Angel Magic

Chapter One

Humidity crept through the window and across the room. A breeze, carrying the promise of rain, stirred the sheer curtains. More asleep than awake, Cassidy Hall kicked the sheet from her with hope to catch a cool breath on her naked body. Her hair clung to her face and neck, and cascaded to her breasts like long tentacles of shining black satin.

Fingers, gentle but firm, encircled her ankle, and then slipped to her knee, left burning trails along her thigh and continued their tingling journey across her abdomen. Cassidy groaned as the fiery touch moved upward, between her breasts and along her throat to pause at her lips. Breath against her mouth. A body pressed into her side.

Not quite ready to let sleep leave her, Cassidy sighed deeply. The fingers continued their blissful exploration of her, stroked her belly, and slithered to the inside of her thigh. Her breathing faltered in expectation and a low, masculine chuckle whispered around the room.

Cassidy opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. Heat still radiated through her body. Her muscles quivered. She flicked on the small lamp on the bedside table as she sat up and placed her hand over her racing heart. Had she felt a feather light touch on her skin? She scanned the room, relieved to find it empty, but pulled the sheet over her naked body anyway.

Someone watched her. Fear trickled along her spine and her gaze darted to the open window. Had Fabian Nico found her? She clutched the sheet tighter until her knuckles turned white.

No, Cassidy, get a grip. It’s been three years.

She wrapped the sheet around her and moved to the window. Thunder echoed through the darkness. Lightning briefly illuminated the sky. The first fat, heavy raindrops splattered onto the road below, the dampness a welcomed reprieve from the unbearable humidity.

The view from the second level wasn’t great but at least the room’s rent was cheap. With only a bed, a television, and threadbare carpet, she expected it to be. She studied the building across the road. At Italian restaurant dominated the bottom level, the second and third levels converted into lofts. A tremulous smile tugged at the edges of her lips. The Italian restaurant brought memories, both good and bad. If nothing else, Fabian’s son, Stefano, had shown her some great times.

Movement across the street made her jump. She stepped out of sight of the road. Chewing her bottom lip, she peered around the curtain and watched as a tall man walked past the restaurant. He looked up at her window. Cassidy ducked away again. She’d seen that confident swagger, those wide shoulders, and tousled mop of blond hair before. The detective. He’d followed her from Melbourne to Sydney, where she had laid low for a few months before train hopping to Cairns.

Cassidy pressed her back against the rough texture of the peeling wallpaper and closed her eyes. Tears stung the inside of her lids. She didn’t want to run anymore. She’d found a city where she felt at home, and wanted to stay. She loved Brisbane, especially the small bays and inlets on the northern side, but there weren’t many places to disappear into. If the detective had found her, anyone could. Fabian Nico’s icy fingers of death stretched far and wide.

Pushing disturbing memories to the back of her mind, she closed the window and pulled the curtains together. Then, she picked up her newest antique purchase and sat crossed legged on the bed. The antique dealer had practically thrown the clay angel figurine at her when she’d asked about it. He told her it was a genuine 17th century figure, hand carved and lovingly created. When he only wanted twenty dollars for it, she’d jumped at the chance. She wasn’t too sure about the antique dealer’s warning, though. He said the previous owners had experienced nothing but bad luck after buying the angel.

Cassidy followed the curved lines with a finger. For the first time, she believed in love at first sight. The gilding had worn away long ago, and the angel’s face was cracked, but it looked in good condition. Not that she had any idea what a four hundred year old angel should look like. She was amazed that it still existed!

Rain pelted against the window. Cassidy placed the clock on the bed and crossed the room to the water streaked glass. Carefully, she opened the curtain a crack. Across the street, the detective had made himself comfortable. He leaned his shoulder on a light pole, his powerful body protected from the elements by the restaurant’s awning. Hands shoved into the back pockets of his blue jeans, he crossed his ankles and lifted his face to where she cowered behind the safety of her drapes.

Cassidy gasped quietly and drew away. Fiddling nervously, she peeked through the curtains again. The light above his head cast shadows across him. She could only make out the angled lines of his features. In the three years the detective had followed her, she’d never seen his face.

Once, just after…

Once, she’d been close enough to see a shallow cleft in his square chin, and a perfect line of dazzling teeth. The protective feel of his arms as he caught her lingered. The memory of the way he’d smelled—soap and masculinity—still calmed her when she woke from a brutal nightmare. She knew the detective, even though they’d never officially met. Swallowing her caution, Cassidy placed the palm of her hand on the window. The detective straightened. He stepped into the rain. Cassidy snatched her hand away and dropped the curtain. What was she thinking? The man could be one of Fabian Nico’s hired thugs.

She turned to face the room. The bathroom door shifted with an eerie creek. The door hung ajar and wouldn’t close properly. Time and moisture had warped the wood. When she used the bathroom, the edge of the door rested on the frame to leave a narrow crack. Closing the bathroom door was habit, even though she lived alone.

Although…

Cassidy studied the room again. The atmosphere had changed. She rubbed the back of her neck where the hair stood straight up. Someone was in the room with her, watching her. She could feel eyes on her. Clutching the sheet wrapped around her a little tighter, she watched the vacant air of the room. The temperature dropped. Goose bumps pricked her flesh. Eyes wide, she stared around her.

The lamp beside the bed flittered and fizzed, threatening to dump her into complete darkness. Cassidy turned to the window and opened the curtains. The detective had gone. Apart from raindrops and the water rushing along the gutters, the street was empty. Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. She dropped the curtains. She had to pull herself together. Her level headedness and ability to think under pressure had allowed her to come this far. Her determination to stay alive had kept her out of Fabian Nico’s grasp for so long, not luck.

* * * *

Tristan stepped back, unnerved when it appeared the woman looked straight at him. Without fuss, she lowered her gaze and climbed onto the bed. No screams. No pleas for leniency. No real fear that he could see. He’d learned to move objects within years of his return, and had scared most hapless idiots out of their skulls. He had never used his ability for such devious intentions, and hadn’t expected his innocent game to backfire on him.

The woman had made herself comfortable on the bed, most of her curvaceous form exposed. Perfect breasts rose and fell with the even breaths of slumber. His blue eyes followed the lines of her pale curves. Tristan groaned. He was dead, a spirit in limbo. How could he experience such wanton lust? Her raven tresses stirred under his touch. She was so much like her. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. A long sigh escaped him as he turned away and vanished into the shadows.