Angel's Roar: Feathers and Fire Book 4 Read online

  A tall, dark-haired, winged man stood before us, wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid button up complete with pearl buttons. I blinked.

  The Angel of country music?

  More like the Angel of twang, pickup trucks, and cheap beer. And I really hated country music.

  The winged cowboy glared at us. “How dare you attack—”

  “He must be Fallen!” Alyksandre bellowed, eyes wild.

  Claire was climbing back to her feet, and I could tell that she was contemplating shifting into her bear form until she heard that little Fallen tidbit. Fallen… Angel? What the hell had we stumbled on down here to warrant a Fallen Angel for security?

  “Claire!” I shouted, snapping her out of her hesitation. “Go tell Kevin we need reinforcements! Now!”

  With a last scowl at the Fallen Angel, she scampered off. I didn’t have time to get the old brain working, because Alyksandre was suddenly rushing the winged man with his sword raised. He began spinning and slashing like a miniature tornado. The Fallen Angel’s eyes widened in momentary surprise, but he moved like a ribbon of silk in the wind, always just out of reach. Feeling highly uncomfortable with the idea of attacking the supposed Fallen Angel – because I really didn’t have any proof, and he hadn’t necessarily done anything to hurt us, yet – I flung out my hand, and dozens of silver butterflies swept out in a swarm.

  They struck the winged man hard, but where they struck, they bounced away, and a sudden flash of pain struck the exact center of my brain. I fell, crashing into an empty pedestal, knocking it over as my vision swam and tendrils of fire slithered through my brain.

  Kill it with fire!

  Noooooooo!

  Yesssssss!

  I stared up at the ceiling, grunting and flinching as I tried to shake off the conflicting Whispers in my mind, which seemed to be arguing with each other. I couldn’t tell if they were happy or frustrated with Alyksandre fighting the winged man, because they weren’t directing their shouts clearly. Were they saying No to Alyksandre or to my failed attack on the winged man? Same with the other shouts. Who were they rooting for?

  The fire slowly dimmed in my mind and I gasped in relief, rolling over on shaky arms to see Alyksandre’s sword swing towards the creature like a sledgehammer.

  The man’s elemental wings whipped around his body protectively, and the hardened steel shattered like a fluorescent bulb upon contact, leaving nothing but a puff of powder in the air as if he had thrown a bag of flour.

  The winged man placed a boot on Alyksandre’s chest – capitalizing on his surprised grunt – and shoved him across the room. Alyksandre struck the back wall with a heavy thud as I managed to climb to my feet, shaking off my wooziness.

  “Easy, pardner,” I muttered, glaring at him. “The Sheriff’s back in town.”

  The winged creature shot me an incredulous look before his eyes latched onto the broken pedestal at my side. Then his face contorted in anger as he took a step closer, mouth opening to scold me with the Holy Word or something.

  But he only managed a step before his head flicked back towards the entrance. I heard a loud crack and the sound of many pounding feet racing our way. When I turned back, the winged cowboy was hurtling through the air, slipping through a crack in the stone like a cockroach.

  Nameless appeared, glowing with white light. An entourage of unfamiliar Nephilim stood at his side, eyes alert. Claire – in polar bear form and looking ready to rend flesh – jogged up behind them, glaring out at the catacombs as if searching for something to hit. I scowled at her, realizing my expensive new underwear was now shredded as a result of her shift. Nameless bent down to place a hand under Alyksandre’s chin, speaking softly. Alyksandre gasped, jumping to his feet, panting desperately.

  I blinked. Had Nameless just brought him back to life? Or had Alyksandre only been unconscious?

  I was striding up to Nameless before I realized it. I cleared my throat behind him, folding my arms. He turned, locked eyes with me, and then blinked, taking a step back.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked cautiously.

  Shit. My scarf. The cross must be showing.

  At Nameless’ tone, the Nephilim suddenly had pointy things aimed in my general direction, but Claire barreled into them like a wrecking ball, bowling them over.

  Nameless clapped his hands once and I thought the catacombs might simply collapse down upon us. Everyone froze – even Claire. Then, she slowly climbed to her feet and backed away, never breaking eye contact with the Nephilim as she placed herself in front of me and any danger, a wall of white fur and claws.

  I placed a hand on her shoulder and felt her rock-hard muscles shaking.

  “Easy, Claire. Let’s cool down a second. Everyone’s on edge. I’m sure there is an explanation for… whatever just happened.”

  Nameless was studying me warily – not angry, but suddenly very thoughtful.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked again.

  “Spoils of war,” I answered, keeping my face blank.

  His lips pursed for a moment before he gave a brief nod. His eyes quickly flickered to the carving on the wall and then back to mine meaningfully. “Be careful with that. Spoils of war can sometimes be deadly. Just because we found a Templar hideout doesn’t mean we should rob it.”

  I masked my uneasiness with a slow nod. “Understood.” I had recognized their ancient symbol – two interwoven triangles that formed a 3D version of the Star of David, the well-known six-pointed star – but to find a Templar hideout in Kansas City? This place looked ancient – which was actually a relief. It meant the Templars hadn’t suddenly come to town for me, building a secret base underground. Because I had kind of pissed off their head honcho in Rome.

  “Who was that… guy?” I asked.

  “An Angel that lacked conviction,” Nameless said, sounding both disappointed and disgusted.

  “Does that mean he was Fallen like Alyksandre said?”

  Nameless grunted, eyes sweeping the cavern again. “We have all fallen short of the glory of God.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Specificity keeps swords out of the wrong people.”

  He didn’t acknowledge me, instead glaring at the pedestal I had knocked over. “The Ring of Aandaleeb is gone. Did this Angel take it?” Nameless asked, turning to look at Alyksandre.

  The Nephilim shook his head, dread locks swinging as he pointed at the pedestal. “Something powerful once rested there, but it was empty when we got here. I didn’t notice the sensation until we entered the room itself, as if it had rested here long enough to leave a permanent residue. I checked the area over here to see if someone had hidden it instead of leaving it on display. But I found nothing.”

  “How long ago? Centuries? Years? Months?” Nameless demanded.

  Alyksandre closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I will try to trace it.” Then he began walking, eyes still closed, as he lifted his palms to the air, letting them quest back and forth as if pretending to be a bird.

  “Look, Claire,” I whispered, patting her back. “An interpretive dance to find Andy’s Ring…”

  I heard someone cough, sounding suspiciously like Kevin, but the rest of the Nephilim were focused on their leader. Alyksandre reached the pedestal, fingers seeming to caress the air like a harp for a few moments. He took a deep breath, and then murmured. “I’ve got its aura, now…” Then he slowly walked across the room, eyes still closed, which was honestly pretty impressive since the ground was slightly uneven in places.

  He reached the far wall and finally lowered his palms to his side. “Less than a day. It left through here.”

  I was walking over to him without consciously deciding to do so, wondering how he had tracked this ring down. I didn’t realize I had spoken out loud.

  “A gift. I can sense objects of power,” he admitted, pointing at the wall.

  I nodded absently. This ring had slipped through a solid wall? But as I neared, I realized there was actually a fold in the rock, leaving a
sliver of a crack. Tight enough for… maybe a small person to slip through. I studied Alyksandre and shook my head. Then I glanced back at the others. They were all too big.

  “I can check it out, see how far back it goes,” I said, turning to Nameless.

  Claire spoke up in a throaty grumble. “I’m smaller.”

  Everyone frowned at that, but a sliver of a smile crossed Kevin’s cheeks as he realized what Claire had meant. She was smaller than me in human form. And that meant he might get another eyeful of her in all her naked glory.

  I shook my head. “Unless you want your Nephilim to see a naked woman wriggling through rocks and darkness, it should be me. Also, I have magic. If I get stuck, I might be able to use it to break free.”

  Nameless nodded his agreement, and I heard a very faint sigh of disappointment from the Nephilim crowd.

  Chapter 13

  I slipped through the crack, ignoring Alyksandre’s report of the winged man’s form of ingress and egress. The cold stone pressed against me, scraping my shoulders, but it wasn’t suffocating. Although dark, I imagined I was simply slipping through a crowd at a concert. The voices behind me faded, but those inside my head grew in volume. Still shouting and snarling intensely, but indistinguishable from one another. I shivered, pressing them down as I squeezed my body through the crack. The space opened up after a few shimmying steps, and the damp rock began to seep through my clothes. I managed to tug down the scarf, not wanting to hyperventilate since the suffocating sensation wasn’t helping my mindset while maneuvering through the cramped, pitch-black space.

  It began curving to the right, and I let my fingertips guide me, able to shimmy sideways more easily without fear of scraping my face on the rock. Still, I tested the ground beneath me, wary of sudden holes or crevices that could snap my ankle if I fell.

  I breathed evenly, imagining sunshine and fields of chirping birds and flying kites, aware that my body was starting to get anxious, my shoulders hitching and fingertips tingling with anxiety as it imagined being stuck in here forever. If the item they were seeking had gone through this place, it had to open up somewhere. Maybe outside the cemetery. A back door. That wouldn’t help me, but at least it would get me out of the cave.

  Unless it spilled me out onto a camp of Templars or something.

  Or if I found that winged cowboy waiting to swoop me up and carry me away. My silver butterflies had not only had no effect on him – they had seemed to recoil and harm me. Unless the timing was simply perfect, and the Whispers had decided to turn up the volume at that exact moment.

  Or I was just so tired that I hadn’t focused my spell properly, and he had some wicked defensive skills. Too tired to keep the Whispers from harassing me.

  Still, I hadn’t ever heard them sound angry. Sinister, sure. But that had been when I was killing asshole Templars – a far cry from the ones who had founded the Order’s humble beginnings. I wondered what form of Templar had occupied the catacombs behind me. More of the twisted, morally righteous assholes I had encountered in Rome, or a bunch of pleasant old dudes reminiscing about the glory days of fighting in the Crusades? Time would tell.

  But I was kind of working for an Angel – and he had wanted to steal something from them – so maybe these guys were also assholes. Or the Angel I was working for was an asshole. Or that other winged cowboy was an asshole.

  Somebody was a stinker in this equation. And when the assholes had wings, things got messy. I paused, thinking about how that had sounded in my head, and sighed.

  It didn’t slip my mind that the only people I hadn’t considered an asshole in the equation were myself or Claire.

  And to really drive the metaphor home, I was currently sliding through the cold, damp ass crack of planet Earth, well below the surface, thanks to these assholes.

  But was I sliding away from the assholes or closer?

  I reached a thinner, even tighter spot and squinted my eyes closed as I let out my breath, trying to shimmy my way through. But I was still too big to fit. I let out more breath and forced my tense, upper body to relax. Between one moment and the next, I stumbled and fell into open space, but thankfully remained standing. I froze as someone shouted at me in alarm.

  It took me a moment to realize I still had my eyes closed, because through my eyelids, I sensed light. I slowly opened them, careful to not appear threatening to whatever scene I had stumbled onto.

  And found myself staring at Kevin who looked stunned. “You’re the asshole!” I gasped. Kevin had double-crossed us, been in on the theft the whole time, even called in the winged cowboy!

  He cocked his head and pointed over my shoulder. I briefly glanced back to see the ladder we had originally descended from. I was back at the entrance, the caretaker’s cabin above me. “Well, shit,” I growled, lowering my hands in defeat as my hypothesis disintegrated. “Might want to go get our sniffer. Looks like Alyksandre missed it our first time through.”

  Kevin grunted, nodding. He peered at where I had emerged, looking embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed it before turning away to jog back to the cavern. The fold in the rock almost fully concealed the narrow crack from view. Without knowing it existed, it was easy to miss. I noticed a piece of rock had broken off a lower fold in the stone. I knew I hadn’t kicked free any rocks, so it was yet more proof that someone had made the journey before me, and left evidence behind of their passage.

  I heard Kevin call out for Alyksandre to tell him about my appearance. That the crevice had circled the catacomb, and that whoever had stolen Andy’s Ring – whatever that was – had left the same way we had entered.

  Nameless appeared, listening to the exchange as Claire lumbered up to me, sniffing and then nuzzling her massive head under my armpit. I spotted a piece of shredded lace on the ground and scowled.

  “You owe me a new pair of La Perla panties,” I threatened her. “Your big hairy ass was never designed for couture lingerie.” The angry polar bear curled her lip at me and then – without breaking eye contact – sat on the shred of lace. She even wriggled her ass into the ground, grinding the remains of my panties into the earth. I scowled, turning away with a sniff.

  Nameless was frowning in disapproval as Alyksandre spoke. “I sensed it before, but thought it was merely the trail of it leading here, not the trail of it leading away,” he grumbled, sounding more embarrassed than anything. As if his own anger at his failure was greater than anyone else’s thoughts on the matter.

  I let the silence build for a few minutes. “Right. Well, I’m filthy, cold, and tired. This place holds no further importance, so how about we recap tomorrow? Tell me all about Andy’s Holy Ring.”

  “Aandaleeb,” Kevin corrected.

  Nameless nodded, eyes distant. “Yes. Perhaps we can talk about that, too,” he said, lifting a finger to point at the scarf hanging from my neck.

  He turned back to his Nephilim, obviously not a big fan of goodbyes.

  “Search every inch of this place,” Nameless told them. “We might find more scarves. Finders keepers,” he added with a smile.

  Alyksandre and Kevin were both studying me with calculating eyes. They knew I’d had the scarf before we got here, but they hadn’t said anything. They very easily could have called me out. Especially since they were likely upset that I hadn’t told them what it really was, and had instead concealed the crucifix emblazoned across the front.

  Did they know what it did?

  Basically, they had many reasons to tattle on me – and they probably should have.

  But they chose a life of sin – a lie of omission to their Angel boss.

  I was beginning to like them more and more.

  Chapter 14

  The pew was sturdy and vastly uncomfortable, obviously designed for penance. I shifted slightly, trying to find a more pleasant position, but the punishment was evenly spread across the wooden torture rack.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Dorian grumbled beside me. “Have you no decency? We’re at Mass.”

  Dor
ian Gray was wearing a pristine dove-gray suit, perfectly tailored to his frame. He even sported a small primrose in his lapel. His hair was perfectly slicked back, it looked like he had colored some gray into his temples – as if hoping it would help him spear-fish the Desperate Housewives of Abundant Angel Catholic Church. And I was pretty sure he was wearing makeup. Then again, he was gloriously beautiful, not the slightest hint of a blemish marring his prettiness.

  But he had a painting of himself at his mansion that revealed an entirely different view – depicting him as a leper. He kept that one in a safer place, now. Ever since I had found it and threatened to torch it.

  Because Dorian Gray was immortal – as long as his painting was safe. He thirsted for vice and sin, and his appetite was insatiable. Every act of deviance he participated in, each moral or ethical rule he shattered, and any physical wound he received was instead transferred to his painting, leaving him perfectly flawless, but his painting more and more grotesque.

  And he was chastising me in Sunday Mass.

  The glare on my face only made him smile back, flashing me his perfectly white teeth.

  “He has a point,” Cain muttered under his breath, leaning closer. “I find it very disrespectful. Personally.”

  He was a rough-looking kind of guy with messy brown hair and very light eyes that stood out against his bronze skin, as if he never spent a minute indoors. And he hadn’t gone out of his way to dress up like Dorian. Cain was a take-it-or-leave-it kind of guy, for the most part. I gritted my teeth, considering elbowing him in the ribs, but quickly dispelled the idea.

  Cain – coined the world’s first murderer after he killed his brother, Abel, for not sharing his pet rock or something – was personally offended? Thinking about it, I kind of understood. He was the son of Adam and Eve. It was probably like watching a home video of his childhood, but none of his friends were paying attention.

  So, two morally-flexible people were telling me to stop being inconsiderate. Broken clocks, and all that. “Fine. I’m just tired,” I finally admitted.