Her Angel: Eternal Warriors Complete Series Box Set

by Heaton, Felicity

  If he went flying off to Heaven now, intent on killing everyone who stood in his way and saving Amelia from a fate he knew nothing about, he could end up destroying her real destiny. The slightest change of events could lead to something catastrophic. Heaven had a reason for what they had done and they had a reason for needing him to stay away until they called him. He would find out what they were and then he would make a decision—to follow their orders or follow his own desire.

  It was hard to bring himself to trust them when he needed to see her again and see that she was safe.

  The longer he waited for Apollyon to announce their departure, the stronger his desire to go to Heaven instead of Hell became. He needed to leave now and go down into the bowels of the underworld. Only that would stop him from surrendering to his desire to see Amelia. All would be well if he could rein in that feeling until they reached Hell. Taylor would find Veiron and Apollyon would scour the pool that recorded the events of the mortal realm, and they would use that knowledge to discover the truth about Amelia’s destiny. Armed with that knowledge, he would be able to save her without further endangering her life.

  Until then, he had to hold himself together.

  Hell was a dangerous place for an angel.

  If he went in there with his feelings in disarray, his heart would be easily swayed.

  The Devil had a strong voice.

  And Marcus had never felt so weak.

  CHAPTER 22

  Marcus kept half of his focus fixed on his silvery-blue wings as the grey asphalt road below him began to crack and open, revealing infinite darkness. Was this really the way to Hell? Apollyon hovered just metres in front of him, his hand outstretched and his eyes closed. Hot air blasted out of the crevasse, tousling his dark feathers and long black hair. It ruffled Marcus and Lukas too, sending their hair swaying. Taylor moved closer to Marcus, curled close to his breastplate in his arms. Her array of blades made her difficult to carry without cutting himself but something told him that she wouldn’t surrender them. He could feel her heart racing. She was putting on a brave face and she wasn’t the only one. Marcus couldn’t recall a time he had felt this nervous.

  Lukas held Einar, gripping him under his arms so Einar dangled below him. Taylor had laughed at the sight of her lover held so ridiculously at first but had fallen silent once Apollyon had started the ritual that opened the path to Hell.

  None of them had said a word since the first crack had appeared. Now, Marcus could see a tiny orange forked line. Either it was going to open wider, or it was a long way down into the Earth. Marcus had never been to Hell but he knew that Lukas had, and when he had asked him about it, Lukas had told him to be on his guard against the voice of the Devil. Did it really present such a temptation?

  Apollyon turned to face them. “Mind the walls on the way down. Sometimes they shift. The old git doesn’t like us going down there. I hear he has become worse since I left my post. Several angels have already been corrupted by his offers.”

  Marcus presumed he meant the Devil. Apollyon and the Devil had a special relationship. Every so many centuries, Apollyon fought the Devil in order to keep him locked away in the bottomless pit. There had been instances when the Devil had won, killing Apollyon, and had roamed the mortal realm, causing pestilence and amusing himself with destroying human lives until Apollyon was reborn and defeated him.

  It took a strong heart and even stronger belief to resist the temptation that the Devil offered to angels who entered his realm. Apollyon had withstood it for millennia. Marcus marvelled at that as the dark angel took Einar from Lukas and started his descent into Hell. Lukas had withstood it during his short visit there. If the rookie of the group could hold out against the Devil, then Marcus was sure that he could too. He could be strong for Amelia. For her sake, he would endure it all and resist the Devil’s offers, no matter what they were.

  Doubts began to creep in as he flew downwards, gliding most of the time. Taylor held on to his armour, her fingers tightly clutching his blue and silver breastplate. She whispered things to herself that sounded like protective charms. Was she afraid of the Devil too? He had thought that she would be immune to his voice. Part of her was demon. Wasn’t that protection enough from the Devil’s sway?

  He looked down at Apollyon and Einar, and then across at Lukas who flew beside him. Lukas pointed downwards and Marcus saw that the tiny orange fault line was growing into a glowing fiery streak below them. They were getting closer. The smell of sulphur tainted the air, choking him, growing denser with each metre closer he got to Hell. The temperature rose as he descended and hot air blasted against him, threatening to send him rising upwards. He beat his wings to force himself to continue downwards and adjusted his grip on Taylor as his palms started to sweat.

  “I shouldn’t have brought this jacket with me. I didn’t realise it would be so balmy,” Taylor said with false lightness in her voice and he looked at her. The fear in her eyes echoed how he felt in his heart.

  “Have you been to Hell before?” he said with concern as she rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, clearing the beads of sweat away.

  “Once or twice, but never to this place. Most of us keep away. He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

  Marcus looked down. The bright glowing light had abated to reveal a wide expanse of rough stony ground and he could see the edge of the plateau. It dropped away into a fiery pit hundreds of feet below.

  Apollyon was the first to land, setting Einar down before releasing him. He beat his black wings a few more times and then folded them against his back. The temperature increased again as Marcus passed the end of the black walls that they had been travelling past since leaving the mortal realm and entered a huge cavern. It stretched as far as the eye could see, covered in black shards of rock and belching pits of fire.

  He lowered Taylor to the uneven ground and then landed and tucked his wings back. His gaze roamed to the edge of the plateau. The bottomless pit. He could feel the demons down there and the power they commanded, stronger than most angels, and it chilled him. Lukas landed beside him and covered his mouth and nose with his hand, a frown on his face.

  “It smells far worse than I recalled.”

  Marcus could barely breathe through the acrid stench of brimstone. It burned his lungs and made his eyes water. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Apollyon had endured living here for so long.

  “It is worse near the pit.” Apollyon motioned for them to follow him towards an outcrop of rough black rock away from the edge of the plateau.

  Lukas followed him. Marcus lingered where he was, keeping Taylor company as she stared at the fiery glow of the pit. Einar joined them and placed his arm around Taylor’s shoulders.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Einar said and held her close, rubbing her back.

  Marcus could sense his unease and shared his concern. Even though Taylor was half demon, she was half mortal too, and that meant she wasn’t as strong as the beasts that lurked in Hell. And she was scared.

  “I’ll be fine, Romeo.” Her smile faltered and she ran her fingers down Einar’s chest and then looked up into his eyes. “It’s better if I go alone… if you come along, there’ll be trouble. I’ll keep my head down, check out a few of Veiron’s haunts, and get a message out to him if I can’t find his stupid arse. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Einar stroked her cheek and held her gaze. “Just be careful.”

  She nodded and leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she placed her hand over his, holding it against her face. “I will. I love you, you big oaf.”

  “Love you too.” He kissed her softly and then she stepped backwards out of his arms, her other hand lingering in his.

  Einar materialised a sword in his free hand and held it out to her. Her blue eyes widened.

  “But it’s your favourite.”

  He shrugged easily, his broad shoulders barely moving an inch, and smiled at her. “There’s a blessing
on it strong enough to make most demons think twice. Take it with you.”

  Taylor took it, swung it a few times, and then walked back to Einar, tiptoed and kissed his cheek. “It’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever given me. You’re so romantic.”

  Marcus frowned. Giving a woman a sword was romantic? It didn’t seem romantic to him. He was sure that most women would think a man was insane if they gave her a sword as a present. Then again, most women weren’t about to embark on a dangerous mission through the lower reaches of Hell in search of a demonic angel who was also their ex-lover.

  Taylor waved at them both and then headed off into the gloom.

  When she was out of sight, Einar turned back to him. “She loves it when I give her weapons.”

  “Why? I mean, she is certainly in love with her knives and guns, but what’s romantic about a sword?”

  Einar patted his shoulder. “It shows her that I love her and I care about her.”

  “Surely it is more romantic to accompany her?”

  “I get your point, but Taylor would see me going with her after she has plainly told me not to as me undermining her strength. Not romantic. Taylor’s strong and she’s right, she can handle herself and it’s safer if she goes alone. The inhabitants of this realm won’t bother her if she’s alone. If I’m with her, they’ll see her as the enemy, even though I’m technically a fallen angel.”

  Marcus could understand it when he put it like that, but he still couldn’t see Einar’s gesture as romantic. He reasoned that Einar was a hunter and so was Taylor. They were built to work alone, tracking and capturing or killing their prey. He was a guardian and it was probably that nature in him that was telling him that it was more romantic to offer to protect someone and go with them than it was to let them go alone with a blessed sword for company.

  Einar pointed in the direction that Apollyon and Lukas had gone. Marcus nodded and started to follow him, and then stopped when dark words curled up from the pit behind him, flowing around him.

  He looked back over his shoulder at the edge of the plateau and the burning void beyond it, trying not to listen to what the Devil had to say but unable to move away. Hot fingers of air drifted around him, stroking over his arms and his chest, and then his back. They crept under the back of his armour and then it felt as though they were burrowing into his skin, setting him on fire.

  The marks on his back blazed white-hot and Marcus hit the dirt, jagged rocks cutting into his bare knees. He curled forwards into a ball and clutched the sides of his head as tremendous pain ripped through him and every inch of him burned.

  He yelled out his agony and it echoed around the cavern, mocking him along with the Devil’s voice.

  Marcus screwed his eyes shut and tried to close his mind to the words drifting around him and close his heart to the pain. He couldn’t shut either out.

  His wings faltered and disappeared and the burning intensified, until it scorched his skin, dredging up memories of how his flesh had begun to peel away during his battle with Apollyon. The Devil’s voice grew louder and clearer, turning increasingly like Amelia’s, and Marcus couldn’t bear it. He dug his nails into his scalp and whimpered, his back on fire as fingers of air as hot as flames danced over his skin.

  The Devil.

  He wasn’t strong enough to endure his voice let alone his caress. It would be the end of him.

  He couldn’t take it.

  “Marcus!” Einar’s voice broke through the heavy haze of agony in his mind and he clung to it, fiercely holding on and using it to push away from the stronger voice of the Devil.

  “Leave him alone.” The command in Apollyon’s tone caused the rough ground to tremble and black words rolled out of the pit again. “Ignore him, Marcus. You are stronger than this.”

  “Can’t.” Marcus could barely breathe as fresh pain engulfed him, tearing at his shoulders, and arched backwards and screamed at the ceiling of the cavern.

  “Bastard,” Apollyon spat and growled something dark in the old language that caused the ground to shake again.

  “Marcus, listen to me,” Einar said and he tried to, wanted to focus on him and ignore the voice in his mind, but he couldn’t. Whenever he came close to shutting it out, it came again, stronger and even more like Amelia.

  He yelled when his wings burst free, ripping out of his back so fast that it caused him more pain and tore his armour away. He breathed hard, battling the hurt and the Devil’s tempting words, struggling to overcome both.

  Amelia’s voice whispered in his mind and he couldn’t block it out.

  Nasty little curse.

  Marcus sucked in sharp gulps of acrid air and swallowed them down, fighting the pain. If he could lock that down he would be able to move all of his focus to shunning the Devil.

  Not like them to take things this far.

  He stopped breathing and stilled when the pain began to subside. It wasn’t his doing. Not like who to take things this far?

  His focus shifted to the pit and he stared at it with blurry eyes, able to sense the Devil watching him but unable to see his form. Hot fingers of wind curled around his feathers and he lost focus, hazy with the feel of them touching him. Einar spoke to him, his voice so distant in Marcus’s ears that he didn’t hear what he said.

  Amelia’s voice came to him again.

  Inhibiting their own.

  Marcus’s eyes widened. He wouldn’t believe it. The Devil was lying to him, using his doubts to sway him over to his side. It wasn’t true.

  Not true?

  You do not remember?

  The world in front of him faded into darkness and another replaced it, growing piece by piece from the ground upwards until the interior of a dimly lit wooden building surrounded him. People dressed in dirty meagre clothing bustled around him, crowding low wooden tables and filling the room with loud laughter and rowdy conversation. The scent of faeces and alcohol assaulted his senses. Mead. Marcus stared down at the flagon in his hand and couldn’t stop himself from lifting it to his lips.

  He laughed with the men around him, his fellow warriors, thrilled by what they were doing and the stories of battles they shared.

  The memories came flooding back. He had drunk with his kin, breaking the law and seizing a moment of freedom that he had paid dearly for. They had all broken the rules that night and had drunk until they were unable to walk as far as their lodgings and had ended up spending the night in a nearby barn.

  Only now that he was watching the moment all over again, he realised that the events of that night were different to how he had remembered it, and it wasn’t a lie fabricated by the Devil to sway him. He recalled it clearly now. He could recollect everything that had happened and his suspicions that his fellow angels had been deceiving him. They had only pretended to drink. At the time, he had convinced himself that they had no reason to deceive him when it had been their idea to bend the rules and indulge in something wicked for once in their lives.

  The vision in front of Marcus unravelled and Hell came back, and he curled up on the black basalt. The sharp edges of the rocks beneath him scraped at his sides but he didn’t care. His brethren had deceived him. Why?

  Amelia’s voice came to him again, light and beautiful in his mind.

  Because they did this to you.

  No. He wouldn’t believe that. He didn’t want to, not even as he remembered coming around in the barn in the dead of night and discovering them doing something to his back. At the time, they had told him that they were up because they had heard something and had come to check on him. He had been in pain.

  Marcus’s shoulder blades burned again and his wings disappeared. The marks there heated up until he couldn’t take the fiery inferno and screamed. The ground trembled and the pain faded again, and so did the voice in his mind. He felt the Devil’s grip on him slip and opened his eyes.

  Apollyon stood with his back to him at the edge of the plateau, his black wings spread and his curved golden blades in his hands. Dark words rolled
off his tongue, shaking the ground, and the Devil cursed back at him. Apollyon was drawing his attention, giving Marcus a chance to regain control of himself and find the strength to shut out the Devil’s voice.

  He was weak from the pain, numb down to his core from the knowledge of what his kind had done to him, but he wouldn’t submit to the Devil. He pushed himself onto his knees and then strong hands gripped his arms and helped him onto his feet. He stumbled with them away from the edge of the pit, leaving Apollyon there to taunt the Devil, and again wishing that he was as strong as his friend.

  Einar and Lukas guided him around the corner of the outcrop of rocks and then set him against it. Marcus leaned there, breathing hard and not caring that the air was like acid. He needed to breathe and focus on it and steadying his heart in order to find the strength to ignore the Devil.

  His heartbeat began to level out and the pain ebbed away, leaving him trembling.

  “What happened?” Apollyon said and Marcus opened his eyes and looked across at him. He stood on the other side of Lukas, closer to the pit than the rest of them, his expression as black as the curses he had hurled at the Devil.

  Marcus reached over his shoulder and touched his bare back, feeling the lingering heat on his skin.

  “Cursed,” he spat the word out and anger rolled through him, stronger than anything he had ever felt before.

  The ground trembled beneath his feet and he pushed away from the rocks and walked past Apollyon, wearily dragging his feet. He stared at the bright fire of the pit and felt the Devil watching him still, although he made no attempt to speak to Marcus this time. Was he satisfied with his work? He had driven Marcus beyond despair into something wholly darker and more dangerous.