Death Sword. Pamela Turner

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СКАЧАТЬ Xariel reached down and rubbed his leg. Andi leaned in closer and ran her fingers up his arm.

      “Why don’t you ditch the birthday girl? I know this private club we could go to.”

      “I’m right here.” Karla shook her head in disbelief. Didn’t Andi ever give up?

      Xariel lifted Andi’s hand. “Thank you, but I came with Karla, and I’m leaving with her.”

      If she didn’t go now, she might lose her only chance. Karla slid off the bar stool and reached for her purse. “Excuse me. Be right back.” She turned to Andi. “Watch my drink?”

      “Sure. Happy fucking birthday.”

      Karla ignored her. As she walked across the dance floor, she sensed Xariel and Andi watching her. She bit her lower lip, debating whether to go back. Part of her bristled at Andi’s sexual audacity and the thought of Xariel leaving with her, despite what he’d said. Of course, he couldn’t know she didn’t plan to return. A twinge of regret stabbed at her heart as she weaved her way past gyrating dancers. Too bad it hadn’t worked out. She would have loved to present Xariel to her ex-boyfriend, the one who called her a “skank” and teased her about being too ugly to find a boyfriend after they broke up.

      The current song ended, replaced by Lady GaGa’s Bad Romance. Andi’s theme song. How appropriate. Hers too, she recalled with a touch of bitterness. Despite Andi’s complaint about being a third wheel, she usually left with a different man each night while Karla returned home alone.

      Hell, she hadn’t even gotten drunk tonight. The entire evening had been a dismal flop. Not that she couldn’t find another club and finish her birthday celebration alone.

      “Happy birthday to me.” Karla stifled a derisive laugh, ignoring the stares from passersby. She leaned against the wall next to the ladies’ room and waited. No way Xariel and Andi could see her now. Too many people separated them. All she had to do was wait for a gang of women to leave the bathroom and she’d blend in with them on her way to the exit. Not a foolproof plan, but one that would do for her purposes.

      Why did she even care if Xariel and Andi slept together? Hadn’t she wanted to leave? She hadn’t planned on going anywhere with Xariel. Good-looking didn’t equal trustworthy. Karla had read about Ted Bundy and Xariel had killed her.

      A twinge of guilt gripped her conscience. Should she call Andi’s cell and warn her? What would she say? “Oh, by the way, Xariel’s an angel of death?” How stupid would she sound? Andi might only laugh and hang up, after calling her jealous and claiming that’s why she never had dates.

      Hell, Andi was probably right. Xariel was her first “date” in a long time, and even that was debatable. Sure, he’d bought her a drink, but he’d also bought Andi one. No, not really a date then.

      Too bad it hadn’t worked out. He seemed nice, once she got past his saturnine personality and the fact he’d killed her. Maybe angels of death had to remain emotionally detached to do their jobs, much like emergency medical technicians or police officers had to rein in their emotions when responding to an accident or murder scene.

      Was Xariel really an angel of death? He seemed to have the wings and supernatural abilities to prove it. True, the wings could have been black feathers on a wire frame, triggered to spring forth when a concealed button was pushed. But how had he managed to heal her wound and repair her sweater without touching her?

      And why had he let her come to the nightclub if he were so concerned with bringing her to Metatron? She doubted it was because he cared about her birthday or wanted to meet her friends. Nor did she believe he was so naive to think she’d go somewhere unknown with him. No, if she went with him to Metatron it would be by force. And wasn’t that kidnapping?

      So many questions that might never be answered.

      Why did Metatron want her? Her life, until this night, had verged on the normal, even boring, alternating around her job as a barista at a local coffee shop, her apartment and downtown nightclubs.

      Perhaps he’d made a mistake. A group of women emerged from the bathroom. She slipped into their midst, muttering, “Excuse me,” and continued toward the exit.

      Only a few feet between her and freedom.

      A strong hand clamped down on her shoulder.

      Karla jumped, stifling a yelp.

      Xariel glared at her. “Nice try. Now let’s go.” He pushed her toward the exit.

      “What about Andi?”

      “I gave her cab fare. She’ll be fine.”

      Karla sighed. Her attempt to escape had failed, and she didn’t know if she’d get a second chance. Did she want another one?

       3

      “You can’t be serious.” Xariel stared at Metatron. A direct order of immolation would have made more sense. He glanced at Karla. Metatron wanted her for this?

      Metatron nodded. Even seated behind his massive desk, one couldn’t ignore his towering height.

      “I am. Train Karla as an angel of death.”

      “Why not Gabriel?”

      “Because I want her to work with you and Samael.” Metatron beamed at Xariel from beneath blond bangs. Wide blue eyes only enhanced his innocent expression. Xariel knew better. Other angels might call Metatron “pretty boy” behind his back, but assuming he was a pushover often resulted in career suicide.

      “You know how Samael is,” Xariel protested.

      Metatron cocked his head. An endearing gesture, but Xariel sensed tension crackling underneath.

      “Thanks for talking about me in front of my back.”

      They turned. Karla leaned against the concrete wall, arms crossed. She frowned. “I don’t know why I’m here, and I’m not interested in this angel-of-death gig. So maybe you–” She jabbed her index finger at Xariel. “–could send me home.”

      Metatron’s smile faded. “Impossible.”

      “You can’t keep me here against my will.”

      Metatron leaned forward, chin resting atop interlaced fingers, arms forming a modified triangle. “Your will means nothing here.”

      Karla opened her mouth as if to argue, but Metatron raised his hand.

      “Like it or not, your future’s set.” He leaned back. “Haven’t you wondered why you’re different from other people?”

      Karla stiffened. “Pretty obvious.”

      “The heterochromia’s only part of it. Your mother never told you about your father?”

      “Mother left right after I was born.” Karla spat the emphasized word as if it were poison.

      “I see. I assume your adopted father didn’t know.”

      Karla gave him a what-the-hell-do-you-mean look.

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