by ML Guida
She covered her mouth with her small hand. “Oh, my God. I wanted him to kill you.”
He arched his back as pain pumped through him. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
She reached behind her back and pulled out a dagger, stained with blood. His blood. “Blade’s?”
She held up the blade. The light bounced off it, but the dagger grew dark as the sun disappeared. Overhead, purple and pink clouds floated.
“Yes, it is. Blade gave it to me. Said to give you a message.”
Her cold voice iced his insides. “Yeah, what?”
She gave him a sick smile. “He told me to rip out your heart like you did his.”
“Jesus,” he moaned. For Heaven’s sake, Blade! The bastard was pouring his hate into Heather so she could do his dirty work. Hell, what did he expect? He’d learned from the best.
Heather knelt down and studied him. “You’re beautiful, even cut like this.”
He frowned at her robotic voice. “You don’t recognize me?”
“No, why? Should I?”
“Blade, you bastard,” Scythe growled. He peered into Heather’s possessed eyes. She raised the knife higher.
He wet his lips. “Listen to me, love. You know me. Remember.”
He touched her cold hand and poured his fading angelic powers into her. Her brows furrowed, and a crease formed on her forehead. Recognition reflected in her eyes. She lowered her hand. “I…uh…what’s happening to me?”
“You’ve taken Xanadu.”
She put her hand on her forehead. “I feel funny.”
“Fight it, Heather. Come back to me.” He clasped her hand tighter, but her hand remained icy as if it had been put into a freezer.
She jerked it away. “Don’t touch me.”
“It’s the Xanadu. It freezes your heart, corrupts your soul. Give me your hand.”
“No!” She scooted away and shook her hand. “God, it hurts.”
He squeezed his eyes as pain seized him. “It’s good and evil fighting.”
“Shut up. You’re gonna pay for this.”
He opened his eyes as something cold and sharp touched his neck. “Been hearing that a lot lately.”
She smiled, one that chilled his bones. It instantly reminded him of Balthazar. “I will slit your throat and rip out your heart.”
“Heather, don’t. The madness….”
“I’ll live.”
“Actually, you won’t.”
Scythe smiled at the familiar male voice—Raphael. He must have heard his plea.
Heather screamed and dropped the blade. She covered her ears. The blade lay on his chest. With his remaining strength, Scythe grabbed it and threw.
“Raphael, it took you along enough to get here.”
Raphael shrugged. “I was hiking in Scotland. How many times do I have to save your ass?” Sure enough, he had on blue jeans, a white muscle shirt and hiking boots and had a blue backpack strapped to his back. With his blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, he resembled a granola eater.
“It hurts. It hurts,” Heather moaned.
Scythe glared. “Sorry, it’s not easy taking on two demons.”
Raphael frowned. “Two?”
“Balthazar.”
“Ah, so he’s joined in on the fight. Usually he lets others do his dirty work.”
“Make it stop.” Heather wriggled on the ground, holding her palms to her ears.
Her cries tore through Scythe. “Raphael?”
“Sorry. I forget sometimes how my voice impacts evil.”
“She’s not evil, just possessed.”
Raphael studied her. “So, you say.”
Heather shrieked, convulsed and passed out. Scythe’s breath stuck in his chest, but when Heather’s chest rose and fell, he exhaled.
“You thought I killed her?” Raphael took the backpack off. “I’m not Michael.”
Scythe turned his head. “Yeah, I know.”
Raphael knelt next to him. “Not doing too well, are you?”
The merriment in his voice rubbed Scythe like steel wool over raw skin. “Don’t start. Are you going to help me or what?”
“Keep your pants on.”
He frowned. “Man, he worked you over good.”
“You try going up against a hell sword with nothing but a heaven dagger.”
Raphael cocked an eyebrow. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“Whatever. Heal her first.”
“I can’t.”
Scythe glared. He caught a glimpse of what ate away at his brother and bitterness born into him. “You mean won’t. Typical Michael.”
“Think what you want, but that’s not it.”
“Then what? Don’t tell me you’re not powerful enough.”
“Lose the sarcasm, boy.”
Scythe turned away and stared at Heather. Her dark hair and ashen skin, she was a sleeping fairy-tale princess. Zeus, he wished he could kiss her, and she’d wake, but he doubted it was that easy. She was out cold, but when she woke, she’d turn into the same mad killer like all the others. “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself.”
Raphael rubbed his chin. “Yeah, you could do that, but by then she would have killed you and offed herself.”
“Up yours.”
Raphael picked up a blade of grass and chewed on it. “So, are you going to listen or pout like a little boy?”
Scythe stiffened. “I’m listening.”
“She’s your mate and the only one who can heal her is you.”
Scythe frowned. “But?”
“You must heal her soul.”
Scythe ran his hand through his hair. “What?”
“The Xanadu is feeding on her guilt, and by the looks of it, she’s got a heavy dose of it.”
“And how the hell am I supposed to do that?”
Raphael gave him a dazzling smile. “You’re her angel-mate. Figure it out.”
“And if I don’t figure it out?”
He gave him a hard stare. “Then she dies like the others.”
“Oh, this is fucking great.” Scythe clenched his teeth. “Heal me.”
“Relax, buddy.” He clasped Scythe’s throbbing arm. “You’ll be up and around.”
Taking a ragged breath, Scythe forced himself to concentrate on Raphael’s voice rather than Heather or Blade.
“You’re tensing,” Raphael scolded. “It takes longer if you’re stressed.”
Scythe kept his mouth shut. What did he want him to say? The hourglass was running out, and he wasn’t even close to saving Blade’s soul and now Heather’s. Misery nestled inside him like a toad.
“Listen to my voice, Scythe. Blank out your mind. The only thing that matters is my voice. There is no pain. There is no death. Only life. Relax your muscles. Release the tension, starting with your toes.”
Raphael’s low voice had blocked out the torment inside him. A slow-moving caress moved up Scythe’s legs.
“Now, your calves and thighs,” the Archangel said. “Breathe in and out. Now the tension is leaving your abdomen. Your muscles are pressing into the ground. Your chest is inhaling the sweet mountain air, the tension exhaling through your lungs. Your eyes are growing heavy.”
A soft breeze rustled Scythe’s hair and his sweat dried. He shivered.
“Only goodness flows in your veins.”
Power surged through Scythe, grace, tranquility, peacefulness. All thought vanished.
“Breathe.” Raphael’s voice was like a summer breeze dousing the heat inside him. The rustle of trees matched his soft words.
Soft grass and pine needles caressed and blanketed Scythe. The numbing cold pain lessened and his angelic power returned, propelling through him like a bolt of lightning. His fingers and toes tingled. His heart beat stronger. He exhaled and tasted something foul. He wrinkled his nose and coughed.
Strong hands grabbed his arms and forced him to the side. “Let it out, now.”
The tranquility vanished and burning pain pooled in his stomach.
“I command you. Now, Scythe.”
Scythe gagged and putrid vomit hurled from his mouth, spilling thick black ooze. He cringed at the evil stench and wanted to break away, but Raphael held him firm. “It’s not over yet.”
For the next few minutes, Scythe threw up again and again. His throat and gut burned.
Raphael released him. “I had to gather the poison in your stomach.”
His chest heaving, Scythe lay on his back. His stomach felt like it had been turned inside out. “Great.” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I’m done.”
Raphael patted his arm. “Yes, you are. Feel better?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Raphael stood and grabbed his pack.
Scythe gasped but could feel his strength returning. “What’s in the pack?”
Raphael shrugged. “Souvenirs from Inverness.”
“For whom?”
“None of your concern.”
By the cloud falling on Raphael’s face, Scythe kept silent. It was best not to piss him off. The Archangel had many secrets and didn’t like angels nosing into his business.
Scythe sat and wiped his mouth again with the back of his other hand. “Zeus, hope I don’t have to go through that again.”
“It’s part of the job.”
“Oh, I forgot.” He rolled his eyes. “One of the perks.”
Raphael shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Call me when you find Blade.”
“That will be hard.”
Raphael walked away and glanced over his shoulder. “She knows. Ask her.”
Scythe pushed himself to stand. His legs wobbled, but at least he wouldn’t fall.
Raphael rubbed his chin. “Oh, by the way, Scythe. The angels are taking bets.”
“Great. What are they?”
He clutched Scythe’s shoulder. “Hundred to one, you fail.”
Scythe winced. What if they were right?
Chapter 18
Someone strong shook Heather. “Wake up.”
She knew that sultry male voice, but her foggy mind couldn’t come up with a name. Not so true with her nose. The masculine scent of pine and sandalwood reminded her of the best sexual tryst she’d ever had. Who was it?
She groaned, blinked, and opened her eyes. A beautiful male face appeared over her, his long black hair brushed her cheek, sending shivers through her body. She had never seen such glowing silver eyes. They were pure, majestic, ancient. It was as if he could see into her soul. His pearly aura outlined his muscular body. A memory fluttered over her, but her brain remained fuzzy.
Behind his large frame, pine and aspen trees bent to the wind. The sky had turned purplish and black clouds hovered over her head. Dusk settled over the mountains. She lay on something soft, but coldness gripped her, and she shivered. “Why am I in the mountains?”
“You don’t remember how you got here?” A frown spread across his masculine face. “Are you all right?”
She held her head. “Yeah, I think so.” Her head pounded. “Who are you? Do I know you?”
Disappointment flickered in his eyes. “Shit, it must have blocked your memory.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Xanadu.”
She shuddered. The drug? Yes, it had made her feel invincible. Orgasmic. Euphoric. She wanted more. But someone had told her she had to do something to get it. A dark voice whispered in her mind. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Why? But the voice refused to answer.
She itched to grab the dagger nestled in the man’s belt and stab him through the heart. She frowned. Didn’t she have a dagger earlier? A special kind. Someone had given it to her. The mysterious dark-haired man. What was his name? Rhymed with trade…slade…glade… What the hell was it? He looked exactly like the man sitting next to her, but his eyes burned red and his aura had been pitch black, darker than the midnight sky.
If she did this one thing, the dark-haired man promised her guilt would vanish. All would be forgiven. Why did she feel guilty? Remorse settled on her heart, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall what she had done.
The handsome man studied her. “Do you remember taking anything?”
“What? No. Who are you?”
“You don’t know?”
His voice was sad, and it piled more guilt on her. She hadn’t even stabbed him yet, and she’d hurt him.
“Uh, no.”
“Think hard.”
His forcible tone terrified her. She had seen that look before, but where. A light of recognition glimmered, a name whispered in her ear, but then a searing pain slammed into her temples as if someone had jabbed a hot poker into her brain.
She rubbed her throbbing temples. “I’m not in the mood for trivia games. Besides, how the hell do you know my name?”
The man grabbed her hand. “Fight it, Heather.”
Her stomach churned faster like an out-of-control dryer. She squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth watered. “God, I can’t think. I’m going to be sick.”
“I know,” the man said. “Try to remember who I am? It’s important.”
His soft voice reverberated inside her head. She couldn’t keep her eyes closed and bit her cheek to keep from spilling her guts, but it was a losing battle. She rolled onto her side. Her throat burned as if scalding water pumped up from her belly. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She dug her fingernails into the ground, feeling dirt embedded underneath her nails.
“I...Can’t...Stop.”
He stroked her hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He sent waves of comfort through her and the pain in her temples lessened.
She turned her nose at the stench of black ooze that stained the pine needles and long green grass. What the hell had she eaten? Sweat drenched her. With one last tremble, the violent vomiting stopped. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
“I’m done,” she whispered. “I’ve...got.. to get away from it.”
“No doubt.”
She blinked. Did the sludge move? No, it couldn’t have. Did she throw up on a bug or an animal?
The man wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her to her feet. She leaned against him and the sickness and doubt subsided. She was safe in his arms. With him around, no one could harm her. She swayed, but he held her tightly.
“I need you to take me to him.”
His no-nonsense voice broke her comfort.
She lifted her head. “What? Who?”
“Blade. Tell me now, Heather.”
“You mean like the character in the movie?”
“No.” He turned her around and gripped her shoulders tight. “My brother. You know who I am.”
“You’re hurting me.” She wrenched her arm, but his tentacle fingers clinched tighter. “I don’t know anyone named Blade.”
“We’re running out of time.”
“Running out of time? Running out of time for what?” She kicked his shin. “Let me go.”
He slammed her against his massive chest. “Don’t play games with me.” His familiar scent tore down some of the wall blocking her memory.
“I’m gonna exorcise this demon from you one way or another.” His voice turned her insides to jelly and her heart quickened. What did that mean? Was he crazy?
He tilted his dark head. His lips parted and before she knew it, he kissed her, deep, masterfully, his tongue exploring her mouth. A million pulsating sensations scampered through her, steadying her stomach, spreading warmth through her from her lips to her toes. She relaxed her body against him, feeling his beating heart. She put her hand on his chest and beneath her palm his muscles rippled against her. He trembled beneath her touch. Moving her hands to his thick arms, she marveled at his sculpted sinew.
“Oh, Heather,” he moaned.
His erection pushed against her stomach. Her body drowned in waves of heat and icy anticipation on what it would feel like having this man thrusting inside her. She broke away from his dominating lips. “Tell me how you know
my name. Please.”
“I know everything about you. You’re mine.”
She stiffened at his possessiveness and fear filled her belly. She didn’t want to belong to anybody. The man’s kiss deepened and for a minute, she forget all else.
The black-haired man appeared in her mind. His eyes burned brighter. “Remember.”
A stark memory stirred inside her. A woman had long black hair, blue eyes, and she scowled. “It’s your fault I’m dead.”
Rosemary. That was it. Sister. A tidal wave of guilt smashed into her hard—every wrong she had ever done shook her.
In her mind, a vision formed. A man held up a plastic sandwich bag filled with black dust. “Kill him. Or you’ll never take this again.”
Hungrier than a starving lion, Heather wanted that bag of dust more than anything in the world. Nothing mattered—not her career, not her friends, not her soul. Only the dust mattered. She pounded on the man’s chest. “Let go of me.”
He released her.
She stumbled, falling onto her knees. Pain gripped her heart as if a spear drove through her, piercing her. “I can’t bear this.”
The man knelt. “Yes, you can. Don’t listen to him.”
Her eyes widened. He knew. How did he know? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was reading her mind. “What do you mean?”
“I know who’s baiting you. Deny him.”
She shook her head. “No, it will only get worse. He said the guilt will consume me and only he had the cure.”
“I bet he did.” He helped her to her feet. “You’re having visions. Take me to the man in your mind and it will stop.”
“No.” She rocked on her heels. “He won’t take away the pain unless I kill you.”
“Who am I?”
“I-I-I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because I can’t. It’s against the rules.”
“Against the rules? What rules?”
He sighed, then put his thumb on her forehead. The air crackled around her. Tiny shots of electricity ran over her skin and bore into her skull, smashing down the memory wall. “Scythe, your name is Scythe.”
“Yes.” He dropped his arm. “Take me to him and I’ll let you kill me in front of him.”