Warrior (Fallen)

by Kristina Douglas

  “I believe, my dear, that I am your host.”

  “Welcome to the fun house,” I muttered, looking around me. “Do you always put guests in a prison cell and then use a fire hose to wash them down? I assure you, I don’t have lice.”

  “Of course you don’t, my dear. And I’m afraid Gerda and Hilda were a bit too enthusiastic. But you’re not exactly my guest. More my prisoner, in fact. Hence the cell.”

  Part of me was absolutely fascinated that anyone would actually use the word hence in conversation. The rest of me was looking at him with less than my initial approval.

  “And would you like to explain why, Mr. . . . ?” I waited for him to fill in the name.

  “Oh, excuse me, I’ve been terribly remiss. I am Beloch, ruler of the Dark City. And you are Victoria Bellona, are you not?”

  I nodded cautiously.

  “Well, then,” he said briskly, “why don’t you change your clothes and I’ll have someone bring you to my study where we can talk.”

  “Is there any food around here?” I demanded, unable to bear my rumbling stomach any longer.

  “Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins, my dear.”

  “Is it? I’ve never been particularly big on the Bible.”

  He looked as if he’d bitten into the sourest pickle on the face of this earth. “Indeed,” he said, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

  No, that isn’t a figure of speech. Everything in the already chilly room got worse, and I could see my breath in front of me.

  I needed to dig up the circumspection I’d used around my mother and Pedersen if I was going to get out of this alive. “But I am always interested in learning more,” I said brightly.

  I had no idea whether I’d managed to fool the old man or not. He simply nodded. “I would be more than happy to instruct you. In the meantime, I suggest you return to your ‘prison cell’ and get out of those wet clothes.”

  “There weren’t any dry ones to change into.”

  He looked irritated. “There are now. Allow me to escort you.”

  As if I had a choice. He held out his arm, very old-school, and I took it. He felt strangely insubstantial beneath the plain fabric of the robe, and I was tempted to push up the sleeve to see just how bony he was. I resisted—this was a creature of immense power, no matter how frail and colorless his body seemed to be. I let him lead me along the deserted hallways till we returned to the now-familiar rectangle. The bed was freshly made, and there was a dull gray dress spread across the covers.

  I looked up at the faux Dumbledore. “I do hope you don’t have any illusions that I’ll go to bed with you. I don’t care how you dress me up, I’ve had enough sex to last me for a decade.”

  For a moment that avuncular smile faded, replaced by profound irritation. And then he was smiling again, the sweet expression that made me nervous. “I assure you, my child, that is the last thing I want from you.”

  I believed him. I’d taken one look at the supposedly celibate Michael and seen the heat and desire seething beneath his controlled surface. There was nothing beneath this old man’s façade but ice.

  He pushed me into my room gently enough. “Someone will bring you to me in half an hour, and we can talk over dinner. Will that suit you?”

  He could have said we’d torture gerbils over dinner and I’d have agreed, I was so damned hungry, but I managed to gather my scattered dignity. I nodded.

  “Good,” he murmured. “And when you come, you can tell me all about Michael.”

  “What about Michael?” I said warily.

  “Why, how to kill him, of course.”

  MICHAEL DESCENDED SLOWLY through the ink-dark sky. He didn’t need to see where he was going—he knew the Dark City far too well. He’d hoped, foolishly, that he had turned his back on it forever. Then again, he had thought he’d turned his back on sentimental caring for foolish women who got themselves kidnapped.

  He’d felt the net close over him as he slipped down, down, into the miasma that enveloped the cursed place. He knew without testing his theory that he wouldn’t be able to fly out. He was trapped, and there would be only one way out. And for the first time in his endless existence, he wondered if he could face it.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  I DO WISH TO ASSURE YOU THAT I’M FAR more interested in Michael than in your charming self,” the man calling himself Beloch said affably over his cup of tea. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re simply collateral damage, something I can let go of quite easily. Once I dispense with Michael, you may feel free to go wherever you wish. You have my word on it.”

  I sat in an elegant carved chair in the middle of what looked like a library, the formal dress draped around me. Once I’d put it on, it had become suffused with a rich garnet color, well suited to my pale skin and dark hair. Not that there was anyone around to notice. I’d tucked my makeshift knife into the deep pocket of the hem, though it was too small to be much more than an annoyance. Still, it made me feel better. I held a cup of tea in my hand, untouched. I despised tea—it reminded me of the few forced gatherings with my mother, where I was put through my social paces. A nice sweet cup of black coffee would be lovely, but clear tea, stinking of bergamot, with a slice of lemon floating in it like a corpse, was my idea of hell. Particularly when I was this hungry.

  I kept my knees together, doing my best to look demure, and listened attentively. I didn’t believe him for one minute, but I certainly wasn’t about to tell him that. He struck me as one of those old men who assumed people treated their word as golden, and I wasn’t going to enlighten him. I didn’t trust anybody. After the debacle of last night, spent melting and shattering beneath Michael’s tattooed body, I didn’t even trust myself.

  “He kidnapped you, didn’t he?” Beloch continued. “Dragged you to that wretched little gathering in the mist when you yearned to be free. I’ve known Michael a long, long time—you must hate him very much.”

  I said nothing, bringing my tea to my lips and pretending to sip.

  “Unless, of course, I am wrong?” Beloch said shrewdly. “Perhaps Michael has more charm than I realized.”

  “I wouldn’t put charm and Michael in the same sentence,” I said dryly. In my mind I could see Michael, feel him poised above me, his endless dark eyes staring down into mine as he filled me, thrust into me slowly, steadily, and a little shiver of delayed reaction swept over me. How could I possibly have an orgasm twelve hours after I’d last touched him? Apparently anything was possible.

  I could only hope the old man’s sharp eyes hadn’t noticed. “So I can assume it wasn’t Michael who sent me here. I’d wondered whether he was trying to get rid of me.”

  Beloch smiled at me, but I could see the wheels turning in his head. He hadn’t considering spinning that particular lie, and lie it was, thank God. “You were presented to me by one of the Fallen. But you may trust me when I tell you that Michael would hand you over to me in a minute if it suited his purpose. He is dangerous, ruthless, and he means you nothing but ill.”

  Just as Johann had handed me back to Pedersen. I shook away the memory.

  “So you have a spy in Sheol? Who is it?” I didn’t particularly expect an answer, but I was curious.

  He clearly didn’t like the question. “I don’t think we need to discuss that, do you?”

  Yes, I did, but I politely mirrored his phony smile. “I was just curious.”

  “Curiosity is a sin of idleness. It is of no concern to you. You have no wish to return to Sheol, do you?”

  Of course I didn’t. I wanted away from fallen angels and strange places with no color and no life. I suspected he wasn’t going to give me any choice in the matter.

  I was getting tired of this polite fencing. I set the wretched tea down on the small table beside me. “I don’t like being kidnapped, and as far as I can tell, your spy did the same thing Michael did.” Well, not quite the same thing, I thought, feeling a flash of heat wash through me. “So why don
’t you tell me exactly what you want from me, and what I have to do to get out of here?”

  He frowned. “Why, nothing at all, my child. It is Michael I want. He will come for you, and when he does, you may go.”

  I laughed, and Beloch didn’t like that either. “I don’t think so,” I said. “He was ordered to bring me to Sheol, to bond with me, and he did. Then he was told to take me to bed and drink my blood. He did that. I think his responsibilities are at an end, and if I know Michael, he’ll be happy never to see me again.”

  A flurry of emotions crossed Beloch’s seamed face: disgust, excitement, craftiness, triumph. “He took your blood? I am surprised.”

  Not exactly, I thought, remembering the tiny pinprick. I had no idea whether that was enough to count, but I suspected it wasn’t. I shrugged. “I figured once that was taken care of, no one would care what happened to me. Michael could forget about me, the Fallen could ignore me, and I could leave.”

  “Alas, I’m afraid that is not the case. By giving your body and your blood to Michael, you bound yourself to him irrevocably. It changes things.”

  “It was just a drop of blood,” I said with belated honesty. “Barely a scratch.”

  “It is enough. He will come for you. And when he does, he will be mine.”

  I surveyed Beloch for a long moment and smirked. “I don’t think he swings that way.”

  Beloch’s face turned dark with anger, though in this world that just meant a darker gray. I wondered if he would turn color if I touched him. I had no interest in getting close enough to try.

  “You are unworthy,” he said stiffly.

  “Look at it this way—you aren’t about to set me free and we both know it. This way you don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

  “Guilt is a human emotion. I am not human.”

  Oh, God, not another one, I thought wearily, though I’d already guessed as much. “Then what are you?”

  Nope, no answer this time either. “We can torture you,” he said softly, “but I tire of that. And it would be so much more effective if I have him here to watch.”

  He wasn’t human, but neither was I. I was strong, and sneaky, and desperation did wonders for one’s fighting ability. “He won’t care,” I said in a bored voice. “How many times must I tell you? He’s done what he had to do, and now you’ve done him a great service by getting rid of me. He won’t come after me.”

  He leaned forward to set his empty teacup on the chair beside him, and I made my move. I’d already surreptitiously gathered my voluminous skirts in my hands, and it was a simple enough matter to leap up, aiming a kick directly at his jaw. If I was really lucky, it would snap his head back and break his neck. At the very least it would stun him.

  He went down like a stone.

  I was almost to the door when the shock hit me like a powerful electric current, slamming me against the wall and pinning me there, three feet off the floor. I couldn’t move, couldn’t kick or struggle or even turn my head—I was stuck like a butterfly pinned to some sadistic collector’s board. Pain coursed through my body in never-ending waves, and I couldn’t even cry out. All I could do was hang there as the old man made his way over to me, slowly, taking his time.

  When he reached me I could just see him from the corner of my eye. I’d felt my foot connect with his face, yet there wasn’t a mark on him. It should have split his lip, caused a nosebleed—or at least a look of intense irritation. But he appeared untouched.

  “Foolish child,” he murmured, and his dry, papery hand stroked my face, sending shivers down my spine. “You have no idea with whom you’re dealing. There is absolutely nothing you can do.”

  I tried to say something scathing, but I was mute. I glared at him, and he smiled benevolently. “Ah, my dear. You will be an entertaining guest for the short time I have you. I only wish it could be longer, but these things are written in stone. Literally. I could show you the tablets.”

  What things? Why short time? But I couldn’t ask and he wasn’t about to offer, so I put the approximation of a snarl into my eyes. He smiled. “Don’t worry, my dear. The moment Michael sets foot in the Dark City, he’ll be dead. You won’t have to deal with him ever again.” His hand ran down my arm, then administered a vicious little pinch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me.”

  He moved away, his long robes flowing behind him. “I believe I’ll leave you here for the time being while we come up with the perfect prison for you. Someplace not so hard to break into that he’ll give up, but not so easy that he recognizes the trap. This will require some careful planning, but I’m certain the Truth Breakers will be more than up to the task. They’ll come for you soon. In the meantime you’ll be fine here. There’s more tea, though I’m afraid it’s rather cold by now, and I did leave a few of the biscuits for you to nibble on. You must keep up your strength, after all.” He chucked me under the chin, and I would have given anything to be able to move my mouth and bite his fingers off.

  But I was still frozen as he left the room, humming beneath his breath, closing the door behind him.

  The hold released, and I collapsed on the floor in a welter of skirts and pain, hugging myself, moaning. Everything hurt so badly, and I had learned early on to be impervious to pain. It took a lot to disable me—Pedersen had even used a Taser on me once, and I had managed just fine.

  This felt like a Taser on steroids. Everything in my body was jangled and confused, my throat felt as if a hand had crushed it, and my heart slammed against my chest. I had underestimated Beloch. Clearly a big mistake.

  He could kill me quite easily. So why was he fretting about my being here only a short time? Where would he send me next, and why?

  At least I was sure of one thing, and it was a soothing thought. Michael would never come here. If Beloch had that much power over me, then Michael would be in extreme danger; and if anything happened to him, the entire community of the Fallen would be in deep shit. As would the world.

  I didn’t want that to happen. I liked the people I’d met in Sheol—Allie and Rachel, Asbel and the other men I’d trained with, even Martha, for all that her damned prophecy had landed me in this mess. I liked the place, for all it was just another prison. If I had to live in prison, I could be happy in the one by the ocean I’d fallen in love with.

  They needed Michael to win the battle against the Armies of Heaven. Exactly where were those armies? Here in what he called the Dark City?

  He wouldn’t come for me. He’d done what he had to do, and he was probably happy to get rid of me. He wouldn’t risk everything with a misguided rescue attempt.

  I was nothing to him.

  Beloch was doomed to disappointment.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  I MUST HAVE SLEPT. THE ORIENTAL RUG beneath me was thick and beautiful, even if there were no rich colors to appreciate, and I really didn’t have the strength to pull myself up to one of the uncomfortable chairs. I still felt shaken—as if my entire body had short-circuited—and I needed to rest.

  I was starving. I knew he’d left food behind, but even for the sake of cookies I couldn’t bring myself to stand up. Besides, he’d probably poisoned them. I was dying of thirst, my empty stomach was in a knot, and I felt as if I’d been electrocuted. All in all, not a good day so far.

  Then again, I was never one to grovel. Cursing beneath my breath, I managed to haul myself up, collapsing into one of the chairs. The cold tea still smelled like bergamot, and sepia-colored cookies weren’t that tempting. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes, working on drawing my energy back together.

  It was something I’d learned from Pedersen. No, scratch that. It was part of the martial arts training that Pedersen had dismissed as unimportant. Since the one thing he and the contessa had not done was to restrict my reading and video watching, it had been easy enough to continue with the spiritual aspects of martial arts on my own. In the end, I suspected it was one of the reasons I’d grown stronger than Pedersen. T
here was only so much the human body was capable of, so much physical training could accomplish. When that failed, you needed to count on inner resources.

  Then again, if I was a goddess and Pedersen a mere mortal, he’d been outgunned from the beginning. I hated the thought that I’d had an unfair advantage over that bastard.

  I heard footsteps in the hallway, but the fight had gone out of me. Even if I managed to escape, where the hell could I go in this strange, colorless world? The lock clicked and two black-robed figures stood there, looking like something out of the Spanish Inquisition. The black of their garments was so intense it was almost blinding in the toned-down room, and the hoods covered their heads and faces like the robes of penitents. They put their black-gloved hands on me and I went without struggling. What had Beloch called them? Truth Breakers? Now, there was a name to strike terror into a mortal soul.

  But I wasn’t mortal. And I would be hard to break.

  “Easy, boys,” I said, channeling every insouciant heroine I’d ever seen on-screen. “I’ll go quietly.”

  No response. My wrists were shackled, and I hadn’t even noticed when they’d done that. I let them lead me down, deeper and deeper into the bowels of this colorless world, until we came to a place that looked ominously like an operating room, complete with surgical instruments and a viewing window for either medical students or apprentice torturers to watch. I had no intention of going quietly.

  One of them released his vicious grip on my arm and moved forward to unlock the door. The other black-robed creature’s grip on me was much lighter; if I could just count on a moment’s inattention, I could break free from him quite easily.

  I waited for my chance, seemingly cowed and docile, watching the stronger man’s every move. I could catch him as he turned, kicking him as I wrenched my wrists free from the second man and looped my manacled hands around his neck, while—

  No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe take out the man holding me first? But the first one was stronger, judging by the pain in my arm, and it made sense to disable him first while his back was turned, an unfair advantage I had no hesitation using. I tensed, ready to yank my arm free and spring—when the man beside me jumped, in a fast, graceful blur of movement my eyes couldn’t follow. The first Truth Breaker was down, and the second one was stripping the black robe from the body with ruthless speed, exposing a burly man in striped boxers and a wife-beater. I stared down at the seemingly ordinary creature in astonishment, and then the robe was flung at me. I caught it reflexively in my bound hands, staring at the second man.