by ML Guida
“Take me,” Blade demanded. “I’m the one who betrayed you. Not her.”
“True.” Balthazar sauntered across the room. “But this, my dear boy, this will hurt you more than anything.” He snapped his fingers.
Abigail screamed. Blade whirled around. His heart sank to his toes. She’d vanished along with Balthazar.
Chapter Twenty-One
Blade’s world crashed—all the agony he’d suffered had been for nothing. His angel-mate was in hell. He slammed his fist into a wall. “No!” Bits of drywall fell onto the floor.
“Blade, I'm sorry,” Raphael said.
Blade leaned his forehead against the wall. “Shut up, just fucking shut up." His voice cracked. All he could think of what was happening to Abigail. God, she’d never survive.
“There’s still time,” Heather whispered. “Let me paint you.”
“Paint me?” He looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep his arms to his side instead of strangling the foolish woman. “She’s being terrorized, Heather. Tortured.”
“I know.” Heather clasped his arm. “Let me help you. It’s the only way to get your powers back so you can return to Hell and free your angel-mate.”
He didn’t want to listen to reason. He wanted to hurt someone and this someone was Heather Bowen. Because she started all this with her damn drug and alcohol treatment center. Because of her Samantha was killed. Because of her he peddled the drug Xanadu. He took a deep breath and exhaled. The hate flowed out and reason stayed behind him. It wasn’t Heather’s fault. It was his, his to bear alone.
Abigail’s sweet face formed in his mind, and he swore he could inhale her fragrance of mimosa. He braced his shoulders. “I’m ready.”
“Good,” Heather nodded. “Scythe, could you get my supplies?”
Scythe gave Blade a hard look. Guilt ran deep into Blade’s core. Had his brother guessed his thoughts? “I won’t hurt her, brother. I promise.”
Scythe walked over to Heather, picked up her hand, and kissed her palm. “Very well.” He magically disappeared.
Blade raised his hands. “Where do you want to paint me?”
Heather tilted her head. “Downstairs in the living room. We need to be alone.”
Rosemary frowned. “You trust him?”
“Scythe trusts him,” she answered. “And I trust Scythe.”
***
The gas log fire place crackled. Blade sat on a stool in front of it. His muscles tensed thinking of Abigail in hell with the flames eating her flesh.
Heather had twirled her hair and tied it into a bun. She stood across from him with an easel in front of her. A large canvas faced her. Her face intense, she kept glancing at him with those deep brown eyes. He wanted to see what she was painting, but he sat still with the pose she wanted, shirtless and wearing his jeans and black boots. Why she wanted him shirtless he had no idea, but he suspected it was the cobra on his chest. As a demon, the cobra had moved and red eyes glared at his victims.
“Heather.” He couldn’t keep the impatience out of his voice.
She stopped painting and held a brush in the air. “Rushing me will not help your cause, Blade.”
“But Abigail—”
“I want to help her too, Blade,” she said. “Raphael will do nothing unless he sees proof you've repented. This is your proof.”
A tremor of anger shot through him. Damn archangels and their damn rules. Abigail was being roasted alive, but Raphael still wanted to play his damn little games.
He wasn’t sure what to say, and glanced at his hands, surprised that they were shaking. Did Sam’s fear still grip him or was he denying his own fear? “I’m sorry for what I did to you. You didn’t deserve it”
Astonishment seized him. He actually meant the apology.
She sighed and kept painting, the brushes caressing the canvass. “You’re right, I didn’t deserve it. I forgave you a long time ago.” She bit her lip. “But I made a mistake too.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You made a mistake? What mistake?”
She lowered the brush. “I rushed the healing process and because of that Samantha was killed. I’m sorry, Blade. I’ve regretted that decision every day. Can you forgive me?”
He stared, his mouth hanging open. Her voice was so sad and her eyes pleading. He was supposed to be begging for her forgiveness, not the other way around. Not caring if he broke the rules, he walked over to her and held up her chin. “Heather, I forgive you. I held you responsible for something that was not in your power. Please release your guilt. I forgive you.”
Her eyes glistened. “Thank you.” Her voice was tinier than a breath of fresh air.
He kissed her forehead. “You’re welcome.”
His body tingled, and heat spread over him. The snake moved on his chest which it hadn’t done since Raphael tossed him into Frisco. He glanced at his chest. The cobra’s eyes had changed. They were no longer demon red, but angel silver. And this time, the cobra coiled around a white sword, his sword—Elixir. It had been so long since he felt the hilt in his hand. He couldn’t help but brush his hand over his chest. Disappointment filled him at not feeling scales and the sharp edge of the blade. His powers were not yet back.
His eyes widened as the last bit of remaining hatred dissipated. He bathed in a light he had not reveled in since he fell—love for all things. He wanted to be obedient, wanted to be forgiving, and wanted to be a defender of truth.
“Look at the painting, Blade,” she said.
He forced himself to turn his head and gasped. In the portrait, white wings spread out behind him and his eyes were silver. A white aura surrounded him. He held his breath, not sure what would happen next. “So, this means?”
Raphael materialized and smiled. “It means that I can heal you if Rosemary believes you’ve truly changed. She’s the last one.”
Blade nodded. Rosemary came down the wooden stairs. Both Saber and Scythe followed her. Blade broke out in a cold sweat. If Rosemary didn’t believe her, Abigail would remain in hell.
He stepped away from the painting and knelt. He’d do anything to win over Rosemary. She could flog him, beat him, do whatever she wanted as long as she allowed Raphael to heal him so he could retrieve Abigail. He’d be her slave forever.
Rosemary walked past him. “This is what he will become?”
“Yes,” Heather answered.
“So, he’s not this yet?”
“No,” Heather said.
“It’s up to me, isn’t it?” Rosemary said. She walked over to Blade and grabbed his hair, but she didn’t pull it hard, just enough to tug it, to force him to tilt his head back. He gazed into her face. “Meaning I can get my revenge, to hurt you the way you hurt me.”
The truth slapped him in the face. Blade swallowed. “Yes.”
She slowly released his hair. “Revenge is within my gasp, Blade. I could have you broken for all eternity, knowing that it was you who condemned your mate to hell. If I asked Michael to lock you in a heaven cell, he’d do it. You’d deserve it.”
Sorrow penetrated his bones. “Mercy. Not for me, but—”
“For an innocent girl who would pay for your sins.”
“Please.” His voice cracked. He felt a tear slid down his cheek. “Please.”
She wiped away his tear and stared at her finger. “I never thought it was possible for you to cry for anyone but yourself.” She cocked her head. “The demon I knew had a heart of stone. He was evil, evil to the core.” She clasped his cheeks, her palms warm. “Abigail’s changed you. The truth is reflecting in your eyes.”
She dropped her hands. “I believe he’s changed.”
“Are you sure?” Saber probed.
“Yes, I felt his warmth. My anger is gone. More important, I forgive him.”
Blade frowned. “But I didn’t feel it.”
Raphael half smiled. “Yes, you wouldn’t, would you?”
“I did with the others,” Blade argued.
Raphael approached him. Rosemary sat
on a sofa, crossing her legs underneath her skirt, the endless flower child. Her eyes bright, the scowl had vanished and replaced by a serene look of peace.
“Bow your head, Blade,” Raphael said.
Scythe and Saber both lowered their heads. He heard them mumbling, praying. Heather walked over to Scythe and followed suit. Rosemary clasped her hands together and prayed. Poison appeared, mimicking everyone’s stance.
“Yes,” Blade whispered. A surge of air ran around him. The angel’s murmuring rang in his ears, soft, powerful, peaceful.
Raphael placed his hands on each of Blade’s shoulders. As energy soared through him, he jolted, but Raphael pressed his palms down harder, holding him in place.
Blade’s teeth chattered.
Every limb trembled.
His heart thundered in his chest. He swore it expanded two sizes, squashing his last remaining bitterness. Air sucked out of his lungs. Pressure built on his back. He cried out as his bones crunched and cracked. Something poked out of his back. He cried out, tears streamed down his face. Pain gripped him until he thought he’d pass out. But Raphael would never give him that pleasure.
Blade gritted his teeth to keep from crying out again and concentrated on the prayers, ancient prayers of a language long forgotten, running through him. He repeated the words silently, and the words held power, the pain lessened. Before he knew it, he released his jaw and recited the words out loud. His breath came out smoother, and his stomach stopped twirling. Muscles unwound and his heartbeat slowed.
Raphael dropped his hands. “You’ve been healed.”
Blade opened his eyes and inhaled. A feeling of peace long denied swelled inside him. His hate and lust for revenge had vanished. “Thank you, Raphael.”
“Rise, my friend,” Raphael said.
Blade struggled to stand. Strong hands hauled him to his feet. Before he knew what was happening, his brother hugged him, giving him the tightest grizzly hug he’d ever experience in his life. “Welcome back, brother.”
His brother’s voice cracked, and his love overwhelmed Blade. He held onto Scythe, his brother had never lost faith in him, never stopped fighting for him. Something he didn’t deserve. “Thank you,” he choked. “If it wasn’t for your faith, I’d still be a demon.”
“I could always feel the good in you.” He half smiled. “No matter who wouldn’t believe.”
“You still have work to do, demon,” a harsh voice said.
Groaning, Blade turned around.
The Archangel Michael flashed an angry gaze over him. He’d never be a fan of Blade’s. “If it was up to me, you’d be rotting in hell,” he said. “But it’s not up to me. Someone else has faith in you.”
Blade frowned. “Who?”
“Saint Peter. He still wants you on my team.”
Poison laughed. “I bet that sticks in your heaven rule book.”
Scorn flashed into Michael’s eyes. “He didn’t fight for you to remain on my team.”
Poison’s smile faded, and she cleared her throat.
“That’s because I wanted her on mine, dear brother,” Raphael said. “And you know it.”
Poison smiled at Raphael, gratefulness shone in her eyes.
Scythe slapped Blade on the back. “Welcome back on the team, bro.”
Michael unsheathed his sword. Excalibur glowed. Power sizzled through the room. “Are you two going to stand around here congratulating each other or are we going to get Blade’s mate?"
“You’re coming with me?” Blade asked, afraid to question his new boss.
“You need someone to keep the fiends off you,” Michael said. “You obviously need a diversion. Abigail is locked in Balthazar’s private quarters. Ghost demons, Hellhounds, and demons are guarding the entrance. You’ll never get in without my help.”
More swords unsheathed. He turned. Both Saber and Scythe held their Heaven swords.
“Saber.” Blade glanced at Saber’s sword, Benevolence, and his scar. “You don’t have to do this. Vixen will be there,” he said. His voice filled with sorrow and understanding.
Scythe and Blade glanced at each other.
Michael narrowed his eyes. “Another abomination. Why would he care?”
Saber braced his shoulders and met Michael’s sinister gaze. “I don’t care. I’m ready to fight, Michael.”
“Good,” Michael said.
Raphael shook his head. “Everything is so black and white with you, isn’t it, brother?"
Michael pointed Excalibur at Blade. “Enough. We leave now.”
The snake slithered around on Blade’s chest, and his sword, Elixir, appeared in his hand. He rotated his wrist feeling the weight of the glowing sword. He’d forgotten how he and the sword became one. All the memories of how he’d cut down demons rushed into him. With Elixir, he’d struck fear in the heart of his enemies. He sliced his sword through the air and smiled at the exhilaration surging through his arm.
Grinning, Scythe clasped his shoulder. “Feels like old times?”
“Yeah. I'm more than ready.” He’d slice Balthazar’s throat if the bastard had harmed one hair on Abigail’s head.
“Poison and I will stay here,” Raphael said. “We’ll keep Abigail’s brother safe. Just in case dear Balthazar has a back-up plan.” He looked at Blade. “Good luck, son. Bring her back. She’s one of mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Abigail sat in a leather chair with her wrists bound behind her back, and she faced a red brick fireplace. A fire slowly flickered over logs, and warmth spread in the room. The walls were painted tan, the floors dark hardwood. Large wooden bookshelves filled the room. She couldn’t believe the number of books, some classics, including Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind and William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. What were these books doing here in hell, and who read them?
A large flat screen television set hung over the fireplace. Demons watched television?
Through a rounded doorway, she spotted a large kitchen with dark cabinets and a silver refrigerator, but she could not see the other appliances due to a large island with a black granite top. Four white, leather bar stools were under the counter.
Not unusual, but she was supposed to be in hell. And she was shocked that she wasn’t feverish or doubled over in pain. Did the poison not hurt because she was in hell?
Somehow it didn’t seem right. This wasn’t how Blade had described hell. He obviously hadn’t been a guest in a cozy condo.
Closed plantation blinds blocked a window and she could see light peering through it, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the sun or flames. “Please let it be the sun,” she whispered.
Balthazar flashed into the room. His knowing gaze sent her goose bumps running for cover. “Why would you think it’s the sun, Abby?” He pulled on the lever. Yellow flames flickered outside the window.
Heat hit her cheeks. She flinched and closed her eyes.
“You can open your eyes now. I closed the blind,” Balthazar said.
Not sure if she should trust him, Abigail peeked open one eye. The blind was closed, and she frowned. With his arms stretched out over the couch, Balthazar sat across from her. “I’m assuming you have questions.”
“Where am I?”
“Hell.”
“This is hell?”
Fire burned in his pupils. He tilted his head toward the window. “You’d rather be out there? I can arrange that.”
She shook her head. “No, please, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
He smiled, but his devilish smile made her skin shrivel. “Better, much better. But I have no interest in flaying your flawless skin.”
She tried to ignore the desire in his eyes to keep the fear out of her voice. “I know this is an odd question, but why not?”
“You’re beautiful, Abigail. I don’t get much beauty down here. Your soul is pure. The souls I receive are black and evil.” He leaned his head back on the couch. “I get tired of the stench, of the rudeness.” He lifted his head.
“Sometimes I yearn for a soft voice.”
She didn’t like the huskiness in his voice and pulled on her restraints. “What do you plan to do to me?”
“Keep you.” Balthazar flashed his bold gaze over her, and Abigail squirmed. He undressed her with his eyes. “You’re mine to do with what I please.”
Abigail bit her lip and held back tears. She was back in college all over again, powerless to stop what was going to happen next.
“I have no intention of raping you, sweet Abigail,” he said.
“What? Why not?”
He arched his eyebrow.
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean that.” Her boldness faltered and she couldn’t hide the fear in her voice.
“Abigail, we have eternity together. I want to give you pleasure, not misery.”
“But you're a—”
“Demon, yes. Actually, the best.”
“How long do you plan to keep me tied up?”
“Not long.” He snapped his fingers. The ropes fell from her wrists.
She rubbed her wrists. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What happens next?”
“You’re free to move around here. There’s a fully stocked kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom.”
Passion flickered in his eyes and her cheeks heated. “Balthazar, I can’t—”
He held up his hand. “Yes, I know. You love Blade.”
He knew? “Then why?”
“Because each time I take you.” Hatred simmered in his blazing eyes. “And I will take you, I’ll be ripping Blade’s heart out.”
He lied. What did she expect? All demons lie. “I thought you said you wouldn’t rape me.”
“I did, Abby.”
“My name is Abigail.”
His eyes glowed red and she trembled. What had she’d been thinking correcting a demon?
“Abby,” he said, his voice emphasizing the name. “I told you I wouldn’t rape you and I meant what I said.” He walked over to her, and she pressed back into the chair. He clasped her chin, his fingers caressing her, warm and gentle, sending tingles through her and she shuddered. “But you’ll not resist my charms, no human can.”