been. They also covered the scars from where his real wings had been ripped from him. But unlike the glorious white and gold wings Gabriel had hacked away, these were midnight black.
“I want you to kill someone,” the angel continued. “Isn’t that what you do now? Assassin for hire to anyone who has enough money to afford your services. The Forgotten. How melodramatic.” A sneer marred his perfect features. “You don’t even kill for a cause.”
“Not interested.” After an eternity of fighting, first for Heaven and then in Hell, he was tired. All he wanted was to live his life in peace.
Gabriel sauntered over to the kitchen counter and sat at one of the stools that ranged along the peninsula. “Come now. Killing is who you are. It’s an easy job, really. Kill one pesky human. I’ll pay you well and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “I’ll make sure you get your wings back.”
A faint hope flared inside him, but he ruthlessly squashed it. “Don’t need them.” He poured himself a large mug of coffee but offered none to his uninvited guest.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. “I can make sure you’re off Heaven’s Most Wanted list. No more young angels trying to be the heroes of Heaven by taking you out.”
Like that would happen. He’d killed dozens of those young punks who were too stupid to realize they weren’t anywhere nearly as powerful as they believed themselves to be.
“If it’s so important, why don’t you kill the human yourself?” In spite of himself, he was mildly interested. What human could be giving the archangel such problems? Maccus wouldn’t mind meeting the man and shaking his hand.
“Humans are untouchable to angels.”
Ah, there was the truth. Maccus could kill a human without dire repercussions. Or could he? “Forgive me if I don’t trust your generous offer.” Yeah, the sarcasm was deep. So sue him. He didn’t trust the archangel any farther than he could throw him.
Gabriel reached into the pocket of jeans. Maccus manifested two knives and threw them. They slammed home with accuracy, pinning the paper he’d withdrawn to his palm.
“A little extreme, don’t you think?” The angel tried to yank the blades free, but they wouldn’t budge. When he frowned, Maccus held up his hands, and the weapons flew back to him.
“Cute trick.” He carefully opened the now bloodstained paper. “This is a contract stating that no angels are to touch you if you kill the person named here.” He laid the document on the granite countertop and flicked his hand over it, splattering it with even more blood. “It has my blood, my seal on it now, so it’s legal. All it needs is yours to be binding.” The wound on Gabriel’s hand closed.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. Still, he was curious. “Leave it, and I’ll peruse the contract when I have time.”
Gabriel’s shoulders bunched, and a bright glow emanated from inside him. Never a good sign. Maccus sighed and set down his mug. The day never started right when his first cup of coffee was disturbed.
A flaming sword came crashing toward his head. Long blades shot from his hands, the hilts settling into his palm. Muscles flexing in his arms, he blocked the attack and shoved the angel back. Gabriel flew through the air, slamming into the wall. The plaster crumbled.
Damn, it was going to take more than a coat of paint to fix the damage—another annoyance to add to the archangel’s list of transgressions.
Gabriel shook himself and stared. His former friend was used to being the strongest in any confrontation.
Maccus set down his swords, picked up his mug, and continued to sip.
The flaming sword disappeared when Gabriel returned it to the invisible sheath. He rolled his shoulders, strode back to the counter, and tapped the document. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch.” In the blink of an eye, he disappeared, leaving Maccus alone once again.
Using the tip of one of his daggers—he wasn’t stupid enough to touch it, as a paper cut could lead to a binding agreement—he turned the page toward him and read the angelic language, pausing when he got