Ashes of Angels. Michele Hauf

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СКАЧАТЬ I’m finished here …” He looked aside, apparently unwilling to complete that statement.

      So the angel had a few secrets of his own. Which meant he wasn’t entirely undefeatable. If the enemy had a secret, it was most certainly his greatest weakness.

      “You ready to rock?”

      “I’m not going anywhere with you. Where is a Sinistari demon when I need one?”

      “You know more than I expected,” he said.

      “What were your expectations? A stupid woman who would swoon at your feet and beg you to take her to bed?”

      He smirked. “I am pleased you are not as you describe. Do you have a spell to summon the Sinistari?”

      “I do.” Cassandra eyed the grimoire, lying open on the black granite kitchen counter.

      The angel took it and the book sparked into flames. He held it until the flames began to lick at his flesh, then dropped it in the sink.

      “Now you don’t. So here’s the plan. We will go after the vampires. Kill them all. That’ll take care of their interference. And if we encounter any Fallen along the way, we’ll take those out, too. That’s what this will come in handy for.” He tapped the halo.

      “And why do I need to come along? Wouldn’t it be safer if you tucked me away somewhere?”

      “I need to protect you. I can’t do that unless you’re with me. You’ve already seen what can happen if you go off on your own.”

      “That was a coincidence. They intended to rob me—”

      “Oh, really? And since when are vampires more interested in robbing than biting?” He lifted a querying brow. “This will be dangerous for you. Are you willing to risk everything, Cassandra?”

      “For what? To save the world? To end some kind of apocalypse?”

      “It’s not the apocalypse, but it is the beginning of a very dark time. Should the vampires succeed in breeding more nephilim—I am aware one is soon to be born, and nothing good can come of that—something very akin to the end times could result. We’ll need stakes.”

      “What about the Sinistari?”

      “What about those metal-brained misfits of angeldom?”

      “A Sinistari can kill you, thus ending your grand plans to save the world.”

      “You put your faith on the wrong side, Cassandra.”

      “I don’t believe in faith.”

      “Ah? You do have faith—you just don’t want to believe in yourself.”

      “I suppose an angel would say something like that. Sort of your creed, eh? If it works for you. But it doesn’t work for me.”

      “Please.” He extended a hand. “Trust me?”

      She shook her head and took a step away from him. “I trust no one.”

      “Your grandmother teach you that? Smart old lady.”

      “She’d kick your ass if she was still alive. She was black belt karate and a judo master.”

      “Impressive. I’m guessing she taught you that defense jazz you attempted against the vampires?”

      Cassandra nodded.

      “I have those skills and more. The strength of a dozen mortal men, surely. Can you at least agree I may have the ability to protect you?”

      “You may. But I’m not sure I wouldn’t be safer hitching the train to Siberia.”

      “The Fallen walk all parts of the world. You know about them seeking their muses. If the Fallen has attempted his muse, then he goes on to the next muse, and the next. Which means not only are the vampires pursuing you, but also frustrated Fallen.”

      Again he extended his hand.

      Danger? She was all for it. But she worked alone.

      Cassandra made to slap her palm onto his, but instead, she shoved him toward the center of the living room and recited the ancient spell, “Letencious! Tricurcious!”

      A triumvirate of angel sigils drawn with invisible ink on the wall behind the television, the front door and the wall in the kitchen connected, trapping the angel in the center of the living room.

      Sam slammed a fist against the invisible wall. A kick of his boot proved as ineffective. “Oh, this is rich. You think you can keep me in here while you go play with the vampires?”

      “I’m not going near the bloodsuckers.” Cassandra stuffed her feet into knee-high boots lined in fur that she kept by the door, then scrounged for her leather gloves, which should be in the drawer at the end of the kitchen counter. “And you’re not coming along to protect me.”

      “Don’t do this,” he said calmly, so quietly she paused and looked at the icon of a man who stood trapped but inches away. “Cassandra, please.”

      “Don’t use my name,” she said. “You have no power over me!”

      “Cassandra Stevens, muse mine. We have been bonded since the beginning. Since before you were born.” He rubbed a palm over his bare chest. “Do you think this is easy for me? To deny the compulsion?”

      “You said you didn’t feel it unless you were in half form. Easy, or not easy, don’t you think it’s safer for me to keep you under lock and key? What if this compulsion does hit you? Will you be able to stop yourself from attacking me?”

      “I hope so.”

      “Hope? Oh, brother. More angel babble.”

      “In this human form I am not a threat to you,” he protested.

      “I know the drill, buddy. Only in half form—what the hell were your wings made from anyway?”

      “Silver. Interesting, isn’t it,” he noted, with a nod to a silver plate on the wall, “that you are a silversmith?”

      She lifted a brow. Manipulating the metal gave her a sense of control. It was the most natural thing when she crafted silver to her will.

      “I didn’t pick the craft because of you.”

      “I’d be surprised if you had. On the other hand, it makes perfect sense you’d choose silver. Let me out and I’ll show you some new tricks with the metal.”

      “I’m not in the mood for creating tonight. It’s late, and I’m out of here. If you manage to escape, you can have the place. There’s food in the fridge. I’m not sure if angels eat.”

      “Don’t go out on your own, Cassandra! “

      She opened the front door to a black metallic creature with horns and glowing red eyes.

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