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To Change the World


Tara Pays
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To Change The World

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Disclaimer: Yep. I would be only too happy to own Michael, but, alas, that pleasure belongs to Vaun Wilmott and Scott Stewart. Luckily, I can spirit him away from time to time for my own evil plans, but he will always be returned in the finest shape possible. So, I own nothing, except my slightly twisted fan-girl fantasies, which I brazenly inflict upon y'all. I apologize for the mistakes before hand, because I seem to have misplaced my beta. Now without further ado. Hope you enjoy.


The woman stirred in her sleep, unaware of the dense shadow poised on her opened window ledge, impeding the flow of the cooling night breeze. Charlie groaned as the stifling heat pulled her from the realm of dreams and back to the reality of her mundane existence. Blinking sleepily, she rolled onto her side and glanced out the window at the twinkling stars in the distance. Jasmine, musk, and exotic spices perfumed the air that caused her sheer curtains to billow gently, while her drowsy mind struggled to picture where she had seen flowers in bloom along the arid landscape. The memory escaped her, but as she breathed in the relaxing aroma the source no longer seemed to matter. With her thoughts slowing, the young woman returned to her peaceful dream world — the respite from her hectic day.

As her breath slowed and deepened in slumber, a tall, slender shape extracted itself from a darkened corner of the room to stand illuminated in the weak moonlight.

The breeze ruffled his dark, shoulder-length hair, causing a lock to fall haphazardly across sparkling azure eyes, while wafting his scent throughout the room. Crouching beside the bed, he tilted his head and closely examined the woman's sleeping form.

"Sundari balika," he whispered in a low, lust-filled voice.

With a feather light touch, the stranger stroked the swell of her cheek with a curled knuckle before his thumb ghosted along her full velvety lips.

They truly were Father's finest creations, and this one was a testament to His artistic expression. Michael had known many women across the span of time. Each was an unique mystery waiting to be unlocked, and he was a master at deciphering puzzles. The archangel loved the challenge of bedding a new mate, and wondered which approach would serve him best tonight.

"Charlie," he cooed in a soft, melodic tone, as his long, strong fingers wove through her silken blond hair. "Charlie."

A quiet moan passed her slightly parted lips before she rolled away from him to curl up on her side.

Undaunted, Michael rose and made swift work of shedding his clothing then slipped silently between the sheets.

"Charlie," he whispered near her ear as his breath tickled the back of her neck. "You've called, and now I've come for you." Wrapping an arm around her, his sensitive hand explored the tantalizing curves of her body with the lightest of touches.

The woman moaned again as the intoxication of his signature scent continued to cloak her in a dream-like haze. She felt the faint caress of lips against her throat before teeth grazed her ear lobe. Giving into her body's pleasurable responses, Charlie shifted in the bed as her hand trailed down her body following the same path taken by man in her dreams, but when her arched back connected with a warm, firm presence, she leaped up with a scream.

Wide-eyed, with her heart racing, she stared in terror at the motionless intruder laying so casually in her bed. Where in the hell had he come from, and what did he want? The woman swallowed hard as his state of undress served as an answer to her second question.

Resting his head on a propped up hand, he sighed softly while his eyes roved over her shamelessly. His expression was too neutral for her to hazard at guess at what he was thinking, but then a half smile curved his lips.

"You may put that down now. It isn't doing you any good. You won't hurt me."

Charlie hadn't realized that she was clutching the baseball bat which normally occupied the corner near the door. With the reassurance that comes from brandishing a weapon, she tightened her white-knuckled grip further and spat, "Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops."

"You won't do that either," he responded without an ounce of smugness, though his manner was self-assured.

"Like hell I won't."

The interloper tsked quietly to himself, before locking onto her eyes with a stare that turned the blood in her veins to ice.

"And what would you tell them?"

"To come get the asshole, I just beat to a bloody pulp, out of my God damned house."

She could have sworn that she saw a flash of anger in his eyes, but when she blinked the expression he worn was one of detached aloofness — calm and utterly lacking any emotion. Honestly, it was starting to creep her out.

"Charlie...," he began evenly, only to have her cut him off abruptly.

"How the fuck do you know my name? Who are you? Did somebody send you to fuck with my head?"

"My name is Michael. I'm here in answer to your call."

"I didn't call anyone."

"But you did. Don't you see, Charlie, this is all a dream. I'm nothing more than a figment of your imagination, called upon to ease your retched state of loneliness."

"Bullshit! That's it. I'm calling the cops," she snarled, but as she reached for the phone a blur of darkness brushed her fingertips before the device was neatly cleaved in two.

Stunned, the blond turned her attention away from the mangled phone and gasped at the sight before her.

The bare-chested intruder was sitting upright in her bed wearing little else apart from the same cool expression that suddenly seemed out of place on someone sporting a huge set of black feathered wings from his shoulder blades.

"What the fuck are you?"

"You do seem to favor that colloquialism, don't you?" He cocked his head slightly and appeared loss in thought for several seconds before gracing her with his velvety voice. "As I said, I'm merely a figment of the imagination — a creature of your subconscious mind, set free to fulfill your needs and desires."

The bat clattered to the ground as Charlie shook her head and took a step back. "That's impossible."

"In dreams, anything is possible." With effortless grace, the angel slid from the mattress and stood in front of the window. The moonlight reflected off of his pale, naked flesh, giving him an ethereal glow. "Allow me to fill you with the pleasure that you've longed for, but have never fully realized."

A slow flap of his wings, and her head was filled with the now familiar blend of jasmine and spice — warm and comforting.

"Take my hand, Charlie. That's all you have to do. Give yourself over to me, and together we'll change the world."

The woman's mind reeled at the absurdity of it all, but with euphoria enveloping her senses, she reached out and placed her hand in the man's open palm.

Slowly, so as not to jar her from what he knew she accepted as fantasy, Michael pulled Charlie into his arms.

Cupping his hand against her cheek, he tipped her head up until she matched his seductive gaze with a provocative look of her own. His heart quickened in response to her surrender; or was she the victor here? He could no longer tell. Leaning over, the archangel felt the young woman's passion rise as he pressed his lips to hers while enveloping her in the embrace of his downy wings.

"Archangel, the new recruits are ready for inspection."

Reluctantly, Michael allowed the present to replace the memory of his past, as he gave his lieutenant an abbreviated nod and turned away from the window that looked out over the city.

"And what are your thoughts on our latest additions?"

"Plenty of potential, but a couple have some serious attitude issues," the ruddy complexioned man replied, as he quickened his pace to keep up with Michael's long even stride.

"Anything that you believe to be unmanageable?"

"Maybe one. Alex Lannon."

There was a slight hitch in the angel's step upon hearing the man's name, but his human companion didn't appear to notice as he continued speaking without interruption.

"Just made V-2 about a year ago and still has a lot of the street in him. Arrogant, with a mind of his own."

"That's not always a bad quality. He will be known to the lowers, and they'll be comfortable around him. We may be able to use that to our advantage some day."

"Could, but only if we can break him."

Michael stopped suddenly, causing his companion to stumble as he skidded to a halt at the angel's side.

The guardian tilted his head in a curious fashion and glanced down in thought. Finally, he turned his gaze back on the burly man.

"Break him?" he questioned with a tightening of his jaw.

The man nodded. "Break him of his pain-in-the-ass attitude. Like any animal that doesn't know its place, you have to break their spirits before you can train 'em right."

"I want him obedient, but I don't wish him to be broken."

"With some, you can't have it both ways."

"If you do your job correctly, Lieutenant, I'm sure that I can. I require for the spirits of all of my cadets to remain intact. See to that personally."

The seasoned soldier made a disgruntled sound, but a raised brow from his leader silenced any further opposition, before they continued on to the training arena.

Stepping up to the railing of the balcony overlooking the spacious room, Michael's dispassionate gaze scanned the youths as the combat trainer put them through their paces. He could already pick out who would make the final cut, and which recruits were destined for expulsion.

A grunt of pain caught his attention, and he shifted his focus to a pair of combatants on the far side of the room. A young man with sandy blond hair rolled across the padded flooring as he struggled to secure a strikingly attractive woman.

Folding his arms across his chest, the archangel reverted to a statue stillness — watching the progression of the conflict below. The boy tried in vain to pin his opponent to the mat. With each consecutive failure, his frustration showed through in his actions and features. Michael knew that anger could be a soldier's best friend or worst enemy depending on how it was embraced. Which role it would fill for this young man remained to be seen.

After another minute or two, the young finally managed to gain the upper hand, pinning the brunette's arm to her back while securely wrapping his free arm about her upper chest. However, within seconds a guttural shouted, "Fuck!" brought a halt to all activity in the training room, as all eyes turned towards the source of the disturbance.

"You fucking bit me!" the boy roared, while clutching his bleeding forearm to his chest.

"Your hold was too loose to properly restrain her. She took advantage of the freedom of movement you failed to suppress. Your injury is the result of your own folly."

Alex glared at the slender, dark-haired man on the balcony. Unimpressed with the unsolicited critique, the youth snapped," I was trying not to hurt her."

"Clearly, she wasn't troubled by the same sentiment."

"Clearly," the boy shot back in a mocking tone that earned him a raised brow from the angel.

"Sergeant," Michael called in an even tone, without breaking eye contact with the disrespectful youth.


"Please escort Private Lannon to the infirmary and have his wound seen to, before running him through some exercises to build his upper body strength. He appears to be lacking in this area, and we wouldn't want to risk a repeat of today's mishap."

Michael glanced around the room at his nervous recruits before leveling his penetrating gaze on Alex.

"I would like to thank you all for your interest and commitment towards securing Vega's safety. Welcome to the Corps."

Turning on his heel to leave, the archangel's sharp hearing caught a irate whispered, "Fucking peacock", and smiled to himself as he made his way down the hallway.

He couldn't help seeing the mother's influence in the boy. He had her features, and most certainly her demeanor. No, there was no need to 'break' Alex Lannon. He simply needed to be molded into shape and placed firmly on the path towards his true destiny, and eventually he will change the world.

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