The argument between Kerrick and the killer continued, always with the warrior’s refusal to negotiate. The death vamp often flew away from the railing to make a pass or two and look at Alison, but he never failed to return to the refuge of the two-story catwalk perch, a standoff that afforded her the chance to continue her appraisal of her would-be guardian.
She couldn’t fathom either the magnificence of the wings, taller than his height by several feet, or the intricately muscled back that supported them. The feathers were a very pure white in contrast with the killer’s glossy black pair. She wanted to move forward and touch them, to see how they did what they did. Was the structure hard or soft, and how could wings of this size emerge just from his back? On the other hand, how could she do half the things she could do—read minds, send hand-blasts of inexplicable power, dematerialize, capture pockets of time in order to reassemble smashed windows?
The man, the warrior, stood at least six-six and every exposed part of his body bore heavy, ripped muscles. He had thick wavy black hair, which appeared to be damp, flowing away from his face to his shoulders and a few inches beyond. Every muscle in his body had been honed, probably from years of this kind of police or military service, or whatever it was he did.
She glanced from him to the death vampire. The creature with the black wings resembled the mythical vampire—he was beautiful in a way that mesmerized, and he used his fangs to drink people to death. In contrast, Kerrick was nothing like the popular freakish, emaciated images. No, he was all man, warrior, and incredibly built. Not the stuff of night-feeding vampire legend at all. He was so much more than that—moral, protective, a self-proclaimed guardian.
She had touched his mind.
He. Was. Honorable.
The longings she had felt earlier returned in full measure and intensified, crushing her heart. She bent over slightly. She worked to catch her breath. What was this deep internal sensation, this yearning? And why did it possess her so profoundly in this moment?
A shiver stole across her shoulders and she straightened. What had Joy told her not an hour ago, to go out and find a bodybuilder, that maybe such a man could handle her array of abilities? Could this man—warrior-vampire-guardian, whatever he was—could this man take all she could give?
She struggled to breathe, and a peculiar humming vibrated strangely through her body. Her lips felt swollen and her skin tingled … everywhere. Desire, forbidden for years, descended deep into her abdomen. Oh, God, she actually clenched as pure sexual need wept from her.
The winged warrior straightened suddenly. He turned back to her, his eyes almost crazed. He pointed his sword at her. You must stop that now. Funny how she knew he meant her desire for him.
She nodded several times then gasped as the killer launched from the railing. For a painful second she feared she might have just cost the winged warrior his life. And how typical would that be?
To her surprise, Kerrick simply turned and, in a blur of motion so fast as to be imperceptible, launched himself at his opponent.
In the next moment the airspace between the second and third stories of the complex became a vortex of spinning, writhing wings, clashing swords, and feral grunts.
She watched, astonished at the quick brutal movements. Within a matter of seconds, however, stillness hit the air. The black-winged body shuddered and fell to earth. Hard.
With a gasp Alison moved toward the creature, wanting to offer her help, but blood poured from a deep wound in his chest and flowed onto the cement. Her stomach churned. She covered her mouth. There was no way he could survive.
His head was cradled in a nest of broken black wings, and he lifted a hand toward her. He was so beautiful.
You must come to us. You must help us end this war.
What war? she sent. She received no answer. His eyes closed as his body shook uncontrollably. A moment later, he fell still.
Kerrick floated down beside her. He began drawing his wings into his body. She shifted and watched as one by one the feathers began to narrow to incredibly fine points and disappear into the rolling landscape of his back. Was it her imagination, or did his muscles thin out and reconfigure to a more normal masculine shape as well?
She blinked several times. Her head felt full of clouds.
Wings? A sword battle in midair?
She reverted her attention to the death vampire at her feet. She shook her head, stunned.
Death vampire?
Was any of this real?
She forced herself to breathe. She felt light-headed, unsteady on her feet. She opened her lungs, drew air. Her left arm was still wrapped tightly about her stomach but her right hand now covered her mouth.
Kerrick dropped to one knee and placed his hand on the forehead of his enemy. His shoulders slumped.
Her empathy kicked in, one of her softer gifts. She read him in another deep intake of air. She felt his soul-weariness and saw the darkness within. He had carried this burden for a long, long time, longer than a few decades.
A sense of his life passed through her mind. She perceived centuries, only how was that possible? Then again, the man had enormous wings, so apparently he existed outside the bounds of earthly possibility right now. Centuries, then, yet despair pounded from him in hard anguished waves. She wanted to touch him, to settle her hand on his shoulder, to give him just a little relief. But what did she really know of him—and worse, would she hurt him accidentally if she got too close?
With his hand still on the killer’s forehead, he closed his eyes then murmured, “May the world be eased by your departure and may you find peace.”
Grace in the midst of vengeance?
Who was this man? Warrior? Guardian? Vampire?
She took a step away from him.
He rose to his full staggering height. As her gaze slid up his back over his long black hair to his profile, desire once more, and so inappropriate, returned in full measure. She had never seen a face so pleasing, his nose straight and strong, his lips full, his cheekbones high and pronounced. His thick black hair invited exploration. His eyes were an exquisite green, an almost emerald hue.
His height dwarfed her six feet. She actually felt feminine next to him, an unusual sensation. A deep yearning threatened to swallow her whole. She took another step back. She didn’t know this man, or angel, warrior, vampire.
So what on earth was he, and what did all of this mean?
He drew a credit card of sorts from the pocket of his kilt then thumbed it. When he brought it to his ear, she realized he held a phone.
He spoke in his low voice. “Hi, Jeannie. Yeah, I got him. One to pick up. Let Thorne know. The other signature?” His gaze snapped to Alison, “She’s right next to me. I’ll disperse the mortals and call back for the second removal.”