by ML Guida
Blade charged. Scythe broke free of Raphael’s grasp and faced his brother. Blade hit him hard. Scythe fell onto his back with his brother landing on his chest and pinning his arms with his legs and his fists wailing on his face like he was a punching bag. “Die. Die. Die.”
Scythe arched his back, but Blade shoved him back to the ground. Scythe gasped for air. Blade’s breath changed from stinking garbage to sweet pine. The evil within him was dying, but it struggled to survive by clinging and fueling his hate.
“Blade, stop it.” With each word, Samantha slapped her palms on her thighs.
“No, I hate him. I hate him.” Blade smashed his fists into Scythe’s face, bloodying his nose.
Scythe took in all of Blade’s hate, and pain slammed into his gut. His brother was in enough agony.
“Even in Heaven, they’d have these rounds.” Raphael snatched a blade of grass and chewed on it. “Two supposed mature angels trying to kill each other. Damn nuisance.”
“Raphael, get him the hell off me and heal him.”
“You’ll live.”
“Blade, look at me,” Samantha said.
Heaving, Blade stopped. Scythe couldn’t open his eyes again. Shit, this was getting old. Wetness streamed down his cheek, and he tasted metallic in his mouth.
“You ruined my life,” Blade said. The pain and misery in his voice hit Scythe in his gut. How would he and Blade ever be brothers again? Would they always be enemies? Sworn to kill each other for eternity? He could do many things, but killing his brother wasn’t one of them. Not now. Not ever.
Samantha stood next to them. Her dress brushed over Scythe’s arm. “No, he didn’t.” She touched Blade’s shoulder. “Look at me.”
Scythe felt Blade’s thighs trembling. His brother hung his head and clenched his jaw. He slowly turned his head.
She stretched out her arm. “Give me your hand.”
Blade gave her his, and slid off Scythe. Scythe coughed and spat out blood onto the ground. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Blade, will you listen?”
“Shut up or I’ll rip out your tongue,” Blade growled.
The moon’s light dimmed. The wind picked up, and the trees rustled and whooshed. Even the lights inside the cabin paled. A bad feeling settled in Scythe’s heart. What game was Raphael playing?
Samantha cupped his cheek. “Look into your heart.”
“I love you. That’s all I know.”
She dropped her hand. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have killed all those people nor would you have fallen.”
Blade winced. “You don’t understand…”
“I don’t understand what? Bitterness? Rage? Hate? What?”
“See you don’t understand. You’re not even trying.”
“Maybe I don’t. For what I’m told, if we were angel-mates, you wouldn’t have to convince me of your actions. We would think as one.”
“They murdered you before I could claim you.”
“Blade.” She cupped his stubborn face. “All my life I had to fight for what’s mine. When you found me, I was an attorney working over eighty hours a week. I did it because I couldn’t face my life, my family.”
“I was your new family.”
“No, God was my family. You don’t get it. Or more like you don’t want to get it.”
She released his cheeks and looked up at the sky; her face glowed. “I’ve moved on. I want you to forget about me and get on with what you were meant to be—an angel.”
“Never.”
Scythe struggled to stand. “Now, you’re being a stubborn ass.”
Blade glared. “This doesn’t concern you.”
His rage threatened to burst through his ribs and any minute he could jump him again.
Scythe rubbed his throbbing cheek. “Yeah, it does. Whether or not you like it, we’re brothers. I’ve gone to hell and back to try to save your dumb ass.”
Blade clapped his hands. “Well, let’s give the boy a medal.”
“Blade, for all that you’ve done, your brother still loves you,” Samantha said.
“Even when you tortured my mate,” Scythe muttered. He stared at Heather’s unconscious form. How the hell was he supposed to heal her guilt? He didn’t even know how to heal his own brother.
Blade lifted his chin in defiance. “Well, I don’t…”
Samantha put her finger on his lips. “Don’t. I have found my every desire. I want you to find yours.”
He clasped her finger and held it to his chest. “You’re my desire.”
She gently pulled her hand away. “No, Blade, your desire isn’t me.”
“Then what is it, pray tell?”
Scythe wanted to shake some sense into him except the idiot had been hanging out with Balthazar for way too long. When his brother stuck his chin out, he was stiffer than a starched shirt. There was no reasoning with him—nothing more stubborn than a know-it-all-angel.
She looked at Raphael. “Tell him.”
Raphael bowed his head. “The honor is yours, my lady.”
“Tell me what?” Blade clasped Samantha’s chin and turned her face. “Don’t be afraid. I need to know.”
She bit her lip. “You’ve sinned.”
Looking at Raphael, Scythe cocked his eyebrow. “Really, Sherlock?”
Raphael shrugged.
“Yeah, I know that. I’m a fallen angel.”
Samantha clutched Blade’s jacket. “Before you can meet your true angel-mate, you have to atone for what you have done.”
He released her chin. “I’m a demon so…”
“Actually, that’s not true.” Raphael walked over to Blade, who jerked away from him. He held up his hands. “I won’t hurt you.” He pointed his index finger toward the sky. “You’ve got some clout still in Heaven. The Boss likes you, despite what you’ve done.”
“There’s a but in there,” Scythe said. Peter wasn’t known for turning the other cheek, especially when it came to angels. Justice was swift and quick.
Raphael gazed at Blade. “I can’t completely heal you until you repent.”
“Not asking you too, asshole,” Blade growled. “I’ve switched teams.”
“Since your team gave up, you’re still ours.” Raphael snapped his fingers. “Orders.”
Everything went pitch black. Scythe couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. He whirled around, but couldn’t see anything. “Heather?” He ran to where she had crumpled on the ground. “Heather?” He knelt and inched his hands onto the hard grounds, pine needles stuck into his palm and dirt dug under his nails.
“Relax, Angel,” Raphael said in a bored voice. “She’s the least of your worries.”
His fingers brushed over something silky. He ran his hand over her head, down to her shoulder and squeezed. “Heather,” he whispered, a lump forming in his throat.
The wind picked up speed and roared. Sharp, hard, and soft debris slapped Scythe in the face and hands. Chairs skidded on the deck. Glass broke. Something tore in the night as if a large piece of cloth ripped in two.
Blade’s scream pierced his ears.
“Blade!” Scythe spread his body on top of Heather, pinning her to the ground. He lowered his head as more fragments of what felt like sticks, stones, grass, and whatever else on the ground plummeted into his hair, arms, and legs. His body turned to ice. He clutched Heather’s frozen hand. “Raphael, for the love of God ”
Scythe put his palms on the back of his head and lay face down on the ground. His chest and stomach covered Heather’s face and abdomen.
At another gut wrenching scream, Scythe gritted his teeth. Thumping and walloping erupted where Blade and Samantha had been standing. Why wasn’t she yelling? What happened to her?
The wind ceased. Scythe lifted his head. The glowing moon and the dimmed lights flipped on as if by a switch. Raphael stood where he had been before, not one hair out of place. Samantha was gone, but Blade was lying face down. “You said you wouldn’t kill him!”
Scythe scampered of
f Heather. Her chest rose and fell. Alive. He sped over to Blade and skidded onto his knees. Blade’s hands were stretched over his head and his legs were spread eagle. Scythe couldn’t even breathe. A sharp pain filled his heart as if a spear pierced him. “For Heaven’s sake, Raphael,” Scythe choked. “You said you wouldn’t kill him.”
His hand shaking, he turned Blade over onto his side. Blade’s face was pale and his jaw clamped tight as if he were in pain, but he was breathing.
Raphael shrugged. “He’s not dead.”
“I can see that. What the bloody hell did you do?”
“He’s human.”
“He’s what?”
“Human.”
Scythe blinked. Shit, that sucked. “What? Why?”
“He’ll remain human until he repents for his sins.”
“Where did Samantha…”
Raphael tilted his head. “Back in Heaven where she belongs.”
Scythe gazed at his brother’s ashen face. Unease spread over him. “What happens if he doesn’t…”
“Repent?” Raphael examined his fingernails. “Then he remains human.”
“Shit! You saw how he was. He’s in pain, twisted, furious. He’ll never admit…”
“Then he’ll die.”
Scythe glared. “You promised you wouldn’t kill him.”
Raphael stopped looking at his precious nails. “There you go assuming. He has a soul and he’ll make the choice on what path he’ll follow. Thanks to you. He’ll die a natural death.” He frowned. “Well, at least by Heaven’s terms. Can’t say about the other team.”
“You can’t do this.”
“It’s done, Angel.”
“Well, isn’t this special. I’ll have to protect him night and day.”
“Actually, you won’t.” He snapped his fingers and Blade disappeared.
Scythe whirled around. “For Heaven’s sake, where is he?”
“Someplace where you can’t find him. He has to do this on his own.”
Rage, terror, and loss gripped Scythe. He arched his back, stretched out his arms, and screamed. “No!” He failed again. A human can be possessed. Shot. Tortured. Broken.
“You have more important things to worry about, Angel. Your mate awakes.”
Chapter 21
Heather smelled sweet grass and pines. She groaned and put her palm on her forehead. “Where am I?”
“You don’t remember anything?”
She squinted and opened one eye. A silhouette of a man loomed over her. In back of him was Susan’s mountain cabin. What was she doing here?
Shadows hid the man’s features. “Who are you?” She struggled to sit. Every time her heartbeat a thrusting pain hit her side. She gasped for breath. “Why do I hurt everywhere? I feel like I ran into Mt. Everest.”
“You still don’t know who I am?”
His voice was so familiar she should know the voice. She wiped her hands on her pants. “No, but I feel like I should?”
“Yes, you should.”
His husky voice sent shivers down her. The moon cast an eerie glow on him. His brilliant white aura sparkled, and his eyes burned silver. She’d seen those eyes before. She reached for her necklace that was tingling and rubbed her thumb over it.
A name burst through her mind. “Scythe, your name is Scythe.”
He half grinned. “Ah, so the drug hasn’t completely wiped your memory clean.”
“What drug? I’m a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and work in a drug and alcohol treatment center.” She sat straighter, despite the stiffness in her joints. “I don’t take drugs.”
Even as she denied it, a fierce hunger grew in her belly. Every nerve screamed for something, something that took the pain away, not her aches and pains, but real agony like her sister hating her. But could she blame her? Rosemary had never forgiven her for denying their father had sexually abused them. He’d hadn’t abused Heather, but he had Rosemary as a child. She remembered the door creaking open and her father’s soft footsteps entering the room. Heather lay in her twin bed, hugging her teddy bear, listening to Rosemary’s soft whimpers and her father’s grunts.
The guilt swelled inside her. She should have done something. Yelled. Anything.
“Heather,” Scythe said. “You were just a little girl.”
She frowned. He could read her thoughts? Shit.
“No, you don’t understand.”
He clasped her hand, and she felt strangely comforted. What was it about him?
“What I said to her. Both then and now. I should have been there for her. Not condemned her.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I don’t want to feel bad anymore. I want to forget. I took something that buried my pain, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but it will only mask the pain.”
She put her hand on her heart. “You don’t understand. I can feel the guilt. It’s burning me.”
“Raphael.” Scythe squeezed her hand. “Do something. She’s in pain. Heal her.”
A young man bathed in an illuminating light approached. Stars weaved around his head. He had porcelain skin and wore nothing but a pair of jeans. His sculpted abs glistened in the light. His aura emitted a power she had never experienced. Electrifying. Commanding. Terrifying. She had to shield her eyes from the brightness.
He knelt, and the light dimmed. “Hello, Heather. My name is Raphael.”
Her memory slammed into her. “I recognize your voice. I remember little else. You were the one talking inside my head, weren’t you?”
He gave her a sinister smile. “Yes, it was me. Even trapped in a Heaven’s cell, I was able to contact you through the cross—Christ’s Most Precious Blood.”
She clutched the cross tighter. “Why did you want to help me?”
“Because of him.” He tilted his head at Scythe. “He’s a lot of trouble.”
Scythe snorted.
“But I believe in him.” Raphael pushed her hair out of her face and for a moment the pain lessened. “I can’t heal you completely.”
“Heal me from what?”
His beautiful face darkened. “Xanadu.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, but the name struck terror inside her.
“You will,” he said.
“Don’t sit there blabbing like an idiot, Raphael, heal her. Now.”
Raphael gripped Scythe’s shoulder. “Always the impatient one and dense.”
“Raphael,” Scythe warned.
“Heather, only your angel-mate may heal you, but I can restore your memories—all of them. The good and the bad.” He lowered his voice. “Would you like that?”
A blanket of dread settled onto her heart, but she needed to remember. “Yes.”
Scythe gripped her hand tighter. “Hold on.”
“Hold on? What do…”
Before she finished her sentence, Raphael touched her forehead with his thumb. Light blazed into her skull. Hot perspiration drenched her and she couldn’t breathe. The darkness in her mind melted and buried memories burst through. Memories of her parents, Rosemary, Serenity House, angels, Scythe, and a demon. He’d touched her soul, scalding it. She screamed.
Scythe held her close. “It’s okay, Heather. I’m here. He can’t hurt you.”
The smell of sandalwood relaxed her muscles. She nestled closer to him. “Where…is…he?”
“The demon? He’s back in hell.”
“And Raphael?”
“Gone. Wherever he wants to go.” He draped his arm over her shoulder. “Here, let me help you up.”
“Okay.” She leaned against him. “Raphael’s an Archangel?”
“That’s him.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to Susan’s deck and sat her in a chair.
“Wait, Susan.” The horrible cat fight rushed over her. She’d clawed Susan’s face and repeatedly slammed her fist into her friend’s lower back. Fear pooled in her stomach. Her chest tightened. “I didn’t kill her, did I?” She clutched Scythe’s bicep. “Please, tell me I didn’t.�
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An intense buzzing sensation crawled over her feet and up her legs. It was that damn drug, but then the memory of euphoria hit her. When she’d attacked Susan, her mind had been crystal clear. She wanted Xanadu and would do anything to get it. She still wanted it. Energy abounded inside her. With a little more determination, she could fly. The best part was that her memories didn’t hurt her anymore. She could forget. Crap, the lust wasn’t over yet.
“Heather, Susan isn’t here.”
“What?” A cold terror crashed into her stomach. “Is-is she dead?”
He caressed her bruised cheek with the back of his hand, lessening the throbbing.
“Raphael took her,” he said.
She slumped. Her dread spiked. She’d murdered Susan. Her best friend. “You mean I killed her?”
“No, he healed her.”
Hope seared through her. She breathed a sigh of joy. She looked around the grounds of Susan’s cabin. “So where…”
“Probably home.”
“When you say healed…”
“She’s not addicted to Xanadu.”
She frowned. “But he said…”
“Susan wasn’t mated. so he possessed the power to heal her.”
She swallowed and looked at her shaking hands. “I’m mated to you so he can’t heal me.” She bit her lip. “It’s growing inside me. I feel it. I’m keeping the desire at bay, but I don’t know for how long. Even now, I lust for it.”
“Xanadu?”
She nodded.
He lifted her chin. He lowered his dark head and his breath was a downy caress over her mouth. His tongue opened her mouth, and she flinched as his demanding kiss pressed against her bruised mouth. Tremors ran through her and for a minute, she’d forgotten about the drug.
He released her. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “The last thing I want is to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. It was nice. Don’t stop.” His hot lips brushed onto her throat and she moved her neck to give him more excess to her flesh. He took advantage, sucking a gentle path down to the hollow of her shoulder. She gasped and her fingers clasped the arms of the chair as she leaned back allowing him to do what he pleased. The hunger diminished and a new hunger brewed, a hunger for him.
“You’re alive, my sweet,” he mumbled. He ran his hands over her arms. “I know what to do.”