Benevolent Passion

by Amanda Pillar

He ran his free hand over his hair. “Take it.”

  Peony inhaled deeply then closed the distance between them, gently retrieving the Orb. She gasped at the contact.

  Z jerked toward her, worried, but she stepped back, her eyes glued to the artifact.

  “Are you all right?”

  “It feels alive.” Her voice was full of wonder.

  “Alive?” The thing had nearly given him frostbite.

  “Yes, it’s warm.”

  That has to be a good sign.

  “Why,” she asked, “what did it feel like to you?”

  “Freezing cold.”

  Peony unwrapped the cloth covering. “Odd.”

  Very. But then, demon magic didn’t play well with angelic beings.

  Exposed, the Orb glowed from within, fiery yellows and reds swirling chaotically together. It was mesmerizing.

  “What am I meant to be looking for?”

  “Heaven’s Heart.”

  “Sorry, what?” Peony lowered her hands.

  “It’s a piece of a mystical artifact that had been kept safe in Heaven. It is what I was guarding when I was abducted by the Infernus. The others were punished because it was stolen.”

  “It was stolen? What does it look like?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Disbelief laced her words. “You don’t know what it looks like?”

  “It was so sacred no one but the archangels were allowed access to it.”

  “You said only part of it was kept in Heaven.”

  “There are two other pieces, but we don’t know where they are, either.”

  “How am I meant to search for it, then?”

  It was an excellent question. The others hadn’t bothered to explain that.

  “Maybe just think of a mystical object called Heaven’s Heart. Think that you are looking for the stolen piece.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t know how effective that will be.”

  “Can you try?”

  She sighed. “Of course I can try.”

  She focused her attention on the Orb. The colors changed, turning into a jade-green flame mixed with flickers of black.

  “What do you see?” he asked, eager.

  She stumbled, her cheeks flushing darker than before. “Can you see anything in the Orb? When I’m looking at it?”

  “Just colors—green and black. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  Truth.

  But he had a feeling it wasn’t the whole truth.

  She returned her focus to the Orb. He waited, breath held, until she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see anything.”

  Lie.

  “Z? What’s wrong?”

  “He could tell you were lying,” a voice said. The male Mortus had returned, clothing and skin free from gore. He held several sheets of paper in his hand.

  “Lying?” Her voice held a slight tremor as she shoved the Orb out of the demon’s sight.

  “Angels can tell when someone is lying, am I right?” The male strode closer, careful to avoid the corpses on the floor.

  Z ground his teeth. “Yes.”

  “How could you tell I lied?” Peony asked the demon.

  “I have a master’s in body language.”

  Lie.

  “You do?” Peony asked, eyes going wide.

  The demon stared. “No, I was being sarcastic.”

  Truth.

  “We need to do something about these bodies,” the demon said.

  Peony’s demeanor changed subtly, from gentle to firm. “I can handle it, I think. But first, I want you to take an inventory of all the dead.”

  The demon tipped an imaginary hat at her. “You’re the boss.”

  “Queen, actually.”

  “Here.” The Mortus handed her the papers he was holding. Z peered at them—he’d been wrong, they weren’t papers. They were photographs of some kind of writing. “These are the start of the script, I think.”

  Then the demon drew a notepad from his pocket, and strolled away, scribbling notes about the dead bodies as he went.

  “Thanks, Godric!”

  Z frowned at the photographs. “That is ancient angelic.”

  Peony nodded. “I know. Can you read it?” She held out the images.

  He shook his head. “I know someone who could, though.”

  Raze could no doubt understand the language.

  “That’s okay, I’ll do it.” Her voice was distracted as she scanned the pictures.

  She’d translate? Since when had Peony learned ancient angelic?

  “Here.” Godric had returned, his inventory complete already.

  “That’s all of them?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “That was awfully quick.”

  “I’m a fast worker.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So, want me to bring in the soldiers to remove the corpses? Should I have them taken outside and burned?”

  “What is the typical funerary tradition?” Peony asked.

  Z didn’t see the point in the question. They were the dead of the enemy—their bodies should be disposed of as quickly as possible.

  “Cremation.”

  “Okay.”

  The fine hairs on the back of Z’s neck and arms rose, and his skin tingled. He focused on Peony, to see her eyes had turned a shiny black, lit with green flames. His instinct was to withdraw from the power burning within her, but he forced himself to stand his ground. He noticed Godric had recoiled from her.

  Peony clicked her fingers and he was overpowered by the stench of scorched flesh, but it was gone almost as soon as it began. Now, where the bodies had once lain, there were piles of ash scattered around the room.

  “It’s done,” Peony said.

  The green flame in her eyes had died, and as he watched, the black slowly bled away, until her gray irises returned.

  “How did you do that?” Godric breathed.

  “It’s the crown, or the coronation. It linked me to the Mortus. I can feel Hellfire, too, so thought I would try calling it.”

  Z wiped a hand over his face. He had never heard of such a thing, but she hadn’t lied.

  Peony gave Godric and Z a worried look. “Couldn’t the king do that?”

  “No, he couldn’t.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Then again, he wasn’t a prophesied ruler.”

  Z’s breath caught in his throat.

  There’s a prophecy?

  Chapter 33

  Peony and Z were in the king’s former study. The room was huge, with bookcases lining three walls, a large stone desk in the center, and a few scattered leather chairs. She didn’t want to think about the kind of leather—knowing the Mortus, it could very well be human in origin. Despite the room’s lack of dust, it had a distinct air of neglect. The photos Godric had given her were scattered on the desk’s shiny surface—she’d only managed to read the first few lines.

  ‘The Mortus are my gift to the world. Born of Satan and myself, they are balance. Their evil exudes from their very skin, their strength will stand the test of time, but their souls, these have the potential to be pure, should they but earn it.’

  A demon with a pure heart.

  Any Mortus had the potential to wield the Orb, but none had ever tried to earn the right.

  Still, nothing felt real.

  One moment, she’d been a blood slave, the next, queen of the Mortus. She could suddenly read ancient angelic scripts and create fire from nothing. Even now, the heat from Hell slunk through her veins, waiting for a chance to be released again. What kind of monster had she become?

  At least Z had healed. His wings were a sight to behold—their beautiful white plumage soft and luxurious, and framing his figure in a way that would be imposing if she wasn’t so fascinated by them. How had he managed it?

  She set the Orb down on top of the photos. She’d ju
st checked it for the fourth time—and again it hadn’t shown her the stupid artifact. How was she meant to search for something she couldn’t even picture?

  Instead of showing her Heaven’s Heart, it had shown her her heart. At least, the thing she desired above all else.

  It had shown her Z.

  She’d been so grateful that he couldn’t see the images the Orb produced. It would have been beyond embarrassing if he realized she had a crush on him. Or worse, if he thought she was in love with him. He was a fully fledged angel, and she was, well, a cambion. The lowest of the low in the demon echelon.

  Now you are a queen.

  Of one of the most evil races to walk the Hells. It wasn’t a rise in status, at least, not for an angel.

  What is Mom going to say about this?

  Nothing good, that was for sure.

  “They said Trick sold you,” Z said quietly, breaking into her thoughts.

  Hoping he hadn’t caught her staring at him like a lovesick fool, she nodded.

  His jaw muscles flexed. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No.”

  She wasn’t about to tell him about the assassination attempt. He would probably try to take revenge on the girls—and Peony wasn’t angry at them. Not anymore. Being kept as a narcissist’s plaything was bound to make anyone crazy.

  “You’re lying.”

  Peony sighed. Angels and their stupid truth-detectors. Why hadn’t she known about them?

  “I got cut, but it’s fine. I heal fast.”

  “How did you get hurt? Did the king do it?”

  “How it happened isn’t important, and the king didn’t do it. But he deserved to die.” She stared into Z’s emerald eyes, daring him to contradict her.

  “I have no doubt that is the case.” His voice, no longer hoarse from pain, was deep and mesmerizing.

  Suddenly, the distance between them seemed to vanish and Z was right in front of her. He smelled of soap and woodsmoke. She ached to feel the softness of his wings, to touch his skin and know his warmth. But she couldn’t do that—wouldn’t risk his life, not after he’d just healed and had another chance.

  Plus, there was no guarantee he’d want her to touch him, either.

  His eyes blazed and he leaned in, as if to kiss her.

  Step away.

  But she couldn’t.

  Then his words registered: “We need to find a way to save you from the Mortus. You aren’t meant to be in this role, no matter what the prophecy says. You aren’t like them.”

  The crushing disappointment took Peony by surprise, and she shoved the emotion away. She was worse than the Mortus: nothing more than a cambion nightmare. She was foolish for even entertaining the fantasy that he might want more to do with her. Be more to her.

  “There is no way to escape the Mortus,” she said eventually and dropped her gaze, the intensity of his beauty too much for her.

  Warmth exploded through her a moment later; the featherlight touch of his mouth on hers so pure, so perfect she thought she imagined it.

  No! He’s going to die!

  She shoved him away, but Z took hold of her shoulders, holding her in place as his lips touched hers again. Her mind was swamped with sensation: Z was kissing her. His mouth was smooth and firm, and he tasted of mint. Her whole body became electrified, her breasts tightening and her stomach dancing with butterflies. Her hands ached to touch him, to explore the firm planes of his body.

  No!

  She broke free, her breathing too fast, her mind in turmoil. “What have you done?” she wailed.

  Z stared at her a moment, confusion on his face. “What do you mean?”

  His eyes rolled back in his head and he shook, limbs trembling. Peony hurried forward and helped guide his body to the floor, careful to spread out his wings. “No, no, no.”

  His emerald gaze was dim as it turned on her, his body straining, fighting the shaking, trying to control it. “What...happening?”

  Tears dripped onto her gloved hands as she held them uselessly in her lap. There was nothing she could do. Her toxin was too virulent for him to survive.

  There is no cure.

  Why hadn’t she tried to find a cure?

  A sob caught in her throat, but she forced out the words, “You’re dying.”

  The trembling came to a sudden halt, his jaw clenched, the tendons standing out on his neck in sharp relief. A low groan filled the room, so full of pain that her vision blurred with tears. She groped out a hand blindly, laying her palm over his chest, feeling the struggling beat of his heart.

  “I’m so sorry, I should have been paying attention, I should have stopped you...”

  He was still.

  A scream filled the room, raw and ugly.

  Her scream.

  The door burst open and Godric rushed in, knives in his hands, ready to face whoever had attacked her. He stopped abruptly as he took in the tableau, saw no threats in the room.

  “Why’d you kill him?”

  Peony collapsed on Z’s chest, wrapping her arms around his body tightly, willing him back to life. Which was impossible. She was too deadly; a freak of nature that should have been drowned at birth.

  A hand stroked her head, trying to calm her.

  “Do you have a death wish?” she snapped at Godric.

  But Godric was standing on the other side of the room. He couldn’t have...

  Z?

  He lay there, his chest moving, his eyes alive and alert, his hand in her hair.

  “How?” she whispered.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Godric sighed.

  “What?” Peony turned to look at her cousin.

  “He’s your mate.” He spat the last word, as if it was diseased.

  Surprise lanced through her, following by a rush of giddiness so intense she thought she might fly up and float around the room.

  I have a mate!

  “What’s going on?” Z asked, and gently pushed her aside, so he could sit. His wings spread out behind him and she flinched as she took in his plumage. She had damaged him.

  “What is it?” he asked, reaching out a hand to rest on her shoulder.

  She automatically shied away from his touch, but stopped herself. There was no need. He had survived. “Your wings...”

  He moved one around until it was in his line of vision, and then he stared, quiet.

  The once pristine white of his feathers was laced with filaments of jade green, bordering on black in some places.

  The color of her aura.

  He looked at her, his face curiously blank. “I don’t understand.”

  “You didn’t realize...” Godric said with a low whistle.

  Even she could see he was baiting Z, but her mouth was so dry she couldn’t talk.

  His voice low, Z asked, “Realize what?”

  Rather than the relish she expected, Godric replied seriously, “Peony is a Mortus cambion. Her skin is more toxic even than ours. The only way you could have survived was if you were her mate.”

  His blank eyes settled on Peony, and she waited for the horror. For him to realize he’d kissed the monster that even other monsters shunned.

  “So that’s why you didn’t want to be touched back in the cell.” Z sounded...thoughtful?

  She nodded, still not trusting her voice.

  “I’ll leave you both to it.” Godric said, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

  “Some angels can survive a Mortus demon’s touch,” Peony said, although she didn’t know why. She wanted Z to be hers. “At least, those are the rumors.”

  “Do you think that is the case here?”

  Peony clenched her hands in her lap. She desperately wanted it to not be the case, so she tried to think rationally. “I don’t know.”

  She couldn’t explain why his wings had changed, if it was a standard angelic trait.

  “Can we try something?” he asked.


  She nodded, still staring at her lap. Don’t hope, don’t lie. He may not be yours.

  It scared her, though, how much she wanted him to be hers. For her to be his.

  For the majority of her life, from the time she had hit puberty, real touch had been forbidden to her. No boyfriends, no good friends. No one she could just cuddle for comfort, or embrace with love.

  She’d been alone.

  Until now, she hadn’t realized how lonely she’d truly been.

  Finding Dru had helped, but it hadn’t been enough to fill the yearning she’d buried deep within.

  A gentle touch under her chin made her glance up, to focus on Z, on the sharp angles of his face. His mouth pressed against hers again, the touch careful, as if she were made of spun glass—or as if he was afraid of being poisoned again.

  She drew back at the thought.

  “Did you not like it?” Z asked, his voice rough.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I think that ship has sailed.”

  She flinched.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay, I understand.” She tried to stand, but her legs were wobbly and she found herself kneeling on the ground, wrung out.

  “You didn’t like kissing me?” Z asked.

  She jerked. “No!”

  His expression closed.

  “I mean, I did like kissing you. But—”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know,” she said helplessly.

  I’m scared.

  That’s what she really wanted to say. Her life had changed too much too quickly.

  “We don’t have to try again, I just thought it might help—” Z made to stand, and she knew in that instant that she couldn’t afford for him to walk away.

  He might never come back.

  Lurching forward, she awkwardly grabbed the sides of his face with her gloved hands and pressed her mouth against his. For a few horrifying seconds, he didn’t do anything, and she worried that he didn’t want her, that she was the worst kisser in all the realms...

  Then he kissed her back.

  He soothed her panic with a soft press of his lips, and a sweep of his tongue along the seam of her mouth. She opened for him, surprised and delighted by the feel of his tongue against hers. She allowed him to lead the kiss at first, needing to learn how, wanting to see what he thought she’d like. Soon though, she grew impatient, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body flush against his. It felt like her skin was too tight; she was fire and molten want, her body quickly igniting as he swept a hand down her spine to cup her butt, pulling her even closer, until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.