Closer: Bay City Paranormal Investigation, Book 4

He moved into position, kneeling on the seat of Jeff’s comfy chair, crossing his arms over the back and resting his chin on them. His golden wing stretched out, unfurling to its full length.
Jeff couldn’t help but be struck by the beauty of such a fascinating piece of machinery, the interlocking feathers that looked almost more like the scales of a fish, and the way they folded, in and over. He picked up a clean shop rag and dabbed it in the jar of oil. “Should I start any place in particular?”
“At the top, please.”
He buffed at the metal, beginning where it met Gabriel’s pale skin, molded to his shoulder blade like he’d been born with them. It made the stub and wires sticking out of the other shoulder a monstrosity. Jeff had to do something about that. But right now he just concentrated on the way the dull metal began to gleam once oiled.
“Oh.” Gabriel’s back arched.
“Did I hurt you?” Jeff lifted the rag away.
“N-no.” Gabriel seemed to need to catch his breath, panting slightly after he spoke.
Jeff stroked his fingers down a set of feathers, delighting in how it caused Gabriel to shiver. He pulled back at the sound the angel made deep in his throat. Touching the angel like this wasn’t for his benefit, no matter how hard he got at Gabriel’s unintentional sensuality.
“It just feels…intense,” Gabriel choked out.
Jeff was glad Gabriel faced away from him, not sure he would have been able to hide his reaction to this intimate touch otherwise. “How…” He almost choked on the word. “How did it feel when the other angels did this?”
“They didn’t. There is an oil spray system in our showers.” One of Gabriel’s hands lifted as if to mimic a motion.
Jeff pictured a row of angels, all nude and looking remarkably like Gabriel, standing together as they were oiled down, wings gleaming.
“Do you think it’s possible,” Gabriel started, voice thick, “to send a message past the demons?”
The sweet smell of the oil turned rancid as Jeff lied. “No, the demons rule Old Trent. No one can afford to cross them.” Especially Jeff.
Gabriel hunched over. His shoulders humped and his wing dragged, as if it were too heavy to lift. Jeff wished he could help the angel, send him home and out of their lives, keep Gabriel and Kayla safe from whatever Luca planned. Luca had toppled other powerful demons to gain his place, taking virtually all of Old Trent as his territory. He hadn’t been nice or polite about the takeover. Jeff had never seen a demon so ruthless, killing those who stood in his way and leaving the mangled bodies for all to see, both with their own eyes and in flickering holograms around the city.
He added another dollop of oil, almost done, but not wanting to sever this connection with Gabriel.
“What does your name mean?” he asked, wanting Gabriel to talk about himself, but not dwell on what he had lost.
Gabriel let out a laugh. “I’m named Gabriel because I’m an archangel class, one thousand series. Eighty-nine because I was the eighty-ninth made in that line.”
“How many are there?”
“Too few now. They’ve moved on to the five thousand series and the seraph class.”
Jeff wanted to know more, wanted to ask what made each series different, how people had been modified, changed into something other . But it would be wrong to satisfy his mechanical curiosity when all he could give Gabriel in return were lies.
Just as wrong as his enjoyment of Gabriel beneath his fingertips. Jeff swallowed the guilt and wiped off his hands.
“There,” he said. “I think I’ve got it all now.”
Gabriel gave a roll of his shoulder and the wing responded, twisting and sliding into itself until the wing took up no more room than a shirt tucked up against the angel’s back.
“That’s handy.” Jeff’s mind was already whirling with thoughts, comparing the design to the demonic wings, how one could be modified for the better.
“Everything fits now.” Gabriel stood. “Thank you.”
If only everything else could be fixed as easily.
    Poised to run. Aching to stay. What lies between is sweet torture.

Wolf Town
© 2010 Joely Skye
    For nine years, Scott Lund has been erasing himself. Making sure his own kind—those who can control people’s minds—can’t track him down. It has been a lonely existence. So lonely, that when he makes a real connection with a stranger, he breaks his own cardinal rule and falls asleep in the man’s arms.
    Rory McIntyre has been sent by