Ashes of Angels. Michele Hauf

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      Dashing for her car, Cassandra said thanks for the Walther semiautomatic pistol she kept stashed in the car’s boot. It was over-the-top, but it had been easiest to obtain, and was as easy to use. It wouldn’t stop the guy, but it should slow him down long enough for her to escape.

      The man who chased her was a Fallen angel. Yes, a real bloody angel. She didn’t need an ID card or divine beam of light to convince her. And she, being a muse, wore a sigil that matched only one Fallen. And his idea of admiration was not in alliance with hers.

      Everything Cassandra had been taught about angels and their muses was falling into dreadful place.

      She’d been born a muse, a female mortal who would ultimately attract a Fallen angel. Said angel would one day come for her, impregnate her, and she would give birth to a vicious, giant nephilim. Or so, that is how Granny Stevens had related it to her.

      Slamming her palms to the boot of her car, she skidded and hit her knees against the chrome bumper. Struggling with the key, her icy fingers inserted it into the lock and the boot popped open. She grabbed the pistol and turned as the angel slid up to her. His chest met the barrel.

      “Back off,” she commanded firmly. Holding the weapon gave her a confidence she’d never expected to need. This adrenaline junkie knew how to use nervous energy, yet her dreams of angels had always been merely dreams. “Or I blow you back to the Ninth Void.”

      He raised his hands in surrender but did not relent by stepping back. Wind blew his dark hair across his face, underlining his eyes. “You’ve not the power to do so. And please, that place was miserable. I’ve only been out a day. Won’t you allow me a holiday?”

      He was trying to charm her? Did he not feel the menacing semiautomatic she held against his chest? One squeeze of the trigger would—well, it would damage him, but not kill him. Only an angel could kill an angel. Unless the nonangel was armed with a divine weapon.

      Coco should have mailed the halo to her. What she wouldn’t give to have that in hand right now!

      “You step back,” she directed in a surprisingly calm tone.

      “Nein. We need to talk.”

      She chambered a round with a metallic click.

      “Try it, beautiful one. But you’ll only piss me off. And splatter your pretty dress with my blue blood.”

      So it really was blue? Bloody hell, it was all true. In a moment of utter bewilderment, Cassandra looked aside, her mind fighting to grasp her new reality.

      The Fallen grasped the pistol and turned it on her. “Get in the car. Through the driver’s side.”

      Teeth chattering, she was shoved inside the midsize coupe. Probably her brain was already half frozen, which was why she’d been overtaken so easily. She wasn’t able to remain on the driver’s seat because he slid in right after her.

       “Don’t hurt me, you … you monster.” Oh, nice, Cassandra. As if begging will help.

      He grabbed the keys from her numb fingers and shoved them in the ignition. “You’re calling me a monster?”

      No, he was some kind of male model with gorgeous eyes and a sexy smile. Cassandra blinked. Idiot!

      When she tried to open the passenger door he pressed the automatic door lock on the steering wheel. The lock tab fit flush into the door so she couldn’t pry it up.

      “Yes, a monster! You’re a freakin’ Fallen angel who wants to rape me.”

      The car swung out of the parking spot, swerving on the ice. “Don’t use that word. It is an awful mortal word for a cruel act. I would never profane a woman. You are sacred to me, Cassandra. I want to protect you.”

      He smiled at her. Actually smiled as he navigated the lot with starts and stops and some wild swerves. Did the guy even know how to drive? He said he’d been on earth only a day.

      A shake of his head flicked off the heavy snowflakes from his thick, dark hair and shoulders.

      Sacred? Is that what he labeled the woman he wanted to get down and dirty with, and without asking first? And protect her?

      Had she gotten a damaged one? This Fallen must have hit his head upon release from the Ninth Void and landing on earth. Everything he said to her was the complete opposite of what she’d been taught.

      Twisting on the seat, she wondered if the backseats would pull down to open into the trunk. She’d never tried it before. The angel had tossed the semiautomatic in the snow back in the parking lot, but she had another pistol in the boot.

      The car spun onto the main street, swerving, but he quickly got it under control. He drove right through a stop signal, riding the brake but not slowing. Passing cars honked at them.

      “You’re very pretty, Cassandra. And the ribbons in your hair. So interesting.”

      “Is that your idea of foreplay? A few awkwardly random compliments? Buddy, I’m not interested.”

      “You were interested on the dance floor. Your eyes took me in, sized me up and decided to like me. You touched me.” He stroked his forearm where she had placed her hand. “I’ve never been touched by a mortal woman.”

      “Yeah?” She had touched him, had even imagined wrinkling the sheets with him. Oh, Cassandra, get smart. Right now! “The only touch you’ll get from me is a punch or another kick. Want one right now?”

      “No, thank you.”

      Man, but his eyes were incredible. When she thought they were blue, she noticed the violet, and then, brilliant gold. Wow—”Pay attention to the road. The light is red!”

      He drove through the intersection without causing an accident. Cassandra clutched the seat and tensely put her heels to the floor. “You don’t know how to drive, do you?”

      “No, but I’m learning,” he said proudly.

      She itched the sigil, which still glowed blue. “Hell.”

      “Matches mine.” He tugged up his shirt and leaned forward to reveal the sigil on the back of his hip. The spiraling dark brown line resembled a tattoo.

      The sigil was not a tattoo, but an indelible mark. Cassandra had been born with hers. It was the reddish-brown color of henna, but it never faded, as henna did. “Yours isn’t glowing,” she remarked.

      “Only when I’m in half form.”

      Cassandra’s heart dropped to her gut. The only way a Fallen could get his mortal muse pregnant was in half form. They assumed the wings of an angel on top, yet remained human in every way, including all the essential sexual organs.

      Samandiriel.

      She had known his name since Granny had found it in the book of names and sigils. Neither had spoken it out loud to the other. Yet after everyone had gone to sleep, and Cassandra lay in her bed staring at the sky through the oak tree near her window, she’d whisper it. Because that’s what teenage girls did.

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