Warrior (Fallen)

by Kristina Douglas

  I glanced behind me. Michael had fallen back even more, and a wicked thought struck me. I could surprise him, jump on him, and he’d be unable to resist. I slipped into the gingerbread house, hiding behind its thick, spicy walls.

  It was an odd little room, with a large oven and child-size cages made of pretzel sticks. I shivered. That was carrying the fantasy a little too far. If I opened the oven, would I find a chocolate woman awash in candy-corn flames?

  I was about to emerge when I heard him calling my name, sudden panic in his voice. It was this place, of course. In a normal world he would never allow panic to show. Not that we’d ever been in a normal world together, I reminded myself. I moved toward the door, planning to jump out and scare him, but I was too late. He was already disappearing into the Twizzler-bamboo forest.

  But I don’t like Twizzlers, I reminded myself. And that wasn’t the right way to go. I emerged into the glaring colors, glad to be away from the cottage. I should go after him. I would follow orders and not touch the tempting foliage and infrastructure, but I was tired and my legs ached, and other parts of me as well. I’d had very little sleep the night before, and we’d been walking for a good long time. I could use a little rest.

  I moved away from the disturbing cottage into the forest, where the smell of strawberry was strong. The ground beneath it looked soft and inviting, and I touched it tentatively, afraid if I lay down I’d be covered in icing. But it was springy to the touch—maybe dyed, shredded marshmallows, but at least it wouldn’t cling to me. I sat down carefully and waited, kicking off my new sneakers and rubbing my feet. No blisters—apparently such difficulties didn’t exist in Confectionary Hell. I felt a burble of happiness inside me and I tried to tear it out. It was too stubborn.

  It was a beautiful day and I was in love. Of course I was happy.

  I lay back on the marshmallow moss, staring up into the sky. Thick white clouds against a bright blue backdrop, and those looked like marshmallows as well. They probably were. I closed my eyes and let my senses speak to me. I let my mind wander up my legs, which had trembled as he held them while he thrust into me . . . my sex, still swollen and sensitive, which tightened with longing when I thought of him . . . . my breasts, still feeling his touch, the suck of his mouth, the dance of his teeth . . . my neck, as I remembered his mouth pressed against it, drinking from me as he filled me.

  Arousal swamped me at the memory, and my hands were shaking with it. I knew I should do something to stop it, but instead my hand moved across my belly in a slow, languorous caress. Up to my breasts, flicking the nipples with my fingers, but the touch wasn’t the same. One hand reached my neck, and my fingers caressed the spot, now invisible, where he had fed, as my other hand moved lower, starting to slide beneath the aqua capris that apparently were the height of fashion in midcentury America.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Michael roared, and I opened my eyes lazily, smiling at him. He was doing a better job of fighting the insidious effects of this world. But I thought he was losing the battle.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” I murmured happily. “Reliving last night.”

  He caught the hand that was about to move beneath my pants and pulled me upright. “It’s the euphoria,” he said tightly. “It’s not real. You need to fight it.”

  “There was no candy-induced insanity last night. And this morning,” I added judiciously.

  “Don’t.”

  I smiled at him. “Come here, Your Angelness. I want to be kissed.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t know—”

  “Of course I know. This world is infused with something very dangerous. It makes people happy, and I don’t care. It’s not making me feel anything I haven’t been feeling already. It’s just getting rid of my fears. Come here and kiss me.”

  “Fears can be a good thing,” he said stubbornly.

  I put out my hand and beckoned. “Not this time.”

  “No.” He didn’t move, and some of my happiness faded. His will was too strong; it couldn’t be crushed by Uriel’s tricks or my dubious charms.

  “I can’t read you here,” he said, “but I can guess. You’re thinking I can resist you, even with all the temptation thick in the air, because I don’t really want you. And you’d be wrong.”

  “There’s another reason why you can resist me?”

  He shook his head. “No. Fuck the magic atmosphere and the euphoria and the way it can strip away common sense. I can fight that.” He came closer.

  I just looked at him, waiting for a mortal blow and hoping that here in the land of happiness it wouldn’t hurt too much.

  “The one thing I can’t fight,” he said, moving closer still, so close I could look into his obsidian eyes and see myself reflected there, small and vulnerable, “is how much I want you.”

  He kissed me then, just his mouth touching mine, keeping his hands at his sides. I did the same, letting only our mouths blend, tasting his lips, opening my mouth when his tongue pressed against my lips, feeling the slide of his tongue, and my legs felt shivery, weak. It was then he caught me, pulling me against him, but his kisses were slow and lazy, as if we had all the time in the world.

  “What’s on the ground?” he whispered.

  “Marshmallows. Very soft.”

  “Pillows or fluff?”

  “Shredded and dried.”

  “Good.” He pulled me down onto the cushiony bed, his hand running down to catch my hip possessively. Exactly where his tattoo lay deep in my skin. Another wave of desire shimmered through my body. I wanted his mark on me. I could feel the strength, the connection between us, and I reveled in the idea.

  I could do this forever, float in this dream of sexuality. The bright colors, the euphoria, the smell of chocolate, wiped out any doubt I should have had, and I let go of any last trace of wisdom, giving myself to his mouth, his hands. He held me there, brushing his lips across my face, feathering my eyelids, my neck, the hollow of my throat. I didn’t have to see his beautiful hands to picture them as he pushed the virginal blouse out of the way, and then, oh, God, he was kissing my breasts, and I was going to climax simply from his mouth on me. He did things I hadn’t imagined, sucking and then blowing cool air on them, using his teeth, even his fangs, and the sensation was shocking as tiny orgasms teased at me. I thrashed my legs in demand, but he simply stroked my body, as if to calm a skittish horse, until the screaming desire faded back into a vibrating need, and he laughed softly.

  “We can’t do it here,” he said. “Too much innocence.”

  I looked at him, startled. “We can’t?”

  He shook his head. “Just another trick of Uriel’s. Either you’ll have a regrown steel hymen, or my erection will immediately disappear. But I can do this . . .” He stroked me, slowly, and I wanted to purr with delight.

  “I love you,” I said happily. I knew he would freeze at my artless words, and I didn’t care.

  He was leaning over me, the brightly painted sky behind him. “I love you too,” he murmured, brushing his mouth against mine. “But once we’re out of here, I’ll deny I ever said it.”

  “That’s okay,” I said tranquilly. “Just tell me now so I can enjoy myself.”

  He laughed again, and there was no mocking tang to it. “I’m in love with you, Victoria Bellona, Goddess of War, pain in the butt extraordinaire, wielder of lightning bolts, slayer of good intentions and angel-enforcers. I’ve tried to fight it—I don’t do love, but it’s too strong. The moment we leave here I’ll tell you you imagined it, but I’m tired of fighting everything, particularly myself. I love you, no matter how much you annoy me.”

  This was nice, I thought happily as his large, clever hand kept tracing circular patterns on my stomach. It was the euphoria, of course. He didn’t mean a word of it. But I could pretend, and his caveat made it more believable. A sudden thought struck me. “You’re not just telling me because I backed you into a corner?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not because
I’m going to die of some tragic, beautiful disease and you want to make my last weeks happy ones?” He jerked uncomfortably, which struck me as odd, but I went on. “No, that’s not the Archangel Michael. If I were about to die, he’d be practical and move on. He wouldn’t waste time with a lost cause.”

  “You forget,” he said in an almost dreamy voice as his eyes followed his hand, stroking, stroking. “My job is lost causes.”

  “I thought that was Saint Jude.”

  “Don’t be picky.” He slid his hand up to cup my chin, and I looked up into his dark, dark eyes as he slowly rubbed his thumb across my lips. “We need to go. We have to get back to Sheol. Theron may have been lying about the battle, but he’s right about one thing. We don’t know how much time has passed, and if Uriel has anything to say about it, our time is running out.”

  I smiled at him, happy to do anything he wanted. It didn’t matter if some distant, critical self knew I was being an idiot. Nothing mattered besides the fact that for now the euphoria was telling me that he loved me. I let him pull me to my feet, ignoring the weakness in my knees. “Can the magic here make you nice?” I said, allowing just a hint of worry in.

  He smiled wryly. “It’s not magic. It’s the wrath of God. Besides, I’m nice. When I want to be.” He put his hand on mine, holding me beside him. “We have to keep moving.”

  “I’m ready. If you’ll talk to me.”

  I saw the battle raging in his eyes, a battle he’d already lost. “I’ll talk to you,” he said.

  “Good.” I curved my body against his, savoring his warmth. “Then tell me what you’re hiding from me.”

  THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL looked down at the woman beside him, tucked so comfortably within his arm like she belonged there. The damnable thing was that she did belong there. She fit perfectly, and he wanted to pull her into his arms completely and sink down on the marshmallow grass. He started walking, pulling her with him, fighting the need to open himself to her, the terrible desire to expose his soul to whatever she wanted to know.

  No matter what, he wouldn’t tell her she was going to die. Nothing could force him to do that. He had been tortured, he had gone through every kind of hell Uriel and mankind could come up with, and he hadn’t broken. He wouldn’t break for her.

  He brushed a kiss against her lips, wishing to God they were in any other of Uriel’s treacherous worlds. A world where he wasn’t overcome with the need to love her, a world where he could simply shove her against a wall and lose himself in her flesh while she shattered around him. But this was one of Uriel’s games, and he had to keep her moving. “No,” he said. “We don’t want to talk about the past, do we?”

  “You’re right,” she said happily, and he would have reveled in her docile manner if he didn’t know it was not the real Victoria Bellona. Tory would argue about everything, drive him mad. It was one of the things he loved about her, even as he wanted to wring her neck. In all his existence he didn’t remember anyone able to break through his control. To infuriate him, to make him feel. He hated her for it. He loved her for it. And damn this world for making him love. “Do we have to leave?” she added.

  “We can’t have sex while we’re here,” he reminded her.

  She looked up at him, a mischievous expression on her face. “Let’s hurry.” Sudden worry flashed in her eyes. “You’ll still want me when we leave here, even if you won’t admit it?”

  He fought the words, but he said them anyway. This was the one place he could, with the excuse of the euphoria ripping away his armor. He looked down at her. “I’ll always want you. Throughout time and space, I will love you.”

  She grinned at him. “A good thing. It’s not wise to piss off the goddess of war.”

  She was ridiculous, infuriating, adorable, and he leaned down to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. He was hard as a rock, and he was wondering whether Uriel’s edict against sex in this level of hell was simply another lie among so many lies, when he felt the sudden darkness. He lifted his head and swore.

  Her eyes followed his as the shadows began to grow around them. “We need to hurry,” he said, taking her hand and starting to run.

  “There’s a gingerbread cottage back down the path,” she said, but he shook his head.

  “That’s a trap.” He could see the Wraiths starting to congregate at the muddy outlines of this fairy-tale world, shimmering like the phantoms they were.

  How could he have been so stupid, wrapped up in the halcyon illusion Uriel had forced down his throat? If they didn’t make it through this world, it would be his fault.

  But they would. He was determined. If Uriel wanted to play some kind of celestial game, then Michael would play, and triumph in the end. He was an expert at snatching victory out of the jaws of defeat. And he had Victoria Bellona by his side.

  He glanced down at her, hoping she wouldn’t see the Wraiths. But the almost drunken happiness had faded from her face, and she was looking at the ghostly apparitions moving to block their way.

  “We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?” she said in a conversational voice.

  It made him laugh. That was Tory, unfazed by anything. She couldn’t fight these. Lightning bolts would pass through them; sheer strength would be useless. They were screwed, and it didn’t matter, because they were together.

  “Yes,” he said. “We are.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I HAD NEVER LIKED HORROR MOVIES. Now, suddenly I was faced with the physical incarnation of all the things that had secretly terrorized me, and it was all too real. Theron had been real, physical—something I could touch, something I could fight. These were different, eerie.

  They shouldn’t have been so frightening, these gray, transparent figures who converged on the path in front of us. The brilliant color around them leached into gray as well, as if they sucked all life from everything they touched, and they would do it to us, leaving us empty husks.

  “Get behind me,” Michael said in a rough voice as he drew the flaming sword he’d taken from Theron. It glowed in his hand, and it seemed to belong there.

  “Hell, no,” I shot back, trying to fight the warmth that was still flowing through me. In this Candy Land world, nothing that bad could ever happen to me, could it? Looking at the ghosts, I knew that it could. “That’s all right,” I added in a softer voice. “If I have to die, at least I get to die with you.”

  He made an exasperated noise. “That’s the euphoria talking. Victoria Bellona isn’t going to accept death that easily.”

  But I was Tory, and I didn’t want to fight anymore. I had spent my entire life fighting, and all I wanted to do was curl my body around Michael’s beautiful one and let go. I knew it was the effect of Uriel’s illusion, and I tried to fight it. With a sigh, I squared my shoulders and said, “If we’re fighting, then I’m fighting by your side.”

  He snarled, and I wanted to laugh. Apparently Happyville couldn’t tame the grumpy archangel that much. “If you love me so damned much, you’d listen to me for a change.”

  “That’s not love, that’s blind obedience,” I shot back. “No false euphoria works that well.” In fact, some of the warm, fuzzy feeling was fading. He was still as unrelentingly gorgeous, I was still as unrelentingly tied to him, but I was regaining some perspective. “We fight together.”

  They were drawing closer, seeming to float just above the ground, and wherever they moved the landscape turned dead and blackened. I could see their ghostly faces now. I’d expected rage and evil, but the empty sorrow there was even more chilling.

  “What are they?” I asked, horrified.

  “They’re what’s left of the souls who were flung into the Darkness. Uriel doesn’t believe in short-lived punishment—he likes it to be eternal. Those who are condemned to the Darkness live out eternity sucking the life out of everything that ventures near.”

  “Great,” I muttered, my happy glow vanishing as they drew closer. “And how do we kill th
em?”

  “They’re already dead.”

  “Then how do we stop them?”

  For a moment he said nothing. “I don’t know. Get the fuck behind me while I try to think of something.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but I must have still been feeling the effects of this treacherously sweet world. He caught my arm and shoved me behind him, somehow managing to wrap my arms around his waist and hold me there.

  It was an interesting position. To be plastered against him was undeniably wonderful—I could soak in his strength and power, wrap myself around his gorgeous body. On the other hand, he was holding me prisoner, which infuriated me; his grip was so tight I could barely move, and I couldn’t see a damned thing.

  “I am the Archangel Michael. I have dominion over darkness and evil. Leave us alone.”

  A thin, wispy voice came back, horrible in its raspiness, as if it were forced through shredded vocal cords. “Archangel Michael, you have dominion over nothing. You cast us into the Darkness, you doomed us to unending torment.”

  I wanted to close my ears. The voice rose like a shriek on the wind, and I clung to him, shaking, no longer fighting to get free.

  “Leave us,” Michael thundered again, for some reason not denying the creature’s horrible accusation. He should have told them it was Uriel who had thrown them here, doomed them here.

  “We cannot.” It now seemed as if more than one voice scoured the wind that had picked up around us. They were in ragged unison, the sound as horrid as broken glass scraping against bone. “Give her to us.”

  I felt Michael’s start of surprise. “And what do you want of me?”

  “We cannot touch you. Leave the girl and you may return to Sheol.”