Vampire Mine (7 page)

Connor jerked upright with surprise. The priest had saved his job?

“In fact, Father Andrew believes this has all happened for some sort of divine purpose.”

Angus snorted. “He hasna convinced Roman of that yet. Nor me. I‟m still pissed that ye canna follow simple orders. If ye had, Shanna might still be alive.”

Connor didn‟t think so. Even if he‟d gone back to the campground to meet Angus, he would have still seen the fireballs in the distance and gone to investigate. Could Father Andrew be right? Was he supposed to find Marielle tonight? Only a Vamp could have picked her up and helped her. Any mortal would have collapsed after touching her, just like Shanna had.

He sighed. Father Andrew had to be wrong. God would never cast his barbaric, undead hide in a noble role. The priest was trying to interpret signs that didn‟t exist. Or trying to see goodness in a Vamp where it had long withered away.

A breeze rustled the trees in the distance, then swept toward Connor. The minute the air hit his face, he felt more awake, more alert. His senses sharpened, anticipating . . . something. He scanned his surroundings and listened carefully. Nothing.

“Father Andrew is eager to meet the angel,” Angus said. “Roman doesn‟t want her here at Romatech, so I thought I‟d have someone teleport the Father to the cabin.”

“No‟ now. She‟s wounded and bleeding. I need to take her to Dr. Lee in Houston.”

Connor referred to the Vamp doctor who had delivered both of Shanna‟s children and regularly patched up Vamps and shifters. “And I need some clothes for her.”

“I‟ll ask Emma to take care of that. Let me know when ye‟re back.”

A stronger breeze whipped Connor‟s hair across his face, and he pushed the strands back.

An awareness sizzled through him that something was off. His senses strained, expecting something. Soon.

And then he heard it. Marielle‟s voice. Clear and beautiful. Singing a melody so sweet it made his heart ache.

“Christ,” he whispered.

“What?” Angus demanded. “Are ye all right?”

“I‟ll call you back.” He disconnected and dropped the phone into his sporran.

Her voice continued, ringing clear in the night air. She must be outside. So much for following his orders.

He descended the porch steps, and a strong wind shoved him toward the side of the cabin.

Now he realized what was off. The wind should be chilly, but it wasn‟t. He rounded the cabin, and the wind still blew at him. Strange. It seemed to be circling the cabin. Another warm gust pushed him toward the clearing in the front.

He halted with a jerk when she came into view. She was naked, standing with her back to him. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, and her curly blond hair tumbled to the small of her back. Her hips flared into an arse that could inspire poetry. Unfortunately, he‟d never been a poet, so it simply inspired another round of lust.

Snap out of it
, he mentally snarled at himself. She was an angel. And she was up to something strange. Her arms were extended overhead, reaching for the stars. She tilted her head back as she sang to the heavens, and her hands moved gracefully with the music, the lovely expressive hands of a dancer.

He‟d heard once that the body was a temple, but he‟d never believed it till now. She was so beautiful. And her voice—only an angel could sound so good and pure.

The wind picked up, whirling around the cabin and playing havoc with his kilt. As he watched the trees sway and bow, he realized Marielle was in the center of the circle.

A breeze lifted her golden hair, and the long tresses seemed to float about her shoulders.

Some of the locks were dark and matted at the ends with her blood. He winced at the sight of her wounded back. Dark trickles of blood meandered down the white glowing skin.

She had to be in pain, and yet her song sounded so joyful. It made him ashamed for all the years he‟d spent grumbling and rueful. But how was he to feel when he‟d lost the only woman he ever loved, and that love had driven him to destroy his own soul?

He jerked when something warm touched his cheek, something feather soft. He looked about, but saw nothing. Wait, over there, a glimpse of movement, something sheer and white in the wind. It rushed past him, then faded to nothing.

A tinkling sound like wind chimes floated through the air, in and out of his hearing, and he strained to listen. Yes, there it was. He couldn‟t tell if it was bells or harps or perhaps both, but he‟d never heard anything so enchanting. So peaceful, as if his wandering soul had finally returned home.

Then the voices began. Male and female. Perfect in pitch and harmony, singing the same melody as Marielle. And beneath it all, he could hear and sense a low, steady vibration that stirred the air. Constant like a heartbeat. The beating of angel wings.

He closed his eyes, feeling like a lowly sinner who had accidentally stumbled upon something sacred, something no human was ever meant to see. But he couldn‟t close his ears.

The voices continued, so achingly sweet, he never wanted it to end.

More wisps of movement brushed across his face, and each time it happened, a small burst of joy would warm his heart. He opened his eyes and stepped toward Marielle. His body tingled as the warm wind enveloped him. His heart matched the rhythm of the wings beating the air. Such joy and peace—it was addictive. Bright green grass sprouted in the circle of wind, and he felt an overwhelming urge to lift his arms to the heavens like Marielle.

Before he could move, a flare of light stunned him. He blinked, trying to stay focused on her. She‟d stopped singing and stood frozen, surrounded by a bright light. It flashed with an intensity that forced him to shut his eyes.

“Thank you,” Marielle whispered. “The Lord is good.”

He opened his eyes as the light dissipated. Her back was completely healed. No marks or bloodstains, just her white glowing skin. Even her hair was clean and shiny gold.

The wind grew stronger again, and he could feel the whirling cyclone moving upward.

The voices faded away.

“No!” Marielle cried. “Don‟t leave me!”

Her hands appeared to grasp something that Connor couldn‟t see, then to his amazement, her body rose off the ground. She wasn‟t levitating, he realized. Rather, she was being lifted by whatever she was holding.

“Please.” Her voice trembled with emotion. “Take me with you.”

Was she returning to heaven? Was she forgiven? Connor‟s heart raced as he watched her body rise higher and higher. Four feet off the ground. Six feet. Was there hope for those who had fallen short?

Was there hope for him?

“No!
” Marielle screamed as her hold was broken. She fell to the ground, and with a final whoosh, the wind was gone.

All was quiet except for the sound of her weeping. The air grew chilly again.

Connor felt his whole body sag. He should have known there was no hope. No forgiveness for the likes of him.

But Marielle—dammit, she was different. Her heart was pure. She still believed God was good. It made his heart ache to listen to her tears.

He walked to where she was huddled on the ground, leaning forward on her elbows, her shoulders shaking. “Are ye all right?” He winced at the stupid question.

“They left me behind,” she cried. “I‟m all alone.”

“Nay, lass.” He fell to his knees, then picked the sheet off the grass and draped it over her back. “Ye‟re no‟ alone.”

She turned her head to peek at him. Her cheek glistened with tears. “Did you hear them?

Did you hear the music?”

“Aye.”

She sat up, and the sheet slipped off her back. “Then you know how beautiful it is.”

“Aye.” He hastily wrapped the sheet around her.

She continued, oblivious to his roving eyes. “And now you understand why I need to go back. It‟s where I belong.”

He tied the ends of the sheet over her right shoulder. “I couldna really see them, but I heard them. And felt them in the wind.”

She nodded. “The Heavenly Host. I‟ve always been with them, since the moment of my creation. Their music is always in my head. We‟re all connected, always sharing our thoughts and praise.”

“Always?” He grimaced. “Ye doona tire of the con-stant noise?”

“Noise?” She gave him an indignant look. “You‟re calling our music noise?”

“It was beautiful,” he conceded, then drew a deep breath. “ ‟Twas the loveliest sound I‟ve ever heard. I‟ve never felt so full of joy and peace.”

She smiled. “Then you do understand.”

He shook his head. “ ‟Twas no‟ real.”

“Of course it was real. You felt it.”

“It was . . . alluring, but it canna be. I live in this world where we canna escape death and suffering. Besides, I wouldna want the constant voices in my mind. Nor would I want anyone else to hear my thoughts. I need my privacy.”

She looked at him, stunned. “You prefer to be all alone? You‟d rather suffer than be at peace?”

“I prefer to be myself.”

She touched his chest. “Even with the pain you carry?”

He scooted back, out of her reach. “At least it is my own.”

Frowning, she rose to her feet. “I never realized before how frightening and lonely it is to be human. How do you bear it?”

He shrugged and stood. “Some rely on faith.”

“What do you rely on, Connor Buchanan?”

He winced. “I‟m no‟ a good person to ask. I just keep going . . . out of stubbornness.”

Her mouth tilted with a smile. “Then I shall be stubborn, too.” She shivered, then shifted her gaze to the stars. “I will find my way back. And I will count my blessings, for the Lord is good.”

Connor stifled his snort, but she still glanced at him as if she could sense his doubt.

“The Lord
is
good,” she insisted, “for I have been sent a fierce protector.”

He almost looked over his shoulder to see who she was referring to. It was laughable to consider him a “fierce protector.” He‟d failed his wife and bairn. He‟d failed Shanna.

“And the Lord let Bunny heal me,” she continued with a smile.

He blinked. “Ye were healed by a rabbit?”

She laughed, the sound like the tinkling of wind chimes. “Bunny is a nickname for Buniel. We‟ve been best friends for ages. He‟s an excellent healer.”

“He?” Her best friend was male? And a perfect angel, too.
Bugger.

Her smile faded. “Bunny wanted to take me with him, but . . . he couldn‟t.”

Connor‟s jaw shifted. “I wouldna have let you go.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. She stared at him, speechless, while he fought to keep his desire from showing. Time stretched out, and the air felt thick between them. He balled his fists to keep from touching her, from drawing her into his arms.

Her gaze drifted down his body, then back up. His heartbeat quickened. He looked at her mouth, wondering if she could possibly react like a real woman. Could she be aware he was studying the pink plumpness of her mouth?

She licked her lips.

Yes.
He smiled slowly.

Her cheeks blushed a pretty pink, and she turned away. “A mouse just died,” she said in a breathless voice.

“Excuse me?”

“A mouse has died. Carried off by an owl.”

He strained his eyes, but couldn‟t see an owl in the night sky. “Where?”

“About thirty miles away.” She gazed at the forest with a pensive look. “Not all my powers are gone. I can still sense death.”

“Ye know when something‟s dying? How far can ye sense it?”

She shrugged. “Anywhere in the world. It‟s how the Deliverers know where to go when people are dying.”

She can sense death
. Connor paced toward the cabin, then back. This was a valuable skill. If she could sense people dying while Casimir and his minions were attacking them, then she might be able to help the Vamps find him.

He glanced up at the stars. Had God sent him a secret weapon that would help them defeat Casimir once and for all? Then Father Andrew might be right. He was meant to find Marielle.

He looked at her.

She was gazing at the distant mountains. “I have always thought the Earth was full of beautiful places. Now I can experience them as a human. It should be very interesting, don‟t you think?” She turned to him with a hopeful expression. “ „Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.‟ ”

He winced. Morning always brought him death. He was going to have to explain what he was. He could only hope she wouldn‟t be disappointed. Or disgusted.

She shivered and hugged herself. “I never realized how much humans feel the cold.”

“Ye should come inside.” He motioned toward the cabin, then froze when he heard a noise in the forest.

She heard it, too, whirling around to face the line of trees. Leaves shuddered as something pushed through the bushes.

Connor whisked the dagger from the sheath beneath his knee sock. A black snout poked out from the bushes. A wolf? No, it was wolflike, but bigger. The black, furry beast emerged from the forest.

Marielle stiffened with a gasp.

Connor widened his stance, his dagger ready.

She touched his arm. “You cannot fight it. It‟s here for me.”

The beast moved to the side, keeping its dark eyes focused on her. Then the eyes turned red and began to glow.

Connor inhaled sharply. “What is it?”

Her voice was whisper soft. “A demon.”

M
arielle squared her shoulders and glared at the black beast, feigning a courage she wished she had. She‟d dealt with fallen angels before, but always with the vast power of the Heavenly Host to back her up. Now she was alone.

Not entirely alone. Connor stepped in front of her, but his protective move only increased her fear. Didn‟t he realize he was no match for a demon?

“Go inside,” she whispered.

He shook his head slightly, never taking his eyes off the beast. “Nay.”

He hardly knew her, yet he was willing to risk his life for her? Emotions swirled inside her, strong human emotions she wasn‟t accustomed to feeling. She didn‟t know whether to hug Connor or yell at him. One thing was certain, she didn‟t have time to deal with the confusion now. She had to make sure he survived.