Magic and Alphas: A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 4

  Only… that was impossible. Was it not?

  Confused and a bit frightened, Honor thought to dematerialize, but found she couldn’t pull out of the trance Archangel held over her. With a surge of bravery—or mayhap madness—she straightened her spine and met those bright blue eyes.

  Out of nowhere, arousal slammed into Honor like a battering ram, punching the air from her lungs. Fear and worry forgotten, the sparks in her belly caught and burst into a roaring inferno, her body engulfed by the flames until Honor swore she was near to burning up. It was as if glowing hot coals consumed every part of her from the inside out, leaving naught but a pile of ash.

  Michael took a step closer and his scent reached her nose. Honor swooned. Merciful Fates, it was intoxicating, earthy with a hint of sandalwood. So many sensations assaulted her at once, Honor swore she felt Michael’s life force literally pressing against her, demanding entrance. It was as if Michael’s own hands caressed Honor’s bare skin. She shivered as invisible thick and rough fingers skimmed across sensitized nerves, felt every callus and scrape of nails.

  The glowing lilac sphere buried in Honor’s chest—explained to her as the representation of an immortal’s life force, their very soul—grew brighter. Her soul pulsated and flared and without warning, an electrified current shot down her arms and legs, traveling all the way to her fingertips and toes. Like a rush of liquid heat, the sensation was so decadent, so pleasurable, a wanton moan left her parted lips.

  Michael’s eyes narrowed, as if he were attempting to focus on that which he sensed but could not see. Overwhelmed and dizzy with lust, Honor could not concentrate hard enough to know what to make of Michael’s odd reaction—or her own for that matter. According to everything she learnt in the Hereafter, it was impossible for the Archangel to detect her presence, yet, despite the teachings, in truth it appeared Michael—or mayhap his instinct—was quite aware something else was in the room.

  A deep frown marring his handsome face, Michael took another wary step in Honor’s direction. She choked down a cry as her lilac life force flared even brighter. This time, the storm of arousal that tormented her body left her breathless and immobile. The rush was so powerful Honor drowned in immodest thoughts along with the intense need to press her body against the Archangel’s.

  It mattered not how stridently Honor’s soul demanded she reveal her presence to Michael so that they might explore this… connection between them. Honor could not. She had been warned many times. She was never to allow her subject to become aware of her existence.

  One side of her brain completely lust-addled and the other in a panicked frenzy, Honor did the only thing that came to her weak and muddled mind… she vanished.

  * * *

  Hand pressed over her heart, Honor gulped down air as she struggled to bring her mutinous life force to heel. The intense reaction to Michael’s close proximity still incinerated her insides, a hot, deep-seated desire that left her aching and needy. Her scalp prickled and her body burned in an unfamiliar way. One Honor understood in theory, but had never experienced. Certainly Henry, her betrothed, never made Honor feel so decadently indecent. But then, whilst Honor did not, and would not, choose Henry as her own, at that time she didn’t possess the strange, glowing sphere inside her chest. A sphere that gave her immortality. A source of power that, if Honor interpreted correctly, responded strongly to the Archangel.

  The question is, why does it react as such?

  Having lost track of time, it was minutes, or mayhap hours later, that Honor collected her scattered thoughts and took a look around. She immediately recognized the familiar and strangely comforting white, the lack of sensation in her body, and the perfect temperature surrounding her like a soft blanket.

  The Hereafter.

  Her mentors explained that while Honor retained her Earthly appearance, in the Hereafter her body was a mere figment. Only the shining life force existed on this plane. It was the reason one could not feel external stimuli, only emotions—the soul intact but the body non-existent

  “Watcher, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

  Honor squeaked with surprise and spun toward the voice. When she laid eyes on the source, she stiffened and immediately dropped her chin to her chest, dipping her head out of respect.

  “Gabriel,” Honor whispered as she fought to smother her newly discovered desire, a tumultuous storm that somehow unleashed from within.

  Honor knew if she were on the Earthly plane, her cheeks and neck would be blazing hot with shame. Just moments ago she had been swept up in a torrent of electrifying arousal. Now she faced her superior, the Archangel, Gabriel. She cringed, knowing that although mayhap her body was numb, every carnal thought and inappropriate desire felt as powerful here as they did on the Earthly plane, and in the midst of this inappropriate bout of lust, Honor found herself face to face with the powerful overseer of all Watchers.

  Can he sense my impure cravings? My sinful desires?

  The Archangel Gabriel serves as the Messenger. The one to whom all Watchers answer. Gabriel is the conduit between the Hereafter and the Fates, those who pass down all decisions in this mystical white world. While Honor wasn’t privy to most of what occurred in the Hereafter, she did know Gabriel received orders as to who and what was to be Watched. In turn, Gabriel passed the assignments to his Watchers, and the Watchers returned with their reports. Gabriel’s task was to relay the information to the Fates.

  For what purpose? Honor couldn’t even guess.

  “Relax, dear Watcher.”

  Honor let out the breath she had been holding and dared steal a peek at Gabriel. To her relief, she was met with kind eyes. Despite Gabriel’s welcoming look, Honor lowered her gaze once more. She had not been instructed to bow or prostrate to Gabriel, yet for some reason, it felt proper to show deference to the Archangel.

  Physically, Gabriel was the exact opposite of Michael, the large and intimidating warrior, though Gabriel’s presence was equally awe-inspiring. When she was near, Honor felt the power that poured off both Gabriel and Michael. She assumed close proximity to the other five Archangels would yield similar results should she ever meet them.

  Though Gabriel and Michael’s power felt equal in potency that was where the similarities ended. Michael was rugged and unarguably masculine in stature, strong and intimidating. Even Honor could admit that Michael could be a tad overwhelming. Gabriel, on the other hand, was soft and youthful in appearance. Despite his boyish looks, Honor dare not take Gabriel’s sweet facade for granted. In truth, she was a newly made immortal with little experience, and as a human she was kept sheltered and naïve. But Honor was intelligent enough to know Gabriel was a force to be reckoned.

  Apparently finished studying her as she squirmed under his scrutiny—no doubt in an attempt to ferret out her reasons for being there—Gabriel spoke. “My dear, have you completed your first assignment so soon?”

  Gabriel raked his intelligent gaze over her once more, this time so slow and thorough Honor shivered. It was clear he was searching for answers, the questions to which Honor wouldn’t presume to know. As calm and kind as Gabriel appeared, Honor knew better than let her guard down. In truth, she felt distinctly uneasy. Even without physical sensation, it felt as if nerves twisted in her stomach. The unfairness of being unable to feel her body while suffering every single effect of the gut-wrenching anxiety made her bristle. She knew not the proper response to Gabriel’s question. She wasn’t privy to what was considered the normal timeframe to complete an assignment. How could she? One minute, Honor was human, concerned with trite tasks such as cooking and cleaning and her upcoming betrothal. The next, she awoke in the white room.

  “N-no, um, Archangel, sir. I have not finished.”

  “If it pleases, I prefer you address me as Gabriel.”

  To mask her surprise Honor blinked and gaped at Gabriel’s youthful, kind—and dare she say innocent?—face. “As you wish… um, Gabriel. But as I said, I have yet to complete my assignment. I… I merely required a quick escape.” Again, a heavy knot of nerves sat in her non-existent belly.

  Stupid soul and its stupid ability to feel all my stupid anxiety.

  It was Gabriel’s turn to blink. “Escape? Whatever for, my dear? Did your mentors not teach you how to mask your presence before sending you to the Earthly plane?”

  Honor bit the inside of her cheek and immediately released it, annoyed at the numbness. She was uncertain if she should confess to Gabriel how Michael seemed to sense her despite being masked.

  “They did instruct me as such. I-I just panicked.” Her decision was made. Honor wasn’t sure why she thought it essential to keep the particulars of her encounter with Michael to herself. Instinct? Or mayhap embarrassment for her arousal?

  Gabriel smiled and Honor gasped. Mayhap it was rude, but she could hardly help being taken aback. It was just that Gabriel threw her off balance. When he smiled, the ancient Archangel’s face transformed. He looked so young it was difficult to remember how old and powerful he was.

  During her mentoring, Honor learned immortals stop physically aging at around twenty-three human years, yet Gabriel could easily pass for seventeen or eighteen. As it was, Honor herself was a mere nineteen when she… oh my, died. Dear Fates, it was so strange to think of oneself as deceased, yet it was the truth. She was well and truly dead. As a human, anyway.

  “Why don’t you have a rest before returning to your work,” Gabriel said. “Spending time in the Hereafter now and then is good for your soul. Refreshing in a way.”

  Indeed, Honor did notice the bizarre activity in her faintly glowing lilac center had ceased, as did any remaining traces of lust. She nodded in agreement and exited Gabriel’s office to do… whatever one did in the Hereafter. Honor took a deep breath and decided she was about to discover what, exactly, that might entail.

  * * *

  Michael slipped his arms out of the well-worn leather harness that lashed his sword to his back and placed it on an iron hook embedded in the rough stone wall of his modest dwelling. Filled with pride, Michael ran a hand down the pommel and hilt, his touch reverent. The Sword of Light was Michael’s gift from the Fates, one of seven immortal objects known as the Maledictus Arma. Unfortunately, the Daemon Kings had theirs as well, the Impuratous Arma, or Nefarious Weapons.

  As with the Kings and their destructive versions, each Archangel possessed one of the sacred Maledictus Arma. As the Protector, Michael was bestowed a weapon of great importance and divine power. The Sword of Light has a very rare ability. When wielded by the “just and honorable”, its blade could strike down an immortal. Forever. They would not travel to the Underworld or the Hereafter. Fate had no mercy. The sword’s victims were to experience absolute nothingness for all of eternity.

  Michael had yet to use the sword to kill, and hoped he never did, though every immortal in existence knew of the sword’s powers and gave it—and Michael—the proper respect, a large berth, or both. Under Michael’s gentle fingertips, the hilt began to radiate with a faint blue glow. Each immortal sent from the Hereafter possessed a soul, and that soul held its own tenor, a fingerprint of sorts. Michael’s own shone royal blue, and therefore, his weapon reflected the same color.

  Michael turned from the sword, shed his clothing, and grabbed an empty basin. He filled the shallow bowl with water from a large wooden barrel set in a corner of his small abode. The angelen and sancten were humble. They required not the riches and comfort those from the Underworld sought out and desired. Using a clean scrap of cloth, Michael washed, scrubbing his face and body quickly as the cold water raised goose flesh down his arms and back. When satisfied he was clean as he could be without a proper bath, Michael dried off and dressed in fresh clothing. He was lacing up his boots when the fine hairs at his nape stood on end. The same strange awareness Michael noticed in the Guard’s chambers pricked at his senses.

  It feels… almost as if I am not alone.

  Without warning, the steady blue glow of his life force leapt into action, the sphere brightening and swirling, the rapidly expanding power pulsing behind his breastbone. He cried out as intense, red-hot desire, the likes of which he’d never known, penetrated his soul’s tough outer layer. In that instant, Michael’s insides went up like a pyre and his sex lengthened until it throbbed, the length harder than granite. Bewildered by the sudden arousal, Michael brought up a hand and scratched the skin over his pectoral muscles, as if he could reach through his body to touch the brilliant sphere and somehow force it to cease this unusual—and frankly, humiliating—response. Despite his very long existence, Michael never gave much thought to physical intimacy. With the portal to the Underworld in constant danger of opening, he was too busy to care, and to be honest, hardly took notice of the fairer sex but for very rare occasions.

  Michael glanced around the room to find nothing out of order. As there were no nooks or alcoves in which to conceal oneself, Michael knew without a doubt he was alone, yet the strange sense and tingling arousal persisted.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  Michael’s face instantly heated. Fates, he was acting a fool. He was alone. There was no one else in his home. Speaking to that which did not exist wouldn’t magically produce another—be they human, immortal, or otherwise. Michael shook his head and finished getting dressed. Just as he knotted the final lace of his boots, there was a knock at the door. He was thankful for the interruption, as the diversion quelled his life force, returning it to its typical calm and steady state. Michael wasn’t sure if he was glad the bizarre activity ceased, or if he missed the long dormant feelings it brought about, feelings Michael long since forgot existed.

  “Enter,” Michael called, knowing full well who stood on the other side.

  “Greetings,” Tony said as the saint strode into the room with easy confidence. With him Tony brought the mouthwatering scent of meat and bread. Michael’s stomach growled loudly in approval. “I have supper.” Tony raised a gunnysack and waved it under Michael’s nose, then proceeded to empty the contents upon a small table. Michael retrieved a jug of mead and the two sat to eat.

  Tony was practically bouncing in his seat so eager was he to share whatever news had the male riled up. Michael was thankful Tony at least had the grace to wait until he finished chewing his last succulent bite before bringing up their earlier meeting.

  “Pray tell, what you are thinking about taking down the Horsemen?”

  Michael frowned. Did he not cover this during the meeting? “As I explained—”

  “Aye, I remember,” Tony said. Michael despised being interrupted and forced back his irritation as the saint continued. “You honestly believe we can take down the Horsemen one at a time? That this ‘Master of Practitioners’ will produce accurate visions? How do we know the singled out Horseman’s brothers won’t come to the rescue when we attack? Surely we can’t take all four at once,” Tony went on, doubt furrowing his brow.

  Michael kept his stony façade in place, leaned back in the sturdy timber chair, and studied his closest friend and ally. While he certainly was unhappy with Tony rudely interrupting him and angry at the male’s lack of faith, Michael was moved by the alarm in Tony’s expression. He sighed and deigned to address Tony’s concerns.

  “What I think, amicus, is that we haven’t a choice. Is the plan dangerous? Aye. Anything involving the embodiment of evil is inherently dangerous. But I cannot allow the Horsemen to destroy this plane without at the very least, trying to stop them. In fact, for a while now I’ve believed I have let them get away with too much for too long.”

  Michael shifted his gaze over Tony’s shoulder to his sword. Tony twisted his head to follow Michael’s line of sight. “You believe the Sword of Light will be enough.” Tony’s flat tone conveyed his doubt and he turned back to face Michael. “Will it? Be enough to take down a Horseman, that is? As far as immortals go, they are immensely powerful.”

  Furious at his previous lack of action as the Horsemen carved their path of destruction, and now his inability thus far to capture any of them, Michael’s infamous temper finally made a long overdue appearance. With a loud bang, he slammed his huge fist on the table so hard bowls and cups rattled.

  “It will have to be enough,” he hissed, his temples throbbing as he unleashed his frustration. “We have no other option. If the Horsemen are indeed opening seals, which all signs indicate they are, we are growing short on time. So far, we know they have opened only the sigillum luminare, the lesser seals. Once the Horsemen start on the seven sigillum magna… the real destruction will begin. When that occurs, the horrors that follow will make their recent trail of death and devastation seem as innocent as a babe playing with kittens.”

  Michael struggled to pull in a steady breath, his chest near bursting with rage. It was his failure that allowed an evil sorcerer to open the portal so long ago, thereby setting the Horsemen free. It was also his lack of action in pursuing them that led to so many innocent souls being taken from this plane before their time. Michael refused to make any more mistakes when it came to the four brothers.

  Tony mashed his lips in a tight line, obviously as frustrated with the Guard’s lack of progress as Michael. “The Horsemen were never meant to leave the Underworld,” Tony said. “This entire business with them is an infernal nightmare.”

  “It is. And it is our nightmare to deal with and contain.”

  “I know,” Tony conceded and pressed his fingers down on his forehead as if trying to smooth out the creases. “It appears we must decide when to approach this Master Sorcerer, and when we are to depart. Oh,” Tony added. His gaze narrowed and Michael noticed Tony’s shoulders tense up. “And which Horseman to track down first.”