Broken Angel

by Amanda Jones

  They made their way carefully down the hallway making sure to warn Sam before he kicked or stepped on anything that would make any undue noise. The hallway opened up to a large storage room. Directly in the middle of the space in a shaft of dimmed moonlight streaming in through an old window was B. He was strung up by his wrists hanging from a wooden ceiling beam. The chains that bound him looped around the beam and travelled along the wall to a winch and pulley system.

  “Over here!” Sam shouted.

  Heavy footfalls sounded from every corner of the building as the remaining fallen charged through the hallways towards them. Mara ran over to B, her breath caught and she choked out a sob as she saw his body. He was covered in streaks and smears of blood. The magic glow of their blood bond created a red aura around his body, and then disappeared as blood melded with blood. His eyes cracked open and he peered down at her, his mouth moving but no sounds emerged.

  “Hold on,” she said, reaching out to touch him gently.

  Sam and Sergei ran over to figure out the pulley system. Al, Bill, and Yetarel ran over to Mara’s side, each helping to gently ease B to the ground. Yetarel looked like he was about to vomit at the sight of his friend in this condition. Mara frowned. Surely after all these years of battle and hardship they’d all seen each other in rough shape at times.

  “Mara.” B’s weak voice drew her attention away from his friend and back down to himself.

  “Shhhhh. Don’t talk,” she said quietly, laying her hand gently on his shoulder.

  B reached up a shaking hand and cupped Mara’s cheek with all the care in the world. She reached up, laying her hand over his, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Her heart clenched. This simple gesture felt like an apology for his earlier reaction, and Mara was more than happy to accept. The other fallen backed away from the couple slowly.

  A shifting of the air drew their attention away as a curtain in reality opened up and Amir popped his head into the room.

  “Am I late to the party?” Amir asked. “You never know how long these spirit-walking trips are gonna take.”

  “Nope.” Sam said, walking over to shake Amir’s hand. “You’re right on time. We’ll need your help to get him back to The Advocate on the sly. He looks like he’s in pretty rough shape and I don’t want to drag him through the city and chance his attackers seeing him.”

  “Think we should get in touch with Luc and Katia about this?” Amir asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Sam took a deep, pensive breath. “No.” He shook his head. “Not yet. There’s nothing they can do right now. Give them a while longer to enjoy life together before we burst the happy bubble.”

  Amir nodded. “Ok, you’re going to have to lift him up and pass him through to me. I’ll walk him to The Advocate and meet you guys there.”

  Sam and Yetarel each looped one of B’s arms over their shoulders and lifted him as carefully as possible. Ever so gently they passed him over to Amir. He leaned forward so they could drape B over his shoulder. He stood back up straight and gave them a sad wave with one hand as he held onto the backs of B’s legs with the other.

  “See you guys soon,” he said, stepping back into the misty hallway of the spirit world.

  The curtain between the worlds slid back into place as the swirling fog swallowed both men up whole.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bataryal

  His head was pounding yet again. This was becoming an all-too-familiar sensation. Aside from having the good fortune of being treated by Mara, this week was really starting to suck the big one. B groaned and cracked his eyes open. He was lying on a dirty concrete floor. He was most likely in a basement, given the unfinished ceiling and storage shelves filled with canisters and a variety of forgotten household goods. His neck cracked as he craned his head around. What he saw next made him wish he’d stayed unconscious. There he was in all his evil glory — Keir. His pale skin appeared to glow in the small shaft of light filtering in from the tiny window set high up in the wall. Definitely a basement.

  “Well, well, Sleeping Beauty woke up again.” He smirked at B as he crouched down and twisted his head at an unnatural angle to look him in the eye.

  “Please tell me you didn’t kiss me to wake me up.” B couldn’t help himself.

  Keir bared his teeth in disgust. “You’re really not my type.”

  “You don’t say.” B muttered.

  “Well.” Keir stood. “I hate to rush out…important meetings with the boss and all, but I have arranged for some special entertainment for you during my absence.”

  Keir reached down and grabbed the chains that attached to the shackles on B’s wrists, yanking him up into a seated position. His body was still weak from blood loss, and he slumped back to lean against the cold cement wall behind him.

  “You’re going to have the non-stop viewing pleasure of our newest reality show. I like to call it Your Friends are Fucked.” Keir stomped over to the opposite wall and stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling shelving units with his hands on his hips. He looked like he was eyeing the place up for a TV home design show.

  “Well, this just won’t do,” he said.

  He reached out and grabbed the metal frame and with the flick of his wrist, he sent the whole unit crashing to the ground with one hand. Random pieces of a human life went flying off the shelves, plummeting to the ground in broken heaps. B guessed the owner of this home must already have been killed, but it still broke his heart to see things that had been collected over the course of that life tossed aside like so much garbage.

  Keir dragged a huge metal paint bucket over toward the wall, viscous red liquid sloshing around inside it. He slid a paintbrush out of his pants pocket and leaned down to dip it into his very special custom paint. He lifted the brush to the wall and began to outline an image, chanting as he went.

  “In nomine diaboli, corruptus in extremis, veritas diaboli manet in aeternum.” The chant went on as he continued to paint. B tilted his head and frowned as the image became clearer. Keir stood back from his oeuvre d’art and smiled at B.

  “Yes, it’s a TV — a very special TV just for you.” He dropped the paintbrush into the bucket, blood splashed out onto the floor leaving tiny little droplets of spatter on the concrete.

  “Look, dude, I know my brain’s a bit muddled from the blood loss, the punching, and the drugging, but I’m not out of it enough to hallucinate a show on your pretend TV.” B rolled his eyes. “I do love the bunny ear antennae though…very retro of you.”

  Keir gave a smile full of teeth, and waved his hand in front of the painted TV. Electric sparks seemed to jump off the wall, coming faster and faster until they coalesced into a clear image. There was no sound, just the images of his friends crowded around together in the basement room of The Advocate. B breathed a sigh of relief at seeing evidence that they were all okay for now. The group slowly broke apart to reveal the two individuals they‘d been hovering protectively around. Mara was crouched on the floor beside…B. He felt his heart jump into his throat as he watched the one woman he couldn’t get out of his mind fawning over…himself…or rather, the other, evil him. The shape shifter had already infiltrated his friends.

  “It’s only a matter of time now.” Keir loped back and forth across the basement in front of B. “My friend will infect your brethren one by one until their souls are all tainted with pure evil, ripe for Satan to call them back to service, permanently.”

  Keir gave B a smile that oozed evil. “You may even get to see your little darling get fucked by my demon. Ta ta now, sweet cheeks.” He gave B a little wave and took off up the staircase.

  B heard the slam of a heavy wooden door and the snick of a lock sliding home. He drew his knees up to his chest and dropped his head in defeat. He slid his hands down to the shackles around his ankles. The chains that bound him rattled and clinked, a sound that was eerily familiar; bringing the past he tried so hard to keep buried right to the forefront. Remembered impressions of pain and humiliation in a
dark, blood-soaked demon stronghold assaulted him. Chains rubbed his wrists and ankles raw. B knew his mind was going into a tailspin, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Filthy floors running with blood flashed in front of his tightly-shut eyes. His skin felt tight as the phantom hands of his demonic captors poked and prodded at him, laying him out on a stone slab, carrying out the physical and sexual torture that would lead to his mental collapse. From across the room he could hear his best friend being subjected to the same pain and humiliation. He turned his head and locked eyes with Yetarel across the room, his once bright eyes empty.

  B peered up at the screen Keir had set up on the opposite wall of the basement. Mara was crouched on the floor cradling the shape shifter, talking softly to him. His heart dropped to the soles of his feet. No matter how far he ran from his demons they always seemed to find him in the end. Helpless and hopeless. He hadn’t been able to save himself or Yetarel. Here he was, yet again, a chained up and helpless captive as the lives of his Mara and his friends were at risk. He would never be worthy of her love, nor his friends’ respect. B dropped his forehead back down to his knees and screamed out in pain. It was time he finally admitted it to himself—no matter how tough and cocky he pretended to be—this is who he was and he was right where he belonged.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mara

  Mara sighed in relief as she ran her hands over B’s body yet again, reassuring herself that he was indeed still in one piece. He seemed to be back to his full level of immortal healing, all that blood must have equated to a massive amount of injury, but his skin appeared to be unmarred. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since she’d arrived at The Advocate. Amir had been with him and he’d struggled to his feet to get to her as soon as she’d entered the basement. Whatever had happened to him, something had clearly changed. Instead of pulling away from her touch, he was leaning into her, making as much contact as he could. He’d cupped her cheek, run his hands over her arms, and clasped her hands. It was as though he couldn’t get enough of her. The intensity in his eyes harkened back to their first meeting. They’d been at The Advocate that time, too. He’d come to her begging for her help to turn Sergei before he died. Their eyes had connected and she’d felt a shiver run through her body, like meeting this man had been somehow part of her destiny. She’d fed from him shortly after their first meeting. The way their eyes had connected, the sexual heat and electricity had bounced back and forth between them, she’d never experienced anything quite so intoxicating before in her long life. It had felt like every nerve ending in her body was pulling her toward him.

  Mara glanced across the portal room toward the rest of the group. They’d congregated over to the side of the portal, and kept shooting curious looks over at her and B. Mara imagined that this is what being in high school would be like — everyone pointing and whispering about the secret crush B had on her and vice versa. They were clearly not used to seeing B act like this. Mara knew it was corny, but she felt warm and fuzzy at the thought that she might be the first girl he’d gone a bit soft over.

  She cupped his cheek gently. “How are you feeling?”

  “Couldn’t be better now that I’m here with you.” B replied with a cheeky wink.

  “Seriously?” Mara chuckled. “You must be feeling better if you’re flirting.”

  “The only thing that would make me feel bad right now is if you took me seriously earlier at Brimstone. I was freaking out; I don’t want you to think it had anything to do with you.” B looked her dead in the eye.

  “I just…I thought we had a connection then you reacted like that. What was that all about?” She dropped her eyes, unable to meet his intense gaze while feeling this vulnerable.

  “Mara, look at me.” B pleaded with her.

  Mara gazed up at him through her lashes. “What?”

  B placed his index finger under her chin and tilted it up so she was looking him in the eye. “I’ve been through some really bad shit in my life, Mara. It’s left a mark on me that I can’t ignore.” He swallowed hard. “Help me fix myself, Mara. I need you.”

  “So, you feel it too?” she asked quietly.

  “Of course, I felt it.” He took her hand gently.

  Mara frowned. “So, you don’t anymore?” she asked, sliding her hand out from his grip.

  “What?” B asked as he reached for her hand again.

  “You said you felt it. Past tense.” Mara pulled further away.

  “No, I feel it. Present tense. Our connection — it’s strong.” His words poured out in a rush.

  Mara stiffened up as he ran his hand down her arm. “Look, it’s not like we really know each other. I felt something on my end, but if you didn’t that’s totally cool. You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”

  “Mara, I’m not lying. I’m just overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the last couple of days. I’m confusing my words. Please trust me.” His eyes were so full of emotion, beseeching her to believe him.

  “I…yeah, ok…look, let’s talk about this later. Right now you need to rest and get back on your feet.” Mara glanced over as the group of fallen made their way up the stairs to the main bar of The Advocate. “I’m going to go up with the guys and get you something to eat. Stay here and relax.”

  Mara slid back and crouched, readying herself to stand, when she felt B’s strong arms band around her. He yanked her down to straddle his lap as she gasped in surprise. Before she could recover her equilibrium, B slid his hand up her back and wound his fist into her wild hair. With quick, steady pressure, he drew her lips down to his. If Mara’s heart could have beat it would have been running wild, she’d imagined kissing him ever since she’d tasted his blood. He licked along the seam of her lips, prodding her gently to open for him. Mara placed her hands on his strong shoulders and leaned into the kiss and tentatively opened her mouth for his invasion. He wasted no time, sliding his tongue in to tangle with hers. Mara met the thrust of his tongue as he set an erotic rhythm designed to drive her wild.

  Mara didn’t know quite what was wrong, but it seemed almost clinical, detached. That connection that she’d felt with him should have ensured that any kiss would light them both on fire, but she felt nothing. She’d expected to feel that warm heat pooling low in her belly, and the desire to climb all over him, but it just seemed forced. Could she have been so wrong about what she’d felt with him? Was she just fooling herself, wanting a connection in her life that she just wasn’t destined to have?

  Mara pulled away from the kiss gently. “That…um…that was quite a first kiss.” She stammered, not wanting to make him feel bad about her lack of desire.

  “Hold on to your hat, I’m just getting started.” B started to pull her back down for more.

  Mara pulled back. “Not now. You’ve had a bit too much excitement recently.”

  B met her gaze and gave her a dirty smile. “A man can never get too much excitement in his life.”

  Mara jerked back from him hard.

  “What’s wrong?” B asked.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Mara said as she got to her feet. “I just need you to take care of yourself right now. I’m going to get you food from upstairs.”

  B winked at her. “All right. Just don’t take too long.”

  Mara nodded and turned towards the stairs that would lead her back to the main tavern. She walked slowly up the well-worn stone staircase as she tried to make sense of what she’d just seen. When she’d met B’s eyes after their kiss she could have sworn that his eyes had started showing pinpricks of a kaleidoscope of different colours trying to break through the gorgeous hazel that she’d come to adore. There was something off about him, and she was determined to talk to his buddies about it. It probably wasn’t anything serious, but they’d know how best to help him. Shaking it off, she made her way back into the main hall to join the others.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Doppelgänger

  That vampire really was a hot piece of
ass — too bad he was going to have to kill her. He’d have to make sure he took advantage of his current form to have some fun with her first. Keir hadn’t given him any direction about not fucking one of his marks. That kiss had left him hard and aching. He’d fucked something up with that kiss which was strange since he’d had flashes of hot, steamy sex when he’d taken B’s memories. The feelings he took from B were obviously real, but it seemed as though their captive fallen angel had been having wet dreams about her that he hadn’t acted on yet. He must have taken Mara by surprise. Next time she’d be expecting it. He’d be able to get a piece of ass on this assignment.

  The shape shifter was alone in the basement. It appeared as though he had some time alone to put Keir’s plan into action. He reached over and dragged the discarded tray from his dinner closer. He fished around for his dinner knife, wiping it off on his discarded napkin and examined it more closely. It was stainless steel and relatively dull. While it was certainly not ideal it would have to do.

  He glanced down at his borrowed body and smiled in appreciation. In a matter of hours he was going to start shifting uncontrollably until he was able to find another body to duplicate. He imagined his life looked pretty cool from the outside, getting to be different people all the time, but in reality he had no clue who he really was. It was rare for any of his kind to be named as children, and once they hit maturity they had to shift on a regular basis to stay alive. It was a strange life, not having a name or a face of your own.

  The shape shifter turned the knife around, the blade pressed tightly against his stomach. He pushed in hard, the knife slowly cutting into his flesh. A thick, dark purplish-blue liquid began to ooze from the wound as he drew the knife down sharply. He sucked in a sharp breath as pain radiated throughout his body. He dropped the knife down to the stone floor with a clatter. He reached down and slid his right hand into the wound, groaning at the pain as he shifted his organs around like a kid searching the cereal box for the hidden prize. He hit pay dirt and drew his hand out of his stomach with a small glass vial clutched in his fist. With his free hand, he reached over and grabbed up the discarded napkin. He wiped the vial clean, and then ran the napkin over his almost-healed stomach wound. He raised the vial to eye-level. The black tar-like substance inside was alive, moving around of its own will. Humans joked about bottled evil; little did they know it actually existed. The tiny little vial contained the very essence of evil, Satan’s own blood.