Death Sword. Pamela Turner
bought Andi one. No, not really a date then.
Too bad it hadn’t worked out. He seemed nice, once she got past his saturnine personality and the fact he’d killed her. Maybe angels of death had to remain emotionally detached to do their jobs, much like emergency medical technicians or police officers had to rein in their emotions when responding to an accident or murder scene.
Was Xariel really an angel of death? He seemed to have the wings and supernatural abilities to prove it. True, the wings could have been black feathers on a wire frame, triggered to spring forth when a concealed button was pushed. But how had he managed to heal her wound and repair her sweater without touching her?
And why had he let her come to the nightclub if he were so concerned with bringing her to Metatron? She doubted it was because he cared about her birthday or wanted to meet her friends. Nor did she believe he was so naive to think she’d go somewhere unknown with him. No, if she went with him to Metatron it would be by force. And wasn’t that kidnapping?
So many questions that might never be answered.
Why did Metatron want her? Her life, until this night, had verged on the normal, even boring, alternating around her job as a barista at a local coffee shop, her apartment and downtown nightclubs.
Perhaps he’d made a mistake. A group of women emerged from the bathroom. She slipped into their midst, muttering, “Excuse me,” and continued toward the exit.
Only a few feet between her and freedom.
A strong hand clamped down on her shoulder.
Karla jumped, stifling a yelp.
Xariel glared at her. “Nice try. Now let’s go.” He pushed her toward the exit.
“What about Andi?”
“I gave her cab fare. She’ll be fine.”
Karla sighed. Her attempt to escape had failed, and she didn’t know if she’d get a second chance. Did she want another one?
3
“You can’t be serious.” Xariel stared at Metatron. A direct order of immolation would have made more sense. He glanced at Karla. Metatron wanted her for this?
Metatron nodded. Even seated behind his massive desk, one couldn’t ignore his towering height.
“I am. Train Karla as an angel of death.”
“Why not Gabriel?”
“Because I want her to work with you and Samael.” Metatron beamed at Xariel from beneath blond bangs. Wide blue eyes only enhanced his innocent expression. Xariel knew better. Other angels might call Metatron “pretty boy” behind his back, but assuming he was a pushover often resulted in career suicide.
“You know how Samael is,” Xariel protested.
Metatron cocked his head. An endearing gesture, but Xariel sensed tension crackling underneath.
“Thanks for talking about me in front of my back.”
They turned. Karla leaned against the concrete wall, arms crossed. She frowned. “I don’t know why I’m here, and I’m not interested in this angel-of-death gig. So maybe you–” She jabbed her index finger at Xariel. “–could send me home.”
Metatron’s smile faded. “Impossible.”
“You can’t keep me here against my will.”
Metatron leaned forward, chin resting atop interlaced fingers, arms forming a modified triangle. “Your will means nothing here.”
Karla opened her mouth as if to argue, but Metatron raised his hand.
“Like it or not, your future’s set.” He leaned back. “Haven’t you wondered why you’re different from other people?”
Karla stiffened. “Pretty obvious.”
“The heterochromia’s only part of it. Your mother never told you about your father?”
“Mother left right after I was born.” Karla spat the emphasized word as if it were poison.
“I see. I assume your adopted father didn’t know.”
Karla gave him a what-the-hell-do-you-mean look.
“Your real father is Azazel. You’re a descendant of the Grigori.”
Karla’s expression didn’t change. “Grigori?”
“Angels also known as Watchers,” Xariel explained. “We left Heaven to live among you. Azazel was one of our leaders.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Any reason to doubt us?” Metatron’s stern tone of voice reminded Xariel of a strict teacher disciplining an unruly student.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s a lot to process,” Metatron admitted, coming around the desk. He took Karla’s chin in hand, tilting her face until their eyes met. “Your destiny is to be an angel of death. Fight it and not only will you suffer, but others will as well.”
He turned to Xariel. “Take her to meet Samael.”
Xariel groaned inwardly but nodded, not allowing his expression to give a hint of displeasure. “It’d be better if you talked to him.”
“There’s no reason Samael should question you. He knows it’s a direct order.”
Xariel knew better than to argue. He opened the door. “Come on. Let me introduce you to the rest of the dysfunctional family.”
He swore Metatron snickered as the door shut behind them.
“Who’s Samael?” Karla hurried beside Xariel, her shorter legs no match for his long strides.
“My boss. He and Gabriel are Metatron’s seconds-in-command.”
They stopped at a bank of elevators. Xariel pressed the down button. Moments later a car door hissed open, allowing them access.
They stepped inside the elevator. Karla stood in the corner, her hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket. She wore the same outfit from last night, but now she looked vulnerable and not at all like the confident young woman who’d challenged him. Xariel watched as she glanced from the doors to the control panel, chewing on her lower lip, as if fearful he’d hit the stop button and trap them between floors. Not that he had any intention, although he wasn’t eager to reach their destination any time soon.
Bad enough she had tried to evade him at the nightclub. If Metatron wanted him to train her as an angel of death, she needed to accept her circumstances. True, she’d been thrown into a situation she probably felt powerless to control and, technically, she’d be right. But he also had to deal with this new problem thrust upon him, one he didn’t appreciate. If he had known Metatron’s intentions, he would have refused the assignment and taken any punishment.
The car shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open. Karla glanced at Xariel before stepping out. He followed, steeling himself for the dreaded meeting. Face-to-face encounters with Samael always left him in a bad mood and he doubted this time would be any different.
They stood in the hallway. Here, temperatures hovered near freezing and Karla shivered, despite her coat. Concrete walls painted battleship gray and floors covered with sky-blue industrial carpet added to the overall austere atmosphere.
“It’ll get colder,” Xariel warned her as he led the way down the corridor.
They stopped before a locked gray metal door. Xariel rapped three times. “Watch your step.” Before he could elaborate, the door swung open on silent hinges.
Once inside, the door automatically closed and locked behind them. Karla peered around Xariel’s side, her expression apprehensive.
He didn’t