Eve of Chaos (11 page)

“Damn straight.
And I’m collecting.”

“That is the
most immature, chauvinistic—”

“Yeah, yeah.
Save it.”

“Give Sara a
booty call if you’re hard up enough to blackmail someone for sex,” she snapped.

 
“I’ve been celibate for
you. You
owe
me.”

Celibate for
her.

Didn’t make up
for him being an asshole. “From what I saw, Sara seems to miss your caveman
side.”

“So do you.” He
slipped his shades back on and crossed his arms. “That’s where I’m blowing it.
I should be listening to your body language and not the crap coming out of your
mouth. I should toss your ass over the arm of your couch and nail you. Then
you’d know this brush-off shit doesn’t work with me.”

“I wouldn’t fuck
you if you were the last man on earth.”

Reed held a hand
to his ear. “Did you hear that? That was the sound of the gloves coming off.”

“Whatever. Grow
up.”

“I wanted you to
make the first move. Now.
.
His
heard turned toward the window. “I just want you.

The last was
said without the cockiness of the rest. It was softer. Resigned. There was more
to his need than the physical. Outwardly, he didn’t show it, but she felt it.

While it wasn’t
particularly common for Marks to connect romantically with their handlers, it
wasn’t unheard of either. The flow of assignments and field reports between the
two created a sense of intimacy that sometimes blossomed into love.

“Even if wanting
me is what’s setting me up as a target for Satan?” she asked, hoping to goad
him into lowering his mental guards.

“Even if.”

Eve turned her
head toward Reed, only to find that he’d left; shifted off to someplace else in
the world. That ability to be here one second and gone the next reminded her of
superheroes like Superman or Spider-Man.

“But I’m not
playing the role of the always- a-hostage love interest’ she insisted aloud.
“You hear me?”

If he did, he
didn’t answer.

From his
position at the head of a massive U-shaped table, Sammael relished the view of
Raguel, the most arrogant of all the archangels, kneeling on the stone ground
before him with head bent and fingers curled with white-knuckled force. The
pure brightness of his brother’s white wings was incongruous compared to the
underlying wanness of his coffee- dark skin and the ragged appearance of his
woolen shift.

Sarnmael leaned
back into his chair with a smile. Pain. So beautiful and effective. Of all of
Jehovah’s creations, pain was his favorite. Terror and depression followed a
goodly distance behind.

But pain alone
would not be enough to break Raguel.

Despite over a
month of hellfire burning, there was a lingering elegance to the set of his
brother’s shoulders, the sight of which Sammael welcomed. The archangel’s
display of his gold-tipped wings was an additional act of rebellion designed to
inspire fear in the lessor demons. It inspired amusement in Sammael.

“Are you
enjoying your accommodations?” he asked solicitously.

Raguel’s head
lifted, his dark eyes revealing a wealth of hatred and fury. He said nothing.

Perfect. There
was no room for love of God when the soul was filled with viler emotions.

“Speechless? Ah,
well.
.
.
Are you hungry?” Sammael tossed a hunk
of meat onto the floor. “It’s quite good.”

His brother’s
eyes never left his. No move was made to reach for the sustenance, despite the
obvious signs of emaciation. Raguel wouldn’t die of starvation, but he was
suffering from it.

Smiling, Sammael
raked his gaze over his surroundings. Both the Great Hall and the wooden table
that filled it grew in proportion to its occupancy. So while it appeared that
every seat was taken, in actuality the space was bereft of the number of
minions that usually filled it. He hoped the absent ones were enjoying the
lovely Southern California weather. Their vacation would soon be over.

“What do you
want?” Raguel’s voice was hoarse from endless days of screaming. He was kept
suspended over hellfire in a metal cage, his flesh seared with every flare,
then rebuilt by his angelic gifts. Drained by the need for constant healing, he
lacked the strength to free himself. Even now he kneeled, not because he
deferred to the Prince of Hell, but because his legs would not support him.
He’d put too much effort into re-creating those magnificent wings.

Suddenly
irritated by that display, Sammael stood. His wings snapped outward, blood red
and tipped with black. The demons in attendance roared and raised their.fists.
Raguel’s chin lifted. Ever defiant.

“Cain is helming
your firm,” Sammael purred, his hands clasped beneath his wings against the
small of his back. “Our siblings do not seem to be in any hurry to bargain for
you. Perhaps they do not miss you. The Seven is intact without you.”

“I am not
concerned.”

“Cain has
implemented some changes which have increased productivity and lowered Mark
causalities. He has also exposed flaws within the existing system.”

“Is he hitting
you where it hurts?” his brother goaded.

Sammael laughed.
He began to round the corner to his left, his cloven feet striking the floor in
rhythmic clops. The massive ruby chandelier above them followed him as he moved.
It was the fate of lessors to live in darkness, except for the light he brought
them. “For a time it seemed as if his fascination with Evangeline Hollis had
passed, but now he courts her again. What does he see in her? What is it about
her that makes him cleave to her as he has not done with any woman since his
wife, Awan?”

“I care not.”

“Truly? Now I
see why they have abandoned you. You have grown lazy.” He brushed a hand across
a succubus’s cheek as he passed by. “After all these years, out of all the
females in the world—all the Marks and Infernals, all the nephilim and
mortals—he finally recommits to this one unremarkable woman. And you do not ask
yourself why?”

Raguel’s jaw
tightened.

“I ask why,”
Sammael murmured, having no need to raise his voice since no one would dare to
speak over or around him. “What distinguishes her? Would you like to know what
I have decided?”

 
“Not especially, no.”

The silence
remained unbroken, but the shock of Raguel’s disrespect rippled outward. It
would spread like a cancer if allowed.

As Sammael
passed a berserker, he touched him. A loving, gentle caress that made the demon
smile... before he dissolved into a rancid puddle that splashed over the bench
to pooi on the floor. Fear spread through the room and tainted it with an acrid
scent.

“I am feeling
generous,” Sammael said, smiling, “so I will tell you anyway. I think it is her
lack of faith that fascinates him. I think he relates to her agnosticism and
finds compelling similarities between them.”

“Cain is pious,”
Raguel bit out.

“Is he? Can he
be?”

“Has he not
proven so?”

“He is God’s
primary enforcer. He kills as often as he breathes. Can such a creature carry
love in his soul?”

“His love for
Evangeline Hollis proves that to be true.”

“Does
he love her? Truly? Or does something more base and
raw move him? Perhaps he has a hidden purpose. Or perhaps it is simply an
incestuous fondness for her name.
Eve.
The Temptress. As fresh in my
thoughts now as she was the day I met her.”

“I pray her
memory festers in your mind like an open sore.”

Sammael’s fists
clenched beneath the concealment of his wings. “Cain running a firm. Who could
have conceived of him reaching such heights? It must chafe you terribly.”

“Do you have a
point, Sammael?”

“I am just
conversing, my brother. It has been so long since you and I were last
together.”

Raguel flapped
his mighty wings, using the resulting updraft to push his worn body to its
feet. “I have nothing to say. Send me back to my hell.”

“Say please.”

There was a
protracted silence, then a snarled, “Please.”

His brother’s
hatred was a writhing, burning thing.

Beautiful.

Pleased with the
progressing state of affairs, Sammael sent Raguel back with a snap of his fingers
while simultaneously shifting to his receiving room. Azazel appeared a moment
later, taking a knee and bowing. Aside from similar height and form, his
lieutenant was as different from him as Heaven and Hell. White hair and pale
irises showcased skin like ivory, while garments of ice blue and silver
emphasized Azazel’s frosty demeanor. He could chill a room with his presence
and was most useful in cooling Sammael’s fiery temper.

“My liege,”
Azazel murmured.

“What was your
impression of Raguel?”

The demon’s gaze
lifted. “He is unbroken, but soulweary.”

“Good. Exactly
the way I want him. Now, tell me you have news.”

‘The
yuki-onna,
Harumi-san, betrayed us to Evangeline Hollis. Cain has returned to the
field. It will be more difficult to reach her now.”

Sammael smiled.
“She has other vulnerabilities.”

“Her best friend
is backpacking in Europe, and her sister lives in Kentucky.”

 
“Excellent.”

“Her parents are
local.”

Sammael moved
toward his throne. His lower limbs changed as he crossed the mosaic floor,
turning from hindquarters to legs. His wings retracted, sinking into his spine
as if they had never been. “Leave them.”

“My liege, I
think—”

“No, you do
not.” He adjusted his black velvet slacks before sinking into his seat and
gesturing for Azazel to rise. “Take away her family, and you take away her
reason to live.”

“Why would that
be a bad thing?”

“Her family
keeps her mortal, which makes her weak. Why do you think the seraphim choose
the unencumbered to be Marks? A soul is most dangerous when it has nothing to
lose. We want her motivated, not a grief-stricken vigilante. She might even
become an ally.”

“An
ally?”

“Why not?” He
waved one hand carelessly. “She does not believe. It would seem likely that she
wants to be free of the mark. Anyone who could assist her in that endeavor
would be a friend.”

“You seek to
extort
and
befriend her?”

“Or kill her.
Whatever purpose suits me best. Discover everyone who means anything to her but
whose loss won’t break her. Close coworkers. School friends. Neighbors.”

Azazel snorted.
“Ulrich took care of the neighbor already. She would have been perfect. As
close as family.”

“Ufrich? The
Nix?” Sammael’s gaze lifted to the mural of Michelangelo’s
Fall of Man
on
the domed ceiling. “Asmodeus oversteps his place again.”

“He is
ambitious.”

“He is
overzealous. He has already succeeded in killing her once by lending a dragon
to Grimshaw.” He looked at his lieutenant. “Watch him closely. He and I may
soon have things to discuss.”

A rare smile
curved Azazel’s mouth. “Yes, my liege.”

Sammael leaned
his head against the throne and closed his eyes. “And get someone to clean up
the mess that berserker made in the great hall.”

Eve steered her car
into her assigned spot next to Alec’s and cut the engine. The subterranean
parking lot of Gadara Tower was darker and cooler than the ground level. The
temperature change was enough to silence the tengu in her trunk.

With her fingers
wrapped around the steering wheel and her senses achingly aware of how pissed
off Reed was, she stared at the single placard that displayed both “A. Cain”
and “E. Hollis.” Such privileges alienated her from the other Marks.