On and on they went, realm after realm, like nodules of air in a sheet of bubble wrap. And that sheet of bubble wrap was laid upon another sheet of bubble wrap. And another. Stretching to an infinite length and an infinite width. Hence, there were infinite realms.
Humans had absolutely no clue.
Sam had visited Malek Taal and asked him for help, as only the unseelie seemed to possess the dark kind of magic Sam was in need of just then. Malek was a reasonable man, and everyone had a price. Malek’s price had been no different from that of so many men who’d lived alone too long. He wanted information about a certain woman… one who would perhaps be compatible with him, in his realm of darkness and magic. Sam just happened to have that information. He was good at information. He always had been. Maybe that was why he’d gravitated toward the media as he had.
At any rate, a trade was made. And the spell was cast.
And now Samael, the Fallen One, the most powerful of the archangels sent to earth in the wake of the archess exodus, was about to do something that would alter the playing field… possibly forever.
It was worth it. Or, it would be – if it worked.
Now he stood at the end of the alley and gazed at the woman who’d been hiding from him for two thousand years. She didn’t see him there. She was so tired, she could barely keep her eyes open at all, much less see through his invisibility. That had been the point, really. He knew that all it would take was a disaster she had some hope of helping in, and she would come running and then wear herself out.
The weather patterns had been insane of late; a part of the world was dying, and its death throws were spitting out tornadoes and floods and wildfires like a dying snake spewing poison. Few people were overtly surprised about the storms that had taken place in Chicago. Hell, they were going on everywhere, really. You couldn’t turn on your television or computer without catching sight of a headline spouting natural disasters.
Right now, no one would think anything of a few more tornadoes, especially not in the heart of tornado alley. The timing was perfect. And as far as he was concerned, it was necessary.
She’d done exactly as he’d known she would do. Her heart would have it no other way.
It was one of the things he loved about…. Sam frowned and placed his hand to his chest. There had been a brief twinge there, an odd, empty but full feeling that… hurt. He rarely felt pain. In fact, almost never.
With steadfast resolve, he lowered his hand, raised his chin, and narrowed his gaze, pushing the discomfort from his mind. He moved down the alley until he was standing directly in front of Angel.
Her head was still in her hands, the very vision of exhaustion. She was disguised as someone else again, but by now… he knew her. He wasn’t sure how, but he just knew her. No matter what she looked like on the outside.
From this close, where he stood towering over her, he could smell the shampoo she’d used in her last shower. He could see a tear in her jeans, and bruises forming along her arms. She’d put herself through hell trying to help this time.
One swift movement, and he could take her. Grab her wrists, lift her to her feet, trap her up against the wall…. She was so close.
He realized he was shaking. His desire felt like a tangible thing, like a hunger that had incarnated and was pushing its way through his skin. And there was that odd pain again – in his chest – somewhere deep inside.
Suddenly, Angel dropped her arms and looked up.
Sam froze. He held his breath. He knew he was not only invisible but inaudible, and freezing like this didn’t actually make any logical sense. But he couldn’t move. He could barely think as her eyes searched the space in front of her – almost like she knew he was there. She frowned, and lines formed at the corners of her eyes. She opened her mouth, parting her lips to reveal straight, white teeth.
He thought of what they would feel like against his tongue.
And then something in him snapped, and he refocused with fierce determination, kneeling before her.
She blinked, and Sam wondered if she really did know he was there. Could she feel him? He sure as shit could feel her.
No, he told himself firmly. Do this now, damn it. Now!
He raised his arms, placing his hands in the air on either side of her head. The marks on the insides of his palms began to heat up. He winced, once more feeling a pain he was unaccustomed to. They burned into him, branding him with their power, and as they did, that power was transferred. From him to her.
Before him, just inches away, Angel softly gasped. Her gaze unfocused, glazing over.
A crazy urge to stop what he was doing and pull her into his arms was nearly his undoing then and there. He wanted to hold her, embrace her, tell her it was going to be okay. It took everything he had to remain motionless in his special agony and let the spell run its course.
When it was at last done, Angel’s eyes slid shut once more, this time for good. Sam lowered his arms. The marks on his hands were gone now. The magic of the two symbols had been carved elsewhere. One upon his soul – and one upon hers.
The spell would begin to take effect shortly, and would come to fruition gradually, over the course of the next few days. Now all he had to do was remain one step behind her as it happened. Until she had no choice but to turn to him.
To hear him out.
To give him a chance.
It would be worth it.
Sam stood. Then, using some of the power he knew would soon run out, he placed a protective shield over his archess. It would keep her from detection until she awoke. After that, it would be up to her what they did next.
Sam took a deep breath, and was unsettled to find that it released shakily. He ran a hand through his hair and over his face. His skin was hot to the touch. A fever? Only mortals got fevers.
He closed his eyes as a chill went through him.
It hit him just then, the enormity of what he had set into motion. And when he turned back down the alley and smelled the smoke from a nearby fire and felt it sting his eyes, he realized with a strange sense of dread, that it was happening already.
Chapter Sixteen
Angel managed to hide for quite a while there in that alley, behind those trash cans and debris. She must have been more exhausted than ever before, because at some point, she lost consciousness. She was just lucky no one had found her there.
Once she’d regained consciousness and caught her breath, she felt the tiniest tendril of her power return, and knew she could manage just enough magic for a transport.
When she reappeared and the transport portal was gone, she found herself standing an inch deep in mud. She looked down, lifting her boots slowly to reveal black icky-stick latching to the thick tread.
She sighed and took in her surroundings.
From the smell of it, the building directly in front of her was some sort of restroom. But it was an old wooden building, the air was thick with humidity, and she had a feeling the combination was failing to keep the stench in. The constant stream of people in and out of the left side of it probably didn’t help either.
The left end was clearly the women’s end, and the right was the men’s. Of course, the right was practically empty, and the left trailed a line of waiting patrons about fifteen deep. Each of them were dressed in varying degrees of revelry harkening to the days of yore.
From lace-up bodices and corsets, trailing skirts, and leather armor, everyone wore their own level of participation upon their sleeves. But the threat of storm was heavy in the air, brows trickled sweat, and a few of the women in heavier armor were fidgeting and adjusting uncomfortably.
It was a Renaissance Festival. Otherwise known as a ren faire.
Angel stepped out of the mud, nodded and smiled to the stragglers at the back of the bathroom line, and got in line herself.
She’d already changed her appearance several times since showing up at the Valley of Shadows concert, but right now she was covered in the blood of victims from the Kansas City
storm. And while bloody costumes were not necessarily as rare as they once might have been at ren faires – what with the zombie craze being what it was – she really looked the part. Nothing drew attention like the bright red of blood, and the less attention she gained, the better.
When her turn finally came and she was safely sequestered in a stall, she rested until she could feel another inkling of power inside her. She used that to summon food from where she had it sequestered in one of her apartments. As people moved in and out of the stalls on either side of her, she remained locked safely in her own, eating a granola bar.
Then she waited some more. The line progressed quickly enough that no one noticed she remained locked in her single stall. When she had the strength the food afforded her, she again morphed, cleaning her clothes and turning her hair red. Her skin became tanned, and her eyes shifted into a gold-green.
As an added touch, she gave herself freckles before at last creeping out of her stall. She flushed the toilet behind her for the sake of appearance. Then she exited the restroom with another small crowd and made her way into the first open area of the faire bordered by tents and booths on either side. A wave of dizziness swept over her once she’d cleared the crowd, and she frowned.
She stopped to lean against a tree. That was weird. It had never happened before.
Worried, she looked up at the gathering clouds. Were there more than there had been before she’d gone into the restroom?
When she felt stable again, she pushed off the tree and continued deeper into the faire.
To be safe, she should probably transport from one place to the next until she was in her permanent location. But she was frankly exhausted. She needed a break. And the truth was, she’d always been a sucker for ren faires. They reminded her of days she’d actually lived through. They also amused her a little, because she was able to enjoy the good qualities of those ages without the bad, such as rampant disease, heavy handed religious laws, barbaric medical practices, horrid stench, Neanderthal attitudes toward women, and more disease.
From where she was standing, she could see things she wanted to check out. Not far away was a booth selling customized leather boots. She loved boots. Another booth a few feet away had astrolabes displayed behind glass cases. She loved those too. She even knew a man who carried one around. Of course, that was a very special astrolabe, hidden inside a very special pocket watch. The watch, like the man, was an enigma, capable of secret things only he knew.
Speaking of time - Angel sort of felt it ticking away. It was slipping, like sand through that infamous hour glass. If she wanted to enjoy the faire, she would have to do so quickly and then move on. Because Sam was not a man to take lightly.
She ran a hand through her hair, and suddenly closed her eyes. “Is the rest of my life going to be like this?” she asked herself softly. Would she always be running from Samael? Would every day consist of brief stops at places she enjoyed, followed by more running?
It was either that, or give in.
An image of Sam’s face floated through her mind. She saw his powerful eyes peering right through her, heard his deep voice wrap tight around her, and felt goose bumps raise across every inch of her flesh. She felt warm inside, and a moan escaped her throat. It was a sound of regret, of longing, and of frustration.
Was all of this worth it?
Was it worth it to keep fleeing the man she loved – had loved for two thousand years, deep down inside, in the core of who and what she was – just so she could play Superwoman to the people of this realm? Just so she could be their wayward hero?
Did they even deserve it? Did they warrant her pain?
That’s a hell of a question, she thought. And she knew it was one thought in anger. You know they deserve it. At least, most of them. And besides, it’s not just you, she told herself firmly. It’s the others from the angel realm as well. Think of all Rhiannon does. Think of everything they all do! Together, you’re better than nothing.
Yes, it was worth her pain. If maybe some days, just barely.
Angel opened her eyes and trembled. Her mouth was dry. She felt strange, and it wasn’t getting any better. Maybe she needed a drink.
She looked around quickly, spotting the edge of the food court area of the faire across a clearing and beside an archery range. A cold beer would go down nice right now. It couldn’t get her drunk, as angels had to drink a hell of a lot of alcohol to feel any effect. But over the years, she had developed a taste for the liquid. A good, extremely cold beer was smooth, not sweet, and more refreshing than anything else she could think of.
She took off in that direction. What could be the harm in just staying for an hour or so? There was no way Sam could have detected her transport from the concert, much less her various transports after that. He had no idea where she was, which was back in Texas, just outside of Austin. This was probably the last place he would expect her to return to after just recently having left the same state. She’d put some thought into her destination, after all.
As she walked, she passed a variety of actors and actresses in ren faire garb. There was a fortune teller in more silk than most pirates managed to steal on the open seas. There was a group of teenagers dressed as League of Legends characters. There were knights and princesses and ladies in waiting. There were children dressed as fairies or wearing masks like dragons. There was a Skyrim group wearing silver Skyrim pendants. There were men in black leather armor, very tall and graceful, with well-built physiques and piercing, vividly colored eyes.
Wait.
Angel stopped in her tracks just short of reaching the beer stand. She recognized those men in black at once, especially since they were all staring at her. And smiling.
They had such beautiful, promising smiles.
Angel’s breath quickened. She turned in a slow circle, feeling them watching her from all angles now. There was one beside the corset tent. He nodded politely at her. There was another by a shop selling dragon jewelry. He, too, acknowledged her with a nod. Another stood beside a booth that sold leather armor. He smiled rapaciously and winked. And another two were waiting on either side of the astrolabe entrance, as if they’d known good and well she would eventually make her way there.
They were all around her.
How could she not have noticed them before? Was she really that out of it? All the other women at the faire had certainly noticed. They stared covertly at the men from under lowered lashes or from behind their friends’ shoulders. She could hear them giggling and talking amongst themselves.
The men were beautiful. They would be. They were incubi, otherwise known as Nightmares.
Slowly, as if in a dream, Angel again faced the beer stand. In front of her, another man in black armor had his back to her. He said “thank you” to the sales person at the stand and then turned around, a frosty mug of beer in each hand. His inhuman eyes sparkled with sexy amusement and even sexier secrets.
“Hello Angel,” said the Nightmare King.
Chapter Seventeen
“Hesperos.”
Hesperos’s green-gray eyes glittered. He handed her one of the beers, and not knowing what else to do, she took it. “You look ravishing,” he said softly.
Angel was surprised to see him there. But then again – she also wasn’t.
“Thank you,” she said softly, glancing down at her beer longingly before taking a big drink. She knew, as she always did with Hesperos, that when he gave such a complement, he meant it thoroughly. He meant that she was not only ravishing on the outside, but on the inside as well. In fact, the inside was what mattered most to the incubi. This was especially true for their king.
He frowned, gazing steadily at her over the lip of his commemorative mug. “You also look ravaged.” He slowly lowered his drink. “I’m guessing you have something to do with that, Fallen One.”
Angel’s eyes popped, and she spun, sloshing a little beer.
“Well,” said Sam casually, as he took the drink from her hands, and sh
e did absolutely nothing to stop him. “The thing about running is that no one can do it forever.” He took a drink of her beer, and his eyes flashed, glowing one second, and shifting back to their deep, tumultuous gray the next. “It does get tiring.”
“That must be why you don’t look any better,” said Hesperos, with a gleam and a smile.
Sam was unruffled. He looked around, as if he hadn’t heard the Nightmare King. Angel stood glued to her spot, her body going strangely numb as she took in his appearance. He was dressed all in black, just like Hesperos. However, his countenance and stature were such to suggest that he was no less than the king of the faire, and by the way the people around her were behaving toward him, Angel would almost believe they were under the hypnotic misconception that he was exactly that.
In fact, as Sam lowered his mug – or, her mug, rather – two “ladies in waiting” nodded respectfully at him and blushed when he smiled back.
“So, which of these unsuspecting females are you here to deflower, Hesperos?” Sam asked. “And do you plan to share with all your men?” He gestured to the other incubi Angel had noticed standing around the faire. The men were watching silently, their smiles gone.
“That one, actually,” said Hesperos, shocking Angel. “And no.” He smiled suddenly. “Unless she’s up for it.”
He was nodding toward a middle-aged woman who was standing beside the archery range. She didn’t know he was watching her. In fact, she was perhaps one of the only women in the park who seemed relatively oblivious to all the drop-dead gorgeous men in black leather meandering through the faire. Instead, her gaze was distant. She seemed sad, in fact.
She had very long, well kept brown hair that was clearly a feature she’d taken great care with. Unlike so many of the revelers around her, she was dressed in plain street clothes. Despite the warm humidity, she wore blue jeans that hugged ample curves, and a white loose fitting V-neck tee that revealed healthy striations in strong pectoral muscles. Her arms were also well muscled, not overly so, but with the appearance of genuine strength. She was on the shorter side, no taller than five-two or five-three, but her rugged engineering boots had a little heel to them, and she stood with her shoulders back and her chin up, making her appear taller.
Samael Page 8