Key of Solomon: Relic Defenders, Book 1

by Cassiel Knight

  She searched the pale faces around Sam and in the audience beyond. Where the hell was Gary? The head bouncer’s skyscraping, bruiser form was nowhere to be seen among the caterwauling sea of men. In fact, she didn’t see any bouncers.

  “Let go of me,” Sam cried out for a third time.

  The jerk dragged her closer. By this time, the other men at the table had stood. Now five men besieged Sam. Shit. The terror on her face left Lexi’s own gut clenching in response.

  She recognized the helpless awareness, the knowledge you weren’t strong enough to handle what happened to you. She’d never forget the icy fingers of fear squeezing her insides or the pressure of her own heart pounding so hard she wondered why it hadn’t leaped from her chest.

  Dark memories surrounded her, tearing at her with sharp claws as if trying to find a chink in the barrier that kept them at bay. Kept them from flooding her system with the panic she vaguely remembered, but never wanted to feel again. Refused to feel again.

  Instead of succumbing, Lexi took a steadying breath and narrowed her gaze on the jerk. Before she had a chance to think about what she was doing, to consider what it meant to get involved, she jumped down from the stage. She shoved through the crowd, shrugging off the clammy hands fumbling at her with a few well-placed elbow jabs. The nauseous scents of sweat, beer and the acrid bite of smoke churned around her as she pushed her way to the small group.

  “Get your hands off her,” she said, through a throat tight with anger. “Now.”

  Five men, make that five lust-and-alcohol-crazed men, turned from Sam and faced Lexi. For a minute, common sense and self-preservation clicked in her mind. What the hell was she doing? She wore nothing but her dance bra and pantaloons. And bare feet. Not even good kicking power. Way to think ahead, Lex.

  Bloodshot eyes focused on her. Brows lifted. He released Sam’s arm and thrust her aside. Under the low lighting, an overabundance of alcohol made his face appear sallow and his downturned lips pouty. Faint stubble along a not-so-strong jaw line and the pungent scent of sweat mixed with some sort of heavy cologne reminiscent of Ralph Lauren’s Polo completed the picture.

  “Hey, babe, you’re hot.” The words slurred from his lips, much like dental patient dribble. She half-expected to see drool drip off his chin. “Wanna party with me and my friends?”

  She sighed. His oh-so-supportive friends provided encouragement, their catcalls and hoots getting louder. More creative. She heard several references to what she could do with them. Alone or any combination of the group.

  “So, what do ya’ think?” the jerk continued as his upper body arched toward her.

  Ah jeez. Her nose wrinkled, and her upper lip curled. The stench of beer mixed with garlic, onions and, heaven help her, something rotten, washed over her.

  “Sit down, dude,” she said, ignoring his question. And his hair-curling odor. “You really don’t want to do this. Look, Heavenly Holly’s on-stage. How about I get you and your friends a drink. On me.”

  His eyes narrowed and he reached out—maybe to grab her, hug her, she didn’t fucking care. She pictured her boss yelling in her ear about taking care of the customers. Oh yeah, good idea. Stand there while a bunch of hormone-hopped perverts put their grungy hands on her or Sam. Good customer relations, my ass.

  She crooked her head at the man and smiled. Eyes shot through with red brightened. He thought he had her. Before he took a step, she stomped on his instep and jabbed the heel of her hand into his chest. Looking as if he’d been rammed by a tractor, he stumbled backwards, his arms flailing. Honestly, she hadn’t hit him that hard. Had she?

  His friends broke his fall. From the dumbfounded expressions on their faces, catching him equaled accident.

  Drunken, oversexed idiots.

  As one, five pairs of bloodshot eyes fastened on her.

  Terrific. Just terrific.

  Mikos Tyomni unclenched his fingers from the back of the chair leaving behind small indentations in the scarred wood. Tiny reflections of the extreme emotions flooding his system. Beatus Deus. He lifted a hand to his face, surprised to find his fingers trembling. An array of disturbing feelings fought for control. Feelings he’d thought he’d finally been able to suppress. Covetousness. Lust. Possession.

  Possession of the exotic woman whose hips begged for his touch. Whose lithe, sensual movements offered bliss.

  The woman on the stage, Lexi he’d heard her named, radiated a vitality that drew him to her like a magnet. Her features contained an alluring blend of Egyptian and Grecian traits. Thick dark hair hung in long graceful curves over her shoulders. Loose tendrils framed a sun-kissed face with a short, straight nose and softly rounded chin.

  A diaphanous confection of emerald, garnet, gold and pearl silks whispered over full hips that tapered into long, smooth legs. The ebb and flow of the thin material offered teasing glimpses of bronzed skin and shapely calves. He had been unable to see the color of her eyes or their shape but he could imagine. Imagine the way they would darken and turn moist with desire as she moved her hips under his.

  Hell’s gate, the way she moved. Seductive, with unconscious grace and delicacy, a golden lioness stalking her prey. Over the centuries, he’d seen many beautiful women dance the raqs sharqi. But none had this Lexi’s finesse or the ability to entwine the sultry rhythms with the enchanting hip swirls and dips. Even Egypt’s most powerful seductress, Cleopatra, had never performed as evocatively as this woman had. She’d certainly never taken his breath away.

  It took all the willpower Mikos commanded to stop his traitorous body from leaping onto the stage to draw Lexi against his body. To slowly pull off each delicate piece of fabric and reveal each curve and mysterious valley of the slender form hidden under the veils. To caress warm skin and explore the sleek lines of her back, her waist, her hips. Then finally, to press her body to the hard floor as he thrust into her again and again and again. His legs quivered with the effort to remain still.

  Mikos sucked in a deep breath and willed his pulse to slow. He had to get his lust under control. He knew, far too well, what resulted in succumbing to the temptation of a lush body, plump, wet lips and soft, perfumed skin.

  Now, despite decades of fighting the seductive pull of mortal women, Archangel Michael, his tormentor, wanted him in close contact with the most important mortal female of this time. This woman. The Defender.

  Mikos growled low in his throat. Was there a better way to test the resolve of a Fallen who wanted to return to Heaven than by putting him in close contact with the motivation for his Fall? Or at least, half of his motivation for falling.

  Definitely a test. Another battle to fight with his baser instincts.

  Another chance to fail. The insidious thought crawled through his mind.

  As the rushing blood in his veins slowed and his breathing calmed, he suddenly sensed what he hadn’t been able to before. A subtle change had come over the mortals. Desire, greed and enjoyment in sensual pleasures clashed with rage and hunger. And evil.

  Mikos stiffened. As if water from the frigid north crashed over his head, the flush of passion dissipated. Another immortal was near. Like him, yet not like him. Malicious intent seethed around him, fueling the men’s lust, greed and anger. A sudden thin chill swept past him, and he swung around in the chair.

  The silver-touched inner eyes slid over his regular sight. Color bleached to various shades of gray, light and dark and nuances in between. Using his new sight, he scanned the room. At the same time, he inhaled, his nostrils flaring. The presence, whatever it was, leaked the sulfuric taint of the Under Realm into the stale, smoke-heavy air. If one of the dark ones were near, he or she, boasted powerful concealment skills. Skills better than his own. Damn. Only one possibility. A High Caste demon.

  His mind spun with the implication of the demon’s presence. High Caste demons did not leave the Under Realm often, but when they did, chaos and death, human death, followed. For the High demon to be present now, in close proximity, could only me
an Beliel knew where to find the Defender. His jaw clenched. He’d hoped for more time to work with her before she had to deal with Beliel or one of his deadly allies.

  “She is a delicious piece of mortal flesh isn’t she, my brother”? As if a mere thought of his name commanded his attention, Beliel’s dark, hell-crusted voice slithered into Mikos’ mind.

  “Hiding behind a mortal, hell-spawn?” he snarled.

  A guttural bark of derisive laughter, then, “Better a hell-spawn than an archangel’s slave.”

  “At least I don’t have to act through another.”

  A hiss sounded, the grating sound reverberating through Mikos’ skull. A brief smile of satisfaction twitched his lips. He’d made the oily bastard angry.

  “You will lose,” Beliel snapped in a harsh, raw voice. “I will have the woman, and she will lead me to King Solomon’s Key.”

  “Are you an Oracle now?”

  “I do not need a soothsayer to tell me of my destiny. I have the pretender’s Vessel. Soon I’ll have the Key. Then I’ll take the spirits’ power as mine. Nothing can stop me. Not Lucifer, not Heaven and certainly not a cowardly traitor.”

  He paused but before Mikos could form a reply, Beliel continued. “Why did you turn your back on us, brother? For these humans? They are nothing to us. Less than nothing. Cattle, really.”

  “They are Yahweh’s children.”

  “Bah. His pets. We were his children. Before he turned us aside for these pitiful creations.” His mind voice rose on the last word. When he paused, Mikos could almost hear the intake of breath as the demon fought for control over his emotions. “No matter,” Beliel continued. “Think hard, my brother, about what side you are on. About the choice you’ve made.”

  Before Mikos could respond, a feminine shriek and outburst from nearby tore his attention from Beliel. More laughter, low and dark, flowed around him before the bastard’s nasty chuckle faded.

  Mikos’ heart thumped. Fires of Hell, had the demon distracted him so he could send someone after the woman? He jerked his head to stare at the stage. Under the undulating lights, the empty space taunted him.

  He yanked to his feet, the chair crashing to the floor. Ignoring the startled yells of the human males at the table who’d seen an empty chair violently topple, his eyes swept over the crowd then latched onto the woman.

  Chin high, she stood in the midst of wide-eyed men taunting her with crude language and gestures. Her dark hair, tumbling carelessly down her back, glittered like black pearls under the flashing lights. A modern day Joan of Arc standing before her accusers. Mikos’ fingers clamped on the table, the urge to rip the men to shreds surged until he thought his chest would burst. The wood splintered under his grasp.

  Hell fire. Spinning away from the table, he pushed through the crowd. Astounded at the violent emotions raging through him, he took several deep breaths as he shoved and jerked away the human barriers between him and the woman. It had been a long time since he’d felt such extremes in emotions, yet, twice this night, he’d felt both forbidden passion and the craving to harm a human. Neither one boded well for him.

  Curses fell from his mouth as he made his way to the woman. Now that he’d found her, he’d not lose her to a pack of lust-heated mortal men. Or a hell-birthed demon.

  Chapter Three

  “To fly, we have to have resistance.”

  Maya Ying Lin

  At the same moment Lexi settled into a defensive square stance, she caught a glimpse of lead bouncer Gary’s red head bobbing her way. About damn time.

  Out of the corner of her eye, another movement in the crowd snatched her attention from everything but the dark man coming toward her. Like freaking Moses parting the Red Sea, the object of her previous ogling moved through the leering and aggressive men as if they weren’t even there. A glowering mask of scalding fury narrowed his eyes and drew his lips into a tight line. The rage had such a tangible presence she wondered how the mob didn’t sense the intense emotion.

  “Oh, shit,” she breathed. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded.

  Looking beyond the anger that clawed at her nerves, she saw something else. Something impossible. Something that had to be a trick of the lights. An illusion. The silver glow saturating his eyes, increasing in brilliance until she couldn’t focus on anything except the incandescent flash, couldn’t be real. Alarm skittered along her spine, an icy sensation she felt freezing in her veins.

  Transfixed by the wreck heading for her, Lexi stared. The dark figure of the man, big and commanding, closed the distance. Even with rage stiffening his shoulders, he carried himself with nonchalant grace. An oddly primitive warning sounded in her brain. She licked her lips.

  The flicker of motion from behind him tore her from her absorption with his glowing eyes and powerful body. Black wings unfurled over his shoulders and back. Not only one pair. Two pair, one larger, the feathers more defined, and a smaller, more delicate-looking set just below the larger pair, stretched up and out. Like him, the wings did not appear fully solid, yet she saw them.

  Didn’t she?

  Lexi closed her lids. No way was she seeing this. She opened her eyes and flicked her gaze in his direction again. Nope. Nothing wrong with her vision. Or her imagination. If she had a Bible in front of her, and believed in that sort of thing, she’d raise her right hand and swear she’d seen four freaking wings, complete with shimmering black feathers, spring from behind his back.

  Someone jostled her. The crowd’s level of aggravation had escalated. Time to protect her own ass before someone handed it to her.

  A few well-placed jabs and not so well placed, but effective, heel kicks, cleared a circle around her and Sam. Lexi closed her fingers around Sam’s wrist, spun the woman around and shoved her through the crowd and further away from the jerk and his friends.

  To Lexi’s right, Gary waded into the churning melee, grabbed men by the scruff of their necks and tossed them to the side. Despite the urgency of the situation, a smile twitched her lips. Ah, brute strength in poetic action.

  What a pity he didn’t get the chance to toss the jerk who stumbled over Gary’s feet and tipped forward. The jerk’s lowered head homed in on her midsection then yanked upright.

  Sonofabitch. She backpedaled, and her eyes widened. “Shit,” she sputtered. She hadn’t moved fast enough. The top of the bastard’s head crashed into her chin. Her head snapped back. She’d have fallen on her ass except for the presence of the chair she fell against. Tears filled her eyes. A throb began at the back of her jaws and extended into her ears.

  Those cartoons where stars spun around a character’s head? What a bunch of bullshit. Instead of stars, she got blinding pain that shot through her jaw and ground her teeth together.

  Her first instinct was to smack the shit out of the jerk. Instead of the reciprocating hurt she wanted to inflict, she settled for glaring at him and singing the air with a satisfying spat of swearing.

  “Ah, Christ, I’m sorry, Lex.”

  Gary hovered near her shoulder, practically wringing his hands like a damsel in distress. Disregarding his soulful brown eyes and his way-too-damn-late apology, Lexi gazed over the heads of the rapidly dissipating audience. Her mysterious, dark hottie was gone.

  Except… The spot where he once stood remained empty. As if he continued to occupy the space, the absence of his body creating a vacuum.

  Who was he? Even more, what was he and what the hell was with those, er, wings?

  “What the fuck is going on here?” A familiar strident tone, bell-ringing loud and obnoxious, beat like a clapper against her head. “Just do your damn job and get these fuckin’ assholes outta here.”

  Ah, there he was. Her dream of a boss, Howard. Tall, stick-thin, all angles and edges, he waved his arms at two boys in blue standing beside him at the bar. Every once in a while, he shot her a threatening look. The pencil eyebrows narrowing over small eyes weren’t pretty. It wasn’t kind.

  It was downright frightening.


  “Lexi, you okay? Do I need to call for a doctor?” Gary asked, hovering at her side.

  She held a warm spot in her heart, as much as she could manage for anyone, for the big bouncer. Aside from his solid, thick form, he reminded her of the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. Well, except for the straw stuffing. Oh, and the missing brain. For all his size, there was something gangly and endearingly clumsy about him.

  “I’m good, thanks. Nothing a couple of aspirin and sleep can’t handle.”

  She tossed him an easy smile that faded at the stabbing reminder of the beating her jaw had just taken and then pivoted. The only thing on her mind was getting the hell out of the club.

  “Lexi, wait a minute.”

  Sighing, she stopped and turned. With an apologetic expression thinning his mouth, Gary held out a white business card. “I almost forgot. A guy gave this to me. Said to make sure I handed it right to you.”

  Lexi took the proffered card and flipped it over. Several times. She frowned. No writing or pictures covered the stark, white surface. Only an expanse of nothing on both sides of the card. “Is this a joke?” she asked. “Who gave it to you?”

  Gary shrugged. “Dunno. Never seen him before. He had the weirdest eyes though. Kinda swirly.”

  Heh. Swirly. What a night, um, correction, day this was turning out to be. While dancing at the club was never boring, it had never had quite this much excitement. As Gary hinted at—weirdness.

  “Thanks, Gary. See you later.”

  He nodded, and Lexi headed backstage.

  Mikos stared at the woman until she disappeared into the shadows behind the stage. Blood pulsed through his veins, feeding the heat of anger that remained even after her safety had been assured. A few more steps and he’d have been at her side and the human males crowding her would have suffered. Maybe even died. The battle fury’s hunger required a release. It was all he could do to keep a tight lock on its violence.