Free Archangel Rafe (A Novel of The Seven Book 1) by Lisa Hughey Page A

a deadline. “After that I can’t keep quiet any longer.”
    “Okay.” Rafe had monitored Angelina while they talked. Out of the corner of his eye, Rafe saw someone stalk toward her. From this distance it was difficult to determine whether male or female, friend or foe. Two Angels had been stabbed through their mark. An execution in the old style. The stealthy figure could have a nefarious purpose.
    The figure crept up behind her. Because her attention was on Rafe and Uri, she seemed unaware of the looming danger. Rage engulfed him, stronger than the heat of the incendiary flames.
    “No!” Rafe roared, and sprinted toward Angelina.

TWELVE
    Rafe thundered toward Angelina. Sweat coated his skin. Soot streaked his arms. His muscles bunched and released as he ran flat out toward her. His face was hard, the expression murderous, the lines of concentration so fierce that she jerked back. He launched his body over her head and she finally realized that he hadn’t been screaming at her . He hit the other body with a thud.
    Angelina whirled around and scuttled away from the intertwined fighters. They rolled on the ground amid the sickening thunk as fists hit flesh, the crunch as bones broke, and the grunts of mortal combat.
    Angelina shook in the presence of such unabashed violence. She swallowed the urge to scream, to cringe in fear and held her emotions inside. The trembling increased with the roar of the fire. The ground shook from the force of the flames. The hen houses fireballed in an incredible display of fury. Heat scorched the ground and seared her through heavy denim. She yelped inadvertently.
    Rafe turned his head to check on her and the instant of distraction cost him. His opponent jumped up but didn’t attack, instead he ran away.
    Rafe hopped up. His face was a mass of bruises and his shirt had ripped to expose the rippled strength of his stomach. Rafe limped toward Angelina. “Are you okay?” He rasped harshly, as if the smoke that clogged the air had jammed his throat.
    She nodded silently.
    A trail of blood seeped from a cut underneath his eye and trickled down his cheek. Instinctively, she reached to wipe away the blood and examine his wound. But, Angelina curled her fingers into a fist and lowered her hand to her side. So many questions crowded her mind. Where were they? Who attacked him? What had he done earlier to the man on the ground?
    His face had been stoic as he placed his hand upon the man’s chest. She’d watched him. The man on the ground stopped moving, stopped breathing in time with the labored breath of her Archangel. Angelina couldn’t help the thought that popped into her mind. He’d killed that man.
    As if he’d read her mind, he glanced back toward the two men, both now prone on the ground.
    “I need to get you home.” He reached out his hand, his knuckles bloodied and swollen.
    Tentatively Angelina grasped his larger, rougher hand. “Hold on.”
    In a blink, they were back in her house. Back in the cozy, sheltered warmth of her kitchen. “Who--” Angelina was disoriented at the abrupt change from the noisy inferno to the quiet of her house.
    “I have to go.” Rafe said, “I’ll be back to continue your training.”
    Training? “What? Oh no.” She couldn’t. She couldn’t do what he’d just done. That hadn’t looked like healing. It had looked like killing.
    Whatever it had been, she wasn’t cut out for the task. He had the wrong woman. He had to be wrong. She couldn’t handle one more responsibility. “I can’t.”
    His brows were an angry arch over accusing gray eyes full of utter contempt. “We will discuss it later.” He hesitated then said, “If you need me, call my name.”
    “But--”
    “Healing comes with a price.” Rafe ignored her protest. “You must keep yourself isolated from people. Remember what happened at the doctor’s office.” His bruised and bloodied hands gripped her shoulders in a ruthless clasp. “Don’t touch anyone.”
    And he was