“Already under control. Don’t you remember that I asked Sean to make a playlist? He’s all over it. At least he better be! And Mica and Aisling are helping me with the food. Nothing too complicated. I feel like I’m repeating myself. Didn’t we already talk about this? Anyhow, we’re doing—”
Help me.
What the . . .? Slowing his pace, he glanced around, but they were the only people on the sidewalk. Okaaay. He studied the area but nothing seemed out of place. Weird.
The entrance to the park was a set of cement steps that descended to a walking path below the city streets. A leafy canopy of branches blocked the morning sun so it seemed like night by the time they reached the park level. Just as he stepped onto the asphalt path, his ears popped hard before filling with a faint, annoying hum. He dug a finger into one of them and tried to focus on what Rori was saying.
“—simple food. Picnic food. I bought a cooked brisket from Angelo’s. It’ll feed an army. I told you all of this last week. Did you forget wh—”
Her voice died away, but her lips were still moving. Squeezing his eyes closed, he popped them open again, but nothing had changed. What in the hell was happening? “Rori?”
Nope. Didn’t hear that either. It was like his head was under water.
Help me!
The frantic call was buried under a sudden blast of static that sent him staggering into the metal railing on his left. Pain ripped across his forehead with the force of a baseball bat.
HELPME!
Groaning aloud, he sank to his knees, hands clutching a bench to keep from falling on his face. As more pain burned through his brain, his vision went black. Loki lost it. Barking viciously, he guarded Dec as if Hell itself was coming. Rori shook his shoulder, crying, “Dec! What’s wrong?”
HELP ME!
The roaring in his ears got louder and louder until it simply stopped. As suddenly as he started, Loki stopped barking. The stabbing pain vanished. Afraid to move, he waited a few seconds before forcing his eyes to open. Rori knelt beside him, tears glittering on her lashes, worry clouding her face. “What’s happening?”
“Good question. No idea.” He pushed himself upright just as Loki took off like a rocket. Oh, come on!
“Loki!”
Clutching Rori’s hand, he staggered after the dog, yelling for him to stop, knowing it didn’t matter. The dog was on a mission. He slowed enough to let them keep him in sight but refused to wait for them. The sun was filtering through the trees of the park now. Light bounced off of the ponds. Birds scattered in protest as they raced past their breakfast spots. They rounded a bend, crossed a footbridge, and nearly trampled a couple of rats nibbling on garbage dumped by the trail. Rori tripped; he caught her easily and kept moving.
His hearing was back to normal. The weird roaring was gone. In its place was a sensation of desperation that propelled him forward. He could run faster without Rori, but there was no way he would leave Rori alone now. They turned another corner and skidded to a stop.
Loki.
The dog stood in the center of the trail; ears perked, tail wagging fast enough to sway his entire butt.
Look what I did! I found him! All by myself!
“Help . . . me.” The slurred words came from behind a tangled mass of weeds and untrimmed shrubs.
Loki woofed proudly and pointed his snout towards the thicket.
There he is! There he is! Aren’t you going to rescue him?
Sucking air and clutching at a stitch in her side, Rori managed to choke out, “Did you hear that? Someone’s in there.”
“Yeah, I heard it.” Not willing to take any chances, he grabbed his boot knife. Yeah. He heard it all right. He also heard the damn dog. When did Loki learn to communicate with telepathy?
“Make haste, Primani!”
Aw, hell.
Rori wrinkled her nose in confusion. “I don’t understand the language. What’s he saying?”
“Nothing good. Stay here with Loki.”
Practically tunneling through the heavy brush, he shouted, “Hold on! I’m coming.” Thorns scratched the shit out of his arms and face as he shoved branches aside. One caught him on the corner of his eye, tearing the skin away. That was going to hurt later. Pushing his energy to his palm, he held it up like a flashlight and waved it around a bit. It bounced off patches of skin that were half buried under leaves. Bingo!
Hesitating for only a second, he processed the disaster in front of him. “Shit. I need backup for this.” Before he could move, a sudden wave of dizziness knocked him on his ass. His eardrums burst as a high-pitched tone filled his head. With both hands clamped uselessly over his ears, he ground his molars together and snarled, “If you want to be rescued, stop fighting me.”
The tone got louder.
Rori cried out in pain. Loki howled. They would end up with brain damage if he didn’t do something ASAP.
Ignoring the dizziness, he ripped the last bush out by its roots and dropped to his knees next to the half-buried body. “Damn it! Knock it the hell off or I will leave your ass here for the rats!”
But he might as well have been talking to the rats. The creature in front of him was beyond hearing now.
He should’ve stayed in bed.
On the path behind him, Rori shrieked. The sound of her pain cut him to the quick. Okay. Right. Only one thing to do. He shouted, “Rori, grab Loki and run! Get back to the penthouse. Go!”
As her footsteps receded, his vision narrowed and his heart skipped a couple of beats. To his horror, his fingertips flickered; the light winked out. Aaaand there goes his mojo.
Rori and Loki were out of range now. Thank God! He didn’t know how much more he could stand and still stay conscious. Thrusting his arms under the body, he dematerialized.
Their reentry into the foyer was a nightmare. His molecules didn’t quite want to settle into their proper positions even after a few seconds. Like being covered in a million stinging fire ants, his skin crawled as each cell returned to its place in slo-mo. Studying his fingertips, he watched as each nail re-formed, one millimeter at a time. Shivers ran up and down the place where his spine should be. He could feel the vertebrate notching together. His gut clenched and he swallowed what he hoped was only bile. Well, this sucks. What normally happened instantly seemed to take forever, but eventually the burning stopped. Sucking air through his teeth, he wobbled on his feet before sinking to his knees. The creature in his arms slid to the floor, leaves and dirt scattering with him.
That was waaaaay too close. Taking a couple deep breaths, he willed himself to calm down enough to do a scan of his physical body. His hands and feet were attached in their usual places. Fingers? Toes? Good. Head on straight? Check. Nipples? Check. And last but not least, Mr. Crowley and his two little buddies were right where they were supposed to be. Whew! Losing them would suck out loud. Brain check; what day was it? Saturday. Great. Brain seemed to be working fine too.
Okay, the clock was ticking. It would take Rori at least thirty minutes to make it back unless she snagged a taxi. He had work to do before she showed. Now that he wasn’t falling apart, he knelt beside the poor dude he’d rescued. As gently as possible, he brushed the debris away to evaluate his injuries. What he found turned his stomach. Someone had brutalized this one. Tortured him for weeks by the looks of what was left. Skin and bones, he’d been ripped apart by something with claws—something full of rage—which was a wee bit ironic, considering. Worse, dark energy clung to him like decomp. What had done this? A demon? If so, which one? Someone had to have ginormous balls to do this. Who was that powerful?
“Who did this to you, man?” Dec carefully thumbed the guy’s blood-crusted eyelids open. Unfocused pupils. Broken blood vessels. His face was black and blue and swollen like a water balloon. Someone had worked him over with precision. His lower lip was cut so deeply it was nearly severed. His nose was smashed. Left cheekbone crushed. The right temple was indented like someone hit him with a golf club. Or maybe a hammer.
If his face was a disaster, his body was worse. Someone had lost their friggin’ shit. Yet even with all of these injuries, he’d lived. Of course he did. His heart still beat, but the blood stopped flowing some time earlier. The wounds were clotted, crusted, but not healing. His body was in some form of self-protective survival stasis. That explained the supernatural alarm system that blew out his eardrums in the park. Thank the angels the penthouse was protected from demons. Their powers didn’t work inside these doors.
One last thing; he turned him over.
“Aw, hell.”
By the time Rori staggered out of the elevator, she was ready to puke. She’d had to run most of the way back from Central Park. Fifty blocks isn’t short or sweet, although her helpful imagination spurred her on. Images of Dec’s dead body kept jumping to the front of her mind. Top that off with her head doing its best to explode, her ears bleeding down her neck, and the dog trying to drag her the entire way. She’d scared the hell out of the new concierge, Taylor. Gasping for air, splattered with blood, she careened through his elegant lobby with all the grace of a drunken hooker. Now she fell into the penthouse foyer and nearly passed out as stars flashed before her eyes.
Fighting the pull into unconsciousness, she put her head between her knees and focused on taking slow, even breaths until her heartbeat was back under control. “Dec? Are you here?”
“In the back room.” He sounded tired but definitely not dead.
“Oh, thank God.”
Feeling steadier, she staggered to the spare bedroom. Stopping short, she clutched the doorframe for support and breathed a sigh of relief. Dec had called in the cavalry. Apparently deep in thought, Raphael tossed her a distracted glance as she panted for breath. Killian stood over the bed, arms crossed, an alarming tenseness in his body. He inclined his head in her direction, his mouth turning up in a tight smile of greeting.
Dec flashed to her side and steered her away from the room. “You don’t want to go in there right now. It’s ugly.”
“Are you okay? Your face is bleeding.”
Casting an anxious glance behind him, he lowered his voice. “I’ll live. Don’t worry about me.”
Easing up on her toes to peer around Dec’s shoulder, she took in the bloody sheets and unconscious body, and asked, “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is he?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Declan.” Taking his arm, she forced him to look at her. Their eyes met for a brief second, but then he broke the connection with a pained grimace. “What aren’t you telling me? You know him, don’t you? Is he Primani?”
“No. He’s not.” Taut faced and pale with worry, Raphael joined them in the hallway. He didn’t elaborate either.
“Does anyone want to tell me what’s happening here or should I just hope my brain hasn’t exploded?” She held up a bloody finger. “I think I have a right to know why my ears are bleeding. Plus it would be awesome to know if I need to go have an MRI before I get into my wedding dress.”
The three guys had one of their telepathic powwows before Raphael explained in a voice dripping with resignation, “His name is Af. He’s been missing.” He waved her to his side and placed his fingertips on her temples. A quick burst of warmth surrounded her aching head and the pain vanished. “There you go, sweetheart. You’re better. Please don’t worry about your brain. It’s fine. Af, on the other hand, is not.”
“I take it you don’t want to bring him to a hospital.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not an option, nor would it help him. His injuries are not simply physical.”
Rori peered around Dec’s side again. The man’s filthy chest rose almost imperceptibly as he inhaled through his ruined mouth. “They look pretty physical to me. Why don’t you heal him? Or take him to Heaven?”
The three of them exchanged another epic stare that did nothing to ease the tension in the room. If anything, the heavy feeling of doom only grew until Killian finally answered her question. “He’s not welcome in Heaven.”
“Not welcome? I don’t understand. I know I’m new to your world, but I’m not wrong about him being an angel, am I? If he’s an angel, why can’t you take him to Heaven so he can heal and press on with whatever it is he’s supposed to be doing?”
Raphael threaded his fingers through his hair, his expression darkening with an unreadable emotion. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Rori.”
A cold shiver crawled along her spine. Something in his tone was off. She studied him before saying anything else. His face was still unnaturally pale. His right hand was fisted at his side. White knuckles and all. Raphael was an Archangel for crying out loud. Nothing ever bothered him. He was totally Zen. Except for now. Swallowing hard, she braced herself for the rest of the story. Odds were good it was going to go downhill from here.
“Why isn’t it possible? What’s going on?”
Raphael explained, “Af isn’t an ordinary angel. He’s one of a particular sect. He walks the line between Heaven and Hell. His loyalties are . . . fluid.”
“He’s a fallen angel? Then shouldn’t he be in Hell? What was he doing in Central Park?”
“He’s not fallen. He’s exactly what he’s meant to be.” He lowered his voice and added bitterly, “From the looks of him, I think he’s already been in Hell. Those wounds weren’t made by human hands.”
Silent for the past few minutes, Dec finally spoke. “He’s been tortured. Mutilated. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get information from him. But judging by his body, he didn’t cooperate. Not a surprise given what he is.”
Raphael nodded in agreement and picked up the thread. “We need to know who’s responsible for this and what they wanted to know. There are rumors of a war coming.” He shrugged one shoulder as if that’s not a big deal. “There are always rumors of war drifting around.” He shrugged again. “Lucifer’s servants like to brag. In any case, this time we have more reason to believe they are planning an attack on a scale we’ve not seen in a thousand years. This angel might just be the key.”
“Okay. I get all that. But why can’t you heal him? Surely you can’t leave him to suffer in the spare bedroom?”
Dec opened his mouth to answer, but Raphael shot him a sharp look, and he promptly slammed his mouth shut. What the heck was going on with these two?
Throwing up her hands in frustration, she snapped, “Fine! If you can’t tell me, that’s just fine. I get it. Something’s wrong and I’m not cleared to know the details. No problem. Is it okay for me to wash out his wounds and put him on clean sheets? No matter what he’s done, he at least deserves the dignity of that. No one should have to lay in filth.”
When no one argued, she pivoted on her heel but didn’t make it to the doorway. Raphael’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the shoulder. “Stop! You can’t touch him. He’ll kill you.”
Chapter 5: Unchained and Unhinged
THE ARCHANGEL URIEL WAS KNOWN as many things: Angel of Vengeance, Angel of Fire, Angel of Destruction . . . Angel of Patience was not on the list. Among the angelic and demonic, it was common knowledge that he had a short temper, scant patience, and limited social skills. As the guardian of the gates of Hell, he didn’t get out much. Damned souls were always trying to slip away. He took his job seriously. No one got out on his watch.
Any incompetent guard who slipped up would be smote immediately. No questions asked. Instant ash. Poof! The End. Uriel didn’t even blink an eye. Demons were a dime a dozen. If one of them got roasted extra crispy, it made not a bit of difference to him. They were simply tools for his use. Of course, this was a touchy subject between him and Lucifer, but his brother had agreed to the terms. He should’ve read the fine print. The devil’s in the details, yeah?
Lucifer ran Hell. Uriel presided over Tartarus. Was it awkward hanging around the infamous fallen angel? Not so much. They were related after all. Did they agree on everything? Not even close. But they let business be business and kept
personal shit out of the conversation. Family reunions were more fun this way.
A firm knock pulled him from his musings. Without glancing up, he called out, “What? I’m busy.”
The door swung open and in walked his favorite brother, Raphael, looking unusually uptight. He shut the door behind him, pulled up a leather armchair, and announced, “We’ve got a problem, Uriel. I could use your help.”
This was new.
Turning down the Godsmack blaring from the speakers behind his desk, he asked, “Does it require my leaving my office? I’ve got a butt load of souls coming in at midnight tonight. You know I prefer to be here to welcome the new recruits personally. I like to think it ensures compliance.”
Raphael didn’t laugh. “We found Af. Or, I should say, he found us.”
“Is he alive?” Stupid question. Of course he was. If he was dead, a continent would probably be gone. It would’ve made the news even down here. “Scratch that. Where is he? Who’s got him?”
“He’s at the safe house with Declan and Rori. They found him an hour ago. He’s in bad shape.”
“What?” He stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. “Has your Primani lost his damn mind? He knows better than that! Rori didn’t touch him, did she?”
“No, no, calm down. Dec recognized him for what he is and brought him to the penthouse for protection. He called me immediately.” Gripping the edge of Uriel’s desk, he leaned forward with righteous outrage clouding his expression. “Damn and Hell, brother, he’s been shredded. I’ve not seen this much brutality since the Great Fall. It’s disturbing.”
“Is he . . . Is he—”
“Yes. He’s in stasis. He really needs to heal, but you know how it is.” He leaned closer, voice lowered with urgency. “We need you to come.”
“Yeah, yeah, no one can touch him but another of his kind. I’ve got it. Chief Angel of Destruction, that’s me. Hold that thought.” He slipped on his headset and hit speed dial #2 on his phone. After two rings, Lucifer picked up.
“This better be important. I’m busy.”
Saol Mates (Primani Book Six) Page 4