Page 16 of Wicked Savior
Do the angels not realize they can’t kill me? Instead, they play games and waste time while my questions go unanswered. If they would only talk to me, I could find the angel I need. I’ve tried, but they’re soldiers following orders.
The whirring of the machine slows and finally stops. I remove each vial and set it in the tray for tomorrow’s tests, then store it in the refrigerator.
Placing my hands palm down on the cold stainless steel, I lean over to read the results in front of me for the millionth time. They remain unchanged. Every batch has produced the same results, and I’m still no closer to the answer. There are only a few tests to conduct, but this is the last batch of blood I have available.
The reports show there is no difference between Druids and humans without power. Their blood is identical. It doesn’t make sense. There has to be a variable I’m overlooking. One group has power. One does not. There must be something, maybe an obscure strand of DNA I keep missing?
My mother wouldn’t have had access to the most basic of labs back in the tenth century BCE. How did she know which humans had the ability to become Druids?
ChapterNine
EVREN
Islowly set down the test results. “Are you here to kill me?” I lift my chin, waiting for the shadows to answer my question. My heart pounds with the feeling of impending death. It’s so strong, I can’t help but wonder if this is the angel I’ve been waiting for.
Unbelievable power ripples across the room in warning before settling behind me. His power tastes and feels angelic. My heart beats with anticipation.
“Maybe I’m here to save you,” a husky voice murmurs in my ear.
I can’t help the shiver that cascades down my spine. Intrigued, I keep my back to him and reply, “An angel from heaven sent to save me?” The smell of a bonfire on a cold winter’s night teases my senses. It’s delicious and musky and makes me take a tiny step closer to him.
His harsh laugh makes my stomach tighten. “More like an archangel from Hell, but we can’t always pick our saviors, can we?”
Disappointed, I turn to tell him to get lost, but the words never make it out of my mouth. The exact opposite of the dark angel I seek, this magnificently tall warrior with white-blond hair is stunning.
He looks like an angel, with his perfectly symmetrical features, strong jaw, aquiline nose, and high cheekbones. Features carved by a master sculptor with perfect intent.
Yet, there’s something unique about him.
A crease appears between his arched brows, marring the perfection. I skip over it and focus on the piercing turquoise blue eyes that glow with an inner light. Similar to the angels I’d killed the last few days, they have a luminescent quality to them, but where the other angels’ eyes were blank, fierce emotions shine from his.
He waits for me to say something, but I’m not done studying him.
His differences intrigue me. Instead of the blinding white aura of most angels, his is a void. The absence of color or aura. It does nothing to indicate what or who he was once upon a time. Both his power and physical body screams angel, but more. Angel plus what?
My eyes drift down the tight-fitting black t-shirt to the equally tight black jeans. Muscles bulge in every conceivable spot, indicating a warrior of the highest caliber. This is only emphasized by the small scars crisscrossing his forearms and hands. Barely perceptible to the human eye, they tell of innumerable battles against sharp weapons.
Beyond all the physical, the power he exudes easily eclipses the highest angel. God-like power is his to command.
I pick up his large hand, and he stiffens. “May I?”
Blue eyes harden with suspicion.
I wait for him to decide if I’m friend or foe.
Curiosity softens his eyes a fraction, and he reluctantly nods.
Warmth travels from his hand to mine, and I turn his palm up to study it. Calluses. Numerous and in the right position for weapons like swords. I glide my thumb across them. Tough, with a slight rough edge. Holding his hand up to the light, I study his scars. Very interesting. Mortals scar, so do some immortals, but angels heal the minute they return to Heaven.
“Are you going to tell me my future?” he asks, a hint of laughter in his voice.
My eyes flick to his. “If I was, I’m not now. What are you?”
“A little of this and that. Do you question all your saviors or just the wicked ones?” he jokingly answers.
Non-answers drive me crazy. So does polite chit chat. “Can I have a sample of your blood?” I blurt out, eager to look at its composition under a microscope.
A seductive grin flashes across his face. “That’s a first. Usually, a woman only wants my blood if I’ve failed to contact them again. I’ve never had one want it upfront.” Sharp blue eyes observe me keenly. “Why do you want it? For a spell?”
