Beauty Awakened (Angels of the Dark) (33 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

K
AFZIEL
STOOD
BEHIND
HIM
, holding a dagger.

Koldo sat on a backless chair, leaned forward and gripped the edge of the table.

“You are a brave man, Koldo,” the council member said. And then, as Koldo’s mother had done all those centuries ago, he began the agonizing process of separating wing from muscle.

Metal pierced flesh. Warm blood trickled. Pain arced through Koldo’s entire body. He gnashed his teeth and endured stoically. He’d gotten by without wings for a lifetime. He would get by again. But he mourned the fact that he would never again fly Nicola through the air. He would never again fly beside a fellow soldier. Once again he would be an oddity among his kind.

Better an oddity with love, than “normal” without it.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as one wing was placed on the floor, the beautiful feathers soaked in crimson, the muscles and tendons nothing more than raw meat.

“And now, the other,” Kafziel said.

Koldo kept his mind on Nicola. Her beautiful, smiling face. Her storm eyes, twinkling. She hugged him, overjoyed. She kissed him, thankful.

Worth it.

It wasn’t long before the second wing joined the first, and Koldo was helped to his feet. His legs shook, and what was left of his back pulled and stretched and ached and stung—a back that would next be whipped.

“The human could spurn this gift,” Isabella said sadly. “She could refuse the Water, fight its effects.”

He knew that, but he couldn’t regret his choice. He would give Laila a chance. That was all he could do. He would never have to look back and wonder what would have happened if only he’d tried.

“I won’t stop now,” he said.

“To Clerici you go, then,” Adeodatus said with a nod.

“Many blessings upon you, Koldo,” the members announced in unison.

With what little strength he possessed, Koldo flashed to the river gate at Clerici’s temple. Already his eyesight was hazing. He knew the area by heart, however. There was no grass, only dirt. No trees, no flowers. Only more dirt and a fat stump that acted as the whipping post. In front of him stretched an iron gate he would soon bypass—if he could walk.

He expected a guard to be there, whip in hand, but it was Clerici who stepped forward to greet him.

“Hello, Koldo.”

His knees buckled just in front of the whipping post, and he hit the ground hard. His breathing was choppy, but he could make out the scents of cinnamon and vanilla—a combination that sprang from his own skin. As much as he’d marked Nicola, she had marked him.

“I’m pleased with you, Koldo. You have placed another’s well-being before your own.” Clerici closed the distance. “You have no idea of the outcome, and yet still you do this.”

Koldo closed his eyes and said not a word, asked not a single question.

“What you’re doing is a true expression of love,” Clerici said, “and I commend you.”

Stop talking!

“This is your last chance to walk away.”

A muscle ticked below his eye.

“Very well,” Clerici said.

A pause...and then the first blow fell.

Leather against decimated flesh, and leather won, sending bits of skin, muscle and blood flying. Koldo locked his jaw. The second blow fell. The third. The fourth. His jaw hurt so badly from trying to contain his screams he was certain he’d popped the bones out of place.

This time, he imagined Laila rising from Zacharel’s couch and shedding the sickness as if it were an unwanted winter coat. He imagined the two sisters hugging, laughing, then discussing spiritual laws, learning and growing and putting demons in their place—beneath their feet.

The fifth blow. The sixth.

He had no flesh left, he was sure. Every muscle in his body was tight, shaking, burning. Black spots winked through his vision.

The seventh. Eighth. Ninth.

Tenth. Eleventh. Twelfth.

Finally Koldo could hold back no longer. A cry of agony burst from him.

Thirteenth. Fourteenth. Fifteenth.

He breathed in through his nostrils, short, gasping pants, and breathed out through his mouth. The whip continued to fall. He couldn’t pass out. He had to be able to get himself through that gate on his own. Had to get to the Water and back through the gate. Otherwise, all of this would have been for nothing.

After thirty blows, the whip at last stopped.

“Done. It’s done.”

Koldo’s head lolled forward, his cheek resting on the stump.

“Never forget the Most High has girded you with strength,” Clerici told him before stalking away.

The gate in front of him opened with a whine. Girded him with strength? Yes, that was true. The code was in his heart, burning as hotly as his back.

He could do this.

He crawled forward, black still winking through his line of sight. Once he passed the iron, dirt gave way to grass, cushioning his hands and knees. Yes, he could do this.

The sound of rushing water greeted his ears, and he forced himself to keep moving. Ruined skin pulled taut. Mutilated muscle tore further. One yard, two...he plodded along, flashing several feet when he could. Mist soon saturated the air.

There were two rivers. The River of Life and the River of Death. Everyone who entered the gates had a choice. Life or Death. Blessing or Cursing. One soothed with a cool breeze, the other smoldered with a stinging wind. One was clear and pure, the other dark and murky. There were those who had actually chosen death, deciding to sever their connection to the Most High. Willingly falling, wanting no part of the heavenly laws.

At the edge of the River of Life, Koldo withdrew a small vial from an air pocket and filled it to the brim, his hand shaking.
Can’t drop it.
If he tried to take more than the allotted vial, even if he spilled the contents before leaving this area and sought only to replenish, the Council would know and he would lose everything he’d already sacrificed, plus the Water—and he would never again be allowed to this point.

He fit the cork in the center. The moment it was secure, he placed the vial in an air pocket and breathed a sigh of relief.

Now, to get the vial to Zacharel’s cloud.

He couldn’t manage great distances, would have to take this a little at a time. First, he crawled to the gate. Then, he flashed to the edge of the cloud. Then, he flashed to the next cloud over, then the next, hopping along, getting closer and closer to Zacharel’s.

No, he realized a short while later. He wasn’t. He was going in circles around Clerici’s temple, ending up only where his gaze led him. Frustration joined a cornucopia of other emotions.

He pictured Zacharel’s cloud.
I can do this.
Flashed—

And appeared in the middle of the sky, nothing to anchor him. He plummeted toward the earth, wind beating at him, and oh, did that hurt. If he landed at this speed, he would burst into too many pieces to put back together.

He pictured Nicola’s home. It was closer, more manageable. If he could just get there, he could summon Zacharel. Not to help him, but to claim the Water and take it to Laila. Before it was too late.

Come on. One more time.
He flashed—

Was still in the sky, only lower.

Flashed again—

This time, he appeared in Nicola’s living room and landed on his stomach with a heavy thump. He raised his gaze. There was the couch he’d left behind, the dark brown carpet with frayed and tattered edges. Oh, thank the Most High. Struggling to breathe, he reached up with a quaking hand and removed the vial from the air pocket.

Zacharel,
he tried to project. As weak as he was, he couldn’t quite manage it.

A shadow fell over him. “I wondered how long it would take you to fight off my poison and find us,” a voice said—a voice he recognized. “I just didn’t know you’d already be in the condition I wanted you.”

Dread shot through him. Not her. Anyone but her. He tried to hide the vial, but he wasn’t fast enough. Sirena stepped on his wrist, holding him immobile.

“I’m part Fae, and as you know, some Fae possess special abilities. I can block the power of others for short periods of time. That’s why you couldn’t flash—and why you couldn’t find us.” The container was ripped from his hand, and a stiletto was dug into the wounds in his back, making him hiss. “What do we have here?” A moment passed. She laughed heartily. “The Water of Life. How wonderful.”

“Let me see that,” another voice commanded.

No. No, no, no. Not anyone but Sirena, he corrected. Not his father.

Another shadow. Another laugh, this one deep, rumbling. “It certainly is. His woman must be sick. He must be trying to save her.”

Pop.
The cork fell to the floor and rolled just in front of him.

“Please,” Koldo said, willing to beg.

Sirena’s stiletto dug ever deeper.

“Oh, how I like that word on your lips,” Nox said—just before pouring the precious liquid on the floor.

No. No! After everything he’d suffered—everything he would soon suffer at his father’s hand—Laila’s chance was wasted. He squeezed his eyes closed. He could do this again, and he would, but it might be too late.

The Water splashed over Koldo’s face, cool and soothing, but he pressed his lips tightly together, not allowing a single drop into his mouth. He wasn’t to partake of the Water until his back was totally healed. To do so now was to suffer, unhealed, for all eternity.

Nox dropped to his knees, anchored his hand under Koldo’s chin and forced him to look up. “We’re going to have fun, you and I.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

T
HANE
LEFT
THE
HUMAN
he’d just pleasured slumped on the floor of the bathroom stall and entered the nightclub. The things he’d just done to her...the things she’d asked him to do... She was his third female that night. His eighth in the past three days. Usually he could control his desires. But here, this week, the more females he’d bedded, the more he’d wanted, even needed. Sex had become all he could think about.

He’d stopped hunting the demons entirely.

Something was wrong with him—and yet still he wanted another female. He wasn’t sure his body could take it, however. His head was fogged, his limbs trembling.

A strobe light cast colorful rays over the dance floor. Loud, pounding rock music blasted from speakers, and bodies writhed all around, blurring together. Multiple perfumes and colognes scented the air, creating a sickening collage. He stalked from the building and the heat and into the cool of the night.

Pebbles along the sidewalk caused him to trip. The moon was a mere sliver, the sky dark, and only a few stars were visible. There were streetlamps, but the beams were weak, highlighting only small circles.

Currently, his wings were hidden in an air pocket. His robe conformed to his body in the shape of a T-shirt and pants, both black. A wave of dizziness hit him as he continued to surge forward, and he had to lean against the side of a building to remain upright.

Bjorn, Xerxes,
he projected. He hadn’t spoken to them since...his first few days in Auckland, he realized with a frown. That wasn’t like him. That wasn’t like them. Why hadn’t they at least
tried
to converse with him?

They would come here and they would pull him out of this spiral. The three of them would track the demons together. Fight together. Win together.

Silence.

His frown deepened. They would never ignore him. They loved him.

Something had to be wrong with them, too.

“Hey, you,” a female voice called.

He stopped at the entrance of a back alley and turned only because he recognized the voice. It was the woman he’d left in the bathroom. She looked different vertical. Her clothes were mussed, wrinkled, and her dark hair in the same condition. Brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Color was bright in her cheeks.

A sense of foreboding hit him as he struggled to concentrate on her.

“You left something behind,” she said, almost within reach. She held out her arm, her fist closed.

A feather? “Show me.”

Slowly her fingers uncurled. But...nothing rested on her palm.

“And that is?”

A smile curved the corners of her lips. “Your pride.”

Anger slammed through him. He had been judged one too many times lately. “What of yours? I spoke only five words to you before you went to that bathroom stall with me.”

Her amusement only increased. “Want to know a closely guarded secret of the Phoenix, Sent One? We can become anyone.” As she spoke, her countenance morphed. Dark hair became gold and scarlet. Brown eyes became green. Rounded ears developed points at the end. Human teeth grew fangs.

The Phoenix.

His Phoenix. Kendra.

A second later, her image changed again. To the female he’d bedded earlier today. A second later, her image changed again. To the female he’d bedded before that. Another change. The female he’d bedded last night. On and on she morphed her appearance, until he saw all eight of the supposedly human females he’d taken.

He swallowed a mouthful of dark curses. “How did you know where I’d go?”

“I didn’t. I followed you.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “But you didn’t know, did you, and didn’t have any idea. That’s not very soldierly of you, now, is it?”

Stealthily he reached behind him, into the air pocket he kept tied to his waist. His fingers closed around the hilt of a dagger.

“You took me back to my people, and they forced me to wed a warrior. But I ran away the morning after the ceremony and used the cash I’d stashed away to have my slave bands removed. There are people who specialize in that, you know.”

“Your husband will come for you.”

“Yes. He’ll come for you, too.” A tinkling laugh. “Want to know another well-guarded secret of the Phoenix? When we aren’t slaves, we can enslave. Every time you slept with me these past few days, your need for me increased. Didn’t it?”

The anger budded into sharp, jagged rage. She wanted him addicted to her body. He’d been a prisoner before, and he’d vowed never to endure such a hell again. Had vowed to destroy anyone who even tried.

He always kept his vows.

He didn’t give himself time to think about his actions and how low he was about to sink—or the punishment he might face. He didn’t waste time threatening the girl. Threats obviously wouldn’t work with her.

“I’m no one’s slave,” he said.

And he struck.

In seconds, the tip of his dagger was embedded in her chest. Her eyes widened with...not confusion and pain, as he’d expected, but with glee.

“Thank you,” she gasped out. “That was easier than I thought.”

Her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the ground. She lay there, panting for breath, red blood spilling from her, her heartbeat no longer saving her, but killing her, pumping and pumping and pumping the life from her body.

“I’ll catch fire, turn to ash and re-form... I’ll be stronger...and you’ll be forever mine.”

“No,” he growled. No. He wouldn’t believe it.

A laugh sounded in the distance.

He swung around, fighting another wave of dizziness and watching as a shadow slunk from the roof of the building next to him and down the wall. Red eyes glowed from the center of the darkness. Another shadow followed, and then another. Then shadows began to slink from the roof of the other building.

Demons.

So many, more than he could count. Perhaps more than he could fight on his own, but he relished the challenge. To leave was to invite them to hurt the humans nearby.

“The pretty boy has been searching for me, I hear,” an evil voice proclaimed. “He wants to punish me for helping to slay his precious king.”

A chorus of chuckles echoed.

Thane stepped into the spirit realm and grabbed his sword of fire, the flames producing a crackling yellow-and-blue light far hotter than the ones found in hell, for it was pure. The creatures looked like motor oil that had been mixed with blood and congealed. They were blobs—and they were dangerous.

“I’ll kill you,” he vowed through clenched teeth. The dizziness had magnified rather than faded, and he was having trouble staying on his feet. Falling...falling...no, catching himself, once again leaning against the building.

“Let’s find out,” the evil voice cackled. “Last one standing wins.”

Each shadow slithered from the buildings, soaring through the air, and aiming for Thane.

He twirled his sword to his left, his right, and arced through the center, slicing several creatures through the stomach. The shadows sizzled and hissed, but none fell from the air. They continued to come at him. He palmed a dagger with his other hand, but the metal did no damage, whisking through and causing the creatures to laugh more heartily.

A breeze blew behind him, and he knew something was trying to sneak up on him.

He flared his wings, knocking several shadows away from him, and hurtled into the air, flipping over the creatures that had thought to take him from behind. More shadows converged. He struck, taking what constituted heads. Rather than fall, however, they vanished.

Thane knew it would be better to remain in perpetual motion, never allowing anyone to get a lock on him. He darted to the side of a building, then to the other side, then to the ground, then to the roof, sword constantly swinging. They followed him. Three times he almost fell. Once he hit his knees, but he managed to bounce back up.

Suddenly Bjorn flew into view, followed by Xerxes. Both men landed at his sides, flanking him. He was so overcome with relief he willingly dropped to his knees.

“You don’t call, you don’t write,” Bjorn said, leaping into motion, his sword of fire already drawn and swinging.

“Tried,” he gritted. “Couldn’t get through.”

“After what we had to give up to get here, after what we had to do to find you, you owe us,” Xerxes said, swiping at the shadows with short swords.

“I’ll gladly pay the toll.”

“The minions of strife,” Bjorn said. “Always picking fights. Let’s give them a spanking.”

They split up, dividing the attention of the creatures, leaping, diving, flying this way and that, flipping, kicking, punching, but only the sword of fire caused any damage. One of the creatures finally managed to wrap itself around his head like a dark blanket, suffocating him.

Screams, screams, so many screams. They scraped at his ears, assaulted his mind. He thought he heard his friends shouting in the background, but...but...the screams, so loud,
so loud,
and they were his own, he realized, coming from him, from his past, from his present, blending together, bleeding so much, soaking him.

All too soon, scenes from his past sprang up and joined the party. The women he’d bedded and left. The humans he’d killed simply to get to demons. The warriors he’d betrayed after his return from the demon dungeon. The times he’d laughed when he’d wanted to cry.

Then suddenly, a blaze of light erupted and the darkness left.

Thane fell forward, landing on his face. He blinked rapidly, the haze around him slowly thinning, even as blood dripped into his eyes. He saw Xerxes and Bjorn, still fighting the shadow creatures, going low, straightening, taking out ankles and knees to hobble. The two warriors stayed close, shielding Thane as best they could.

Must have landed on the Phoenix,
he thought. That had to be her still-warm skin cushioning him—no, not warm, but hot. Too hot. Somehow, in death, she was heating up, about to catch fire, all on her own.

Just as she’d promised.

One of the shadows slunk over, staying low, darting out of the way anytime Bjorn or Xerxes struck, and managed to latch on to Kendra’s bare leg. The creature laughed manically—just before Xerxes beheaded it.

The shadow vanished, and Thane saw that a flame had finally sparked at the end of Kendra’s toe. That flame intensified, spread. Soon, her entire foot was engulfed. Her ankle. Her calf.

The enemy thinned and the remaining few realized they couldn’t win and backed up. They attached themselves to building walls and slithered up, up and over the roof.

Cowards!

Thane scrambled away from Kendra’s body. Her thighs were the next to catch flame, then her torso, her arms, her chest. Her face. Her hair. Every inch of her was doused, crackling—and then she was gone, ash floating through the air.

She would re-form. She’d promised that, too. She would be stronger.

He would be her slave.

Every ounce of his being rejected the notion.

Xerxes stomped to Thane’s side. “You all right, my man?”

His voice sounded far away. Thane tried to open his mouth to speak but he didn’t have the strength.

Bjorn took a step toward him, stopped and frowned. He looked down at his wrist, where there was a black scratch, then back to Thane. Confusion gleamed in his rainbow eyes. His frown deepened. His knees collapsed.

Xerxes popped up to race to him, but—

Bjorn vanished.

Vanished as if he’d flashed—an ability he didn’t possess. Or, as if someone or something had flashed him.

“What just happened?” Xerxes shouted. “Bjorn. Bjorn!”

Thane struggled to sit up. His friends. He had to help his friends. They were the world to him. Meant everything. He was nothing without them. But the dizziness returned, flooding his head, and weakness spilled into his limbs, and he could only lie there, panting—until he blacked out.