by Erin Hayes
Noah’s men pushed them through an open door and inside a place that did not match the exterior. It was immaculate, with white walls and black accents like curtains, rugs, and shiny black vases centered on clear glass tables. They led them into a sitting room holding nothing but a black couch against a far wall.
Once they were seated, Noah appeared again, his jacket now off and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked like he was about to start some serious work. It didn’t bode well.
Mikon kept his face perfectly neutral as he cupped Connie's hand in his own.
Noah dragged a chair from the hallway into the room, and then sat on it in front of them. "The situation is simple," Noah said, leaning forward as he clasped his hands together. "You’re both going to die."
The severity of the situation combined with the cavalier way Noah said it made him want to laugh in the man’s face. "What do you hope to gain?" Mikon asked.
A new voice, familiar and haunting entered the room. "Your soul," said Bishop.
Noah’s lips curled into a diabolical grin. "You see, it was a brilliant plan. I needed one almost immortal soul. I can’t take it from a Reaper so..." He trailed off and looked at Connie, who was staring at Bishop with a seething scowl.
"Fucking traitor," she growled at him, and Mikon gripped her hand tighter. "You know where the souls of traitors live?"
"Better than you do, little girl," Bishop parried.
"It’ll be my personal pleasure to send you there."
Bishop didn’t respond to her taunts, only smiled his otherworldly smile.
Mikon shifted to place more of himself in front of Connie who shot him a glare. "If you think I’ll just let you kill Connie, you’re wrong. I’ll fight until my last breath."
"Oh, we know you will. But can you fight Bishop? That’s the question." Noah said, climbing to his feet and putting the chair to the side.
There were four goons, as well as Bishop and Noah. If the head Reaper hadn’t been present Mikon would have been okay with the odds, but fighting with Bishop for the last couple of years taught him one thing: he couldn’t beat him.
"Can we have a moment alone to say goodbye?" Mikon asked.
Noah laughed. "Like I’m that stupid."
"You just said it yourself. I can’t beat Bishop. There are six of you and two of us."
One thing he knew that they didn’t: he may not be able to beat Bishop—but Connie might.
In the time they’d trained together, he’d only beat her a handful of times and they were always cheap shots. She would have a serious chance of getting them out of there. If they could at least injure Bishop without dying themselves, then they could escape and warn the church.
Noah regarded Mikon and Connie. "You have two minutes."
They all exited the room and Mikon turned to Connie and wrapped her in his arms.
"What’s the plan?" she whispered.
"Oh, so now you’re letting me make decisions?" he teased, leaning back to plant a kiss on her full lips.
She kissed him back, harder and longer than he expected. He had to catch his breath once she released him.
"Go for Bishop. I’ll go for the rest. Connie...if we don’t—"
"Shh, don’t. We will."
"But—"
She stopped his words with her fingers. "I know."
He sighed.
Noah walked back into the room, his entourage in tow. "So, Mikon, you’re up. You’ll die, then we’ll take Prudence’s soul. And then we’ll kill her too."
Mikon and Connie stood.
He’d had one night to hold her in his arms. One night to kiss her and make her his own. He didn’t regret a single second. His only regret was putting her in danger. He loved her. There wasn’t a single part of him that doubted it. He just wished he could have told her, so she knew how much. His chest ached at the thought of never holding her again, never running his fingers through her crazy mane of hair again. It was enough to inspire him to live, enough to give him the resolve to fight his best. "How do you think to get her soul once I’m gone?" Mikon asked.
Noah answered like it was obvious. "Bishop will take it, of course."
Mikon looked down at Connie, squeezed her hand—and leapt toward Noah.
Chapter Eighteen
Connie couldn’t focus on Mikon’s fight since she had a battle of her own. Bishop stood in the doorway like he’d been waiting for her all along.
"Hello, Bishop. I’m going to take you down."
"You don’t have the power to kill me, child."
"Oh, but I have the power to make you hurt, to make you bleed, and that’s good enough for me."
She didn’t hesitate, simply stepped up to him as if they might start a waltz, but instead of clasping their hands together gracefully, she drove all twelve inches of hidden steel into his gut. The shock on his face held a satisfaction she had no idea she’d been missing.
A trail of blood dripped down from the corner of his mouth as she removed the honed weapon from his flesh. She settled back into a fighting stance. "Let’s dance."
He grinned at her like she hadn’t sliced and diced his belly, and launched a right hook straight toward the side of her face. She dodged it and swerved as she dropped to the ground, taking his feet out from under him.
He toppled, but not enough to go down. He balanced himself, as Connie jumped up and threw a roundhouse kick to his head, her leg coming up in a beautiful arc even Mikon would have had to stop and admire.
Bishop did not. He grabbed her leg before she could complete the step and threw her against the opposite wall.
The impact jarred her enough to make her teeth rattle, but she lashed the knife out toward Bishop’s hands and he dropped her leg so she could regain her footing. Connie took a deep breath and centered herself. Fighting is like sex. You have to let yourself go to the feelings, the movements, and hope by the end everything goes the way it should.
He’d had time to regroup too but his face grew paler by the minute. Blood loss is a bitch. "How you feeling, Bishop? By my count you’ll pass out in two minutes or less."
He laughed and punched her straight in the jaw.
She would have dodged, but he’d moved too fast for a reaction. Her head snapped back and she stumbled, somehow still holding the knife. The impact made her see stars and her teeth cut into her lip. She spit a mouthful of blood on the floor and shook off the dazed effects. Fighting probably wasn’t the best idea after a concussion.
He threw another hit which she blocked, sending a tingle into her hands.
"I can’t wait to see what the brotherhood does to you once they find out about this. Both born and created Reapers will want to see you hang."
"They wouldn’t hang me, girl. They’d dismember me," he said, matter of fact, before attempting to get ahold of her hair.
She slipped to the side just in time. "Ah, and I’ll have front row seats," she said, slicing a cut into his arm.
She could hear the scuffle of Noah fighting behind her, but couldn’t risk the distraction to make sure he was okay.
"You can’t kill me. I can’t kill you. Give up," he said, circling her again.
"Never."
He reached for her face but she ducked to the left and planted the knife in his belly once again. He grunted with the force of the impact, and doubled over as she ripped the knife out again.
The man laughed hard, then dropped to his knees. "You’re a stupid girl," Bishop said, clutching his stomach. "I didn’t think, of all things, that you were stupid."
She watched him warily. "What’s so funny?" she asked, unable to help herself.
"Fate," he said, and nodded his head toward Mikon’s fight.
She allowed herself to look this time, and the entire world slowed to a grinding halt. She could do nothing, not a single thing, as she watched Noah drive the spear into Mikon’s neck. A flash of light eclipsed the room and everyone turned their eyes away. When she could look again, Mikon was gone.
A voice from far a
way, some other time and place shouted 'no' over and over again, but all Connie could do was stare at the spot Mikon had been, feeling her chest compress around the ruin of her heart. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.
The world snapped back like a rubber band and she looked at Noah. He stood with a smug expression on his face, and she walked toward him, calmly intent on ripping his head off with her hands and knife. He must have seen his death in her eyes because he took the spear and ran. She started after him, but didn’t get far. Hard bands gripped her arms before blackness took her into its bosom.
Connie came around slowly, feeling the sandpaper of her tongue and the bruises from the bindings that tied her hands. Memory swamped her hard and fast as she saw again Mikon’s face at the moment of his death. A hot tear slid down her cheek. She cried for the moments they never got to share. The laundry they would never fold together. The expression on his face when she was being a smartass.
She looked around her holding cell. It was nothing but four bare walls enclosing her. The person who tied her to the chair had been excellent; she couldn’t even move. But little did they know she had a contingency plan for this.
She pushed her face into the pocket on her t-shirt. A small blade sat at the bottom wrapped in cotton. She maneuvered the sharp metal in her mouth, carefully, with help from the rubber coating on the backside of it. Finally, it sat naked and gleaming on her tongue. She bit down on the blade as she stretched herself upward, then flexed her body in order to bounce the chair up off the ground. The chair moved slightly and she thanked God they hadn’t bolted it to the floor.
There had only been a few times she’d been brave enough to play around with this maneuver. Once she’d had it down she didn’t want to do it again, as it hurt too damn much for her mouth to get all cut up.
She took one long deep breath and let it out before throwing herself to the side, knocking the chair over with her still tied to it. Relief set into her chest when she stopped moving. The blade hadn’t cut her, and she’d landed exactly as she’d needed to.
She wiggled, scooting on her side like an inchworm to the wall behind her. She just applied pressure to the back two legs against the wall until the legs gave out, folding inward, allowing her to slip her hands out from under the broken pieces. She brought her bound wrists to her mouth and used the blade clenched between her teeth to saw through the rope. Once her hands were free, she untied her ankles and stood.
She took a deep breath, absolutely not thinking about Mikon. Part of her felt like he couldn’t be gone but there was an empty void in her heart.
Suck it up.
Noah would pay for what he’d taken from her. Purgatory and hell would seem like a joy ride when she was finished with him.
Something niggled at the back of her mind, almost like she wasn’t picking up a radio frequency correctly. She shook it off as approached the door. It was locked but it was an old- fashioned lock. She slipped the blade along the door seam but nothing happened. "Fuck."
Drawing a breath and holding it, she tried again. This time she felt the blade catch at the lock, but didn't move it. She let out her breathe and tried one final time. The lock gave with a jerk and she sighed in relief. She peered out into the corridor then quickly retreated. No one about.
She palmed the blade, ready to cut anyone who crossed her path to freedom. Once she got a plan together she would come back for Noah. There wasn’t a single place he could hide. Bishop either.
Somehow she got out of the building without a single soul to accost her. She walked down the street and realized she wasn’t far from Noah’s club, but she needed to get home, find a new weapon, and make a phone call.
Running had never been an enjoyable experience for her, but she ran all the way to her apartment, where she carefully searched every inch of the place to ensure Noah’s goons weren’t lurking about. She found nothing save the lingering reminders of Mikon. For a second she didn’t think she could hold the tears at bay any longer, but she shook her hands and tilted her head back to ward them off. There would be plenty of time to cry later, once she’d given Noah’s head to Father Reynolds.
She looked around for her extra phone, the one for emergencies, and dialed a familiar number. No one answered but she distinctly heard the tone of a number being pressed on the other end of the line and she looked down at the screen to find Xander’s face. Somehow she found it comforting.
"Xander, I need your help. Can you get to my apartment, like, now?"
He nodded and hung up. Always a man of few words.
Connie quickly showered and braided her hair before wrapping it in a tight bun. No use giving them any advantage. Once she’d sheathed her spare service weapon on her thigh, she sank to her knees on the living room floor to pray.
"God, I know we’ve had a contentious relationship. I haven’t always agreed with the plans you’ve made for me. I don’t ask for things often, but please help me keep myself together until this is over." Her voice broke and she swallowed another surge of sorrow. It’s funny how you can’t know how much you love something until you lose it.
A soft knock broke her concentration, and she looked up to see Xander’s leather-clad form standing in the doorway. He didn’t speak, as ever, but walked forward and wrapped her in his arms. She clutched the leather of his coat and laid her forehead against his solid chest. No tears fell, but she held on to the comfort he’d offered before stepping back.
What happened?
"Basically, the cover on our op was blown, my lover took a knife in the neck, and I only have one soul."
She looked down at her arm. The fake soul-mark had faded to nothing from the shower. All that remained was the single feather. She held her arm out to Xander for inspection. For the first time in their long history together, he touched her soul-mark. He sighed as she gritted her teeth against the bite of his touch on her soul-mark. Their relationship now came full circle. His touch on her skin sealed something between them. He’d fight for her and die for her. She could feel the knowledge pumping through her as certainly as her blood and heartbeat.
He lifted his hand and staggered back, eyeballing her warily.
She rubbed her wrist. "Oh, and I put my service weapon into your boss’s gut."
Why?
"Because he betrayed us into Noah’s hands and took Mikon’s soul."
That’s not possible.
His voice in her head made it seem like he had no doubt.
"I was there, Xander. He betrayed us. I fought him."
You fought him and lived? It is evidence enough of his innocence.
She sighed. "So because he didn’t kill me, he didn’t betray us? Mikon is still dead, Xander. He might as well have killed me too."
I’ll help you catch Noah, but I will not fight Bishop.
"Can’t or won’t?"
He shrugged.
"Fine. If it comes to it I’ll fight him."
We need a plan, Constance. You can’t just run off and save the world.
"I’m not going to save the world. I’m going to end one. Let’s go."
Xander didn’t move. Do you think you will kill him, Constance?
She met the black vacant pools of his eyes. "Are you judging me, Reaper?"
She’d both loved Xander and been scared of him when they’d worked together. Now he was just another guy on the street. After losing Mikon she felt nothing. Numb. Which probably was for the best.
No. I’m telling you I won’t allow it.
No, not numb. In a split second she realized she’d been consumed by rage with such fine precision point it blotted out everything else. "I don’t believe that is your call, Xander."
I feel the void in you, Constance. I feel your missing half and I’d weep for it if I could. But it’s not worth the punishment. You won't become a Reaper. You'll be burned at the stake until dead.
Connie asked the question hanging over her since Mikon had told her what Xander was. "What did you do to earn your punishment, Reaper?"
That is not your concern. It is between me and Bishop.
"Let’s just get through this alive, Xander."
She waited for more of an argument but none came and she nodded sharply before leaving the apartment, him following close behind.
He drove as she directed him to the house she escaped from.
Xander would have her back if anything went south in there, but when it came to planting her blade in Noah’s chest he had no say.
Not even God himself would keep her from her vengeance.
Chapter Nineteen
Absolution is a funny thing. Not guaranteed and certainly not earned. Noah stared at the sleeping form of his sister. Bishop would return soon and give her the Reaper’s soul. He couldn’t have been happier about it, but he’d seen his death in the eyes of Constance Grace or Prudence Acquitaine, whoever she was.
As certainly as he knew his sister would live, he knew he would die. And it was fine, as long as Tanya lived.
"Noah," came a soft whisper from the bed.
"Yes, sweetheart. I’m here," he said, clutching her delicate hand.
"You haven’t been to see me in a while. I’m happy you’ve come."
"Of course. I’ll always be here." The lie hurt to tell her, but if she knew what he’d sacrificed she wouldn’t accept it. "I’ve brought someone to help you. Heal you."
"That’s not possible, Noah. I know that."
"No, this time it is possible."
Bishop entered the room behind him. It was like hair standing on end or gooseflesh on your arms. It just didn’t feel right to be near the man. Noah endured though, for her sake.
"Little one." Bishop spoke to Tanya directly. "When you heal, it will hurt. It will feel as if the hellfire itself has come to claim you. But don’t give into the pain. Ride it, and come out the other side."
"Have you done this before?" Noah asked.
"Exchanged a soul? No, I haven’t. But I am confident it can be done."
"Confident is not certain, Bishop. It’s my sister’s life."