Page 42 of Vanish Into Light

“Apparently not. Raphael, I can imagine, has grown to like this mortal coil too much. If Michael has his sword, if he succeeds in restoring the balance, Raphael will go back to heaven where there aren’t any lusty, devoted humans to worship him.”

“Makes sense.” She remembered the trailer outside the mine, its stink of incense, and the fawning adoration of the drugged women inside. She shuddered.

“Rosie.” Beck cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping gently across it, drawing her gaze up to his. The gold of his eyes rivaled every bit of artificial light in the room. “He’ll never touch you again. I swear.” And coming from Beck, that wasn’t an empty promise to make her feel better.

She leaned into his touch, even as she said, “I’m not afraid of Raphael.”

He smiled, faintly. “Of course not, darling.” He leaned down to kiss her, quick, but clinging, and it was a promise with real heat behind it, too.

When he lifted his head, he smiled again; held her gaze until she nodded. Then he glanced toward the TV, and its security feeds, and his expression darkened. He sighed, and before his hand left her face, she felt a spasm move through it, a quick flicker of true anger beneath his skin. “Oh, Day, Day, Day. Whatareyou thinking?”

~*~

Damien’s mouth was very hot, and wet, as Beck’s had been – that elevated temperature that must have been a side effect of hell. He shoved his tongue between Lance’s lips, and used one claw-tipped hand to angle his head. Lance’s belly clenched, and he wanted – but it was only an echo of the desperate hunger he’d felt last night. His body felt drugged and heavy – too heavy to respond. This was happeningtohim, and he was allowing it; he didn’t want to pull away, but something about it was wrong, and that voice in the back of his head was screeching at him.

What was wrong? What was–

Damien pulled back suddenly with a choking sound.

–missing?

Lance blinked, and it was like a veil had been lifted from his eyes; his thoughts snapped back to the present, and with a choking gasp of his own, he realized he’d been sitting here making out with a perfect stranger – a perfect male stranger, who’d been born in hell.

He was breathing like he’d just sprinted a quarter mile, heart galloping in his chest.

A hand touched his arm, and a glance proved it was Rose, stalwart and steely-eyed, her touch supportive as she squeezed at his bicep. How often had he encouraged her to lean on him, and here he sat, helpless and stupid, leaning into her.

He couldn’t do more than glimpse her, though, because his attention was snagged by the scene playing out in front of him. Beck was there, wings half-spread, his tail around Damien’s neck and holding him aloft, while Damien choked and kicked and clawed ineffectually at the grip that squeezed tighter and tighter.

“Stop it,” Beck hissed, fangs bared, and Damien subsided, gasping wetly in his throat. A low, rumbling snarl pulsed out of Beck, but his voice was low and silken when he said, “What are you doing, Damien? Touching things that don’t belong to you again?”

I don’t belong to anyone, Lance thought, with a flare of indignation. But it was a sad thought in comparison to theyes, thank you, good, right, yeslitany that ran through his head, a soothing warmth bleeding through all his muscles, because Beck was here, and his presence immediately overwhelmed Damien’s, and highlighted all the reasons it had felt so wrong.

Damien was like a bit of flaky ash, dissolving on the tongue, letting you know there was a fire somewhere nearby.

And Beck was the fire itself: carefully-tended, never blazing out of control; scorching-hot if you got too close, but a safe light in the dark, a gathering place for the weary.

Damien smelled like the cigarettes he’d been smoking, and Beck smelled like fresh wood smoke on a cold night; like good new steel, and cordite, and diesel fuel, and everything dark, deadly, and efficient that had always meant something to Lance as a military man.

“Christ,” he murmured, and dropped his face into his hands. What in the ever-lovingfuckwas happening to him?

Rose squeezed his arm again. “It’s alright. You’re okay.”

There was a loud thump in front of them, and Lance glanced through his gapped fingers to see that Beck had thrown Damien down to the floor – and then pressed a boot to his sternum. Damien looked terrified.

“When your boss wakes up,” Beck said, still pleasant, despite the undercurrent of a growl, “do ask him to pass a message along. Tell him that I want to talk to Raphael.”

“W-w-what?”

“Tell him,” Beck said, and bared all his teeth, fangs flashing, even in the low light. “If I have to come back and remind either of you, that won’t go well, trust me.”

He turned away from a still-spluttering Damien, and stepped right up to Lance. Took his face carefully in both hands right away; the growl died away, and his brows notched with concern. “Did he do anything besides kiss you?”

“N-no.”

He glanced toward the bar. “Did you drink any of that?”

“One sip.”

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