Torn by Fury

by S. M. Reine

She had to tell Abel about Abram.

  Elise took another plate. “I don’t think James would tell me the truth. He’s a good goddamn liar.”

  Rylie knew exactly how convincing James was. He was the one that had talked Seth into a situation that led to his death, after all.

  She hadn’t thought about Seth since Elise showed up at sunset—the ritual to save Lincoln had been distracting. But now her heart twisted again, like she’d just rediscovered his death for the first time. She rubbed her stomach through the dress.

  Rylie had to tell Abel the truth about Abram. But what about Elise? Would she help Rylie protect him, or would she kill him herself?

  Elise started banging through cabinets, oblivious to Rylie’s protracted silence. “I can’t overstate how much I desperately need a drink right now. Do we have any wine left over from the last bender?”

  “Wine?” Rylie’s hands stilled on the dishes. She didn’t drink wine.

  “Yeah. A red, preferably. It feels like a red night. I know we finished that one case, but we’ve got to have at least a half a bottle around somewhere.” She smirked at Rylie, and the expression was just as weirdly friendly as Elise bringing up James in the first place. Maybe weirder. “What about that bottle Mark gave you? Don’t tell me you already finished it off.”

  Mark? There were two guys named Mark in the pack—well, one Mark and one Marcus—and neither of them had ever given Rylie a bottle of wine. “Mark who?”

  Elise rolled her eyes. “Asshole Mark. Tall, dark, and douchey Mark that you met at the lab. The guy you’ve spent two weeks avoiding since you refused to return his texts.”

  “I never have wine. I don’t drink it.” She hadn’t been old enough before the Breaking, and liquor stores had been some of the first places sacked during the riots. “Not to mention that I have never called anyone ‘Asshole Mark’ in my entire life.”

  The other woman shut a cabinet slowly. She looked at Rylie as though seeing her for the first time—looking over her hair, her dress, her bare feet.

  “Oh,” Elise said.

  Rylie frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m going to see if Lincoln wants to go to Hell with us,” Elise said abruptly. “Be ready to leave as soon as I get back.”

  She phased out of the kitchen.

  Rylie stared at the place she had been standing, still clutching a wet plate and feeling like she had missed something important. That had possibly been the weirdest conversation of her life—weirder than the first time that Seth had tried to explain werewolves to her, and that had set the bar pretty high.

  She set the plate down. Dried her hands off on the towel. Went into the living room.

  James was sitting alone, the door hanging open where Stephanie must have exited. He didn’t look surprised to see that Elise wasn’t with her. “Is she gone, then?”

  Maybe gone off the deep end. “Yeah. She left.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “She said she was going to find Lincoln.” Rylie hesitated. “Who’s Asshole Mark?”

  James’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Why in the world would she tell you about him?”

  “We were just…talking. She mentioned him. It’s not important or anything. It just seemed like a weird name for Elise to use, since she’s not really a nickname person.” She was stuttering. Not suspicious at all, as long as James had been recently lobotomized.

  Unfortunately, his brain seemed firmly intact, and he looked suspicious. “Ah. I suppose she could only mean Mark Hanson, a doctorate student that Betty briefly dated in…well, that would have had to be the year she graduated college.”

  “Who’s Betty?”

  “Elise’s former roommate and best friend. She died a long time ago.”

  Then why did Elise seem to have become briefly convinced that Rylie was Betty?

  Lincoln was petting a black cat on the edge of the forest when Elise found him. Sir Lumpy cut a rather distinctive figure, even in the dark; his flat face, bugged-out eyes, and low-hanging belly were impossible to mistake for any other feline.

  “This is an ugly damn cat,” he said, grinning up at Elise.

  She stood back with her arms folded, studying his mental signals from a distance. He was easier to read than ever before. He might as well have written “my soul has been saved” across his forehead in permanent ink. “Don’t say that where the Gresham women can hear you,” Elise said after a beat. “They love that…thing.”

  Sir Lumpy looped around Lincoln’s ankle then detoured to Elise, arching his spine as he rubbed his flank along her boot. The corner of her mouth twitched. She had to admire a cat that didn’t care what species of evil his pets were coming from.

  Lincoln wiped the fur off of his hands onto his knees and then straightened. He already looked stronger and more muscular, as though severing him from his connection to Hell had done more than just spare him from the anathema powder. Elise watched his muscles flex under his t-shirt as he stretched, eyes trailing down to his snug jeans.

  Her gaze snapped back up to his eyes. It was hard to look at his face and see anything but the man who had murdered her dog.

  “Are you coming with me to Hell?” Elise asked.

  Lincoln pushed his hat back with a knuckle. “I don’t know. Am I?”

  “I won’t be able to guarantee your safety anywhere else. The Palace should hold strong no matter what happens.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.” He sauntered toward her until there were only inches between them. It was easier to look at his chest than his face. The sight of the Northgate Sheriff’s Department Football Team logo didn’t remind her of murder as much as his eyes did. “Should I come with you?”

  He traced a finger over the edge of her jeans. Her torn tank top had slipped up an inch, and he brushed bare skin.

  Her body reacted with a flush of goosebumps and heat. It had been too long since she’d had sex, and Lincoln was still an incredibly attractive man. There was a reason Elise had all but cornered him, pounced on him, and devoured him on her first trip to Northgate.

  “Elise,” he said. “Look at me.”

  Reluctantly, she did. This was the face of a man who had tortured her in more ways than one, though never of his own volition. Yet she couldn’t separate what he had done from who he really was.

  “I know I said I didn’t want anything to do with Dis, last time you asked me to help. But that was different. That was back when I thought I could still get out.” His voice was husky, a little deeper than usual. “I’d rather be wherever I’m wanted.”

  “Not worried about your soul anymore?” Elise asked.

  That hand creeping up her ribs had ripped Ace’s throat open. “You’re not the Devil I expected.” His arm snaked around her waist. She let him pull her against him, splaying her fingers over his chest.

  “I’m exactly the Devil you expected,” Elise said. “Lincoln, I don’t think—”

  He kissed her, his lips soft and his chin harsh with stubble. She had always enjoyed kissing an unshaven man. Not this time. She couldn’t bring herself to kiss him back.

  Lincoln wasn’t stupid. He released her within moments.

  “Is it because of what I did when I was possessed, or because I’m human now?” Lincoln asked without a hint of animosity.

  It was because he’d killed her dog. Elise could have eventually gotten over the fact that he tortured her, especially if it meant having someone on hand to feed her, but what he had done to Ace was never going to be okay.

  It didn’t matter if time had been somehow rewritten by Benjamin Flynn and Ace was still alive. Lincoln had been capable of doing it once and that was too much.

  He wouldn’t have understood what the problem was even if she’d told him. “I thought you were human when we fucked,” she said instead.

  “Did you?” He scrutinized her face closely. She had no idea what he saw, but resolve settled over him. “Guess you can’t have some human guy hanging around while you’re figh
ting angels.”

  That was a perfectly good reason. “It would be dangerous. Yes.”

  “In that case, I think I’m going to see what good I can do on Earth. Now the fissure’s gone, people might come back. Civilization might actually stand a chance if the world lasts long enough. Bet I could help people.”

  She waited for a pang of regret that never came. She nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea.”

  He released her. His smile was boyish, all down-home charm. “No hard feelings, right? Maybe if there wasn’t a war. Or maybe after the war.”

  “Maybe.” Sometimes, people needed to hear the little lies to help them sleep at night.

  “Look me up if you need help,” Lincoln said.

  She handed him a cell phone she’d been carrying since her last visit to the McIntyres. “And use this to call my colleagues at The Hunting Club if you remember anything else from Judy that could be useful. It only calls Lucas. You remember Lucas.”

  He obviously did, judging by his grimace. But he tucked the phone in his jacket pocket. “Think I could take one of the pickups? It’d sure beat all that walking.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “All right.” He hung around for a minute, as though waiting for something else to happen, but Elise had nothing left to say. He nodded. “All right. See you around.”

  Nine

  ABEL WASN’T WAITING for Rylie when Elise phased them into the Palace of Dis.

  “He’s alive,” Neuma said as Elise stalked away with James drifting behind her. The half-succubus reached out to stroke her long fingers through Rylie’s hair, as though unable to resist the silky blond locks. Rylie stepped away from her. “I’m sure he’d have been here if we’d known you were coming, but…” She glanced up at the crystal bridge.

  The sky above the infernal city hadn’t just healed. The fissure had snapped shut on the bridge, shattering the path into jagged teeth.

  “Where can I find him?” Rylie asked, picking at the hem of her skirt. She didn’t feel safe in the Palace without Elise.

  “The army’s encampment.” Neuma grinned. “I could take you down there.”

  He was with the army? What was Abel doing with the army? Rylie bit her bottom lip and stepped up to the edge of the tower, gazing down at the courtyard. It was filled with tents and milling soldiers, who looked tiny from so high above. Then the wind blew a fist of smoke past the open window and blotted out her view of the ground.

  “I can find my way alone.” Rylie was an Alpha werewolf. She didn’t need an escort in supposedly friendly territory.

  Neuma twisted a lock of Rylie’s hair around her finger again, just for a moment before letting it drop. “Suit yourself. Seems like there’s gonna be a meeting in Elise’s rooms, just so you know where to find us.”

  The demon stalked away, heels sharply rapping against the tiled floor. Her boots climbed so high on her legs that Rylie couldn’t tell where shoe ended and leather pants began.

  Rylie didn’t feel any better without Neuma pawing at her. The humans guarding the shattered bridge were staring at her. She was so horribly out of place in her white baby doll and cowboy boots—in fact, she couldn’t have been more out of place unless she had dropped into Hell wearing a ruffled pink skirt.

  She jogged down the stairs alone.

  About halfway down the tower, she picked up Abel’s familiar scent, musky and reassuring. It made the wolf stir inside of her. This was her mate, the man who made anywhere home as long as he was there.

  Her moment of comfort was short-lived. The thought of him led her to the thought of Seth just as quickly, and it filled her with a strange queasy feeling. It was incredible how quickly dormant feelings of guilt could come back—and how raw that wound remained.

  It would be better if she could just touch him.

  Rylie picked up her pace.

  Near the ground floor, she realized that she was being followed. She stopped and turned. A pair of human guards stood on the landing above her. They smelled of gunpowder, so there must have been firearms concealed on their bodies, but all she could see were Tasers at their hips.

  She took an experimental step down two more stairs. The guards followed.

  “What are you doing?” Rylie asked.

  “Elise’s orders,” the female guard said with a shrug. “We’re not supposed to let you out of our sight. My name’s Chantal. This gentleman is Hank. Nice to meet you.”

  Rylie didn’t think it was all that nice. “Why is Elise assigning guards to me?”

  “Who cares?” asked Hank. “Do you want to be alone in Hell?”

  He had a point. She managed a tremulous smile. “You don’t have to stand that far back. I usually don’t bite between moons.” She punctuated that with a nervous laugh, hoping that they would see it as a joke.

  Chantal smirked, but Hank remained stony-faced. Either way, they joined her on the bottom step.

  The smells coming from the tents overwhelmed her. She hadn’t been around all that many demons before and she didn’t recognize what the odors meant. Some were acrid, some were almost sweet, but all of them brought to mind images of leering red devils with pitchforks.

  Having a pair of Elise’s guards flanking her meant that the army gave them a wide berth, stepping aside to let them pass through the narrow space between tents.

  She found Abel inside one of the largest tents. The flaps were pinned open, and she hesitated at the entrance.

  Abel stood beside a table covered in maps, the corners of the parchment weighed down by stone daggers. He wore a borrowed pair of leather pants and nothing else. Scars twisted down one side of his chest, rippled over his abs, and vanished underneath the waistband of the trousers. Her gaze followed them down and her cheeks heated.

  “Hey, you’ve got company,” said the man on the other side of the table. It was Gerard, one of Elise’s human…generals? There was a fancy word for him, but Rylie wasn’t sure what it was.

  Abel didn’t say anything. He just pulled her into the tent, lifted her off of her feet, and kissed her. He tasted like sweat and adrenaline.

  Some of the guys in the tent laughed. Rylie dropped to her feet and pushed him away, cheeks burning. “Hey. I mean, hi. What are you doing down here?”

  To her surprise, Abel was grinning. “Killing angels. I’ve dropped two of them.” He picked a feather out from between his teeth and flicked it to the floor. “It’s great.”

  This was much more like the Abel that she had first met—bloodthirsty, playful, and kind of at the scary end of the spectrum. Rylie wasn’t sure she liked that version of Abel all that much, considering he had spent most of their early relationship threatening to kill her. Still, it was better than seeing him grieving and miserable by about a million degrees.

  “I was worried about you,” Rylie muttered. It was hard to talk with people she didn’t know listening.

  Gerard grabbed one of the daggers off the table. “Meeting in the Father’s rooms,” he announced. “You’re all coming to guard the doors with me. Hustle up.” He pushed the other men out of the tent, until only Chantal and Hank remained.

  Rylie circled the table slowly. It looked like the map was a detailed depiction of the City of Dis rather than Heaven, as she’d expected, and there were skulls the size of her thumb marking several positions.

  “Last sighted locations of angels,” Abel explained. “Lots of them got into the city before the fissure closed. Know what’s up with that?”

  “James,” Rylie said. She didn’t need to say anything else.

  He grunted. “Fucking scary guy.” That was probably meant to be a compliment, coming from him.

  “I came down to bring you back, but I guess it looks like you’re fine,” Rylie said.

  “You kidding? I haven’t had this much fun since Seth and me killed that pack in Indiana.” He was definitely on an adrenaline high if he could talk about hunting werewolves with his brother like that had been a good time in their lives rather than incredibly hor
rible.

  Elise had been right. Rylie had been stressing herself sick over Abel getting trapped in Hell, but there was nothing for her to worry about after all.

  “Do you think you’ll keep hunting down here?” she asked.

  Abel looked startled by the question. Like he hadn’t considered there might be an alternative. “Northgate’s empty. I’m not doing a lot of good as Alpha up there.”

  “But it’s not empty,” Rylie said. “Abram and Summer…and me…”

  He pushed her back until she bumped into the table, and then he lifted her, sitting her on the edge. He had to stoop to be able to trace his nose behind her ear. He inhaled her scent, and she shivered.

  “Our bite fucks up these angels, big time,” Abel said. If she just listened to his growling tone, she could almost convince herself that he was saying something sexy. “I can hunt them like this whole army can’t.”

  Rylie knew that was true. She had seen the effects her bites had on the angel-demon hybrids back in Las Vegas. But she hadn’t fought willingly, and definitely not enthusiastically, and the fact that he didn’t give much consideration to the dangers was scarier than the idea of the angels themselves. “But all you’re protecting is Hell, Abel.”

  “There are good folks in Hell. You’ve seen ‘em. It’s worth it.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about those people.”

  “I care,” Abel said. “It’s easier not to, but I care.”

  She spanned her fingers over his bare chest, gazing up at him. “There’s no way to get these people out of Hell now that the fissure’s closed. The logistics of getting the army to Earth alone is pretty much impossible. Everyone’s trapped for now.”

  “That just makes it more important to keep the city from getting screwed.”

  “I guess you’re right.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his clavicle, eyes closed. “I just don’t want you down here.”

  His hands rubbed down her back. “I’ll leave if you want me to. I’ll do anything you want. I’d kill for you.”

  “You just like killing,” Rylie said.