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

things at once.
    He’d never been in this particular bathroom before. It was no wonder to him now that he hadn’t been able to locate it at first. He’d probably never before been in the room beyond, nor in the bed upon which he’d awoken.
    Another thing he realized was that everything he was looking at now was in very sharp focus. The yellowed porcelain sink, the dingy floor and peeling walls, the shower with a shower curtain covered in mold – all of it was so clear, it was like getting a new pair of glasses and suddenly having perfect vision when you didn’t even realize you’d been having trouble seeing in the first place.
    He could smell it all too. Which was unfortunate.
    The last thing he realized, and perhaps the most disturbing, was that the reason he’d pricked his lips and tasted blood was because he was sporting a very long, very sharp set of fangs.
    Michael closed his overachieving eyes again and placed his hand to his forehead. His skin was flushed, hot against the cool of his palm. It almost felt burned. Moving on instinct now, he pressed his back up against the bathroom wall and used it as leverage to get on his booted feet.
    Two steps, and he was gripping the sides of the sink and squeezing his eyes shut tight. Dizziness and weakness moved through him like the pull of a tide. He weathered it, then raised his head and opened his eyes.
    A stranger stared back at him.
    Michael’s grip on the sink tightened, and a hairline crack moved through the porcelain. The whites of his eyes were gone, replaced by solid black that outlined his irises like a wolf’s eyes. His pupils were shrunken, even in the dim light of the shut bathroom, and at their centers were red pinpoints of light, flickering like candle flames.
    His skin, once tanned by his many hours of work outdoors, was now pale in places and covered in painful red patches in others. The burns healed rapidly before his eyes, retreating to leave behind more of that perfect but pale and unfamiliar skin tone. His hair, also once touched by the sun, had darkened several shades.
    And then there were the fangs. He’d been able to feel them with his tongue, but seeing them in the mirror was anot her matter.
    I’m dreaming.
    But he knew he wasn’t.
    This is n’t possible.
    But he knew it was.
    He remembered now. There, as he stood staring at the alien reflection of a man he thought he’d known, he recalled every single thing that had transpired in Central Park the night before. Rhiannon. The Phantoms. The Dragons. The stranger and Hesperos.
    Samael.
    And the deal that Michael had made with the Fallen One in order to save his archess.
    Everything you love, everything you worship, all that you hold dear, oh Favored One, you lose here and now. All that you loathe and fear and unfairly judge shall become your burden.
    A thrum of hard, painful understanding went through Michael. And at once, he understood everything, and he knew just what it was that Samael had done.
    He’s turned me into a monster.
    The son of a bitch was fond of that – turning people into vampires. Uriel was a perfect example. Sam had turned him into a vampire for breaking a verbal contract. And now he’d done the same to Michael in order to exact some petty form of revenge.
    He’d given him fangs and a weakness for the sun.
    A pang of yearning shot through Michael’s gut, hard and sharp, and his mouth watered. Oh, and there’s that lovely thirst for blood. He was surprised he hadn’t been expecting it.
    So I’m a vampire.
    But… no . There was something more .
    Michael bared his fangs and frowned. There was something else. All that you loathe and fear and unfairly judge….
    What did Michael loathe? Not vampires. He certainly didn’t hate his brother.
    Azrael was the king of the vampires, the first vampire ever created, and the lord and master of every vampire that existed on the planet today. Azrael was also the former Angel of Death, and one of the “Four Favored” archangels