The Unforgiven (17 page)

“So what you’re saying is, if I weren’t . . . a Nephilim, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have given me a second look.”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that. No, he would never have been sent to find her if she weren’t a Nephilim. And if she’d been born aware, to become a full adept of a rival clan, their paths never would have crossed except in battle.

“That’s what I thought,” she said quietly when he didn’t answer.

“You mean you don’t think you’re attractive,” he said. “That’s not true. Yes, I was sent to you, but if I had somehow encountered you elsewhere, I’m sure I would have been drawn to you.” Despite the curse. How to explain? He didn’t understand it himself. But it wasn’t just the pheromones that had captured his attention when he first saw her.

“Please,” she scoffed. “Save it.”

“Maddie—”

“What if I don’t want you?” she asked abruptly. “What if I want to handle this transition thing on my own?”

Cade held her gaze. “Does this mean you’re beginning to believe me?”

There was a touch of hysteria in her laugh. “What I’m doing is hoping this is all just an elaborate pickup line. But, really, dinner and a movie is just fine. You don’t have to resort to fallen angels and eternal curses, and you don’t have to excuse as biological my sudden craving for the closest available hard on.” She turned away. “Tell me, Cade. What happens, exactly, if I reject your gallant offer to act as my sexual anchor?”

“You go insane,” he said. “And then you die.”

He was lying. Conning her. He had to be. Have sex with me . . . or go crazy and die? Just what every girl wanted to hear from a hot guy. She tried not to notice how troubled his eyes were. How utterly sincere.

Probably, he
was
sincere. Crazy people tended to believe the nonsense they spouted, right? She clung to that thought. The sun was rising. The red orb hovered on the horizon for one eternal moment before continuing its ascent into a lightening sky.

Cade faced forward and put the jeep in gear.

“Where are we going?” Maddie asked. Again. This time he gave her an answer.

“London.”

“And just how do you expect to get me out of Israel and into England? My passport is back at the dig.”

They reached a crossroad. Cade turned left, heading southwest. “It won’t be a problem. Now get some sleep.”

“So I can dream of you molesting me? No thanks.”

“You need the rest, Maddie, for what’s coming. And you
will
sleep.”

He spoke a few words in a lilting language she didn’t understand. Welsh? Or something older? The syllables flowed like water. Oddly, it seemed almost as though he spoke the words inside her skull.

“Sleep,” he said again.

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words never emerged. She slept.

“What the hell?”

At first Cade thought the figure in white, standing with arms spread in the center of the road, was a mirage or a lost desert hiker. Then recognition struck. “Blast it all to Oblivion!”

He gunned the accelerator. The jeep flew toward Gabriel at one hundred thirty-three kph. Cade hoped the archangel would take the hint.

No such luck. Fifty feet out, the brake engaged and the jeep began to decelerate. The vehicle rolled to a stop precisely five centimeters from Gabriel’s motionless body. The angel’s snow-white robes didn’t even flutter. In fact, the halt was so gentle that Maddie, sleeping with her head slumped on her chest, didn’t even stir.

The archangel inclined his head and extended his wings with a flourish. The fluttering tips were purely for show, Cade thought sourly. As was the rose-garden scent and the stentorian greeting.

“Hail, Cade Leucetius.”

Cade slapped the dash. “Damn it, Gabe. Get out of my way.”

Gabriel stepped off the road. Cade stomped on the gas. Nothing.

Blast it.
He sighed as the angel approached. “Do me a favor. Dial down that robe. The glare is giving me a headache.”

“What is it with you Nephilim? Honestly. Would it kill you to be civil?”

“You want civility, stay in Heaven. Why are you bothering me?”

“Certainly not for the pleasure of your company. Why else? I’ve a message to deliver.”

“Deliver it, then,” Cade said, “and get the bloody hell out of my way.”

Gabriel sniffed. Sweeping his robe aside so as to avoid contact with the dusty jeep, he leaned forward and looked past Cade to Maddie. “So that’s the slave.” He sighed. “Poor girl. You know, this crack-brained plot of Artur’s—enslaving unawares—is bound to fail. I don’t care how well you anchor her. The ones who spend the first part of their lives believing themselves to be human are never quite sane after transition.”

“I managed,” Cade said evenly.

Gabriel showed a glint of white teeth. “Ah, but you were a street thug. Already a monster. This woman . . . she’s an innocent. Or as innocent as a Nephilim can be, anyway. Mark my words. She is not going to thank you for forcing her to face what she is. She’ll go mad. Then you’ll have to kill her.”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“Your proud chieftain will be angry when you lose her. He’ll blame you, of course. Artur would never admit his orders were flawed. But don’t despair,” Gabriel soothed. “It won’t matter anyway. Magic harvested from slaves is not going to win the war against Clan Azazel.”

Cade tensed. “What will?”

Gabriel’s laugh was a trill. “As if I’d tell you! Oh, no. It’s far more amusing to watch the lot of you fumble about.” Maddie stirred, sighing, and the angel’s pale gaze moved over her. “I suggest you kill this one now, Leucetius. Quickly and painlessly. In the long run it will be a kindness.”

“No one has ever accused me of being kind,” Cade replied through gritted teeth. “Least of all you. You’ve held me up long enough. Deliver your sodding message and let me get on with my life.”

“Ah, yes. You’re anxious to surf Maddie’s next wave, aren’t you?” Gabriel waggled his white brows. “You know, maybe I’ll tag along. Become the proverbial fly on the wall . . .”

Cade itched to punch the immaculate bastard. To rub his
perfect, lily-white presence in black, oily muck. “And beat your useless wanker while you watch?” he taunted.

A flash of pink showed on Gabriel’s pallid cheeks. The angel’s odor of celestial roses, Cade was satisfied to note, turned sour. “Perhaps I’ll take a pass,” the angel muttered.

“Lovely,” Cade said. “Now. Your message?”

“It’s from Raphael. A warning.”

“Oh, that’s tidy. Is the boss too busy to consort with Nephilim himself? Sent his lackey in his place, did he?”

Gabriel’s wings stiffened. “Raphael is . . . preoccupied at the moment.”

Cade narrowed his eyes. “With what?”

“I’m sure it’s none of your business. Or mine. Now. About that message.” The angel sent a significant glance toward Cade’s sleeping passenger.

“Your message has to do with Maddie?”

“Not precisely. It’s about the Watcher relic she’s unearthed.”

Cade fought annoyance that Raphael and Gabriel already knew about the artifact. Sodding archangels knew everything, it seemed.

“Raphael wants it destroyed,” Gabriel said.

Cade’s brows rose. “Is that so?”

“I trust you’ll see to it.”

“Tell you what,” Cade countered. “Why don’t I give it to you and let you get rid of it?”

Gabriel’s white hair bristled. “Me? I wouldn’t touch the horrid thing.”

“Because it scares the shit out of you.” Cade grinned. “Or it would, if you had any shit in you.”

“Very funny. Look, Cade . . .” Gabriel’s expression turned uncharacteristically sober. “Just do what you’re told this time. It’s vital that you obey.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then Raphael will be forced to, as you say, consort with Nephilim. He’ll destroy the amulet and you and your slave along with it.”

Cade snorted. “Right, then. You’ve delivered your message. Now take one back to your boss.”

The angel bridled. “Raphael is not my boss.”

“Whatever. Just tell Mr. Badass Avenger that the Watcher amulet is none of his fucking business.”

Gabriel hesitated, then nodded once. Rising into the air, he paused with his white slippers dangling an inch from Cade’s nose.

“I’ll relay your message, Cade Leucetius. But I’m warning you, Raphael is not going to be pleased.”

“Raphael,” Cade said, “can go to Hell.”

New York City

At that very moment—if it had been possible—Raphael would have been angry. Very angry. But he was an archangel and not a human. Archangels didn’t feel anger. Truth be told, they didn’t feel much of anything. Joy, love, lust—those were human emotions. Raphael was created to praise. To obey. To punish the wicked.

Plenty of wickedness was presently at hand. Humans, it seemed, considered cigars and alcohol to be necessary accompaniments to gambling and a prelude—or postscript—to illicit sexual congress. A sticky tile floor grabbed at the soles of his shoes. The air in his nostrils was thick. Raphael wondered, idly, how the humans hunched over the bar and the gambling tables could draw the rancid stuff into their lungs. Even he could almost smell it.

He straightened his tie and adjusted his suit jacket. He felt very odd dressed in this human costume; he much preferred his celestial robes. Judging from the looks of the establishment’s patrons, he’d overdressed. Not that he cared.

He peered through the haze. The room was small, the tables set close together. A narrow stair hugged one wall; laughing couples climbed up and down. Raphael searched for his quarry amid drunken men and shameless women. Nothing.

A man of uncertain race stood by the bar watching him. An angry scar slashed from the top of his bald head down his cheek and along the length of his jaw. Sporting a pinstriped suit, a bloodred shirt, and heavy gold chains about his neck, the creature might have been the devil himself. But no. He was only a pale human imitation.

Raphael watched with dispassionate interest as the man set aside his drink and strode in his direction.

“Game?” the bald man asked, nodding to an empty chair at one of the tables.

“No,” Raphael replied. “I’m looking for someone.”

The man flashed a grin. “I have all kinds. Thin, fat, bigtitted, fat-assed, you name it. And they’ll do anything.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Any-fucking-thing. For the right price, of course.”

If Raphael had been capable of human emotion, he’d have felt disgust. “I don’t want a woman,” he said. “I’m looking for a man.”

The pimp didn’t miss a beat. “I can do that, too. It’ll cost you extra, though.”

“I’m not interested in one of your . . . employees,” Raphael said. “The man I’m looking for is a patron.”

The pimp’s eyes shuttered. “I don’t give out customer information,” he said. “Bad for business. Unless, of course, you’re willing to pay. Everything’s up for grabs at the right price.”

Everything came down to money with humans. Money and sex. Raphael didn’t understand it. But then, it wasn’t his duty to understand.

“Well, what’ll it be?” the devil-man asked. “Pay or play? One of the two, or get the hell out.”

Raphael was saved the trouble of a response. Michael was, at that moment, staggering down the stairs, hand in hand with a prostitute. In his ripped denims and snug black shirt, Raphael had to admit, no one would guess that his brother was anything but human. His disheveled brown hair and tanned skin completed the illusion.

At the bottom stair, Michael backed the prostitute against the wall. She submitted to a sloppy, openmouthed kiss before wriggling out of his embrace and strutting away. Michael sagged against the wall where she’d been and passed a hand over his eyes.

When he removed it, Raphael was standing before him. “You are a disgrace to our kind.”

Michael grinned. “And you’ve got a stick up your ass, brother.” He shoved off the wall and wove unsteadily past.

Raphael herded him toward the door. Surprisingly, Michael made no protest. They stepped out into a light rain.

“The Almighty would not be pleased,” Raphael said.

“I imagine not,” Michael agreed, straightening. He had no trouble at all navigating a path around the piles of crates and litter. He wasn’t drunk. That would have been impossible.

Raphael studied him. “I cannot understand your behavior.”

“Is it necessary that you understand?”

It wasn’t, of course. Angels didn’t need to understand; they only needed to obey. Curiosity was a human emotion. And yet, Raphael felt moved to delve deeper.

“You had sex with that human woman.”

“I did.”

“Why?” Raphael asked. “You can’t feel it. Or, not more than the merest shadow of it.”

“No. But she felt it. I gave her an orgasm.”

“She’s a prostitute. It was an act. She probably felt less than you did.”

“No,” Michael said. “It was real.”

But Michael’s eyes flickered downward, and Raphael knew his brother was far from certain.

Michael halted and faced him. “Don’t you ever wish you could know what humans know? Don’t you ever wish you could feel what humans feel?”

“No. Never. Human lust is not ours. Righteousness is.”

“Righteousness is a piss-poor substitute for sex.”

“True. It’s far more valuable. And it is our duty.”

Michael resumed walking. “Maybe I’m sick of duty. Maybe I want something more.”

“There is nothing more,” Raphael said. “We archangels vowed to put our individuality aside after the fall of the Watchers. We rejected the right to inhabit the wholly human flesh the Watchers once possessed. You’re chasing a dangerous illusion, Michael. In the end you’ll return to your duty—there’s nothing else for our kind. Why pretend that there is? Why pretend to be human?”

“Why do you care?”

Raphael eyed him. “I don’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

Raphael hesitated. “Something has . . . happened. I may need your help dealing with it.”

Michael’s brows rose. “And just what is this . . . something?”

“An archeologist in Israel has unearthed something very dangerous. Something I thought I destroyed five thousand years ago.”

They’d reached the end of the alley. Raphael stepped into
the spill of a streetlight but his companion remained in the shadows. And yet, Raphael had no trouble seeing Michael’s comprehension as it slowly lit his eyes.