Magick Rising (8 page)

forgot about the carved wood digging into her back.

Keeping her hands above her head with one hand, he slid the other

along her arm, down her side. His thumb grazed the outer curve of her

breast.

She gasped. Her headache receded. Another ache blossomed deep in

her core.

With a groan, Hadrian dipped his head. His breath enveloped her. His

warmth banished any lingering chill.

His lips brushed hers. A feather touch. A question.

Miko gazed into the dark depths of his eyes and answered.

TIME STOPPED. His lips returned to hers, demanding now.

Miko opened to him. Invited him in, lips soft but as demanding as his.

Hadrian’s hold on her hands loosened, and she dropped them to his

shoulders. Then plowed them into his thick dark hair.

Leaving her mouth, he nipped her jaw, her neck, that sensitive pulse

point at the base of her throat.

She moaned, wanting more. Wanting him. She drew him closer with

one leg wrapped behind his thigh. Cradling him where she needed him.

“Miko,” he breathed, his voice thrumming through her. His hands

cupped her bottom and lifted her so both of her legs wrapped around his

hips.

Tension wound tight as he thrust, pressing his erection against her

through their clothes. Despite the barriers, he found her pleasure point.

Thrust again and again. She met him with her own urgency.

She dragged his head up. Kissed him, open mouth and hot needy

breath. Want overrode conscious thought.

His hand found her breast, capturing the nipple between his thumb and

palm and pulling. It bordered on pain but never crossed over. Just increased

the want. The need.

He pressed her against the door and thrust again. Almost screaming her

need, she tightened her legs and arched against him, seeking more. Seeking

him
.

Need exploded into release. Face buried in his neck, she clung to him

for yet another. And another.

As the aftershocks eased, she breathed him in, that scent of incense and

aroused male. He savored the pulse at the base of her throat. Against his

neck, she smiled. The man sure could kiss.

Her eyes flew open. Nothing had changed. He was still the man who

had killed the thing he called Apophis right next to her. Granted, the snake

thing had been trying to kill her but . . . She wasn’t thinking clearly, and that

scared her.

Uncertain how to extract herself with any subtlety, she simply dropped

her feet to the floor. When he didn’t step away, she gave him a small shove.

He didn’t move.

In that instant he transformed from exciting to terrifying. His shoulders

were no longer broad, but intimidating.

Palms sweaty, she pushed at his chest. “Excuse me.”

He towered over her in silence.

“I’d like to leave now.”

“No.”

That single syllable chilled the blood in her veins. “I want to leave.”

Just when she thought he’d refuse again, he took a step back. She

reached behind her for the doorknob but found her escape still blocked. His

arms bracketed her, keeping the door closed.

“Please, Hadrian. I need to go home,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “We have to talk first.”

She latched onto the possibility of freedom. “You’ll let me leave if we

talk?”

His jaw muscles clenched. “If you still wish it.” He gestured toward the

sofa. “Sit.”

Mentally throwing up her hands, she perched at the far end of the

couch. Either he was the Butcher or he wasn’t. He’d proved he could keep

her here.

Hadrian sat in his chair and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I told

you that your pursuit of the Butcher story was dangerous. Apophis and

Malphas intended to kill you.” It was a stark statement of fact. “More will

come after you until one of them is successful.” He made a searching

gesture. “If you are not protected, you will die. Soon.”

A cold sweat popped out. Although it made no sense, it rang with truth.

“Why?”

“You bring unwanted notice with your news articles. They hoped to

infiltrate the city in secret.” He glanced at the windows. “Tomorrow night at

the full moon they’ll call their Gathering. They want nothing to interfere.

Therefore, their master Appoloin sent his minions to kill you.”

“I don’t understand. A gathering . . . master . . . minions. You gotta

explain better.”

A sigh gusted out between lips that had kissed her so thoroughly a few

minutes before. “You’ve heard of demons.”

“Demons.”
Oookay
.

“You saw the night serpent, Apophis, die. He elected to change to his

demon form before attacking you.”

He seemed to expect a response. She waved for him to continue.

“Malphas on the other hand attacked me in his human form.” His gaze

remained fixed on hers, as if willing her to believe. “He was a skilled

opponent and slow to die. Thus his feathered form emerged.”

Images of the black feathers sticking out of the creature’s neck and

arms and the beaked face flashed before Miko’s eyes. “I’m not sure what you

mean.”

“My apologies. I’ve always served clandestinely. An explanation has

never been necessary.” His expression darkened. “Demons walk among

mankind in the guise of men. When they’re killed, their demon bodies

emerge. If they die quickly, they’re unable to transform to their demonic

forms. If they die slowly, they transform completely.”

Miko gulped. He spoke of killing and dying in such a matter-of-fact

way. “So Malphas died slowly and . . . transformed?”

“Only partially so. He fought bitterly to protect his
crasboethiad
.”

Latching onto the only part she understood, she said, “If he’d died even

slower, he’d have more feathers.”

“He would, in fact, appear to be a man-sized crow.”

With a hockey mask and chainsaw
. “And this cras-thingy?”

“
Crasboethiad
. In humans it would be the soul. In demons it is the seat of

their hellfire.” As if holding a knife, he skewered his hand upward. “Unless it

is quelled, the demon continues to live and can shapeshift at will.”

Demon shapeshifters. No romantic werewolves for Miko Jones. She

got snakes and scavenger birds.

Only the fact that she’d personally witnessed it prevented her from

dismissing everything he told her. She hadn’t imagined the snake-man thing.

He’d damned near bitten her, and she’d never look at a snake the same way

again.

Her mind ran a few laps before settling down. “You know all about

these demons.” She hesitated.

His eyes changed from intense to a little sad. And wistful. “Go ahead

and ask your questions, Miko. I’m no threat to you.”

She searched within for the journalist with justice in her heart. For the

niece trying to locate her uncle. Meeting Hadrian’s eyes, she asked what she

already knew. “You’re the Skid Row Butcher, aren’t you?”

How could a mere nod shoot chills down her spine?

“The victims were all demon shapeshifters?”

Another silent nod.

“How do you know which ones are demons and which are men? How

did you get the job of killing them?”

“Their
crasboethiad
emits a scent that only those who hunt demons can

smell. As for how I came to be a Hunter . . .” he rose to stare into the flames,

his eyes bleak. “I assisted in the slaughter of three innocents. For that I’m

condemned to kill one thousand demons for each innocent before my

penance is paid. Only then will I be granted eternal rest.”

“Penance.” How did she wrap her head around thousands of murders

as an atonement? “This goes way beyond a couple Our Fathers and a few

Hail Marys. How long have you been doing it?”

Bracing his hands on the mantle, he avoided her gaze and stared into

the fire. “Since the suppression of Glastonbury Abbey in the thirtieth year

of His Majesty King Henry the Eighth’s reign, the year of Our Lord 1539.”

Henry the Eighth. Tudor England. Anne Boleyn. No way.
“1539? But that

would make you almost five hundred years old.”

His head was sunk so low between his arms that she barely saw his nod.

“I’ve seen more than five hundred years pass. All whom I loved have long

ago perished.”

The pain of those losses reverberated in his voice. The pain and the

loneliness. The sorrow.

He face was set when he lifted his head. “With this Gathering I will

fulfill my penance. Sometime tomorrow night I’ll kill my final demon.”

The cat brushed through the rear door. It blinked glowing gold eyes at

her.

“Then Azrael will release me from this existence and into Heaven.”

Freaky reached a whole new time zone. “You mean the cat?”

“Azrael is my Overseer. You’d know him as the Angel of Death.”

“An angel. I actually get to see a real live angel, and it’s a cat?” Miko

studied Azrael, who lounged by the fireplace.

For the flicker of an instant a radiant being with wings replaced the cat.

Power pummeled her like class five river rapids during snow melt.

Then there was simply the cat gazing at her.

Either she should be institutionalized or . . . “Okay. An angel that’s a

cat. Got it.” After demon shapeshifters and a sexy five-hundred-year-old

demon hunter, why not the Angel of Death? “Wait a minute. Did I hear you

correctly back when you killed those two demons? Did he want you to kill

me?”

“Azrael fears my exposure and the failure of my mission. Innocents

dying at my hands condemned me to this life. I’ve vowed to shed the blood

of none but demons.”

The sharp sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath drew her

attention from the cat. The luminous dagger pulsed in his hand. “Your hair

sticks seem to resonate with the same energy as my blade.” He passed it over

them, and the Japanese inscriptions lit from within as that strange hum ran

down her spine.

Mucking about with something from her ancestress freaked her. “My

kanzashi
never acted strange before you came along.”

He consulted the cat in that creepy telepathic way. “Azrael senses they

have magick. Familiar yet not.” His eyebrows lifted. “Like you.”

He said it as if all this made sense. Demons, hunters, angels. Magickers.

She turned the
kanzashi
over and over in her hands as if they held the

answers to questions she needed to ask her uncle.

Memories of long days with Nic flew through her mind like a film on

fast forward. Nic laughing. Nic taking care of her skinned knees and broken

hearts. Nic introducing her to the serious pursuit of the martial arts. Nic

shaking his head at her flippant attitude.

Nic encouraging her to meditate, to nourish her center, to use her
ki
.

Prodding her to practice not just the physical forms but the spiritual ones as

well. Not her favorite exercises and ones she avoided whenever possible.

Times when she could have asked questions but didn’t.

Nic, did you ever try to tell me? Or were you waiting for something? For me to show

signs of magick? Was I slow or inattentive?

Was that when I was supposed to learn about the magick? Did I just not listen? Or

did you go to war before you could tell me everything?

If she found him alive—no,
when
she found him alive—she’d listen.

I promise I’ll listen.

“I’m supposedly descended from a female Samurai magicker,” she said,

finally believing it. One gray rainy day when she’d been about ten, Uncle Nic

had woven a tale of their ancestors and magick and the evil emperor who

drove them from their lands to America.

I didn’t realize I was supposed to believe
.

From the opposite end of the sofa, her cell played the CSI theme song.

“It’s Kelly, the medical examiner.” How did she explain all this to Kel?

“Don’t tell her anything I’ve revealed.”

“Don’t worry. She has the authority to have me committed.” She

answered with an attempt at breeziness. “How’s it going?”

“Something’s wrong. Very wrong. Get over here. I can’t really explain it

without you seeing it.”

“What’s wrong with what?”

“No time. Just get here.” Kelly hung up.

Miko shrugged into her coat. “I have to go to Kelly’s office.

Something’s wrong that she says I have to see.”

Leaving the fireplace, Hadrian placed his hands on her shoulders and

peered into her eyes. He nodded. “I’ll go with you. Appoloin’s demons will

be hunting.”

A shudder rippled through her.
Isn’t that just a warm fuzzy?

AS SHE PUSHED through the autopsy doors, Miko skidded to a halt. Five

bodies lay on autopsy tables in various degrees of dismemberment and

injury. She’d never seen more than one or two laid out.

Hadrian’s hand on her back kept her from retreating. Plus Kelly had

sounded weird.

The M.E. glanced up from studying something under a microscope and

frowned. “Who’s that?”

“Kelly, Hadrian. Hadrian, Kelly.” She drew him forward. “He was with