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“…fifth rape and murder in as many days. London police are asking the public not to panic…”
Shade tuned the lacquered and painted anchor out.
Another article along the ticker tape caught his attention. This one about a famous artwork being stolen from a museum. Human news was always bad, and Shade didn’t know why they watched it. But there seemed to be more bad news than normal. A riot had broken out in a US city for no apparent reason, and a few people were dead, several more wounded. Negotiations had broken down between two large NATO allies, and the politicians were taking nasty swipes at each other over the media.
The effect of the breaking seals was most definitely leaking into the earth realm.
Chapter Eight
This bloody angel was going to be the death of Wrath, which might be a possibility for the first time in his eons-long life. Head held high, humming to herself, she marched their asses through the lush jungle like she was leading the heavenly host to Zion. Leaving him to tamely follow behind like he was carrying her fucking harp and trumpet.
“Isn’t the river lovely?” She stopped a moment beside the winding, lazy, green river, slapped a delighted smile on her mug, and drew in a huge breath. Her breasts pushed against her tight white tank top as she did so.
What had happened to the old voluminous robes angels used to wear? Those were far less distracting. He nearly suggested she put her cape thingy back on.
“And there is the loveliest fresh breeze coming off the water.” She turned her beaming smile his way. “Everything smells of flowers. And the colors are glorious.”
“What are you wearing?” Angels were not supposed to be wearing form fitting white tank tops and flowy pants that the breeze molded to their long, shapely legs. The soft fabric stuck to her ass like she owed it rent.
“What?” She blinked at him and then glanced down at herself. “I thought this was perfect for the jungle. Not too tight, and natural fabrics. Linen is best in humid climates. I researched it.”
He wouldn’t know sod all about linen and humidity, but he did know what temptation looked like, and despite their day of tromping through the jungle, she didn’t have so much as a speck of dirt on her. A fine sheen of perspiration had bronzed her dusky skin like the flesh of a ripe peach, and he wanted to take a great, big ball-curdling bite.
“You must be hot.” She grimaced sympathetically.
“No.” Sweating beneath his fighting leathers like the palms of an adolescent boy with a Playboy in his hands. Leathers were good for fighting and hiding weapons, good for protecting him from glancing blows from other weapons. Plus black disguised blood so much better than all that white could. He had no idea where she’d hidden her blade beneath that skimpy top or those translucent pants.
“Okay.” She shrugged and strode off again.
And he kept right on following.
“So, your power is coming back?” She tossed the words over her shoulder as if his answer didn’t matter to her. It damn well should matter to her, because him getting his power back might be all that stood between them and a horde of angry demons determined to add an angel’s wings to their trophy wall.
What color were her wings? Ramiel’s wings mirrored his in white, the filaments shot through with red and silver. As part of Ramiel’s host, did her wings in any way mirror his? He liked the idea that they might have that in common.
Stap his vitals, but she had him thinking like a moony eyed boy. Wing feathers! He was fantasizing about the color of her wing feathers.
She’d stopped and was looking at him expectantly.
Oh right, his power, she wanted to know about his power. “I guess we’ll find out in a fight,” he said.
Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “You know this would be so much pleasanter if you’d stop being so grumpy.”
“I’m Wrath,” he groused. “Grumpy goes with the territory. And what have you got to be so infernally chirpy about anyway?”
“I’m having a lovely time.” She waved her hand at the jungle. “It’s not often that an angel of my standing gets to journey to hell, and then only in the company of our archangel. And it’s so vibrant here.” She bent and cradled a flower in her palm. “Look at this gorgeous pink. Have you ever seen such brilliant color?”
No, he supposed he hadn’t. He was probably going to earn himself another comment about his grumpiness, but perky angel tits needed a reality check. “There’s a reason you don’t come here without your archangel,” he said. “Demons don’t like angels and do their best to make sure angels get that message.”
“I know that.” She shook her head at him. “But let’s not forget it was me who saved you from that demon earlier.”
As if he could. A hell prince being saved by a seraph. Crap! He’d never live it down if any of his fellow hell princes discovered that.
“And anyway.” She marched off again, lithe legs eating up the ground, rounded hips swinging. “I have you, and you’re as much protection as an archangel.” Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a full body once over. “Maybe even more so, considering the location.”
“Even without my powers?” Nothing could dent her optimism. He didn’t know why he was trying. It wasn’t making her any less distracting, and he felt like a big, bad-tempered bully.
“Oh, Wrath.” She chuckled. “You’d be formidable as a human. You don’t need your powers to be big, bad, and scary.”
