Death Takes Wing Read online

  Amalia nodded, understanding combined with light mirth dawning in her green eyes. “So, that explains why he didn’t marry a nice solan girl.”

  Gabriel chuckled, a nasty lilt to his voice. “No ‘nice solan girl’ would be seen with him. Dead or alive. It took a human for him to finally get married. If he weren’t so ridiculously poncy, he’d probably have been married decades ago.”

  Amalia’s eyes darkened with the thoughts swirling in her head about Vicki and her future life. “I hope she’s happy.”

  Gabriel looked at her, “I hope so, too.” He wanted to add ‘but I doubt she will be’, but the dark look in Amalia’s eyes warned him off. Remembering Owen’s deliberate snub, the dark angelus looked amused for a second before tossing back the rest of his wine, thinking to himself that the bloody fool had no idea who he was mistreating. He’d be lucky if his marriage lasted through this year, if the girl ever found the spine was so obviously missing.

  Amalia glanced around, looking for Sam, and not seeing her anywhere in the room. She'd be hard to miss with her bright turquoise dress, Amalia thought to herself, so where is she? Sam hadn’t returned to the table since Amalia saw her talking with Vince earlier. Glancing around the room, she didn’t see Vince either, and his mint wings made him stand out in a room of peaches and beige.

  She turned back towards the table where the food sat, steaming, just delivered by a passing server. Amalia pulled her phone out and sending a quick glance at Gabriel, she fired a quick text to Sam, wondering just where she was when the food was there. No reply was forthcoming, so she shoved the phone back into the small purse. Thinking she felt the phone vibrate, she pulled it out. Nothing. She frowned and shoved it back in.

  When she saw Gabriel focused on his food, she pulled out her phone again as she was sure she felt it vibrate. She saw a text that her cousin Morgan had sent her, asking how the feathery wedding was going. She fired back a quick text telling her about her interesting dinner companion, and that she was actually enjoying herself. Morgan shot back that she expected to hear all about it tomorrow.

  Sticking the phone back in her small purse, Amalia concentrated on her food, savoring the delicate spices and flavorful lobster that graced her plate. At least Owen had good taste when it came to food, otherwise the wedding would be completely unpalatable without her present company, especially without Sam here.

  ∞

  After the dinner conversation between the two had meandered around a variety of subjects, they found themselves sitting alone at the table as the dances started. The music was a swaying waltz, and she found herself looking at the women in their colorful dresses and gowns as they danced to the string quartet, slightly jealous that she wasn’t among them, but somehow too shy to ask the dark angelus if he could dance.

  Gabriel looked at his conversational companion, and watched as she stared at the dancers, doubting that she realized that she was swaying lightly along with the rhythm. He sipped his water, knowing he’d had enough wine for the evening if he wanted to drive home unimpaired. Finishing the last swallow, he set the glass down on the table and stood up. Brushing non-existent crumbs from his sleeves, he stood in front of Amalia, a cocky smile covering his face. She looked up at the hand that he had placed in front of her confused.

  He looked pointedly at the dance floor, and then back at her. “I assume you want to dance.”

  “Are you always this suave when you ask a lady to dance?” she asked as she shyly smiled, and finally placed her hand in his.

  With a smile and a slight bow, he replied, “always.”

  His hand dwarfed her, and as she stood up with him, she found that his body did the same. She placed him around 6’2”, compared to her 5’5”. Looking down at her feet, she wish she’d worn the pair of stilettos that Sam had offered to lend her, but she would have been on her ass in an instant; high heels and her balance did not mix that well. She would rather be short than wind up with a sprained ankle.

  He stood next to her, his dark wings making him look even more stunning. She gave him a dazzling smile, which he returned with a saucy grin, taking one last sip of his wine to steady his nerves. He made a stunning picture in his charcoal tuxedo. A white silk shirt clung to his muscled chest, silver buttons adorning the front. The tie was a stormy gray silk, just a few shades lighter than his suit, held in place with a tie-pin that matched the buttons and cufflinks. His feathers hung behind him, the pewter flakes making his wings looks like they were dripping silver. She had a brief thought of what the feathers felt like, wondering what it would feel like to run her hand down a wing. Wondering what the dark wings would look like on her bed…

  She heard him set down his glass, the sound bringing her back to reality and out of her fantasy. With a wry smile, she thought about how much Morgan would just love to know about her fantasies about the dark angelus. Of course, Morgan had already inundated Sam with questions about Vince, but Sam was pretty reserved when it came to answering questions about that part of her sex life.

  With an almost knowing smile in his eyes, he led her to the dance floor, where the other dancers were swaying, with the long gowns sweeping the floor gracefully. With another smile at her, he had a thought that no one else mattered except for them.

  The music floating across the floor, he placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer to him and spread his wings, distancing them from the other dancers. To her, it made it seem as if they were dancing alone, in their own world. They waltzed a few dances as the string quartet played on, and with a slight shift in music, they were dancing a slow dance.

  He was light on his feet, as if he’d had centuries of balls and dances to prepare him for this one moment. He pulled his wings to his back, pulled her closer to him.

  With her head resting on his chest, she could hear his steady breathing as they swayed around the room, unknowingly mirroring the bride and groom.

  The groom, Gabriel had noticed, amused by the situation, was extremely uncomfortable dancing so informally with his bride. The look of annoyance that flashed across Owen’s face was laughable, and the look of disdain he gave his bride annoyed Gabriel.

  Gabriel briefly closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her hair. The soft curls felt like satin under his cheek. The last time he’d danced with a human was with Ivy, and that had been more than a hundred and fifty years ago. He found himself enjoying the feel of the woman next to him. He enjoyed that she smelled faintly of vanilla, and the satiny feel of her hair against his skin. With a halting sigh, he chased away the thoughts of yesteryear with the thoughts of today, and this stunning redhead next to him.

  She could feel his muscles under his tuxedo, and with a dirty thought, she wondered what he would look like in her bed. Without a shirt, well, without any clothes, she amended mentally, and continued to fantasize towards the end of the song. The only part she couldn’t work out was what to do with the damn wings, as pretty as they were. Although, she thought, she was sure Sam would have some suggestions…getting those suggestions out of her would be another problem…she’d deal with that later, she decided, breathing heavily as the light scent of cinnamon came over her.

  Purposefully leading her mind away from those straying thoughts, she pulled away from him as the music changed to an upbeat song that, to her, sounded strange coming from the quartet.

  When the quartet were packing up their instruments and the guests were slowly giving their good wishes to the happy couple, Amalia realized she hadn’t seen Sam since before dinner. She hadn’t heard anything from her, not a text or a call. Frowning, she retrieved her coat from the coat closet, a room large enough to be a bedroom in her house. Her frown deepened as she saw Sam’s dark brown wool coat still hanging.

  She felt a brush against her arm and turned to see Gabriel retrieving his own coat.

  He cocked his head as she stared at the brown coat. “Your friend’s?”

  She slowly nodded, then reached out to grab it. “Yeah…she just got it. I can’t s
ee her leaving it behind.”

  He shrugged and slipped the leather trenchcoat on, carefully arranging it around his wings. “She’s probably still around. Somewhere outside. Lots of trails around here.”

  “Without her coat?” she asked doubtfully.

  He glanced at her as he pulled the coat tight, starting to leave the room. The small size made him feel claustrophobic as the other angelus filed in to retrieve their own items. “Perhaps she has another way of keeping warm?”

  She sighed and followed him out, her own coat hanging from her arm, forgotten in the worry. “Maybe.”

  “You have a ride home?”

  Startled by the question, she dropped the keys she’d just pulled out. “Y-yeah,” she stammered. “I drove us here, but if she’s left with Vince, I guess she can get a ride with him.”

  He smiled as he escorted her to her small car. “Then have a wonderful evening, Miss Walker.”

  She returned the smile as she climbed in the car, watching him walk to a bright yellow sports car. Shaking her head at the dirty thoughts that ran across her mind, she started home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With the hazy afternoon sun shining through her bedroom window, the bright ray of light hit Amalia in the face. Her world turned into a world of white bursts and glowing objects. Rubbing a hand across her eyes, she glanced around the room. A year ago, it hadn’t been just her living here. She’d been living with Eric, her sort-of-fiancé. He’d plastered the wall of the small garage with NASCAR pictures, his obsession drifting into the house as he couldn’t bear to cover old pictures with newer ones. One of her great stress-relieving moments was being able to tear and break every one of those damn ugly posters and frames.

  Of course, she surmised, if she hadn’t caught him in this bed with the neighbor down the road she probably wouldn’t have done that, so it was clearly his fault that she’d destroyed his things. Everyone but Morgan, Sam and Vicki had exclaimed, “that just isn’t like you, Amalia!” Apparently they hadn’t known her as well as they thought.

  And they’d never stopped to consider that the dog probably had more than one bitch on the side. She’d found later that he was having relations with at least two others, and she was pretty sure each one thought that ‘she was the only one’.

  “At least I didn’t marry that bloody git,” she said unconsciously copying Gabriel.

  Morgan had been adamant that she would find Eric, make him pay for hurting her favorite cousin, then bury him. And not, she had proclaimed loudly over Captain Morgan, necessarily in that order. Sam had heartily agreed, even trying to ferret out Eric’s current location. Shaking the memory of that drunken haze out of her head, she smiled as she thought about her fantasy of Eric, living under a bridge somewhere. Preferably with herpes. She finished the satisfying thought with a nasty laugh that startled the cat on the end of the bed.

  Sitting up, she pushed the heavy comforter to the end of the bed, grabbed the wooden headboard and pulled herself backward, grabbing each post of the double bed in each hand, enjoying the feel of the silky wood. The only thing that stopped her from destroying the entire bed in the process of purging after of his indiscretion was the knowledge that Donovan had handcrafted the bed for her. He’d lovingly sanding the entire frame, and hand carving the delicate scrollwork set into the head and foot boards. Nothing could make her destroy any thing Donovan had touched, so she’d settled for destroying the mattress and any fabric that covered said mattress.

  She’d much rather think about last night, she decided with a perfunctory nod. Gabriel could have been the title character of the last bodice-ripper she’d read, she thought with a laugh. Tall, dark and handsome. Not to mention a great conversationalist. The night couldn’t have been much better, she decided. Before nodding off, she’d been wondering what he looked like without a shirt…probably just as delicious as he did with a shirt. The way it had clung to him when they danced made her wish she’d taken him up on his offer of a ride home.

  When she heard claws scrabble on the wood floor, she started to drag herself out of bed before the writhing bundle of fur could joyfully bounce on her bladder. She pushed Lucy away from her as she tried to shut the door to the bedroom. She got it most of the way shut before Lucy pushed it back open with a pointed nose, and expelled a pointed huff of disapproval and annoyance, a trait that seemed bred into the little dogs.

  Amalia sighed and pointed towards the open door. "Out, Lucy." The sheltie paused in the doorway, giving her one last disapproving glare before throwing herself out of the bedroom, through the hallway, and through the pet door, slamming it open with a thud that resounded through the hallway.

  Standing up and stretching, she felt the cat wind his way around her legs. She was pretty sure she’d felt him on the bed last night, but since he hadn’t tried to wake her, she hadn’t minded. Normally, she didn’t like him sleeping on the bed with her, as he always tried to take over the fluffy pillow that she snuggled nightly. Walking over to the closet, she grabbed a pair of black slacks and a pinstriped grey Oxford shirt. Making a face, she bent over and grabbed a pair of matching black shoes, noticing the charcoal dress haphazardly lying across her hope chest under the window.

  Setting the clothes on her bed, she grabbed the dress, holding it up to her. She could smell the faint scent of cinnamon. Maybe from dessert, she thought absently. A small dark feather fluttered to the floor. Leaning over and grabbing it, she hadn’t noticed it last night. Must be one of Gabriel’s, she mused. Twirling it between her fingers, she watched the light catch the incandescent fibers, turning the feather shades of silver and pewter. Carefully placing it on her dresser, she hung the dress up in the back of the spacious closet. It was a silk and satin ball gown, and it was the only dress she had like that, but it was always a hit when she was able to wear it.

  Walking back to the middle of her bedroom, she stood lost in the thoughts of last night’s events. Gabriel, the dancing and conversation, and other than that, there wasn’t that much else that she thought was worth remembering. She gave a disgusted noise as she walked towards the bathroom. She’d gone for so long without actually fantasizing about a guy that it felt odd to her to be dreaming about a stranger. Granted, an extremely handsome stranger, who’d appeared to be as interested in her as she was him, but still…

  Amalia stood in front of the mirror and recalled the waltzes she’d shared with Gabriel. With a giddy grin, she turned the water on and washed her face, only stopping her morning ritual to unplug her phone and check to see if the wayward Sam had texted. Frustrated, she set the phone back down when the only text was one from her cousin about her work schedule.

  She pulled all of the bobby pins out of her up-do, letting the thick hair fall to the small of her back. She started to brush it, and was startled when her cell phone rang, screeching "I'm Sexy and I Know It" at full volume. She laughed as she picked it up, mentally thanking Morgan once again for one of the quick pick-me-up-pranks that she was known for pulling on unsuspecting family members. Morgan had changed it about a week ago, when they’d gone to see the latest slasher film, and since the day after, when she’d finally gotten a call, she hadn’t wanted to change it back.

  She giggled as she remembered when Morgan had changed her uncle’s ring tone to “Baby One More Time”, making sure she called him in the middle of a PTA meeting during Morgan’s senior year. Last she heard, the principal who’d been at the meeting still laughed about it.

  She glanced at the caller ID, but didn't recognize the number. She hesitated before answering, "Hello?"

  "Is this Amalia?" a woman's voice came over the speaker, sounding unsure and somewhat afraid.

  "Yes," she said cautiously. "Who's this?"

  "I'm Maria O'Mara-Samantha's mother," the woman replied quickly. Amalia strained to hear the woman’s quiet voice even though her volume was turned all the way up. Now that the woman had identified herself, the voice was familiar, even if it was a bit hoarse.

  "Oh, how is she?" Amalia a
sked, wondering how Sam’s night with Vince had turned out.

  "We were wondering the same thing," Maria answered slowly. "She never came home last night. She didn't call, either. We were hoping you knew where she was. I knew something would happen…her going to party with those…things.” The woman spat out the word, telling Amalia clearly just how she felt about the angelus population.

  Amalia's heart dropped. "I don't. Last night, she left before dinner. I thought she was spending the night with another of her friends. She didn't say anything to me. I'm sorry, I just checked my phone but she never called or sent me a text," she finished.

  "Well, if you hear from her, please, call me. You can reach me here," Maria said, her voice sounding close to tears.

  "I will," Amalia promised. She hung up the phone, disturbed at the revelation that Sam never made it home, but she couldn’t help but think that this was just another of one of Sam’s unannounced adventures. She reminisced about the time Sam had disappeared for two weeks, only to return with a tan, a smile, a story about a cute islander, and a bunch of pictures of a small Caribbean Island she’d called home for her short stay. Hopefully this was just another one of those adventures, but the way her stomach dropped, she wasn’t so sure. As a police officer, she’d learned to trust her gut, and this time, her gut was telling her it wasn’t an innocent adventure. Especially if Sam hadn’t told her mother. That really wasn’t like Sam…she’d always told her mother if she was going somewhere, even if she hadn’t shared where she was going.

  Her brow furrowed as she dialed another number, relieved to hear the bright voice on the other end. “Hey Morgan, I got a question.”

  “And that would hopefully be, ‘How do I get this delicious stranger out of my bed?’”, teased Morgan.

  With a laugh, she shook her head and responded, “Alas, no. I didn’t go home with him.”

  “Why the hell not? It’s been over a year, Lia. Time to move on. Get your slut on.”