Rosko, New folder 1
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Angels and Demons
ISBN 978-1-60592-433-5
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Copyright 2011 Mandy Rosko
Cover Art by Fiona Jayde
Edited by Bonnie Walker
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means
without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing,
LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination
and used fictitiously.
Blurb
In 1665 Scotland, five years after the Black Plague, former angel Jophiel lives in solitude
as a mortal, having removed his own wings to punish himself for falling in love with a
vampire. One day, his old friends, Michael and Zadkiel, offer him the chance to return
home to his old life in the Heavens. The price? Capture his former lover, and take his
head.
Lord Frederik Jasper Grimm, the man whom Jophiel loved, is a Belial vampire born
with half a soul and mortal emotions. His crime was destroying a village of innocents as
a ransom for his beloved sister Amelia, whom the murderous sorcerer Malcolm
MacNiel holds hostage. But before Frederik can retrieve Amelia from MacNiel's keep,
Jophiel captures him.
Before Jophiel can raise his sword, Frederik begs for mercy, explaining why he
destroyed the village. Frederik has lied before, but Jo cannot bring himself to kill his
former lover. His only choice is to hold Frederik prisoner until he can find an answer to
his question: Why would he be sent to execute an innocent vampire? All the while, he
must keep his new, mortal state a secret.
Prologue
England
The Time of the Black Plague
"You are such an idiot, Jo."
"
Excuse
me?" Jo fell back a step at the insult and at his lover's eyes, whose glare
was hard upon him. It was not a jibe lovingly delivered, but one meant to sear and cut.
And it did.
Jo became angry then, his body tightening, his fingers curling into fists, his wings
ruffling like those of an affronted bird. The wings were invisible to the men Frederik
had stationed on the grass of his vast garden, some ten feet from where they were
having their argument. But Jo's emotions were not as concealed as his wings, and the
bastard vampire could see his ire clearly. Yet, Jo's anger seemed to elicit no response
from Frederik at all, other than an unsympathetic demeanor.
"Ye know damn well I cannot stay on earth unless I become mortal. What is so
idiotic—?"
"The
plague
, you fucking fool."
Frederik seethed. For the first time, Jo saw something akin to hatred gleaming
within those angry eyes. The servants crossed themselves at the mention of the disease.
Though Frederik feared fire, tall flames burned hotly in every chamber of his
home, and pits also flickered high in several spots surrounding it as a measure to keep
the rats and fleas away from the mortals under Frederik's care. It was midnight, and,
though the full moon cast its usual silver glow, 'twas hardly noticeable with the fires
that sizzled and popped around them. 'Twas nearly as bright as day.
Frederik's face shone wet with sweat from the heat. "If you become mortal, the
plague will consume you, as it has done everything else, and you are stupider than I
imagined if you think for one moment that I will transform you into one of my kind. I
won't go to hell for anything, not you, not anyone."
"I never suggested ye change me into a
vampire
." Jo's voice rose with impatience.
Frederik's servants hardly blinked at the word. They knew perfectly well what they
served. Jo sensed the fear in them, not of their master, but of the plague that raged
across nearly the whole of the mortal land and of the possibility they would lose their
lives to it should Frederik not transform them.
They were placing their hopes on the wrong demon. Frederik would never dare
transform any living thing into a vampire. Not with the threat that it would become a
soulless creature of the night.
Frederik was a Belial vampire. Different from other vampires in that he was born
with half a soul. His belief, and that of other Belials, remained strong that, if they
wanted any eternal peace once their long lives ended, they were to never, ever, create
any more vampires.
Jo took a breath and gathered his calm, forcing his fingers to relax. "Frederik, I
have stayed as long as I am able, but I can wait no longer." He lowered his voice to keep
the servants from hearing. They may be comfortable with serving a vampire, but the
knowledge an angel was before them in such a time of fear, when all mortals seemed to
think the end of days was upon them, would likely terrify them. Even though Jo wore
the traditional armor of angels, his breastplate and cape were invisible to them, like his
wings. They saw only a mortal man in mortal garments, begging his lover not to cast
him out. "Heaven calls to me. I can barely fight it any longer now that my wings are
healed. I will become mortal for ye, Frederik. I wish to stay."
That . . . and a mortal body would allow him to share himself in ways only
mortals could.
Frederik seemed hardly impressed by his declaration. His arms remained
crossed over a long-sleeved blue waistcoat, and he planted his black boots steady in the
grass as he stood with a stiff back. "Jo, I apologize if I have misled you in my affections.
If Heaven calls to you, then you must stop ignoring it."
"Ye…what are ye saying? How could I have been misled? I know perfectly well
what yer affections are."
As an angel, Jo had no sexual organs with which he could experience physical
affection. But Frederik had kissed Jo and done other things with his mouth, again and
again, enough to heat Jo's blood and enough to leave no doubt of the vampire's
intentions.
"It seems you do not. Go home, Jo." With that, Frederik turned and began
walking back toward the relatively cooler air of his house.
The angry heat swelling inside Jo's chest threatened to consume him. "Do not
turn yer back on me!"
He made to follow the vampire, but a quick hand on the metal sleeve of his
breastplate halted him. He jerked his shoulder away and spun, hand on his sword,
ready to draw it. The servant who stalled him stepped back, uncertainty on his face. The
second man, some steps farther back, watched the scene carefully, waiting in case he
should be needed.
Jo could see the goodness of these men. He had spent the last week under
Frederik's roof and had seen them occasionally setting tables and giving gentle
commands to the maids. Jo did not know them and had barely even spoken two words
to them, but he did not want to give them any cause for grief. Perhaps that was the
reason Frederik had chosen them to witness this exchange. He knew Jo would not fight
them just for the privilege of following the other man like a lost puppy.
"Frederik, have I truly misjudged the situation?" he called.
The vampire stalled, gave a half-turn of his head, and then continued on as
though Jo hadn't spoken at all.
The strangest, most uncomfortable sensation rippled through Jo's chest. Never in
all his years of battling demons had he ever experienced such pain. He looked down,
half expecting to see a clawed hand punching through his armor and straight into his
soul.
Naught was there. The pain existed only within him.
"Milord?" asked the one servant with light hair and pleading eyes. The other,
darker-haired one was directly behind him now. "We are to see you out."
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