Immortal

by ML Guida

  “You do?”

  “I want you, and only you.”

  His husky voice sent a hot desire rippling through her. Her nipples tightened into tight peaks and pushed against her bra, trying to pierce the barrier. She wanted his hands and mouth on her flesh, to be skin to skin, to feel him thrusting inside her again and again.

  “Take me,” she whispered.

  He cupped her chin. “You’re hurt.”

  She draped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her. “I don’t care.” She rubbed her cheek against his stubble one. “Love me. Make me forget.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Don’t tempt me.”

  “But…”

  He put his trembling finger on her mouth and she kissed it. She smiled at the power she had over this man, not a man, but an angel.

  “Heather,” he breathed heavily. “Raphael only numbed your physical pain. Otherwise, the Xanadu would control you. And you would…”

  “Kill you,” she said. “I remember everything, Scythe. I’m so sorry I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “I know, but the frenzy will return. Unless…” He hesitated. As the dawn rose, darkness remained on his face. A shiver ran through Heather. He feared something. An angel of death? Great, if he was terrified, then she should be scared out of her pants.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.” She whisked his silky hair away from his handsome face. “We can face it together.”

  The morning light highlighted his high cheekbones and firm chin. “No, Heather, you must defeat it. Alone. The Xanadu is feeding on your guilt. You must face Rosemary and ask for her forgiveness. If you do, the drug will no longer have power over you. I can take you to her.”

  Heather blinked. Had he gone mad? “You mean in Heaven? She hates me.”

  “If she doesn’t forgive you, then the Xanadu will destroy you. You must find a way to earn your sister’s forgiveness.”

  Face Rosemary? The last time she saw Rosemary, she had thrown her out of the house. Actually, she’d had Rosemary arrested. No wonder the woman despised her. “You don’t understand.”

  “I know you had her arrested.”

  Heather leaned her head back. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

  He half grinned. “About you? No.” He traced his hand down her arm. “You had no choice, Heather. Rosemary shouldn’t have stolen your debit card.”

  “I know, but she was desperate. I should have forgiven her. The last thing she told me was that she hated me.”

  “But if you hadn’t done that, she’d never would have become sober.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  He kissed her hand. “Trust in your bond.”

  He had faith in her faith that she didn’t have for herself. She gave him a weak smile, but his attempt of reassurance failed to sooth her guilt. Rosemary had every right to hate her. Not only did she have her sister arrested and condemned her drug use, but as a child, she allowed Rosemary to sacrifice herself to their leaching father. Talk about being a hypocritical social worker. How could she tell him the truth? He was an angel. He had fought to save his brother, never turning his back on him, even defying the Archangel Michael. “Where is Blade? Is he, uh…”

  Scythe cocked his eyebrow. “You mean dead?”

  She nodded.

  “No, but he might as well be.”

  “What?”

  The morning sun shone on his head and a halo formed around his crown. He plopped onto the deck and crossed his legs. Staring straight ahead, he snatched a pine twig lying on the deck and broke it into tiny pieces. He slammed his fist onto the deck and the boards rumbled. “Raphael made him human.”

  Heather jumped. “That’s worse than being a demon?”

  “For him it is. He’s vulnerable. If Balthazar finds him, he’s dead.”

  Scythe seized the bits and launched them at an aspen tree like a grenade. The force skinned off the bark and left a black scorch mark. His strength unnerved her, but she kept forgetting he wasn’t a man.

  “Raphael made it so I couldn’t find him. I have no idea where he is.” He hung his head. “I’ve failed him.”

  His white aura darkened to a light blue that reminded her of the bluebell wild flowers, but then it clouded over and muddied into a deep indigo. Heather rubbed his tense arm. “You’re afraid.”

  He squared his shoulders. “I won’t be able to protect him. I won’t know when he’s in trouble. I won’t know when he’s hurt. He’ll be vulnerable.”

  “From demons?”

  “Not demons. Angels.”

  “Angels?”

  He hung his head. “He pissed off Michael. He’ll send assassins after him.”

  “But then you could…”

  “No.” He ran his hands through his hair. “The assassin angels are part of Michael’s secret force. Even when I was his right-hand man, he never told me who they are.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They’re undercover.” He jumped to feet and slammed his fist into the cabin wall. Wood splintered and cracked. “No one knows their identity, but Michael.”

  Heather cringed. “And he won’t tell?”

  “Never.” He put his hands on either side of the hole and leaned his forehead against the wall. “Blade’s as good as dead.”

  Heather’s heart bled for him. She knew the depths of his despair, the powerlessness, the anger. He was scared like she had been for Rosemary. She wiped a tear, wishing she could erase his misery. “There’s nothing you can do?”

  “The only one who can save his ass is Blade himself.”

  She blinked. “Save himself?”

  “Yeah, he has to repent.” He sat next to her, his eyes glistened. “Can you believe it? Like that’s happening anytime soon.”

  His pain mimicked hers. She leaned against him. “I’m sorry. There’s no hope?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “There’s always hope. Raphael wouldn’t have done this unless he believed Blade could repent.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He shrugged. “What else? Pray.”

  She blinked. “Pray?”

  “You humans always underestimate the power of prayer. Prayer is a powerful weapon and may prove to help Blade’s dumb ass whether he wants it or not. I lost my brother to his own destiny. I won’t let you lose your sister.” He walked over to her and pulled her to him. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Scythe, wait.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t go like this.” She motioned to her torn clothes.

  “You want to change?”

  He gave her an I-can’t-believe-you look like she was some spoiled teenage princess. She stuck out her chin. “Yeah, I do.” She needed time to figure out what the hell to do.

  A fierce hunger gripped her. and she doubled over. She clutched her stomach.

  Scythe rubbed her back. “The drug is fighting to keep a hold of you. You don’t have much time.”

  The pain diminished, but didn’t disappear. She forced herself to stand. “How long?”

  “Less than a day.”

  “And then the Xanadu will completely possess me again?”

  “Yes. You still want to change clothes?”

  “Susan’s got clothes here at the cabin. It will only take me a minute.”

  But did she have a minute?

  His eyebrows deepened and his jaw twitched. “Are you all right?”

  “For now.” She opened the sliding glass door and without looking back, hurried to Susan’s room. She needed time to think.

  She swung open Susan’s bedroom door to discover a trail of discarded bras, panties, slips, and silky blouses. It liked someone had thrown them on the floor. Maybe Susan had. There was a musky smell. and the rumpled sheets left little doubt what happened. Damn Blade! Susan would die of horror, knowing she’d slept with a demon.

  Sweat whooshed over her and a sharp pain slammed into her gut. Her arms and legs quaked. She gripped the closet door and her fingers dug into the wo
od, then she clasped the cross. She stopped sweating and took several deep breaths. The throbbing pain dwindled, but she wasn’t fooled. Her body craved Xanadu, needed it, ached for it.

  Maybe Susan had some stashed here. She ripped clothes out of the dresser, tossing them everywhere. She searched through shoe boxes and threw shoes onto the floor. Where would she hide it?

  The desire grew, and she shook harder and harder. Desperate, she sped up her search and hunted underneath the mattress. She wanted the pain to stop, but it was a lie. She craved the high.

  “It’s not here,” Scythe said.

  She whirled around. Heat warmed her cheeks. “I, uh, was…”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t even.”

  She glanced at the shoe box in her hand. “I’ll get some shoes.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She put the shoe box back in the closet. “You don’t know what this is like. I’m hungry. I need it. If you loved me, you’d get it for me.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’ve heard that line before?”

  She stiffened. “This is different.”

  “Is it?”

  The haunted faces of Rosemary and her clients passed through her mind. She grimaced at the same goody two shoes speech she gave them. The same one she was sure Scythe was about to lay on her. No wonder her clients wanted to throttle her. “I’m not like the others.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re different. No one in the entire world has ever been addicted to drugs but you.”

  She kept her arms plastered to her side to keep from scratching his eyes out. Hadn’t she said almost the very same thing to Rosemary? God, she had been a hypercritical ass. Eating crow tasted like shit.

  “Wait, let me guess.” He tapped his chin. “If you could have one more hit, you’d stop.”

  Her eyes widen. “You can get it for me, can’t you?”

  She rushed over to him and knelt in front of him. “I’ll do whatever you want.” She ran her hands up his legs and he trembled. She reached for the zipper on his pants.

  He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to her feet. “No.”

  He snapped his fingers and her torn clothes vanished. Looking down, she had on a short black leather jacket, a cream silk camisole, black jeans, and red pumps. “What the hell?” She twisted her arm. “Let go.”

  “You’re done. We’re leaving now.”

  “Wait, no. I’m dirty.” The thought of facing Rosemary sent terror freezing her insides.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I need something to…”

  He snapped his fingers again. Heather shook her head. They stood in a mountain clearing. She’d never seen such majestic peaks or inhaled such sweet smelling pines or the warmth of the sun. She frowned. “We’re outside?”

  “No.”

  “Then where are we?”

  “Purgatory.”

  “What?”

  “Your sister loves the mountains. So, this is her holding place until she can move on.”

  He released her, and she swayed. Columbines of every color—yellow, white, purple and burgundy bloomed next to yellow daises and bluebells. A roaring stream thundered over polished rocks. Aspen and pine tree branches ruffled from the soft mountain breeze. “I never knew she loved the mountains.”

  “That’s one more thing you didn’t know about me, sis.”

  Chapter 22

  Heather whirled around to find her sister holding a chipmunk in her hand and stroking its head. She flashed her a crooked smile. “You don’t look well, girl.”

  For once, a shine shimmered in Rosemary’s eyes. The dark circles under her eyes had vanished. Her white peasant blouse was a nice contrast to her peachy skin. She was barefoot and a slit in her long embroidered denim skirt revealed her firm legs. Her toe nails were painted a fluorescent green and sparkled in the sun. She was a lost gypsy queen.

  Heather couldn’t believe how good she looked. “What are you doing here?”

  Rosemary knelt to the forest floor of wildflowers and long grass and released the chipmunk that glanced at her and then scampered up the rough bark of the nearest pine tree and set on a swaying branch. “This is my heaven.” She stood and twirled her outstretched arms. Her dark hair flew around like a halo.

  “On Earth, I always wanted to live in the mountains,” she said.

  “You never told me that,” Heather mumbled.

  She stopped spinning and put a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You never asked.”

  “What? I?”

  Rosemary laughed. She walked over to Heather and put her slim hands on her shoulders. A serene calm washed over Heather, and a smell of a fresh breeze passed over her.

  Her sister squeezed her shoulders. “Relax.” She released her. “It’s not like we were the best of friends.”

  The icy words stabbed Heather. “I never wanted it to be that way.”

  “I know.” Rosemary folded her arms across her chest. “That’s what makes it so tragic. Why is she here, Angel?”

  Scythe leaned against an aspen tree. “You need to talk. You need to forgive each other.”

  “I see.” Rosemary walked to a nearby granite boulder and sat. “So, talk.”

  Heather cast her eyes on the pine needles and cones scattered around the evergreen tree the chipmunk had climbed. What did she expect? Or more to the point, why did Scythe think this was such a good idea?

  He shrugged. “You both need to heal.” He picked up a blade of grass and stuck it in between his teeth. “Rosemary, you need to move to the next plane. Heather, you need to deal with your guilt.”

  She wanted to race to him and throw her arms around his neck and beg him to take her away. She didn’t want to be here, but she stayed rooted in place. She put her shoulders back and faced her sister. “Rosemary, I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “What’s new?” Rosemary mumbled.

  “You’re not making this easy.”

  “Easy?” She slapped the boulder hard. “Easy?”

  Heather cringed.

  “Like you made it so easy for me on Earth.”

  “I was trying to…”

  “To what?” Rosemary cocked her eyebrow. “Save me? Please.”

  “I didn’t want…”

  “For me to be in pain?” She half laughed. “A real sweet sister.”

  “Rosemary, I thought…I tried…but…” Heather swallowed, and with a thud, plopped onto the hard ground. She put her elbows on her knees and stared at Rosemary’s perfect green painted toe nails. On her right foot, she wore a silver metal band wrapped around her second toe.

  Rosemary lifted a lock of Heather’s hair and ran her fingers through it. “You didn’t even come close, sis.” She stopped twirling her fingers in her hair. “I’ve tried to forgive you, but then I think of Dad.”

  Heather shivered. Scythe was watching her every move.

  “You never said a word when he crept into our room like a monster. How could you lie there and listen?”

  Heather didn’t want to think about the memory, and she wanted to forget. She hung her head and pulled her legs against her chest and rocked. She dug her nails into her knees, but the pain did nothing to ease the monster hungering to be fed. Only one thing would satisfy it—Xanadu.

  “I still taste his whiskey breath in my mouth,” Rosemary said. “I was only six when he raped me, ripping me in two.”

  Scythe hissed. Heather buried her face into her knees. She couldn’t look at him. He must despise her.

  “But that wasn’t the worse of it; the worst was you denying it ever happened. You were there. You heard. You saw. And still did nothing.”

  A hollow empty lump swelled in Heather’s chest. She gripped her arms tighter and wept into her knees. Rosemary was right. She’d done worse than nothing. God, she was worse than Judas when he betrayed Christ. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I was so scared.”

  “And I wasn’t? You said nothing. Mom never forgave me. You let that happen.”


  “You’r-r-re right. I-I-I’m sorry.”

  “You think sorry will make everything better?”

  Perspiration slid between Heather’s breasts and down her back. Her shirt stuck to her like spandex. She shook her head back and forth wordlessly. The hate in her sister’s eyes tore through her. The guilt fueled the monster’s hunger. What could she say? Sorry couldn’t erase the past—would never correct the wrongs.

  If only she could have one hit... Grimness flashed in Scythe’s eyes. He’d never let her near it. After hearing what she’d done, did he hate her now too?

  She looked at Rosemary. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. I betrayed you.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Heather, what…” Rosemary sank to her knees, and she peered into her face. “My God, you’re strung out.” She glared at Scythe. “What the hell did he give you?”

  “It hurts. It’s growing inside me.” She tilted her head at Scythe. “And he won’t give it to me.”

  Rosemary put both her palms on Heather’s face. Her cool hands iced her cheeks. “What drug? Meth? Heroin?”

  Scythe pushed his hands against the bark and stood straight. He moved closer to them, still chewing on the blade of grass. “It’s Xanadu.”

  Rosemary dropped her hands. “Xanadu?”

  “A drug from hell.”

  “Whatever. All drugs came from that place.”

  “You’re speaking figuratively. This is literal.”

  Rosemary turned to Heather. “Oh, my God.”

  Heather’s teeth chattered. “I’m so cold.”

  “Why, honey? Why did you take this drug?”

  Heather couldn’t answer her question.

  “She didn’t,” he said. “A demon injected her.” He touched her head and his power washed through her like a warm ray of sunlight. The pain eased.

  Rosemary’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

  “Because one of her clients killed the person he loved.”

  Rosemary sucked in her breath. “But that’s not her fault.”

  “Your father molested you?”

  She dropped her hands and rested her body on the back of her calves. “Every damn night from when I was six until I was eleven.”

  Heather wiped her tears on her arm. “He wouldn’t leave her alone.”