Michele Hauf - Ashes of Angels

“Angels have never been fiction.”

He was right, of course, but had Cassandra ever imagined she’d one day be standing in an angel’s arms? Yes, she had. It had been a blissful, sensual dream of a warrior.

Sam stroked her shoulders and bent before her, as if to kiss her. But he only lingered there, their mouths inches apart, breaths dallying, eyes searching each other’s.

She wanted the kiss. It was wrong on so many levels, but she needed it. Yet she sensed Sam would not give it. Could not. Because they were both fearful of the Pandora’s box their desire could open.

But at that moment all she heard was an insistent voice inside her head. Kiss him. It will be dangerous … but how can you resist?

Dear Reader,

As with most of my Nocturne™ books, this story stands alone but is set in my Beautiful Creatures world. I’ve created Club Scarlet online so you can look up characters and learn more about them. Stop by and check it out at clubscarlet.michelehauf.com.

I’m pleased that the novella The Ninja Vampire’s Girl is included with this release. It features Coco Stevens, the sister of Cassandra (who is the heroine of Ashes). If you want to read events in order, that novella takes place about five months before Ashes of Angels, so I suggest you page to the back of this book and read the novella first. (But you won’t be mixed up if you choose not to; I promise.) I hope you enjoy the stories. I had an amazing time creating them.

Michele Hauf

MICHELE HAUFhas been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. Her first published novel was Dark Rapture. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries populate her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries she has never visited and of creatures she has never seen.

Michele can also be found on Facebook and Twitter and michelehauf.com. You can also write to Michele at: PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303, USA.

Ashes of

Angels

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cassandra Stevens stepped back from the finished silver sculpture to admire her handiwork. She had formed the male body from silver sheet metal, and worked with various shaped anvils to capture the smooth muscles and lithe structure of the male form. For the wings, stretched back and out from the body, she had used a lost-wax casting method to achieve the intricate barbed vanes.

A month’s work glistened under the bright light that hung over her workbench.

When she wasn’t working afternoons at the Central library as a research assistant, she spent her evenings designing silver objects d’art and jewelry. Her dream of forming an elite jewelry design business were going much slower than planned since arriving in Berlin two years ago, but better to be meticulous and careful than to rush into things. At least regarding business.

In life, rushing into things was always the better option. Danger did not sit back and wait for a person to weigh their options. One must always be ready.

Yeah, you go, Action Danger Girl, she chided her silent thoughts. Thinking she was ready was much easier than actually being ready. She’d never be sure. Never.

The silver sculpture had known its form the moment she’d begun to sketch a flat image on paper and had then transferred it to a sheet of silver.

“An angel,” she murmured, knowing, as she’d been working on it, how telling it was she sculpted an angel.

Fascinated during the process, her fingers had worked of their own volition, as if they instinctively knew what her subject should look like. That had never happened with any of her previous projects.

Tossing her hair over a shoulder, loosely bunched at the middle with a ribbon to contain the thick, wavy tresses that hung to her elbows, Cassandra stroked a finger down the abdomen of the figure. She sighed. This was the closest she’d been to six-pack abs in months. Lately, her social life had been suffering for her art.

What social life? You forgot to get yourself one of those, remember?

Another sigh would just be redundant.

The silver wings stretched out behind the sculpture about a foot, and the whole work was heavy, but not delicate, for she’d riveted and soldered the wings in place.

Cassandra had dreamed of winged men most of her life. Winged nightmares had visited her sleep, as well. But her hopeful heart emerged during that flicker of wakefulness following a nightmare and, as a result, the dreams overcame the nightmares.

Most of the time. Doom remained the overwhelming common theme in her dreams.

Angels were … not good. The Fallen ones Granny Stevens had taught her about were downright evil. They were as spiteful, selfish and dangerous as some mortals.

But one angel managed to rise above the dire warnings and tease her admiration. She’d never imagined his face—until now.

Studying the tiny face about the size of her thumb, Cassandra offered him an approving nod. “You are a handsome bloke.” No halo sat above the sculpture’s head, but that made sense to her. He wouldn’t have one.

A dangerous thrill giddied over her skin. She’d created an effigy of something others believed could harm her.

Danger teased, and she always responded. “Will I meet you someday?”

She carried it into her bedroom and placed it on the pine dresser opposite the end of her bed. Sitting on the bed, beneath the violet mesh canopy, she marveled that the angel looked down over her. She hadn’t planned it that way.

He’s the furthest thing from a guardian angel.

“I pray to survive when finally you come for me,” she said to the sculpture. “I can feel it. You’ll be here soon.”

Paris—Underground

“We’ve intercepted sensitive information between a muse and a hunter.” Bruce Westing handed the tribe leader, Antonio del Gado, a computer printout of conversations. “Cassandra Stevens is located in Berlin. She’s the contact point for what I estimate to be at least three muses traveling to Germany. And, I can’t verify this, but I think a pregnant muse is also on her way to Berlin via unknown escort.”

Del Gado slapped the paper on the desk before him. “She’s pregnant with a nephilim?”

“Fingers crossed.”

Bruce winced when he realized that should have been a more exacting reply. He was doing the best he could with the technologically inept staff provided for him. Tribe Anakim was one of the most clichéd groups of vampires around. They lurked in darkness due to their extreme sun affliction, and Bruce was never surprised when one developed the Bela Lugosi sneer and creep.

The tribe leader rubbed the heel of his palm over an eye. The man was ancient, and had big dreams, but Bruce supported his wacky idea. Being denied the sun for centuries would try any man’s nerves. “How many more names do we have?”