Revelation (8 page)

Because she’d always come back with more. And her puzzle-riddled mind tantalized him. Almost as much as her sin-sultry body.

Unwilled, his mind lurched back centuries, to another woman who’d captivated him, body and spirit. Beautiful, too,
though she’d covered herself with headscarves and long skirts as befitted the era. His lady Eleanor, a wildcat beneath her demure exterior, clever, spirited and sharp tongued. His obsession with her had chewed his heart raw. But she was a woman, God-fearing, bred in those days to be weak and helpless, and when the demons came for her, she couldn’t defend herself.

They’d taken her to spite him, and he couldn’t protect her from temptation. Her soul was damned forever, screaming in hell because he’d dared to love her.

Ever since then, he’d kept away from human women. For their safety, and his own sanity.

But this Dr. Morgan Sterling, with her quick questions and sexy crooked smile and that luscious lover’s body hidden beneath her cool white coat, was surely teasing that sanity away.

Fuck. He could tell Morgan liked how he looked, even if she trusted him as far as a cat could spit a furball. Her pretty honey-dark gaze betrayed her, the way it caressed him when she thought he wasn’t watching. How she caught her bottom lip between her teeth when she thought carefully. That drove him wild. He wanted to bite her lip himself, suck it into his mouth…

Telltale sparks of desire crackled golden in his feathers, and he struggled to extinguish them. Curse her. She knew she tempted him. Dr. Vixen was trying to seduce him. No other explanation. Well, he wouldn’t have her. For her sake, and his own.

He adjusted himself, pretending it wasn’t totally obvious he was horny as a fuckdemon, and followed her into the fridge room.

She stood by Ithiel’s body, eyeing his white feathers thoughtfully. “So why didn’t the CSI notice this when they loaded the body bag? Some kind of weird angel mojo, I suppose?”

“Very good.” Lune strode up and folded his wings.
Don’t look at her. Mind on the job.
“They thought he was human. You saw me when I first appeared. We have a human guise. If we die while we’re wearing it, it takes a while to wear off.”

“How long?”

“Anywhere from a few hours to a week. Depends on how powerful you are.”

“And how powerful was Ithiel?”

“He had his moments.”

“Must run in the family.”

Lune snorted. “I’ll take that as the compliment I’m sure you intended.” He bent over the body, inhaling. Ithiel’s flowery scent hit his nostrils, mixed with the rich, raw smell of death.

He closed his eyes, and to his surprise they burned. A long time had passed since he and his twin had anything except phone calls between them. But it still hurt, like they said an amputated limb was supposed to hurt. And it still fired anger into his veins.

Should’ve been me, Ith. You were always the better one. I’ll get the devil-kisser who did this, heaven help me.

He straightened, stoic, clearing his throat. “How, uh, how long would you say he’s been dead for, Doctor?”

“Excuse me?” Morgan waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Hello? Angel physiology? Not my strong point.”

“If he was human, I mean. Take a stab. How long?”

“Well, I’d have to do the proper tests, but from the color of the skin and the hypostasis…I’d say twenty-four hours max.”

He poked his finger into the hole in Ithiel’s heart, swiping up a clot of dark angel blood. He sniffed his finger, and licked it. Faint putrefaction stung. The demon magic had faded a lot. A week since Ithiel stopped answering. It fitted.

Morgan wrinkled her nose. “Ew, gross.”

“Is that the scientific term? You should try it in your autopsies. Taste is a powerful attractant.”

“Tell me about it.”

He grinned. “No, I mean for spells. Magic has its own distinct flavor, depending on the caster. That one has the definite stink of demon prince.”

A sexy cocked eyebrow. “And what does yours taste like?”

“Breathe in and see.” He flattened his palm on Ithiel’s broken chest, and murmured the words for a sigil burn.

Blue light flashed, the hissing stink of burning flesh. Lune snatched his hand back, shaking it.
Ouch.

He turned Ithiel’s left palm over. Now a sigil glowed there, two circles and a cross, carved into the flesh in burning blue light.

Morgan gasped. “How did you…?” She broke off. “No, don’t answer that. What is it?”

“It’s lettering. An angelic sigil. It’s a mark given by the archangels. Should tell us what Ithiel was up to, if he was a Guardian
or not.” Lune took a picture with his phone and sent it to Dash, with the caption
Ithiel—show M.

She peered over his shoulder, her own camera in hand. She’d been photographing, too, recording everything he did. Have to do something about that later. “You guys use phones? What happened to telepathy, or whatever?”

“Sorry. No longer one of my many talents.”

“Who are you texting?”

“Dashiel. He’s kinda the boss of the Tainted. If you ask him, anyway.”

A blue glow leaked from his left hand, and he pulled it back, but too late. She grabbed his wrist and twisted his palm upwards. “You’ve got one, too,” she accused.

He clenched his fist and yanked away. Time was, he’d tried to carve those crossed lightning bolts from his flesh. “Yeah. It’s the mark of the Tainted. Got a better tatt on my butt, though. Wanna see?”

She snorted. “Not in this lifetime.” But her gaze slipped to his butt, just for a second.

He grinned, and examined Ithiel’s chest where the contaminated blood was. Blue smoke curled and glimmered, but that was all. Recalcitrant son of a bitch. He’d have to try again.

He forced his hand into the hole, grating past broken bone, grabbed Ithiel’s heart and ripped it out. Bone cracked. Blood squelched, the flesh cold in his palm.

Morgan swatted his arm. “Excuse me? Autopsy tomorrow? Me explaining to my boss why the heart’s already removed?”

“Sorry. Secret angel business.” He squeezed, making the thick dead blood flow, and whispered the spell again.

Light flashed again, this time red like fire. The blood ignited, flames licking Ithiel’s skin, and a glowing scarlet sigil painted itself across Ithiel’s chest.

“Don’t tell me. Red for demons?” Fascination lit Morgan’s face like sunshine. Her eyes shone, dark gold, and her lips parted just far enough for him to see the tip of her tongue brushing her teeth.

Not
helping his concentration. “Yep. Demon sigil. Mark of the hellspawn who killed him. Their weapons leave a signature.” A diagonal-slashed cross, two oblique lines. It rang a distant bell. Somewhere, he’d seen it…He closed his eyes.
Flashes of a muddy field, pigs rooting in bloody snow, a pile of bloated corpses…

He put down the heart and took another pic, bending in closer to sniff the flames. Sulfur, of course. Putrefying flesh. And the cloying odor of…yes. Rotten passion fruit and tooth decay.

Gotcha, you god-rotting slime.

He straightened, fierce. “Quuzaat,” he pronounced.

“Koo-who?”

“Qu-u-zaat,” he spelled out. “Fat demon prince, beady eyes, bad breath. The Black Death, back in the fourteenth century? His idea. Same with California dengue. Kind of a pestilence junkie, to be honest. Skanky little asshole.”

He murmured ancient words, planting his palms one last time on Ithiel’s mangled chest. White heat rose, and the body engulfed itself in flame. In a few moments, nothing but ashes remained.

Morgan goggled. “You can’t do that!” she demanded. “Did I look like I was finished? I have to account for that body. There’s paperwork!”

“What’d you want me to do, leave him here where everyone can see?”

She sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I guess it would have looked a little strange on the autopsy report. White male angel, twenty-eight to immortal, cause of death: demon slaughter. Still, would’ve been a unique examination.”

Luniel grinned. “Hey, if you want to examine someone, I’m av—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Her lips twitched. “So that’s what you’re telling me we’re dealing with? A demon who spreads disease?”

“Yup. I’m thinking this Manhattan virus is looking more likely, Dr. Sterling. What do you think?”

She shook her head, her eyes gleaming with stubbornness that made him want to take her right there and fuck her into oh-so-pleasurable submission. “Doesn’t prove anything. Even if I believed in your magic spells—”

“Not saying you do, of course,” he cut in. He enjoyed teasing her, he realized. Making her think. Watching her in action. Glorious. Dangerous.

“Not saying I do. But even if I did, all it proves is that your pal Quuzaat’s weapon killed Ithiel,” she pointed out reasonably. “Doesn’t even mean he did it.”

He faced her. She was closer than he’d expected, and he stumbled and caught his balance with a graceless wing flare. Smooth. “Well, with the end of the world at stake, I’m prepared to show a little faith. Are you?”

She bit her bottom lip. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. But…yeah.”

God fucking damn. He wanted to crush her, kiss her, lay her down and make her his own. “That’s good,” he murmured. “Because now I have to decide what to do with you.”

“
Do
with me?” She frowned. “I’m sorry, but no one
does
anything with me in my own office.”

A dozen naughty replies jumped to his lips, and he swallowed them all, along with images of bending her over the desk and taking her, hot and hard. “But you’ve seen everything. You know everything I know. I can’t just let you go.”

“Really. And what would the other options be?”

“I could kill you.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckle. So soft, that fragrant human skin. “That’d probably be best.”

Her eyes shone wide, but she didn’t flinch. “You’d have done it already, angel,” she said, her voice barely audible. “You had your chance.”

“I did,” he agreed. But somehow he’d pulled her closer, his hand on her shoulder. Her body heat caressed him, sweet and shivering, just a breath from touching.

“But you didn’t do it.” Her lips drifted apart, only a few inches under his.

He could taste her, honey and spice, and the temptation to take more prickled his feathers hot. The hellcat was teasing him, and he was far from up to resisting her. “A smart guy wouldn’t make the same mistake twice,” he managed.

“Neither would a smart woman.” She pushed him away, with one finger on his chest and a saucy smile. “Hands off, flyboy.”

And Lune wanted to smash his head into the wall until it exploded. He let go, aching.

“Anyway,” she added, tossing shining hair over her shoulder, “where’s the percentage for you in killing me?”

“Nowhere.” Lune still struggled with his breath. “It doesn’t
matter to me one way or the other. But if demons get their hands on you, they’ll torture it out of you without breaking a sweat. I can’t risk that.”

“Torture what out of me? The fact that your brother’s dead, and you’re pissed, even though you’re too much of a tough guy to admit it? That you’re hunting down this Quuzaat so you can tear him a new asshole?” She cocked that eyebrow again at his expression. “C’mon, they know that already. Isn’t that the point?”

“You know more than you think,” Lune said roughly. She’d cut too close. “I did warn you. You saw me casting. You saw me texting Dash. Once they get started with you, you’ll drag things from your memory you never realized you witnessed, if you think it’ll make them stop. Believe me. It’s not pretty.”

“So take me with you, then.”

He choked. “What?”

“I’ve studied the Manhattan virus. I can help you. I
want
to help you.”

“Y’know, thanks and all, but I really don’t—”

“I’ve found Patient Zero, okay?” Excitement flushed her face, and she waved animated hands. “Well, not exactly. But we’ve pinpointed the neighborhood where the virus started. The info’s all there in the CDC reports, but I had more samples they didn’t get yet. I e-mailed them yesterday, and they concur. If this Quuzaat guy opened up a can of zombie virus whup-ass, that’s where he did it, right?”

Lune stared. She could save him hours of hunting. Days, even. “O-kaay…”

“Please. I really want this. If you’re so worried about me? You protect me, tough guy. Just take me with you, to…” She lifted her hands helplessly. “To wherever it is you’re going.”

“I’m sorry, did you just ask to come with me? I thought you didn’t believe in angels and demons,
Doctor
Sterling.” He loaded the title with sarcasm, but his guts churned. Protecting beautiful women from demons wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Demons: 1, Luniel: 0. Better not to even try.

“I did. I don’t.” She stopped, flustered. “I mean, yes, I did ask. And no, I don’t understand it all, and I don’t know if I believe you. But I have to be part of this, can’t you see? I’m a doctor. I can’t just stand by and let all these people die.”

Lune nodded slowly. He’d witnessed too many disasters not
to understand. He’d dragged drowning children from swirling tsunami waters on the beach in Sri Lanka, only to watch their parents smother in the mud. It was futile, that late December day, one hundred fifty thousand dead and counting. But to stand by and do nothing was worse than failure.

But if he took her with him…Jesus. He’d drive himself batfuck trying to keep his hands off her, and get her killed. Or screw her senseless and
then
get her killed. Either way, she’d end up in hell.

Unacceptable. “Look, I appreciate that, but I can’t—”

“Listen, you don’t understand, okay.” Her gaze clouded, fatigue and desperation showing. “The CDC and Patient Zero? All that stuff I told you? It’s just conjecture. This virus, it’s…like nothing we’ve ever seen. None of our techniques are making a dent. Infection rates are skyrocketing, and the mortality, it’s…” She coughed, and swiped a hand across her eyes, but not before he saw glimmering tears. “We can’t stop it from spreading. There’s no precaution we can take that works. If we can’t make a breakthrough soon, this thing is going to wipe out half of Babylon. Hell, maybe you’re just insane, but at this point? I’ll take any insight I can get. If there’s even the smallest chance that I can find something…”