Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels
Heather Killough-Walden
Praise for the LOST ANGELS SERIES
Messenger’s Angel
“These books keep getting better and better. This is one of the best series I have read.”
—Night Owl Reviews (5 stars, top pick)
“Clever, quirky, and fascinating, Messenger’s Angel is a fabulous and fast whirlwind of a story. Not only are the heroes and heroines larger than life; the villains have differing aims and motivations that make them unpredictable. The emotions between Juliette and Gabriel are scorching hot.”
—Fresh Fiction
“The Lost Angels return in Killough-Walden’s new high-octane offering. The action moves to Scotland for a story that is action-packed and thrilling.”
—Romantic Times (4 stars)
“This story is masterfully written. . . . I can’t wait to see what the next book brings [for] these amazing characters.”
—Eye on Romance
Avenger’s Angel
“With the launch of her new Lost Angels series, Killough-Walden offers readers a sizzling novel populated with highly intriguing characters, not the least of [whom] is the ‘villain.’ Good story pacing, believable characters, and sizzling sex add up to an author and a series to watch!”
—Romantic Times (top pick, 4½ stars)
“An enjoyable read that creates a world where archangels develop human sympathies and the lines between good and evil are blurred.”
—Book Savvy Babe
“A fantastic addition to the paranormal romance genre, with sexy archangels and a strong, beautiful heroine. The world is intriguing and the action is fast-paced. I for one can’t wait to read future installments. Fans of paranormal romance will lap this up—a great start to a new paranormal series.”
—Book City Chick
“A breathtaking look into the world of the archangels, Avenger’s Angel is an amazing start to a new series, and one that I will be putting on my auto-buy list!”
—The Book Queen’s Palace
Also by Heather Killough-Walden
Messenger’s Angel
Avenger’s Angel
Always Angel
(A Penguin Special)
Death’s Angel
A NOVEL OF THE LOST ANGELS
Heather Killough-Walden
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
ISBN:978-1-101-60736-7
Copyright © Heather Killough-Walden, 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Printed in the United States of America
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Contents
Praise
Also by Heather Killough-Walden
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Epilogue
Special Excerpt from Avenger's Angel
I would like to dedicate this book and all of the dark, sexy magic within it to the people in my life who encourage me, inspire me, and believe in me the most when it comes to creating something so incredibly hot that the entire world begins to sweat.
Crystal Cribb Shannon and Maria Angela Lakhouili, this is for your loyalty, your kindness, and for using your own amazing creativity to help spread the word about my work.You’re irrefutable proof that I have the world’s most wonderful fans.
Poppet, Mary, Susan, Kelly, Meagan, Jeannine, and Christy, this is for your friendship. You have no idea how precious it is to me.
Mom and Dad, sister and brothers, this is for the strength that comes in family, the loyalty that comes in blood, and because you always ask me how I’m doing.
Eric, this is for everything. You are my archangel.
And you, little girl, my tiniest angel, my Bella Lucia.
This book is dedicated most of all to you.
Because you love vampires.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Death’s Angel is a book that encompasses some of the things my heart holds most dear, not the least of which is the city where it takes place. For this reason, I would like to begin my acknowledgments page by thanking the city of San Francisco. Thank you, Bay City, for your pizzazz, your dimension, your mysteries and thrills, and your unbelievable majesties. Thank you, Golden Gate Park, for your four-leaf clovers. Thank you, Ocean Beach, for your sand-dollar angels. Thank you, Pier 39, for your sights and sounds and ever-welcoming presence. Thank you, Susan at South Beach Marina Apartments, for your enormous smile and tremendous warmth. And thank you, Golden Gate Bridge. For obvious reasons.
> I would like to thank my agent and Trident Media for believing in me and helping to make this print series a possibility. I would also like to thank my publishers for the same.
As always—and forever—I thank the people I love and who love me for all of the necessary, priceless things they do that make it possible for me to write my books.
That means you, my readers, who stand staunchly beside me, steadfastly support me, and provide me with the emotional sustenance every author needs.
That means you, my guardian muses, who stimulate and motivate, guide and kindle, reviving my artist’s soul and provoking the faithful flourish of my pen.
That means you, my family and blood, the boomerangs of life’s roller-coaster ride who always come back to take my hand, no matter how hard you’ve been thrown.
And most of all, that means you, husband, my unflagging Gibraltar, my port in every storm.
I love you.
Thank you.
Introduction
Long ago, the Old Man gathered together his four favored archangels, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Azrael. He pointed to four stars in the sky that shone brighter than the others. He told the archangels that he wished to reward them for their loyalty and had created for them soul mates. Four perfect female beings—archesses.
However, before the archangels could claim their mates, the four archesses were lost to them and scattered to the wind, beyond their realm and reach. The archangels made the choice to leave their world, journey to Earth, and seek out their mates.
For thousands of years, the archangels have searched. But they have not searched alone. For they are not the only entities to leave their realm and come to Earth to hunt for the archesses. They were followed by another. . . .
Prologue
Two thousand years ago . . .
Michael gripped the rock in his right hand so hard that his fingers left imprints in the stone. Azrael heard it crack. Michael’s jaw was clenched tight, his eyes shut fast against the pain Az knew to be coursing through his veins.
Azrael could feel that pain as if it were his own. It was there because of him.
The woods were sparse this far north and Az knew that the ground beneath his brother grew colder and harder for him as the strength was sapped from his inhuman body. Azrael’s fangs were embedded deep in the side of Michael’s throat, and with each pull and swallow, Michael experienced a new and deeper agony.
“Az . . . that’s enough,” Michael ground out, hissing the words through gritted teeth.
I’m sorry, thought Az. He didn’t speak the words, but whispered them into his brother’s mind. They were laced with genuine regret. Az had yet to pull out and stop drinking Michael down. He couldn’t stop.
For not the first time in the two weeks since they’d come to Earth, Az felt his brother’s mounting fear and knew that Michael would soon have to use force against him. It was an inevitable tragedy.
Az watched through eyes that glowed bright gold beneath half-closed lids as Michael raised the rock he tightly clutched, and after another grimace and wince of pain, slammed the stone into the side of Azrael’s head. Az knew it was coming; he’d registered his brother’s thought long seconds before the deed had been done. But he still hadn’t been able to pull away. He needed the blood so badly.
At the impact, Az was knocked to the side and his teeth were ripped from Michael’s throat, tearing long gashes in his brother’s flesh. Az toppled sideways, catching himself on strong but shaking arms.
Across from him, Michael dropped the rock to cup his hand to the side of his neck. “Az,” he gasped, “I’m sorry.” He slowly rolled over, propping himself on one elbow as he attempted to heal the damage Az had done. That was Michael’s gift—the ability to heal.
Azrael’s gift? The ability to harm. It seemed that was all he would ever be able to do.
Light and warmth grew beneath Michael’s palm, sending curative energy into his wound. Az watched him in silence, his head lowered, his long sable hair concealing his features from Michael’s sight.
“Az?” Michael let his hand drop from his neck, his wound obviously healed.
“Stop, Michael,” said Az. “I can’t bear it.”
The blond archangel closed his eyes as the otherworldly sound of Azrael’s voice infiltrated his mind and body. Az scraped his brother’s mind, reading his surface thoughts. He was desperate for some fleeting word or phrase that might distract him from the endless torture his existence had become.
Michael was thinking that Azrael had a beautiful voice.
It almost made Az laugh. He had always had an incredible voice. But now, in this bizarre and horrible form he had taken on Earth, it was more powerful than it had ever been. This much Azrael had to admit. He had become a monster—but a monster with a voice like no other.
Michael was also thinking that he could hear the despair in that voice.
Of course he could. It was plainly evident. How could it not be? Az was desperate. He despaired as no living creature ever had.
Michael opened his eyes again and looked upon his brother’s bent form. “This pain you’re going through can’t last much longer,” he said softly.
“A single moment longer is too long,” Az whispered. Slowly, and with great effort, he straightened. He raised his head so that his brother could see his stark, unnatural gaze, and Michael stilled beneath the weight of it. “Kill me,” Azrael said.
Michael steeled himself and shook his head. “Never.”
Az didn’t know why he’d bothered asking. If any one of the four archangel brothers could have summoned the will to kill the other, it would not have been Michael or even Azrael, but rather Uriel. He was the Angel of Vengeance. Only Uriel would be capable of comprehending what it would take to smother reason long enough to deal the final blow Azrael begged for.
But Uriel was not with them. He and their other brother, Gabriel, had been lost in their plummet to Earth. The four archangels had been separated and scattered, like dried and dead leaves on a hurricane wind. Azrael had no idea where the others were, much less what they might be going through. He didn’t care.
He only knew that he had gone through a transformation as he’d taken on this human form. Both he and Michael had, and he assumed the other two had as well—wherever they were.
Michael was not as powerful as he’d been before their descent. The nature of his supernatural powers was the same, more or less. He was still the most accomplished fighter Azrael had ever known—and, most likely, the most accomplished that had ever been created. He was also still capable of healing. But the scope of his powers had diminished greatly. He was able to affect only what was immediately around him, and only for a relatively short period of time. His body grew weary. He knew hunger. He often felt weak. He had changed drastically.
But not as much as Azrael.
As the former Angel of Death, Azrael experienced a change that was different from Michael’s. It was darker. It was painful. It was as if this new form were steeped in the negative energy he had collected during his endless prior existence. As the reaper in the field of mortal spirits, Azrael had ushered away so very many lives. There was a weight to that many souls, and they carried him down with them now. His altered form bore the fangs of a monster, a sensitivity to sunlight that forced him to hide in the shadows of night, and worst of all, a demand for blood.
Always blood.
“Please, Michael.” Azrael’s broad shoulders shook slightly as he curled his hands into fists and the powerful muscles in his upper body drew taut and pronounced. He glanced down at his hands, slim-fingered and perfect, and marveled at his pale skin. He knew what it looked like against the midnight color of his hair. He was a study in contradiction. Even his eyes were wrong. The sun was caustic to him—and yet his irises glowed like the very same star.
He was a living joke, cruel and merciless. Vicious anger now joined the pain-induced adrenaline flooding his inhuman blood. He gritted his teeth, baring his blood-soaked fangs. “D
on’t make me beg.”
Michael got his legs beneath him and stood. He backed up against one of the few trees in the area and opened his mouth to once more refuse his brother’s request . . . when Azrael suddenly blurred into motion.
Michael’s body slammed hard against the tree’s trunk and the living wood splintered behind him. He was weaker than he’d been several minutes before; Azrael had seen to that. Blood loss drained precious momentum from the former Warrior Archangel’s reflexes. Though Michael was still able to heal his wounds on Earth, for some reason he was not able to replace missing blood. It was a new weakness, especially in the face of Azrael’s bloodthirsty new form.
Az and his brother had been here before, locked in combat as they now were. They had been here every night for weeks.
Azrael didn’t know how long Michael would be able to engage in this nightly battle with him. Az was very strong. Even half-crazed with pain, he was most likely the strongest of the four of them. The monster that he had become was eating him up inside. It was devouring the core of his being, leaving him an empty shell.
Life was different on Earth. There had been no discomfort before this. No hunger. No thirst. These sensations were novel to them both, but whatever discomfort Michael might be suffering in his human form, Azrael was suffering a thousandfold.
Az knew now that pain had not existed before this. Not in any form. Not for anyone. As far as he was concerned, suffering, in and of itself, had been conceived the moment his soul had touched down and solidified into the tall, dark shape it was now.
But he knew that despite what he was putting his brother through, Michael wouldn’t give up on him. Not now—not ever. The foolish archangel would probably die first.
With great effort, Michael shoved Azrael off of him, and Az managed to hold himself back long enough to allow his brother to prepare for another senseless fight. Somewhere, Uriel and Gabriel were most likely struggling as well; either with themselves or with each other. If Az and his brother survived this—if Azrael didn’t simply walk into the sun the following morning—they had to find them.
