Book Description: Continues the adventures of Ahadiel, an Angel of Punishment, and Prima, the daughter of two fallen angels. He's been dispatched to the mortal world to find another Angel of Punishment who has mysteriously gone missing, and what should have been a routine task is about to become vastly more complicated.
Note: This novella follows the short story included in the anthology, The Mammoth Book of Special Ops Romance. You can download the short story here for free. The adventures of Ahadiel, Prima, and Co. are part of a larger urban fantasy project that I'm still working on. If you've been enjoying their story thus far, drop me an email and let me know. It helps keep me motivated. Catch A Falling Angel is still in the editing stages, but should be out within a few months. I'll update with a firmer date once I have one. The excerpt is from the unedited manuscript and therefore might change a bit between now and when the final version of the novella is published at InkBooks.
"I warned you about shotguns, remember? And just look at you! We need to get you out of those clothes. Right now."
Prima steered Ahadiel toward the bathroom of their hotel room, where he obediently stripped off his black coat and sweater, then dropped them on the tile floor with a heavy, wet slap that worsened her already queasy stomach. Ignoring both the nausea and disorientation -- the usual side-effects of traveling angel-style -- she grabbed a towel from the sink counter top and pressed it against the worst of his wounds.
"What a mess," she muttered. "I've seen road kill in better shape...I can't even tell if you've started healing yet or not."
"I can say, with certainty, that it doesn't feel like it."
"Hurts?"
"Yes." Ahadiel dropped onto the toilet seat with enough force to rattle its hinges. "A lot."
Okay; stupid question. Not used to dealing with his pain -- any more than he was used to experiencing it -- she tried for a response that wouldn't sound panicked. "Well, good news is that if you weren't an angel, I'd still be scraping your lungs off that alley wall."
"And the bad news?"
"Bad news is that you're bleeding all over the place! I don't understand. This shouldn't be happening." Amid the room's gentle tones of egg-shell white, his blood looked all that more...red. And plentiful. "We're going to need more towels. Hold on. I'll go call the front desk."
When she returned, she hunkered down between his knees, took the towel back from him, and did what she could to contain the bleeding until his accelerated healing kicked in.
If it kicked in. What if something was wrong? How could --
"That bag of magic bullets your father gave me the other day." Ahadiel's terse voice cut through her worries. "You say they neutralize magical spells and bindings. Do you know if there is something similar that would affect me like this?"
"Good question." She looked up. "But I wouldn't know. That's my father's territory."
"If you asked him, would Arioch tell you if such a thing were possible?"
"Depends. He's motivated to keep me safe. You, not so much. He's not too fond of angels."
"He is an angel. That he's fallen doesn't change his true nature."
"I don't think he sees his situation the way you do...would you please sit still?" She peeled back a corner of thick terrycloth, then hastily pressed it down again. "I sure hope those extra towels are on their way up."
"That was a djinni, who shot me. Why? I said I meant him no harm."
In Chicago less than a day, and already blood and decapitations were involved.
"He won't be shooting anyone ever again, that's for sure."
"You're angry."
"Not angry, exactly." After a moment, she sighed. "Look, I know your default settings are obliterate first and ask questions later, but he might have known something that would help us find your brother. Like where Helel, Maroth, and Harut are hiding, or who's helping them. Three fallen Watchers can't stay hidden for long, not when they're plotting apocalyptic levels of mayhem."
She reached for the last fresh towel, dropping the other on the floor as she added, "And in case it's slipped your mind, you're an Angel of Punishment. You terrify everyone."
"Do I terrify you?"
Ahadiel pulled the towel out of her hands, leaving her with nothing to do, and nothing to distract her from a sudden awareness of her awkward position between his legs.
"There are a lot of lower celestials and demons here." A blatant evasion, but she was too tired to deal with such a loaded question -- or the nascent sexual awareness and curiosity of an angel newly "gifted" with free will. "They're slipping through more often than they should. I know Chicago's a convergence point, but --"
"As are Nairobi, Arkhangel'sk, and the Bay of Bengal. What's your point?"
Prima briefly closed her eyes, tamping back the irritation as she reminded herself she'd be surly too if a djinni had blasted holes in her chest. "Don't you wonder why so many are gathering here? What's so important about Chicago?"
"Nothing. In fact, the last time I was called to this place, it was under ice." His gaze briefly lost focus. "The Laurentine Ice Sheet, to be precise. It receded, in human time, twenty thousand --"
"Stop that. I didn't ask for a geology lesson."
All the same, she envied how easily he tapped into the "Spark," her term for that residual mass of electromagnetic energy, human or otherwise, alive or long dead, enveloping the earth. When he needed a power boost or information, he simply plugged into all that raw energy and its collective, lingering essence of memories and consciousness. A true celestial had advantages that a child of fallen angels, such as herself, could only dream about.
Some of those advantages, like Spark-ability, she envied. Others, like interstice-hopping from Point A to Point B, she could do without. Her knees were still wobbling like Jell-O from the latter.
"I know why they're here, Prima. Watching and waiting, deciding which side to take when the fighting begins."
"Unless we can stop the fight from starting in the first place. Right?"
His expression blanked. "I'm here to find Raguel, not to interfere in human affairs. Neither our kind, nor our demon kindred, may do so without facing consequences. Since I am the consequences, I know this better than most."
"Lucky for us the ones who are interfering are already on your personal hit list."
Ahadiel leaned back against the toilet tank, still holding the towel to his chest. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, the bone-white color of his skin shone with a faint incandescence. Even without manifesting his wings, he had never looked more alien, more a creature born of light and creative fire, than he did sitting in a bathroom of a downtown hotel.
"An opportune coincidence," he said, at length.
Nothing about their predicament was a coincidence. He knew it, as well as she did.
"We can work this situation to our benefit." Prima settled back as well, careful to avoid the blood. "If no one knows you're searching for Raguel, they'll think you're hunting one or more of them. Just by being here, you keep the situation from escalating."
"Ah, yes." Ahadiel grinned, all signs of pain and exhaustion vanishing. "It's good to be feared."
Before she could remind him that negotiation was as useful a tool as brute force, a knock sounded on the outside door, followed by a woman's voice: "Housekeeping!"
"Stay here," Prima ordered, standing. "I swear, if you frighten another maid, you can find somewhere else to sleep."
"I don't --"
Whatever he meant to say -- "I don't sleep," "I don't care," "I don't mean to scare them," or "I don't get to have any fun when you're around" -- was lost as Prima pulled shut one door and yanked open the other.
A young woman in a hotel uniform stood outside, eyes wide. Prima didn't have a glow problem, but that didn't stop people from noticing the odd color of her skin. As she reached for the towels, however, she realized the maid's stare was less about her pallor and more about the blood on her hands.
"Um...sorry. My boyfriend has a nosebleed gusher like you wouldn't believe. I'll clean it up as much as I can."
"You don't have to do that, ma'am. We can take care of it. And if your boyfriend needs a doctor, there's a clinic just a few blocks over."
"That's okay." Prima began closing the door. "It's mostly stopped now, but thanks."
"You're welcome, ma'am. You have a nice night now."
After bolting the door, Prima returned to the bathroom. Ahadiel still sat on the toilet seat, scowling as he dabbed at his chest.
Over the years, that lean, powerful chest had featured in quite a few of her fantasies, and until recently she'd considered such thoughts harmlessly self-indulgent. Now, looking away, she asked, "How's it going? Are four towels enough, or do you think we'll need more?"
"I've started to heal. More slowly than I should, but the wounds are closing."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I can tell by the intense, burning pain radiating outward from every punctured bit of flesh, bone, and organ. I know what the healing feels like, Prima."
"Oh." She stared at her feet, irritated at having asked another stupid question. "Sorry."
A brief, uncomfortable silence followed before he let out a sigh. "No need to apologize. It's not something you would know. I'm usually the one doing the hunting, not the running, and I haven't taken damage like this since the last war. Long before you met me."
The "tens of thousands of years" kind of long. Back then, her mother had still been an angel and her father hadn't yet been sent to work for the archdemons, as part of one of Lucifer's treaties.
Another silence, another sigh, then, "Prima. Look at me." When she did so, with reluctance, he asked, "What's wrong?"
Where to even begin?
A few days ago, her calm, pleasant life had gone all topsy-turvy after she'd summoned Ahadiel -- by a means he hadn't much appreciated -- to a small city in Wisconsin. Several episodes of pure panic and terror and followed, amid troubling revelations and awkward encounters, and the only reason she was here, and not reduced to a smear of cinders, was because her parents had unexpectedly intervened.
Yet another troublesome point, that intervention. Not so much because they'd helped -- they were her parents -- but because they'd been watching over her in the first place. Only Nirgal, Hell's chief enforcer and her occasional boss, was supposed to know she was with Ahadiel and why. Seeing as how she'd been attacked by kerubim at a Walmart, then yo-yoed through a patch of northern woods by Helel, the secret clearly wasn't so secret anymore.
Still, being trapped in a binding spell and nearly killed wasn't half as mortifying as realizing her parents must've known what she and Ahadiel had done -- or almost done -- in that power substation in Rhinelander.
"Prima." His gruff voice brought her focus back. "Tell me what's wrong."
She leaned against the bathroom counter -- nudging aside the big gun her father had given Ahadiel following the aforementioned intervention -- and once again opted for the easy way out of explaining her unease.
"Just wondering what part my parents are playing in this."
"It's more than that. Again, what's wrong?"
So much for easy. Once, and not so long ago, he wouldn't have noted her evasions or picked up on her feelings. Nor would he have cared.
Prima looked up, directly into gold-flecked blue eyes focused on her with a bird-like intensity she found thoroughly unnerving. "There are a lot of things wrong. Let's not pretend otherwise, even if you won't talk about it."
After the first time she'd pointed out the risks he now faced -- side-effects of that shiny new free will -- he'd taken up her avoidance tactics and rebuffed her attempts at discussion, and she'd been careful not to push him too hard. Her celestial GI Joe was on the fast track to falling from grace, and the last thing this world needed was another fallen angel.
"I sense that I'm making you feel uncomfortable."
Prima frowned. "Get out of my head."
"I'm not in it." He made another perfunctory dab at his chest, not bothering to look at the wounds. "I don't have to be. I can see the tension rolling off you, in waves of red and orange."
"What?" After all this time, she didn't think she had more to learn about angels. "You can see my emotions? And they have colors?"
"Yes."
"That's kinda...creepy." Not to mention embarrassing, if he had been able to "see" all those thoughts she'd assumed were secret. She almost asked what color lust was, but decided she didn't want to know. His answer would be a confirmation that he'd always been aware of her puppy-like infatuation, but she -- and her feelings -- had been too insignificant to acknowledge.
"My vision is sensitive to light and energy patterns." If he was aware of her embarrassment, he showed no indication of it. "I can't avoid noticing that your thermal aura is elevated when you're near me."
Consternation vanished, and her stare sharpened to a glare. "Don't do that. I'm in a bad enough mood already."
"Why?"
"Are you asking why I'm in a bad mood, or why you shouldn't flutter your heavenly allure in my face? Because if it's the latter, I shouldn't have to remind you that when I tried to teach you a little lesson on why sex and angels don't mix, you failed. Spectacularly."
"You make it sound more like a compliment than an admonishment." A small smile gentled the sharp angles of his face. "You liked it, when I touched you."
In the space of a heartbeat, Ahadiel could skim generations worth of erotic technique from the Spark -- the angelic equivalent of surfing porn at work, she supposed -- and he'd always been a quick study. Still, she saw no reason to be cheerfully agreeable in this instance.
"You're sure about that, huh?"
"I'm an angel. I make no mistakes and I'm exceptional in all things."
"Except the humility thing."
He appeared genuinely puzzled by her snappish response. "It's not in my nature to be otherwise."
"What do you want me to say, Ahadiel? That, yes, I'd love to shag your brains out for a century or two? It's not exactly in my nature to resist temptation, but --"
"Then don't."
It was already hard enough to argue -- much less focus -- while kneeling between his legs, and now all but impossible as he cupped her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her mouth.
You will not smack an Angel of Punishment upside the head. You will be calm and reasonable and at least pretend to have more self-control than a rodent in heat.
"Angels protect and maintain, they do not create." Noting his gathering frown, she quickly pressed on. "The problem isn't sex. It's the monstrous little bundles of joy that come of it. You helped destroy the nephilim. You should know better."
"I know that you are not human. This is not a valid argument."
They'd danced around this issue only days ago without reaching a clear resolution. This time, however, she ignored her response to his touch and firmly moved his hand away.
"What I am is an aberration." Albeit a rare one; proof that fallen angels could have children without consequence beyond knowing their child would be an outcast. "And maybe, in one way, more like humans than not. There are reasons why angels and demons rarely breed among their own kind."
Immortal, immensely powerful, and given to warring within their own ranks, as well as without, at the slightest provocation were all reasons enough. Chance -- or some murky, inscrutable plan on the part of the higher powers -- allowed angels and demons to mate far more easily with humans, but doing so earned offenders the harshest of punishments. Even diluted, that mix was a dangerous bloodline. One could ask Azazel, his cohorts, and their mates about all of this, if only they hadn't been reduced to bodiless fragments of their life essence as punishment. A just reward for their fleshly transgressions, Prima supposed, although they hadn't gone down without a fight. Raguel had finally taken Azazel out, but Ahadiel had been no slouch in the smiting department.
"You've had lovers before."
"Of course," she retorted. "So what?"
"You have no children."
"I've been smart enough to avoid human males."
"But I'm not --"
"Stop. Enough of this. You are a celestial warrior, the elite of the elite, and through you the archangels direct their powers. Even if you're only meant to enforce heaven's will and punish those who defy it, those creative energies are still there. For all I know, you'd only need to touch a human woman to knock her up."
"I believe it involves more than touching."
"Aha!" She jabbed a finger at his chest. "Exactly my point. You admit I'm right?"
"About humans, yes," Ahadiel replied, mildly. "But again, you aren't human and I'm not like other angels. My will is stronger. I can control myself."
He sounded exactly like every mortal man she'd had to fend off over the centuries: I can control myself and I can pull out in time and Don't worry, I'll take care of you. Or, her favorite: You'd do it if you really loved me.
Despite her skepticism, Prima didn't protest this time as he pulled her closer. The warmth of his body, in a world of cold-skinned humans, was more than welcome. His nearness whispered promises, stirred needs she couldn't deny, even as she wondered how she could be so aroused while at the same time so angry with his arrogant stupidity.
"How many angels have said that, right before they fell? How often did Azazel think it? Or his companions?"
"They are not me."
"That kind of thinking is why you'll end up as the poster boy for 'pride goeth before the fall.'"
"You should have more faith."
Ahadiel lifted her effortlessly to his lap, and still she made no move to stop him. She couldn't pass up the opportunity to indulge in such a heady intimacy -- the heated smoothness of his skin against hers, the silken weight of his hair, the frisson of a charged contact that hovered between pain and not-pain, sanity and madness -- if only for a moment before doing what she must.
Ironic that she, the weakest of their kind, should have to be the strongest.
"Why do we keep doing this sort of thing in the most unromantic of places?" She leaned against him. "Power substation floors. Toilet seats in bloody bathrooms..."
"I can make you forget all that."
He already had, as his fingertips, with their claw-like nails, brushed her hoodie aside, trailing upward along her belly. Her breath caught as he again skimmed her breasts, this time with a more aggressive intent. How easy it would be to give in; how against her nature to resist what she'd wanted so much, for so long.
Even harder to resist that inner, resentful voice asking why she should care about the consequences, anyway. She was shunned by both celestials and underworlders, avoiding trouble only because Nirgal and Azrael found her useful as a neutral messenger. What had any of them ever done for her? Why should she keep denying her own needs in order to teach Ahadiel that great strength and power wasn't the same thing as wisdom or common sense? Why should she care about whatever intricate, obtuse power games Heaven and Hell were playing this time?
Besides, if Ahadiel fell from grace, he would be hers and he would protect her from whatever cosmic crisis was coming, or as best he could without those archangel-enhanced powers.
Dammit.
His hand, smooth and hot, on her breasts. His mouth on hers, questioning, then demanding. Always demanding. Of course; he knew nothing else.
Prima prolonged her stolen moment as long as she dared, then pulled back and waited for Ahadiel to meet her gaze. "You're truly willing to risk everything on faith alone?"
"Yes."
No hesitation in his voice. To be fair, it wasn't "in his nature to be otherwise" in that regard, but it was his handicap to overcome, not hers.
"You didn't care that much about me before, so why now?"
"That's not true. I've protected you from harm, answered your summons, listened to your messages and petitions. I've respected your courage in dealing with matters that have placed you between the forces of Heaven and Hell."
"Any of your brothers would say the same. That's not an answer to my question."
The increasingly bold caresses stopped. "You have...this question is not clear to me."
"How is it not clear?"
A small frown creased his brow. "I feel what I feel. I want what I want. Is that not enough for you to believe what I say?"
"I'm not questioning your ability to feel, Ahadiel, because I know you can. What I want to know is why you feel anything for me. What's special about me? You should be asking these questions, wondering if unfamiliar needs are clouding your judgment, or whether you can even recognize new, different kinds of danger."
To underscore her point, she lowered her hand, tracing the unmistakable contours of his desire. He seized her hand, keeping it on himself, his pupils narrowing to mere dots.
"And this is how you gauge your leaps of faith? You're sure you haven't just imprinted on me like a baby duck?"
Ahadiel blinked, his gaze going flat, unfocused.
Go on, sift through millions of minds to try and understand. It takes longer now, though...so many, many Sparks here, jumbled together. Harder to sort through it. Nothing like the old days.
A moment later, he was back.
Got it...and you don't like it. At all.
"Call me selfish," she said, in response to his stony silence. "But if a detente thousands of years in the keeping is about to break wide open, I want an ally that's juiced up on pure heavenly wrath and power. You've been headed for a fall from the moment you were granted free will. I don't know how or why or when you'll cross that line from falling to fallen, but I'm not helping you over it. You can't protect me without your powers. You're of no use to me, or anyone else, without them."
Fighting dirty, a low blow to his sense of loyalty and duty, his driving need to have a purpose, but at least now she had his full attention. "You're so certain of yourself, of your infallibility, that you'd risk losing everything you are?"
For me?
He continued to stare at her, the brittle silence stretching to a snapping point, his expression unreadable. Then he dropped his gaze, drawing his hand away as he leaned back. "No."
Victory, of a sort, yet the room still felt dangerously hot and small. Prima carefully swung off his lap and retreated to a safer distance.
"I thought so." In her best 'back to business' voice she added, "Let's stay focused on why we're here and what we need to do." Then, more loudly, "Ahadiel? Are you listening?"
He straightened, with a curt nod. "Yes. Of course."
As he spoke, that dangerous undercurrent of need and anger vanished, as if it had never existed. Prima wasn't sure what was worse: the awful, cutting tension rubbing at her last nerve or how easily he could smother his newborn feelings.
She breathed out a shaky sigh, then said, "Helel expected you to follow her, and Harut and Maroth will try to keep you out of their way. I hate mentioning this, because it makes you all crazy-eyed and sparky, but they have been successful at evading you in the past. That shooting --"
"Considering how it affected me, we can rule out a mistake or panicked over-reaction."
No hint of frustration. No desire, or cajoling playfulness. Only the flat, emotionless tone of a divine tool. The Hammer of Heaven, as she'd once mockingly called him, was back in control.
"Do you want me to summon my father and ask if he knows what might have happened?"
"Any information would help. Bring him here."
Prima waited for a "please." It didn't come.
"All right," she said, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.
Ahadiel stood, giving her a long look before he tossed aside the towel and turned to the sink. When he did so, she saw that he'd tied his hair back with one of her girly, glittery red bands. It made her smile, a little. She didn't mind if he borrowed her hair bands -- at least it wasn't her underwear. Or her toothbrush.
After he'd washed off his chest and hands, he surveyed the bathroom, taking in the bloodied piles of towels and clothing, and the smeared stains on the floor. "I've made a mess."
"Shotguns'll do that."
Ahadiel moved past her -- carefully avoiding contact -- and extended one of those claw-like nails to a rapier length. When its tip glowed with a blue-white heat, he touched each towel, reducing it to an ashy gray powder. He did the same to his ruined sweater and coat, and then, hunkering down, he retracted the nail and passed his hand over the blood stains and smears until they too smoldered and faded to wisps of dust.
When he'd finished, the bathroom looked as if someone had dumped the contents of a gigantic ashtray across its floor. Housekeeping would mutter about inconsiderate, sloppy guests, but better that than cleaning up what looked like a slaughterhouse. No need to catch the interest of the local law. After what she'd witnessed earlier, she didn't want to think of how Ahadiel would respond if Chicago's finest started shooting at him.
Prima rinsed off her hands as well, then checked over her navy hoodie and black jeans. A few tell-tale spots here and there, but nothing too noticeable. After a few adventures with Ahadiel, she'd quickly learned that dark clothing was as handy for disguising angel-glow as it was for hiding blood splatter.
By the time she turned around, he'd retrieved his gun and was once again fully dressed. She'd never asked how he managed that little trick, preferring to think of it as some form of angelic mojo rather than one of the heavenly host pinching merchandise from the nearest Bloomingdale's or Target.
"All right," Ahadiel said. "I'm decent. Let's conjure up daddy."