Untitled

Hearts of Stone
Guardian Wings 01
by
Inka Loreen Minden
Two forlorn souls, not allowed to love...
His Clan took everything from him and forced Vincent to live in the shadows. Shunned by his own
kind, his only light in the dark is the witch Noir LeMar. He is her secret guardian. He wants to touch
her—only once—but his Clan has cursed him.
Demons have wiped out Noir LeMar’s family. Ever since she’s fighting a lonely battle. She does not
know that she has a protector who watches her day and night, while she tries to find the killers of her
parents.
To save Noir’s life, Vincent has to give up his cover. Although they feel attracted to each other, both
know, they never can fall in love and feel passion. The consequences would be devastating because
everything he touches in his human form turns into stone.
But fate has other plans...
Published by
© Sieben Verlag, Germany, 2013
Translated from German by Linda Mignani
Edited by Kate Walsh
ISBN-ebook-PDF: 9783864433276
ISBN-ebook-epub: 9783864433283
www.sieben-verlag.de
Inka Loreen Minden is a German author of erotic and paranormal romances and teen books. She has
so many pseudonyms that people call her 'the multi-named woman'.
She lives in Munich and shares her home with her husband and son. Her husband sometimes thinks
she is more alien than human as she often acts out of character.
Inka enjoys reading, watching movies with her family and playing the violin. She craves writing and
chocolate, often both at the same time.
Since 2008 she has written more than 26 books - historical, contemporary and paranormal appearing regularly in the German online bestseller charts. Love, passion, and humor always have a
place in her erotic romances, regardless where the heroes meet each other.
Inka welcomes visitors at www.inka-loreen-minden.de
Chapter 1 - Scotland
Like a giant bat, Vincent hung upside down the wall of the abbey. He stared through the window, his
claws embedded into the grey stone and his wings pressed to his body. In there, on the narrow bed,
lay Noir. Vince saw a long slender leg, peeking out from under the blanket. He could look at her for
hours. He sighed softly. Fortunately, the pitch-black darkness concealed him. But wind chased the
clouds; soon the moon would shed light on the monastery grounds.
Noir moved restlessly and awoke.
His pulse sped up. With one bounce, he pushed himself from the wall and sailed with spread wings
into the foliage of a tree across the window. He dug his claws into the trunk, climbed nimbly as a
squirrel to the crown and remained motionless. He knew what to expect and his heartbeat
quickened. She opened the window and Vince caught his breath because as Noir stuck her head out,
moonlight poured on her long hair through a gap in the clouds and it shone like silver. Her elf-like
face showed no emotion. Noir's eyes, dark as onyx, darted around the garden of the abbey. Vince
lived for moments like this. Unfortunately, she retreated too soon.
He pushed his head forward, careful not to betray himself, and blinked until he got used to the
brightness of the moonlight shining through the leaves of the impressive oak tree. From his hiding
place, he had an excellent view into the room of the old convent. Silver Abbey was built in the 12th
Century near the harbour town Aberdeen. The grey granite from the nearby stone pits was
characteristic of the Scottish city, with some buildings dating back to the Middle Ages. When the sun
or moon light hit the houses, the particles in the stone glittered like Noir's white hair.
For many weeks, she had hidden in the outwardly ancient looking monastery. The inside had been
modernised and adapted to the 21st Century. Even the monks of Abbey Silverstone wanted internet
access. Nevertheless, Noir lived in a barren room because the monastery was a monastery, no matter
what century. It offered a perfect hiding place for a witch; no one would suspect her to be in a
church facility and no demon entered such a place voluntarily.
The clock struck ten. Light illuminated the room and Vincent squeezed his eyes shut. He heard the
familiar buzz as Noir powered up her netbook. A little later, the toilet flushed, and then the scraping
of chair legs when Noir sat down at the table. Vincent didn't move, the night offered him additional
protection. As Noir's secret protector, he was accustomed to remaining undetected. Almost every
night the witch hunted demons, and each time Vincent followed her like a shadow.
He sighed again. Why did Noir continue with this terrible life? He'd much rather stroll around with
her in the moonlight than constantly rush after her. The window framed her tall, slim shape. She had
her back to Vincent as she sat at the table, typing on the notebook in front of her. When he
remained stock-still, she wouldn't notice him, even though he perched just four yards away from her
on a branch.
During the day, Noir hid her hair under a habit like the monks in the monastery. Now it flowed,
although a little tousled, over her shoulders. He preferred Noir in her sleeping shirt because it didn't
hide her beautiful figure as the wide robe did. The material hardly covered her ass and he caught a
glimpse of tight skimpy panties.
Her curves... Vincent swallowed. His claws dug deep into the wood of the thick branch to which
he clung. Since the chair had an open back, he ogled Noir's narrow waist and her taut buttocks which
slipped back and forth on the chair. How would her softness feel under his touch? How would
Noir's hair be? Rather stubborn like his or soft like velvet? The way it caressed her back and adapted
to each movement, it resembled silk.
Was her skin smooth? For certain. Everything about Noir would feel good. Vince would give
everything if he could touch her—only once!
He had often toyed with this thought: he spread his wings and soared over to her window when
she slept, crept to her bed, pulled the cover from her body and fondled her. Only once!
But Noir was a hunter, a killer. The moment she noticed him, she would destroy him. Vincent
looked eerie, at least in his non-human form: his fangs lengthened and he sprouted pointy ears, tiny
horns poked out of his brown hair and strong bat-like wings adorned his back—for sure no eye
candy. Noir would be frightened when a six and a half foot monster suddenly loomed in front of her
in ripped jeans.
As the branch snapped under the torment, Vincent held his breath, but Noir paid no attention. She
still leaned over her laptop at the table. Although he didn't see the small screen, he knew that she
skimmed, as every night, the Magic International, an online magazine for magicians which kept her up
to date on the events in their world.
An oak leaf sailed rustling through the treetop and landed on his shoulder. Autumn was close,
forcing Vince to seek another hiding place soon. If Noir discovered him now, she would take him
for a demon. Vincent could hardly blame her if she tried to kill him. He was a monster, at least in his
form as a gargoyle. Even when he changed into a human, Noir would loathe something like him.
After all, she could have any male. She was a beauty, tall and graceful as a fairy, but more dangerous
than a harpy. Her appearance deceived everyone. Under her petite shell hid a witch with
unimaginable powers. To avoid attention, she seldom used the powerful spells she mastered to their
full extent. Vincent knew what Noir was capable of because he had watched her as she practised in
the forest. She was the mistress of the elements, turned water into icy arrows and hurled them at her
foes. She whipped up winds, created invisible walls of pure energy, and moved the earth by using
magic to bring down her enemies. Most recently, Noir tried to blow up candles.
With her appearance alone she dazzled the demons that walked into her trap every night. Creatures
of hell had a fondness for pretty human females. Even the pale scar running down her cheek didn't
disfigure Noir. The injury resulted from an attack in her childhood when her family was murdered
and Noir barely escaped with her life.
A movement of her head and her hair reflected the glow from the ceiling light. Mesmerised he
stared at her, because her hair was the most amazing thing about her. To avoid attention, she hid it
under a hood or a wig when outside the monastery. Not even the monks knew a woman or a witch,
protected by her magical abilities, lived among them. None of the silent monks ever asked why she
skipped the daily prayers and religious services and only joined them for meals.
During the day, she rested for the most part, and left Silver Abbey under the cover of darkness at
night. The centre of the old town housed a demon club that drew the scum of the underworld like a
magnet. Every night, she ambushed one spawn of hell when it left the club. She pumped the creature
for information about the location of the artefact or the whereabouts of her missing brother.
Afterwards, she destroyed the evil being more or less effortlessly. Noir was pitiless and tortured if
necessary. Sometimes, she scared even him.
The cool wind from the east coast rustled the leaves and whirled Vincent's hair, messing it up a
little more. He smelled salt and seaweed. To his chagrin, it mixed with Noir's unique, feminine scent.
Like a pink ribbon, it wriggled out of the window—a touch of cinnamon and vanilla—making a
beeline for Vincent's nose. He suppressed a groan because it was a blessing and a curse, not being in
his human form. As gargoyle, he could protect Noir more efficiently as his senses were enhanced.
Vincent heard a mouse scurrying through the grass under the cover of darkness, searching for food.
About fifty yards away a cat crouched in the shadow of two garbage cans with gleaming eyes. She
hadn't noticed the little mouse; instead, she stared at Vince, arched her back and hissed. She tried to
figure out whether Vincent was friend or foe. He would never harm the cat because he loved animals
and didn't need to hunt down his lunch. Unlike his fellow species, Vincent detested raw meat.
Although, Vincent avoided dogs because a stray one had bitten him as a child.
Since Noir's parents had been murdered ten years ago, Vincent had been her shadow, her dark
guardian angel, even though she was, by now, so powerful she didn't need him anymore. Vincent
belonged to the London Brotherhood who had assigned him to protect the witch. He had convinced
them that he had to stay with her, told his brothers and sisters that Noir's protection was extremely
important because if the demons got hold of the second amulet, the consequences would be
catastrophic. He hadn't lied. Both artefacts would give the creatures of hell unimaginable powers that
would enable them to enslave humanity.
Vincent would lie any time since he needed Noir like a fish needed water. Without her, he could no
longer exist. Despite her strength and outstanding skills in martial arts, Vince was afraid something
would harm her. He had to keep the real reasons from his clan because it was forbidden by his life to
approach her physically. The Brotherhood would expel him and that would be his death sentence.
He had to be content watching and protecting the pretty female who never noticed his existence in
secret. That had to satisfy him, even though it hadn't in a long time. Vincent wanted to smell, feel,
caress, lick and taste her. He had never made love to a woman, but countless times he had fantasised
about how it would feel to penetrate Noir. His cock stirred and hardened as he thought about it.
Vince would have to get off by himself as always, feeling like a pervert even after all this time.
Actually, he was a voyeur. But if he took his eyes off Noir, even for one moment, his carelessness
might endanger her life.
Dammit, Noir could take good care of herself, but he refused to let her out of sight!
He smelled her through the open window and heard the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. By the
hellhounds, he had a hard time of restraining himself from sailing into her tiny room, yanking her off
the chair, tearing shirt and panties from her body, and...
Stop it! Think of something else! Frustrated, he hung his head. It would be enough to hold her in his
arms.
He should rest before Noir left for her forays, as he needed his full strength. Vince could not relax
because tonight his desire for her was very strong. How long would he be able to hold back? He
closed his eyes and tried hard to ignore the throbbing of his cock. Noir's heartbeat even penetrated
his dreams and told him whether she was asleep, excited, or agitated. The only thing that thrilled
Noir was hunting down the missing amulet and the murderers of her parents.
Vincent's erection pressed against the jeans spanning his thighs and reaching to his knees. Apart
from that, he wore nothing else as garments constricted his movements and nobody saw him in this
shape anyway. If Noir moved during the day, which she did rarely, he turned into his human form
and blended in with the crowd. To be on the safe side, he had clothes dumped in the vicinity as well
as a mobile phone so he could contact his clan at any time.
While the bodies of other gargoyles turned into an organic substance resembling stone at sunrise,
he turned into a man—at night he changed back. Hence, his clan had appointed him to guard the
witch as Vince could watch her day and night. That made him something special, and likewise, an
outcast. He was...different. Vincent snorted. Grimsley, the clan leader of the London Brotherhood,
had surely only agreed that Vince—the freak—guarded Noir to keep him out of the vicinity of the
other gargoyles.
Vincent wanted to stay a man forever because then he wouldn't feel ugly. But in human form he
couldn't protect Noir sufficiently, and anyhow it was impossible because the healer of the gargoyles
had cursed Vince. If he tried to turn into a human at night, he would succeed but under excruciating
pain. Every living thing he touched with his hands turned to stone to keep him from making the
same mistake as his father. Humans and gargoyles were ill matched.
Vince had to take a pill every day, which he carried in a leather pouch on his belt, or he would die.
Grimsley had made sure of that.
"You're different," he said constantly. Vince was fed up of hearing it! His cursed life depended on
the daily intake of a tiny pill! It was humiliating! Degrading!
Different...
He growled because his claws ached from driving them relentlessly into the tree. Loneliness seized
him since he was the only one of his kind. He hated his life, Noir was his light in the darkness.
His arousal turned to anger as he thought of how confined his life was. It should satisfy him to
protect someone as gargoyle; it was the reason why a gargoyle was born. Vincent had feelings and
desires screaming for satisfaction which originated from the problem that he wasn't a real gargoyle.
Suddenly Noir's heartbeat increased. Something was wrong! Vincent opened his eyes and tensed
every muscle. Noir reached for her cell phone that lay next to her netbook and punched in a number.
"Magnus," she said breathlessly and jumped up from the chair, knocking it on the floor. "I need a
flight to Paris. Now!"
Vincent's pulse beat faster as he focused on the male's voice. "What happened?"
"I found a suspicious advert in the Magic International. Are you online?" Noir leaned across the table.
Her sweet ass in the tight panties stuck out towards Vince, but now he was too agitated to enjoy the
sight. He had never seen her so distraught.
Magnus said, "Wait a minute, I have to go to the study."
Magnus Thorne was one of the most powerful magicians worldwide, even stronger than Noir.
Compared to his skills, Noir's art was a piece of cake. He controlled the entire repertoire of high
magic, could turn things, evoke optical illusions or change his appearance. Magnus and his wife lived
nearby in the sedate village of West Hill. Ten years ago, Noir had entrusted him with the amulet the
demons were after. They had the counterpart of Noir's locket. Alone they were almost harmless, but
if the artefacts were brought together, they unleashed undreamt powers. Both pieces of jewellery in
demon hands... It was inconceivable what might happen then.
"Okay, which page?" came Magnus's voice from the phone. He was Noir's only ally in the fight
against the underworld creatures.
"Thirteen. The news is unimportant. Someone offers classes for First Degree magic, but in the
frame around the advertisement... Can you see it?"
"That's impossible!" Magnus uttered. "A circle, a triangle, and a portal."
Noir straightened up so abruptly that Vincent nearly fell off the branch. "Yes," she said. "In the
decoration is an exact depiction of the missing amulet. Only a person possessing it could know what
it looks like. As far as I am aware no records exist."
Vincent strained his ears. Evidence of the amulet in the newspaper! It sounded unbelievable. That
meant...
"It's a trap!" Magnus's voice bellowed and goose bumps spread over Vincent's body although
gargoyles had a higher resistance to cold. A black void threatened to swallow him as he had just
thought the same thing. If Noir visited this address in Paris, her life could possibly end. He had to
prevent her!
With one hand, she swept her hair behind one ear, a gesture that betrayed her nervous state. "I'm
not stupid. I know the message is from the demon that killed my parents."
"All the more important you don't show up," Magnus snapped.
Noir seemed not to listen to him because she muttered under her breath, "The demon who killed
my parents wants to lure me to get a hold of the second amulet. Makes sense to me. I've always
known that they're looking for me. But why now...?"
"Noir!" Magnus sounded impatient.
"Wait, I need to check something." Noir hammered on the keyboard. "Here I can call up all the
ads from past issues." Suddenly she sat up straight. "That's impossible!"
Vincent's heart skipped a few beats. This witch was about to destroy his last intact nerve.
"What is it?" Magnus asked. "Noir!"
"The same advert... It was in every edition of the previous years!"
"And you never noticed?"
"I skip the advertisement section." Noir began to stutter. "I... It was because... This time I just..."
"Noir, if you need money, just ask me." The voice of the magician sounded gentle.
Again, she brushed a strand behind her ear. "A flight to Paris would help me a lot."
"Are you sure?"
Like a caged animal Noir paced the tiny room while she packed a backpack with her most
important possessions. Vincent forced himself to stay on the branch; he would prefer to sail directly
through Noir's window, tie her to the bed and stop her from doing something stupid.
"Maybe I'll finally get a clue on Jamie." Jamie was Noir's little brother whom she had to leave
behind in the underworld. Magnus believed he was long dead, but Noir, plagued by guilt, refused to
give up the search for him until she knew for certain.
The magician tried to calm her, but Vincent knew it was hopeless. "Noir, after all this time..."
"Magnus, please! You know how important this is to me. I'll be careful. I'm a damn good witch. I
master basic magic from the inside out, as well as a higher of magic that only a few can use. And if
you refuse to lend me your private jet, I'll charter a flight. But I will travel to Paris, one way or the
other."
"And fight alone against a horde of demons?" The other end fell silent, as Magnus seemed to be
thinking hard. "I would join you, but I cannot leave Amalia alone in her state." The magician had
recently married a second time and his wife was pregnant. "But I'm going to drop off something that
you can use in the fight against the damned fiends," he said. "It's valuable and must never fall into
the hands of the demons, and I want it back. Understood?"
Noir closed the netbook and let her hand linger on it. Even from four yards away, Vince saw she
trembled. Noir trembled extremely seldom. The opportunity not only to reclaim the second amulet,
but also to avenge the murder of her family and to learn what had become of her brother, threw her
off balance. It was a disaster as she might be tempted to act rashly.
"Thank you, Magnus, I appreciate your loyalty. I wouldn't want you to risk your life for my cause
anyway. You do enough for me."
Noir meant her amulet, which Magnus kept in a safe place at his home since her escape. He owned
a huge castle, which was secured like a fortress—magically, of course.
"See you at Aberdeen Airport in an hour," Magnus said, and the line went dead.
Noir stuffed the phone in the backpack, put away her notebook, and pulled off her shirt.
As always when Vincent saw her naked, his breath caught. Did Noir know how beautiful she
looked when her long hair fell over her apple-sized breasts? Her nipples were hard from excitement
and peeked through the strands of her hair. Blotches formed on her face showing her flushed state.
She smelled different now; her hormone production was in full swing. Adrenaline flowed through
her system like a stimulant. Vincent could almost see it, as her fragrance visualised in his brain. Pink
changed into a pale blue, enveloping her like an aura. God, why must she be the most appealing
witch in the world? Noir, twenty-five years old, reminded him of the long-legged models from glossy
magazines. Vincent, who was five years older than her, had witnessed as she matured from a girl to a
woman, from a teen to a powerful witch. The Brotherhood had assigned him to be her protector
when he was twenty. It had swept him off his feet when he saw her for the first time. Every second
he spent with her tormented him and to only watch her drove him almost mad. But his protective
instincts prevailed and he would save Noir before himself if necessary.
As she donned her leather motorcycle suit, he prepared for a wild chase. Noir looked so hot in the
tight material that clung to her like a second skin, that it keyed up Vincent's imagination. In that
outfit she seemed imperious, devilishly attractive and reminiscent of Catwoman. His comic book
collection came into mind and he wondered if Kara still hid the books under her bed. Was she still
the guardian angel of his Brotherhood? Vincent often thought of Kara, who had been his closest
friend and the only living being he missed since his departure from ‘home’.
Vincent sighed in relief when Noir's slender figure disappeared under the habit. She slipped into
her almost knee-high leather boots; each of them equipped with a dagger, and strolled over to the
bed. From under the pillow she pulled out a stuffed animal that had once been white, but now
looked grey and worn. Closing her eyes, she pressed the bunny to her chest, looking like the little girl
she had been when Vince saw her for the first time. She stuffed the animal in the backpack,
shouldered the bag and left the room. A short time later, she came out the side wing located in the
garden of the monastery.
From the tree, Vincent watched her tall figure creep through the night and turn round the corner
of the house. Although the moon shone brightly, Noir knew how to make herself invisible. Invisible
to humans, but not to Vincent. He grabbed the old backpack with his clothes, which he had placed
in the crown of the oak. Noir had thrown it away and it had since then passed into Vincent's
possession. At least he owned something of hers.
Vince jumped from the tree, racing to the monastery. He struck his claws into the wall and climbed
onto the roof. Noir disappeared into the hedge, which grew in front of the monastery's inner walls.
Through a secret door, she sneaked away from the grounds into the birch forest beyond the wall
where she hid her motorcycle, which she used every night for her forays.
Vince pushed off the roof, spread his wings and sailed over the wall to follow her like a shadow.
Same as ever.
Chapter 2 – London (a few days into the future)
Kara struggled with herself as the irony hit her of having to pass the magical hourglass to a witch, of
all beings. Why me? Such activities had long ceased to fall under her area of responsibility. Shaking her
head, she stared at the tiny piece of jewellery in her palm. Golden sand sparkled in the glass. The
artefact had recently fallen into the possession of the angels, and the High Council of the Archangels
had decided straight away what to do with it.
Kara lived to make others happy, to protect them or deliver them from long-suffering. But did a
witch deserve to be relieved of her anguish? The High Council had told Kara that this woman had
earned a bit of luck after all that she'd been through and still endured.
Who would release Kara from her suffering? The growing desire to...
My goodness, what was she thinking? As an angel, she hardly was in the position to question which
being deserved salvation or not. The members of the Council alone decided that. All of a sudden
Kara noticed she still sensed her human past, even though she only knew it from Raphael's stories
and not from her own memories. Needs were unacceptable for angels, at least not those that clashed
with the principles of the Council. Lust, vanity, free will...all that was forbidden. How unfair to be
stuck in a fully functioning human body like a mortal, minus the need for sleep or food. Was she an
ethereal being like some guardian angels, she wouldn't have to bother with such weaknesses. As the
guardian angel of the London gargoyles, it was more advantageous to have a solid form. Otherwise,
the winged creatures couldn't see her and cooperation would be difficult.
Kara still wondered why they were ordering her to hand over a magical artefact, as it wasn't part of
her duties. Kara could never manage to turn Raphael down. After all, he had taught her a lot. She
smiled at the thought of her first attempts at flight.
Such a solid body had benefits. Sighing, she stared through the dirty window of an empty shop on
a shabby side street to look at her reflection. She just had concealed her wings. Without them, she
looked different, emphasising the feeling of not being a real angel. In this shape, desires surged to the
surface. She avoided looking herself in the eyes as every angel inherited an inner glow, a soul light
that shone through the pupils. The purer the soul, the brighter the glow. Her light would certainly be
no more than a golden sparkle and she preferred not to know as it would just prove her
imperfection.
Kara turned in front of the window. Her wings were not only invisible—they had disappeared
entirely. Kara could make them appear at any time. Now she had to go to an antique dealer here in
London where the witch wanted to meet soon, as Raphael had told her. Kara should therefore be
visible to humans and appear mortal to make a confident impression. The witch had an erratic
streak. Awesome!
Kara turned again in front of the dusty window. What a sinful figure she had; big breasts and curvy
hips. She found herself a tad plump, but she liked it when men and women craned their necks to see
her, so she enjoyed wearing form-fitting clothes. She always had to be ready to fly, so she wore a
midriff-baring, strapless bustier. Her wings between her shoulder blades needed space. She preferred
tight jeans and comfortable sneakers. In her hand she held a summer coat made of a sleek, thin
fabric in dark grey, matching the gloomy sky. As an angel she never felt cold, but she would look
strange walking around in this ghastly late summer weather in only a skimpy top.
She turned once more. Yes, she looked like a young woman from earth with the same body she
had possessed as human. Raphael had told her.
My goodness, she not only fostered prejudices against witches, but was also full of herself and an
awful angel! She forced her attention to the shabby alley in front of her. If she could only have
chosen her own destiny, guaranteed she wouldn't be an angel. She hated obeying instructions, but
being strong-headed could cost an angel her wings, whereupon she would fall far, very far.
She pulled herself together and walked through the deserted passage towards the antique store,
which lay fifty yards in front of her, well hidden in a backyard. The environment didn't seem very
inviting. It smelled of garbage, rats burrowed in a pile of old boxes, and somewhere a dog barked.
Thick grey clouds blocked the blue sky, but the roofs kept the narrow street mostly dry.
"Why does it always rain in London?" she murmured. Kara hated rain. Sorry—she disliked rain
because it reflected what lurked inside her. Dreary. Cold. Sighing, she pulled on the coat.
If you complete your mission, you will save more than one soul, Raphael had told her with a twinkle in his
eyes. Kara wished her former mentor, also a member of the High Council, would have been more
precise. He loved speaking in riddles. She sensed that he was right. As an angel, Kara possessed the
gift of receiving visions, that came to her not in pictures, but in emotions. They now showed her that
her mission would be damn hard, but eventually everything would be fine. For whom? For the
witch? Or all of them? She reflected in another bout of self-pity.
As she arrived in the backyard, she sensed a sinister presence lurking in the shop. She had to face
it, even if she exposed herself to severe danger. Gosh, she was only an angel, a stooge, a cheap
assistant who...come on, now! She scolded herself. Get down to business! She could save her selfpity for another time. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the pouring rain to face her fate.
Ash tapped his fingers on the worn counter. He hated waiting, but he could barely believe his luck.
The witch was on the way here! Not ‘a’ witch, but ‘the’ witch that Ceros, his boss, had hunted for
years. At last, she was walking into Ash's trap. A few hours ago, a demon had spilled the confidential
message to him, and since then Ash had lurked in the antique shop. He had often stood behind the
counter while Mr. Burke, the owner, lay at his feet as if dead, tricking the customers into thinking he
was the old man. Over the centuries, his dark forces had multiplied so that he could effortlessly take
on the shape of another.
Mr. Burke, a mortal, bought magical artefacts on behalf of the demons, when any were offered to
him. Regularly, Ash used the old man, to snatch paraphernalia for his Master before other demons
got hold of it. The old man would remember nothing when he awoke, unable to rat on Ash.
Ash's life consisted of waiting, carrying out tasks, pleasing his Master, and unquestioningly obeying
him. He hated this slavery and the pact tying him to the Demon Lord, Ceros. If it weren't for the
pact, Ash could live his own life, pursue his own sordid business and would belong to the top of the
underworld. Today—he sensed it in his black blood—was his big day. Everything would change the
moment he grabbed the witch, obtain the second locket and finally be free! His damnation for letting
the witch go so many years ago would end.
Suddenly, a golden glint outside the shop caught his attention. Straining, Ash looked out the small
window to his right. Since the shop wasn't located on a road, whoever wanted to visit it had to pass
between two closely spaced houses. The light had come from this dark passageway. Was that the
witch?
He made sure that Mr. Burke was still passed out and that he still looked like the old man with a
stubbly beard and thinning hair, dressed in a plaid shirt and worn jeans. Harmless. He hoped the
witch jumped headfirst into his trap.
His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, cut through the veil of rain. Ash sensed an ancient power, a
divine force that was familiar and his bowels twisted. He shivered, goose bumps taking possession of
his skin. The power penetrated every cell, wreaking havoc on his body. Then the supernatural force
released him. This purity, this perfection... No demon worth his horns could stand that!
Ash trembled. An empty feeling and a pull behind his breastbone lingered. Ash felt envy, but also a
desire that had often tormented him in his demonic existence. Could he ever accept the fact he no
longer played in the top league?
"Angel!" he hissed, his hands curling into fists. Had the witch brought reinforcements?
Ash relaxed as he sensed only the female angel. He would be easily done with an angel, but only
because he knew her weakness. "You're a rare, pretty specimen," he muttered as he admired the
small figure standing in the shadows of the houses with the glittery thing in her hand. Her blond hair
reflected the golden rays before she closed her fist around the object and the light snuffed out. Her
white, feathery wings almost touched the house walls on each side.
Ash sighed. Fluffy wings did the trick, especially on a female angel looking that hot. A skimpy
bustier covered her ample breasts; tight-fitting pants hugged her legs. Ash whistled. Good tactic by
those above, sending him such a tasty chick. Did she come to test him? Had Raphael sent her? Ash
found it increasingly difficult to maintain his fake appearance.
Ash gasped, disappointed as the wings of the angel disappeared. He sensed that she was now
visible to the human eye. She looked like a mortal. However, a closer look would reveal a faintly
glowing aura, which also prevented the rain hitting the skin of this heavenly creature. The water
simply bounced off. What had an angel to look for in this run down place? Or... No, she wasn't
searching; she was bringing something. An artefact! That glittering something she still held in her
hand. Ash saw it flash again.
Bingo! The witch and an extra bonus. An angel gone astray? He liked the little one more and more
by the moment, but also felt a tad disappointed. After such a long time, he had hoped for a sign
from Raphael. Or was it a trap? Did the big bosses want to thwart his business? Had they sent the
pretty one to spy? Oh, damn, the blonde messed him up—not just him, but his daily routine and
plans. Well, Ash had a bone to pick with the Archangels. He was pissed off!
Again, he suppressed a disappointed snort as the pretty woman donned a long coat hiding her
sinful curves. Just as well, since Ash had nurtured thoughts he did not like. The fantasy in itself he
enjoyed, but carrying it out with an angel? His nemesis? He ignored the pull in his groin and braced
himself as the door opened.
The bell jingled on the door frame and she stepped inside. After the door closed behind her, she
stayed rooted to the spot. Now it wasn't her divine power jangling Ash's nerves, but her sex appeal.
Viewed close up the little angel looked even more stunning. The way she wrinkled her cute nose, her
flawless skin, large eyes and high forehead, her radiance made her tremendously attractive. Damn,
that green! Her irises shone like two emeralds, and her soul-light, this golden shimmer behind her
pupils, making them sparkle even more. Ash's heartbeat sped up just because this sexy angel stared at
him. Once again he became aware that he was indeed a demon, but also just a man who was not
immune to feminine charms. He itched to caress her heart-shaped face, tousle her hair and kiss her
on those full lips. Hell, she was sin incarnate! And his nemesis. Ash should never forget that he had
changed sides.
A bright flash of energy formed in her fist, probably as a warning as she didn't hurl it at him. For a
time they silently sized each other up. It was obvious that she had recognised him as a demon; like
Ash felt her heavenly powers, the other side could sense the evil. Behind the counter, he turned into
his true form. Needing to be in full possession of his powers, he didn't want to waste energy on an
illusion.
The eyes of the heavenly blonde grew bigger as Ash turned from grandpa into a male looking
hardly older than thirty. Raven hair, sky blue eyes, his nose perhaps a tad too big—but most women
knew what they said about big noses—and a tall stature with broad shoulders. Ash deemed his
appearance to be somewhat aristocratic. Well, considering his past...
The angel looked him up and down, and her face took on an arrogant expression, realising he
wanted to impress her. He did indeed look devilishly good. Many female mortals, blinded by his
attractiveness, had fallen for him. Ash had taken pleasure in them as well as a minor part of their
souls. He had to feed off something, that's just what soulless demons did. They needed energy like
mortals needed food and drink. Without soul food, a demon would become weaker and weaker; his
powers would eventually diminish until he died. Ash had never gone so far as to suck the whole soul
to the bitter end. He still possessed a spark of decency to this day, because he had always hoped for
salvation. He knew, however, that it had been wasted effort. Raphael, his best ‘friend’, had ‘taken
him for a ride in a shit storm’ as he liked to say.
Either way, it would be a waste to kill his pets when he had a fondness for pretty women. They
worshipped him—him, the Master of seduction. The Master of lust. No, he was not the least bit
cocky because of his looks or his exorbitant skills in bed. His appearance was the only thing he kept
from his former life, a weapon, he handled masterfully. His charm being his greatest impact, he
wondered if it affected an angel living in unending chastity. Perhaps her more than others.
He almost felt sorry for her. Earlier Ash had sensed that his little dove didn't belong to the higher
ranks since her aura lacked a brightness. Did she know that the Archangels and the Seven Rulers of
Earth got away with almost anything as long as they fulfilled their duties, while guardian angels and
other lower guards were bound to strict conditions? Forbidden to feel lust, pride or vanity, and
robbed of their free will, either they did what the Council told them, or they would fall. Well, even up
there, not everything was perfect.
A sparkle shone through the thin fabric of her coat pocket and tore Ash from his daydream. There
she kept the artefact. Ash tried not to stare at it and raise her suspicion. Instead, he said, "What
draws an angel to this part of the city?"
"Business," she said, giving him a level look.
Her voice floated to him like a summer breeze and fogged his brain. Gee, get a hold on yourself, drooling
from her voice alone. Ash crossed his arms over his chest, to demonstrate his friendly intentions and to
show off his muscles.
The little angel did not vanish her flash of energy. Ash slowly stepped out from behind the
counter, put on his best smile and asked casually, "Can I be of any help in your business?" Three
steps separated him from her.
"Beat it, demon."
Damn, she was immune to his seductive powers. Shit! He didn't hesitate and lunged forward. At
the same time she threw the flash at him. He ducked, rolled over, grabbed her slender ankles and
yanked her off her feet.
His little angel flopped unladylike on her belly, while her energy projectile slammed into the
counter. Wood splintered down on them both, leaving a large hole in the face of the counter and a
clear view of the sleeping, unharmed shopkeeper. Ash wanted to sit on her back to immobilize her
and grab the artefact—and to ogle her plump ass—but she took him by surprise. Suddenly, her
wings broke through the thin material of the coat and tore it to shreds. The enormous plumage
escalated as a white, soft wall toward him, the force catapulting Ash back. He crashed hard with his
back against the door. It was not the minor pain preventing him from getting up, but the sight of the
angel and the smell of her feathers. She smelled like a meadow in spring, like warm chocolate cake,
and a lemon shampoo that he liked to use. Pure heaven!
Elegantly, she rose to her feet and spun around with another energy beam in her hand. Two lines
formed between her golden eyebrows, and if looks killed... "You are so into it!"
He smiled, taking in her curves. Angels and demons lived in a semblance of peace, the pact sealed a
thousand years ago. Of course, there were always those who disregarded it, preferably members of
his side. The angels were mostly loyal, so Ash felt relatively relaxed. They indulged themselves in a
test of strength and killed only if they really felt threatened, the arrogant creatures. Ash chuckled. If
the big bosses above knew he'd identified their weakness!
Ash had to get closer to the little angel. Theatrically sighing he put a hand on his chest. "To die by
your adorable lightning would be the most wonderf..." His throat constricted as the tiny glittering
thing flashed just a yard in front of him on the floor. Now Ash realised what it was: an hourglass.
The golden sand behind the glass caused the sparkle. Could it be possible? Ash held his breath as he
recalled the many stories about this artefact, and one was that it enabled the owner to travel through
time. He had to have it! His Master would be grateful, or... Kiss my ass! Ash might as well use the
hourglass to travel back in time and change his fucked up destiny.
Unbridled excitement seized him. At last, he would be free and undo the past! He hesitated a
moment too long. The angel flopped back on the ground and buried the little hourglass underneath
herself. Ash landed on her wings. When the angel dissolved—and she would—the artefact would
disappear with her.
Quick as an arrow, Ash squeezed his thumb into the hollow in the back of her neck where the
spine disappeared into the skull. The angel under him stiffened and gasped. That, she hadn't
expected.
"Make that flash disappear, sugar," Ash said, as charming as possible, and he pressed a little harder.
Via this point in the neck ran the mental excitation line, which forwarded her commands to the
body. Ash stripped the little angel of the energy she needed to turn invisible or vanish. Moreover, he
stopped her from forming new lightning.
"I cannot", she stammered under him.
"Let it drop, pet."
She opened her hand, whereupon the lightning hit the wooden floor. Crackling and cracking it
dissolved and burned a jagged groove in the floorboards. The angel tried to wriggle out of Ash's grip,
but he held her put.
"Call me sugar or pet again...ah!"
"I think you're in an unfavourable position to make demands," Ash said with a grin. Today seemed
to be his lucky day. He would snatch the witch and the artefact. The time was ripe to master his
destiny. He bent over his little angel to sniff her wings and the fluff tickled his nose. Hmm, he was
already addicted to her scent. With his other hand, he stroked the silky soft feathers. The angel
shook, for her wings were as sensitive as her skin.
"Ticklish?" he asked, a wide grin plastered on his face. He loved playing with her.
She muttered something that sounded like a curse. He must have misheard. A divine being like
her... Although, he questioned her decency if she did business in this dark part of town. Concentrate,
Ash. Artefact! Remember?
"Stretch out your hands!"
To his surprise, she obeyed. Her body moved beneath him and her ass pressed against his loin as
she stretched out her arms. Damn, his cock was rock hard. He had been too excited to notice.
Inconspicuously as possible, he circled his hips, rubbing his dick on her buttocks, his jeans disturbing
like hell.
"Stop it," she growled.
Ash stayed put and whispered in her ear, "Palms on the floor," and noticed how the fine hairs on
her neck stood up.
She opened her hands, but... Damn, no hourglass!
Despite the pleasant throbbing emanating from his midsection and surging through his body,
impatience bubbled in Ash. After all, the witch might appear at any moment. "Where is it?" he asked,
less charming. No time for games.
"What are you talking about?" Her voice trembled slightly, however sounding not the least bit
anxious.
His little angel was playing dumb. He really had to work on his fear-appeal. Unfortunately, he had
no ball of energy handy—yes, he could summon crackling bullets—because he still pressed his
thumb into her neck to block the transmission of her mental commands. The other hand he needed
to check the floor beneath her body. He used his mental ability to figure out what really scared her.
Ash slipped carefully into her mind and found a mess of emotions. Her biggest fear was to fail and
not succeed with her task.
What a loyal, dutiful little angel. He ran a hand under the warm wing and around her waist, where
he grazed her bare skin, even softer than her feathers. Her scent tempted Ash again; he inhaled the
fragrance of her wings and the skin of her neck. So intoxicating, flowery, heavenly... Unfortunately,
he failed to find the artefact. She had to be lying on it.
"Stand up. Very slowly," he whispered in her pretty ear, peeking out her blond hair. He would like
to tickle it with his tongue. Maybe later. He had to fight the distractions.
Reluctantly, she followed his command, but at least she got to her feet. Not an easy task, because
he had to keep his finger on her neck. He put his free hand on her stomach and lifted her as he rose.
When they stood at last, he pulled his little angel back two steps. Ash scanned the floor, but the
hourglass wasn't there. Damn, she must have pocketed the artefact!
Ash pushed firmly against her backside while he searched her pant pockets. Nothing. He groped
between her legs and grinned as she pressed her thighs together. How hot her sex was! From the
corner of his eye, Ash noticed her wing tips trembled. To annoy his little angel, he rubbed hard over
her crotch a few times. She gasped and leaned into him. Now it was easier for her to escape. She only
needed to squirm out of his hold to get rid of his thumb on her neck. Then, she could dissolve and
disappear. Was she aware of that? Ash had to hurry anyway.
His hand wandered higher, over her bare belly, which trembled violently from breathing quickly,
up to her tight-fitting top. Through the fabric, he felt around her breasts. Ash found no hourglass,
which could only mean she hid it in the valley between her ample breasts. Without further ado, he
slipped his hand under the elastic top and his breath hitched. Her breasts were a damn pleasant
weight in his hand, big, soft, and yet firm. He weighed and squeezed them gently, and when he
grazed her nipples, he wondered how hard they were.
"Where is the little sparkling thing?" he asked in a hoarse voice and continued his search, although
he knew it wasn't there. His abdomen snuggled against her back, the globe of one buttock pressed
right on his balls. Damn it, his little angel was so fucking hot! Ash fought hard against the desire to
toss her over the counter and take her from behind, her gorgeous ass splayed in front of him.
The witch...she would arrive soon. Ash glanced out the window, but nothing moved, unlike the
rush hour in his pants. He rubbed his crotch even harder on her, took one of her nipples between
two fingers and pinched the swollen nub. "You make me so hot, angel. Are you doing it on
purpose?" Ash muttered in her ear.
Suddenly she trembled, gasped and moaned softly. She threw her head back and his thumb slipped.
Her eyelids were closed, but her sensual mouth was slightly open, her lips glistening a delicate pink.
Ash had never seen anything lovelier. She was pure sin and yet so innocent. Her golden lashes
fluttered on high cheekbones. Her nose sweet as honey, small and well formed, and from her mouth
came whimpering sounds that pleaded for more. Ash's heart pounded against his ribs, and the last bit
of blood rushed to his groin. Damn, he was so hard! His cheek pressed against hers, his little angel
turned her head and her lips came closer and closer to his mouth. Impossible... She was aroused! Ash
could hardly believe it.
She's not immune to my advances, he thought with a touch of pride. On impulse, he twisted her nipple
harder and she rewarded him with a throaty moan.
Time stood still. Her sweet breath brushed his lips and he inhaled. Ash picked up her scent even
more intensely, felt her heart racing against his palm, heard his pulse in his ears. He was breathing
heavily, she was breathing heavily.
For Satan's sake, they were enemies! They should fight and not get lost in unchaste desires. Ash
had thought to annoy his little angel when he touched her intimately, instead she enjoyed it. Fuck,
she wasn't allowed to enjoy it.
"Where is the hourglass?" he asked another time, horrified how hoarse his voice sounded. He
almost climaxed just from touching the angel's breasts. What was so special about her? He'd screwed
many attractive women and fondled many breasts. Was it because she was an angel and was
forbidden to enjoy what he did? Because he could take revenge on her kind for all they had done to
him? What a sugar-sweet vengeance! His hand travelled lower, slipped into the waistband of her tight
pants. Ash closed his eyes to feel her skin more intensely, to smell her scent even better. As his
fingertips reached her pussy and felt out soft hair there, she moaned.
It was strictly forbidden for angels to indulge in any sexual desire or they would fall. Memories
haunted Ash, cruel thoughts from his distant past. Abruptly, he withdrew his hand. At the same
moment, his little angel whirled and stared at him with wide eyes. Her breath came heavily and she
gasped.
"You want the witch!"
"What?" How did she know? "You know the witch?" Taken by surprise, he forgot to grab her
again. Instantly the angel dissolved in a column of pale smoke, which squeezed through a gap in the
door frame
She was gone, and with her the magical artefact. She left behind only a feather and her scent,
reminding Ash what he had just lost. "Bloody hell!" With a howl, he hurled a bluish crackling energy
ball against the door so that it burst with a loud bang like the counter before. Ash paid no attention
to the splinters raining down on him while he went outside and looked around, but the angel was
gone. He shook his head over his stupidity. The hourglass could have solved all his problems, but he
had blown it with his stupidity and his unspeakable lust. Once again, his fucking desires had
propelled him into a catastrophic situation. To top it all he felt pangs of conscience. Con—sci—
ence! He was a demon, damn it!
How had that sexy little blonde angel suddenly known that he was waiting for the witch? Through
a vision perhaps? Ash thought hard. At least, as hard as his anger and his heartbeat throbbing wildly
in his temples allowed it. Yes, he knew that every angel had its special capabilities. His little angel
could possibly receive visions and make things disappear. Shit!
Cursing loudly, he trudged back to the store where he picked up the feather and turned it between
his fingers. He had thoroughly blown it. He could only hope that the witch appeared, when Raphael
had already failed to stick to his promise.
Chapter 3 – Aberdeen Airport (present)
Vincent watched as Noir pulled on her robe. She left bike and helmet on the visitor parking lot, and
sprinted to the airport terminal. Cursing, Vince ran his fingers through his hair and scratched his
horns. He hated to let his witch out of his sight.
Under the cover of the night, he raced round the area searching for a spot where nobody would
see him, and jumped over the security fence surrounding the airport. Noiselessly, he landed in the
grass and stuck his nose into the night air. He was relieved to catch the scent of vanilla; Noir headed
towards the runway. Vincent's heart beat fast, not from chasing the motorcycle for many miles, but
because it drove him almost mad to be so far apart from her.
From afar, he saw the magician's plane near the runway, ready to take off, as well as a team of
airport employees fuelling the jet and carrying out final safety checks. The turbines were running
warm, making a terrible racket in Vincent's sensitive ears. It was a superjet, over twenty yards long
and with room for about seventy people. Vince had already travelled on the plane as a stowaway a
couple of times before, so he knew where to hide.
His bare feet scarcely touched the stubbly ground as he flew over the field until he had approached
within fifty yards. Then he crawled over the short grass, dragging the backpack with his clothes next
to him, so nobody noticed him. Darkness still concealed him, but strong lights illuminated the areas
around the gates and runways. The area wasn't teeming with staff, but he spotted at least four people
close by that could detect him if he acted carelessly.
He crept closer to the next tarmac, crouched behind a tanker, waiting for an opportunity to get
unseen onto the plane. The fumes of kerosene burned in his nose and he stifled a sneeze. He had to
hurry, had to somehow get into the aircraft. Noir and Magnus were near, but he couldn't see them.
Despite the fuel, Vince perceived Noir's smell of cinnamon and vanilla, which had long been burned
into his brain, and Magnus's slightly smoky aftershave.
The pilot and a technician conducted final safety checks. They turned their backs to Vincent,
whereupon he seized the moment to sneak past them. A jump and he landed silently on a hoist used
to load luggage. Another leap and he got hold of the edge of the cargo hatch and he pulled himself
up inside in a flash. The freight hold of the superjet was small. Behind two steel containers, Vincent
located enough room to hide during the flight. He tossed his backpack there and crawled back to the
opening to peek outside. When he spotted Noir, he sighed with relief. Noir and the male at her side,
a tad taller than Noir and wearing an elegant suit, were just a few steps away. Vincent growled in
frustration. He felt a pang in his stomach when Magnus put his arm around her shoulders in a
protective gesture. Vincent was Noir's guard, no one else!
His gargoyle-protector genes flared. He knew very well that Magnus harboured no sexual interest
in Noir. They were just friends, however, Vincent's claws dug into the floor of the cargo
compartment. He quickly retracted them. Vince never tired of looking at Noir. Her fair hair spilled
over her robe, making her look like a mystical sorceress.
Noir...if he could touch her only once, to be as close to her as Magnus just once. For this moment
alone, he would sacrifice his life. A dullness spread in his chest. Of course, Noir's protection had
priority over his own cravings. It was as always; he had no other choice but to drool over her from a
distance. How robust was a gargoyle heart, really?
"Wait a sec, I need to check my cargo," the voice of the magician carried over the noise of the
turbines.
A short time later, the lift hummed and Vince hastily hid behind a large box. The aftershave of the
magician wafted into Vincent's nose. What was the man doing in the cargo hold? He had staff for
that. He remained crouched in front of the hatch.
"I hope you take good care of her, my friend," the magician said. "I'm counting on you."
Then again came the buzz indicating Magnus was on his way down. Vincent remained scared stiff
behind the box, every muscle tense. Adrenaline shot through his veins. How did the magician know
he hid here? How did Magnus know that Vince guarded Noir? A human shouldn't know about him.
Although there were people who had knowledge of the gargoyle's existence, but most cultivated no
contact with the clans. Magnus acted as if he'd known Vince forever.
That left only one explanation: Magnus Thorne was a very, very powerful man.
Like so often, Noir felt watched. The paranoia wasn't new as she had been on the run her whole life.
The demons were still searching for her and the second locket. She preferred to track the spawns
from hell down herself, grilling them for information and destroying them. The hunted was in reality
a hunter. The demons would perhaps not suspect this and therein lay her advantage. Noir disguised
herself so no spawns recognised her, for surely it had long since spread that a crazy witch was
chasing hell beings. But as long as no one learned that she was the assassin... Over the years, Noir
had encountered people who hunted demons just like her. Often it had been trained demon hunters.
There seemed to be organisations that fought spawns. If Noir found Jamie and had destroyed the
lockets, she planned to look closer into this matter.
She sighed. The list of things that fascinated her was long. She would neglect her own interests
until she had time. This included exploring where this strange, male-sounding voice that sometimes
crept into her head came from. It belonged to someone who stayed close to her. Noir could grasp
thoughts, but only from humans, not from other beings. Unfortunately she had never identified to
whom this interesting voice belonged and whom thought about her a lot. The voice told her how
pretty she was, how much he longed for her, what he would do to her: pleasurable erotically things.
It excited her. Meanwhile, she longed to meet the man who existed only as a voice in her head. How
did he look like? How old was he? Would he really do all those naughty things with her when they
faced each other? Or was she losing her mind because of her ability to penetrate the minds of others
and was surrounded by thoughts every day? Because she longed for a hug, for comfort, warmth and
affection, even for sex? She loved the peace and solitude of the monastery; here she could resist
temptation and recover her spirit. She didn't need a man, and if she succumbed to the desire, a onenight stand was enough. She could pleasure herself.
"Lying to yourself, are you?" she thought. Sharing her troubles with Noir supporting herself and never
being able to let go was dissatisfying.
Magnus knew of her ability to absorb thoughts, but it wasn't the only reason she hardly ‘heard’
anything from him, her friend, the master of disguise. He mastered the magical arts to perfection and
always sealed his inner self from the public. Nevertheless, she sensed his concern.
For a moment, she peered at the big man as he climbed down from the platform and put an arm
around her shoulders as they walked to the nose of the aircraft. Magnus was dressed elegantly, as
always, in dark pants and a pale blue shirt, only his brown hair swirled around because of the
turbines. She noticed the first silver strands, although Magnus was just eleven years older than she
was. A man with experience, he had a masculine, distinctive face and exuded dominance. He also
used a nice aftershave which triggered a tender longing for intimacy with a man in her. The voice and
her fantasies came to mind again. For too long she had been living alone.
If she would not devote her live to hunting demons and searching for her brother, she could fancy
Magnus—if he wasn't already happily married to his second wife. Possibly, she would have indulged
in a quickie with him by now. Of course, not here and now, as she longed to take off. Despite her
life, which focused on revenge and hunt, a woman stuck in her body.
"I want to give this to you," Magnus said, as they stopped in front of the gangway leading into the
airplane. From his pocket, he pulled out a slim cell phone.
"A Smartphone?" Noir asked surprised. "I had a magical gadget in mind."
Magnus smiled. "In the modern world you have to take advantage of the technology."
He quickly explained how it worked. A navigation device was installed into the phone. Special
satellites showed Noir the whereabouts of the demons roaming Earth. They radiated a different
energy signature as human beings and other creatures, and showed up as red dots on the screen.
"So you always realise what stands in front of you," Magnus said, "but unfortunately the satellite
cameras don't capture creatures that are less than twenty inches or what goes on in closed rooms.
They only can scan energy waves in their line of view. In cloudy weather they can fail to work
properly, but I'm still working on the problem." Magnus pressed the cell phone into her hand.
"Sounds interesting," she murmured. "Tell me more."
Magnus laughed. "Okay, I'll try to keep it simple." He seemed to think for a moment before he
said, "Do you know what infra-red radiation is?"
"Yeah, basically."
"Thermal detectors are mounted to the satellites, similar to thermal imaging cameras, which can
measure the various radiations from space. The demons emit different waves than humans. That's
why they can be distinguished."
Noir scratched her head and uttered a ‘wow’. Magnus was not only famous as a mage, he used to
be a businessman, a software developer, and many years ago had owned a company. His
programmes were still sold worldwide, which is why he had long been set for life, but that he could
make something like this... "Respect!"
Magnus replied with a grin, "I really shouldn't give you the device, because I developed it for an
organisation that hunts down demons. Even so, I modified this Smartphone. If it falls into the
wrong hands, it destroys itself. The phone receives this information via satellite."
"An organisation that fights demons?" Did Magnus mean the hunters that had crossed her path?
"Sounds super-interesting."
"Now, no need to raise your eyebrows." Magnus laughed. "Everything is top-secret."
Noir grinned; her friend was full of surprises. "I'll take good care of it. Thank you, Magnus." She
hugged him and wondered once again about his height, as there were not many men who were taller
than her. Only a huge guy would suit me, Noir thought. "Are you not forgetting something?" she asked
him with a smile and let go of him. She did not smile often, because then the scar on her cheek
stretched, reminding her of that terrible night. She made an exception with Magnus. Grinning, he
handed her the blades, which she stuck into small pockets at the sides of her boots.
"Two really nice pieces," Magnus said. "I admire them again and again."
He had smuggled her weapons through the security zone—with magic. Noir could learn so much
from him if she weren't constantly on the move. She had spent a few years at the London School of
Magic—one of the best worldwide—but due to the sudden death of her family and her escape she
had not graduated. Magnus had suggested becoming her coach to teach her some tricks. She had
almost accepted his offer, but after the accidental death of his first wife, he had lived secluded for
some time. Meanwhile, Noir had concentrated on the hunt. She had taught herself a lot, and for that
she felt proud. Having an ally like Magnus by her side simplified her situation enormously. Since her
escape he was the only one she had trusted. As she didn't want to expose him to danger and draw
the attention of the spawns to him, she met with him only rarely.
She thanked him and pocketed the phone. Then she raised her head because she had thought she
saw something moving. The hatch still stood open; a worker on the lift loaded the last silver box into
the belly of the plane.
"What are you transporting anyway?"
"A load of Scotch I promised a friend in Paris ages ago," Magnus said. "As the jet is heading
towards France..."
Noir cleared her throat because she knew very well how much money this flight was costing
Magnus. "Deduct it from my funds."
Magnus and she had similar fates. The wizard had lost his family as a child during an explosion in
the central warehouse of the magicians. He grew up with his aunt, who had been a close friend of
Noir's family; so close that her brother Jamie had said ‘Uncle Magnus’ to him. After the death of her
parents, Noir didn't hesitate for a second to trust Magnus with her family fortunes, which he had
managed since then. Magnus knew his way around the stock market so that Noir always had a good
cushion available, but which still diminished by the moment. Life on the run and on the hunt cost a
lot. She had to figure out how she would finance her life in the future. On no account did she
wanted to live off of Magnus.
"Noir..." Magnus placed both hands on her shoulders. "When will you stop chasing your inner
demons? It's obviously a trap and will not breathe life into your beloved ones."
"I will not rest until I've killed my demons," she whispered, watching as the tank car and the lift
drove off to avoid the eyes of her friend. "And if Jamie is still alive, I have to find him."
"In vain. Your brother is long dead. Stop feeling guilty. You've done the right thing."
Yes and no. She had not broken her magical oath. In her childhood, Noir had to swear that as a
guardian of one of the artefacts to put the protection of the locket over her life and everything else.
Therefore, she had fled with the second amulet and let her brother down. The knowledge ate her up
from the inside, piece by piece.
Noir had informed only Magnus that Jamie possibly lived; all other magicians knew only that the
entire family LeMar and their car had disappeared under mysterious circumstances many years ago.
All thought they were dead, including Noir.
"Noir..." Magnus squeezed her arm.
She realised Magnus had hoped she would return to a normal life when she had retreated to the
monastery a few weeks ago, desperately needing a break, a period of rest. The years of flight and
hunting demons had exhausted her, but she could not resist, killing at least one demon every few
nights, which of course wasn't an easy task. Aberdeen was a quiet place in contrast to the large cities
where the spawns of hell preferred to be in when they came above. London, New York, Cairo,
Tokyo and Paris were among the favourite places of demon spawn. In the urban areas, they inflicted
the greatest harm. Noir had hunted in Dublin, Prague, Amsterdam, Berlin and Brussels. She had
avoided coming to Paris until only now because her parents came from France, from a village a few
miles south of the capital.
Unfortunately, her travels had not helped Noir on so far. No one could tell her if Jamie still lived,
and as long as she found no proof that he was dead, she would carry on. She owed it to her brother
and herself.
"Roger," said Magnus, who was linked by radio with the pilot. Then he turned to Noir. "The plane
is ready to take off."
She hardly restrained herself, impatient to leave. She said goodbye to her friend, thanking him again
for everything, and rushed up the gangway into the aircraft, eager to kick demon's ass.
If she finally had certainty about Jamie's fate and got back the locket, she would retire and maybe
have the fun she had lusted after for so long. But she didn't want to commit to anyone or start a
family. Too hard the flame of loss burned in her heart.
Chapter 4 – London (a few days into the future)
Kara sat on the balustrade of the clock tower, which belonged to the Midland Grand Hotel, and
dangled her legs over the abyss. Below her, the residents and visitors of London swarmed into the
hall of King's Cross and St Pancras stations connected to the neo-Gothic building. The façade of the
late Victorian brick building with numerous arches, chimneys, turrets and bay windows was a tourist
attraction. They looked up and whipped out their cameras despite the drizzle. They didn't see Kara
as she was invisible to human eyes. She had no eye left for the architectural masterpiece, which she
knew by heart anyway.
The demon had captured her mind. She sighed and leaned against a stone statue adorning the
façade that resembled a dog. "Oh, Molto, he had such beautiful blue eyes."
The gargoyle called Molto did not hear her, as it was still daytime. Until sunset, the bodies of this
species petrified—not into real stone, but an organic substance that looked like stone. Kara could
hear the heart of the gargoyle beat softly against her ear. In this state they were most vulnerable. If
somebody destroyed the stone figure, the gargoyle died. Therefore, the gargoyles perched on pillars
always with their backs to the wall and made ugly faces to discourage their enemies.
Hundreds of years ago, humans and gargoyles knew each other. But people feared these creatures
because of their eerie appearance and campaigned against them, even though the gargoyles protected
them. Entire tribes were wiped out and so the gargoyles retreated to live underground. Over the
time, they became more and more forgotten. Later on, humans placed gargoyle sculptures on
churches and castles as they vaguely remembered that these creatures were once their protectors.
The stone sculptures should keep evil spirits away.
Nowadays, almost no one believed in mythical beings, and for that the clans were grateful. Humans
had not changed. They would fight the gargoyles, imprison them, conduct experiments or degrade
them to circus attractions.
As Kara's area of responsibility included London, it belonged to her duties to look after the
gargoyles during the day as the creatures were at the mercy of their enemies for the duration of their
stone sleep. Not that gargoyles had many enemies. Most didn't even know they existed. Their only
foes were demons because they disapproved that gargoyles often disturbed their search for food.
Demons fed on human souls. The gargoyles watched over the humans, and the angels watched over
the gargoyles so that nothing happened to them during the day. It was an unspoken, mutual
agreement because the gargoyles took on a lot of work for the angels. The nocturnal creatures were
something like guardian angels.
As often as her duties allowed, Kara sat on the ledge of the hotel clock tower to ponder everything.
Even after sunset she sometimes spent time here, watching the gargoyles pushing off the rooftops
with spread wings and sailing into the darkness, or she chatted with Molto. He sat motionless on the
building half the night—so humans didn't notice the missing statutes on the roof—before he
swapped the guard with Zyrus.
Kara rather spent time on the tower than some floors below in her earthly refuge—a room in the
former hotel. Officially, the Midland Grand Hotel had been closed since 1935, but inside the huge
dark red building lived the Brotherhood of the London gargoyles. These creatures did not only guard
individual people, but also their whole clan, their homes and the city in which they lived.
Kara wished she had had a gargoyle at her side when she was human before the witch had
sacrificed her to a demon... Again, her thoughts came across the attractive spawn and his clever
fingers. That hellhound knew that he was attractive and had tried to manipulate Kara. She had
noticed that very well. Lost in thought, she rolled the tiny hourglass between her fingers. What
should she do now? Fly back and hope the witch was still there?
Eyes closed, leaning against the building, Kara snuggled into her feathers. Her other hand slipped
into her tight top, where she plucked her nipples. Her breathing quickened as she touched the hard
nub. Kara hadn't realised it could be pleasurable if she tortured it gently. With each nip, an electric
shock zinged to her sex and heated her. The demon had completely exposed her already existing
desires, which she had tried to keep under control. What a bummer! They had aroused each other.
Kara could still see his eyes, as blue as the sky on a summer day. And his mischievous smile! She had
sensed that the demon had stuck to the pact to not destroy an angel. But he'd fought with other
weapons, with pretty unfair ones. He had demonstrated his power and Kara had enjoyed it, to be
defenceless and at his mercy in his strong arms. The handsome, black-haired devil could have done
to her whatever he wanted. She'd almost let him, too. A quiver went through her crotch and she tore
open her eyes and withdrew her hand. This excruciating throbbing in her midsection was almost
unbearable. If it didn't stopped soon, she would explode. She could never fly back. The demon
would have an easy time with her. He had desired the hourglass, but he must never get it. Such a
powerful artefact in his hands, my goodness!
His hands, these clever fingers... Kara still felt them all over her body.
Suddenly she sensed the gargoyle observing her although he perched motionless beside her.
Nonsense! Lust...a sin and forbidden to an angel.
"Kara mia," whispered a voice close to her ear.
"Molto?" In Kara's startled state, she almost jumped from the ledge and the hourglass would have
fallen down if the great angel in front of her hadn't caught them both. It wasn't the stone figure that
had spoken to her, but her mentor. Out of nowhere, he'd materialised, held Kara firmly by the hips
and lifted her back up on the ledge.
"Raphael!" How long had he watched her? What had he seen?
The angel returned the artefact. His ochre-coloured wings were so powerful that he didn't fit on
the narrow ledge, but hovered diagonally from Kara. He smiled at her from the side.
"Wha-what are you doing here?" She stuffed the hourglass in the valley between her breasts. A safe
place to keep it. The other place where she had hidden the magical item from the demon tingled with
excitement and was currently not suitable as storage space.
Raphael crossed his arms over his chest. The rain increased, but neither the Archangel nor Kara
were wet. The fat drops spattered loud against the wall. Raphael stared at Kara and she saw his soullight, which was particularly strong in an Archangel. It seemed to illuminate his green eyes, in his
almost androgynous face, from the inside. Steadily he beat his wings, which hardly made a sound.
His brown hair, which reached to his hips, stirred in the wind. Raffi was handsome and kind, and
liked to make jokes. Kara enjoyed his unconventional nature, so different from the others, and of all
the angels of the Council she liked him the best. Today, he seemed to have plans because he wore a
fine suit. The powerful Archangel didn't need to cut holes into the jacket so that his wings had room.
Kara had still not figured out how he did it. Her clothes tore every time her wings materialised.
Raphael would probably keep the secret forever since he did not reveal the trick. Or it was a privilege
of the Archangels.
Kara wondered what he wanted here, because Raphael was very busy. He was not only an
Archangel and a member of the Council who made important decisions within the hierarchy of
angels, but also one of the seven ruling angels, who each reigned over a certain area of the earthly
world. Raphael ruled Europe. From Brussels, he pulled the strings and made people dance to his
tune without their knowledge.
"I stopped by on my flight controlling the gargoyles and noticed you sitting here dreaming," he
said. "Why is the hourglass not with the witch?"
"There was a demon," she replied meekly.
Raphael raised his eyebrows. "And?"
"He wanted the hourglass, so I retreated."
Raphael grinned from ear to ear. "Kara mia, since when can you not finish off a single demon?"