Angel, Page 82

Page 82

 

  Pain struck him like a blow. “No! Please, no . . . ” Willow blurred in his vision as he clutched her to him, burying his face against her shoulder. The softness of her skin, the smell of her hair. Alex began to shake, holding her. He’d been too late. She’d gone to her death alone, without even knowing he was there. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. He kissed her unmoving lips; they were still warm. “Willow . . . oh, Willow . . . ”

  A deadening weakness started slumping through his muscles, draining them so that it was all he could do to keep his arms around Willow. Then a quick, wrenching pain, like something being torn away from him. His head reeled; he wondered vaguely if an angel had ripped his life force away. For he could feel his own life fading now, slipping away like water down a drain. As he held Willow’s still form, dull relief filled him at the thought.

  A swirling of light above them; faint silver and lavender mixed with vibrant blue and gold.

  Alex looked up in confusion as the lights moved together over him and Willow like twin plumes of smoke. The silver light was ghostly, barely visible. As he watched, the blue light wrapped itself around it, stroking it, caressing it. The blue-and-gold aura paled as the silver-and-lavender one began to brighten; Alex had an impression of strength pouring from one aura to the other. At last the silver light was steady, its lavender hues gleaming. Alex’s aura drew itself back to him, faint but already starting to recover. He felt his life force return in a rush.

  The silver-and-lavender aura settled around Willow, unwavering now, and growing brighter by the second. An agony of hope roared through Alex as he stared down at her in his arms. He touched her cheek, not daring to breathe. “Willow?”

  At first there was nothing . . . and then her green eyes came slowly open. She stared up at him, looking dazed.

  “Alex?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”

  He felt a jolt of joy so great that it was almost pain. He cradled her to him. “It’s me, baby,” he said hoarsely, his lips moving against her hair. “It’s me. ”

  Her arms came up around him; she pressed her face into his shoulder with a weak sob. “Alex . . . you’re here, you’re really here. . . . ”

  Pulling back, he stroked a stray strand of hair from her temple, scanning her face in the shadowy light. “Are you all right? Please, please tell me you’re OK. ”

  She gulped, nodded. “I think so. I’m just so tired. . . . ”

  Thankfulness drenched through him like water. He held her closely, kissing her hair, her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Oh, God, Willow, I didn’t mean it — I didn’t mean any of it —”

  Her embrace tightened around his neck. “I know. . . . Alex, I know. . . . ”

  For a moment he savored just holding her, warm and alive in his arms. Urgency followed; they had to get the hell out of here. He glanced back over his shoulder. Angels still hadn’t stopped soaring from the gate; the entire length of the cathedral was a winged river as they flew over the pews and then finally out through the massive doors at the far side.

  The crowd’s cheers had become somewhat ragged, but were still going strong. Nate had said that it would take around twenty minutes for all the angels to arrive. How much time had already passed?

  “Come on, we’ve got to hurry. ” With a quick kiss, he scooped Willow into his arms and stood up, feverishly grateful that the front area was still cloaked in shadow. He started toward the double doors he’d come through, picking his way as fast as he could across the uneven floor. When the doors were only a few dozen steps away, Willow tensed against his shoulder. “Alex!”

  He whirled around; the angel he’d seen fighting Nate earlier was diving through the air toward them, wings outspread, its beautiful face set in a snarl. Alex grabbed his gun and set Willow’s feet on the floor in almost the same motion, keeping one arm around her. The angel landed about ten feet away, and with a dark ripple changed to its human form: a handsome, slender man with pale skin and coal-black hair.

  “The half angel and her assassin,” he said in a low, deadly voice that somehow carried over the noise. “And it appears that I was the culprit, somehow. Miranda, correct?” Alex stiffened at the man’s English accent. It was the same angel who’d ordered Willow’s death. He felt her take a quick breath and suddenly remembered that her mother’s name was Miranda.

  Jesus, it was him. Her father.

  “Don’t say her name,” whispered Willow. “You have no right . . . ”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” said the angel. “Why, this is quite historic, isn’t it? The only half angel in existence . . . now, how did I manage that? I wonder. ” He stared hard at Willow. Behind him, now almost half the length of the cathedral away, the stream of arriving angels continued to fly, shining, overhead.

  Holding Willow close, Alex kept his gun pointed at the angel. “I thought you died in the blast,” he said coldly.

  “Wouldn’t that have been convenient?” replied the angel with a sneer. “But no, it was only the traitor who died — I was merely a bit dazed. ” Eyes narrowing, he took a step forward.

  “Get back, or you’ll regret it,” said Alex.

  The angel curled his lip. “I think not, actually. It’s time now for you both to die, the way you were supposed to in the first place. ” Shifting back into his angel form, he surged straight toward them, wings flashing.

  Alex shot. The angel dodged at the last second, his wings slicing the air, and the bullet caught the very edge of his halo. Its blue-white energy rippled, hesitated. Hovering above, the angel writhed as tremors seized him, his wings flapping like a giant trapped bird’s. Before Alex could shoot again, the angel went still and collapsed to the floor, in his human form once more. He lay unmoving.

  Willow stared down at him; she seemed almost ready to drop. “Alex, he . . . that was . . . ”

  “Shhh, I know,” he said, picking her up again. She slumped against his shoulder, her arms tight around his neck.

  Fleetingly, Alex wished the creature was human — he’d have no compunction at all about peppering that prone body with bullets. But there was no point; the only way to kill an angel was to shoot it through its halo heart. At least this one would be out of action for a while. With a glance back at the arriving angels, Alex headed for the doors with Willow cradled in his arms. Please, he thought, just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out of here.

  Just a few more minutes. That’s all they needed.

  When the Second Wave of angels first began pouring out of the gate, Jonah had stood frozen, gaping above him. It hadn’t worked. After all of their planning, after everything he’d risked — he’d lost it all, and the angels had arrived anyway. Beautiful face after beautiful face flashed past — and soon they would all be hungry and feeding. Jonah shuddered, dizzy with dismay. His cheekbone throbbed where the preacher had punched him.

  The front section of the cathedral was still in shadow; Jonah could just make out the preacher a few steps away, loudly applauding the new arrivals. Beth and another acolyte had their arms around each other’s shoulders, their faces alight. Behind them, the crowd had forgotten all about crashing through the barrier to get to Willow. People were throwing their hats in the air, calling out to the angels to bless them, laughing and crying.