Archangel Rafe (A Novel of The Seven Book 1) by Lisa Hughey Page A

carpenter. Gary wasn’t even home the day the handyman completed it.”
    She pulled herself up the last rung and hoped for no spiders. Crawling inside the sturdy redwood house, she waited for Rafe to follow and thought about how absent Gary had been and wondered when she started making excuses for him. Then she wondered if Gary had ever been up here. If she were honest, Candy hadn’t broken up their marriage. It had been broken long ago.
    Rafe crammed into the little house, bigger than the inside of her car but not much, the interior dark, intimate, and isolated. His knees were practically up to his ears. She’d forgotten how tall he was. “This is really quite cozy.”
    She snorted. He was miserable. “We can go somewhere else.”
    “Actually this will work.” Rafe smiled, and his teeth gleamed white in the darkness.
    She forgot she wasn’t supposed to melt. But his silver eyes twinkled with mischief and the light pouring from the windows on the back of the house accented the sharp line of his cheekbones and the sculpted curve of his lips. In the close, intimate atmosphere with its stippled light, she could pretend her Grammy wasn’t deathly ill. Pretend she wasn’t here for a life-altering event. Pretend she hadn’t taken a huge leap of faith in trusting this stranger who said he was an Archangel and seemed to have the miracles to back up the claim.
    “What do I do?”
    “Close your eyes.” Such a simple request. With a meaningful inhale, she complied.
    The silence in the little tree house was absolute. Outside their cocoon, death metal blared from the house next door. Neighbors across the street rolled their garbage cans to the curb. Two male cats growled and screeched as they fought over a female in heat.
    As she waited, she identified the citrus smell from the hedge of pittisporum blooming in her yard and the slight hint of charcoal from the people one street over who barbequed year-round no matter the temperature. Somewhere a car door slammed.
    And nothing happened.
    “Everything okay?”
    “You are so beautiful.”
    Heat flushed her face. “Ah, well, thank you, I guess.” Still she waited for some sort of sign, some sort of lightening bolt to signify that she now had the power to heal.
    She leaned forward, and breathed in his scent, all hot male and some indefinable aroma she would recognize as Rafe.
    “Hold up your wrist.”
    Angelina complied and the lightest of touches feathered along her skin, and drifted over the new spot. Then he pressed his lips firmly over the mark. A brief flash of sexual awareness zoomed through her as she waited for a jolt of power, some sort of shift in how she felt. But nothing else happened.
    “Can I open?”
    “Sure.” He sat cross-legged as she leaned forward into his space.
    “It’s done?”
    “Yes.”
    She rubbed her hands together. “Okay. Great.”
    “We must begin your training immediately,” Rafe said. “You are extremely powerful and you need to be able to control your gift.”
    “You can teach me how to save my Grammy.”
    Rafe blinked, leaned back slightly. “Save her?”
    “Yes. Of course, you saw how she perked up tonight. I can save her. I just need you to teach me how.”
    The sadness in his silver gaze, stippled by shadows, stopped her. “She wanted to say goodbye.”
    “No. I’m going to save her.”
    “Angelina,” Rafe sighed. “Not everyone can or should be saved.”
    “But my Grammy should be saved.” Panic clawed at Angelina.
    “That’s not possible. I thought you understood that.” He said gently, “There must be balance.”
    The look on his face scared her. “What? What’s wrong?” Her heart pounded so hard, she thought it would bounce right out of her chest and flop at their feet. She had a bad feeling about what he was going to say next.
    “Just because you can save someone doesn’t mean you should.”
    “You mean I have to decide who is worthy and who isn’t?” She ignored the twist in her stomach at that