Lucca (15 page)

Eli let out an unearthly cry of vengeance,
the sound born from a tortured soul. He went after the demon, bent
on taking his head.

Lucca rolled away from Ryden, wondering
where his act of chivalry came from? His father beat indifference
into him until he erected a wall, blocking out his conscience to
where he didn’t care about a human’s impending fate, but the wall
was beginning to crumble around him.

In the past, when he’d forgotten his
lessons, his father would find a way to make him pay. The last time
had resulted in Kit Marlowe’s death. The payment had cost too much.
Centuries he stayed away from human contact and didn’t care, but
then he’d met Juliet, her intoxicating scent clouded his judgment.
Her sweet smile poisoning his resolve to keep his distance, her
beautiful green eyes, seeing him as a good man and, dammit all to
hell, her opinion mattered to him.

He hadn’t tried to save Ryden for just Eli’s
sake. He had done so knowing Juliet would have expected him to
try.

His fingers went to work at tearing the
sleeve away around the protruding harpoon-like metal embedded in
Ryden’s flesh. It could have been her heart, he thought. No, it
would have been, if he hadn’t tackled her down when he had. He
chanced a look at Ryden, trying to ignore the fight behind him. Her
face glistened with sweat, her pain evident in her eyes, but she
remained calm. “It has to come out. Now,” he told her.

“No, if it’s embedded—”

His gaze locked onto hers. “This isn’t a
human weapon, Ryden.” The longer it stays embedded, the metal will
break down sending shards through your blood stream.”

She gave him a curt nod. “Do it then.”

“On the count of three.” His hand gripped
the hilt of the spear and his other hand her arm. “One.” He
yanked.

She let out a cry, more of surprise that he
hadn’t waited until three than of pain. He did it on purpose. He
didn’t want her to jerk away, making him lose his grip. Surprise
worked better. He lifted his jacket and tore the bottom of his
shirt. He tied the strip around her arm, keeping the blood flow at
a minimum.

“You lied.” Ryden’s breath came out in
labored huffs as she tried to keep the pain at bay.

He looked at her, his brow arched.

“You said on the count of three.” Her hand
fell over his. “Thank you.”

His gaze latched onto her small hand laying
over his. He swallowed hard, trying not to act like a sap over her
heartfelt thanks. He rose to his feet, intent on helping Eli, but
the Watcher had already relieved the demon of his weapon and was
going in for the kill. Eli whipped his broadsword around, slicing
through flesh and bones with the precision of a true warrior. The
demon’s head rolled to the side in a grisly display of serrated
teeth, grinning even in death. The body toppled in slow motion as
if it couldn’t believe his head would dare leave its shoulders.

Eli whirled around then, his gaze landing on
Ryden who had risen, holding her arm. The blood seeping through the
shirt, the crimson a dark reminder how close Eli came to losing
her.

Eli closed the steps that separated them.
Lucca thought he’d take Ryden into his arms, but the warrior
surprised him with a left hook to his jaw. Lucca staggered back
before righting himself.

“Eli, what are you doing,” Ryden cried out
in disbelief.

Lucca’s finger gingerly touched his jaw,
wondering how he managed not to loose a few teeth with that
punch.

“The Hashasheen demons tracked you here,”
Eli accused.

Lucca had thought perhaps they did, but the
Hashasheen demons didn’t go after him. He shook his head. “No, they
wanted Ryden.” His gaze landed on her and for a moment, Eli
remained silent as the words sunk in, knowing them to be true even
though he wanted to deny it.

Lucca went over the events. The demons
fought them, but each time, they made an attempt to go after Ryden.
They just forced them back away from her.

Ryden looked at both of them and gave a
nervous chuckle. “Why on earth would the demons want to come after
me?”

Eli looked at Ryden, confusion flitting
across his brow as he realized it was true. The demons had wanted
her and it looked like it didn’t matter if they took her alive.
Hashasheens liked to experiment on species, wanting to know what
made them tick. Ryden would make for an interesting subject, dead
or alive.

“She’s the only living human mated to one of
the Fallen,” Lucca stated.

Eli was at her side in a second, inspecting
the wound himself. Lucca backed away, thinking it was a good time
to leave.

“I’m fine, Eli,” Ryden rested her forehead
against his. “Really, it doesn’t even hurt.”

Lucca frowned. Ryden received the wound, yet
her words were to reassure her mate that all would be well.

Eli took Ryden into his arms, holding her as
if he feared he would only have moments with her. To an immortal,
he supposed it could be true. Moments in time. Fallen Angels didn’t
live forever, but in human terms it would seem like an eternity.
Another reason why taking a human mate seemed pointless.

“Let me see the wound,” Eli demanded. He
pulled the makeshift bandage aside.

“I can’t believe it.” Ryden’s proclamation
drew Lucca’s attention. Eli and Ryden were staring at her arm.
Panic settled in his breastbone like a nagging ache of dread. The
Hashasheen had the habit of dipping their weapons in poison. He
tried to save Ryden for reasons that still escaped him, but if the
spike had been poisoned laced, his attempts to save her were for
naught. His brow furrowed as he remembered the poison the
Hashasheen used didn’t affect humans. They were immune to it, only
causing a slight irritation and nothing more.

Lucca stepped closer, his gaze landing on
Ryden’s arm. The wound looked days old with the way the flesh
puckered like a red welt. If it hadn’t been for the tear in her
sleeve, he would have thought he’d imagined the gash. “How?” He
looked at Eli. “You healed her?”

Eli shook his head, his expression flitting
from awe, confusion and happiness in a matter of seconds. “I didn’t
do this. It’s Ryden. Her body-”

“But that’s impossible,” Lucca said. Wasn’t
it? “She’s human.”

“And the bonded mate to one of the Fallen,”
Eli stated as if that explained the whole miraculous healing
trick.

Ryden touched Eli’s arm, her smile faltering
a little. She was scared. Hell, he was a little shook up himself,
too. Had Eli changed her in some way? If so, did that mean she’d
live longer, too? No one knew what a bonded soul mate entailed.
Their father’s took human mates but most died in childbirth, their
bodies unable to carry a half angel, half human child to full term
and live afterwards. The child drained them, made them too weak,
but Eli and he were the Fallens’ children. Human blood flowed
through their veins, too. Eli had marked Ryden, a shifter’s
bite.

Gideon had told him, he thought the ritual
was similar to how shifters mated.
We’re shifters
. Gideon’s
claim had pissed him off, but he knew there’d been some truth to
it. They didn’t just conceal their wings with glamour. They shifted
from human to angel. “We’re shifters.” He thought he spoke to
himself, but Eli heard him.

“So?”

Eli believed they were shifters, too and he
was the first of the brethren to take a human mate.

Lucca wanted to ask questions, but Eli only
tolerated his presence because he saved Ryden from the Hashasheen
demon’s intent. He doubted he would be forth coming with
information about finding a soul mate.

Eli wrapped an arm around Ryden. “Let’s go
inside. We need to let the elders know of this knew
development.”

So it was true, the elders were studying
Ryden, trying to find out how Eli had found a soul mate.
Correction,
his soul mate.

They had only taken a few steps when Ryden
pulled out of Eli’s concerned embrace. By heaven, the male acted as
if she were going to fall into a million pieces, but he had a hunch
Ryden was made of sturdier stuff. She turned to look at Lucca, her
lips tipping at the corners. “Thank you, Lucca, for saving my
life.”

He stiffened at her words. He saved her
life. He hadn’t thought about it. He just reacted. The longer he
remained earth bound the more he embraced his human existence.
You’re so weak.
His father’s words taunted him, but he
pushed them to the back of his mind.

“My pleasure.” He bowed, his gaze locking
onto Eli’s as he did so.

“We need to sit down and have a chat,” Eli
said to him, leaving no room for debate.

“Yeah, well you know where I am.” Without
another word, he turned and strode away. He could feel Eli’s heated
gaze boring into him. If Ryden hadn’t been injured, their little
talk would be now.

As his steps took him farther away, the
glamour concealing their night’s happy hour, diminished. Any
onlookers who heard the first of the battle would have forgotten it
once Eli projected the image of a peaceful night. Human’s minds
were easily manipulated.

They’re weak.
His father’s nasty
voice hissed in his ear as if he had materialized beside him. He
stopped in his tracks. A dark presence loomed over this place, but
as he stood on the bridge and scanned the area, he didn’t see
anything out of the ordinary. “Father?” he whispered, half
expecting the Fallen Angel to appear beside him. His gaze scanned
the boats tethered in the harbor. He couldn’t shake the feeling of
being watched. Anger welled in him as he shoved his hands into his
pockets. The thoughts of his past made him look over his shoulder.
Damn his father. “Not all humans are weak!” he shouted to no one in
particular, but it felt good to rebel.

His claim rang true. Ryden fought with them
tonight. She didn’t whimper when he pulled the Hashasheen spike
from her arm. His thoughts shifted to Juliet. Weak didn’t describe
her either—Strong, determined, brave and beautiful. “Enough.” He
tried to clear his mind of Juliet, but failed with every attempt.
He knew of one way to wipe the siren’s image from his brain.
World’s End.

* * * * *

The dark figure glared at Lucca as he made
his way over the bridge, but he didn’t go after him. He would wait
to make his move. “Timing is everything,” his low growl turned into
a harsh laugh. He spread his wings and took flight.

Chapter Twenty

World’s End’s seedy atmosphere laced with
stale beer and cigarettes proved the distraction Lucca craved. He
sat in a booth in the back of the bar with a Darklin, or Dark
Angel, as they liked to be called now. Even the preternatural
beings had politically correct terms. Dark Angels were both angel
and demon without a drop of human blood running through their
veins. In human literature, many authors referred to the Darklins
as one of the Fairy folk.

The Dark Angel, Marcy, he thought that was
her name, lay sprawled in his lap as if his warmth was a lifeline
to her existence. Her lips brushed near his ear, whispering all the
nasty things she wanted to do to his body. He’d try anything if it
would erase Juliet’s sweet innocence from his mind. He breathed in
deeply as he plunged his hand into her dark tresses, drawing her
closer for a punishing kiss. Her scent of dark spice threatened to
choke him, but he breathed her anyway, wanting to cleanse his
senses of all traces of Juliet. Only the more he tried, the more he
craved the aroma of cool mint, the healing, light pine scent of
rosemary, and the warmth of sunshine.

He nuzzled Marcy’s neck anyway, his hand
sliding beneath her short skirt. The poor lighting in the place
kept his actions private. He concentrated on the feel of her smooth
skin, the warm heat of her, letting him know she was ready for him.
Would Juliet’s skin be as smooth? Would she whimper for more as he
caressed her…here? “Dammit.” He turned his head away, not wanting
to taste the Darklin on his lips.

“What is it, love?” Marcy pouted. Her deep
purple eyes glowed red, a sure sign she was actually turned on by
his rejections, believing it was all part of the foreplay. He
wished it were, but his hard on wasn’t for the Darklin, but for the
human he wanted to forget. “This isn’t working.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that right?” Her hand
squeezed him between the legs, revealing the obvious.

“Didn’t I say so?” He didn’t want her and he
wasn’t going to pretend just to get off. Marcy might not think so,
but he was doing her a favor.

She dislodged herself from his embrace in a
huff. Her long strides to escape his presence left no doubt she was
one pissed off female.

He pressed his palms to the tabletop as he
stood, ready to head out, but the power surge stopped him cold. It
swept through the bar with enough preternatural energy to light an
entire neighborhood. His eyes darted over the crowd of people,
searching for the disturbance.

Then his gaze latched onto the Archangel at
the same time the godly creature spotted him. Barachiel shed his
usual attire of leine and robe for the nightlife attire of black
slacks, T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Armani, he thought. The
lustrous, toffee-colored locks framing his face were both rugged
and beautiful, or so he thought since every female in the room
watched the Archangel’s every move like hungry wolves ready to
devour. If Barachiel had let his true self be shown in all its
glorious light, he’d fry everyone in the room, including him. They
didn’t call him the Archangel of Lightning for nothing.

It would be senseless to slip out the back
door at this point, seeing as the Archangel’s strides were pointed
in his direction. “Splendid,” he cursed under his breath. “A heart
to heart with an Archangel. Now my friggin’ night is complete.” He
fell back into his seat, his hand reaching for his beer.

He’d feared his poking around into Leroy’s
death would ruffle someone’s feathers, he just hadn’t expected it
to be one of the head honchos in Heaven.