black jeans, heeled boots and t-shirt combo, her sleek black hair tied in a ponytail and her blue eyes conveying her annoyance.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, shoved one hand against her hip and cocked her head to one side.

“I don’t have time for this. Tear me a new one some other time.” He tried to get past her and she stepped into his path, blocking his attempt. His eyes blazed red. “She’s going to die.”

Taylor looked down and her blue eyes widened.

Wingless, known to everyone other than Veiron and Villandry as Einar, appeared behind her, his broad frame almost filling the doorway and obscuring the foyer behind him. The tawny-haired male’s rich brown eyes locked with Veiron’s briefly before falling to Erin and narrowing. He touched Taylor’s shoulder and she moved aside but not enough that Veiron could enter with Erin. Veiron growled at her.

“We need to get her upstairs.” Einar herded Taylor out of the way so Veiron could pass her. He was grateful to the fallen angel and ignored Taylor’s glare. If she had tried to turn him away, he wasn’t sure what he would have done, but it would have been ugly. Erin’s life depended on Einar now. Veiron didn’t know anyone else who had the power to heal such savage wounds.

Veiron followed Einar across the marble foyer and up the elegant wooden rectangular staircase, taking care as he turned each corner so he didn’t bang Erin’s head. Einar looked over his broad black-clad shoulders at Erin, his brown eyes awash with concern.

“She is mortal,” he said and Veiron nodded, knowing all too well what that meant now. Such an injury wouldn’t be a problem for his kind but it was deadly to her.

They reached a floor with a large living room. Oil paintings hung on the deep red walls and dark antique furniture cluttered it despite the expansive size. Masses of weaponry occupied a large oak table and one of the sofas.

“Set her down here.” Einar arranged some pillows at the end of an empty couch, close to the roaring fire. Veiron carefully carried Erin across the room and gently laid her down. He cleared the black hair from her face and frowned at how pale she looked despite the warm glow from the fire.

She had to be all right. She couldn’t die. He wouldn’t let her.

“Just you keep fighting, you hear me?” he whispered, gaze darting around her face for a sign that she had. Her brow puckered and then relaxed. Veiron stroked her cheek, unable to deny his need to touch her and feel she was solid, alive, still with him.

Einar squeezed his shoulder. “I will need room to work.”

Veiron nodded and reluctantly left her side.

He stepped back, giving Wingless the room he needed to perform what would be a miracle. Erin had to live.

He felt Taylor enter the living room but didn’t turn to acknowledge her. His gaze remained rooted on Erin.

Einar removed the leather jacket and handed it to Veiron. He couldn’t hold it. It was bad enough seeing the blood on her, let alone feeling how much of the precious life giving liquid drenched his leather.

He set it down on the small wooden coffee table between the two sofas.

Einar picked up one of the knives off the table and cut away the bloodstained bandages around Erin’s chest. He hissed a ripe curse and Veiron joined him. The wounds looked worse in the light, deep gouges that were still seeping rivulets.

Taylor rounded the back of the couch where Erin lay and frowned down at her.

“Who is she? Someone you picked up at a bar and got a little too rough with?” Taylor shot him an accusatory glare.

Veiron growled a warning. He was getting sick of people accusing him of hurting Erin when all he had done since meeting her was try to protect her.

“It was Hell’s angels. I had it under control but one of them survived and went after her.” Veiron’s hands shook as Einar crouched next to Erin, closed his eyes and held his hands out above her injury. Pale golden light filtered down from the fallen angel’s palms.

Veiron held his breath.

This had to work.

“How do you know her?”

Veiron ignored the question.

Einar huffed. “Can we save the interrogation for later, Taylor? I need to concentrate.”

She pouted, went to the oak table, and began cleaning one of the guns.

Veiron’s gaze followed every move that Einar made. He had never liked the former angel before but he loved the man now. He vowed never to call him Wingless again. At least not to his face. If he could pull this off, Veiron might just kiss him.

Einar grunted and frowned. His hands wavered. Veiron’s nerves got the better of him. He moved around the sofa to the back and started pacing, taking agitated strides across the rugs on the wooden floor, trying to expel the sense of uselessness and tension from his tight body before he exploded.

Taylor’s eyes followed him, burning with curiosity.

Einar was right. Questions could come later and he would answer any they had. Right now, everyone needed to focus on Erin. Her life was on the line and it wasn’t the thought of facing Amelia and telling her that her sister was dead that had him silently praying that she would pull through. He couldn’t lose her.

Veiron dug his fingers into his long red hair, tugging it loose from his ponytail.

Erin looked so small and weak on Einar’s sofa, blood coating half of her torso and face. She had been so strong in Hell, soldiering on, bravely taking it all in her stride as he guided her to freedom. She had even stood up to him a few times and had looked close to taking Villandry on at the club. It had fooled him into believing that she really was strong, not the weak mortal she truly was.

The slashes on her chest were slow to close. He watched them shrinking, willing each one shut and willing Erin to keep fighting and not give up, projecting that thought towards her in the hope she would sense how desperately he needed her to live.

Eventually, the last wound closed, leaving only drying blood on her as evidence of what had happened. Einar sat back on his heels, pale and drained, his dark eyes full of fatigue but relief too.

“Will she be alright?” Veiron couldn’t contain that question. Erin was still pale, her lips almost as white as her cheeks.

“It will be a while before she comes around and then we shall know.” Einar clutched the arm of the sofa and pushed himself up onto his feet.

“I need to keep her hidden,” Veiron said and felt Taylor’s gaze shift back to him. “I need her off the radar until she’s strong again.”

“The entire house is protected by my power. The strongest enchantments I know. This place is a fortress against anything demonic or angelic. Whatever trouble you’ve stirred up, it won’t find you here.” Taylor set the gun down and came to stand next to the fireplace, close to Erin’s head. She looked down at her, a frown marring her face. “So who is she?”

Veiron walked the length of the back of the antique sofa, leaned over and softly stroked Erin’s cheek. “She’s Amelia’s little sister.”

“Her sister?” Einar’s eyes shot to him.

Veiron nodded.

“Did something come after her?” Einar sounded concerned now.

“The Devil had her. The little fucker was using her as bait for Amelia. I went to Hell to get her back.” Veiron leaned one arm on the back of the couch, his strength leaving him now that he knew Erin would be safe. He had never felt so bone-deep tired before. “We had to exit in London rather than where we were meant to meet Amelia and Marcus. I need to hide Erin until I can get a message to them to tell them she’s safe and arrange a new meeting place.”

“I can send Marcus a message. We’ve tested the distances and we can still communicate telepathically even when he’s thousands of miles away.”

That was a relief. Veiron nodded his thanks.

“We have a man who can arrange passports for you to travel on so you remain below the radar,” Taylor said and he was grateful that she had changed her mind and was willing to help him now.

He nodded again, unable to find his voice as he stared down at Erin. His throat felt too tight. It was difficult to breathe past the knot in it let alone speak. He clung to what Einar had told him. She just needed some sleep now and then she would wake and he would see that she was fine.

His back burned.

Veiron gritted his teeth against the pain.

“Are you all right?” Einar shot him a concerned look and Veiron swallowed and then shook his head. He collapsed against the back of the sofa, chin hitting the wooden frame and sending sharp knives stabbing across his skull.

Einar was behind him in an instant, his hand hovering above Veiron’s back, above the long gash that cut down from his right shoulder to his left hip. “You should let me take a look at this for you.”

Veiron shook his head again. “You’ve already used up so much strength healing Erin. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still as stubborn as a mule.” Taylor grabbed his right arm and dragged him up onto his feet. She slung his arm around her shoulders and guided him to the other couch.

Einar cleared the weapons off it and Veiron flopped down onto his front. He turned his head to his right, staring across the coffee table to Erin where she lay on her back on the other sofa, her bloodstained face soft with sleep.