The Bastard (37 page)

Michael was just as she remembered; beautiful, powerful, arrogant. Not one strand of thick toffee-brown hair had grown, not one inch of height had been lost, not one ounce of muscle had wasted. He wore the traditional robes of Heaven, the flowing fabric skimming his body as her hands once had. The loose neckline exposed his shoulders, marbled with strength and rippling with power. Creamy vanilla silk wings folded at rest hugged his frame, yet their length trailed the ground. When full-spread, the magnificence of his flight took her breath even in memory.

His kaleidoscope eyes caressed her from toe to chin. Deliberately, to antagonize him, she’d dressed to entice, from the tips of her stiletto boots to her bared shoulders. Her short skirt left the tops of her thighs exposed and her tall boots hugged her calves. His gaze lingered on her bust line, the lifted swells nearly spilling over the laced bustier. Longing flared before he shoved it down and anger took its place.

“Welcome home, Josiel.”

His voice still sent a shiver to her bones, but she refused to let him to see that. Murmurs rose to her left but he silenced them with one glance. She allowed her lips to tilt a fraction, knowing he hated the mischievous spark that smile lent to her eyes. “It’s been a long time, Mikey.”

His forearms bunched as he fisted his hands. “What do you want?”

She added an extra wiggle to her hips as she strolled into his hall. She met the gaze of every Righteous with a playful grin that hid her scrutiny. His warriors were splendid but no more so than her own. Their number was simply greater. Men of powerful bodies and women of athletic grace looked on with avid curiosity, a few with open resentment. One made her slow.

One man gazed at her as if he knew everything about her and a curious quiver bloomed in her belly. She made a mental note to learn who he was and continued her perusal.

In feigned impish delight, she perched on the edge of Michael’s throne. Her boots caught the shimmer of candle light as she crossed her legs. “I need to know the resting place of the last Scionim from the
Eyts Vangelus
.”

Fury flashed in Michael’s eyes. “Why?”

“She has fallen into Samael’s hands.”

“Your mutts failed again.”

Despite her best intentions, her boot slammed against the marble in fury. She thrust out of the chair. “You, in all creation, dare to speak to me about wild dogs? How many Irin bastards did you sire? Tell me, do they call you Father or Daddy?”

Shock rippled through those assembled. Sexual urges were a human trait and most never suspected the Leader of the Vangelus had succumbed to such primal pleasures. But Michael was Heaven’s Champion. He’d breached the realms time and time again as a messenger, a savior, a visible face of the Creator. Sex and he were no strangers.

A dark vein throbbed under his ear. “That was a mistake. I never meant for —”

“But it was your choice. Free will is a bitch, ain’t it?” She tossed her hair.

The movement drew her gaze to the side and the man who stared. She met and held his look. Power glimmered deep in chocolate eyes with golden flecks. His slight bow spoke of respect and admiration.

Michael’s jaw bunched. Thwarted fury shimmered around him, stirring his robe until it fluttered in the unfelt breeze. A false smile split his lips even as his eyes crackled with fire. Practiced ease lowered him to his throne and he looked at her with lazy speculation that concealed a promised consequence.

“What will you do for me?”

Defenses rose like bricks, insulating her from his wrath. She’d anticipated that he’d demand payment and, oh yes, she knew what he wanted. Rolling her hips, she walked until she stood inches before him and let her laugh peal with cold disdain. “Please, I wouldn’t warm your bed again if the Creator himself asked.”

He leaned forward, huge hands braced on the arms of his throne, his hot breath fanning the hair along her cheek. “You’ll fuck those bastards you ripped from soul-sleep but can’t stoop to lie with your equals?”

“I have no equal,” she whispered.

For all his power and glory, Michael couldn’t conceive of a selfless love for humans that didn’t lead to sex. She angled forward, brushing the hair along the top of his ear with her lips.

“Careful, Mikey. You wouldn’t want to unleash that unholy temper in view of your Righteous. Bad manners.”

His nostrils flared and white lined his mouth, but a casual wave of his hand stripped her of her leather. She felt the cool brush of silk along her shoulders and the light slide of cloth along her thighs but didn’t react. Let him dress her in Heaven’s garb. She’d missed feeling the flex of her wings.

“In my Hall, you dress as I choose.”

“Next time, I’ll make sure to wear a g-string and pasties. Get me the resting place.”

A tic jumped next to his left eye. Reclining into a slouch, his thighs spread wide. “You took my warrior. In a time when every fighter is precious, your anger cost me. And now you want something more? Suck me to get it, Josiel, like the whore you’ve become.”

Sela swallowed revulsion. She knew dusting Galahad was going to come back and bite her in the ass. But Michael made it personal. Her very core vibrated with the urge to send lightning spiking toward him but she couldn’t. As much as it infuriated her, she needed him. Her men were everything to her, and she would do anything to aid them.

Dropping her gaze to his feet, she had to force her knees to bend. His arrogant snigger wafted over her head as her hands peeled his robe up, exposing muscular thighs corded with strength. One thumb brushed her cheek, a tender gesture that mocked everything they’d once shared. Conscious of every Righteous’ focus pinned to her back, she cradled his balls, took a deep breath and lowered her head.

She wrenched her wrist with all her might. Michael screamed a high-pitched yelp before shoving her away. Her feet came under her and she whipped around, striding for the arched doors. “I’d rather lick Samael’s nuts than blow you. Thanks for nothing, Mikey. I’ll get the resting place myself.”

Not a single Righteous spoke as she crossed the Hall. Gooseflesh danced up her spine and she knew the man with the dark eyes watched her. There would be time enough to discover who he was. For now, she had to face monsters of epic brutality.

A flash of blue caught his attention and Samael looked up, over the heads of his main banking staff. Galina, in conservative business attire and her dark hair coiled into a sleek chignon, connected her gaze with his. He never broke his conversation flow, introducing his replacement.

Ashmedai stood with his hands casually tucked into designer suit pockets, his long sable hair tied back in a confining ponytail. Intelligence and debonair wit oozed from his grin. Sam loved seeing those sharp teeth tear into flesh and rip until blood dripped. The humans on his staff called Ash a shark. Little did they know how close that comparison was.

He stood, tapping a few misaligned papers into a neat stack. “Mr. Demarco will be assuming full authority within the month. I expect this to be a profitable and smooth transition with little visible change. However, if you have any questions, please feel free to contact me. Good day, gentlemen.”

The staff filed out amidst nervous twitters about possible office shifting and other replacements but Sam ignored them. Without a word, he strolled from the conference room to his office suite, Ash and Galina behind him.

He headed straight to the bar. Ice tinkled and aged scotch splashed in a glass as he waited for the door to click shut and the sound of the lock to engage. A pity the alcohol didn’t have the same effect for him as it did for humans, but he did like the sharp smoky flavor. The leather captain’s chair didn’t dare creak as he sat behind his desk.

Ash headed for the bar without asking, helping himself to a drink. Sam sent him a censuring look that had Ash pausing before lifting the glass. Their eons of friendship and this new position didn’t grant him any new freedoms.

Sam was in the mood to be magnanimous. “Go ahead.”

His second in command nodded in thanks then drained two fingers of scotch. He didn’t reach for another, which was good. Sam’s generosity only lasted so long. Galina had almost exhausted it. She overestimated the allure of her ass.

“Do you have some news for me, Minion?”

A satisfied look endued her movements with a sensual glide. She handed him a manila folder, bowing her head in deference. He took the file and flipped it open. A flattened leather soul-bag slithered to his desktop.

Galina knelt at his side. “Lacy Cooper, for you, my eternal master.”

Something close to gratitude swelled inside him as he palmed the supple bag. “You have done well, my Minion.”

“How’d you get past the Forsaken?” Ash settled his long frame into the leather couch.

“The Viking fancied her. I waited until his mind was consumed with her and his guard fell.”

“Patience is a virtue,” Sam chuckled. He’d been so patient, waiting, planning, lining up events to bring the greatest reward. Now the most crucial pawn in his game belonged to him.

Ash leaned forward in anticipation. “Master, shall I begin? Or would you prefer I call Ramiel?”

All of his Chiefs were masters at persuasion and persecution, but none were as skilled as he was. Lacy deserved a special touch, delivered personally. He didn’t have much time to break her. Her Immunity was growing still.

“No, Ash. This one is mine. I’ll take care of her myself.”

Ash and Galina left at his wordless dismissal and Sam carried his glass to the wall safe, letting the smooth scotch roll over his tongue. The crystal box waiting inside wasn’t valuable when compared to the stocks, bonds, stacks of bills and rare coins surrounding it, but it was one of his most prized possessions. It was the only one he’d ever fashioned in blood red.

The cut glass was cool beneath his fingers as he lifted it and brought it to his desk. His Scionim deserved the most reverent resting place while he twisted her mind and crushed her spirit. He laid the lid aside and tipped the bag, watching the pale gray dust flow into the sparkling depths.

Anticipation hummed through his bones. He’d have preferred her alive but had known that was unlikely once the Forsaken interfered. Still, if he couldn’t have her body to play with, he’d have to make do with her soul.

Along the back of his neck, tiny hairs stood and twitched. Sam gritted his teeth in annoyance. “I’m alone so stop the Invisible Man shit.”

The Vangeli that appeared in front of his desk locked swirling eyes on the ruby box. Reaching out to this particular Vangeli had been pure brilliance, but it came with its own set of headaches, mainly that Sam had to pretend not to want to rip his head off and shit down his neck.

He wouldn’t be surprised if this traitor tried to double-cross him, to steal Lacy’s soul from his hands. He narrowed his eyes, searching for duplicity. Nothing there but pure devotion. He honestly thought Samael was striving to ‘come home’ to Paradise.

He was, but as its conqueror and ruler, not some lowly Vangeli bowing to a Creator. The welcoming grin he affixed to his mouth curdled his belly.

“I owe you a debt, do I not?”

The Vangeli angled his head. “There is no debt. For far too long, we have tried to achieve peace and failed. Perhaps this way, your way, will finally bring it to pass. It was my joy to inform your Minion where the Viking Forsaken sailed.”

“It won’t be long now until the final battle for Paradise begins.”

A timid tongue licked over the Vangeli’s lip. “Once your power is recognized, you’ll call a truce.”

Sardonic laughter tickled Sam’s tongue but he held it tight, instead bestowing a benevolent smile. “When He grants me my rightful place, there will be peace.”

“Then all Heaven will be reunited as one.”

Such a naïve bastard
. But he was useful, had gotten the last twelve scion souls Sam had needed from the Sacred Wall. It was best to string him along a while yet in case there were other tasks Sam needed accomplished. Lacy’s precious soul was his final weapon. As soon as she was under his power, this ignorant betraying asshole was the first one he was going to crush.

“Of course. It has been too long.”

A relieved and wondrous look enlivened the Vangeli’s beautiful face. He reached out in barely contained joy, gripped Sam’s hand and squeezed. It took everything in his being to not crush the hand he squeezed in return.

You annoying, peckerless weakling. You will kneel with all the others in worship to me. I will see the mighty Seven torn asunder and begging for relief while all Heaven chants my name
. Cool red glass smoothed under his caress.
Let the games begin
.

Chapter Twenty

Lacy became aware of the blackness in slow degrees. Her consciousness stretched, struggling to recall where she was. Erik had just left to get some food when the woman from the festival appeared on the boat deck. Lacy had screamed but there had been no place to hide, nowhere to run. Erik had to have several weapons around, he always did, but she didn’t know where to look.

Long, claw-like fingers had grabbed her hair, holding her immobile as the knife plunged into her chest. The woman twisted, grinding the cold steel deeper into her body. Lacy expected pain but there wasn’t any. Just a warm wetness coating her front. Her ears rang with the whales’ mournful song as her lungs filled with the briny tang of ocean spray and the thick copper of blood.

“Shh, sleep. I’ve got you.” The woman crooned.

There was one last weak beat of her heart then nothing but black.

Loss hit hard and a sob burned in her throat. Erik had said she’d be safe in fourteen days, but she was dead. Now what would happen? Would she ever see Erik again? Would she have the chance to hold him one more time at...what did Sela call it, the End of Days? What about Annie? Would she be able to watch out for her from above? Was she above? Where was she?

In the black distance, a bright white light grew. A figure in the center walked toward her. Lacy strained to see, to make out who it was. Why was she conscious to what was happening? Sela said there was no awareness in Soul-sleep until the End of Days. How long had she been unaware? Was this the end of time?