Archangel Rafe (A Novel of The Seven Book 1) (9 page)

“There are so many worse drugs out there,” he said as if justifying his actions.

She so didn’t want to have this conversation. She was shaking, the depth of her emotions overwhelming her nervous system. She just couldn’t handle one more thing. “Drugs are not the solution.”

“Mom. At least it isn’t Oxy or Meth or Xanax or Valium,” Brandt argued. “I can get any of those at school.”

As if he realized that his statement wasn’t going to make her feel any better, he looked at her and suddenly his gaze seemed so much older. As if maturity had taken hold and taken over. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, she wanted to believe him. And she knew right in this moment he was profoundly sorry. She had no idea if he was sorry he’d done it or sorry he’d gotten caught.

And she didn’t know if sorry would last the next time he was presented with an opportunity to say, yes...rather than no.

“It’s just....” Brandt looked at the rooster clock ticking over the sink, the sheen of tears in his eyes. “You know this whole divorce thing hasn’t been easy.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And you drink wine.”

She made the decision right then to pour her Chardonnay down the drain. So much for drowning her sorrows. “Yeah. It’s also not illegal.”

He opened his mouth. She thought he was going to argue again. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” But she didn’t want to give in too easily. Threats were always good. “I could always send you to live with Gary and Candy.”

“Please. Not that Mom.” Brandt leaned closer to her. “You ever notice her boobs don’t move?”

“You shouldn’t pay attention to her boobs.”

“You gotta admit they’re kinda hard to ignore.”

Candy had gone for the double D cups which on a bigger woman would have been fine but on her uber-skinny, heavily muscled frame, they stuck out. Literally.

She stifled a snicker. But she must not have been completely successful. Angelina headed for the stove to stir the chicken noodle soup.

“Please don’t make this kind of choice. Go for a run. Read a book. Talk to someone. But not drugs.”

“Okay. Mom. I love you.” Brandt stood up from the table and wrapped his arms around her like he’d done when he was a little kid and rested his head on her shoulder. How precious these moments are now. It was rare that he would allow the contact, stuck in that place between man and child and unable to figure out his attachment to her. She clung to his broad shoulders and ached for the little boy he’d been.

As if she’d been zapped, white light blinded her vision. Her stomach roiled and pitched as she fell into him.

“Mom?”

She reached for the garbage can. Her stomach’s meager contents propelled out as if with claws. She hunched over the can, curled in on herself like prey protecting its vital organs. She still couldn’t see but hoped she hit her target.

When she’d stopped vomiting, Brandt led her over to the table and eased her into the kitchen chair. “You must have caught my flu.”

Holy hell, did Brandt feel this badly? “Shit, shit, shit.” As soon as he let go, she felt marginally better. But her head began to swirl, and pretty colors kaleidescoped through her vision. This wasn’t any flu. This was how she had felt earlier. Unconsciousness rushed toward her like a meaty fist. She had mere seconds. She tried to reassure Brandt but it was too late. “Don’t panic.”

As she tipped toward the hardwood floor, she inanely noticed the finish had finally worn thin under the kitchen table leg. Then she did the only thing she could think of.

“Rafe.”

***

Rafe translocated into Angelina’s kitchen. Damn it. He’d just left her a few hours ago. How could she have found trouble so quickly?

He had needed to get back to Stanislaus’ family and begin to transition his son Tomasz. Normally he would have left the process to Nathan’s under secretary but Stas’s death troubled him. And Rafe wanted to make sure that his son was well trained. His affection for his old friend compelled him to work this one himself. He should be moving further away from the human realm but oddly he was drawn back into their world because of the last few weeks.

Stas’s last words had stayed with Rafe. Don’t judge them. Don’t judge who? And was it possible that Tomasz would know who Stas meant?

Angelina lay on the floor. A ragged teenager hovered over her. Her son, presumably.

“What did she do?”

“Who the hell are you?” The boy whirled around and puffed up his chest. His hair was the same color as Angelina’s. His face held the budding maturity of a man and the paucity of the recently sick. “And how did you get in here?”

Rafe held his palms six inches over her prone form and searched for the problem.

He couldn’t tell the kid he’d translocated into the house, so he improvised with a much needed lie. “The front door was open. I knocked...but no one answered.” He hadn’t thought about her family before he’d translocated into the house.

The stench of vomit came from the basket near his shoulder. “Can you move that? It stinks.”

On Earth, the smells were so much more intense. In the Angelic Realm, senses were muted, colors more faded, scents less pungent. Most of the time this was not so great. They missed out on the aroma of a blooming rose and the freshness of ozone during a spring rain. But in certain situations, like now, he could do without the intensity of earthly odors.

“Hey, man. Get away from my mom.” The kid had straightened. His face had already become rosier.

“I want to heal her, not hurt her.” Rafe drew the excess positive energy from her body, and absorbed the illness into his body while he searched for damage. “What was wrong with you?”

“Stomach flu.”

“Did you touch her?”

That would explain the inflammation in her stomach lining. But her body’s reaction was extreme. She’d reacted far too strongly for a minor flu.

“Dude, tell me who you are.” The kid clenched his fists. “Or I’m gonna call the cops.”

“I told you, I’m a friend of your mother’s. Your Grammy knows me, too. My name is Raphael. Did you touch her?”

“Gave her a hug. That wouldn’t give her the flu, not that fast. She must have already had it.” He looked sheepish for a minute.

Angelina hadn’t even had her hands on her son’s heart chakra, the main receptor to perform a healing. Unbelievable. She shouldn’t be unconscious from the small amount of inadvertent healing. Something else was wrong. “How do you feel now?”

The kid blinked and smiled. “A lot better. Hey, I don’t feel sick at all.”

Damn it. She hadn’t just healed him. As Rafe pulled more positive energy from her body, he realized she had to have given Brandt extra energy. Brandt was fine and she was out cold. Without even trying.

What were the odds of that?

“Are you some kind of doctor?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Rafe’s hands hovered over Angelina. “Angelina, wake up.”

The front door slammed. “Hello, my adoring fans, I’m home,” a girl called from the entryway.

The daughter. Great. Maybe Angelina’s sister and ex-husband could show up so the whole family could be here. Rafe shook off worries about an audience and concentrated on Angelina. He examined every vein and connection, all her organs, looking for any reason for her disturbing and continued unconsciousness.

“Who is he?” Lina asked.

Rafe glanced up briefly and noted the girl looked like a younger version of her mother.

“You’ve never seen him either?” Brandt stiffened.

“I’m a friend.” Rafe thought he caught a tainted edge in her bloodstream. “Can you both be quiet?”

He could almost isolate the problem. Could the acupuncturist have given her a drug? At the time he’d discounted her allegations, but now Rafe had to wonder if the acupuncturist had done something more sinister.

Because he’d been so busy not having sex with her, he hadn’t paid attention to the smaller details of her transition. He didn’t have a record of her blood chemistry when she first began. He would like to compare her blood now to an original blood sample, before she started the change. He needed to talk to Angelina.

“Angelina, wake up.” She should already be recovered. But when he leaned over her, he realized she was exhausted. A weariness of spirit coated her even in unconsciousness.

She moaned, low and soft, and lifted her hand to her forehead.

“Who are you?” The girl stood, hands on her hips, mouth pressed in a flat line.

Rafe was going to have to touch Angelina. Carry her to bed, because he couldn’t translocate her in front of the two kids. That was off limits.

He stood, and towered over the petite girl. But she didn’t back down.

“Rafe Azarias.” He held out his hand. “You must be Lina and Brandt.”

“How come we’ve never heard of you?” she asked suspiciously. Brandt stood with his arms folded over his chest.

Rafe used a little guilt to stall their questions. “You don’t usually ask your mom about her day, do you?”

They both had the grace to look uncomfortable.

“I’m an old friend of the family. We reconnected a few weeks ago,” said Rafe. “And we’re just friends. Now I’ll carry her up to bed. I think she’s just exhausted.”

Rafe took in a careful, measured breath before he lifted her into his arms. At least with the children as chaperones their contact couldn’t change into inappropriate touches. She was lighter than air. Her body, limp against his chest, caused a little bubble in his lungs, and for a moment it was difficult to breathe.

“Wow, you must be really strong.” Brandt admired his strength.

Lina eyed Rafe. “Yeah, she’s no lightweight.”

Rafe took the stairs two at a time and strode to her bedroom. He lay Angelina down on the cream satin-trimmed comforter.

From downstairs Lina whispered, “If they’re just friends, how does he know which room is hers?”

FOURTEEN

Rafe closed the door and waited uncomfortably in Angelina’s bedroom. A place he’d avoided for the obvious reasons. But even his attraction to her couldn’t eradicate his worry as he watched her and anticipated her return to consciousness. He’d told her not to touch anyone. And even without training, without proper knowledge she’d done more than heal, she’d given energy.

She was his. He would protect her, but she would become a great healer, whether she wanted to or not. He had no room in his heart for her denial of her gift. He refused to let her quit. And he refused give her up, at least until he ascended. Illogical? Yes. Irrefutable? Yes. Could he change his mind? No.

The downy cushion of her feather top mattress cradled Angelina in an embrace Rafe envied. Candles in lavender and geranium scented the room, feminine gauze draped the canopy and wrapped around the poles like sleek arms around a naked lover.

The ultra-feminine room contrasted her softness with his big, rough hardness. He should have felt out of place and intrusive. Instead he wanted to sink into the fluffy bed, wrap his arms around her, and bury his head in her silky hair and completely ignore the world.

Her body curled toward him. As if she subconsciously sought his presence, her eyelids lifted lazily.

“How do you feel?” He brushed her hair away from her pale face, fingered the caramel strands, and marveled at their softness. Sultry lavender lotion wafted from her skin.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” Her smile was a little loopy. Without volition he stroked his palm down her muscled bicep with a lazy swipe, the swarthy skin of his long hard fingers a sensual contrast to her pale fragile arm. She appeared mesmerized by the languorous movement. Her musky arousal perfumed the air. He drew in a long, slow breath, and savored the knowledge that he did this to her body.

“You try my patience.”

“Why are you here?” Angelina blinked. She shoved up to a seated position and scooted back against the pillows. “What happened?”

The tenderness he’d been feeling snapped at her hostile tone. “We need to talk.”

“Great. Are you here to fix me?”

Fix me? Fix me? It was always me, me, me.
The world was crumbling beneath the abundance of self-interest, self-indulgence, and hatred of others. He balled his hands into fists to corral his frustration. “You’re not broken.”

“That’s a matter of interpretation.” She cast her gaze to the cherry bookshelf in the corner.

“Everything okay in there?” Lina asked from behind the closed door.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ll be out in a second,” she called to Lina. “Make it quick. House rules are that no guests of the opposite sex are allowed upstairs. And the door is never supposed to be closed.”

His brain short-circuited at the word sex. Her meaning was completely different from the pictures in his mind of the two of them twined together in the lush, decadent sheets. But, that was forbidden. And Angelina needed to understand that she had a rare talent for healing.

“You will be a great healer.”

Before he even finished the sentence, she shook her head no.

His heart thundered against his breastbone. He could swear his ribs were about to crack with the force of his concern. His fingers curled with the desire to grab onto her shoulders and shake some sense into her. “You need to understand all the repercussions of saying no.” She couldn’t say no. He wouldn’t allow it.

Angelina tilted her head toward the ceiling. “Oh, super. More problems. Couldn’t one thing in my life go easily? One freaking thing?”

“Why are you so against learning to heal?”

With those words, his anger started to burn. He wanted her so scared that she would give up this foolish desire to renounce her gift and accept her destiny. He curled his fingers around her chin and brought her face level with his, his grip implacable. “There are consequences if you refuse your Angel gift.” Not to mention she was so advanced in her energy levels that he didn’t know what would happen if he tried to transition her power to another.

“What kind of consequences?” Her clear hazel eyes darkened with suspicion.

“Your life span would be shortened significantly.” And he found that he did not want that to happen. The thought of her perishing brought a sweet and poignant ache to his chest.

“No, that’s not right. I have to take care of my family, my kids, my sister, my grandmother.” She pulled away from his touch. “Is that what happens when people refuse?”