Her Avenging Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 7) by Felicity Heaton Page A

huts made from materials sourced from the island. A fire pit. There were only a handful of modern conveniences, including a generator that rumbled away at the other end of the island, set at a distance from the huts in the shadow of the palms, used to power the refrigerator in a shelter next to it.
    Everything else was basic and simple.
    As basic as the dwellings in Hell.
    “How long were you in Hell before you ended up in the mortal world a few days ago?” Nevar looked back at her.
    She paled, released his hand and clutched her hair. A startled cry left her lips, tearing at his heart, and she shook her head. Her hands trembled as they tangled in her black hair and her pain washed over him, stronger than he had ever felt it.
    “I cannot remember.” She threw him a look filled with fear and her knees gave out.
    Nevar caught her before she could hit the water and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her back to the shore. She muttered things beneath her breath, her entire body shaking against his.
    “I shouldn’t have asked.” He held her closer, cursing himself for questioning her without thinking about the consequences and the pain he would cause her.
    She looked up at him, her hazel eyes swimming with that pain. Tears lined her dark lashes and spilled onto her ashen cheeks.
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered and kneeled with her on the sand, resting her backside on his thighs.
    Her dark leathery wings draped across his stomach and the sand beyond his knees, the grains sticking to their damp skin.
    Her trembling began to subside as he held her and smoothed her hair from her sweat-slicked brow.
    “Is she sick?” Veiron’s deep voice drew his gaze to the large male as he approached, jogging across the sand, causing threads of his scarlet hair to come loose from the thong that held it at the nape of his neck.
    The Hell’s angel crouched beside them, genuine worry in his near-black eyes.
    Nevar shook his head. “She experiences pain whenever she tries to remember events from a specific timeframe. Her last clear memory is of Thebes as a city, more than two thousand years ago.”
    Veiron’s expression turned grave and dark. “Do you think Heaven had something to do with it?”
    “I do not know.” Nevar looked back down at her, glad she was settling again, the pain in her subsiding. “But she doesn’t trust angels and can’t tell me why.”
    “Hurt me,” she whispered, her eyes darting between his. “They struck me down.”
    He growled, his lips peeling back from his emerging fangs, and his wings burst free, called by a dark desire to fly to Heaven and tear it down as payment for what it had done to her.
    A bright shaft of golden light shot down from the endless blue sky, stinging his eyes. The bolt struck the sand between him and the group near the fire pit, spraying it everywhere, and weapons appeared in the hands of Marcus, Einar, Apollyon and Asmodeus.
    It appeared Heaven had come to him instead.
    He rose to his feet, set Lysia on hers, and recalled his greaves, completing his armour. He pushed her behind him and shielded her with his black wings as he called his obsidian blades to him. Beside him, Veiron growled and grew, his muscles expanding as he changed into his demonic form. His skin turned black and his eyes blazed gold and red, and his armour covered him, the red-edged black plates protecting his upper torso, hips, forearms and shins.
    Veiron growled, flashing twin deadly rows of crimson teeth, and the scarlet dripped from his wings like blood, turning them black before the feathers fell away, revealing the leathery dragon-like wings beneath.
    The angel who had travelled within the Heavenly beam of light straightened and as the golden shaft faded and died, Nevar saw a male he had hoped he would never set eyes on again.
    Fury flashed like lightning in the depths of the blond angel’s ice-blue eyes, a shadow crossing his face that was dark and unholy as he furled huge wings against his black