Blood In The Stars

by Jennifer Shea

  They entered a sitting room and she fell onto the sofa. Miller drew the curtains shut to block out the view.

  She huddled into a ball, hugging a pillow to her chest. She had never lived through a war, witnessed a gang battle, or even a fight. But she had seen everything tonight.

  Jason performed that magic trick on Damien’s wounds. Not a minute later, Damien jumped up from his seat.

  “I’m starving,” he announced, his voice as strong and loud as ever. “I need some food.”

  Miller nodded toward the kitchen and Damien left to scavenge. Their host sat adjacent to her, arms folded across his chest, brooding. With his lanky frame stretched out, he appeared more likeable and not the snobby trust-fund baby she always thought he was. Or maybe her feelings for him had changed these last few days.

  His narrowed eyes darted between Alastor and Jason. Alastor stood at the doorway and Jason had peeled back part of the curtain to watch their enemies. Despite the witch’s languid posture, Daria knew Miller sat on edge. She had seen it many times, often right before a big client meeting.

  Damien came back with beers and chips and placed everything on the coffee table. A tense silence followed and as usual, Damien broke it.

  “I sent some mail to my father. Asked him to bring reinforcements.”

  Alastor objected. “That’s against the rules.”

  Damien smirked. “But you can go kill them all with your hands tied behind your back? Be my guest.” Then with a scowl, he added, “Daria would sooner choose me than you.”

  Alastor laughed, the sound suddenly devoid of its familiar derision and ridicule. Instead, it rang out in a lyrical trill, throaty and sincere. “I never expected her to choose me.”

  Everyone turned to look at him curiously. Daria was sure they all had the same thought running through their minds. If Alastor didn’t think she’d marry him, why was he here?

  Yet as soon as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. Alastor came to needle Jason. Again, that eerie suspicion clawed her gut.

  Alastor wants Jason to kill him.

  “No help from the House unless she has chosen you,” Alastor goaded Damien.

  “What are they?” she interjected before the two could argue.

  “Water sprites,” Miller said. “This is part of the coalition. I expect the next troop isn’t here yet.”

  Her stomach sank abysmally. They were trapped inside. Surrounded.

  She had to get through this for her powers to develop. Panic tore through her. What if she had no powers, like Jason’s mother? Then where would she be?

  Daria clutched her chest as rapid, shallow breaths overtook her. Pull it together.

  Her eyes settled on Jason and some of the tension lifted from her shoulders. With him by her side, she could survive anything. As though feeling her eyes on him, Jason turned. They said nothing, their desire searing a path across the room and their agony of separation plain for all to see.

  He strode to her, his face a mix of torment and love. They could have been alone, for their eyes held only each other. When his fingers brushed across the back of the sofa, she felt it as though he caressed her skin. Her cheeks heated, though he didn’t lay a hand on her. She tilted her head back as he rounded the couch to sit down beside her.

  Daria sucked in her breath as the urge to touch him consumed her. She rested her face on the pillow and gazed at him sideways. This was all they could have for now. But as soon as they were alone . . . as soon as they had some privacy . . . she wanted Jason for herself.

  Panicked screams rose from the night. The hair shot up on her arms as she jumped from her seat. Miller and Jason ran out the double glass doors leading to the backyard with Daria fast on their heels.

  They sprinted across the travertine walkway and onto the dewy grass. More shrieks ripped through her nerves, the cries of anguish turning her legs to jelly. Daria skidded to a stop.

  A lone man slashed through the water sprites. Limbs flew and blood flowed. His short blond hair, white shirt, and beige trousers contrasted sharply against the dark night. His long sword cut through the enemies in a lethal dance of death and destruction. A cold, dispassionate stare accompanied an emotionless face.

  He was beautiful. Frighteningly so. She recalled her first impression of Jason in the alleyway. Like that night, she knew if this man came near, if he got his hands on her, she would never escape.

  He caught her eye and her breath seized.

  Gorgeous white wings unfolded from his back and he flew up, striking a water sprite that had reached the top of the protective dome without getting electrified. Had the shield weakened?

  When the air shimmered around the man, her jaw dropped. Long, black shackles extended from his wristbands and heavy links pooled to disappear into the earth. The chains followed his every move. He was no less agile for the restraints and the water sprites didn’t seem to try using the confinements to their advantage.

  Suddenly, the fight ended. The water sprites lay dead, disappearing as all the supernatural creatures did at their death.

  He landed and Daria noticed another stranger stood waiting patiently by the garden gate. As he strode toward this second individual, she watched the chains trail his every movement. They didn’t make any sounds, or perhaps her ears had lost their hearing. Yet in her mind, she heard every clank of the metal on the travertine, every chink as one chain banged into another.

  A chained angel.

  When the two men stood side by side, they made an interesting pair. At first glance, they appeared very similar. If they weren’t twins, they were surely brothers. Both had gleaming golden hair, sky blue eyes, flawless skin, and perfect bodies. The second man was beefier, with biceps bulging at the sleeves that seemed ready to burst out. Outward maturity touched an otherwise youthful appearance. And if Daria didn’t know better, she would say these two men were in their thirties.

  “You going to let us inside?” the larger man asked.

  Daria narrowed her eyes. This one didn’t have the black wristbands or the chains.

  “You’ll love my dad.” Alastor spoke in a low voice, drawing her from her contemplation.

  She turned to Alastor with raised brows. What an incongruous comment. Unless he meant . . .

  “In fact, you probably already know his name.”

  “I do?” she asked.

  “Luke,” Jason growled. “My father’s name is Luke.”

  “Come now, my little brother, there’s no need to deceive her.”

  The saccharine, condescending tone irritated Daria to the core. But it wasn’t her place to tell Alastor off.

  “You probably know my father by another name,” Alastor continued. “The humans called him Lucifer.”

  Twice now, Jason had missed seeing the code to open the front gate, but he knew there had to be another way to leave. As long as the protective shield was activated, enemies couldn’t come in, but they also could not get out. In case Miller decided not to help them, he still needed the ability to leave.

  He studied Miller’s every movement, waiting for the witch to let their latest guests inside. From what he could gather, the rows of elms along the boundary of the property bordering the beach made up the edge of the shield on this end. The low garden gate could not possibly be an exit. That meant another section allowed access. Until he knew where the back door was, they remained trapped.

  “Walk around to the front. Or fly. I don’t care,” Miller said.

  Wily wizard. Jason narrowed his eyes. Obviously, Miller didn’t plan on letting anyone see. The time before Daria’s maturation neared and their time to escape grew short. Especially with the latest visitors.

  Miller motioned for their newly arrived guests to go to the front. They followed him back to the house but as everyone entered, Jason grabbed Dari
a’s arm and pulled her through a side door that led to the kitchen, away from prying eyes and ears.

  His father’s showy display would force him to answer questions he had avoided. Now came the moment of truth. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Daria which House he was from; he just hadn’t known how to begin. Even now he wasn’t sure what to say. What if she rejected him?

  He set his hands on her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Daria, I—”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and pulled him down for a kiss. As her soft lips opened against his, encouraging entry, his tongue sought hers. They tasted each other with gentle flicks. She pressed her body against his and his hands traveled down to her hips.

  Daria relaxed in his arms, her surrender both tender and sweet. It was a meeting of souls, a release of control, and the attainment of total trust. And unlike any other kiss they had shared.

  When they stopped to catch their breath, she held his face in both her hands. A smile lingered on her lips. “I love you. No matter what your form is or what you are.”

  His heart wrenched and twisted with poignant elation. She didn’t care about his House. Didn’t care that his father was one written about in infamy. Didn’t care that he descended from a man banished from Heaven.

  He could barely contain his happiness; it burst from his chest. Yet he didn’t need to share it with others. He was content to hold the knowledge, savoring it between them. He couldn’t tell anyone even if he wanted to. It might sound her death knell.

  She reached for his hands and lifted both to her heart. Eyes bright and teary, she whispered, “Do they hurt?”

  Her words punched him in the stomach. She had seen them—the manacles of his family’s punishment for waging war in Heaven. Most of the time, he didn’t even notice their presence. The only time he felt them was when he traveled to places he should not. The trip to Hell to verify Alice’s body had nearly bled him to death. Long ago, he had tried to fly to Heaven and the weight on his wrists had threatened to pull his arms from their sockets. And most recently, the wristbands had begun to cut into his skin when he saved Daria from Damien.

  The chains were a reminder to all in the realm, that they were angels no longer. Their holy order had been cast down and never again would they ascend to Heaven. Instead, they’d been banished to the mortal realm with the people his father despised. They kept their powers and retained their wings. However, those of his House forever had their shoulders marked with a tattoo of wings while in their human form. True angels walked amongst humans freely.

  Daria brushed her fingers along his wristbands, as though afraid to touch them.

  He shook his head, the soreness expanding in his chest from her concern almost taking away his ability to speak. “I-I don’t even notice most of the time.”

  “And other times?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “The entire family and all those who followed my father bear this punishment.” Jason swallowed. “It marks us as the House of Fallen Angels.”

  He paused, knowing the admission made them outcasts even to the realm they ruled. They were neither from Heaven nor Hell.

  “Is it really okay?” he breathed.

  “I don’t care what House you’re from. I love you. Not your family, not your power. Just you. I wanted to tell you earlier,” she admitted shyly, tilting her head back to gaze at him. “I guess we both have problems expressing our feelings.”

  “Then we should practice more,” he breathed, kissing her.

  A door banged and he knew their time alone had ended. He groaned and Daria suppressed a giggle. Did he have to take her to a deserted island so they could enjoy each other in peace?

  Reluctantly, he pulled away, and planted a quick kiss to her forehead before taking her hand in his and leading her to the front door. They had barely taken two steps when the oven pinged. Daria looked behind her curiously.

  “It’s just oven mail,” Jason explained, reaching over to open the door.

  An innocuous white envelope the size of a greeting card rested inside. Before he could break the seal, Damien rushed into the kitchen and snatched the letter from him. Alastor had followed Damien in and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe as Damien tore open the envelope.

  His black eyes skimmed the note, his thick fingers clenching the paper. His cry of anguish cut through the kitchen.

  “There’s been an uprising in Hell.”

  Chapter 18

  “That’s why we came.”

  Daria spun to see who’d spoken and found herself facing the man who had killed all the water sprites. Jason’s father. He stood next to Alastor and she had to admit they bore an uncanny resemblance. Women killed to possess their hair and skin. Men spent hours at the gym to have their athletic cut and build. The faithful dreamt such men would someday guide them to Heaven.

  The three of them—Jason’s father, Alastor, and the third man—exuded radiance, their glowing auras blinding. Yet there was a coldness, an aloof persona that told onlookers they could only look and could never hope to attain their perfection.

  Daria locked eyes with Jason’s father, who studied her. She resisted the urge to rub her arms, unwilling to admit he scared her. The chill Jason and Alastor often generated could not compare to the fear she had of this man, a dread that came from deep within the fibers of her being. Yet she found herself lifting her chin in challenge and he smiled in response.

  “Why are you and Uncle Mike together?” Jason asked.

  Uncle Mike. So that’s the beefier man. Jason had said he was from the House of Fallen Angels. Did that mean this man was the Angel Michael? Daria didn’t know much about the roles of the different angels, but she knew there had been plenty of Hollywood movies about him. Now that she met him in person, it was almost a little anticlimactic. He was certainly beautiful enough to be an angel and yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was all there was. Another pretty face.

  “You look disappointed.”

  Blood rushed to her face. Damn, was her every thought written on her forehead? She had to be careful around this one.

  Mike winked at her.

  “Where’s your sister?” Lucifer asked.

  “Upstairs,” Jason replied. “She hasn’t woken up yet.”

  Daria blinked. Sister? The only person upstairs was Candy . . . Lucifer was talking about Candy? They were all freaking related? This entire time she had been jealous of Jason’s sister. Daria would have sighed in disgust if she were alone.

  “Stop looking so surprised,” Lucifer chided. “Candace is my second child. And you can call me Luke.”

  His silky sweet voice reminded her of Alastor’s. He had none of Jason’s warmth and didn’t seem personable at all. How did Jason’s mother, the last auspicious one, end up falling in love with this guy?

  Michael burst out laughing and slapped Luke on the back. “I wonder that all the time!”

  Lucifer narrowed his eyes and she flushed. Mind reading confirmed.

  “Anything else in the letter?” Jason asked, refocusing her distracted thoughts.

  Damien shook his head. Then he whirled toward Mike and Luke. “But you two clearly know something.”

  “There have been rumors of mobilization.” Luke nodded. “I sent a team to get more information but they never came back.”

  “We also heard there’s been some—unusual—activity in Hell lately,” Mike added.

  The angel was hiding something. Daria saw it in the flicker of his eyes, the hesitation in his voice. Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? She glanced around surreptitiously. The men didn’t seem to notice, or else they weren’t showing it. Damien frowned in worry and aggravation while Jason’s brows met in deep contemplation.

  “Most of the attacks on Daria came from demons,” Jason mused. “I
t seemed strange that the other creatures hadn’t come, but I didn’t have time to worry about it.” He hesitated. “The coalition isn’t all here yet. We’ll probably know more tomorrow.”

  Her heart twisted. How many more would die tomorrow? The horrific scene of Alastor killing the demons and Luke taking out the water sprites flashed through her mind. Acid rose to her throat. No more nameless demons, faceless minions, and everything in between should die because of her. It had to stop.

  Jason had said he knew another way. But they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it again after he brought it up.

  Damien grasped Miller’s arm, hard. “Let me out of the house. I need to go to my father.”

  She had to hand it to Miller. Though Damien was easily twice his size, Miller didn’t lose his cool. “Have you forgotten that Daria’s maturation date is coming up?”

  Damien flicked her a glance, his internal struggle visible on his face. “I don’t need to be here for her to pick me,” he grumbled.

  The deadline seemed to act as an omnipresent reminder of her imminent doom. If I can’t marry Jason, that is. She felt bad about Damien. For all that he had kidnapped her and shown up half-naked in her bed, he had grown on her with his obnoxious attitude and arrogant demeanor. She didn’t want to keep him here if his father needed him. She had Jason.

  She felt Jason’s eyes on her and turned slightly to give him a small smile. Just a few more hours until the deadline. The clock on the mantle showed it was already eleven. Technically only one hour until her birthday.

  “It’s late,” Jason said. “At least get some rest and we can talk about it in the morning.”

  “But I want to talk to my father now,” Damien yelled like a petulant child. “Summon him here.”