Andrew Blackwell is only one of countless humans who managed to survive post-World War III. Living in the shell of what was once New York City, he focuses on working hard and playing hard. Nothing else matters.
But fate has other ideas, and they arrive in the form of a rather surly angel who's been sent to find the one special human who can possibly help save humankind.
Thrown into yet another war, Andrew has no choice but to trust Mikhail ... no matter where the angel may lead him.
Andrew woke to the sound of two men, maybe three, arguing close by. He blinked his eyes open and sat up slowly. Wherever he was, he sure as hell wasn't at home. He looked down at the bed, and fingered the blanket beneath him. It was off-white, ultra soft, and, much to his surprise, it warmed to his touch. He glanced around the room then, taking in the rest of his surroundings as he began to assess just what exactly happened.
Focus, man, focus.
Okay. Wild night of sex with Dale. Shower in the morning. Oh, yeah ... hot but fucking weird dude sitting on his bed. Tall, sexy as sin. Andrew had been waiting for what he had stupidly hoped was going to be a kiss, but then light ... and, goddamn, that roar. Andrew shuddered. It had been an unholy sound, and one he never wanted to hear again.
And now, now he was here. But where the hell was here?
The bed dominated the small space. In fact, he noticed, it was the only piece of furniture. There was one doorway, and it didn't have a door -- just an opening. Pale yellow light shone from the hallway outside, brighter to the right.
Curiosity got the better of him and Andrew slipped out of bed. The floor, despite being stone, was warm on his bare feet. Only then did he realize he was no longer naked. He ran his hands down the white shirt, noting the way the smooth material shimmered in the dim light. The pants fitted perfectly and despite the rather lackluster shade of dark green, he wondered if maybe he could find some on Fifth Avenue. Well, if Fifth Avenue still existed as it once had been.
Out in the hall, the voices were louder, and he thought he recognized one of them. Mikhail, huh? Interesting. Sounded ... Russian, maybe? Were all Russian guys that tall? Andrew shook his head and made his way slowly down the stone hallway, following the light and the sound of arguing.
He stopped just in front of an open doorway, shock holding him right where he stood.
Oh, Mikhail was there all right. But Andrew sure as fuck did not remember the wings. He would have remembered the wings. Big, black, feathered things, as long as Mikhail was tall. Holy ...
The argument died abruptly and Mikhail turned. "It seems we have company."