“Princess!” Thorne launched toward his wife.
Pleased, Savard staggered to his feet, enjoying the pain Thorne inflicted on him. Enjoying because Luciana witnessed his bravery.
Arm outstretched, he turned his hand palm up. “Come to me, my love.”
The oracle’s delicious body unfolded from sitting on the ground, like the petals of a flower released from a tight bud. He’d enjoy making love to his wife while she inhabited that shape. They’d never consummated in human form, and the mere thought of anchoring her beneath him charged his arousal.
She stood and the simple clothes turned into a flowing toga of blood red no longer than mid-thigh. Her full lips, once pale, colored to match her dress. The sneakers turned into high, black boots, laced intricately from the ankle to the knee.
Sexy as all hell yet regal.
A thread of apprehension needled at his insides and thwarted his desire.
For good reason.
She extended both her arms toward him and then sneered. “Know this, husband. I obey no master.” In a snap, she balled her hands into fists and raised them high.
His body jolted up, toes skimming the ground. A tightness gripped his chest, so steadfast he thought his heart would explode from the pressure. He struggled to inhale while his pulse hammered.
Wind whipped his cheeks raw, and he felt the tips of his shoes dragged over the cobbled road.
All at once, the tension suspending his body disappeared, and he dropped to his feet. By some miracle, he didn’t fall, only teetered until he regained his balance.
He raised his sights, and the oracle’s face filled his vision.
“But you’d be wise to obey me.”
Savard nodded, but his inner confidence didn’t fail. She’d returned to control because he’d called her out, not from her own will. Her true face had yet to overlay the oracle’s fine features. Her magic tricks could impress, but power rested with the one who possessed the strongest desire.
And his desire burned hotter than ever. “Tell me what you wish, my wife and I will do it.”
Her luscious lips curved into a grin, but the brown eyes of the oracle contained licks of blue flame at the center.
“Get me the ring and the blood required to purify its power. If you succeed,” she leaned close and spoke in his ear, “we can break in my new body together. The flesh is so tender, so sensitive, her pain will be exquisite.”
He sucked in a quick breath and closed his eyes, imagining the hours consumed in passion. But she’d withhold if he didn’t come through.
“Of course. I’ll procure a lamb from the zoo. It will take time, but—”
“Don’t be coy, Emil.”
A handgun appeared in his grip, the dull, black metal heavy, large and menacing.
“You know what I want.” She batted her lashes. “Say it. Say it so I know you understand.”
To his surprise, the heat of unease swept through his body, and he yawed back. He expected to mete out vicious punishments once they ruled, but had not anticipated his first kill so soon. Or human flesh not yet damned.
His forced swallow sounded loud in his own ears, but the tight wad in his throat went down.
“Cowboy blood.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lungs shredded from panting, Zane stumbled the last ten yards until he crossed over the threshold of the Paris Gate. The early morning sunshine hit him like a fist planting on the bridge of his nose. Exhausted, he couldn’t even muster a decent groan. He squinted and drew a hand to his forehead as a visor to protect his burning eyes.
The verdant gardens blurred into a mass of lush vegetation. The fresh air smelled especially sweet, even tinged with exhaust. He filled his aching chest to capacity and held it, waiting for his heart to slow.
Through hazy vision, he watched two shadows ease off the bench that faced the portal. One he’d recognize anywhere no matter what.
Boone swaggered forward, his familiar gait as individual as his fingerprints. He’d slung the nylon duffel loaded with the prototype weapons over his shoulder.
“Damn it, Zane. You pushed too hard. Not smart. My watch says you didn’t pace yourself, and your ugly mug says you used up all your reserves.” His brother twisted the cap on a wide-mouthed plastic bottle, and the seal popped.
“Not all,” he said, which was true, but barely. His personal well of get-up-and-go ran deep, but he’d tapped into that extra energy to make better time.
“Right. Have some Boost Juice.” Boone passed him the bottle. “Then another. Can’t have you passing out on us.”
“One will do.” Grateful, Zane chugged the frigid liquid down in one long gulp. Though heavy on the sugar and citrus flavoring, the restorative ingredients zapped his system instantly. His sights cleared.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up straighter. “Thanks. I needed that, but I’ve got to run.” He handed the empty to his brother and jerked on the duffel’s strap.
“No way, José.” Boone yanked the bag by the shorter handles and backed up, his feet skidding in the gravel path. “You’re damn near shot. You’re not leaving until you rest and drink a few more of these.” From a side pocket in the duffel, he produced another bottle and chucked it at Zane.
He caught the bottle in his free hand. Though desperate to save Delphine, the exhausted part of him agreed with his brother. At least as far as consuming more electrolytes. He cracked the seal and formed his lips around the bottle’s mouth to chug.
“And you’re not going alone, either.”
Zane sputtered, sticky liquid dripping down his neck onto his shirt. “Look. I appreciate all you’ve done.” He wiped his wet neck with his hand. “Meeting me here with the guns. Supplying the Boost Juice. But don’t go all brotherly on me. You’ll slow me down, and I need—”
“Whoa, asshole.” Boone jammed a finger up into Zane’s face. “I’m not talking to you as your brother. I’m talking to you as your partner. You’re highly decorated, badass partner. Have you forgotten I’ve set the record for fastest runs three years in a row?”
“You don’t let me.”
“How about how I earned a commendation for leading a pack of twenty horned demons into the border creek where they all disintegrated. Saved your ass on that one. You need me out there.” He redirected his index finger to point at the portal behind Zane. “I’m going.”
“And so. Am I.”
At the sound of Maurice Vipond’s authoritative voice, Zane bristled. In the time it took Boone to spout off, he’d forgotten two waited for him on the bench. He turned his head toward the French boss and narrowed his gaze.
“I know why you want to go.” His voice carried all the accusation he held in his heart.
“Gabrielle told you.”
“No. She refused to disclose your identity. But after she explained the how and why she’d entered the Gate alone, the partner blackmailing you for years on end, the crappy way we’ve been treated since we got here, it didn’t take much to figure out you were the coward that deserted a pregnant woman.”
“Come. On.” Boone rolled his eyes. “He told me everything while we waited. You can’t lay a guilt trip on him for leaving her. He didn’t know, and she left him. It’s not like he can undo the past.”
“I wish I could turn back time, Mr. Gideon.” Vipond stared at him with moist brown eyes. “None of us would be in this situation. Least of all my daughter. But since I can’t, I’ll be part of the rescue team.”
“Look, Chancellor—”
“I’m still an active Soul Saver and in extremely good shape. My last mission was right before the First Ring closed. From what I understand, Luciana is chasing you. Even with Mr. and Mrs. Thorne slowing her down, she won’t be long catching up.”
Zane opened his mouth, but Vipond cut him off.
“And for now, I’m still in charge, Mr. Gideon.”
Zane knew what for now meant. By tomorrow, Vipond’s rank would be stripped and his reputation destroy
ed.
“My daughter’s life matters to me. And so does Gabrielle’s. I owe them everything.”
Despite his past weaknesses, Vipond’s honor ran deep.
“Fine,” Zane agreed, feeling a twinge of regret for blowing off on the boss.
“Sit, Mr. Gideon. You need—”
“If I sit, I won’t be able to get up.” He hated admitting being less than superhero strong, but lying, even to yourself, armed the demons. Still, he needed to replenish quickly. The thought of Delphine trapped with the demon never left his mind. Or his suffering heart. “We’ll go once I finish this.” He tossed back his head and finished off the second bottle of Boost Juice.
“What the hell’s wrong with your neck? You’re skin’s all green.” Boone reached up and rubbed his fingertips over the exposed stain.
Mouth and throat consumed with the rush of juice, he couldn’t answer.
A second later, his brother twirled the chain over one finger.
“Is that a necklace, dude? Since when do you wear jewelry? It’s heavy as hell, to boot.”
Finished drinking, Zane yanked the chain from his brother’s hand. “Hell is precisely the description.” He worked the chain free of his damp shirt collar to let the wad of metal keys rest on his chest.
“Whoa. Are those what I think they are?”
“Yeah. They’re—”
“The key.” Vipond reached up and stuck the tip of his finger under the stone set in the ring.
“They’re all keys, boss,” Boone said. “To the escape hatches connecting Hell to Heaven.”
“The smaller ones are, bro, but…” Zane looked intently at the chancellor fingering the ring. “You said key, Mr. Vipond. Singular. Why?”
“This ring is the possession of Baalberith.” His solemn brown eyes met Zane’s. “Where did you get it?”
“Lucina stole these from her father.”
“That much I know,” the chancellor said. “And when she ran off, I assumed she kept them with her, but considering the circumstances—”
“Gabrielle. She’s worn them for years.”
“Mon Dieu.” Vipond slumped his wide, round shoulders and crossed himself. “So much evil surrounding my gentle girl.” He sighed and pressed a hand over his heart. “No wonder she went mad.”
Vipond’s pitiful expression compelled him to defend Delphine’s mother.
“Not mad. Brave. And more strong-willed than half the Hell Runners I know. She controlled and contained that demon.” His jaw compressed tightly, and he spoke through his clamped teeth. “Fearlessly. For years. On. End.”
The chancellor nodded and shed a tear from each eye, but Zane couldn’t allow him to become emotional. Not if he was coming along.
“Now tell me, what did you mean by key?”
“The raised insignia. For lack of better description, there is a treasure chest that belongs to Baalberith. The insignia pressed into a lock triggers the chest to open, otherwise it remains sealed. No one can open it, not even the chest’s master, unless the key is inserted.”
“What’s inside?” Zane asked.
“Luciana didn’t know specifically, only that it contains something that gives her father powers beyond measure.”
“Dammit.” Boone threw up his hands and kicked up a plume of fine gravel with his sneaker. His face turned ruddy with anger. “Like that bastard needs more power.”
“We have the ring.” Zane held it up. “He doesn’t.”
“But what does that do for us?” Boone slid both his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and shook his head. “You can’t use it to barter for Delphine. You just can’t, Zane. If he gets—”
“I know. I know.” Chest heavy and aching, part of him considered doing just that as a last resort. “To be honest, I didn’t have any plans for the ring, other than keeping it from Baalberith.”
“Shame we don’t have a location on that treasure chest. Maybe we could use the contents against that bastard.”
Vipond chimed in. “The location of the chest is one of the reasons I’d approved your research expedition on Julian Eymard.”
Genuine confusion circled these new facts. “If you thought Eymard knew information on Baalberith, why didn’t you let me go?”
“Timing. I approved your trip months ago. Before we lost Swift. Before the oracles lost their powers. Before we knew about Delphine.” He shrugged. “The rest you know.”
“What makes you think Eymard had information in the first place?” Boone asked and hooked a thumb toward Zane. “This one’s believed the dear old saint hid secrets for years. But there’s never been any proof.”
“I have proof. Or I did.”
“Did?” Boone said, shooting a knowing glance at Zane. “Sounds like we’ve got another case of power abuse.”
“I’m afraid so. But I wasn’t as imaginative as Mr. Swift.” Vipond removed a white handkerchief from the front pocket of his designer jogging pants and blotted the sweat from his brow. “I lost it to the chancellor at the time, Enzo Deschamps. He confiscated it. For study. I never saw it again.”
“Another crooked Deschamps? I don’t get it.” Boone shook his head. “Why fund the Society only to stab us all in the back?”
Zane sighed. “It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s stay on track. Mr. Vipond, what did you have and how did you get it in the first place?” Whatever proof he could obtain, even unsubstantiated, might help them in their battle against Luciana and her father.
Vipond touched the handkerchief to his forehead again and spoke as if he drifted back in time. “Years ago, I caught an old woman placing a worn, leather pouch at the foot of The Gate.”
He pointed at the foot of the immense sculpture, and Zane could tell his focus turned inward, reliving the memory. “She kneeled and mumbled a series of prayers. Others have prayed here, both God-fearing and alleged Satan worshipers. But she used Eymard’s name, over and over.” He clenched his fists. “With such anger in her voice. Such hatred. When she finished, I helped her up, then asked why the saint disgusted her?
“Fear, as pure as I’d ever seen, filled her old, milky eyes, so of course, I tightened my grip on her arm. And scared her.” He lowered his gaze, looking a bit sheepish and unclenched his fingers. “I didn’t mean to be forceful, but I was young. She looked like she wanted to run away, and I didn’t want to chase after an old woman.”
“You did what you had to do, V.” Boone clapped him on the shoulder like the chancellor wasn’t the boss, and Vipond surprised Zane by smiling at his brother. How long had they shared that bench?
“What did she say?” Zane asked, crossing his arms over his chest to keep his heart from pounding through bone.
“Mixed with her frantic curses at me, she said the pages contained messages from Hell, written down by Eymard. She found the pouch in a Grenoble church and stole it to protect the parish. Somehow she knew about Hell Runners and brought it here for destruction. Shocked, I let her go. Of course she ran. I didn’t chase her. Instead, I spent all night reading the contents.”
“Not evil messages,” Zane said.
Vipond shook his head. “You are correct, but I understood her panic. The pages contained specific references to Baalberith and his exile. Visions seen by Eymard in graphic detail.”
“Do you remember what you read?”
“Yes, but like the scrolls found by Mr. Swift, the pages were out of order and incomplete. Most of what I read is information we know at this point. I’d hoped you’d find the missing pages.”
“I will, eventually.”
A vigorous wind, unlike the breeze generated by the city, cut a frigid swath that engulfed the entire area. An unnatural occurrence.
Zane glanced back at the portal; the coil of tension in his stomach jerked like a band had snapped.
“Luciana. She’s here.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Luciana’s proclamation to murder Zane didn’t scare Delphine, but angered her to the point of bursting.
Soul expanding, she pounded and pushed against the sturdy boundary erected by the demon to keep her at bay. The invisible wall vibrated as if mocking her attempt to rip it down.
She kicked with all her might, grunting in frustration as it rumbled like a deep laugh. Crazy to be able to see out of her own eyes, to experience physical sensation yet have no command over her body.
Why had she given Luciana control? How could she have been so foolish?
Of course, she knew why. At the time when Delphine struck the deal for a day’s use of her body, she desperately wanted two things—to free her long-suffering mother and to position the demon to be destroyed.
And her logic seemed sound. A demon that could be contained for twenty years should be easy to dupe.
She’d been too naïve.
Luciana planned to renege on their deal from the start. At the very least, not release Delphine’s body until she’d killed Zane and then tortured her at the hands of the traitor Savard. All in one day.
An engine revved, startling Delphine from her thoughts. A fancy sports car painted candy-apple red materialized, it’s low, sleek chassis inches off the cobblestone road.
A bumpy ride lay ahead in more ways than one.
Her body moved one step toward the car.
“Not so fast. Wife.” Savard stopped her with one arm around her waist and pulled her up close. His heavy-lidded eyes smoked over.
She felt the shiver along her spine and the rise of goosebumps over her skin, but not the pleasure. Only revulsion.
His pallid skin sagged over the planes of his carved face, and his expression possessed an aura of desperation tinged with worship. Her artist’s eye recognized the quality of his bone structure and the interesting shape of his features at the same time she acknowledged his treachery.
“I deserve some compensation.” He angled his head, and the tip of his tongue swabbed his lips. “Show me you missed me as much as I missed you.”
Against her will, her gaze dropped to his mouth. Full and overly defined, a thin layer of moisture glistened on the center of his lower lip.
He wanted a kiss.
Dream Breakers, Oath Takers Page 30