by Brenda Huber
“I’m still cut,” she insisted. “It didn’t heal me at all.”
“It wouldn’t,” Niklas responded. “You’re human. Only a demon can conduct the real power harnessed within. Or an angel, theoretically.”
“Her building shook like in an earthquake.” Varying degrees of surprised frowns turned toward Xander, but he offered no more.
“I know of only one demon capable of this. Agares.” Mikhail spoke for the first time since his arrival, startling Kyanna. His voice was smoky and rippled across the senses. His pronouncement was met with stony silence and grim expressions. The name was completely unfamiliar to her. “Who is Agares?”
“Agares is nobility. A duke of Hell. He’s capable of traveling between Earth and Hell, though, thankfully, he isn’t strong enough to transport others.” Niklas rubbed a hand down the length of his thigh. “He can create earthquakes. He’s the only demon with that particular power over Earth. But he’s also limited to disrupting localized areas only.”
Xander nodded, supporting Niklas’s comments, but remained silent now, letting the others do all the talking. She watched his face, searching for his little tells. The scrunched lines at the corners of his eyes. Dilated pupils. The bunched muscle in his jaw. The flattened lower lip. Heavens, even the tick in his eyelid. Anything at all.
But she found absolutely nothing. He was a blank slate. Unused to seeing him like this, so thoroughly closed off, she clenched her trembling hands in her lap, and turned her attention to the others.
“If Agares is involved,” Sebastian was saying. “Then things just got a whole lot more complicated.”
“A duke? This plot goes a lot farther up the chain of command than we assumed,” Niklas added.
“But how far up?” Gideon glanced around. “Is it possible one of the princes might be involved?”
No one had an answer for him.
Absorbing everything she heard like a sponge, she listened intently as Gideon discussed someone named Dimiezlo. He was an Animagi minion, they’d explained. A creature composed of a haphazard demonic mixture of human and animal parts, who’d been flitting all over the continent, half a step ahead of them in their search for the relics. Gideon had run into him time and again on his own unrewarding search for the scrolls. Dimiezlo was loyal to a Collector by the name of Ronové. Could he be the mastermind behind this whole plot to overthrow Lucifer? Gideon seemed to believe that assumption incorrect, as Ronové was a lower class demon, incapable of uniting the sheer numbers of demons necessary to overthrow Lucifer.
She also picked up additional information about each relic, what each was supposed to do. The Arc Stone, for example, must make its bearer less susceptible to injury, or significantly accelerate the healing process, and when wielded by the Chosen One, would make him or her completely impervious to physical harm. Obviously, it only worked for demons and, quite possibly, angels. Humans like herself were unaffected. Tentatively, she fingered the tender slice at the tip of her finger. Thankfully it was no longer bleeding. She peered covertly at Mikhail. The way he’d tensed the second she’d begun bleeding had been frightening.
Why had he behaved that way?
She recalled when Xander has laid his hand upon her chest and absorbed a portion of her essence from her. Did Mikhail feed another way? Could he possibly exist on blood? Vampire echoed in her mind. All things considered, would it really be so impossible?
“Have you had any luck with your leads, Vengeance?” Niklas’s words drew her back to the topic at hand.
“I gave up on the scrolls and started searching for the stone, as you know. I followed a promising lead to Scotland, which ended in failure. And then, barring all else, I finally contacted Asher. Paid an exorbitant fee for a twisted tip.” Sebastian’s grin darted in Kyanna’s direction. “‘The Guardian is of our world, but not one of us.’ As we all can see, Xander snatched that one right out from under me.”
Xander grunted. A distinct na-na-na-boo-boo-on-you sound if ever she’d heard one.
Kyanna, burning with curiosity and unable to keep quiet any longer, began peppering them with questions. And, surprisingly enough, they answered.
“Could anyone overthrow Lucifer with the sword, the stone, and the scrolls?”
“No,” Niklas responded. “Only the Chosen One can harness them all.”
“Who is the Chosen One?”
“No one knows for sure, darlin’.” Gideon shifted in his seat, crossed his ankles as he laced his fingers over his abdomen. “But he’ll have to be one powerful SOB to challenge Lucifer and win.”
“Xander wears guard stones,” she observed. “By rights, none of you should be able to be near them.”
“We all have them.” Gideon held his wrist up, displaying a heavy silver watch, turning it so she could see its face. It had been set with tiny chips of guard stones. Sebastian flicked a finger over the stud in his ear. Niklas held his hand up, displaying a ring. Again, the same stones were present. Her questioning stare traveled to Mikhail.
“Nobody knows where he keeps his, darlin’. Nobody wants to know badly enough to ask.”
Mikhail’s deadened stare locked on Gideon. Gideon arched a challenging brow, unfazed. Silence descended upon the room at once.
At length, Xander broke the silence, stunning them all.
“I believe Kyanna is of angelic descent.”
Chapter Sixteen
She stared at Xander in disbelief. “What?”
Her question was echoed around the room.
“Kyanna is of angelic descent,” Xander repeated.
“I sense no angel here,” Gideon countered. The others shook their heads, murmuring their agreement with Gideon’s assessment.
She blinked at him, bemused. Had she just been insulted, or complimented?
Seriously?
She twisted around to peer up at Xander. He was the only one in the room that wasn’t staring at her as if she were likely to sprout a second head at any moment. Or a halo and white, downy wings. Somehow, the way they were acting, a second head might well be less threatening.
“I believe her line is generations old.”
That seemed to explain something to the others. She could only wish it had been more informative for herself.
“Why do you believe this?” Sebastian propped his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and peered around Xander. He scanned her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Maybe he was still searching for that halo.
“Angels wouldn’t give the kind of enchantments she was using to just anyone.” Without looking at her, Xander tucked his arm more securely around her, almost protectively, his hand settled on her hip. Yet his speech continued on, uninterrupted. Was he even aware of how possessive his actions might look to the others? Or how they felt to her? “Not only were the enchantments capable of blocking demons from entering the dwelling, but, once inside, they virtually nullified my powers. I’ve never encountered anything so powerful before. And the types of ward stones protecting the apartment? I’ve never seen those combinations before either.”
Sebastian frowned. “Who gave the enchantments to you, Kyanna? And those stones?”
“My mother. And her mother before her. And hers before her.”
“A matrilineal line?” Niklas demanded of Xander.
“There is more,” Xander told them. Then, turning to her, he ordered, “Speak the words. Out loud. Say them.”
Kyanna frowned at him. His demand went against everything she’d ever been taught. And yet she trusted him, so she spoke. “Caéli ipi novena mar—”
Xander suddenly clapped his hand over her mouth, silencing her before she could complete the phrases. When she’d begun reciting the enchantment, a tremor had shuddered through his large frame. All around the room, the others tensed, their bodies gone completely rigid. And yet the oddest expressions of wonder lingered upon the
ir faces.
“The ancient tongue,” Gideon whispered. And they all stared at her in open awe.
Lowering his hand to his lap, Xander nodded to Gideon. “I’m willing to bet that not only did the enchantments block demons, but they blocked angels as well, shielding her from Hell and Heaven both. It has to be how her line has survived this long.”
“Survived this long?” Frustrated, she glared at Xander. “What do you mean?”
Xander squeezed Kyanna’s hip, his attention finally focused solely on her. He cleared his throat again and grimaced, as if pained. “After the fall, angels were forbidden to mate with humans. Your line, I’m guessing, was seeded after the Fall.” He studied her for a moment in silence. “By Gabriel’s decree, your ancestors should have been wiped from the face of the Earth. You, your mother, your grandmother and all those that came before her, none of you would have been permitted to even be born.”
Appalled, Kyanna chewed the edge of her lower lip. An angel had decreed this genocide? The very idea made her question where the line between good and evil really lay. Who was really on which side? And, perhaps more importantly, how could the line between the two become so blurred that an angel would decree the deaths of innocent babes? And yet demons fought relentlessly to save them? No sense whatsoever.
A nagging ache had begun to form at the base of her skull. She stared, unseeing, at the edge of the coffee table as she tried desperately to wrap her mind around all she’d seen and learned this night. Voices rose and fell around her. The words had become all but indistinguishable. She was only vaguely aware of Xander’s hand sliding up, closing around the nape of her neck beneath her hair and kneading the stiff muscles. Lord, she was so tired. Worn thin, without the energy to even speak, let alone cry. Like a fading ghost. Soon there would be nothing left of her at all. And still the others’ conversation volleyed back and forth. She drew breath after breath. When would this all stop? When would she wake up from this nightmare? Would she ever?
How long would it take before she finally just melted into nothingness?
Across the room, Niklas cleared his throat. Silence followed. Xander’s fingers continued their slow, hypnotic motions. How long had he been doing that? She trembled, from anxiety or as a purely physical reaction to Xander’s touch she couldn’t say. What she wouldn’t give to make this nightmare all just go away. A thousand more questions circled her brain, but she kept her mouth shut, fearful that if she opened it, the only thing that might come out would be a scream. And if she started screaming, she might never stop.
“Do you need a blanket?”
Why was Xander asking her such an odd question? It must be a hundred degrees in here, between the roaring blaze in the fireplace, and the heat radiating from Xander. Not to mention, the stifling sweat-suit Xander had dressed her in. And yet, glancing down at herself, Kyanna realized she was shaking. And her hands were icy cold. Xander had released her nape and slipped his arm around her once more, and his hand was now banging awkwardly against her hip, the rapid beats firm enough to ensure she’d probably have bruises there tomorrow.
She shook her head. No. She didn’t want a blanket.
She wanted to not throw up in front of a room full of demons.
And she wanted everyone to stop staring at her like she were some damned curiosity. Or a threat that might sprout a halo and wings at any moment.
“Bathroom,” she whispered.
Xander frowned down at her. “In the kitchen, the far door on the other side of the table.”
Nodding, she pushed to her feet and crossed the room on wobbly legs. She could feel Xander’s gaze following her from the room. Too distraught to coach Xander on his manners, she stumbled through the kitchen and gently closed the bathroom door behind her.
Her mind had raced in circles before, but now it had simply screeched to a halt, refusing to work beyond seeing to the most basic of her body’s needs. Bending over the sink, she turned the water on and splashed some on her face. But that wasn’t enough. She shoved the bulky sleeves of her sweatshirt up. But they only fell back down. Frustrated, frantic to get rid of the smell of smoke that clung to her skin, she whipped the shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. After squirting liquid soap from the dispenser onto her palm, she worked the lather over her hands, wrists, and arms. Rinsed. Repeated. Then she spied a clean, dry washcloth hanging from the towel bar beside the utilitarian hand towels.
She wound her hair ’round and ’round, tucking it in on itself, forming a loose bun on the top of her head. Then Kyanna worked lather into the washcloth and scrubbed her face, neck, and chest.
She scrubbed and scrubbed and splashed more water on her face. Her hands shook. And suddenly the tears came. And they wouldn’t stop. Grabbing a fist full of hand towels, she pressed them to her face and slid to the floor. Her back to the wall, she sobbed.
She’d taken all she could take. The loss of her store and home had been her tipping point. The final straw had been finding out that the very beings she’d been taught from the cradle to revere were indirectly responsible for her very existence. And then to learn that should they ever find out about her, they would undoubtedly try to kill her? Incomprehensible.
Deep down, all she’d ever wanted was to be normal. Some dark corner of her soul had always resented others—even her dearest friend, Summer, on some level—for being normal.
She would gladly go back to being “not normal” again. Happily. Gratefully. Not normal, but blessedly ignorant.
Nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Strong arms suddenly slipped around her. Startled, she jerked her face from the towels to stare at Xander. Without offering explanation, he scooted closer, lifted her onto his lap, and coaxed her to curl herself into his embrace. He pushed her head into the curve of his neck and rubbed her back as he cradled her to his chest. Silent. Warm. Solid.
Grateful, emotionally stretched to the breaking point, Kyanna snuggled into him, curling around him, and let the tears fall. Let the sobs wrack her body. Let the stress and the confusion pour out of her on a tidal wave of tears.
And all the while, Xander held her without saying a word, his cheek pressed to the top of her head. His arms were a protective circle where, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt truly safe.
Gradually, her sobs subsided. She was wrung dry. Utterly spent.
And still he held her. At last, after sniffling into the remaining dry towel, she turned her face up to him. She knew she must look a sight, and so she was doubly surprised to see the strangest expression on his face. One she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. He looked at her with…tenderness.
“Thank you,” she said, just to break the silence. “How did you—”
“I’m not sure,” he replied. “It just felt like this was where I needed to be.”
Bemused, she blinked up at him, her breath catching on the remnants of a stutter-sob. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually do this, give in to bawling like a baby this way. I don’t want you to think—”
He silenced her with a fleeting brush of his lips against hers. “You are the strongest human I know.”
That said, he reached into one of the drawers and drew out another hand full of small towels. He offered them to her. When she took them, he pressed a brief kiss to her brow and wordlessly transferred her from his lap to the floor before he shimmered himself from the bathroom.
Kyanna sat there for a few moments longer, absorbing what had just passed between them. How had he known she needed someone to hold her? No, not someone. Xander. She’d needed him. And just like that, he’d appeared. Baffling. Bracing herself against the wall, she slowly pushed to her feet. Kyanna rinsed away the tear tracks, unable to do anything about her puffy, red eyes. After drying her face, she pulled her shirt back on and leaned over the counter, hung her head, and dragged in one long breath after another.
&n
bsp; She couldn’t cower in here forever. That wasn’t how she was raised. It wasn’t in her.
“What are you going to do with the human?” Gideon’s voice was laced with callous apathy.
“Her name is Kyanna,” Xander replied. “And what I decide to do with her isn’t any of your concern.”
Xander watched the doorway, expecting her to appear any moment. But the doorway remained empty. She’d looked so fragile when he’d left her, and yet she’d held her chin up, proud and determined. He fought the urge to get up and go to her once more, just as he’d battled the strange emotion that had tugged through him earlier, that odd loathing to let her out of his sight. He deliberately turned his attention to the room, forced himself to focus on their common goal. Recovering the relics. Figuring out who else was hunting for them, who was trying to overthrow Lucifer…and stopping him.
Gideon, stone-faced, conjured a cup of Starbucks, lifted it to his lips. Mikhail, surrounded by his customary icy indifference, stared off into space, uncommunicative as always. Xander knew Niklas had read her aura before she’d left the room. Niklas had been given the gift of sight. The ability to see a human’s emotions through a mystical swirl of color surrounding them. Part of Xander—a deep, foreign part—wanted to ask Niklas what he saw. Another part of him was just too uneasy to ask.
Confusion still warred within him. How had he known she needed him before, when she’d been in the bathroom crying? It made no sense. Was it some connection he’d unwittingly forged when he’d taken part of her soul? Maybe it was the restless hum of energy that lingered in his body. Did it somehow connect the two of them? The sight of her tears had done strange things to his insides. Twisted and tied him up in knots. Lord knew, his reaction wasn’t normal. Why hadn’t he been able to just walk away, like he’d done a hundred times—a thousand times—in the past?