Angel of Chaos (Imp Book 6) (9 page)

He shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting as if he were trying to see past me and didn’t want me to notice. A prickle of something electric slid up my spine, and I closed the door against my body, leaning casually against the jam. I could hear Nyalla talking cheerfully in the background and tried to send her a mental message. I had no idea what extrasensory perception Gregory had gifted her with, but I was hoping hard it was telepathy.

She kept talking. I heard Harper respond.

“I ain’t got all day. Tell me what the fuck you want, or fly on back to Aaru.”

His eyes met mine, and I was reminded of why I hate angels. Well, all of them except for one. Cold. Condemning. Judgmental. They bore into me, sweeping from my head to toes and back up, clearly finding me lacking. His upper lip curled, and I felt a wave of power against me. It was cold and electric, like lightning in an ice storm.

“You’ve got something I need to collect.”

Could the guy be any more fucking vague?

I’d either been spending too much time with elves and angels, or my intuition was kicking in, because I had a bad feeling I knew exactly what he was here to collect. He was a Hunter. Had one truly just wandered down my lane and happened to sense Harper? I doubted it, but I didn’t want to think too closely about the alternative right at this moment.

My instincts immediately urged me to summon my Iblis sword, but Gregory had warned me the price I’d pay for killing an angel. I’d gotten away with it once in self–defense, but I doubted I could claim that this time. I’d need to find some other, less lethal, way of disabling this guy.

“Well, shit! Of course I do. Come right on in, buddy!”

I flung the door wide open, ushering him in with a dramatic flourish. He hesitated, his eyes confused for a brief second. Then he walked in, scanning the room. I heard the sounds of dishes clanking in the kitchen, water running, young women chatting. The angel took a few steps forward, leaving his back open to me. Yep, that’s what he thought of me. Iblis or not, I clearly wasn’t even enough of a threat to warrant a defensive side stance. Idiot.

His eyes tracked Nyalla as she appeared from the kitchen at the far end of the room. She pivoted, calling something over her shoulder to Harper, and then turned to walk out one of the huge sets of French doors that lined the rear of my home. Her gaze passed right over the angel without any change of expression. I would have thought he had some glamor in place to shield himself from her eyes, except she didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
Enemy angel at the door. Stay in the kitchen. Stay in the kitchen,
I silently chanted to Harper as I eyed the golf club Nyalla had placed beside the closet door.

Clearly Harper had the gift of telepathy, even if Nyalla did not. She walked out of the kitchen and promptly launched a carving knife at the angel.

The woman either had previous experience in a circus, or all that practice stabbing pillows had produced some amazing skills. The knife flipped through the air and sank hilt–deep into the angel’s chest. I was as shocked as he was at this turn of events, but I had a faster recovery time — no doubt because I didn’t have a knife sticking from between my ribs. Taking my cue from Harper, I hit the angel across the back of his head with the nine iron.

When Wyatt had shot Gregory, he’d barely reacted, but this guy was no ancient. He did a lovely face–plant onto the floor, landing with a satisfying thump. One of the things I learned early, as an imp growing up in Hel, was that if you wanted something to stay down, you needed to go far beyond what would normally suffice in terms of force. So I jumped forward and began whaling away at the angel with my golf club, which was starting to form an acute angle halfway down the shaft.

“Run!” If Harper didn’t get her butt in gear, she was going to find herself in big trouble. I had no illusions that this angel was going to be subdued for any more than a few moments by human sporting equipment and a carving knife. He’d be up and running once the shock wore off, and if he got his hands on Harper, he’d teleport her away before I had a chance to intervene.

My assault on the angel didn’t break the pregnant woman from her determined stance, but my one word did. She bolted for the rear of the house, holding several more items of sharp cutlery in her hand.

She’d barely gotten to the rear door before my prostrate angel recovered, rolling over to snatch the golf club and hurl it across the room. It just missed one of my windows — one of the windows newly replaced from The Ghoul Incident. But instead of dashing, or teleporting, after Harper as I expected, my uninvited guest turned on me.

“You
dare
to strike me?”

I dared so much that I did it again, this time with an umbrella from the stand next to the front door. It went the way of the nine iron. Then the angel hit me. Angels aren’t much for using their corporeal forms in fighting, so instead of striking me with a fist, he blasted me with that damned white stuff that burned its way through flesh like a hot knife through butter. It tore through my chest, turning my heart into a smoking hole of nothingness. I’d gotten particularly good at surviving as a corpse, but not so good at the dead animation thing. I tried to give the angel my most menacing, Iblis–like glare, but I’m sure the effect was ruined by my body’s downward crumple.

Snap out of it. I didn’t have much time before he was off after Hunter. No time to lie around on the floor, staring at the ceiling and trying in vain to move my limbs. I shook off the numbness and recreated my entire body with a noisy explosion that I hoped would slow the angel. Then I called my sword to hand. I didn’t care what the other angels did to me; he’d attacked me with intent to kill. And I had a bad feeling about what he intended to do to Harper — and her unborn child — if he got his hands on her.

I suck at sword fighting, but I didn’t have time to be creative, and this was the artifact’s preferred form. So there I was, leaping to my feet and racing across my maple floor, stark naked, chasing an angel while awkwardly holding a two–foot sword. Normally I’d have no chance in catching an angel, but I’d gained a significant amount of speed when I got my wings. By the time he’d passed the stables and headed into the open field, I was within striking distance. Good thing, too, as I saw Hunter ahead, running much slower with her awkward rolling gait.

As usual, I had no time. Swinging a sword at an opponent while running full speed doesn’t allow for much accuracy, but the blade still sliced through his shirt and scored the flesh under it in a neat, diagonal line. The golf club assault had surprised but not hurt him. This had far more impact. The angel arched his spine, throwing his head backward and shrieking as the cut bled iridescent fluid down his back. He’d slowed abruptly with the strike, but my forward momentum wouldn’t allow me to do the same. I slammed into his back, tackling him from behind. We rolled along the grass and rocks for several yards. When we finally stopped, I was underneath him, my sword arm pinned against my chest by his weight.

“They’ll dust you for this,” he hissed, keeping his full weight against my arm while trying to free his hands from under my shoulders. I launched my weight upward, tangling his legs in mine.

“Not if they never find your body.” With a twist of my hips I shifted him slightly to the side — enough to free one of his hands, but not enough to free my sword arm.

I bucked as he tried to get his hand around my neck, and he sacrificed the attempt to brace himself with it, still using the force of his weight to pin my sword arm against me. That stupid slippery angel stuff was coating my raw energy, rendering me incapable of anything but a physical attack. Not that I seemed to be capable of a physical attack with him crushing the breath out of me. I continued to jerk and kick, hoping to dislodge him.

There was a flash off to my side, and the angel flew off me, launched several yards through the air by a flying pair of horse’s hooves. Diablo. Who promptly disappeared like he always did. Not that I didn’t appreciate his intervention. A blur raced past me, and a two–headed dog launched himself at the angel that had just dropped with a bounce to the ground. I scrambled to my feet, using the sword to pull myself upright. As much as I wanted to see Boomer take this angel apart, I didn’t want him blamed. And, more importantly, I didn’t want him to be hurt.

“Get back,” I ordered. Boomer complied with a leap, but not before the angel recovered enough to launch a stream of white. What should have sliced my hellhound in half, burned along one side, removing flesh down to the bone from his head to hip.

Fucker had hurt my dog. No one hurts my dog. With a scream, I ran toward the angel, swinging my sword. He managed to leap to his feet before I reached him. Although my wild swings kept him dodging and ducking, they didn’t seem to land any hits. We danced — me forward and the angel backward until his ass hit the wall of my barn. I swung, and he ducked, but that particular sword strike hadn’t been meant for him; it had been aimed at a rope to his side.

The blade ripped through the nylon as if it was air, and with a whoosh, a sparkling net scooped the angel and hoisted him up. I smiled, thinking of how lucky I was to have a good relationship with a sorcerer for once, and grateful that I’d been paranoid enough after my banishment to install some special security measures around my earthly home.

I held still, sword at the ready and eyes on the bagged angel, just in case. These nets were meant to hold demons, and I wasn’t sure how effective they’d be against an angel. I heard Boomer whine in the background and desperately wanted to go and repair his wounds, but he would have to wait.

The moving bulges in the net stilled, although it still swayed.

“You’ll die for this,” my captive said.

“Probably.” I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “You won’t be around for my execution, though. Which is of great comfort to me.”

The bag jerked. “Do you know who I am?”

“The guy who assaulted me? The guy who intended to drag off a guest in my home to her death?”

I heard an exasperated snort. “
You
assaulted
me
! And I would not have killed the human female. She is not to blame for her situation.”

Okay. Maybe I overreacted a bit. “And the baby she carries?”

“Nephilim are condemned to death. Article one nine two three eight, section forty–five, subsection twenty, item two ninety three.”

Nope. Didn’t overreact at all. I thought about arguing that the baby wasn’t to blame for his or her situation either, that the only one to punish for this whole mess was a randy angel who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Or keep from manifesting one at all. I knew there was little chance of winning that argument, so I spun around and headed for my dog.

Boomer was sprawled across the blood–red grass, his head in Nyalla’s lap. The girl made soothing noises, stroking the parts of his face that hadn’t been removed by the angel’s blast. My fury returned, fanned even hotter when I saw Nyalla’s tear–stained face.

“Will he … is he?”

“I’ll fix him,” I reassured her. “I’ve done it a million times before. He’s a tough hellhound. He’s survived worse.”

“Can you heal him instead?”

I had no idea how she’d learned the difference. Healing was an angel–skill — one I’d recently acquired. I wasn’t completely proficient at it, but it was more thorough and less painful than my demon repair abilities. There was one thing holding me back, though.

“I’m not kissing my dog.”

Nyalla raised big blue pleading eyes to mine.

“Seriously. You know what he eats, and dogs don’t floss, brush, or rinse with an ADA approved mouthwash. I saw him with a human limb last night. That thing had to have been rotting for at least two months. No way I’m putting my lips anywhere near his mouth.”

The girl’s eyes grew moist. A tear welled and rolled down her cheek to hover at the edge of her lip.

“Oh for fuck sake!” I grumbled as I stomped over to Boomer.

I was a demon. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had all sorts of nasty shit in my mouth before. Kissing Boomer probably wouldn’t be any worse than that time I gave Grexil head. Blech.

It was worse than blowing a plague demon. Way worse. After I’d finished, Boomer jumped to his feet, tail wagging, while I was retching and spitting on the blood–soaked grass. It was worth it to see Nyalla’s joy as she hugged the hellhound.

“What are you going to do with him?” Nyalla waved a hand toward the barn.

Glancing again at the bagged angel swinging around like an oversized piñata, I shrugged. “Leave him there? It’s probably safer than cutting him down and trying to duct tape him in my basement.”

The girl nodded. “I guess if anyone asks, you can just say you’re disciplining a member of your household.”

It was so nice to be living with a human who truly understood demons.

“Any idea where Harper may have gone?” For all I knew, the woman could be halfway to Idaho. It would solve a lot of problems if she kept on running and never came back, but I’d vowed to protect her and the baby. I might be just as likely as humans to default on my loans, but I couldn’t renege on a vow.

“She was headed toward the Calloway’s farm.” Nyalla pointed toward the fence line where our neighbors lived, just out of sight. “How do you think the angel found out about her and tracked her here?”

There were only two angels who knew about Harper’s condition, and I couldn’t believe the baby’s father would have risked his offspring, as well as his own life, by spilling the beans. That left only one angel, and my heart twisted to think of that possibility. Gregory loved me, but that didn’t stop him from fulfilling his duty as part of the Ruling Council. I couldn’t exactly interrogate him without letting it slip that I had a Hunter angel I was holding captive, so I’d have to play my cards close to my chest and watch him carefully. And hope with all my heart that what I was suspecting wasn’t true.

–9–

Y
ou’re not safe here.” I paced while Harper and Nyalla sat at my dining room table, watching me closely. The pregnant woman was pale, her mouth tight. She kept drifting a hand across her abdomen, pausing low as if to reassure herself that the baby was still there.