Daman's Angel Page 6

  He licked dry lips. “What does that mean?”

  Angel shook her head, her gaze roamed his face.

  “Have I missed something?” Father Joseph asked.

  “What have you found, Father?” Daman changed the subject.

  The priest held an old book made from a thick mass of paper. The pages were gilt-edged, the cover brown leather, cracked on the edges and down the spine, dry with age. It smelled musty. Daman took the book from Father Joseph. He made a space for it on the altar and set it on the white cloth.

  He studied the picture on the cover. Angels overlooked hoards of people fighting. A war. Some angels held the departed souls in their arms, lifting them to heaven as their dead bodies lay bloody and broken on the ground. Gold-edged clouds with rays on sunshine reached for the angels as they flew upward to the light beyond. Redemption.

  The light he’d been searching for.

  “Looks like you’ve found the right book, Father,” Daman murmured.

  “I keep all my precious books in that place. Away and safe from unwanted eyes and hands. Too many secrets here to be let bandied about,” Father Joseph said.

  The priest balanced some thick eyeglasses on his nose and opened the book. The smell of mustiness increased. Dankness stung his nostrils. It wasn’t a pleasant smell, but Daman ignored it and bent next to the Father to see the pages. It was handwritten in perfect calligraphy. The penmanship was neat and particular. Lines and lines of it had been written in the middle of fanciful frames of green and gold. It was nonsensical, being written in the ancient English script of centuries before.

  “I hope you can make sense of it, Father,” Daman said.

  “Oh, that’s easy to read.”

  Daman, turned, surprised to find Angel pouring over the contents of the page. She traced her finger beneath the lines and translated as she read. “It says here that Father Sebastian had a visitation of an angel on his deathbed. He spoke of it to a nun in his care in his final hours. The angel spoke to him of a kingdom beyond, a life beyond this life, assuring him that death was a peaceful experience. A part of life. The greatest part of life.” Angel raised her gaze to look at Daman. “It greatly relieved the priest who was able to die peacefully and not worry about his sins in his life.”

  “How can you read…?” Daman started, then. “Never mind. Can you find anything that might help you become an angel again?”

  Angel flipped through the fragile pages of the book. Although the parchment was thick, it was very old. Each turn had the binding cracking and straining. Daman became lost in the page of artwork that appeared mixed between unreadable paragraphs. A master hand had painted each detailed scene that spoke of countless hours of work. There were people on their deathbeds, surrounded by mourning families, with angels coming through the thatched roof of their hut seen only by the person in the bed who reached upwards for them as they died.

  Angel continued to read detailed accounts of visitations of angels and spirits throughout the ages. Account added to account. Some pieces of writing were so old, the ink was a mere shadow on the browned parchment.

  “Why hasn’t a document like this been published, or re-written?” Daman asked.

  “We have been trying to tell people for years, my son,” the priest said.

  “Sometimes you can’t rely on faith alone,” Daman replied.

  “It is faith that makes you stronger. There is one book that has been published that is all the truth people need.”

  Angel turned a page and instantly recoiled. Daman looked to see what had made her so distressed. There was an image of a red being. Rough horns grew from its head, its eyes bulged from its eye sockets. In the illustration, the evil being pulled a soul from a man. The soul was trying to keep hold of its body, while at the same time, the body was murdering a helpless child. The man was so gleeful that it didn’t realize its soul was being stolen from his body. “This is bad,” she whispered. Her voice shook. Daman took her away, pulling her into his arms.

  “You’re not one of those. That thing is not an angel,” Daman said.

  Angel shook her head. “That is a nothing. God didn’t create it. Man did, but it is evil. It takes souls away where they can’t see the light. The souls can’t come to us and we can’t get to them. They are lost.”

  Angel turned from the book and into Daman’s arms. He went rigid, then relaxed, bringing her body into the embrace of his arms. He liked the feel of her pressing against him. She fit so well in his arms, her softness melted into him, gently thawing. Reclaiming the frozen blackness bit by bit.

  Daman rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in fresh earth and flowers. She was remembering. Parts coming together, whether she realized it or not. Pieces of the puzzle fitting together.

  He wondered how long he’d have with her.

  He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her huddled against him, ignoring the desperate pull in his gut that screamed more, more , more, before setting her back. “Let’s keep on looking, but let’s skip this section.”

  He turned past the chapter, then it was his turn to freeze. He pointed to an image of an angel coming from the clouds of heaven to embrace an old woman into her arm, ignoring that his hand shook. “Angel. That’s…you,” he gasped.

  The resemblance was unmistakable. Cascading waves of blonde-silver hair blew in an invisible breeze. The look on her face was serene, beautiful. She reached for the old woman’s hand with absolute compassion to take her gently from her body and into her embrace. Her silver gown streamed behind her, melting with the sunshine of heaven. There were groups of angels behind her, smiling and watching from the warmth of radiant golden rays that cast downwards onto the dying woman.

  The old woman had seen her and was reaching to touch her hand. Her fingers extending as much as she could, eager for the embrace.

  Angel traced the image of her painted face with her fingertip, spellbound by her image. “If we touch, they can come.” Her voice was dreamy.

  “Death Angels,” the priest murmured. “They are the ones that come to release the soul from the body and take them to the next life. They are the deliverers, the caretakers, the compassionate ones.”

  Daman stared at her image. She’d been a Death Angel for a long, long time. She was ageless, timeless.

  She’d come for him last night. She’d taken countless others.

  He should be dead.

  “She must be returned,” Father Joseph said. “The longer she remains flesh and blood, she will eventually be trapped on earth to live and die as a human. That cannot happen. This creature of God cannot be kept on earth.”

  They were on borrowed time. But he didn’t want her to go. Didn’t want to release her, even though he knew how important it was that she should.

  “How…” his voice caught. He cleared his throat, concentrated on the words he forced from his mouth. “How do we return her, Father?”

  The priest read. He pointed to an indecipherable section. “Here.” He leaned over the text and slowly read. “Flesh and blood can make an Angel of this Earth. Only flesh and blood can release their essence to heaven.”

  “A sacrifice,” Daman said.

  His death was imminent. It was he that trapped Angel here and it would be he that returned her. Then she could fulfill her job and take him to the next life, wherever that may be.

  He would give her his flesh and his blood. Give back what he’d taken.

  But not before other blood was spilled. Bad blood. He would make sure the blood that had taken his wife away from him would be extinguished from this earth.

  And he knew with all certainty it would be the last thing he would do.

  Chapter Eight

  “Father, I will need your help to do this, to return Angel back to heaven,” Daman said.

  “Are you asking me to kill you?”

  “I’m already dead.”

  “Daman. No!” Angel clutched his arm. “You cannot do that for
me.”

  Daman placed his hand over hers. He absorbed the heat that transferred from her to him.

  Concern. He felt it exuding from her. The feeling came to him quickly.

  “I’m doing what’s right. You came for me. I’m going to let you take me and release you. It will be the only good thing I’ve done for anyone in the past three years. Angel, you will be my salvation.”

  “Life is precious. You can’t throw yours away.”

  Daman placed his hands on her cheeks. His gaze roamed her face, centering on her eyes. It was right. It was the only thing he could do for her. He’d lived his life, and was on borrowed time. Feelings merged and fused. If he could feel what she felt, then it was a two way street.

  She sobbed, a gut-wrenching sound that echoed through the church, her eyes shining and wild. “Daman…”

  “It is the right thing to do. Let me leave this life knowing I’ve done at least one good thing.”

  He faced the priest. “I’ll need some time to…tie up some loose ends. Then I’ll be back. Can you help me? Us?”

  “I’ll need to prepare. But yes, to return one of God’s creatures, I will help you.” The priest turned watery eyes on Daman. “But first, I’ll provide you with absolution for your sins.”

  Daman chuckled, the dry sound low and flat. “You’ll need a year to do that. I’ll give you a day or so. Let you know when I’m finished here. It won’t be long.”

  The priest placed his hand on Damans shoulder. “God be with you.”

  “Father, God left me three years ago and he hasn’t been back.”

  “God is with you. Always.”

  “He sure has a hell of a way of showing it,” Daman said. He clasped the priest’s hand between his. “Thank you, Father. I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

  “Go in peace. I’ll be expecting you. But not until you’re ready,” Father Joseph said.

  Daman nodded to the priest, took Angel’s hand and led her from the church. The aura of the street slapped him in the face. Frigid cold, exhaust fumes and bleak darkness surrounded him. He turned to check that Angel was warm enough in his jacket. The collar hung open, so he zipped it to the top. Her hair spilled over her shoulders a striking contrast to the worn, brown leather. The collar went ridiculously high above her ears, but it was the look in her eye, twin luminescent pools of wretchedness, that had his hands stilling on the metal zipper, caught in a moment he couldn’t pull from.

  “I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself,” she said.

  “There’s no other way.”

  “You’re a good man, Daman.”

  His finger hooked her chin. “You’re an angel. You see things that others can’t.”

  She tilted her head. His gaze fell to a mouth he could welcome with his own, igniting a desire that was impossible to deny; a connection that both knew was real and true. He ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. Her mouth opened. He saw the hint of her white teeth.

  He shouldn’t.

  Mustn’t.

  And yet, didn’t care what the outcome may be. He had a one-way ticket to hell. He couldn’t make it any worse than that. Lines blurred.

  He leaned toward her. Needing. Craving. Surrendering.

  No right or wrong.

  Just this. Just them. His hand went to her nape, fingers entwining in her hair.

  He touched his lips to hers, felt her relax against his hand, lean toward him. Accepting. Him.

  An invitation he couldn’t ignore. Couldn’t find it in himself to reason that he should.

  Her hands came over his shoulders, wove around his neck. Her fingers against his skin. Tingles raced into his veins, hit his gut with a lurch. There was simply no way he could deny himself. He needed to taste, feel. Forget how he was, what he was. What he was going to do.

  Just for a little while, let this unquenchable thirst be satiated.

  She clung to him like he meant something. With his surrender, there was this amazing connection. Captivation. Curiosity. Burgeoning hunger for something she couldn’t name.

  Complete trust that this was so right. No fear that acting on her desire was a wrong thing to do.

  He forgot she was one of God’s hand-made creatures. She was a woman. In his arms. Both offering comfort. Longing for a long sought-after nameless emotion that only they could offer each other.

  No wrong. No right.

  Just now.

  He deepened their kiss. His tongue moved inside her mouth and stroked. Asking. Accepting. She inclined her head just so that she could meet him, touch for erotic touch. Inexperienced, but not shy. Knowing what she wanted and taking what he offered.

  Willingly.

  With a groan, he slanted his mouth tighter against hers. Wound his arms about her waist, crushed her against him, feeling her soft breasts cushioning against the hard planes of his chest. He stepped her backward, resting her against the wall of the church doorframe. There was no option but to feel the luscious, burning length of her against him.

  Primal need scoured his veins, igniting his groin. He wound his leg next to hers, feeling her soft outer thigh molded with his inner leg. Her hip rubbed his groin. He hardened. His hand dropped to her bottom, kneading her softness, bringing it to meet him.

  She gripped his hair, pulling it as she clasped it between her fingers. She moaned a sweet surrender, this time entering his mouth with her tongue. She delved deeply. Erotically. Sliding her tongue against his, slipping hot and wet. Marking her need.

  Scorched him with it.

  He felt the full force of it hit him in his mind, his heart, his sense of knowing.

  He flattened his hand against the wall by her head. She was sandwiched between the hard wall and his pulsing body, alive and singing with a fiery, desperate desire.

  He would take her here.

  But this was not the time. Or the place.

  With a last string of rational thought he pulled back, closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. Breath ripped into his lungs, filling them until they hurt, before he let it go in a long, drawn-out push. He concentrated on that, reining in this blazing need with every fiber of his conscious brain.

  Her cheek was next to his, her heart fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a cage. A cage of flesh and blood and ribs. A warm, solid, yielding woman in his arms. She went beyond temptation.

  “We…” he swallowed. Hard. Pulled back so that he could see her. Her eyes were clouded, unfocused. “I…need to stop. This is not the time…the place.” This should never be.

  “This is not wrong,” she said.

  He pulled her to him. Wrapped his arms around her so he couldn’t be tempted with the need he saw burning in her eyes. Protecting her from…him? Or him from her? He didn’t know. What he did was that there was no future. She was life and the only thing in his future was death.

  There was no thought of a future. No excuse to take based on a dark, selfish need to feel alive. To feel…loved.

  He had no right to ask it of her. There was no right to take.

  “You must be hungry. Let’s get something to eat. Have some time to…think.” His breath shook, barely finding the strength to talk when his basic instincts were to take her home with him and covet what should never be.

  “I don’t want to.”

  They were still connected. She knew what his deepest wish was. He pushed back, let his arms drop from around her. They felt instantly empty. Cold. Bare. He didn’t know how swayed she might be by his connection. The last thing he wanted to do was let her do something she never would if she had the chance to think on her own terms.

  “Don’t touch me.” It was a harsh reality. But it was right.

  “Daman, I have free choice. This between us, it is not a bad thing. It is beautiful,” Angel said. Her eyes glowed, shining bright in the darkness.

  He concentrated on the light he saw in them, drew strength from it, saying things he never wante
d to say. “It can never be. I have larger things to think about than something you’ll regret for centuries to come. There’s no knowing what will happen to me after I die.”

  She clutched his jacket in her long-fingered, slim hands. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He would cave in if he didn’t look away. He took her hands from his jacket, turned his shoulder and looked blankly out onto the street. He turned his collar up, thrust his hands into the pockets, not trusting he wouldn’t reach for her again if they were loose at his sides. This would be the hardest thing he could do to her. The prospect of dying didn’t compare. He cleared his throat, undamming the hot emotion that clawed there. “I don’t want this. You. I have other, more urgent, things I have to do with the time I have left. I don’t know how long I have, but I have to use every second of it. I can’t waste it on…side issues.”

  He’d hurt her. Thrown a spear right through her heart. Rejection was a sin. He’d just racked up another to the long list he had eternity to pay off.

  He stepped down onto the street. His footsteps were a gentle swish against the wet, gray concrete. He waited for her there. Silent and cold, feeling like the utter son of a bitch he was.

  Living up to his usual low standard.

  “There’s nowhere to run.” Her sweet voice was at his shoulder. He refused to look.

  “I won’t use you like that.”

  “This is something good. Nothing bad will ever come out of it. It’s not the way things happen,” she said.

  He twisted a little so that he could throw a glance at her from the corner of his eye. “Then you haven’t seen my life…” A movement snagged his attention, something wrong in a street full of cars racing to beat the cold and get home. “Haki. That son-of-a…”

  As he spoke, Haki fled from the garbage bin and the shadows he hid behind and made off down the street. Although he resembled a man-mountain, the man could move. Fast.

  “Angel. You stay here out of sight,” he yelled.

  Car lights blinded him as he dodged oncoming cars to the other side of the street. He glimpsed Haki disappearing around a corner and bolted in the same direction. Nothing good ever came out of seeing Haki, and this made it twice in one day. His luck, like his life, was at the end.