Page 13 of Camael
"When isn't it?" Amelia set down her coffee as a thought hit her. A thought she’d had before her unexpected trip to Heaven. "I need to check something at my grandmother's house." She still couldn’t think of it as her house. It would always be Nana’s place.
"You need to rest," Camael countered. His voice dropped to a place that made windows rattle.
"What I need is to follow my gut." She stood and had to force her tired legs to cooperate. He jumped up beside her and glowered at her. "Something's been nagging at me since before the Universe kidnapped me. It’s something I wanted to check. Even more so after that little visit."
Camael shifted restlessly. "Explain."
"I had planned to look in the family journals for more information on my ancestors while you were gone. And when Metatron showed us those images of my ancestors working in the Archives, something clicked. The wardsaround my grandmother's house aren't normal protection spells like I always assumed. Now, I think they're hiding something." She started pacing. Her energy was returning as she worked through the puzzle. "I always thought they were just complex because she was paranoid about supernatural security. But what if she was guarding something more important?"
"Your grandmother was a powerful witch," Rami observed. "From what we heard from the Dark Warriors while you were gone, the magical community still tells stories about her."
"That’s true. But something tells me we didn't know the half of it." Amelia's power stirred as she remembered details that suddenly seemed significant. "The attic was always off-limits and I haven't tried to get in there since I moved in. Even after she died, the wards up there stayed active. I never questioned it because, well, witches are weird about their spaces. But now..."
"Now you're wondering what else she might have been protecting." Camael cocked his head and looked at her as if he could see into her soul. "Something connected to your heritage."
"Exactly." She grabbed her jacket from where she'd dropped it earlier. "And I'm going to find out what it is."
"Not alone." It wasn't a request. Camael's tone made it clear this was non-negotiable.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Archangel." Amelia popped one hip out, and her dark hair fell across her shoulder as she met those ice-blue eyes of his. The male was fine as hell, even when he was being overprotective. Maybe, especially then. "Besides, those wings of yours might come in handy if we need to reach the high shelves."
The tension between them crackled like a live wire. Possibility pulsed between them, making her giddy. Camael'smassive frame shifted, drawing her eyes down his body. She admired the way his black leather jacket stretched across shoulders built for battle. His wings might be hidden, but their deadly grace was evident in every predatory movement.
"We take my car," he growled as he headed for the garage. His boots made no sound on the marble floors. That was some kind of crime, given his size. The male moved like violence, waiting for an excuse to happen.
"Of course we do." Amelia rolled her eyes as she followed him. Heaven forbid they take her perfectly good Honda Civic when he had that black beast of a Dodge Challenger waiting in the garage. The thing was all muscle and attitude, just like its owner.
"Wait." Amelia planted her feet as something occurred to her. "Do you even know how to drive?"
From his position by the door, Rami's shoulders shook with barely contained laughter. The bastard was clearly enjoying this shit show. Her gaze remained on Camael as his ice-blue eyes narrowed. The temperature in the garage dropped about twenty degrees. His massive frame filled the doorway of that car like it had been custom-built for him. "I have commanded Heaven's most elite fighting force through multiple millennia of celestial warfare." His voice was pure don't-even-start-with-me. "I think I can handle one small machine."
The way he said ‘small machine’ made it sound like the Challenger was a tricycle. But there was something else in his tone. Something that suggested this wasn't his first rodeo with modern transportation.
"Besides," he added with a smirk that should've been illegal in at least three states, "Michael insisted we all learn after Gabriel tried to 'borrow' a fighter jet. That was an interesting week for the Archangel Council."
Well, shit. There went her last excuse to avoid getting intoan enclosed space with all that concentrated male beauty. Sometimes a female's life just wasn't fair. Amelia thought of anything but how good he smelled during the ten-minute drive. It was easier to focus on the houses while they were cruising through the Garden District after that. His massive hands gripped the leather steering wheel like he was prepared to wage war with New Orleans traffic. Which, given the clusterfuck that was Magazine Street during tourist season, wasn't entirely unreasonable.
The tension in the car was thick enough to choke a demon. Every time he shifted gears, the movement drew her attention to those forearms marked with ancient Enochian script. The tattoos danced beneath his skin. It was a beautiful reminder that this wasn't just some pretty male playing chauffeur. This was a warrior archangel who'd seen centuries of combat.
And wasn't that just perfect? Here she was, ogling an archangel while they headed to her grandmother's house to uncover what could be world-changing information. And with luck, they’d discover some magical artifacts that could solve their problems. Her life had officially crossed into territory that would make reality TV producers weep with joy.
Her grandmother's Victorian stood exactly as she'd left it when she’d fled. Its gingerbread trim and wraparound porch were a testament to old New Orleans charm. She could see the wards that cloaked the property with her newly awakened senses. They were veils, hiding something powerful from prying eyes.
"The magic here," Camael said as they approached the front door. "is old. Older than the house itself."
"My family's lived on this land for generations." Amelia pressed her palm to the door. The wards recognized her blood and parted like curtains in a breeze. "Each witch hasadded their own layers of protection. I added mine when I inherited the house after Nana passed."
She hadn’t changed anything inside the house. It was still a testament to her grandmother's eclectic taste. Crystal prisms hung in windows. They caught the light and split it into rainbows. Books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves. Their spines bore titles in English and Latin. The one thing she loved about the place was that it still smelled of herbs and old magic. It represented home to her.
"The attic access is this way." Amelia led him up the worn wooden staircase. Each step creaked under their weight like the house was commenting on their passage. The male's massive frame made the space feel smaller, more intimate. And wasn't that just perfect? An archangel in her family home, about to discover God knew what in her attic.
Camael's ice-blue eyes scanned everything, missing nothing. His warrior's instincts didn't take breaks, even in supposedly safe spaces. "You haven't changed anything," he observed, voice rumbling through the narrow hallway. "The place looks frozen in time."
She paused at the top of the stairs. One hand rested on the banister her grandfather had carved decades ago. "I guess I've been waiting for something," she admitted. "Though I didn't expect that something to be an ancient destiny and an archangel houseguest."
"It's your home now." Camael's massive shoulders barely fit in the hallway as he moved closer. His presence seemed to fill all the empty spaces she'd been trying not to notice. "You should claim it properly."
"I keep telling myself I'll redecorate," she said as she led him into the study. "But every time I try, it feels like..." She trailed off, searching for words as she breathed in the familiar scent of old books.
