Kerrelyn Sparks: Vampire Mine

“Connor Buchanan,” she whispered, and noted his throat moving as he swallowed. “It’s so amazing that I can touch you. I’ve always found humans fascinating. So wild and imperfect.” She smoothed a finger over a small scar close to his chin where no whiskers grew. “And yet, so beautiful.”

His jaw shifted beneath her hand, and she drew back, feeling her cheeks grow warm once again. “Of course, I find all the Lord’s creations to be beautiful.”

“Really?” His mouth curled up. “Even a cockroach?”

Her cheeks blazed hotter. “Well, I must admit you look considerably better than a cockroach.”

“Such flattery. Be still my heart.”

She smiled. He was teasing her, much like her friend Buniel enjoyed doing. Her smile withered as she wondered if she’d ever see her best friend again. Or any of the Heavenly Host. Her predicament crashed down on her with a sudden onslaught of grief for the world she’d lost. Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t belong here.”

“Marielle—” Connor nodded when she looked at him. “I heard that man Zack call you by name. And I heard yer screams when he attacked you.”

“His name is Zackriel. He’s my— was my supervisor.”

“Ye’re better off without him. He sorely abused you.”

She bowed her head. “I was being punished.”

“Why? Did ye do something wrong?”

She glanced at him, worried that he might be judging her, but all she saw in his eyes was a tender concern. “Angels strive to be perfect in every way. I . . . have failed.”

“Ye look perfect to me.”

Her heart swelled at his compliment, although she knew she had fallen short. “I’m not very good at following orders, not when they don’t make sense to me.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand.”

She had a feeling he really did understand. She was sorely tempted to touch him once again, but winced when she felt something wet trickle down her back.

His nostrils flared. “Ye’re bleeding again. I know a doctor in Houston who can sew up yer wounds.”

Sew her wing joints shut? Her eyes stung with tears. How could she do that? How could she give up what she was?

But was she still an angel? She was disconnected from the Heavenly Host. She was no longer a Deliverer, for her touch had not killed Connor. Her body was now human, frail and sensitive, susceptible to injury and disease. She could actually die.

A tear rolled down her cheek. She’d lost more than heaven and her friends. She’d lost her immortality.

“Och, lass.” He touched her cheek, brushing away the tear with his thumb.

Her skin tingled, and she marveled at the frisson of emotion that skittered through her. Such a strong reaction to such a light touch. It must be caused by the novelty of her new body. Or perhaps she was suffering from loneliness, cut off from the Heavenly Host. But when she looked into Connor’s eyes, she knew it was more. She was drawn to this man. She wanted him to touch her. And she wanted to see more of his soul.

She covered his hand with hers, holding it against her face. Perhaps all hope was not lost, for she still retained a little angelic power. Whenever she touched the dead or dying, their souls opened up to her like a book, and she could witness their entire life in an instant. With Connor, the skill was greatly diminished. He didn’t die, but as long as she touched him, she could still catch a glimpse into his soul.

And there it was, hidden far beneath his outer shield of honor and forbearance. A deep dark pit of despair and remorse. It was a painful place, too painful to visit with the suffering she was already experiencing.

She released him. “I’m sorry I’m not a Healer.”

“Aye,” he said gruffly. “ ’Twould be good if ye could heal yerself.”

“I was referring to you.” She touched his chest. “You’re carrying a dark pain inside you.”

“Nay.” He jumped to his feet and moved away from her, his face pale and rigid. “ ’Tis yer wounds we must be looking after. I’ll—” He stopped when a ringing sound emanated from the leather bag he wore in front of his kilt.

“I need to take this.” He pulled a communication device from the bag and lifted it to his face. “Angus, how is Shanna?”

He listened awhile, then an expression of relief swept over his face. He walked toward the back of the room. “I’m at the hunting cabin.”

He glanced back at Marielle. “I’ll be just outside the door. Doona go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” He opened a back door and stepped outside.

She glimpsed a starry sky before he shut the door. Her gaze wandered to the front door that Connor had used earlier. If she went outside, she could call for help from the Healers. Her best friend, Buniel, was a Healer, and he was probably aware that she was missing from the Heavenly Host. He had to be worried about her.

But Connor had told her to stay put. Another order that didn’t make sense. If Buniel could help her, it was worth a try.

She stood slowly, her body stiff and aching from her wounds. She wrapped the sheet around her, wincing as it touched her back. She slipped out the front door and gasped when she was enveloped with chilly night air. She’d never felt the temperature before. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. To her surprise, her breath frosted in the air.

She crossed the wooden porch and descended the steps to the clearing in front of the cabin. The brown grass felt icy cold beneath her bare feet. No wonder humans were so fond of clothes and shoes.

She pivoted, taking in her surroundings. In the light of the moon and glittering stars, she could see the snowy silhouette of gentle mountains. Patches of white snow gleamed in the shade of the nearby forest. Newly budded leaves filled the air with the scent of spring. How amazing was the Lord’s handiwork. Glory to God in the Highest!

No answer.

She willed herself to be strong. Just because she could no longer hear the angels, it didn’t mean they couldn’t hear her. She dropped the sheet in a pool around her feet, then with a shiver, she stretched her arms up to the heavens.

Connor shut the back door so he could talk on his cell phone without Marielle overhearing. She didn’t seem to have any memory of the disaster at Romatech, and he was in no hurry to remind her. She was suffering enough already.

He scowled at the night sky, bright with stars and the three-quarter-full moon. It was chilly here in the Adirondacks, but much calmer than it had been in South Dakota. Even so, an angry storm was brewing inside him.

He wanted to curse the heavens and one angel in particular—Zackriel. The bastard had cruelly abused Marielle, and for the life of him, Connor couldn’t imagine what she could have done to warrant the torture she was enduring. She had questioned Zack’s orders in order to protest the killing of children. What was wrong with that?

She was gentle and kindhearted, everything he would expect an angel to be. She’d been more concerned about causing him harm than easing her own suffering. She’d even wished she could heal him instead of herself.

In spite of her good intentions, that moment had scared the hell out of him. Had she managed somehow to see into the black pit of his soul? It had to be some sort of angelic talent, but it made her dangerous. It made him want to flee. Even so, he knew he had to stay. The lass needed protection. She was so damned innocent, she didn’t even know it was wrong to expose her breasts.

And what breasts. Full and soft. The luminous white skin made a startling contrast to the rich red color of her nipples. Nipples that had been pressed into the palms of his hands. Even now, his hands itched to touch her again. That soft, sweet skin.