Immortal

by ML Guida

  Susan lounged on a chair looking at the forest. Was she waiting for someone? Blade? Great.

  With all of her force, Heather moved her body. The chair skidded an inch across the floor. At the loud screech, she cringed. Grasping short breaths, she glanced at Susan, but she remained cemented to the chair.

  Heather flung her weight again. This time, the chair veered to the right. Susan still hadn’t moved. Heather skirted her butt and edged closer. Another scratch screamed in her ear. “God, Bruce Willis makes this look so damn easy,” she grumbled.

  Perspiration stung her eyes. Panting, she skewed the chair again and again. Time slowed. God, what if Susan finished her wine and wanted a refill?

  The chair slammed into the coffee table. The knife slid. Heather bit her lip. “Shit.”

  Heather leaned forward, the rope tightening. Ignoring the blinding pain, she inched the chair toward the coffee table. Her fingers brushed over the knife. “Thank God.”

  She wiggled and stretched. One finger slid on the blade. With sheer determination, her finger flicked the blade, but the knife twirled. “Come on.”

  A red flash blazed through the room. Heat rushed over her. A loud snap behind her shattered her nerves.

  Strong fingers gripped her hair, twisting her head to the side. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Hot breath rushed onto her neck.

  Sheer terror shot through her—Blade.

  “Susan, get your ass in here.”

  Susan jumped off her chair and ran inside. “Oh my God, Blade.”

  “Help me.” Blade loosened his grip and his fingers slipped through Heather’s hair. He plopped onto his knees.

  Heather frowned. One of Blade’s hands dripped with blood.

  Susan rushed over. “What happened?”

  “The bastard,” he gasped. “… stabbed me with a Heaven dagger. Help me.”

  Hope bloomed inside Heather. Scythe? He was alive? She could almost smell his masculine scent. Had he wounded Blade?

  “Are you okay?”

  Susan’s voice was filled with concern.

  Blade groaned.

  Susan put Blade’s arm around her shoulder and took a step.

  Heather heard a loud smack hit the floor. Heather frowned, trying to strain to look over her shoulder.

  “You bitch,” Blade said.

  “I’m sorry,” Susan said. “But you’re so heavy.”

  “Shut up and get me to the couch, before you really piss me off.”

  His snarling voice sent terror through Heather. What if he hurt Susan? Heather struggled with her bounds. Misery tightened around her wrists and her fingers grew numb.

  Susan tossed her red pumps onto the floor. “I-I-I have to take off my shoes.”

  “Then do it, you dumb bitch.”

  A mop of blond hair hanging in front of her face, Susan draped Blade’s arm over her shoulder, and he leaned against her small frame. Her stocking feet slipped and skidded on the hardwood floor. Any minute she’d collapse underneath his weight. God knows what the bastard would due to Susan. Heather’s stomach hurt. Where was Scythe?

  “We’re almost there.” Susan slumped lower as Blade leaned into her. He edged around the coffee table and fell onto the couch with her on top of him.

  He shoved her. “Get off me, stupid girl.”

  Susan landed on the floor. She untangled her legs and stood. “How is your hand?”

  His face was ashen. “Bad.” Blood drenched his hand as if he had dipped into a can of red paint. Splats of crimson marred the couch, hardwood floor, and coffee table.

  Heather remembered how pale Scythe’s face had been when Blade had stabbed him with the Hell blade. So, it worked both ways. Tit for tat. Good for Scythe.

  Heather smirked. “You’re kidding? Your hand?”

  Blade peered at her with half hooded eyes. “Wipe the look from your face or I’ll do it for you.” He maneuvered both of his legs to the floor.

  Heather sucked in her breath. Maybe the Heaven dagger didn’t have the same affects as they did on Earth. But wasn’t good stronger than evil? Every book or movie she’d ever seen preached this theme. Was it all a lie?

  He glared at Susan. “Get me a towel.”

  “Okay, I’m so--”

  “Move!”

  Susan darted past Heather.

  Blade laid his head on the back of the couch. “He’s gonna pay for this.”

  Too scared to say anything, Heather bit her lip.

  He lifted his head. “Wondering where super prick is?”

  Heather held her breath.

  “He’s fighting a demon. Hopefully gonna get his spleen ripped out.”

  The hatred in his voice terrified Heather, but she couldn’t stand it. A demon? “As in from hell?”

  “Precisely. Balthazar hates to lose.”

  Her heart stopped. Two against one? Why didn’t anyone from heaven help Scythe? When was the “seek and you shall find” coming in?

  The smell of burning flesh choked her. She wrinkled her nose. She looked toward the kitchen, but nothing was on the stove. No fire burned in the fireplace. Was it him?

  Susan sped into the room holding a white fluffy towel in one hand and antiseptic in the other. She skidded to a stop and grimaced. “What is that disgusting smell?”

  “Give me the towel, you idiot,” Blade whispered.

  She handed it to him. “Oh, sorry.”

  Arching his back, he wrapped the towel around his hand. A sea of red soaked the white cotton.

  Susan sat next to him. “Let me put this on it.”

  Panting, he glanced at her shaking hand holding the clear bottle. “That won’t do shit.”

  She reached for his hand. “Blade, it will only hurt a little bit.”

  “Don’t touch me. You don’t get it, do you? The poison is scorching my blood and skin.”

  Susan frowned. “What poison?”

  “Haven’t you been listening? God, talk about dumb blondes. The Heaven blade is dipped into Heaven’s Light, a clear liquid that attacks and kills anything evil.”

  Heather couldn’t believe it. Had Scythe tried to kill his own brother? What about saving his brother’s soul? Was this how he planned to do it? Cutting him with a Heaven blade?

  Susan put the antiseptic down on the table and knelt in front of him, placing her hands on his knees. “What can we do?”

  “We?” His voice mocked her. “We can’t do anything.” He lifted a lock of her blond hair, turning it red. “But I know someone who can.”

  He gave Heather a cool look, and she trembled.

  Susan gave her a sneer, then stared up at Blade, her eyes shining with eagerness. “So, what do you want me to do?”

  He flicked his shaking hand. “Give her the drug.”

  “With pleasure,” Susan purred as she walked to Heather and caressed her cheek as she headed for the kitchen.

  Heather jerked. “What! You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am.”

  Blade’s flat voice terrified her. There was no pity, no mercy, nothing. He cradled his wounded hand close to his chest. Pain filled his eyes, and he panted. “You will bring my brother to his knees.”

  No words came to her mind.

  Susan opened a kitchen cabinet and dumped black dust onto a plate.

  “Cook it first,” Blade said.

  Susan gave him a quizzical look.

  He lifted his legs again and stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “She’s not going to snort it. You must inject it into her.” He snapped his fingers, and a syringe appeared on the counter. He turned away from the ceiling and flicked his gaze over Susan. “You can manage that, can’t you?”

  “Um, yes, I can,” she stammered.

  “Then do it.” Blade closed his eyes, his face turning whiter.

  Susan took out a small white tea candle and a miniature frying pan, then dumped the black dust into the pan, not spilling a drop. She slid her finger over the plate and sucked he
r blackened finger. She closed her eyes. “Ummm, so good.”

  After lighting the candle, she held the pan over the tiny flame. The substance bubbled and crackled in the pan.

  The stench of burnt chemicals turned Heather’s stomach. She wrestled with her binds, but her fingers couldn’t budge the cord. What was she going to do? She refused to take that damn drug. Not after what it done to her sister and her patients. No fucking way.

  Susan placed the pan on the counter and then blew out the candle. Giving Heather a you’ve-had-it now gaze, she put the needle tip into the liquid and pulled the tab back.

  Heather’s heart pounded. She wrenched her shoulders, but the binds tightened. “Susan, no. Stop.”

  Susan lifted the shot in one hand and laughed. “Okay, Polly Pure Heart.” She strode over to Heather with a gleam in her eyes. No mercy or recognition reflected in them.

  Heather scooted on her seat. “Stay away from me.”

  “Like you’re going anywhere. Blade?”

  “Shut up and do it.” Blade never opened his eyes.

  “Sure thing, honey.” Susan grinned.

  Blade smiled.

  Heather rolled her eyes. Honey? More like a fucking asshole.

  “Susan, no.” She searched Susan’s face to find one shred of evidence of the sweet, caring person who had always been her friend, but disappointment sank into her gut.

  Susan gripped Heather’s chin, her nails digging into her flesh. “You’ll thank me in a minute. You can’t imagine the high.” She pushed Heather’s hair away from her neck and twirled her fingers into her hair, forcing her head to the side.

  “No, please!” Heather squirmed. “Let go.” The sharp prick of the long thin needle slowly edged through her neck. Hot white lightning pain injected into her veins and she couldn’t breathe. Desperate for him to hear her, she screamed, “Scythe!”

  Cruel male laughter echoed in her ears. “It’s too late. Now it’s your turn to murder.”

  Chapter 17

  Scythe wanted to be anywhere, but here. He couldn’t stop thinking of Heather and fighting in the middle of nowhere wasn’t on his agenda.

  The smell of ash permeated from Balthazar. Scythe wrinkled his nose. He detested the demon’s constant stench, and it polluted the sweet mountain meadow. Wearing a long black dust jacket, dark jeans, and a silk shirt, Balthazar must have seen one too many vampire movies.

  Scythe glared. “Where the hell did you send my brother?”

  Balthazar leaned on his sword. “Someplace safe.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a cruel, twisted smile.

  Scythe ached to slam his fist into the demon’s face and permanently erase his surly grin. “Yeah, right.” Burning tingles ran up his arm from where Balthazar had nicked him with the hellish sword. Anguish pumped through his veins like scalding lava.

  The sun set behind the looming mountains. The weight of his failure weighed heavy on Scythe’s shoulder. Michael’s deadline was up. Once again, he’d failed, but this didn’t mean he couldn’t take down the demon who turned his brother. He edged toward Balthazar. “Anything happens to him…”

  “What? In case if you haven’t noticed, Angel, your brother wants you dead.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Balthazar wielded his sword and tilted his head toward Scythe’s bleeding arm. He cocked his eyebrow. “Arm hurt, dark angel?”

  Scythe gritted his teeth. “Bite me.” He glanced at Balthazar’s sword. “Not exactly fair.”

  Balthazar shrugged. “Like I said before, I play to win.”

  “Pussy.”

  The smile faded from Balthazar’s lips. His eyes burned red and his face paled. He picked up his sword and held it with both hands. “Prepare to die, Angel.”

  He swung. The air singed and electricity crackled. “You will be holding your intestines in your hands.”

  Scythe sucked in his gut. “Missed.”

  Balthazar lunged. Scythe dove to the ground. Balthazar slammed the sword onto the ground, the tip digging deep into the Earth. Scythe rolled and back and forth to escape the demon’s hellish sword. Sparks flew off the sword each time he hit the ground and each time, he got closer and closer to slicing Scythe in two.

  Smugness flickered in Balthazar’s glowing eyes. “One more time, and I’ll spill guts, Angel.”

  Sweat poured down Scythe’s face. Shit, any minute his guts would douse the mountain. Not a way he wanted to die.

  The waning sun’s rays peered through pine trees, casting long dark shadows onto the ground. With his long black dust jacket and black pants, Balthazar blended into the shadows except for his glowing red eyes. Out of the darkness, the sword crashed down next to Scythe’s head, driving a sharp edge of steel into his shoulder. He arched his back and yelled. Wetness seeped onto his shoulder and down his chest. He ignored the blinding agony. If he failed, Heather and Blade were lost.

  “You’re growing weaker.” Balthazar lifted the sword high over his head. “Soon, I’ll have both you and your mate at my disposal.”

  “Never,” Scythe promised. With grim determination, he gripped his dagger, dropped to the ground, and swung. He sliced Balthazar’s calf. Balthazar staggered and dropped his sword. “Shit. You bastard.”

  “A present from Blade.” Scythe wiped the bloody and gory blade onto the grass. Gasping for air and pushing the pain back, he rolled to his side and slowly stood, ready to battle.

  Balthazar used his sword to help him stand. His hands shaking, he gripped it tight. “Let’s try that again.”

  “Bring it on.” Scythe sounded braver than he felt.

  Even dragging his leg, blood dripping into his boot, Balthazar hacked the sword like he was one with it. He could cut off Scythe’s head with one swipe.

  Scythe had one chance. With angelic speed, he snatched a rock and threw it with all his strength. The rock whizzed through the air. Balthazar smacked it with his sword, sending the missile spinning. It shaved off leaves from an aspen tree, then embedded itself into a pine.

  “Fool, is that the best you can do?”

  “Maybe.” Scythe kept his freehand close to his midsection again while his other hand, he clutched the pearl handle, pointing the sharp tip down. He had to get closer, but he’d be dead if he did. He grabbed a broken aspen branch, never taking his eyes off the crafty demon. The smooth bark rubbed against his hand as he pointed the jagged end at his nemesis.

  Balthazar laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding?” He edged around Scythe, his eyes scanning for any weakness. “You really think you can kill me with that?”

  “No.” Scythe’s voice faded. Blood pooled down Scythe’s chest and abdomen. Perspiration stung his eyes, blurring his vision. The mountain air grew cold against his skin, but his insides burned.

  “Scythe?” A female voice called. It couldn’t be. Heather? How could she get here? Had to be a trick. So, that was Balthazar’s plan—distract him with Heather, then cleave his head. Not happening.

  The silhouette of a female moved between the aspens. He inhaled Heather’s soft scent of jasmine. Scythe froze. The aroma smelled different as if she had been doused with an insecticide.

  Balthazar swung. The sword hissed. Scythe whirled to the right, but the tip of the sword sliced into the flesh of his forearm, gouging a deep gash into the muscle and sinew that ran the full length of his elbow. His boot slipped on the blood-drenched ground, costing him precious seconds. Balthazar capitalized on it, slashing at Scythe’s ribs and thigh, the poison sizzling into his open wounds. Agony gushed through him.

  Scythe staggered and crashed down onto one knee. His arm ripped open to the bone that would have rendered a human useless, Scythe held onto the tree branch, his strength draining. He strained to get to his feet again, his lips drawn back into a snarl. He lunged first, an ungodly bay carrying him forward with all the lethality of the dark angel brigade.

  Scythe smashed the branch into Balthazar’s knee. The demon’s bone shattered. Balthazar hissed and screamed.
His howling rage sent the back of Scythe’s hairs standing straight. Anguish swept through Scythe’s shaking arm, his fingers loosened, dropping the branch to the ground.

  “Scythe.” Heather’s loud voice stopped him cold.

  He turned to see her darting through aspens and pines. Twigs broke and leaves crunched. Her dark hair flew behind her. Her perfume grew stronger, not sweet and exotic, but rotting and foul, churning his stomach. Only one thing smelled that putrid and could stamp out his mate’s sweet perfume. Xanadu. She had taken it. Shit.

  Panting, Balthazar followed Scythe’s gaze. “Ah… I… see…she’s…arrived.” He struggled to stand, using his sword as a cane to lift him. His arms trembling, he lifted the sword over his head.

  “No,” Heather screamed.

  Balthazar turned to say something to her, giving Scythe one last effort to foil the demon. He threw his knife and struck silver. Balthazar clutched his thigh. The sword crashed onto the ground. He threw back his head and shrieked. His hand trembling, he grasped the handle and pulled, but the dagger only moved a few inches. A red wave of blood gushed down his leg and rolled over his fingers. Balthazar fell on his ass. “Damn you, Angel. I swear you’ll pay for this.” Hate flickered in his eyes. “Sooner than you think.” He disappeared.

  Scythe collapsed. The pain of hell surged through him. Each time his heart beat the poison flowed into his veins, gnawing away at muscle and bone. He clutched his neck and side, feeling his own blood seep through his fingers. His rib ached, and it hurt to breathe. His strength left him, and he fell flat onto his back.

  Heather skidded to a halt in front of him. The mountain breeze blew her hair behind her. Her once beautiful brown eyes burned red and dark circles were under eyes. No mercy reflected in those eyes, but a desire to kill, maim and hurt. Her once tan face now took on an ashen sheen. She set her mouth into a tight, straight line. Her lips were gray and cracked. Is that where Blade had gone? To give his angel-mate Xanadu?

  Cold air rushed over him. He shivered and his teeth chattered. He clamped his jaw tight. He didn’t know if it were from the dropping temperature, the poison thumping in his vein, or gazing at his possessed angel-mate. Every muscle hurt and weariness overcame, but he vowed next time he met Balthazar; he’d rip him apart with his bare hands.