Rebel (9 page)

“Tell me something new,” I shot back. “Both Allie and Tory live today because they drank from their husbands.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And now all of the Fallen share blood with their spouses?”

“Of course not. Both those cases were emergencies. They were dying. It’s forbidden, for good reason. The potential for harm is enormous.”

“The potential for everything is enormous,” he murmured, “if you don’t let rules and traditions shackle you.”

I rolled my eyes at that. “Go away,” I said, sounding bored. “Just go away and bother someone else.”

“But it’s you I’m interested in bothering.” His voice was low, seductive, and it was a good thing I was immune to it. Completely untouched by it. And denial was more than a river in Egypt.

I stared at him for a long, considering moment.
Would it be so terrible? What would happen if I called his bluff? Would he laugh and say he was only kidding?

Or would he take me to bed and put all that sexual promise into delicious action? He wouldn’t take my blood—that was an empty threat. He and I both knew I was only a temporary distraction, and if he tried to drink from me it would kill him. I was forever safe from that kind of intimacy.

Yet here he was, threatening me with a world of sensuality I had never experienced. Thomas had been a tender and careful lover, just what I had needed. Danger held no interest for me. Unless I left Sheol, I would not take another lover, and I had no intention of leaving.

“No,” I said. No to all the dangerous, seductive things he offered.

“Perhaps I’ll have to . . .” He was moving toward me, and I held my ground, trembling slightly, waiting to see what would happen next, when he stopped. I heard it then too, the noise from the room behind us. His room, not mine.

“We’ll continue this game later,” he said, turning away and dismissing me. He was gone, the French doors to his rooms closed tightly behind him, and a moment later his curtains were drawn, so that I had no opportunity of seeing who was visiting him so unexpectedly.

A woman. There was no other reason to be so secretive. Which meant if I stayed in my room, I’d have to listen to bumps and knocks and moans and sighs.

I paused only long enough to scrub the dirt from my hands and face and to throw on fresh clothes. Before I left, I stared at the adjoining wall.

And then I gave in to one moment of sheer pettiness.

I slammed my door when I left.

M
ETATRON GAVE
C
AIN A DIS
-approving glower. Any other man would have grinned at him, Cain thought, sharing amusement over Martha’s huff. But Metatron had no sense of humor.

“Can’t you leave the women alone?”

Cain smiled lazily. “Why should I want to?”

“And why are you bothering with her? There are prettier women here. She doesn’t seem your type at all.”

Cain felt an unexpected trace of annoyance at Metatron’s condescending tone. “What would you know of my type? We’ve been enemies for countless millennia.”

Metatron shrugged his massive shoulders. “The seer’s a mouse and you’re a panther. You need bigger prey.”

Cain hooted with laughter. “I never thought you
were so fanciful. What does that make you, a mastodon?”

As usual, Metatron didn’t even crack a smile. “I’m the man who’s helping you bring down the Fallen.”

Cain considered him. “So you are. In which case, why are you worried about whether I’m going after a mouse, a juicy rabbit, or a fox? As long as we get the job done, that’s all that counts. Unless you had your eye on Martha yourself.”

Metatron made a dismissive sound, annoying Cain further. “I have no need for such diversions. Clearly you do.”

“Clearly I do,” Cain agreed amiably. “So why don’t you keep your nose out of my business, and we’ll concentrate on what we do have in common.”

Metatron nodded, too humorless to be offended. “Have we decided whom we take down first? The archangel Michael is the obvious choice—if he is not leading them, the Fallen will have a hard time defeating the Armies of Heaven. He is also the most difficult to wound. Uriel already tried to kill him, and Michael is hypervigilant. Now he has the goddess of war at his side to further complicate matters. He is close to untouchable right now. If we get rid of him, we’ll be in a better position.”

“Not Michael. Raziel is so wrapped up in his pregnant wife that he’ll be easy enough to distract, so we can rule him out as well. He’d be child’s play.”

“You think so?” Metatron said doubtfully.

Cain ignored him. “Azazel is our target. He may no longer be the Alpha, but he holds tremendous power and influence.” He kept his voice light. It wouldn’t do for Metatron to know how deep his hatred lay—it was a weakness he couldn’t afford to share.

“Not to mention that he was in charge of the angels when your woman and her unborn child were executed, and he did nothing,” Metatron said, cutting to the heart of the matter. “Though you may have forgotten about that.”

“No,” Cain said. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“I believe his wife still has powers. She won’t admit to them, but if it weren’t for her I would have killed Azazel in combat. I don’t trust her.”

Cain laughed. “Don’t trust the Lilith? Imagine that. Do you trust any woman, Metatron?” He looked out over the sprawling, passionate garden, giving the big man only half his attention.

“No. I don’t like women.”

Cain pulled his gaze back, amused. “You prefer men? And Uriel countenanced that? You astonish me.”

Metatron’s solid jaw tightened. “It pleases you to mock me. I have no need for sexual congress. It is a distraction, a weakness, and it doesn’t interest me. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t started everything by lusting after the human
woman. And now you probably cannot even remember her name or what she looked like.”

He let the silence between them grow. “Tamarr,” he said finally. “Her name was Tamarr.”

But Metatron was paying no attention. “You cannot jeopardize our plans just to get between the legs of Thomas’s widow. You came back to help me destroy the Fallen from within and bring them back to Uriel. I knew when I sought you out I was taking a chance on whom you’d hate more—the Fallen or the archangel Uriel—but in the end, you chose wisely. Uriel was only doing his duty. You trusted the other angels to side with you, and yet they watched your woman burn and did nothing. And then, once you’d been driven out, they turned around and committed the same foul crime.”

“Sleeping with a woman is hardly a foul crime.”

“It was forbidden!” Metatron’s voice rose, and Cain would have silenced him had Martha not been out of earshot. “And yet not one of you has learned. Your lustful natures still drive you, all of you! If they did not, you would leave the seer alone and concentrate on what is important.”

“Ancient history,” Cain said in a deceptively light tone. “So I find the seer a delectable challenge. What makes you think it’s lust and not love? Even you must recognize the bond between Raziel and his mate. Between Azazel and Rachel.”

“And you are in love with someone like Martha?”

Again he felt that surge of annoyance, and it startled him. Why should he feel protective of his chosen prey? “Hardly,” he drawled. “I don’t believe in the whole sacred-bond thing that seems to drive the Fallen. But I’ll allow that it’s more than lust that drives them. At least I remember that much from when I fell.”

Metatron glowered at him. “It matters not why the Fallen do what they do. It only matters that you are not distracted from our prime directive. We must weaken and destroy the Fallen from within, so that when Uriel comes, resistance will be futile.”

Cain cocked his head. “You’re starting to sound like a space opera.”

Confusion wiped out the malice on Metatron’s heavy features. “What is a space opera?”

He didn’t bother answering him. “Why have you never gone out into the world of mankind? Watched television, gone to the movies, gotten drunk, gotten laid?”

“Weaknesses,” Metatron said, dismissing life itself. “Why are you bothering with the seer? She means nothing to you, I know that. You cannot resist trying to annoy me, and I expect she is simply a tool.”

“That’s exactly what she is, Metatron, old friend,” he said, letting just a trace of malice through. “She’s a means to an end. If I can feed her visions, we can
convince the Fallen they’re safe, making them more vulnerable to Uriel’s attack. The fact that I find her . . . pleasing is simply icing on the cake.”

Metatron looked confused at his reference. “But—”

“I’ve given this some thought, and you must admit, thinking is more my strength than yours.” Cain glanced at him for a moment, and gave in to temptation. “Look at it this way: you’re Pinky and I’m the Brain.”

Once more Metatron looked lost. “Pinky?” he echoed, horrified. “What kind of name is Pinky for a warrior?”

Cain schooled his face into an expression of solemnity. “It was probably shortened from something else. Just be assured I have this all well in hand. To be successful, one must be flexible, and my original plans have changed. Easier and quicker to start with the seer and work that way.”

“You’re overlooking one problem. The seer’s prophecies are so erratic they can be an example of what won’t happen, rather than a reliable warning.”

“I’ve taken that into account.”

Metatron gave a grudging nod. “Good.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” Cain purred.

“I did not say I approved,” Metatron snapped. “Killing them off one by one would be faster.”

Cain sighed. “If any of them die, I’ll be the first
one they suspect. As they said in
The Wizard of Oz,
these things must be handled delicately.”

“Who is the wizard of Oz? Can he help us?”

Cain didn’t roll his eyes. He had an abiding affection for movies, television, rock and roll, all the glories of modern life. It was typical of Metatron that he would refuse even to taste such treasures. “No, Metatron, we’re on our own. At least until we can assure Uriel that it’s safe to lead his armies into battle. And to do that, we need to destroy the Fallen from within, which is what I’m doing.”

Metatron glared at him. “And what do you expect me to do while we’re waiting for you to accomplish your little plan? Sit quietly?”

“Do what you always do, Metatron. Train, keep an eye on Michael and his wife, and watch the others, watch the Lilith. Report to me if something happens.”

Metatron didn’t look pleased. “I have some ideas of my own.”

“Do they involve killing anyone?”

“No.”

Cain considered him for a moment, then nodded. “Just be discreet. If they toss you out of Sheol, it will take me that much longer to get the job done.”

Metatron shook his head. “No one will suspect me.” He turned to go. He never sat when he checked in with Cain, and Cain had stopped offering him a
seat. Absently he wondered whether Metatron even bent at the waist.

“Then go ahead.”

“I intend to,” Metatron said. He closed the door silently behind him.

H
E TRULY DESPISED
Cain, Metatron thought. He hadn’t been around him for millennia, not since Cain had been one of the chosen, the angels who sat on the right hand of the Supreme Power. Even back then, Cain had been annoying. Now that they were working together to bring down the Fallen, he was even worse. Back then Cain had been irrepressible, filled with obnoxious charm that everyone else found delightful.

He preferred the new, cynical, manipulative Cain, but he could have done without either. Unfortunately, Metatron needed help if he was going to defeat the Fallen and earn his way back into Uriel’s good graces, and he’d turned to the only original fallen angel living outside the safety of Sheol. It hadn’t taken long to find him, once he’d figured out where to look. The largest remaining pack of Nephilim was on the vast subcontinent of Australia, and that was where Cain would be. Hunting. Because the Cain he had known, the charming, sweet seducer, had become a most efficient killer.

Metatron wasn’t quite certain how things had shifted. How Cain, whom he’d recruited as his coconspirator, had ended up in charge. But then, that was part of Cain’s gift. Cain knew how to manipulate people to get what he wanted—and he’d manipulated the hell out of him.

At least Metatron could now concentrate on what he did best and leave the scheming up to that devious bastard. He had promised he wouldn’t kill anyone, and Cain’s reasons made sense. If he killed someone, there’d be an investigation.

But what grew in the womb of the Source wasn’t someone. Wasn’t a human being, at least not for his purposes. Who knew what grew inside the Source? This would be simply a means to an end. Nothing would demoralize the entire community more, and he was surprised Cain hadn’t thought of it. Cain, the trickster, the liar, the charmer, hadn’t even noticed the most obvious form of attack.

Of course Metatron hadn’t mentioned it. Cain would either come up with some ridiculous reason to leave the spawn of the Source in place, or he’d take over and do it himself, depriving Metatron of the victory.

No, he would take care of it on his own, and present Cain with the ensuing chaos that would result from it. And then they could decide who was . . . Pinky? He shuddered at the name. And who was the Brain.

T
HE BEST PLACE FOR ME TO BE
was with Allie, and I headed up to her apartment at the very top of the main house, secure in the fact that Cain was otherwise occupied. The Source and I shared a mostly unspoken bond. Her childhood had been unpleasant, though she didn’t say much about it. I kept my own past locked tight inside, afraid to let it out into the sunlight, but somehow I’d said enough to tell her that my mother had been a horror of her own, and it was something we’d bonded over.

Tory was sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, the most appalling mess of yarn in her hands.

“Are you knitting or playing cat’s cradle?” I asked with a singular lack of tact.

Tory stuck out her tongue at me. “It’s not like you’re any better. I needed something to do with my hands. I’m nervous.”