Archangel Rafe (A Novel of The Seven Book 1) (4 page)

She slid up the wall and then checked the washing machine. It hadn’t started. Nothing lit up except the ‘On’ button. She pressed the button on, then off, and fiddled with the other buttons for thirty seconds. Dead. Done. Dammit. When was she going to fit in a trip to the laundromat?

If that wasn’t enough, she had, hopefully, her final divorce hearing in one hour.

Of course that didn’t mean Gary would be gone. She still wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Sometimes dealing with life on her own was easier than consulting him.

Angelina wandered into the family room and dropped down onto the sectional sofa, a pretty, soft olive green that usually gave her a soothing little boost. The weight of responsibility, for everything, invaded her arms, her legs, her brain. Everyone needed a piece of her. But she just wanted to sit and be. Everyone seemed determined to keep her ultra-busy, even her friends who with their well-meaning nights out suffocated her with the weight of having to get dressed up and made up and smile and pretend she was doing okay. Pretend that there were days her heart wasn’t breaking for the death of her life before.

Stages of grief. Of course Angelina knew about them but she sure as heck didn’t want to dissect the way her life was falling apart. Did it really matter what the stages were? They were going to happen no matter what.

The only place she had any respite from the crushing responsibility of life these days was in her dreams. Angelina’s eyelids drooped. Even with the dream time she wasn’t getting enough sleep. Too many things kept her up at night. Too many worries, too many heartaches.

She tilted her head onto the soft velour cushion and inhaled softly.

If she could just rest for a little bit. Tired. She was so tired. She inhaled slowly, deeply, then let out her breath and slid gently into slumber and longed for her dream angel.

***

Rafe’s assistant Nathan stood straight as Gabe’s divining rod. “Archangel Raphael the Healer,” Nathan proclaimed.

Rafe sighed. “Call me Rafe.” They did this dance every Monday morning, month after month, year after year. And since the very moment he’d become Rafe’s assistant, Nathan insisted on formality and stiffly followed protocol, always beginning his report with Rafe’s official title. He was frighteningly efficient.

Rafe slouched in the oversized leather chair with his chin propped in his hand and listened with only a fraction of his attention, while he contemplated the bookshelves full of musty old medical tomes.

“Things in Africa seem to be better.” Angel Melissa Gates had managed to accomplish a lot with her programs. There was no way his Angels on earth could eradicate HIV without destroying themselves. Tragically several had died before Rafe had forbidden them to use their healing gift to control a disease of that magnitude. He’d had to encourage thinking outside the box and have them come up with creative solutions.

Nathan continued to ramble about Antarctica and Europe. Technically the Archangels were supposed to be the guardians and their foot soldiers were the Angels on Earth, but the world had gotten so large, they’d added more Angels in the Third Sphere to help the Archangels and moved responsibilities around. Delegated. So, he spent the bulk of his time in the Realm lab and searched for cures to biological weapons and disease rather than among actual humans.

Nathan scrolled through his overview on Rafe’s area of responsibility, the health of the earth’s inhabitants. “There seems to be a certain dearth of spirit in the Americas. The financial markets continue to bounce like a pogo stick.” Nathan loved similes, especially ones that involved moving parts. “And I think that is contributing to the general malcontent. At this point, the situation might reverse itself but we should definitely keep an eye on the situation.”

The Americas reminded Rafe of Angelina. And her dreams. And the fact that he had not started her training.

“Europe feels out of balance.” Nathan paused, and stared out at the nebula that lit the angelic realm, his blond eyebrows curved downward in a frown. “I sense a disturbance but I can’t seem to find it.”

Rafe forced himself to focus on Nathan. “What kind of disturbance?”

“It seems to be isolated in the more rural areas. Just a flutter of unease, nothing specific.”

Rafe wanted to care. Instead his thoughts drifted back to Angelina. “Should we alert the Virtues?”

“I...don’t think so. I just haven’t encountered this before.” Nathan waved off his unease. “It’s probably nothing.”

But Rafe had to wonder. He hadn’t been paying attention lately. All of the Seven had their own staffs and assistants similar to Nathan. “Any other Archangels report anything out of the ordinary?”

“Good point, sir.” Nathan jotted a quick note in his state of the art PDA. “I’ll check with the other aides. Thank you.”

“Just keep me apprised.” But already his thoughts had returned to Angelina. Once he got started on her transition and he ascended, these problems would be someone else’s. His conscience pricked at him.

And then it started. A tingle began in Rafe’s toes. The mild burning spread upward through his limbs and torso, and heat poured into his heart and then his mind. He knew he should resist the temptation, the sheer fascination, but this contact filled him with a joy that had been missing for a very long time. Every time Angelina initiated contact with him in her dreams, their bond grew stronger and the desire to move beyond the boundaries and rules put in place centuries ago ballooned into a longing he couldn’t ignore or deny. And he had no idea what to do about it.

He knew this was wrong.

He could not have sexual congress with her, a human. Hadn’t the lessons of the Grigori and Nephilim been hammered into them all? If he continued on this path and the Virtues discovered his activity, he could forget about his ascension to the Second Sphere, because he would be fallen.

And yet, he couldn’t deny her.

Her sadness overwhelmed him. Instead of progressing with her training, he’d yet to speak a single word to her. The time was coming. He had to explain, had to begin her education. Once they began her transition, this erotic fantasy would have to stop. Right now, he skated the line but as soon as she was aware of who he was and her role in the Angelic Realm, all physical contact would be strictly forbidden.

He had avoided consummation of their relationship.

Fortunately, it was easy to do once he opened his eyes. The reality of his transgressions struck him with all the might and wrath of the Angelic Realm.

The tingle grew stronger.

“Uh, Nathan, we need to postpone the rest of your report.”

“Sir?”

“I’m being summoned.” And he disintegrated.

FIVE

She knew he would come. Almost as if she had conjured him.

“You’re here.” She sighed.

He looked magnificent. Tall and strong and sure. His shoulders were a place to rest her burden for a little while. His muscles were sleek, his skin hot as she trailed her fingertips from his heavily defined bicep and down to his hands. A smile curved her mouth and her eyelids drifted shut.

He was here. Her own personal stress buster and mood enhancer.

He clasped her hand with his, fingers strong and solid. His other hand cupped her face and his thumb caressed her cheek. His lips brushed hers, and pulled the tension and sadness from her as if he had inhaled the emotions and blown them away.

“Angelina,” he whispered, seductively, like a siren beckoning sailors to the shore.

She blinked.
Wait a minute
. He hadn’t ever spoken before. And she didn’t want conversation.

Angelina leaned into him, her nipples already aroused from his scent, a mix of herbs and flowers that triggered a rush of hormones. Her breasts brushed the wall of his pectorals as he skimmed his hand over her skin. Her nerves shivered in his wake.

As if she wished away her clothes, Angelina was naked.

She rubbed against him, and ran her free hand around to his hard sleek deltoids, then down to cup his ass. She undulated, and pushed her hips into his to seek relief from the building pressure.

The hard ridge of his erection brushed at her belly.

She swept a hand up his back, distracted at the suppleness of his skin, then slid her hand over his shoulder blades. No wings. Just muscle and bone. As the reality of the muscles in his back registered, she blinked at him in shock. “Your wings are gone.”

“They’re really just for show. It’s what humans expect,” he replied as he gazed at her. “We start out with wings and then as you come into acceptance, we get rid of them.”

Now they would skip straight to the part where he looked at her in horror. She braced for the rejection, and waited for the incredible sense of betrayal that followed his look of shame. Then his words registered. Come into acceptance? What was to accept?

And why did her subconscious pick now to have her dream man talk? She didn’t want talk. She wanted him to worship her.

Angelina’s head dropped back as she looked up at him. His pupils dilated as he held her gaze. Liquid, lost, on fire. She wanted him. She wanted to lick every inch of his body, explore him with her lips and teeth and tongue. Then start all over again.

He curled his arm around her, his palm hot and insistent on her butt. His forearm braced her body to stop her from melting into a puddle of arousal at his feet. As if she’d lost the ability to move, his erection pressed into the cradle between her hip bones.

He twisted her wrist and exposed the weird new sunspot. Or maybe it was an age spot. But, she wasn’t even forty yet.

Gaze still on hers, he brought her wrist to his mouth, and very, very gently, he pressed his lips to the mark. As if he were made of electricity, a current sparked from his mouth into her body. She could tell it wasn’t meant to be sexual. But the sensation was indescribable. Power rushed down her arm and flooded her body, fizzed through her blood, mushroomed into a storm, and sensitized her skin. Her womb clenched. Her breasts swelled. Her whole body trembled on the brink of an incredible orgasm.

Every nerve ending was on fire, on the cusp of imploding and bringing her to her knees.

He frowned at her. Shadows hovered in his slate gray eyes. His face was implacable. No emotion. No horror. But no happiness either.

Their bodies touched, Angelina aroused and on the precipice of falling over that edge. But he never fell with her. Not once in the entire time they’d engaged in this dream had he fallen with her. And suddenly she was pissed.

“How come you never....” She waved her free hand at him.

His gaze shadowed and his face unsmiling, he pressed his erection against her clitoris, right on the sweet spot, and she was drowning. He moaned, low and deep, and the rumble vibrated through his chest and into her.

She shook with the force of her orgasm, coming down from the high with a sudden rush as she realized once again he had not come with her. “Why not?” she asked fiercely.

“It is forbidden.” And he disappeared.

SIX

Her almost ex-husband brought his girlfriend to their divorce hearing.

Angelina’s blood boiled. Thank goodness the kids weren’t with her. She waited for the rush of anguish and the crushing sense of failure that usually accompanied her contact with Gary. As Angelina studied them both, she realized that she really was over Gary. She may have failed her marriage. Likely, she’d failed because of a poor choice. The good news was that even if he wanted her back, she wasn’t interested. Time and distance had given her the perspective she needed.

The family courtroom, devoid of embellishment, was a stark reminder of what she desired. To simplify her life and focus on her children.

That was all she wanted. She didn’t need any more complications or distractions.

She glanced cursorily around then rested her gaze on Gary and his girlfriend. The sad fact was she had hired Candy, yeah that really was her name, the personal fitness trainer, as a Christmas present to help Gary get into shape and into better health. Candy had been excruciatingly thin and muscular, with fake boobs that Gary always said he hated. He started out as an overweight, doughnut-eating, scotch-swilling surgeon, but by the time Candy was done with him, he’d lost his love handles, his gut, and Angelina.

Asshole.
Sorry, Brandt.

After Gary moved out, Angelina had been lackluster about her own fitness schedule and now she needed to hire Candy. Except, wait, she couldn’t afford her.

Angelina sat in the austere courtroom beside her lawyer, a very nice woman in a trim, efficient navy suit who was hopefully shark enough to make sure he didn’t steal her legacy from her grandmother, so her kids could go to college and she could keep a house she didn’t want, to maintain some stability for the kids.

Angelina had tried to summon the energy to dress up for the hearing but she’d woken from her nap and barely had time to shower and throw on clothes, a boring black, long-sleeved, scoop neck cable sweater and even more boring black Ann Taylor trousers that were a little too snug thanks to the weight she’d gained. She’d let her hair air dry, never a good move, and only managed to slather on lip gloss she’d left in the car as she rushed over to the court.

Grammy would be appalled.

“Good. You look fantastic,” Zoe, her lawyer, said.

Angelina assumed she was being generous, trying to get her spirits up before the proceeding started. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, you practically glow.” Zoe smoothed a hand over her sleek pageboy. “God, I have the worst headache.”

“I might have some drugs.” Angelina dug through her four-year-old Coach bag in search of a vial of Advil.

“Allergies.” Zoe waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I have no hope of looking as good as you do today. What
have
you been doing?”

Angelina flushed as she thought about the nap she’d just taken. Dream sex was a good pick-me-up. Right up until the moment her dream angel had talked.

Gary didn’t make eye contact. He conveniently hunched over his smart phone, and emailed away with his thumbs. Candy gave her a friendly smile edged with triumph. She thought she’d hit the boyfriend jackpot by snagging a doctor. But Angelina would be damned if Candy took away anything from her kids.