Death Sword. Pamela Turner

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СКАЧАТЬ Karla Black.”

      “How’d you–” She shook her head. “Never mind.” Fist pressed against a cocked hip, she studied him, eyes defiant. “You’re a charlatan. Miranda set me up.”

      Xariel frowned, but Karla ignored him. She pulled a cellphone from her coat pocket. “Guess I’ll tell her I’m not coming.”

      “Where?”

      “Glasstopia.”

      “That new dance club on Fourth Street Live? What occasion?”

      “My birthday.” She jabbed an accusing finger at him. “Which you ruined.”

      Xariel nodded. Touché. He didn’t blame her outburst but bristled at the fraud accusation. Not that he wanted to use the energy to reveal his true identity. He’d already dispelled a massive amount of power setting up and maintaining the barrier. And there was still the matter of teleporting her to Metatron. Damn, didn’t seem like he had a choice. She was watching him with what looked like an expression of disbelief mixed with expectation.

      “If you’re not a fake, prove it.”

      He gave her a grim smile. She didn’t know he was telepathic. Okay, then, if Karla wanted proof, he’d give her evidence.

      Closing his eyes, he concentrated. His scapulas itched then burned, irritated by a familiar stinging pressure. He winced upon hearing the material of his shirt and suit coat tear as his wings burst forth in a shower of black feathers. Their massive span engulfed the alley, stirring a gentle breeze that ruffled Xariel’s hair.

      Karla staggered back against the barrier, her eyes wide, mouth open. “Y-you’re an angel.” Her accusatory finger trembled.

      “An angel of death,” Xariel corrected.

      The cellphone slipped free, clattering to the tarmac. Karla shook her head. “This is a nightmare. You’re not real. You can’t be.”

      Xariel sighed. He’d heard this before. “Yeah, right. I’m a drug-induced hallucination. Now let’s go.”

      “Where?”

      “Ask Metatron. My job’s to deliver you.” The wings vanished in a shimmer of violet light.

      “Metatron?”

      “My superior.”

      Karla pressed her index and middle fingers against her temples and paced. “Am I dead?” She glanced at Xariel. “If I am why didn’t I see a tunnel of light?”

      Xariel sympathized but he’d no desire to play therapist. Nor would he return without her. Angels of death who failed their obligations found themselves demoted to desk duty or worse.

      He squeezed her shoulder and smiled, hoping to ease her apprehension. Calm souls traveled through the spirit plane better than unruly ones. Karla fell in the latter group. He wanted this to be easier for them both.

      Karla gave him a beseeching look, hands folded in prayer. “Let me go to the club tonight. Please. I promise I’ll go with you wherever you want afterward. I want to see my friends one last time.”

      He debated reminding Karla she’d decided not to go, but refrained. Part of him wanted to say no, but even death row inmates were allowed a last meal.

      “Fine, but I’m going with you.” He quirked an eyebrow at her torn, blood-stained sweater. “Sure you want to go wearing that?”

      Karla frowned. “I don’t have time to change.”

      “No problem.”

      Xariel passed his hand over her wound. Karla stared as bloodstains disappeared and cotton threads knitted. She lifted her sweater, baring pale skin, and watched her wound heal in seconds, leaving no scar.

      “H-how’d you do that?”

      “Job requirement.” He removed his suit jacket and mended the jagged tears. He’d repair the shirt later. Slipping his coat on, he turned to her. “Let’s go.”

      “If you insist. Hope you can handle my friends, especially Andi.”

      Xariel dispelled the barrier and followed Karla out of the alley. What was he getting into? “Think they’ll like me?”

      She gave him an ingratiating smile. “They’ll love you.” A pause and sidelong glance before she turned away. “Hope they don’t love you too much.”

      Better to not let Karla know he had read her mind. Despite her reluctance, he knew he intrigued her. This was not surprising. His clients initially feared his arrival, knowing why he came. A kind word or gesture usually put them at ease. Karla was no different. Even if unaware of her feelings, she’d realize soon enough.

      “Once we’re at Glasstopia, I’ll make a break for it.”

      Xariel stifled a smirk as he followed her down Third Street, heading toward Fourth Street Live. She planned to escape? Not likely. He hadn’t lost a client yet and he didn’t plan to now.

       2

      An angel. Karla looked up at Xariel as they stood in line with the throng of clubbers to enter Glasstopia, the tempered glass-and-steel nightclub. Her heart skipped a beat as pride surged through her. No other guy matched Xariel’s model-quality looks. Waist-length dark hair, blue-violet eyes and a lean, athletic body, all wrapped up in an expensive-looking suit.

      Dual emotions of excitement and dread spiraled through her, making her slightly dizzy. While she thrilled at the thought of being seen with him and “being seen” was what clubbing was all about, she hadn’t forgotten the ferocity of his attack when he had killed her.

      Was she dead? Karla traced the veins along the back of her hand. Surely blood still pumped through them. She pressed her index and middle fingers against her pale wrist. A pulse beat, slow and steady. That proved she was alive, didn’t it?

      She drew her brows together in concentration. If she’d had a near-death experience, why hadn’t she seen a tunnel of light or heard voices of loved ones? She wanted to ask him, but his eyes were focused on the doorman and bouncer commandeering the entrance. He didn’t look like he wanted to be disturbed.

      Not that he went unnoticed. Karla shot venomous glares at women whose seductive gazes toward the angel lasted longer than she liked. Even some men cast admiring looks his way. The doorman unclipped the velvet rope barricade, allowing them access. Karla swore he checked out Xariel’s ass on their way inside.

      Xariel seemed oblivious to his charisma. Karla suspected he took it in stride, his confidence a magnet drawing people to him. Why else did he trigger feelings which made her skin flush, although she’d never admit it? She doubted she interested him. Too bad.

      No, better to enjoy her birthday then sneak away at the first opportunity. She might upset Xariel, but surely he’d find another to deliver to Metatron. Why her? Did this Metatron even exist? As Karla and Xariel joined a group of people waiting for an elevator, she studied him, trying to reconcile the person who stood next to her with the black-winged angel of death in the alley. СКАЧАТЬ