Warrior (Fallen)

by Kristina Douglas

“A while?” Michael said, ignoring the young woman who sat and watched them all.

  “If she is the right candidate,” the contessa said with a certain amount of satisfaction. “You yourself pointed out, Monsignor, that she lacks deference, respect, and virginity. I think it will not be long before we are called upon to shepherd another candidate through her childhood.”

  There were creatures in the natural world who bit the heads off their mates and ate their children, he thought. The Contessa di Montespan was one of these. Celibacy had been an easy choice for him with women like the contessa in the world.

  “You will do as you see fit,” Michael said.

  The girl—no, woman—had risen, and he realized with an odd sort of approval that she was tall and lean, and there was strength beneath the skin that looked soft to the touch. Good. The life he was taking her to wasn’t for the weak and gentle.

  She knew she was trapped, and her eyes met his quite fearlessly. They were a bright, almost iridescent shade of green, startling with her very pale skin and inky-dark hair. Her shoulders were back, head erect. “I’m ready.”

  He caught Pedersen’s instinctive move of protest out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored him. Pedersen was the past, no longer of consequence. If he had fallen in love with his charge, bedded her, then that was his problem and perhaps hers. It was no concern of his.

  “You’ll need to change. Something warm. We’re flying, and you will be cold.”

  She nodded, all business. A moment later she was gone, without a single glance at her mother and Pedersen.

  “That’s gratitude,” the contessa said, before eyeing Pedersen with disapproval. Then she turned back to Michael. “May we offer you something, Monsignor? Some of our excellent Italian wine, perhaps?”

  He despised these creatures almost as much as the girl did. He shook his head curtly. “I am in need of fresh air.”

  “I’ll have Tory sent to you.”

  “There is no need. I will find her.” It was the simple truth, and he saw a flash of sheer rage flicker across Pedersen’s face before it vanished. The man had never known how to find her, had never known the kind of link that immediately existed between Victoria Bellona and her mate, whether Michael liked it or not.

  “Then godspeed,” the contessa murmured.

  Michael didn’t laugh. God had nothing to do with it.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  IT WAS STRANGELY UNSETTLING TO WALK through the deserted hallways of the castello alone, with no one to guard me. The man who thought he was an archangel must be very sure of me. He was a fool.

  Anyone who thought I was an ancient Roman goddess had to be certifiable. I had had every intention of humoring him until I could find a quick escape, but it was looking as if I didn’t even have to go that far. If I was truly unguarded, I could slip away before anyone realized I was gone.

  I went straight to my room, stripping off the skimpy dress and pulling on dark jeans and a black turtleneck and sweater. I could imagine Angelina Jolie wearing something like this as she kicked butt and made her escape. I had money hidden in a place even Pedersen couldn’t find, almost one hundred euros. It wasn’t enough, but it meant I wouldn’t be completely destitute when I got out into the real world. I hadn’t much experience with money, but judging by the recent movies I’d seen, a hundred euros wouldn’t go far. I would hoard it carefully.

  Once I ditched the pretty, crazy man, I could finally begin my real life. There was a world I was missing, and I was more than ready to make up for lost time. I wanted to fall in love, I wanted to get a job, I wanted to have babies, I wanted to see the world. I was hungry for everything I’d missed during the long years I’d been kept in prison.

  I even had a pair of black boots to complete my transformation. No ID, no passport, but I’d deal with that later. There were people who provided such things, according to the movies. The most important thing was to get away.

  My door was unlocked but my windows were still barred. My escape route had been planned for years, and I knew exactly which direction I was heading. Pushing aside the priceless tapestry in the hall outside my bedroom, I reached for the knob of the long-hidden door and pushed it open, slipping inside before anyone could see me.

  It was pitch-black, and I froze, waiting for my eyes to accustom themselves to the darkness. This was the oldest part of the castello, dating back to the time of the Borgias. I suspected the contessa was a descendant of that poisonous family.

  Which made me one as well, I supposed, but from this moment on I was an orphan: no family, no ties, no genetic inheritance. I could make it up as I went along—I was thinking along the lines of an Irish princess. Not that Ireland had princesses, but I figured my pale skin, dark hair, and green eyes might work for Ireland. That would be a good place to start. I took a deep, calming breath, waiting for vision to reassert itself. The chamber smelled of mouse and mold and neglect. No one ever came up here—I think everyone else had forgotten it existed. I’d explored it once, long ago, when they hadn’t watched me so closely, and I never forgot a thing. The short flight of stairs led up to a turret room, and then another, steeper set wound down inside the rounded tower to the cliffs outside. I knew exactly how many stone steps would get me up to the turret. The precise number of winding stairs that would then lead me down to the rough entrance overlooking the valley below. I had no idea who had used those stairs long ago. Armies seeking their way in? Cowards escaping? I was no coward.

  The longer I waited, the more dangerous it was going to become. I began to move, carefully, trying not to stir the leaves that had found their way into the deserted stairwell, avoiding the crunch of what I expected were mouse skeletons. Or worse, rats. I held on to the cold, sweating wall and moved upward, concentrating on Pedersen’s martial arts training to remain utterly silent.

  I remembered the path correctly, reaching the landing when I expected. At last there was a faint shaft of light coming from one of the arrow slits, probably the portal the vermin had used to enter the castello, and I looked around me at the shadows. They would have started hunting for me by now, and I couldn’t afford to waste time. I crossed the littered landing to the narrow, curved stairway, and started down.

  It was a good thing I was essentially fearless. I didn’t mind heights or dark enclosed places or even spiders the size of my fist. This was the way to freedom, and I couldn’t afford to hesitate. Once I escaped, I would never have to see them again.

  I wasn’t crazy about the descent into total darkness, the stone steps slick beneath my feet, the sweating wall, slimy with moss and decay, providing a treacherous handhold. God only knew what lay at the bottom, but I had no choice. I had to move forward.

  At least I would never again have to deal with Pedersen’s obsessive eyes following me wherever I went. I’d never have to hear the contessa’s contempt. I moved faster.

  When I reached the dark, dank well that was the bottom of the tower, I was breathless. The door was still where I remembered it, but the years had been hard on it. When I pulled on the handle, it came free with a splintering of wood, leaving me trapped inside.

  They would be far away, up in the main part of the castello. I would have to risk making noise. I spun, kicking at the door, and it splintered, a huge hole gaping into the night air. Another kick, and I could shove the shattered remains of the old door out of my way, stepping out into my first breath of freedom. There should be bright sunlight and triumphant music, I thought, instead of a cool, biting wind and darkness. But I would make do with what I got.

  The door opened onto a narrow spit of land that overlooked the cliffs. The Italians tended to build their castles on mountains, to fend off marauders from adjoining city-states, and this one was no different. If I turned left and followed the pathway, I would end up in the courtyard, in full view of the inhabitants. I had no choice but to turn right and try to climb down the rocky outcroppings to a safer trail that would lead me away from my prison.

  I moved
out of the shadows, starting toward the rocks, when a thick hand grabbed my wrist, gripping so tightly I made a small, betraying sound of pain. Pedersen. He’d always enjoyed hurting me, and it had been a matter of pride that I never let him see it, never made a sound. Well, perhaps my cry would be my farewell gift to him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I didn’t answer. It was self-evident, but I had learned to watch my tongue around Pedersen. He had a vicious temper despite the creepy, obsessive watchfulness that suggested something far more disturbing than a wish to hurt me.

  “You think you can escape your destiny?” He was clenching my wrist so tightly the bones ground together, the effect agonizing. For almost twenty years this man had tormented and tortured me, and I had had enough.

  “I can escape you,” I said unwisely.

  “No.” His denial was hoarse, guttural. “You aren’t going with him.”

  “You’re right. But I’m not staying here either. Let me go, Pedersen. Or I’ll make you.”

  He hit me. I should have been expecting it; he’d done it often enough. He’d broken my cheekbone once, my jaw another time. I always healed with unnatural swiftness, and I’d never given it a second thought.

  This blow made me see stars, but he’d smashed no bones. I blinked, trying to regain my equilibrium. I didn’t have to let him do this to me, I reminded myself, shaking my head. Never again.

  I looked into those pale eyes and knew that this time he was going to kill me. For whatever reason, he didn’t like my reprieve, and despite the brooding looks and his tendency to flatten me whenever he could, he clearly wasn’t envisioning a happy-ever-after with me. I glanced over the cliff. The rocks below were jagged, and with luck I would hit my head, an instant blackout so I wouldn’t have to suffer.

  I figured I had nothing to lose. “Why do you want to kill me, Pedersen? You were my mentor, my teacher. Why would you want to destroy all that?”

  The bastard hit me again, and I stumbled, then righted myself. He was even using his left hand. The right hand would have smashed my face in. “No one will have you,” he said, and dragged me away from the sheltering wall.

  “Not even you?”

  It worked. He froze, the words so shocking that he couldn’t move. But I could.

  I kicked up, hard, hitting the soft place between his legs, and he screamed, releasing me, sinking to his knees on the narrow ledge. He was more resilient than I’d thought. I had barely taken two steps toward the rocks when his hand caught my ankle and I went down. He tried to pin me, but I’d been holding a few tricks in reserve. I moved, lightning-fast, bucking against his heavy weight, and I threw him off with all my strength.

  He screamed all the way down to the jagged rocks below, and I heard the thud as he landed.

  I lay perfectly still. It was too dark to see that far, and Pedersen was no longer making any noise. He was dead, and the thought was odd, unsettling. I had just killed a man. Someone who deserved it a hundred times over—but still, it was unnerving.

  My face was numb from his blows. I’d sport some magnificent bruises for a few short hours, and then they’d be gone, thanks to my restorative powers. Not that I cared what I looked like. I scrambled up, stepped back from the edge of the cliff, and turned.

  The man stood there, watching me. Michael.

  “How long have you been there?” I demanded.

  “For a while. You did a good job with that cretin. Did he train you?” His rich, golden voice sounded no more than faintly curious.

  He’d been watching as I fought for my life? I managed to keep my voice cool. “Yes. He didn’t realize I’d come up with a few tricks of my own.”

  “He did a decent job with you. We will continue when we reach Sheol.”

  I stared at him. “Why didn’t you help me?”

  “There was no need. You were more than capable of dealing with him.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. “What if he’d thrown me over the cliff before you could stop him?”

  “Then I would have caught you.”

  Madman, I thought again, starting to edge away. I wasn’t sure whether I appreciated the faint note of approval or resented it. “Look, we don’t even know each other. You don’t really want me to . . . to go away with you, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. It is, however, my duty.” His voice was flat, uncompromising. “Whether I like it or not, you are the chosen one.”

  “I could fight you.”

  The crazy man laughed. “Do not waste my time, Victoria Bellona. The sooner we are back in Sheol, the better.”

  “Exactly where is this Sheol?”

  “In the mist.”

  Oh, Christ. Not only was he insane, he was also cryptic. “Great. How do we get there?”

  “We fly.”

  “And just which airline takes you into the mist?”

  “No airline.” He moved so quickly I barely had time to register what he was doing. He caught my shoulders, turned me, and pulled me back against him, snaking one powerful arm around my stomach to hold me against him. I had a momentary impression of overpowering strength, hard muscle and bone and heat all along my back, causing a strange, temporary weakness. And then, to my horror, he leapt off the cliff.

  I closed my eyes, not wanting to see death looming up at me, but I didn’t scream. The rush of wind was deafening, the darkness all around, but there was no sudden, sickening end on the jagged rocks below. We simply kept on falling.

  Though it didn’t feel as if we were moving down, as gravity dictated, but up, up into the sky, and I tried to open my eyes, to check the strange sensation, but my lids felt as if they were glued shut. I began to struggle, when I heard his voice growl low in my ear, “Stay still, you idiot.”

  Some stray bit of common sense compelled me to obey. The world had turned upside down, Alice through the looking glass, but if I wasn’t dead yet I could wait until I was on solid ground before I started fighting again. It was getting cold, very cold, and it felt like ice was forming over my skin, my face. The air was thin, and I struggled to breathe, a little desperate in the cold, inky darkness. Maybe this was death after all, I thought dizzily. Maybe you didn’t actually feel the impact, you simply slipped into some black, icy chasm where you were trapped for the rest of your life.

  But didn’t most people go to hell? I couldn’t remember. Rational thought was becoming more and more difficult, and no wonder. I seemed to be moving through a bitterly cold night sky, without air to breathe. The lack of oxygen would kill me, that or the cold. I didn’t need to smash my body against the rocks.

  I stopped struggling for breath. Stopped breathing entirely. I could feel hot tears seep from beneath my closed eyelids. I had always avoided self-pity, but if I was dying I could allow myself this much. The tears ran down on my face, melting rivulets that froze over again. My eyes were frozen shut, my body rigid, the only warmth running all along my back.

  I gave in.

  I CAME TO with a sudden swoop of motion as the ground was jarringly beneath us, and I realized I was no longer cold. The arm around my waist released me, and the man stepped back, leaving me swaying slightly.

  I opened my eyes. We were on a beach, surrounded by a soft ocean mist, and I sank to my knees in the sand and promptly threw up.

  “It takes some people that way,” that beautiful, hated voice said from above me. “I would have warned you, but you weren’t in any mood to listen.”

  I hated to throw up. Even worse, I hated having an audience, and I tried to will myself to calm. Bile burned my throat, and I shut my eyes again. What had he done to me?

  “Get up,” he said. “They’re coming.”

  Who’s coming? I thought dazedly. And who the hell cares? I managed to look up at him, then saw a huge house behind him. On my other side was the ocean, the first time I’d ever seen it, and I stared in wonder, my misery temporarily forgotten.

  I took a deep breath, inhaling the rich, salt smell of it. I could taste it on my
lips, feel it on my skin, and for the first time in my life I fell completely and desperately in love. When I got away from here, I was heading toward a coast. The look and the sound of the ocean, coupled with its hypnotizing scent, was beyond seductive—it was downright addictive.

  I pulled my eyes away reluctantly and saw a small group of people approaching us. The most beautiful men I had ever seen in my life—and, apart from my three years of semicloistered freedom, I was used to movie-star handsome. These creatures were like the one who had brought me here, almost eerily exquisite. There were three or four women as well, but they were ordinary women, not ethereal beauties. I racked my brain for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. The closer they got, the more glorious the men seemed, though none of them were quite as beautiful as the crazy man who’d kidnapped me. Surely these people would help me.

  “Get up,” the supposed Archangel Michael snapped in an angry whisper.

  I would have, but I wasn’t sure my shaking legs would hold me. Best to stay on my knees rather than topple over on my face in front of them.

  I managed to look up hopefully as they stopped before me, and the gorgeous man in front, presumably the leader, with a soft, slightly rounded woman by his side, smiled at me.

  “Victoria Bellona, Goddess of War,” he said, “welcome to Sheol, the home of the fallen angels, and to your life as consort to the Archangel Michael.”

  I promptly threw up again.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  MICHAEL LOOKED DOWN AT his bride for a moment, then met Raziel’s steely gaze. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.”

  Allie was already kneeling by Victoria Bellona, holding his consort’s black hair away from her face and murmuring to her. The girl was definitely not happy, and if he were the sort to feel guilt, he might let a trace of it bother him. He could have warned her. Could even have done things to mitigate the unpleasant effects flight often had on humans. The goddess of war wasn’t exactly human, but right now her body was most definitely a frail, human vessel, and speed and altitude had had their expected effects.