Chapter One, Continued.
Her eyes stung with tears. Lance’s angelic
blood and her subsequent pregnancy had weakened her. Not physically—she was
still as strong as ever. In fact, Lance’s painful gifts had increased her
powers. But it had humanized her as well. Now she wept. Wept! A six-hundred-year-old
vampire crying at the slightest provocation? She had executed her own wife
without a single moan. Now, she whined like a hungry puppy when she remembered
how Lance left her behind. That was nothing compared to her past.
She
drew back her arm to punch the thin wall by the window, sick of her fragility.
As her fist arrowed to shatter the cut-rate plaster, she regained her self-control.
Her knuckles lightly tapped the faded gray of the wall.
Stop it. Six months of her pathetically weak will letting her think of
what she no longer had. That was then. This was now.
Lance wasn’t worth any more of her time.
There was a Fallen Angel to watch. She had to stay focused.
In addition to his dull aura, his overly neat,
shiny Italian suit and highly fashionable skinny tie betrayed his vanity. The
high-end narrow jacket emphasized his sensual build. Honesty forced her to
admit that the Angelic Host didn’t exactly have what could be called fashion
sense. All that gleaming white could get old for the flamboyant sort.
