Fall From Grace Page 7

  Crying out, she suddenly could not stand and falling, he caught her, her wings trailing in the sand. Trick kicked out his jacket and shirt, making a small nest for them and laid her down. Running his hands between her thighs.

  Such intimacy. They were beyond human and it was terrifying how they must reveal themselves to each other. There was no hiding. Not their strengths, nor their weaknesses. She saw his desire, felt the urgency and fear pounding in his blood. She reached out. He gasped as she guided him to her, wanting to fill her and complete this perfect storm of emotion no matter the consequences. He moved, lithe and sinuous between her legs, pressing them wider with his own strong thighs. Trailing one hand over her eyes, along her cheek and throat, Trick felt the pulse racing there. Across the sensuous curves of her breasts and waist, then down to the swell of her belly. Her hands on him, she pulled him closer, guiding him to where he so rightly belonged. Those sweet lips parted for him and leaning closer, he kissed her, his tongue in her mouth. She tasted the shadow of her desire on him and it excited her. Their tongues danced back and forth as he inched closer to the well of her desire.

  Man and woman fit together with such exquisite symmetry. A perfection of form that went so far beyond function. Anyone who doubted God's existence has never really made love. He pressed forward, feeling her stretch around the size of him. There was no going back now. No retreat for either of them.

  Evie pulled him to her. He broke through and she cried out, as though she was a virgin again, pain as swift and sharp as a knife blade shooting through her. She almost pushed him away, she did not think she could take him in. Rising up, he towered over her, his handsome face staring down, brows drawn together in concentration. Hot and hard, the skin burned as they came together, inch by inch. Her wings flexed back and forth, carving out deep grooves in the sand. He pushed forward, his eyes never leaving her face. Relentlessly taking possession, burying himself deeper and deeper still, beyond her body and into her heart.

  Overcome, she sobbed, wanting him so very much despite the pain. Damning herself or him, it didn't matter. Flexing her wings, she pushed her torso up to meet him, kissing him hungrily. As she did, she felt the sweet release of tension. With a wild cry of elation, he was fully within her.

  An indescribable pleasure filled her body. A fullness of being that went so far beyond mere physical sensation. The perfect balance of tension and release. He began to rock, moving his hips to the rhythm of this dance. Her hips followed his, shadowing every movement and together they stepped effortlessly into a choreography laid out so long ago.

  Trick felt her muscles clenched around him, silk and steel in equal measure as he moved. He fell upon her with his lips, kissing every part of her he could reach: her mouth, her eyes, the arch of her white throat, the tiny curve of her ears. Stroking and touching, needing to memorize every part of her body, overcome not with what he had done but the fact he would never be allowed to do it again.

  Their first and last time together.

  His Master would damn him for this, chain him in a place where the release of death was only a vain hope. He didn't care. Trick held his Angel, her nails digging into his back, pushing and pulling within that velvet sheath again and again. He would hold this memory to him in the agony to come.

  Falling, falling. Earthbound and down.

  Rising high on his hips, pressing against her and the sweet spot he knew was waiting there, he increased the rhythm, the muscles in his thighs clenched tightly. Evie's breath came faster and faster until she could not breath at all. The feelings building, cresting and crashing down. Those sweet sensations filled her inside and out with an ecstasy so primal she could not stop the tears coursing down her face. To feel this here, now, with him. She had never thought or hoped for such a thing after her transition. At that moment she at last understood how two people could sacrifice everything for a few brief moments together – as she had thrown aside her mandate to be with him.

  A Reaper.

  The Enemy.

  He leaned down, his cheek brushing hers, his words a whisper soft touch across her lips; “Come again, come again my Angel.” And he moved hard and deep, filling her to the brim with ecstasy until it ran over and through her entire body stronger than the waves breaking on the shore.

  Evie stared up at him. He seemed enormous from where she lay. The muscles in his shoulders and arms knotted with tension, the flat lines of his abdomen clenched tightly. She looked into his sea green eyes as nothing except a woman. Trick couldn't wait any longer.

  “Now,” he moaned, “please, now.”

  Holding him tightly, Evie arched her back as he pressed into her faster and faster until with a cry of defiance, he filled her. He rode it out, the ecstasy lasting longer, so intense at the end he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard and fast, the sweat running down his face. She held him with her thighs and arms, still feeling him inside.

  Earthbound and down.

  After a time, Trick shifted his body, pulling her with him so they lay side by side in the sand. He felt her muscles pulsing, every nerve alive.

  The gulls were waking up, calling out across the shallows.

  “Why?” Evie asked.

  Trick understood what she needed to know with that one word.

  “My mama died young, after she lost baby sister. I think she just gave up. The desert can be a terrible place, especially on a woman. Daddy went a few years later from bad water. One day Mathew, he was the oldest by a couple of years, took two of the horses and rode east. That was the last we ever saw of him. My older sister Missy married a boy from town. Eventually just my little brother James and me were left on the home place. James was a good boy and I saw in him the possibility to become a great man. The teacher in town helped him to get a scholarship. He was smarter than the whole family put together. Hell, the whole town! Can you imagine in those days out in the middle of nowhere, a chance to go to college back East? Then he got bit by a sidewinder. A stupid accident. One careless moment and those dreams were evaporating like a drop of water in the hot sun. Did I mention how much I hate the desert?”

  Evie shook her head. His western accent had become stronger as he told the story, a true drawl.

  “Well, I do. Usually a healthy fellow can survive a snake bite but not always. James was 18 years old and he was going to die. Now I didn't matter so much. I had turned into a bit of a wastrel. Figured I'd end up shot in a gun fight or stabbed over cards. Anyway, I knew some people who knew some people. They found me a Skinwalker. Navajo fellow. Very different from their Shamans. All evil and darkness. He had no love for white men, I can tell you. 1879 Arizona? He practically paid me for the ceremony. Well, that Skinwalker was the real deal. Called up a big time demon and we negotiated our terms.”

  “Demon, not the Devil?”

  He gave her an astonished look, “Course not the, the...” he hesitated as though unwilling to say the word directly. “Him. Nobody can actually summon that order of consciousness. You should know that, Angel. My master is Marcus, a very high order demon.”

  “Marcus? Your demon is called Marcus?”

  He made a face. “Not every dark lord is named after something that sounds like a Greek dessert read backwards. In fact I know a heroin addicted wraith called Bruce. Which is probably what got him into drugs in the first place.”

  “Are you sorry?”

  “For Bruce?”

  It was her turn to make a face.

  Trick was about to make a joke of it, turn the conversation along a different path. Somehow he couldn't. Not with her. Staring up into the sky as the blush of sunrise tried to break through the gray cloud cover and chase away the darkness, he finished his story.

  “James studied law and championed the rights of small farmers, helping to establish a bank especially for their needs. His son took up the call of water rights for the poor – which in a place like Arizona is vital. That boy became a State Senator. I've got great-great nieces and nephews all of whom put the good of others b
efore themselves. They've done wonderful things. What legacy would I have left?”

  She ran her fingers through his hair, following the dark brown waves with her fingertips, tucking the strands over one ear. “You never had the chance to find out.”

  An accented voice called out from nearby, “Anyone hungry? I'm always starving after sex.”

  Evie and Trick scrambled up and out of the sand. Evie grabbed her sword and scabbard. Trick, moving into a fighter's crouch, gathered up a large handful of sand. Summoning his power, he shaped it into a flaming ball that hissed and sputtered like lava.

  There in front of them stood the elegant Fallen with one gray wing, dressed in a different yet equally elegant velvet suit. At his side, one of the black dogs held the handles of a large brown paper bag between its long teeth. The other two panted just behind. Almost casually the man signed a complex rune in the air. A symbol flashed out from a burst of darkness. Instantly Evie and Trick were enclosed within a ring of black flame that burned deep into the sand.

  Trick threw the flaming fire ball straight at the Baron. The ball seemed to hit an invisible barrier and ricocheted off, knocking Trick down and singeing off part of an eyebrow. Evie drew her sword – which can cut through anything – except, it seemed, this dark spell. The wall of flame merely bent around the blade. Putting all her weight behind it and fanning her wings to increase the pressure, she was only able to inch forward. No matter how hard she tried, she could not break through.

  The Baron waited as they exhausted every spell and power between them. Breathing heavily they stood side by side, staring at the Fallen.

  “All done now are we? Good.” Taking the bag from the black dog, he removed a cardboard carrier with two cups and a smaller bag, all with the familiar green logo. Reaching through the flames, he set them in the sand. “There's a branch right across from the Redondo Beach Police Department that opens at four a.m. Of course you know that already, don't you Miss Grace? Let's see, an ice espresso is your regular order. At least that's what the Barista there said."

  Evie stared. He had tracked her.

  The Fallen wagged a finger in her direction, "Ah, you see, you are not the only detective. Your scent, incidentally, is lovely. Like fresh lavender. And you, Mr. McKitrick. My sentinels criss-crossed the city looking for yours as well. Then you gave the Voodoo master your blood. Very careless. Might as well have sent up a flare.” He made explosive motions with his hands, giving a snort of disdain. “It has been a rather tiresome two days. Here we are at last. All's well that ends well." He pointed at the other cup. "A hot latte with an extra shot, Reaper. Just guessing, I hope it meets your approval. Oh, I added a few things to snack on. Bon appetit.”

  From the large bag he removed an oversized plastic cup filled with a frothy green mixture topped with whipped cream. Taking a deep drink, the Fallen gave a sigh, “I do like these green tea confections.” He removed a fourth cup, a clear plastic one, the condensation from the ice beading up on the side, and set it on the sand nearer the cliff.

  Digging his jeans out of the sand, Trick gave them a shake and pulled them on. Evie quickly slipped into her yoga pants and the now very sandy tank top, slapping the velcro straps together. She picked up the little bag and looked inside. Choosing a blueberry scone, still warm, she took a bite.

  Trick gave her an incredulous look.

  One eyebrow raised, she looked right back at him. “What? I love blueberry scones. And he's right, I'm always starving after sex, too.”

  With a resigned shrug he picked up his cup and took a drink. It was warm but not hot. Generating a little burst of heat, he warmed it up between his palms.

  The three massive black dogs ran around in circles, chasing the foam in the waves behaving for all the world like frighteningly oversized labradors. Kneeling, the Baron picked up a stick of driftwood and tossed it out to sea. Barking madly, the dogs dashed after it.

  “They are really much happier as dogs,” he said watching them.

  She and Trick sat trapped inside the magic circle. They sipped their coffees and waited for the Baron to explain. It wasn't as if they really had a choice. The dogs ran back and forth on the beach, the Baron drank his green tea concoction and Evie couldn't help thinking that they must look for all the world like a little gathering of friends and their dogs to someone looking down from above. Until you saw the high black flames dancing and the size of the dogs' teeth.

  With a last slurping sip, the Fallen tossed the drink aside. The dogs, reading his posture, became suddenly alert, returning to stand sentinel once again.

  “The relic. I would like to see it now.”

  Evie looked at Trick and saw his face flush.

  Trick pulled his jacket out from where it sat, half buried in the sand from their lovemaking. Reaching into an inside zippered pocket, he took out a slim, cylindrical leather case. Old and worn looking, it was tied round with a number of knotted leather straps threaded through dozens of tiny, complex metal and stone amulets.

  She stared from the case to him, anger burning through her.

  “You had it all along.”

  Trick said nothing, his eyes on the Fallen.

  “Open it.”

  Trick began to unwrap the binding. With each complex knot he untied and every charm unhooked, Evie thought she could see an emanation begin to leak from the case. A miasma of evil pressing against the amulets and spells designed to keep whatever power lay inside contained. Little tendrils of darkness thrust themselves out, turning and twisting in the air as though questing for prey. One last knot and the Reaper flipped back the top revealing a thin-bladed weapon no longer than a man's hand. Evie felt her heart constrict at the sight of it. Even from where she stood, she could sense it pulsing with deadly menace, almost as if the metal was alive.

  The Baron smiled, “Now kill her.”

  Chapter 12

  Trick dropped the relic as though it burned him.

  The Fallen gave an impatient flick of the flight feathers on his gray wing. “Why is it people grow a conscience at the most inconvenient times?”

  “What does it do,” Evie whispered.

  “The relic kills Angels,” Trick replied just as quietly.

  She looked at him, appalled.

  “Actually it can kill anything,” said the Baron. “Anything. One time use only. But, and this is a very important 'but', only in human hands. Not demon, not Angel, Fallen or otherwise. Despite his current powers, Mr. McKitrick is still human or at least human enough at his core. The relic was meant to kill you. He was meant to kill you with it.”

  Trick reached out and touched her right breast with one fingertip, directly over her heart, and whispered an incantation. At his touch, his master's rune burst into light, shining right through the cotton top. Looking down she saw the Demon Mark for the first time. Saw and understood.

  The world narrowed to just the two of them.

  “So that's what was meant to happen? Chat me up in the bar. Then, in the alley, the Baron knocks me out and you do the dirty deed.”

  Staring at the glowing Mark, a nearly desperate look of misery on his face, Trick said, “Marcus promised me my freedom if I did this last service for him. I didn't know it would be you, not until the alley.”

  She made a sound between anger and exasperation, “And that makes it all right? You didn't know it would be me but you were prepared to kill another Angel?”

  “Yes, no, I don't know! Damn it Evie, from the moment I saw you bite down on that big green olive, Dirty Martini in one hand, it was over. You took far more from me in those brief moments in that bar than anything the demon ever has or ever will.”

  He looked directly into Evie's eyes, never an easy thing to do with an Angel. They see far more than you would like them to. She looked back, deep and then deeper still; reading the man that lay behind the sea green gaze, seeing the evil he had done – or been forced to do. How much he hated himself and this half life. The desperation that pushed him towards that final bargain wi
th his Master. She saw herself there as well, then Trick could bear her ethereal stare no longer. He looked away, his face pale as death.

  The Baron made an impatient sound. His three sentinels moved silently to place themselves around the circle of flame, red tongues lolling over long, pointed teeth.

  “Don't make this more personal than it needs to be, Mr. McKitrick. Kill her so I can take what I want.”

  Growling, the dogs pressed closer.

  “I can probably make you and if I can't, which I doubt, your Master should be here shortly and most certainly will.”

  Trick said nothing. Quickly tying one of the leather strips, he closed the deadly case and slipped it into his back pocket. When he faced the Fallen, it was with a sly, sure smile. “Let him come then. I wouldn't be so hasty to welcome him, Baron. What makes you think Marcus told me to use the relic on her? There was more than one Angel in that alley, after all.”

  The elegant man's eyes widened.

  There was a pop like a small caliber pistol going off and the smell of burning.

  The Fallen looked over towards the base of the cliff and smiled, though his eyes showed a very different emotion. “Hello Marcus, I've got you an ice latte.”

  Evie saw the blood as it flushed through Trick's arms and chest, his muscles suddenly tense, adrenalin pumping, ready for battle. She looked from Trick to the Master of his soul. Like the Fallen, the demon was dressed in the manner of an old-time aristocrat, though of a slightly later date: slim trousers tucked into polished Hessian boots, cutaway coat, cravat, vest and watch fob all in the colors of coal black and ash gray. Tall and heavyset, his features were blunt, very different from the fine, delicate planes of the Fallen's face. He wore his thick, wavy brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail that hung halfway down his back. The only thing that gave him away, supernaturally speaking, was a long tail standing up in the air behind him like an exclamation point. Flicking it out as he approached them, he wrapped it around the iced coffee and brought the cold drink to his hand.