My Avenging Angel
your fears if I do not understand what they are.”
    “You said you loved me,” came her quiet response, and he arched a black brow in confusion.
    “And I do.”
    “But we only just met.”
    So that was what had his mate in a tailspin. Funny, he’d considered many things to explain her unease, but never her doubting his feelings. “If I recall, you were the first to declare such sentiment.” Tory tried to glance away but Michael refused to release his hold, moving to frame her face with his palms. “I told you, Tory, you are my mate. I know for a human it can take longer, but for an angel it is instinctual. Our soul recognizes its other half almost immediately.”
    “But what if you are wrong?” she whispered and he sighed.
    “Does it feel like I am?”
    The denial, when it came, was not damn near quick enough for him. Michael couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He’d sensed her soul reach for his when they’d made love and he’d also felt his respond.
    “Damn it, I’m not wrong,” he answered, harsher than he’d intended. Tory tried to jerk away from him and he wrapped her in his arms in a silent apology, gentling his tone as he asked, “Didn’t you feel it, love, our souls merging at climax, becoming one?”
    “I thought…” Tory fell silent, hiding her face in his chest.
    Michael’s lips brushed the top of her head before rubbing his cheek against the silky strands of her hair. “You thought what?”
    “I thought it was different but I wasn’t certain.”
    He smiled into her blonde tresses, his arms reflexively tightening around her small frame. Tory had been a virgin so her confusion shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it had been centuries since Michael had even considered sex much less indulged in carnal relations. And still, he’d never lain with a human, only other angels. He couldn’t honestly say he’d been expecting the bliss he’d found in Tory’s arms.
    Suddenly, he felt her stiffening against him. “Tory?”
    “Michael, you have feared Gabriel’s fate all this time and yet have found yourself in the same position. I am not immortal.”
    The little hitch in her voice should have had him rolling in guilt, only Michael found satisfaction in his ability to deny her statement. But how to tell Tory she would never die naturally? He had enacted a fundamental change in her very DNA without bothering to consult her.
    Well, shit. “About that—”
    Any other time, an interruption would have put Michael on edge, but this time he gladly welcomed the mist beginning to swirl around their feet and the nasally male voice whispering, “Damn. He’s still here.”
    “Would you prefer he get a quick shag and run? Not with our girl.”
    “You do have a point, Samuel. However, I wouldn’t have thought one of his kind would sink so low as to fornicate period.”
    “Must be the whole soul-mate thing. Never seen two souls merge like that before. Damn near blinded me.”
    Michael rolled his eyes. While he had been a bit busy at the time, he was still pretty sure he would have realized if either of the spirits had been in the room when he and Tory had been making love.
    His mate, on the other hand, obviously believed the two—what had she called them—stooges. “You watched?” she squealed, lurching from his arms and jumping to her feet, confronting the two male spirits floating inches off the floor.
    Michael sighed. While he was thankful for the distraction, the last thing he wanted was Tory upset by their presence.
    “Well, of course we didn’t watch,” Sam reply indignantly. “Well…maybe some of it.”
    “Why you no good…” Tory snapped, taking a threatening step toward the spirits.
    Wrapping his arm around her waist, Michael halted her progress, not at all certain exactly what she thought she was going to do. They were dead after all and impervious to most forms of torture. Except…
    Michael’s grip around Tory tightened, securing her to his side. With a

Similar Books

Guinea Pig Killer

Annie Graves

Pig Boy

J.C. Burke

Sands of the Soul

Voronica Whitney-Robinson

Ash Road

Ivan Southall

The Mad Toy

Roberto Arlt

Year of the Monsoon

Caren J. Werlinger