An Angel's Song Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Sharon Saracino

  An Angel’s Song

  Copyright

  Dedications

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Tessa…”

  he stepped toward her and held out a hand.

  “Don’t you touch me,” she warned, taking a quick step back, eyeing him warily.

  Okay, so maybe he’d been an oblivious jackass. Hardly the first time, but maybe it showed progress if he’d noticed without someone else pointing it out?

  “Look, I could have warned you, but frankly it just never occurred to me. You’ve had a long night, and you’re tired and hurting. I get it. I’m not happy about this, but believe it or not, I really am trying to help. I’m not the bad guy here.”

  “Meaning I am?” She spat, stepping right up toe to toe, crossing her arms over her chest, and craning her neck to look directly into his face. “I fly thousands of miles, watch my father die, and then, before I can even process what that means, I am grabbed by you, of all people, and spirited off against my will without so much as a by-your-leave. And you have the audacity to stand there and tell me you’re not happy about this?”

  Alec decided he definitely preferred angry Tessa. Her eyes deepened to the swirling blue of an angry sea and her chest heaved, straining the buttons of the wrinkled white blouse and thrusting her high breasts against the thin fabric. With her bright eyes snapping, red-gold curls tumbling over her shoulders, and her cheeks hot and flushed, pissed or not, she was freakin’ magnificent.

  Praise for Sharon Saracino

  “Sharon Saracino’s world of angels, archangels, witches, demons, and evil minions engages the reader from page one. Make no plans for your weekend—you won’t be able to put down any of these stories.”

  ~Sharon Buchbinder, Author of Obsession

  ~*~

  “Defending angels have never been as sexy as they are in this [ANGEL UNBOUND] heart-felt tension-filled fantasy!”

  ~InD’Tale Magazine

  ~*~

  “[UNDISCOVERED ANGEL is]…a well-organized, very suspenseful and frequently surprising book…I enjoyed reading it—twice, actually—and I recommend it to any reader who likes wonderful characters placed in a strongly suspenseful paranormal setting.”

  ~Sensuous Reviews

  An Angel’s Song

  by

  Sharon Saracino

  The Earthbound Series, Volume 4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  An Angel’s Song

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Sharon Saracino

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1080-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1081-7

  The Earthbound Series, Volume 4

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedications

  Thank you to my editor, Frances Sevilla

  who cheers me on, sets me straight,

  and polishes the rough stones to make them shine.

  ~*~

  Thank you to the amazing team at

  The Wild Rose Press who are a joy to work with.

  ~*~

  And to my readers,

  thank you for believing in angels…

  especially those of the Earthbound persuasion.

  Alec and Tessa’s story showcases the power of love

  and the magic of second chances.

  This one’s for you.

  Chapter One

  “Speechless, Alec? It isn’t like you to show such restraint,” Michael the Archangel drawled.

  Alec McAllister continued to stare out of the mullioned window of the Castel Sant’Angelo, a slight shrug the only indication he’d heard. Concentrating on the easy, regular sound of his breathing as the long minutes ticked by, he allowed no outward hint of his inner turmoil as he feigned interest in the picturesque view of the late day picnickers in the Parco Adriano through the wavy glass of Michael’s quarters. Over the centuries, the hulking cylindrical landmark on the banks of the Tiber served as the mausoleum for an emperor and a bastion against invaders for the princes of the church before its current role as a tourist attraction and museum. Alec wondered if Hadrian would be pleased or appalled at the changes wrought by the passing years. The fact it also doubled as the headquarters for the Defensori, the military arm of the Earthbound, and did duty as the earthly abode of their commander was far less widely known.

  “What exactly do you expect me to say?” Alec ground out between clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”

  The expensive leather creaked as Michael shifted his position on the enormous sectional sofa whose modernity contrasted sharply with the renaissance décor of his chambers. Alec turned to face him, eyes narrowed. Most were intimidated by the Archangel. His size alone was daunting, straining the seams of his custom Italian designer jacket, but Alec knew far too much about his past to be overly intimidated.

  “Technically, I’m not the one asking.”

  Alec barked, a short laugh which held no mirth. He straightened to his full height of well over six feet, and looked down his nose at the angelic military commander. Michael simply stared back expectantly, legs crossed, looking as unruffled and relaxed as if he’d invited Alec to stop by for lunch.

  “Old age must have affected his mind,” Alec spat as though tasting something foul. His voice cracked only slightly. Then he stepped away from the window and paced the expansive parlor.

  “I know you’re feeling a bit put out right now. But, I’m simply the messenger.”

  A bit put out? Alec fumed silently. Such a master of understatement. Alec felt Michael’s gaze following him as he continued to struggle, stalking the confines of the large room, trying to absorb and process everything he’d just learned. A thought struck him. He spun to face the Archangel.

  “Maybe Dimitri can…” Alec began, but Michael shook his head.

  “Dimitri Radchenko is a gifted healer, but this is beyond even his skill. I’m sorry, Alec.”

  “Well, whether or not I’m willing is a moot point. She made her feelings clear a long time ago.” Alec growled as he stopped his pacing and resumed staring out the window. He stood still and silent, los
t in thoughts of that night long ago as dusk swallowed the sun, zipping up the sky like an old gray sweater.

  “So you’ll do it?” Michael rose so swiftly and gracefully from the depths of the sofa it would have appeared magical to anyone else, and came to stand behind Alec.

  “I want to see him,” Alec announced turning to face the larger man.

  “Alec, I don’t think…after all these years what purpose would it serve? He isn’t what he was. You won’t even recognize—” Alec brought his palm up in a speak-to-the-hand gesture and Michael stammered to a halt.

  “I know his soul. And I still say he can’t be in his right mind to suggest this.”

  “Why not? She’s your wife. Maybe it’s time the two of you sat down and talked. And besides, you never know when her gifts could be useful to us…er, you. I’m only thinking of the greater good.”

  “Your own good, you mean,” Alec snapped, referring to Michael’s quest to retrieve the collection of supernatural objects the Archangel had secretly created millennia ago to protect his daughter from his enemies following the revocation of her immortality. “You asked for my help and my discretion all these years and you got it. To the exclusion of everything else in my life. And yeah, that’s on me. But, I’ve seen some of your toys in action, and the damage they can inflict. Taking them out of circulation is the only option. You want me to agree to this? I want to see Barachiel and speak to him myself. That’s my condition.”

  If Michael could be believed—and realistically why would he lie about it at this point—Barachiel wouldn’t last the night. And now, as Barachiel prepared to depart this Earth, he asked Alec be there for Contessa in her grief. Even after ten years, the wound sometimes felt as fresh and raw as the day she walked away. The belated realization he drove her to it cut even deeper. Still, he couldn’t deny a friend this last measure of peace. Maybe the time had come for him and Tessa to have a conversation. Then again, maybe there was nothing left to say. Regardless, he would stand by her through this loss. It was the right thing to do. Whether he did it for the right reasons was something Alec chose not to examine too closely at the moment.

  “Fine, let’s go.” Michael pounded him on the shoulder and moved toward the door. Alec swallowed over the thick lump in his throat and nodded back wondering how he would say good-bye.

  ****

  Contessa stretched and twisted the stiffness from her neck, wincing at the audible crack. Then she dropped her head against the back of the seat. The plane descended quickly, bumping and jolting on the tarmac, before screeching to a stop on the darkened runway at Fiumicino. Her father. Dying. She could not fathom it. She always thought it would take nothing short of Armageddon to bring her big, strapping father down. And she never believed it could happen so quickly.

  Hitching her backpack over the shoulder of her white cotton blouse, she quickly exited the plane, ignored the cheerful buonasera from the flight attendant, and hurried through customs. She headed straight for the double wide row of cabs idling in an expectant line outside the terminal doors. She had the address of the apartment on Borgo Pio in her pocket, but she would go directly to the hospital. No matter what her father said, she’d learned to trust in her dreams. At first the dreams were beautiful, consisting of lights, colors, and whispers dancing just beyond her reach, twirling, twinkling, and teasing with secrets she couldn’t quite grasp. Over the years, they’d not only increased in frequency, they’d evolved into something dark and anxious, thick and suffocating, threatening, deep, and empty. Filled with incoherent whispers and disjointed suggestions of danger, they’d crashed down upon her last night, one on top of the other. It must mean there wasn’t much time.

  The hard knot building just below the notch in her collarbone during the nearly nine hour flight over the Atlantic, grew exponentially larger as the minutes ticked by, making it painfully difficult to breathe. Everything around her seemed irrelevant tonight. The world would be here tomorrow, and next week, and long into the foreseeable future. The world would go on. Her father would not. She’d grown accustomed to keeping people at a distance and didn’t realize until now exactly how isolated she allowed herself to become. Just for tonight she wished she had someone, anyone to hold her close and tell her she was not about to lose the only person in the world to whom she meant anything. Someone to tell her she wouldn’t be left truly alone.

  The characteristic humidity of the Roman summer smacked her in the face and sucked the breath from her lungs as she stepped from the air conditioned terminal into the thick twilight swirling with the exhaust fumes of idling vehicles. A thin film of moisture slicked her skin as she sprinted to the first cab in the line and reached for the door. She ignored the look the driver gave her gloved hands. He certainly wasn’t the first person in the world to regard her curiously. In fact, he wasn’t even the first person today. Glancing down, she both blessed and cursed the talent contained in the fingers encased in heavy flesh-colored cotton. She reached out again and yanked at the door handle, tossing her backpack on the seat, and then she climbed in behind it.

  Exquisitely sensitive, nearly everything she touched bombarded her senses if she wasn’t careful. Though she’d successfully learned to control it over the years, her childhood had been challenging, to say the least. Even as an adult, when she was overwhelmed or distracted, as she was now, her carefully schooled defenses weren’t entirely dependable. The gloves were her armor, and inquisitive looks were a small price to pay for insurance.

  Weary, and sounding it even to her own ears, Tessa gave the driver her destination, wondering yet again why her father chose to spend his last days in a small hospital on the tiny boat shaped island in the middle of the river running through Rome. It would have made far more sense to stay in the small village up north that he’d called home for the last few years, where everyone knew and loved him. Or he could have come to stay with her in the States. Of course, the island had once been the site of an ancient temple to Aesculapius, the Greek god of medicine and healing, so maybe her father hadn’t really given up all hope, but simply decided to cover all the bases. Putting his eggs in the basket of a pagan god was an odd choice for a former upper echelon angel, she thought. Apparently, even angels weren’t above hedging their bets.

  “Certo, signorina,” the driver replied, glancing at her in the mirror before returning his gaze to the meter. Finally, he shifted into gear and slowly nosed the small vehicle through the congested area around the international terminal and out onto the A91 in the direction of central Rome.

  Thankfully, since she had neither the energy nor desire for polite small-talk, he kept silent except for occasionally blaring the horn and swearing loudly, and then murmuring an embarrassed ‘mi scusi.’ Staring mostly at her feet and working hard to keep her thoughts away from what lay ahead, Tessa started when she looked out the window to see the Circus Maximus flashing by. The drive should have taken at least half an hour, yet it felt like only seconds passed. Heedless of her need to slow it down, time flew by on fast forward, sending her barreling ahead toward the unthinkable no matter how hard she dug in her heels and fought to stop the inevitable.

  The cab turned to cross the river by way of Ponte Garibaldi, and the lights on the island became visible on her left. Her heart rate increased with every rotation of the tires, until it fluttered like a flock of sparrows fighting to free themselves from her ribcage. By the time the driver navigated the Ponte Cestio leading out to the island, her lungs screamed with the effort it took to breathe. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to direct the man to simply turn around and speed away from this place as fast as he could. Her father was in there and in all likelihood, he was never coming out. She did not want to deal with this. However, she didn’t see any supernatural being standing around offering an alternative. She took a deep breath, handed the driver a pile of crumpled Euro she dug from the pocket of her jeans, and stepped out of the car, dragging her backpack behind her. Her father was dying. She could stand here denying the truth as much
as she wanted, but failing to face facts never changed them.

  Chapter Two

  The automatic doors groaned in tired protest as Tessa impatiently shoved them aside and strode briskly to the information desk. Visiting hours were long past, the lobby dim and quiet at this time of night. The young woman behind the desk wore a huge quantity of blue-black hair teetering awkwardly on top of her head, and it looked heavy enough to snap her long, thin neck like a toothpick. Her nose was buried in a book, and she didn’t bother to look up as she turned the page and announced visiting hours were over in a rehearsed tone of bored irritation.

  “I know. Mi dispiace. I’m sorry, but I’ve only just arrived from the airport. I got here as quickly as I could. Per favore, I must see my father. He’s…dying.” Saying it out loud made it more real somehow, more definite, more…final. A knife twisted in her heart. How would she find the strength to say good-bye?

  “Of course,” the woman said in a kinder tone, setting the book on the desk after carefully marking her page, and poising her fingers over the computer keyboard. “Come si chiamò?”

  “Bartolucci. His name is Eduardo Bartolucci,” Tessa replied, providing her father’s mortal name.

  The woman tapped the keys and as the screen flickered and updated, her brows rose into her hairline and her expression softened. She spun in her chair toward Tessa and waved a manicured hand in the direction of the hallway on the right. “The elevator is just through there. Take it to the second floor and then use the stairs at the end of the hallway to go all the way to the top.”

  “Grazie. Mille grazie.” Tessa clutched her backpack to her chest like a shield against the coming pain, and hurried on boneless legs in the direction the receptionist indicated.

  The elevator took an eternity to squeal and groan to the second floor, and Tessa breathed a sigh of relief when the doors finally slid open to reveal a nurse sitting at a desk, engrossed in paperwork. The woman looked up and nodded pleasantly, as Tessa offered a distracted smile and hurried to the stairwell at the end of the hall. When she finally pushed through the heavy door at the top, her chest ached and her leg muscles twitched in protest.