Out of the Bottle, 3
published May 23 2011
and in Audio
She is the Bringer of Death
Cali, a djinni, has sworn to twist the wishes of humans so they die by their own greed and evil. Her latest master is arms dealer David Saqr, a man Cali believes deserves the fate she has in store for him. But this time she finds herself up against Andrew, David’s guardian angel.
He is a Protector of Life
Andrew believes David can yet find redemption. He fights Cali for the man’s life, even as he tries to persuade her to give in to the sizzling attraction between them. He shows Cali another side of David, and invites her to trust again, to hope. But centuries of being enslaved have hardened Cali’s heart—it’s going to take all of Andrew’s love to convince her to open it and let him in.
The stranger folded his arms across a burly chest. He wore the combat fatigues of a modern soldier, but he wasn’t human. He radiated power.
“Don’t tell me you’re a damned guardian angel.”
“I’m not damned.”
She grimaced at the inference that she was the one going to perdition. What did Soldier Boy know? She already lived in her personal hell and had done for centuries.
“Forgive me, o mighty guardian, member of the Heavenly Host,” she mocked him. “I tremble before your anger.”
His folded arms tensed. “David is my charge.”
“Aren’t you the lucky one?”
“You will not kill him.”
“I wouldn’t bet your wings on it, Soldier Boy.”
He grabbed her before her bangles could rattle out a protective charm. The world tilted as he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain or a moth-eaten carpet. Cali felt the insult keenly.
“Son of a she-camel.” She slammed her fist into his lower back.
His arm tightened around her thighs. His free hand gave her bottom a stinging slap.
“Bastard.” She wriggled and kicked and found herself suddenly free.
He’s thrown me over the friggin’—
—cliff. She spit saltwater, too shocked and outraged to remember to dematerialize. Her boots waterlogged fast and dragged her down. She splashed with demonic intensity, churning the water into foam.
“Curse you.” She couldn’t stand interference. “May fire ants bite your—”