Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

guys,” Sam had been struck with something odd. He’d sensed something in the air that he’d never felt before in waking life. It was a scent on the wind, and a hint of a memory. It was like feeling silken locks of hair slip through his fingertips. It had shaken him. Not enough that he’d allowed it to be seen, and certainly not enough that he hadn’t been able to do what he’d gone there to do.
    But it had entered his mind and planted a seed of doubt.
    Once he’d taken care of business with the Warrior Archangel, he’d left the menial, remaining tasks to his assistant, Jason, and returned to Chicago.
    It hadn’t been until very late that he’d taken to his bed. Alone. With those seeds of doubt sprouting trees in his head. And then, as usual, he’d dreamed of her. Of her … whoever she was. And, once more, she had slipped through his fingers. Gone like the wind.
    He wanted to lash out in anger, in desperation, and shove himself back into sleep. He was exhausted in a way that no one knew and in a way he could never let anyone see. He wanted to fall into a coma and surrender to oblivion, if only for the slightest hope of having her in his bed once more.
    Now Sam sat up in his vast plane of silk sheets and promises, shut his eyes tight against the real world and everything about it that wasn’t his dream, and fisted his hands in his ash blond hair. He was losing a part of himself in this routine every night. Every time the sun went down, another piece of himself would slip away.
    Or maybe… maybe it was something else.
    Samael opened his eyes and blinked, his shaking breath hitching as he realized it might be something else. It might not be that he was losing himself.
    Maybe it was that a part of him was already lost. It had been for a very long time.
    And he was on the verge of finding it at last.
    *****
    The redness behind Michael’s lids grew redder and brighter, and as he tried desperately to swim his way up from the depths of the powerful sleep in which he was trapped, his skin began to prickle. The prickle became a stinging sensation, which quickly turned into a steadily worsening burn.
    He hissed and attempted to raise his arm over his eyes to block out the sun, but initially failed. His body was having trouble responding.
    Fleeting f ears of paralyzation and fractured thoughts of mortal injuries skated through Michael’s mind. He tried again, pushing with everything he had, and this time, he just managed to raise his right arm before his face.
    The sun ceased searing into his brain, but the bur ning on his skin was becoming decidedly painful. He gritted his teeth and tried to roll over. Something pricked his bottom lip, and he tasted blood.
    What the hell , he thought. His body just did not want to do what he told it to do. Move, damn it! he commanded. At last, he rolled onto his right side, but the effort was so draining, it felt like a weight-lifting exercise. By the time he’d managed to sit up, eyes still closed, arm still raised before his face, his muscles burned as much as his skin, and pain was beginning to lance through his skull.
    Now the thoughts of injury were warning bells, chiming louder and more frantically than anything else, and adding to his growing agony.
    Something’s wrong. Michael got to his feet, the effort like another squat with a five hundred pound barbell on his shoulders. He stumbled from the bed, tried to find the restroom, and when he failed, baffled confusion added itself to his incredible discomfort.
    He continued to move though, and within a few more seconds, he was dropping to his knees on a cracked linoleum floor and kicking the door shut behind him in order to block out the sunlight.
    Silence and cool darkness embraced him like a salve. Michael leaned against the bathroom wall and breathed. In and out…. One…. Two….
    Within a few seconds, th e burning on his skin lessened, his head was clearing, and he was able to open his eyes. That’s when he realized several