Demon Forged

by Meljean Brook

  “Doyen?” Irena started forward, her fists clenched. Rage ripped through her—rage and fear. “What does that mean? Where will you be?”

  “I do not yet know.” His terror and dread spiked before he covered it. “Do not fight this, Irena. Please.”

  She could not bear that plea. Tears springing to her eyes, she turned, sought out Olek. His horror echoed hers.

  When she turned back, Michael had straightened and covered the symbols on his body with a black tunic. Khavi stood next to him, sword in hand. Kneeling beside her was Rael.

  If the demon was afraid, he didn’t show it. Despite the blade against his neck, his expression remained quiet, watchful.

  Irena called in her spear. Her chest heaved. She wanted to kill something, anything, and now the demon was here like a sacrifice.

  Michael caught Irena’s gaze, shook his head.

  It took all of her strength to lower her weapon. Behind her, she heard Olek ordering Wren and Preston back into the corner of the room. Carrying Taylor, Alejandro positioned himself in front of the humans. Irena joined him.

  Whatever was happening here, their priority was to protect the people behind them.

  Not a sign of Michael’s earlier fear remained. His face had hardened to stone, his eyes to obsidian as he looked to Khavi. “You were to watch her.”

  “I watched her. And I did what I saw was best.” Her mouth tightened, and she glanced down at Rael. “And then I saw this murdering dog who killed my brother.”

  “I killed no one,” Rael said. “And I would not kill Zakril, who was my friend.”

  Khavi snarled. Her blade drew blood. “Demon liar.”

  “I tell the truth. Put me in front of your Hugh Castleford. You will see.”

  “We do not need to.” Michael crossed his arms over his chest. “I will make you a bargain, Rael. You have only to speak the direct truth—always—and for as long as I live, I will vow to protect you from all harm.”

  Rael’s head whipped around so that he could look up at Michael. The demon’s shock was genuine.

  His shock couldn’t match Irena’s. She clenched her fists on her spear, met Alejandro’s gaze. Why would Michael possibly do such a thing? What could he ever gain from it? What did it matter if Rael spoke the truth? By tomorrow, they would have slain the demon—but if the demon accepted the bargain, Michael would be damned to the frozen field in Hell if anyone hurt him.

  Or had she missed something—some slick wording that would enable Michael to claim an advantage?

  The demon seemed to be wondering the same. His brows had lowered, as if he searched for a trap.

  Michael said patiently, “You cannot lie, and you must speak plainly to answer questions you are given—no matter who asks them. In return, I will prevent anyone from harming you.”

  “Even her?” Rael jerked his head toward Khavi, who growled at him. “And yourself?”

  “Yes. Anyone,” Michael repeated. “The only exception would be self-inflicted harm. If you should ever choose to kill yourself, I will not stop you.”

  “There is little chance of that.” The demon smiled. “I agree, then.”

  “Then it is done,” Michael said.

  By the gods. Shaking, Irena looked to Olek. Anger hardened his face, directed at Michael.

  The demon would never suffer the consequences of the deaths—from Julia Stafford, to Zakril, to Eva and Petra, and surely countless others—for which he was directly or indirectly responsible. And if the demon attacked any of the Guardians, none could defend themselves or kill Rael without damning Michael . . . or being stopped by Michael.

  “Why?” Irena could not stop her cry.

  How could this be anything but a betrayal of everything they were? The demon would have free reign . . . or the Guardians would be forced to hurt someone they loved.

  “So that we can see if someone will choose love—and kindness,” Michael said quietly. With amber eyes, he looked toward the sliding doors and the balcony. “What say you, Anaria?”

  Rael stiffened.

  Olek turned, set Taylor on the floor beside Preston. He called in his swords.

  The sliding doors opened. Anaria stepped in, her black hair twisted by the wind. Her gaze never strayed to Irena and Alejandro in the corner. Her dark eyes fixed on Michael, ignoring the demon who stared up at her. Pained adoration filled his features.

  “You knew I was here?”

  Khavi said, “I knew you would come.” She pointed at Alejandro. “That one opened a door when he told you of Rael’s betrayal. You stepped through.”

  Rael cast Alejandro a dangerous glance, as if marking him for death.

  Anaria looked to Rael. “Did he speak true, friend? Did you kill Zakril?” Her voice wavered on the name.

  Rael’s lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace of agony. “Yes,” he forced out.

  She bent over as if stabbed, clutching her fist to her heart. “Why? For two thousand years, all that sustained me was the thought of seeing him again. All that kept me from madness was the hope that he would be waiting. I have never known agony as when my children said their father was dead—and you are the reason, my friend. So tell me, why?”

  “Because I love you.” Rael’s face twisted, as if he suffered the tortures of Hell. “And I have only lived in the hope that you would be free and I would see you again—and that you would find me worthy.”

  She shook her head wildly. “You speak true, but that is not love.”

  “Anaria—” Rael reached for her.

  She stepped back. “Your love is worth nothing to me. I will never want it.”

  It was as if the demon broke. His hand fell to his lap. He closed his eyes. Anaria called in her sword.

  Michael stepped forward. “You heard the bargain.”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “You made the bargain knowing he was a liar and a murderer. And if he lives, now he will kill without repercussion. You must pay the price for your foolishness.”

  “Do you not think I could prevent him from continuing as he has?”

  Irena’s fingers trembled. Yes, she thought. He would. Michael would have found a way out. Or he would have expected one of his friends—his fellow Guardians—to find a solution. The Guardians’ faith in each other had to go both ways, or they would never trust anyone at their back.

  If Irena knew that, then surely, surely his sister did, too.

  “No,” Anaria said.

  Infinite sadness seemed to come over Michael. “You do not want to believe. You say you will choose love, kindness, forgiveness—yet you will choose vengeance over my soul.”

  As if his disbelief in her ripped off a layer of calm, Anaria spat, “I was not the one to make the bargain!”

  “But you make a choice now.”

  The calm settled over her once more. “Yes. I do.”

  Anaria turned and walked away. For an instant, Irena believed that it was all she would do, and this would be over—and the only thing left would be to find a way to keep Rael safe while preventing him from hurting anyone.

  Like putting him in a box with steel walls ten feet thick. Or a magically-sealed sarcophagus, just as Anaria had been trapped—

  Rael’s head slid from his neck onto the floor.

  Irena stared, her mouth dropping open. She had not seen Anaria move. But she must have struck when she’d walked away. Now, she was only a small dot flying over the bay.

  Michael’s face became a bleak mask. He could have stopped his sister, Irena realized. But he hadn’t—and because he hadn’t, he’d broken his bargain. Now, as soon as he died, his soul would be trapped in Hell’s frozen field . . . and eaten by dragons in Chaos.

  “Holy Mother of God,” Alejandro murmured. “The symbols on his body. The bargain. Michael is the spell, Irena.”

  She looked at Olek in disbelief. “The spell to strengthen the barrier?”

  “Yes,” Michael answered for him. “I am the only one strong enough.”

  She faced him
. “You knew? You knew when you made that bargain?”

  “Yes. But I hoped that Anaria would make different choices. I hoped she would show just a little . . . a little . . .” His throat worked; he could not finish it. He shook his head and turned to Khavi, embraced her. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Be safe. And study well, my friend.”

  Khavi threw her arms around him, held him tight. When she withdrew, tears streaked her face.

  Realization tore its way through her. By the gods. It was not enough that Michael broke his bargain—he would not be in the field until he died. Michael intended to kill himself now.

  “No!” Her knees failed her. Alejandro’s arms came around her, his face pressing to her hair. Irena’s sob caught in her throat. “Why, Michael? Do you have no faith in us?”

  “I can only face this because I do have faith in you. This is only to give us time, so that Khavi can find a spell to strengthen the barrier without me.”

  And to find a way to bring him from the frozen field? Back from death? Could Khavi do that? “How much time?”

  “I hope not long.” He stopped in front of them. His amber gaze locked with hers. “And you will lead them well.”

  No. But Irena could not deny that duty. She clenched her teeth, but the long, low cry building up within her still escaped. Michael’s lips brushed her forehead.

  “Do you swear that you can come back?”

  “Yes. You will find a way.”

  If she could not, one of them would. “Do you lie?”

  A brief smile touched his mouth. “Bring me back, and I will not be a liar.” He glanced up over her head, and clasped Olek’s forearm. “I could not have asked for better warriors at my side.”

  Olek’s hand tightened, didn’t let him go. His silky voice had roughened into coarse sand. “We will not fail you, Michael. We will not stop fighting.”

  “I know. I have faith in that, too.”

  He stepped past them, nodded at Wren, shook Preston’s hand. He crouched in front of Taylor. His hand caressed her cheek. He looked at her for an endless span of time—a breath, a heartbeat. Irena had memorized Olek’s face in less time.

  Finally, he dropped his hand to his side. His voice deepened to a harmonious command. “Wake up now.”

  When she blinked, he stood and strode to Khavi. She lifted her sword. The grigori’s beautiful face seemed to crumple—she tilted her head back and screamed. Before it had faded, before Irena realized what she intended, Khavi stabbed her blade through his chest, through his heart.

  Michael fell.

  Irena hadn’t seen her move—but Khavi didn’t try to avoid her when rage and instinct tore her out of Olek’s arms. She caught the grigori, slammed her to the floor. Her spear came into her hand, and she shoved the point against Khavi’s throat.

  Irena’s breath shuddered through her clenched teeth. She did not know which of them was crying harder. “You predicted that a demon spawn would fall beneath my spear. You were right.”

  “No.” Even tears could not obscure the ancient light in Khavi’s gaze. “That future has changed. You have changed.”

  “Irena,” Olek said quietly. “We need her to bring him back.”

  Irena’s hand shook. Blood welled around the tip of the spear. “No, we don’t. We will do it without her.”

  Khavi closed her eyes. Her Gift swept out, drew in. “Yes,” she said. “But it will take much, much longer.”

  Irena glanced at Michael’s body. Her scream built. She swallowed it. Not yet.

  She stood, drew away from Khavi. “After we have brought him back, I will kill you.”

  “We will be good friends by then.” Khavi flipped to her feet. “Taylor! You must put his body into the in-between. You must do it quickly.”

  Sitting by the wall where Preston and Wren still waited, the new Guardian blinked, as if confused. She’d woken, Irena realized—but she was not yet all there.

  Alejandro’s brows drew together. “What is the in-between?”

  “The hoard.” Khavi’s hands flitted as if she searched for the word. “The . . . the cache!”

  Was she mad? Irena stared at her. “A just-transformed novice cannot know how to do that.”

  Khavi growled in frustration, and despite protests from Preston, led Taylor to Michael’s body. “She will not be a novice when it is in her cache!”

  What did that mean? Irena feared she would soon find out when Khavi sent out a psychic thrust that felt the same as Irena pulling something into her cache. Khavi placed Taylor’s hand on Michael’s chest, over the wound her sword had made. A low hum began in her throat, swelling, adding to the psychic pulse.

  Khavi stared earnestly into Taylor’s face. The hum increased, and Irena had to fight the overwhelming compulsion to vanish her knife, the sofa, her clothes—every object around them.

  For an instant, Taylor’s gaze cleared, and Irena recognized the woman behind the blue eyes.

  Then Michael’s body disappeared.

  The whole of Taylor’s eyes turned obsidian. Her body went rigid, her head snapping back, her neck straining. She opened her mouth. A terrified, agonized scream shattered the air—in a harmonious voice that wasn’t just her own.

  Michael. Irena stepped forward. Khavi and Taylor vanished.

  “What happened?” Preston rushed forward, his eyes wild. “Is she all right? Where is she?”

  “Caelum,” Alejandro said. “She is well. Some transformations are difficult, and she has taken on more than most new Guardians. She has to adjust.”

  Irena turned away. Olek had no idea if half of that was true—but there was little reassurance they could give the detective at this moment, so he’d done what he could.

  “For how long?”

  “A few days, perhaps weeks. You will be the first to know how she is.” Olek paused. “We will let you handle her affairs as you see fit. SI will back you up.”

  “You mean, declare her dead?” Swallowing hard, his expression lost, Preston shook his head. “I’m not ready to do that yet.”

  “Then we’ll help you delay, as well.” Olek clapped a hand to the man’s back, and turned to Irena. “Are we ready for Lilith?”

  Irena nodded. She picked up Lukacs’s head, ripped out the fangs, and tossed it back to the floor. She vanished Rael’s body—they couldn’t let that be found.

  Thomas Stafford was still alive.

  She looked over at Wren. “Job well done. You’ve captured and killed Julia Stafford’s murderer.”

  She felt the butler’s disbelief. “By cutting off his head?”

  Irena searched for a plausible explanation. She could not find one. Irena could lie, but not that well. She looked to Olek. “I finally understand why having Lilith at Special Investigations is a good idea.”

  Alejandro’s smile didn’t last. He held her gaze as he shifted into Thomas Stafford’s form. His eyes changed color and shape, yet remained the same.

  She walked to him, touched his hand. “You are still my Olek.”

  “Forever,” he said.

  From his seat on the sofa, Alejandro watched Irena enter the forge in a swirl of ice, wind, and snow. She barreled through, vanishing her wings and white mantle. Clumps of snow had caught in her hair; she shook her head wildly, spraying that side of the forge. Then she spotted him.

  Her smile broke him apart. For almost two days, he had not seen it. Two days in which he’d begun to try out the new role of Stafford, in which he’d stood over a funeral and accepted condolences for a woman who was not his wife—but he had grieved. For Michael, and for Irena, who had not waited for his role to let him go so that he could accompany her as she traveled to each Guardian and told them how their Doyen had been lost.

  But she had not gone alone—she had taken Drifter, on crutches as he regenerated his leg, but still able to put anyone at ease; and Selah, a teleporter whom everyone trusted, who’d mentored many, and whose smile and softness could lighten the deepest grief. By asking them to accompany her, Alejandr
o thought, she’d made a first decision that showed what good hands Michael had left them in.

  And he knew she wouldn’t have let herself go in front of them. Never would she have before Michael had passed on leadership; now, she would consume a mountain of spiders in Hell before she did.

  Here, though, she would.

  She walked to him, and when he rose to his feet, she gestured him back down. She came over him, straddling his legs with her leather-clad knees pushing into the cushions, lay against him—her chest to his, her wet and cold cheek in his throat.

  He did not mind the icy slide of water down his neck.

  He held her. She did not scream this time, but wept—tears that rolled into a storm of sobs before quieting again. His throat ached when she lifted her head to look down at him.

  She did not hide the vulnerability in her face. Her fingers stroked his neck; her smile wavered. “I hope I do not add to your list of regrets, Olek. I needed you before; now, there will be times I lean on you heavily, for advice or support—and my weight is no longer all my own.”

  “I will take it all, Irena.” His hand found hers, caught and held. And he said what he’d always thought had been too obvious to say, “I love you, Irena. Do you know this?”

  Her eyes filled. “Yes.”

  “Do you know you are not just my heart, but my life? One moment fighting with you is worth ten thousand years without you. I would die for you. I would kill for you. I would endure an eternity of torture so that you could laugh, and live.” His fingers tightened. “You have me. You have all of me. And I will take all of you. Do you know this? If I died today, would you know this?”

  She nodded, her tears spilling. “Yes.”

  “Then I have no regrets. Not even one. I would only have been sorry that I did not tell you before.”

  Her hands caressed his face, his cheeks. Her eyes glowed a fierce green. “Days will come when I will hate you, Olek. But there will never come a second that I do not love you.”

  It was her vow, he realized—her pledge. “You have said it better than me.”