Page 43 of Far From Center
Gabriel put his arm around Nyalla’s shoulders and squeezed. “Good. He can stay there. And if he ever again blames you for his own actions or insults you, I will ride in on a horse and hang him with a rope.”
She relaxed under his arm, stepping close so she fit against his body. “There won’t be any other angels but you Gabe. No humans or werewolves, or anyone else. Nobody but you, I swear it.”
He hugged her tight. “Good. Now hurry up or I’m going to go down there and meet with the Gormand all by myself.”
That got her moving. Finally, she was ready to leave, and not a moment too soon. One more swipe of the hairbrush and they would have been late to their meeting.
“You look lovely,” he told her, tucking her hand in his elbow. This was how the human men treated women in the books he’d been reading, although he wasn’t sure how they were supposed to get through the doorway side by side like this. And they were both overdressed. According to the cover of one book, he should be without his shirt, his hair blowing in a fierce wind, and she should have the top of her breasts pushed upward and visible, her head thrown backward with eyes closed and red lips pursed.
But that wouldn’t be very practical for joining a Gormand and quite possibly a rebel angel in a tense meeting. Perhaps they’d do the blowing-hair-and-head-thrown-back pose later.
“Um, thank you? And you look quite handsome too.” She stopped and straightened the collar on his shirt. It didn’t need straightening. He’d checked and made sure every bit of his attire was perfectly aligned. So either there was something that was purposely supposed to be askew, or like her books indicated, she just wanted an excuse to touch him. He hoped for the latter.
“I’m not going to stand at the bar and pretend to be a stranger while you face these demons and angel all by yourself,” he said, deciding that he needed to be honest about his intentions. He might be a human, but at heart he was still an angel, and he wouldn’t hesitate to protect her, to sacrifice himself to make sure she was safe.
Nyalla patted his shoulder. “I know I look like a damsel about to be in distress, but I’m pretty resourceful. I’ve subdued a juvenile red dragon. I’ve taken down an angel and duct-taped him in a basement. I’ve captured half a dozen elves and strung them up from the stable rafters in nets. I even defeated a ghoul. I always appreciate back-up — I’d be a fool not to — but there’s more to me than blonde hair and blue eyes.”
Aaru above, she’d done all that? Clearly he’d been underestimating humans. Either that, or she was a particularly special human. Actually, shewasa particularly special human, she was his — his life mate and best friend. And he wasn’t about to let her meet this demon alone. “Then think of me as this back-up, only sitting right next to you.”
Her eyes shone dark blue, like the deepest portions of the ocean. “I like having back-up sitting right next to me, especially when it’s you.”
He stood aside to let her go through the door, then immediately snatched her hand once more, not letting go even as they approached the table of the little restaurant downstairs. The Gormand was there, as was the skinny demon. At the end of the rectangular table, casually sipping an amber colored liquid in a short stout glass was an angel — only it wasn’t the angel Gabriel expected.
This was an Angel of Chaos, one of the banished from the war nearly three million years ago. Gabriel felt every hair on his body rise, his lips twisting into a snarl. It was forbidden for this creature to be here out of Hel. He’d barely recognized the being. Banishment from Aaru had changed Sirumel. The gold tracings of his hidden wings were tarnished, rotted, broken, and nearly devoid of feathers. Even in a human form, he looked as though he were a hollowed-out shell, a skeleton with leathery skin stretched taught over sinew and bone. His hands were claws that wrapped around the glass, his eyes orange-red and sunken in his face. Nyalla shivered, and he purposely nudged her to the far seat, taking the one next to Sirumel himself.
“That’s not an angel,” Gabriel pointed to Sirumel. “She asked for an angel to verify the authenticity of the artifact upon its transference, not some Fallen, banished scum.”
Nyalla sucked in a breath, shooting him a panicked glance. Sirumel’s fingers tightened on his glass, his eyes flaring crimson. Skinny demon slid down in his chair, practically vanishing under the table. The Gormand frowned.
“I am an angel,” Sirumel hissed. “But I am more interested in what magical device you have that can identify me. I sensed nothing when you sat down, so perhaps it is a spell you cast earlier that has a long period of effect?”
He felt a hard kick on his ankle. “It’s a spell,” Nyalla announced. “I want to make sure we’re not getting screwed here.”
The Gormand narrowed his green eyes. “If we screw you, the Iblis will declare a blood-feud.”
“Yes, but you’ll still have collar and the artifact, and we’d have nothing but a piece of junk. The original scroll had a guarantee by an angel. We need to have an angel verify we’re getting the actual artifact. An angel. Not a demon. Demons lie.”
Sirumel drew himself up to his full height, which was a good foot over anyone else at the table. Gabriel hadn’t remembered him being so tall. Perhaps banishment had stretched the angel out like a piece of taffy.
“I’m an angel. I’m an Angel of Chaos. And I will certify that the artifact you’re receiving is genuine.”
“Youwerean Angel of Chaos,” Gabriel corrected. “Now you’re just banished scum. And Angels of Chaos are just as likely to lie as a demon. There was an angel who certified authenticity on the scroll. We want the same angel to bear witness to the transaction, or no deal.”
The Gormand turned his glare to Nyalla. “Whoisthis guy? The Iblis sends a human woman and two useless demons as her couriers. Weird, but she’s an imp, so that’s not unexpected. But this guy shows up out of the blue and starts acting all bossy and arrogant, like his shit don’t stink. Get rid of him, or I will.”
Nyalla’s jaw firmed, her eyes dark. “You’re just as much of a lackey as that skinny demon trying to hide under the table. I suggest you stop worrying about my companions and try to salvage this deal before I decide to make a phone call to the Iblis and tell her you’ve breached contract. I want the artifact by midnight tonight. And I want an angel present at the swap. Don’t try to pass off this ancient from Hel as an angel. Don’t slap some feathers on a tourist and call him an angel. Don’t bring a chicken to the deal and call him an angel. One last chance. That’s all you get. Midnight. And if you lost contact with the angel who verified the item on the scroll, then you better hustle and find another.”
Nyalla stood, her chair scraping on the concrete. The Gormand shot out a hand, and before Gabriel could react, the demon had grabbed Nyalla’s arm and yanked her half-way across the table.
“I think we should teach this insolent girl a lesson about who is a lackey and who isn’t, don’t you, Sirumel?”
Gabriel snarled, but stayed in his seat. He was back-up. He could tell that he’d already irritated Nyalla by jumping in and taking charge. He’d only anger her further if he treated her as a distressed damsel and not allow her to try to handle this matter on her own first.
“Can I fuck her? I want to fuck her.” The skinny demon giggled, peeking up from under the edge of the table.
Sirumel’s lip curled up. “I’m not interested in watching you rape this girl. And I’m not so insecure that a human’s demands do more than annoy me. Now if you’d like to remove one of her limbs or disembowel her, just for fun, then I might stay.”
“How about ‘none of the above’?” Nyalla yanked her arm, then stabbed the Gormand in the hand with a fork.
