Demon's Embrace (33 page)

He smiled, coldly. “I intend to.”

Fear fluttered through her.

“I don’t think so,” a familiar deep voice said. The sonorous tones vibrated in her bones.

Ash.

With a clash of iron, the last of the chains fell away and Ashtoreth, General of all the Daemonae, was at last and finally free.

Every line of his stern face was set, his brilliant golden eyes whirled, the fiery sparks in them spun. His jaw was locked, his mouth tight, determined. He looked like a cold and merciless warrior God of old that she’d once imagined him to be.

Despite everything Miri’s breath caught at the sight of him, of her Ash.

He was incredible. Fantastically and astonishingly beautiful.

Bound, he’d been glorious. Freed he was magnificent, a force to be reckoned with, every ridged muscle taut as he shook off the last of the fetters that bound him to the frame behind him as he stepped forward and gestured, his fury now unleashed as well.

He straightened and every single gloriously ridged muscle in his incredible body seemed to flex, shoulders, arms, the washboard muscles of his abdomen, as his gaze fixed on the Stranger.

The flickering light gleamed on his deep scarlet skin, intensified by the shadows.

He looked primal, nearly savage as he gestured. His sword appeared in his hands.

Awed, Miri was caught by the sheer beauty of him. Her throat went tight. Despite the circumstances, every single atom of her body seemed to flash to a white heat.

She knew he was aware of her, knew through the bond between them that his true focus was her, that he was as aware of her as she was of him.

Hearing the clatter of the irons as they fell to the floor, seeing the light in her eyes, the Stranger spun with shocking speed as he sensed danger behind him.

In the same instant, as soon as they realized Ash was free, some of Templeton’s men surrounded their departing boss. They hustled him into the shadows and out of the room while the rest opened fire, only to have two ebony figures, one with skin chased with fire, the other with ice, explode out of the shadows, swords in hand.

Swords flashed, men died and then the figures disappeared into the darkness once more in search of more prey.

The guards suddenly had a far more urgent situation on their hands. Survival.

Undeterred by the gunfire the Stranger sprang at Ash, his claws extending into foot-long scimitars in mid-leap.

Ash was already moving, blocking one taloned hand with his sword, twisting to avoid the other as he drove a punch into the Stranger’s jaw. Pain flashed across his chest and abs as the talons sliced across them, but the force of his punch sent the thing flying across the chamber, where it spun with shocking speed and scrambled to its feet to launch itself at him again almost instantly.

Even as he braced to meet it, to his relief and gratitude, Miri raced to put herself behind him, at his back and out of the line of fire.

His tail wrapped around her briefly, drew her closer behind him, maintaining contact with her as Ash parried the next slice of the Stranger’s raking talons.

There was no time for anything else. He had to trust to Ba’al and Mal and their training, pray that neither was or had been seriously injured.

Still, there was no time to waste.

With a quick gesture, he flung lightning at Stranger, but this time it was prepared and the lightning sloughed off to each side as if striking an invisible barrier.

It was from the ephemeral planes and so it knew magic as well as he did.

There was no chance of an even fight against those talons. As his body already bore witness.

Ash cloaked himself in his armor and called up his other sword.

Facing off opposite him, with an inclination of his head in acknowledgment of his skill, the Stranger did the same.

Narrowing his eyes, Ash studied him, studied the way he held his sword.

The Stranger had done his homework.

Slowly, Ash nodded in return, brought his swords up into position and set himself.

Miri’s heart froze even as she stepped back, even as Ash’s tail tapped lightly, just between her breasts to know where she was.

Go
.

Fear ran cold through her as she watched the muscles of Ash’s back flex beneath his armor.

She did, diving to the side.

There was an odd grace and flow to their battle as Ash took the Stranger’s sword on his own when the Stranger attacked, smiling coldly.

Miri clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out. She thought she’d be sick.

Ash countered, turned, spun, trapped the Stranger’s blade with his own and forced it away as he turned from it.

Swords rang and chimed as they tested each other’s blades and skill in a quick flurry of strikes and ripostes. Then Ash went on the offensive, hammering his sword down on the Stranger’s.

He had the thing’s pattern.

Ash was only faintly aware of the gunfire that battered the walls and ceiling.

One chattered violently as the shooter fell back. Bullets hammered into the wall, traced upward as the gun emptied in a great arc to stitch across the cracked and abused ceiling as the shooter fell to either Ba’al or Mal.

The Stranger spun out from beneath Ash’s assault, lashed out with one clawed hand. Its talons sliced at Ash’s ribs. His armor took it.

With a smile, Ash spun away and his sword curved beneath the Stranger’s, forced it up and out.  His sword came free even as he circled it, drove forward to drive his other blade deep into the Stranger’s chest.

Stunned, astonished, the thing looked down at the leather wrapped hilt of the steel sword that protruded from its breast in simple disbelief.

Grasping the tatters of shirt it still wore with his free hand, Ash hauled it forward until they were nearly nose to nose.

Those dark faceted eyes looked at him.

 “She is mine,” he said, grimly. “My mate. And you and yours will never touch her again.”

Taking his sword in hand once again, Ash thrust the thing away. He watched as it staggered and fell, his blade coming free as the thing stumbled backward, shock filling the darkness behind its faceted eyes. Clearly failing to comprehend its failure. It’s sword fell from its nerveless hand with a clatter. It collapsed backward, braced itself on one arm and stared at him in disbelief.

Still Ash didn’t take his eyes off the thing, not until it fell back, its body twitching. Even then, he kept his sword raised as he stepped backward warily.

Above them came an ominous groan, a deep creaking and grinding.

His glance swept the chamber as Ba’al and Mal stepped out of the shadows.

The room was clearly empty of guards, safe, alive, before Ash’s eyes found Miri again.

The thin light of the security lights glimmered on her fiery hair as she launched herself at him.

He breathed in her scent as she buried her face against his throat, one hand sliding up into his silky hair.

All Miri knew was Ash.

The hard lines of his strong harsh face eased as he’d walked toward her and she threw herself into his arms. His sword was gone in an instant as he wrapped her in his arms. Love, fierce, hot and strong, whipped through her as Miri clung to him. She felt it in the tightness of the arms around her, her ribs nearly cracking with the strength in Ash’s strong grip.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but relief drove the laugh out of her even as his mouth pressed against her throat and her body quivered in response as her hands tightened on him.

Her eyes stung furiously as she clung to him.

She blinked to clear them and saw a darkness rise from the Stranger.

His true form. If he had one.

Something… She felt power surge. Magic.

In an instant, she jammed one foot against the marble floor hard enough to turn them, thrusting hard against Ash, hard enough to put herself between him and the rising darkness even as Ba’al cried out a warning.

And then there was pain.

Miri’s sudden movement caught Ash by surprise and he looked down at her just in time to see her pale green eyes go wide as the piece of rebar from a fallen section of the ceiling, nearly pure iron, struck her squarely in the back. The force of it drove a deep groan from her and her back arched as it pierced her. There was enough iron content in it that Ash knew that if it had struck him as intended, it would very likely have killed him instantly.

Instead, it had taken Miri.

Her green eyes went wide as her knees buckled from the force of the blow.

It might as well have struck him as he felt her falter and his heart cried out in denial.

The thought of losing her very nearly destroyed him. If she died, he would stay, for his people, for the Daemonae, for Asmodeus, for Gabriel and her baby, as he had all these long years. But some essential part of him would be lost forever and he knew it. He would stay until there was no need of him, until Ba’al was more secure in his Healing talent and then he would go. He would find Miri, join her, wherever, whenever she was. Somehow he would find her. So she wouldn’t be alone. So he wouldn’t be.

He couldn’t lose her, he wouldn’t lose her. Not Miri. She was too vital, too strong. It was there in her ethereal eyes.

He was a Healer. In truth, he was a great Healer but he would have to be an incredible Healer if he was going to save her.

He would be.

Gently he eased her to the floor, wary of the piece of gnarled steel that protruded from her back as small pieces of the ceiling, bits of plaster and wood, rained down around them as the cracked bowl that was the ceiling slowly gave way.

The shadow glanced upward and Ash sensed its satisfaction even as it tattered, pulled apart, its center bowing as if it were drawn or sucked away.

Without the anchor of Daniel’s body, it was pulled back into the space/time ethereal plane of its own realm.

That attack had been its last act, its last bit of spite.

Looking down, Ash brushed back the fiery hair from Miri’s pale face, the freckles a dusting of gold across the fine bridge of her nose, the red-gold lashes half closed over her pale green eyes with their glimmers of sunlight. Those lashes fluttered, lifted, so her eyes met his.

His heart wrenched.

He could feel her try to breathe, could feel her pain through the bond and it nearly tore him apart.

Gently, he cupped her face.

“Miri.”

The look in her eyes sharpened, focused.

“Just keep your eyes on mine,” he said, and sank into healing trance while larger and larger pieces of plaster and wood fell from the ceiling.

He used those mesmerizing green eyes as a locus, centered on them. Crouched with Miri in his arms, her weight balanced on one bent knee, was nothing, he was capable of holding that position for hours if need be.

The sense of oppression, of a great weight hanging above them, a weight great enough to crush even Daemonae bodies beneath it, hovered threateningly above their heads.