Passion Unleashed

Page 24

Josh’s voice floated somewhere above her, and dazed, she opened her eyes. “That was… oh, damn,” she sighed.
He watched her with awe and not a little cockiness in his expression. “You’re so sexy when you come. Let’s do that again.”
Though she scarcely had the energy to breathe, she managed a laugh. “As much as I’d like to—”
“Why not? Is it your head?” Now he was watching her with concern, his blue eyes bright. “Serena? Are you okay?”
“Oh. Yes. I-I’m fine.” Which was a lie, because she wasn’t fine at all. She was falling for this man, and that was definitely not fine. But she was light-headed, and she could use a nap.
“Shit. We shouldn’t have done this. You’re injured and you need to rest—”
“Shh.” She touched his face, shutting him up instantly. “You sound like a doctor.”
“A side effect of working in a hospital and having one brother who is a paramedic and another who is a doctor.”
She smiled weakly, because she was still recovering from the mind-blowing cl**ax. “Must be nice to have medical people in the family.”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t met my brothers.” He eased onto his side and stretched out against her. “Go to sleep. We’ll discuss why brothers are major pains in the asses tomorrow.”
She snuggled against him and didn’t bother hiding her yawn. “Tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow,” he said, and for some reason he sounded… sad.
Sixteen
Wraith and Serena slept until after noon. Well, Serena had slept. Wraith mainly kept guard, pacing the suite and the hotel floor. Nothing was going to get past him to Serena. Nothing.
He’d called his demoness contact to let her know he needed a cure for a Mara disease and that he’d pay any price, but hadn’t heard back yet. He also knew what she’d require for payment. His body. For days.
For the first time in his life, screwing a beautiful demon nonstop didn’t appeal to him.
He shifted his gaze to Serena, who was just finishing up a phone call with her boss.
She caught him staring at her as she hung up and made her way across the lobby. “We need to take a detour on the way to the train. Val wants me to drop off the coin with the local Aegis Regent.”
Wraith broke out in a cold sweat. What if the Aegi knew what the real Josh looked like?
“Why?”
“Because if Byzamoth is after me, the coin is also in danger, and we can’t let him get it.”
“We can’t let him get you,” he growled. “We need to get on the train and get the hell out of Aswan.”
“It’ll only take a minute. The Regent lives just a few blocks from here. And if he has a computer, I might be able to do a little probing into Byzamoth.”
Well, shit. “Fine. Let’s go.”
They walked, Wraith scanned their surroundings. He’d also loaded up on meds before they left, and as they approached the Aegis dwelling, he wondered if he should up the dosage. He was tiring out more rapidly and severely now, and he needed to be on top of his game.
Eidolon had given him a month to live, but Wraith could feel his health deteriorating, and his gut told him he had a couple of days.
A bone-deep ache had settled into every cell in his body, but even though his mind fuzzed out sometimes, it didn’t want to roll over in defeat. Which was strange, given that he’d pretty much lived his entire life nursing a death wish.
“It should be just ahead,” Serena said, studying her map.
The breeze picked up, bringing with it dust… and the scent of human blood. A lot of blood. Wraith jerked to a stop, slapped hard by a wall of evil. “Serena.”
“What is it?”
“Demons.”
Her head whipped around. “Where?”
“I don’t know. But something felt weird on Philae, and I’m getting that same vibe now. How close are we?” he asked, and she pointed to a house a dozen yards away. “Okay, let’s get out of the open, see if this passes.”
She didn’t argue. She let him take her hand and lead her to the house, but as they drew closer, the coppery odor of blood grew stronger. It was coming from inside the Regent’s place. The hair on his neck stood up, and though his mouth should be watering at the scent, it went dry.
“Serena,” he said, “I need you to stay here on the porch while I check inside.”
“But—”
“This isn’t up for debate. I have a really, really bad feeling, and my gut is always right.”
“Okay.” Her voice was firm, strong, but he picked up the sound of her heart rate doubling. “Okay. I trust you.”
He wished she’d stop saying that. “Just stay here, and yell if you need me.” He kissed her, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to do.
Cursing to himself, he tried the door. Unlocked. It swung open with a creak, and the stench of death hit him so hard he took a step back. Not just death, but misery. Blood. Bowels. His stomach lurched as he moved cautiously inside. His senses didn’t pick up the presence of others, but that didn’t mean he was alone. Many creatures didn’t have heartbeats or physical bodies. And some could conceal their life forces.
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Serena had stayed put. She had, but the way she shifted her balance and worried her bottom lip told him she wasn’t going to stay there for long.
He found the Regent in the bedroom. And the bathroom. And the kitchen.
He lost his lunch in a garbage can, and as he splashed water on his face and rinsed his mouth in the kitchen sink, he became aware of the fact that he wasn’t alone. He whirled around and found himself face to face with Byzamoth.
“Humans are so… fragile.” Byzamoth smiled and licked the blood from his fingers. “We’ll see how Serena compares. I do hope she’s intact. For both your sakes.”
Wraith smashed his fist into the male’s face. Twice. He followed with a knee to the groin and an elbow to the throat. Byzamoth didn’t have time to be surprised. He went down hard.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Wraith delivered a kick to the demon’s privates. “Oh, yeah—oof!”
Byzamoth had swung his legs out, catching Wraith in the knees. Wraith slammed into a cabinet, barely kept from hitting the floor. The demon hit him with a full-body slam, and Wraith’s skull cracked hard on the wall, putting a dent in the plaster and putting his temper into orbit.
With a roar, he rammed Byzamoth into the counter, sending glasses and dishes crashing. The guy was stronger than most, and it didn’t take long to realize that in his weakened condition, Wraith might, for the first time, not come out on top of this.
Byzamoth’s hand closed around Wraith’s throat and squeezed. A vise grip of pain tore all the way to Wraith’s spine. He fumbled behind him with one hand, seeking the knife block he’d seen on the counter. Byzamoth’s face was a mask of evil, his teeth bared, blood staining them red.
“She’s mine,” he hissed, squeezing so hard Wraith’s vision dimmed. “No more games. It’s time for you to die.”
Not yet, asshole.
Wraith closed his hand around the hilt of a knife and swung. It plunged into the male’s neck, in the soft spot between his neck and shoulder. Blood spurted, and an unholy scream issued from the hellish depths of the demon’s body. He released Wraith, but the knife didn’t slow him down. His eyes glowed crimson, and shit, his entire body began to glow. And grow. And morph.
Fuck a motherfucking fuckduck. Byzamoth wasn’t your average spawn of hell. He was a fallen f**king angel. Time to haul ass.
Wraith charged to the door, just as Serena rushed over the threshold. “What’s happening?”
“Go!” he yelled. “Now!”
She dove back through the door, and he was right on her heels. An infuriated roar followed them, so powerful Wraith felt a blast of heat scorch his back. He grabbed his bags in one hand and Serena’s wrist in the other and sprinted down the street. Ahead, a man was getting into his car. Wraith shoved the guy out of the way, took his keys, and pushed Serena into the vehicle.
The guy cursed at Wraith in Arabic as Serena scrambled into the passenger seat. Wraith ignored him, leaped into the driver’s seat, and started the car.
In the rearview mirror, he saw the angel coming after them… looking like a massive gargoyle with big f**king teeth and giant-ass wings… scratch that: only one wing. He gunned the engine and peeled out of there, driving like a madman until they reached the train station.
“What was that thing?”
“Byzamoth. He’s a f**king fallen angel.”
“Holy shit.”
“Pretty much.”
“Did it… did he… kill the Regent?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, God.” She fingered her necklace as she twisted around to peer through the rear window. “Josh?”
“What?” Wraith screeched around a corner and slammed the car into a parking space.
“Why would Byzamoth have been there?”
“Because he knew you…” Oh, shit.
“Yeah. He knew I was going to the Regent’s place.”
They locked gazes, because he knew where this was headed. Only a few people in The Aegis would have known her plans. “You weren’t booked for this train, right? So no one knows we’ll be on it?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Only Val. I was supposed to be on tomorrow’s.”
Wraith shouldered the backpacks and got out of the car, but for some reason, he didn’t feel relieved.
Reaver’s blood ran freely from his wrists as he kneeled on Mount Megiddo—Har-megiddo, as he’d always known it. His blood was not the first to be spilled here, nor would it be the last. Battles had been fought at Megiddo since ancient times, and the valley below would, someday—maybe soon—become the gathering place for armies who would engage in the ultimate battle between good and evil
Night was falling, but the sky was already dark with roiling clouds. He’d stirred up the Heavens with his presence—and his request.
He waited, his blood forming twin rivers that snaked along the hard-baked soil and around jagged chunks of stone. Spots formed in front of his eyes and nausea swirled in his stomach. If no one appeared before him, he could die, and this was not the way he wanted to go.
Any fallen angel willingly drained of his blood would know eternal torment at Satan’s side. Worse, all hope for Reaver to return to Heaven would be lost.
“You dare to petition me?” The booming voice resonated through his head, ringing painfully in his ears.
Reaver didn’t look up at the owner of the voice, the angel Gethel. He was no longer allowed to view any who still Served. Instead, he kept his gaze on the ground that grew damp with his blood.
“I deemed this to be worthy of your attention,” he answered carefully.
“I will be the judge of that.”
“Of course.” A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he wondered if she’d let him bleed out. “The Sentinel, Serena, is in danger.”
“We are aware of that.”
“What is being done?”
“We cannot interfere.”
He knew there were restrictions on how much help angels could provide until the situation crossed out of the realm of human free will and into a true crisis of good and evil. But Serena needed help.
“I could go to her—”
Lightning flashed. Thunder ripped through Reaver’s brain, shattering his eardrums. Pain screamed through his head and his wrists, as the blood that had been streaming turned to ropes that secured him to the parched earth.
“You will not go near her.”
“Something must be done!” Reaver lifted his head. He was done begging and cowering like a whipped dog.
Gethel stood before him, larger than life, terrible and beautiful as the wind whipped her gray robes and blond hair around her. “You have done more than enough for Serena, Fallen.”
The reminder of what he’d done to cause his Fall became a crushing pressure in his chest. He’d committed a crime by breaking rules and interfering in the humans’ lives, and even though he’d done it to save Serena, arguing his point with Gethel would get him nowhere. Once more, he bowed his head. He closed his eyes, but the memories played on the backs of his eyelids like a movie in high def.
There were only two ways out of the charm—suicide and sex. Patrice had been a treasure hunter, much like Serena. And in her travels and hunts, she’d found an object of major historical and religious significance.
She had found the true Spear of Destiny, the Holy Lance of Longinus, used to stab Jesus after his death. Though humans had speculated on the lance’s powers for years, the truth, that it was capable of unspeakable evil in the hands of humans who would wield it for power, was something that must be kept secret until the Final Battle.
Patrice could have made herself rich and famous beyond belief, but she understood the power of the lance, and she returned it to its resting place, to be found again by one who would use it for the side of good in a time of need.
Her sacrifice had made her the perfect choice to be caretaker of the necklace, Heofon, after its previous keeper had killed himself two hundred years into his guardianship.
Patrice had worn Heofon with pride… until Serena was on her deathbed.
At that point, Patrice had begged whoever would listen to save Serena. When her prayers went unanswered, she’d pleaded for the charm to be transferred. It was something that had never before been done—wasn’t allowed to be done.