Page 43 of Angel's Smoke

He freed a hand and reached out toward the small body of water near him. The lake’s frozen crust crackled, then erupted into a shower of icy shards that rained down crystalline sprinkles along the remaining unbroken surface. A long curved piece of black metal pierced through the air from the water below and hurled toward the charmer on Iron’s back.

A sharp grunt ripped from its lungs as the previously submerged car fender slammed into its middle.

Iron wasted no time. Now freed, he shot to his feet, not liking how slow his equilibrium was returning, and powered that fender right into the nearest tree. The sound of creaking metal had never been so sweet as when it was called into service after a long slumber. The pulls and pinches were justsosatisfying, especially as Iron wrapped that fender around the mystic’s middle like he was trussing a turkey.

“Steel’s one of my favorite iron alloys to play with, you know.” He spat blood into the snow and held his hand to the wounded side of his neck. Then he called out to no one in particular. “A little help here!”

Eager as ever for the final fireworks, Brass and Rhode hobbled to their feet and simultaneously called forth their full angel fire.

“You’re too late!” The mystic snarled, a disembodied glee stretching its features as the combined beams of flames shot toward it from behind Iron.

And that was when he saw the error he’d made. It wasn’t just blue that reflected back at him from the charmer’s wide golden eyes but green as well.

Iron spun but didn’t see the sixth charmer until it had already cast open a portal. A dullwhoompresonated through the trees, then green electricity crackled and flared around the edges of the magic door. The forgotten mystic smiled at him, gave a two-fingered salute from its temple, and stepped through. The portal dissolved around the charmer’s heels.

In the quiet that settled over the decimated forest landscape, punctuated only by the labored breaths of his brothers, Iron dropped to his knees, sank below the weight of his injured wings, and screamed into the night sky.

Cyro soon would know about Anna.

Chapter21

An hour had passed since Anna had seen Iron. The slow tinkling of water dripping through a coffee maker was the nails-on-a-chalkboard equivalent that rubbed against her already abraded nerves. The sixty minutes of worried time spent in his brothers’ care was the longest freaking year of her life.

When he and the others finally pushed through the solid metal door to their home, there was no such thing as a spared glance his way while she maintained some semblance of decorum on her part. Nope. She gave up on discreet courtesy the second she and the other women had been dragged into the angels’ home—a feat of construction best described as an underground palace with Wi-Fi, espresso on tap, and enough weapons to arm a small country—with only mild murmurings of “Charmers” and “It’s not safe.”

So, yeah, when Iron walked in with all limbs intact and an expression that could sour vinegar, she wasted no time. Anna abandoned her chamomile and fired herself at him like a heat-seeking missile. He caught her with anoof!but still banded her to him with an arm around her back. One arm, not two.

Then she saw why.

“Holy shit, you’re hurt!” Anna let him lower her to the ground and flew into full mother-hen mode, peeling his fingers away from the bandages at his neck. Up until that point, she’d never successfully nurtured anything beyond the mold colonies that grew in the back of her fridge, yet this somehow felt vital and instinctual. “Let me see it.”

“It’ll heal,” he said in tones far gentler than she was used to, but he didn’t resist when she lifted the—nope, not a bandage—wad of cocktail napkins from the bar away from his neck. She gasped. Angry slashes shredded the skin there. Each shorn edge of flesh was mottled with pockets of charred burns.

“How will this heal? This is in no way a heal-on-its-own thing. This is way more than a cat scratch. We need to get you to a hospital!”

Iron gathered her trembling hands and laid them against his warm chest. “I’ve got everything I need right here.” Then he dipped his forehead against hers, and the tense torso muscles beneath her fingers relaxed slightly. “The mountain will heal me.”

“What does that even mean?”

Tungsten, who’d stayed with her in the great room until everyone returned, stepped away from his conversation with Brass and the others and joined them. He rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “This mountain contains minerals and elements that call to our metals. When we are wounded, those earthly components commune with our magic, regenerating our strength and healing what our bodies naturally cannot. It is why we built our home beneath it.”

“Right,” she acknowledged, feeling slightly foolish. “I should have remembered that.”

Iron stood straight but didn’t let Anna’s hands go free. “You don’t have to remember anything.”

“But I’d like to,” she urged, impressing the importance of her conviction into her words, though hating how she still struggled to keep anything about his world straight. “It’s just that some thoughts are harder to keep in my head these days. Can you at least tell me what happened?”

Around them, several of the other angels began peeling off shirts and gear. Rhode came back from the kitchen with a fishing tackle box stuffed with first aid supplies.

Tungsten threw a chastising finger out at Bronze, who was already on the sandstone-colored couch, picking off flecks of charred skin from his bare chest and toned bicep like one would peel a sunburn. “Hey, keep it off the furniture. Tammy likes to read there in the mornings.” Then he returned his attention to Iron. “Anything we need to know?”

“There were six of them. Five dead. One lucky fucker escaped through a portal.” A penetrated silence settled through the room before Iron spoke again. “They saw Anna at the bar with us, with me. It’s safe to assume they’d be more than happy to use that intel against us. Oh, and they have angel fire-blocking shields now, which was fun.”

Muffled curses from every angel bounced through the great room, then Rhode said grimly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they cooked something up with what they still have of my DNA.” Haunted shadows cast over the seraph’s eyes. “Regrettable but nothing to be done for it now.”

Anna knew the gist of the reference but only through surface-level context. Iron had explained how, before Rhode had come to live with the angels, he’d been a prisoner of war in Cyro’s camp for untold years. The experiments done on him were the stuff of nightmares and things he still had difficulty talking about.

But before Anna could ask any more questions, Iron’s hand was at the small of her back, urging her out of the room. “All that shit is a problem for another day. For now, let’s get some rest.” Then he growled over his shoulder, “And keep your goddamn shirts on when you’re in the den’s public spaces. We have bathrooms and an infirmary for a reason.”

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