Soul Stealer (27 page)

“You don’t have to answer this, but I have to ask. Claudia, if you’re only interested in women, why did you agree to see me?”

She shrugged, realizing she’d clutched a handful of his shirt. When she let go it was crumpled. “I thought that only a woman could be a truly equal relationship, that with men no matter what he’d try to exercise some kind of dominance. But …  I’m beginning to realize I just want to be with someone that doesn’t jerk me around. That lets me just … be me.” She pulled back a bit to look at him. “It’s occurring to me now that women might not own the market on that.”

He smiled, pushing her hair back over her shoulder, his hand brushing her bare skin a bit. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but I kind of feel like recent events have brought us slightly closer. So let me just say … it’s likely best that you not see
anyone
for a while. And it kills me to say that.  Because as vulnerable as you are I still … like you. I think I’m one of the few that gets to see you this way. And that doesn’t cure me of liking you.”

He kept saying
like
, and it made her smile back at him.

Saleem was so not right for her. He had no “bad” to him at all; he was the storybook hero that shouldn’t exist; too good to be true. But she couldn’t find it in herself to not trust him.

No one had spoken for about half a minute before she realized it was so quiet.  But she didn’t get squirmy about it. In fact, she was perfectly happy to stand there, wrapped up in Saleem.

Claudia truly l
iked his face. His skin was so perfect. Not a mark on him anywhere. And those eyes were the definition of warmth.  They were just deep pools of acceptance and belonging.

Claudia inhaled shakily, willing her eyes not to take in any more of that perfection, but they did. Her gaze slid down his perfect, strong and prominent nose and visually followed the curve of his upper lip, biting back a sigh. He was handsome, she named it. And physically she was attracted to him, most definitely. But this close, this intimate, there was no other word that suited him. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His complete obliviousness to that fact actually hurt. And the smell of him was completely overwhelming; heady, masculine, with that hint of soap.  She’d woken up with that smell all around her on his pillow.  She’d live in that smell if she could.

Saleem licked his bottom lip, a nervous gesture. She raised her chin, and he lowered his head. She wasn’t aching for contact with his mouth but she really wanted to know what kissing him would be like.

His arms tightened up just a little bit. Then, another flash of the night before. Forcing a kiss on him, which he turned away like a complete gentleman.

Claudia stepped back. The air flooded between them again, cold compared to him. But that was good because she suddenly really wasn’t feeling very well.

He caught the forecast by the look on her face, clearly. Saleem hustled her to the washroom and got the toilet cover up just as her stomach evacuated.

Jesus. Not even dating and he was already holding back her hair as she threw up. She knew she should feel mortified that he was seeing her like this, but what her stomach felt was much more urgent.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Voro stood at the head of the table, the angels now assembled to listen to him.

“So … this Essum is scared of his new friend. That’s what you have to tell us,” Anael was disappointed with his update. Too bad.

Douma could always be counted on. “He’s telling us that because this Essum could possibly help us.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” this from Gazardiel, who was studying Anael in a curious way that was a bit too knowing in Voro’s opinion. Micah had the same expression.

“Anyway, the Vampire isn’t fully formed but he really wants another angel to complete the transformation.”

Anael shook her head. “Then there is no way we’re heading down there.”

Micah spoke up, still staring at her. “If we have to, we’ll intercede to help Raphael and Voro, as agreed.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“None of it is up to us. We help if it looks like this thing will actually come to be,” Jehoel reminded her.

“It’s too dangerous.”

Voro had to speak up. “Look, I hate to interrupt, but we’re all forgetting one major fact.” They all turned to him again. “I think you guys have completely forgotten that there’s still one angel down there.”

They blinked. “Raphael is neutralized, of course we’re aware of that,” Anael snapped.

“I mean Michael, sweetheart. And they’re both in the same town.”

Complete silence. Anael broke it. “Shit.”

“Anael, that’s unnecessary.” Jehoel, pulling out his “ranking officer” voice.

“What’s up, Anael? Is this about the fact that you gave in to your base urges with Voro?  Blaming him for it is unfair.” Gazardiel this time.

Voro’s hands were up in self-defense before he could stop them. “Whoa … what … we share everything around here?”

“Unfortunately,” Anael muttered under her breath.

“Voro, thank you again for not forcing yourself on her -”

Voro had to cut Micah off. “Okay, we don’t need to talk about this. It’s ridiculous. There are bigger things to worry about right now. I suggest we figure out a plan and get him now. The longer we wait the closer this thing is to being done. He’ll be a real headache if he gets himself together.”

Jehoel stepped up next to him. “Voro is, of course, right. So we plan something, arm ourselves with steel and take this thing out. We volunteered to be the task force on this. We have to accept the risks and do our jobs. Protect the humans. Bring Raphael home. At any cost. He would do it for us.”

Voro studied the rest of the group. If they hadn’t been so beautiful he might have been scared of them himself.  Anael’s glare was the kind of thing that could shrivel balls from three hundred paces. Gazardiel was a bit harder to read; she looked at him one moment like he was a science project and a steak the next. Micah and Douma were oblivious to his charms, or perceived lack thereof. Jehoel was warming up to him.

There was some more telepathic back and forth between the angels, then those still sitting rose in unison and cleared out. Voro was left with an empty room.

It was quiet.
Sooo
quiet. Way too quiet. He hated it. All he could hear was his own heart beating in his ears.

“You care about Raphael, don’t you?”

The voice came from behind him, female. He spun, giving his best casual smile.

Gazardiel wasn’t fooled by the display of calm. She smiled, sliding the door closed. Voro swallowed hard as she carried herself his way on long legs.

“Anael is more delicate than she appears. Do you wonder why that is?”

He took a step back, hitting the table behind him. Jesus, was he scared to be alone with her? “You know why she is the way she is?”

Gazardiel nodded, stopping one step from him. “She was … attacked once. By a human. He wasn’t bad, wasn’t evil. But you’ve seen the reaction humans have to us. She loved him, he couldn’t control himself.”

Voro saw just a flash of red, then he swallowed again.

Gazardiel cut the distance in half. “That makes you angry?”

“Yeah. Sex is something I enjoy, no secret there. And when someone makes it unpleasant for someone else like that … yeah. It makes me angry.” He set his jaw, realized he was doing it, and relaxed again.

“We heard about Jehoel interrupting you last night. Anael was irrationally angered.”

Voro frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You and the human woman. Jehoel told us that he had to stop you from possibly causing her mental distress.”

“Are there
any
secrets around here?”

“No. Jehoel … watched you for a moment before interrupting, you know.” She halved the distance again. Voro had nowhere to go without bodily moving her.

“He … what?”

“He told us about how you and that woman were together.”

Voro was staring in to those golden-brown eyes. “He’s a peeping Tom, too?”

She raised a dark eyebrow. “Do you like using your mouth to bring a woman to orgasm?”

Voro took a deep breath. “Jesu -”

“Careful with that around here. Just answer my question.” Her hands rested on his chest, fingers splayed. Her nails scratched at his shirt a bit.

“About …” he was starting to get into it. His body was now aware she was female and rubbing on him like a cat in heat.

“About bringing a woman to orgasm with your … mouth. Is it all in the tongue?”

“Are you saying you’ve never had a man do that?”

She tilted her head. “We tend to all be friends. But you’re not … like us. You’re different. I don’t think we can damage you. I don’t believe that for a second. I can tell by how my body acts around you. It’s foreign to me. I want you … just for what you might do to my body.”

“Interesting.” He let his eyes take in her lips. “Luckily, my body usually has this reaction to nearly all women.”

There was a long pause while they just looked at each other.

“We’re going after the Psionic Vampire tomorrow,” she whispered. “It could kill all of us, or make us all like Raphael. Can we just enjoy this right now?”

“Yes.”

Detective Nailor turned away from the bed in the room, wishing they hadn’t opened the blinds. The mid-day light made the scene even harsher and his stomach couldn’t handle any more details.

The girl was dead, lifeless, staring at the ceiling. She looked almost peaceful, face-wise anyway. The scene was quite violent.

There was blood everywhere. The bed was stained with it. And she was missing a great deal of flesh from both thighs.

Someone had eaten her. Literally.

She had underwear on. Her skirt was short so he could tell. No guarantee there wasn’t rape here but it didn’t seem likely. This was even uglier and more dismissive of humanity.

Never mind the distinct feeling he had that he was not wanted here. He had to make his feet stay put, otherwise they’d have him fleeing like he’d missed his bus.

He turned to a uniformed constable, asking what he’d found so far.

“She lives here, on this floor,” Jameson confirmed. “She’s at the far end. People heard screaming, called the police, but no one saw anything. Not even the two patrolmen that first showed up here. But the scene was still … warm.”

All kinds of bad stuff was getting stirred up in his bell tower. He had to excuse himself. Even the hall was less restrictive and stuffy. He could at least breathe out here.

Every murdered woman reminded him of Tracy. While nothing about this girl re
sembled Tracy physically, he couldn’t help but note she was just a few years older than his sister had been when she died. Lots of life still to come. A waste.

He wished he could light a cigarette right then. That was odd; he hadn’t had a cigarette in eight years. He had quit very easily and simply on his twenty-first birthday.  But he looked at his hands and they were trembling.

It had to be the creepy vibe of the place. It’s not like this was the first scene of a murder he’d ever been to. But that apartment was to blame for this.

Jameson joined him, exhaling in relief and rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. This is … this is too familiar.”

“What? Why?”

Jameson gestured to the apartment. “This
stay-the-fuck-away
. It’s just like a night club I went to the other night. And another apartment building. That one belonged to a college student. Twenty years old.”

“Were they chewed up like this?”

He shook his head. “Nah. By appearances this is very different but this feeling is exactly the same. And there have been more popping up overnight. This is the first bloody one, though.”

Nailor set his jaw, the anger rising again. He really had to keep this in check or he could get in trouble again. “What about the guy who owned this place?”

“Still in surgery. He’s expected to recover fully.”

Nailor looked up and down the hallway. There were people dusting for prints on the door and the elevator panel. Nailor knew it was useless. The guy that did this was in the hospital. His prints would be all over the place.

“This is crazy. Do you think this guy could have done all this?”

Jameson shrugged. “I don’t know. The guy was unconscious when I got here. He did not offer up a written confession when they loaded him into the ambulance.”

“Yeah, I didn’t talk to him either.” Nailor’s brain was churning. “We should go talk to him.”

Jameson looked startled. “Whoa – he’s not awake yet, Detective. We can’t interview him. Even if he admitted everything we couldn’t use it and we could, more likely, completely ruin the investigation.

Nailor shrugged. “What are we getting done here? Come on. You can be my hold-back guy.”

Essum blinked against bright lights, his head hurting instantly. Nothing was in front of him, just a field of painful white. As he blinked in self-defense forms dissolved out of the white haze, black dots that ebbed and flowed into each other. He became aware of warbled voices that were as solid and lingering as the forms he was straining to focus on.

He couldn’t see shit. He could remember even less.  Why was everything so floaty?

He blinked. Slowly the ceiling came in to focus: white rectangular tiles. Fluorescent lights. A face.

Essum fluttered his eyelids a few more times, tried to swallow. His tongue felt like a wad of cotton balls. He really hoped he didn’t start coughing; that would probably blow up the threat of a rip-roarin’ headache he had going on.

He closed his eyes, counted to ten, opened them again.

Bright room, light a combination of the fluorescent tubes overhead and the sunshine flowing through an open window. The face overhead swam into focus.

Essum could have sworn his heart stopped. The smell. Oven-baked bread. Heavenly. He fought to focus in on the face. He didn’t know it … yes, he did.

The doctor. The one that Voro’s
frustro
was in love with. Holy shit. Was he an angel? How the hell was that possible?

Essum watched the doc’s face as he pulled up on each of his eyelids, shining in a penlight. He was talking. Essum made himself listen.

“PERRLA,” he mumbled under his breath, like Essum should know whatever
pearla
meant. “How are you feeling? You might be a bit out of it. We’ve got you on some good painkillers. But the surgery went very well. You’re strong, you should heal well.”

Painkillers? Surgery? What the fuck was he doing here –

“Keep resting. You might be here a few days, but if you mess up your recovery you’ll be here for much longer than that.”

Essum’s head was swimming, and he caught up with current events just in time to realize he was alone now.

The apartment was the last thing he remembered, and Praesul going Hannibal Lector on some unknown young girl.

Cops. Blood on the carpet. Explosions. Him falling.

“They fucking shot me,” he mumbled, straining to see what was around him. He had a tube in his arm, connected to a bag on an IV stand over a beeping monitor next to him.

Drugs to kill the pain. They’d put him under for surgery, apparently to remove bullets. He knew he’d heal faster than a human. He had to get out of this room –

A rattle brought his head back down. He was handcuffed to the bed railing.

Surgery and an arrest in one day; all these firsts and he wasn’t even awake for them.

Essum pulled at the handcuff stupidly. It hurt something in his back and he stopped instinctively. The pain was hot and instant. Yeah, he was cut up a lot. This could take a couple days to heal.

Shit shit shit. These fucking demigods had no idea how badly they could fuck a guy up. Fucking Praesul.

But more importantly Essum’s doc was an angel; he’d bet his twig and berries on it. The excitement of that knowledge cranked him right up. He had a soul for Praesul; it could be enough to complete the transformation.