Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES) (10 page)

The hum in his throat faltered. He could still see her, aim wavering, her panic hidden on her expression but blaring from her mind. Michael had done that to her. He’d terrorized her in Hell, and he could remember every cold thought that had led to each decision he’d made. Logic had been hidden behind his cruelty, but not a logic that Andromeda would understand, and one that Michael rarely employed. But that same logic had always underlain his actions, and every basic impulse he possessed stemmed from the same source: a dragon’s desire to survive, to feed, to possess.

Michael had never attempted to crush that part of him. He hadn’t needed to. Beginning with the tutoring of his mother and father, continuing with eight millennia of living among humans, he had covered that cold foundation with their lessons and followed his heart and his mind rather than his instincts. But after his torture, instinct was all that he’d had left.

His gaze rose beyond the cliffs that marked the edge of the Pit. In the distance, Lucifer’s throne speared into the crimson sky, a towering symbol of his rule. Its base spanned the area of a city, and the territory surrounding it had been the frozen field, where those demons and humans who had broken their bargains had been doomed to spend an eternity.

The field was a frozen wasteland now. Khavi’s spell and a halfling demon’s sacrifice had shattered it—and even though more humans and demons had undoubtedly broken bargains since then, Lucifer had not yet repaired the field and captured their souls.

Michael could think of only one reason why: Lucifer would use the field to access Chaos. The territory linked the realms, like a shared wall between houses.

Once, that had been part of the torture. The field had been full of frozen faces in the ground, mouths open in eternal screams, eyes fixed on Lucifer’s tower. But their bodies had dangled in Chaos, an endless feast for the dragons there.

Michael had known what waited for him when he’d broken his bargain and used his own soul to strengthen the field. It hadn’t been arrogance to believe that he would withstand the torture; he’d experienced pain in all of its forms, had endured horrors many times over. He would endure the field, too.

And he had, though the anguish had ripped him to the bone, beyond any pain he’d ever experienced. Beyond suffering that he’d never known could exist, let alone be endured. But he hadn’t endured it alone.

When his own strength had waned, he’d had Andromeda’s to draw from. When he’d been stripped of everything but agony, he’d had her rage to cling to, her calm, her compassion, and her humor. She’d been an endless well of determination and strength, and Michael could have endured forever.

Then Lucifer had found him.

At first, there’d only been more pain. The demons had shattered his face and picked out his eyes, and when his frozen flesh had healed they’d done it again.

He could have endured that, too. But Lucifer would never be satisfied with simply destroying a man’s body. He’d targeted Michael’s soul, and he’d known exactly how to break it: not by torturing Michael, but by torturing humans in front of him.

The men and women the demons had dragged from the Pit were the worst of humanity, yet even they did not deserve what Lucifer had done to them. At least the tortures in the Pit served a purpose, as their souls were slowly burned—and if they had suffered in the Pit what Lucifer put them through on the frozen field, they
would
have been released and their torment ended. Instead they’d suffered without hope of death or release, their torture an amusement for the demons and devastating to Michael.

He’d fought and failed a thousand times over. He’d fought to free himself from the field and help them—and failed. He’d fought to project a sense of calm and peace to ease their suffering—and failed. He’d fought to ignore their screams and every slash of the demons’ knives, every violation of their mutilated souls, every plea for help—and failed.

Without once touching Michael’s flesh, Lucifer had stripped away everything that he was and rendered him absolutely helpless.

Except that Michael could serve as a shield for Andromeda. He could block his horror and despair and pain and prevent her from feeling it, too. His entire world had narrowed to that single purpose: protecting her.

And when the field had shattered and he’d been freed, that purpose and his instincts were all that had been left of him. It had been all that drove him as he’d flown across Hell’s skies, breathing fire on the demons, consuming them, searching for Lucifer. He’d needed to protect her, a need deeper than ensuring his own survival, a need deeper than any hunger.

His physical body had been his only vulnerability. He’d have done anything to destroy it, to make certain that Lucifer could never threaten Earth—and threaten Andromeda’s life.

He’d have done anything to destroy his body . . . except hurt her. But there’d been nothing left in him except that need to protect her—no pity, no compassion, no humanity—and so he’d ended up hurting her worse than any bite might have.

Now he’d never have enough time to make amends.

But that need to protect her was still there. It still drove him. Death would not likely grant him another lifetime to watch over her, and Andromeda would not likely grant him leave. So he’d protect her in the only way left to him: destroying as many demons as he could. They would never harm her.

And before his body failed, Michael would stop Lucifer and anyone else who threatened to.

“I have just told you that she will ask to Fall. But, human or Guardian, she will die if the world burns.” Khavi blew out a sharp breath. “Have you nothing at all to say?”

He had much to say. But he didn’t want to take a breath.

There were many things that he didn’t want to do, however—yet he did them if necessary.

Michael released Andromeda on a reluctant exhalation, then drew in air stinking of his own charred flesh and the rot from the Pit. Carefully modulating his voice, he flattened the harmony, as he did when speaking to humans who knew nothing of Guardians. With Khavi, it erased the echo that said more than he wanted her to hear.

He met her eyes. “The territory you left her in was empty. You brought the hellhound that hunted her.”

“Ah, yes.” Khavi tucked her fingers into her pockets and shrugged. “I couldn’t see your future, but I knew that would draw you out.”

I knew you would save her.

Yes. Khavi didn’t need her Gift of foresight to know that certainty. But what of this future?

“Have you seen the world burn?” Even if she had, it wasn’t inevitable. But she might show him where to start—where Lucifer might soon be.

“I have seen it burn in many ways. No matter who wins this war, it will burn.”

“When?”

“I don’t know when.” Her gaze flicked out over the Pit.
Soon.

With so much power, would Lucifer focus on Chaos or the war? “Who is more likely to prevail?”

Her shoulders lifted in another shrug. The gesture was so human; he wasn’t accustomed to seeing it on her. In the past few years—after more than two millennia trapped in Hell—she had acquired more than just modern languages and clothing.

“I see many outcomes,” she said.

Michael could, too, and he didn’t need a Gift for it. Lucifer had the edge in power and numbers—and when he broke through to Chaos, he would have even more. Anaria possessed the greater army in the long term, but her smaller numbers meant a slower progression. Belial had a dragon sword and the faith of his demons. Michael could imagine any one of them defeating the others.

But he knew Khavi would have already chosen the one she preferred. “Which outcome do you favor?”

“I have been helping Anaria.” A laugh echoed through her voice.

Michael answered with a wry smile and a shake of his head. He did not envy Anaria, then. Khavi might be helping her, but only to further her own plan—and it was impossible to know how long ago she’d put her plan in motion. Perhaps when she’d returned from her solitary confinement in Hell. Perhaps thousands of years before that.

“She needs to abandon her quest for vengeance and align herself with Belial,” Khavi continued. “Fortunately for me—and for your father—it pleases Anaria to be forgiving.”

And it is the end toward which I have been working.

But not her ultimate end. Michael knew it was pointless to ask what that might be. He knew she would arrange Belial’s death—the demon had killed her husband thousands of years before, and though Khavi’s gaze was often fixed on the future, she never let bygones be.

That vengeance would not be all that she planned, however. Not if Belial had another use first.

“And if Anaria and Belial do combine their strengths?”

“Then I will persuade them to destroy Lucifer before he burns the world.”

Of course she would. But that told him what he needed to know: Lucifer still posed the worst threat.

And Michael still had one purpose. “You say that Andromeda will
ask
to Fall, not that she does Fall.”

“Because I cannot see anything of you or the choices you make, and whether you transform her to human.” He heard the pique in her voice, the deep frustration. “I cannot see her paths when they cross with yours.”

So at least for a short time, Andromeda’s future was tangled up with his. His life would influence hers so much that Khavi couldn’t trace the threads. But one part of her future had nothing to do with him.

“What will her Gift be?”

With a deep sigh, Khavi shook her head. “If you have any pity at all, you will let her Fall. You terrify her.”

Do you have pity in you now?

He did. But seeing that she was safe mattered more—and her terror would not last. Andromeda could fall prey to fear, but she’d never let it consume her. Soon she’d overcome her terror of him. Her distrust and anger would linger far longer.

“Will her Gift help us stop Lucifer?”

“I cannot see what her Gift will be.”

A lie. “You refuse to tell me because you can’t see how I will react, or if it will interfere with your own plans.”

With a purse of her lips, Khavi nodded. Her admission drew a smile from him, but it faded when he looked into the Pit. He had so much to do.

“How long do I have?”

“I cannot see—”

“Not with your Gift. Tell me based on what you know of my strength, of my will. Of the dissonance. Of the symbols that bind me to my flesh.”

She closed her eyes. Her chest fell on a heavy breath. “A few weeks, perhaps.”

A few weeks. So much more time than he’d thought.

Hope rose, lifting the dread that had been weighing on him. Perhaps he could make amends in that time. Perhaps he could pass more hours in her company. And if Andromeda could not forgive him, at least he could help her repair Caelum—and protect her as well as he could.

His gaze sharpened on the cluster of demons and humans at the far end of the Pit. The humans’ own actions had brought them here, but Lucifer had a choice to burn them quickly and release them. As a dragon, Michael could have burned them. He could not speed their release now . . . but he could free them from their torment.

He hefted the spear. Fire raced from his fingertips to the spearhead, lighting the weapon. “If you are determined to help Anaria, then let’s add a few thousand soldiers to her army.”

Light from the flames gleamed in Khavi’s eyes and danced over the blade of her sword. She couldn’t have known to find him at the Pit, so this was probably why she’d come to begin with. Michael was happy to assist her.

But it wasn’t for Khavi or Anaria. No matter who won the war for Hell, the demons in the Pit would soon be dead. They would never harm Andromeda. They would never leave Michael helpless again.

Only Andromeda Taylor could do that.

*   *   *

Both Hugh and Lilith kept their minds shielded. Michael couldn’t teleport directly to their location, but he knew where to find them. He appeared in the corner of their living room, two walls at his back and with a view behind the long sofa—the only place that could conceal someone lying in wait. To his left, a pair of swords were mounted on a bookcase shelf. Not just for display; Lilith had also hidden guns inside the ottoman and under the furniture cushions.

No other hearts were beating here—just the familiar heartbeats from Lilith, Hugh, and their hellhound at the other end of the house. The sound of steel striking steel rang through the walls. Good. He would only interrupt their fencing practice. Too many times, he’d interrupted more intimate activities.

Sir Pup’s psychic probe pressed against Michael’s shields, a chorus of three warnings at once. He answered the hellhound with a reassuring note. No danger had come into the house with him.

Disappointment projected from one of Sir Pup’s minds like a resigned sigh. He’d been hoping for danger.

The hellhound might soon have his wish.

To give Sir Pup enough time to alert Lilith to his presence—or not, if the surprise amused the hellhound more—Michael paused behind the sofa, where a painting of Caelum covered the wall from floor to ceiling. Colin Ames-Beaumont had created it for Lilith, and the vampire had seen the realm more clearly than most, capturing the beauty of her marble spires and arches, the wondrous impossibilities of her shape. But he still had not seen her perfectly.

Perhaps one day, Andromeda would.

A narrow hall led to the back of the home. Entering that corridor would restrict his range of motion, so Michael teleported directly into the corner of their exercise room. The rack of weights near his left hand could become bludgeoning weapons or missiles if thrown with enough force. On the wall to his right, a single window offered a view of the neighboring home and a slice of early morning sky, and left few angles for observation or projectile attack from outside. The curtains were open. Like him, Lilith and Hugh would rather be seen by an outsider than be blind to an oncoming threat.

The center of the room served as a practice area. They’d folded the cushioning mats and set them against the opposite wall, and used the bare floor as a small fencing arena.