by Cassie Ryan
His shaggy red brows furrowed as he studied her, his eyes swirling with confusion followed by disappointment. “No?”
“No,” she confirmed.
In a move so quick she barely registered it before the pain hit her like a punch to the stomach, the demon let go of her left arm, slashed open her shirt, and sank his long fangs into the flesh just above her left breast.
Searing pain tore through her and Amalya clenched her teeth to keep from crying out. She shoved at the demon with her free left hand, but his bulky form didn’t budge. She wished he’d let go of her other hand so she could reach her switchblade, but it was tucked just inside the sheath worked into the right cup of her bra, totally out of her reach.
Hot blood bubbled up from the wound and the sloppy sounds of sucking filled the room. With each pull of the demon’s mouth, pain lanced through her as he drank in her energy and life force.
She flailed under him, trying to unseat him even as each movement brought fresh agony stabbing through her. Most of her body was trapped under the sheets and comforter, which limited her options and left her at his mercy.
“Scream,” he whispered with his fangs still buried deep inside her flesh. As his lips lifted from her skin, hot blood trickled down her chest and side cooling as it finally dripped onto the comforter.
“No,” she gritted out, praying that she passed out before she gave in to the urge to scream.
He laughed, the evil sound scraping along her flesh like sandpaper. “Then let the fun begin.”
He yanked his fangs out of her, ripping a chunk of flesh out with it and sending fiery agony shooting through Amalya until spots of white flashed in front of her vision like dozens of tiny lightbulbs.
When the pain receded to a constant dull throb, she realized she was panting as if she’d just run ten miles. Clammy sweat covered her skin and her stomach roiled, threatening revolt.
“Welcome back, sweetheart.” His leering smile only lasted a second before he struck forward, clamping his jaws around her wrist until the loud crack of breaking bone and a tidal wave of pain filled Amalya’s consciousness.
He worried the wrist like a dog with a play rope and tears filled Amalya’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks as wave after wave of agony rolled over her, stealing her breath.
When the burn inside her lungs outstripped the other points of pain, she forced herself to suck in a breath. The sudden influx of oxygen worsened the round of flashes in her vision and added a new dimension of vertigo that made her stomach clench.
She clamped her eyes shut as the soft, smug laughter of the demon taunted her. “A brave one. Just means I’ll have to get more creative.”
The metallic scent of her own blood filled her nostrils and Amalya whimpered as the demon lifted the damaged remnants of her shirt and nipped painfully at the sensitive skin of her stomach.
She tensed, knowing that if he gutted her, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from screaming. Not only that, but everyone might end up dead.
Forcing her uninjured arm to move, she grabbed the switchblade from her bra, pressed the button, and stabbed the demon. A surprised shout was all she heard before a hard stab of agony seared through her and a wrenching scream of anguish filled the air around her.
Raphael stood stunned, staring down at the man who sat cross-legged on the floor in rumpled, but expensive-looking Italian slacks and a shirt.
Father? Had he heard the man correctly?
To most males, that one word would invoke a frantic mental flip through a Rolodex of women he’d had sex with. In Raphael’s case, being an Archangel, he would’ve known at the time of conception.
And yet . . .
The man who slowly stood in front of him, easily matching his height, had the exact same eyes Raphael saw in the mirror every day. Not to mention, the man had summoned him using blood, which meant, by definition, Raphael’s blood ran through his veins.
There the similarities ended, but those along with the blood summons were enough to convince Raphael that somehow despite all odds, this man was his son.
But how?
Raphael slowly stepped closer until they stood toe to toe. He met the man’s hazel gaze, opening himself up to peer inside the man’s soul.
And nothing happened.
“I’ll be damned.”
The man laughed. “I find that hard to believe, since if I’m not mistaken, you’re an angel.”
Only high-level Archangels and a few of the higher-level fallen could soul-gaze. And those of that same blood were the only ones immune to it.
Raphael couldn’t help the grudging smile that curved the side of his lips at the calmly stated comment.
“I’m Raphael, an Archangel for God. And however awkward this situation is, given all the evidence before me, I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“My name is Obediah Levi Spencer, Duke of Ashford, and you are apparently my biological father.”
Raphael looked at the ring the man still held in his palm, and understanding slowly began to dawn. He groaned, picked up the ring, and tapped it to his forehead. “Caldriel.” It had been nearly three hundred years since he’d seen her, and now everything that had happened that evening became clear.
Obediah nodded, the detached amused expression on his face totally at odds with the churning emotions Raphael sensed just under the surface. “At least you remember her, that’s something.”
“Obediah—”
“Levi.”
Raphael nodded. “Levi. Maybe we should sit. This may take a while to explain.”
Levi waved away the comment. “If you’re going to give me the ‘mechanics of impregnating a demon’ talk, you’re a few hundred years too late.”
“Not exactly what I had in mind.” Raphael sat on the small twin bed, his leathers creaking with the effort. He motioned for Levi to join him and waited while a visible war of impatience raged behind the younger man’s eyes.
When Levi remained standing, Raphael shrugged and continued. “You are actually the biological offspring of Caldriel and your father, the Duke of Ashford.”
One dark brow rose in a clearly arrogant, mocking gesture. “Even though your own blood summoned you here and I’m very long lived for a half human, half demon, you’re trying to tell me Ashford was my father?” Levi snorted and turned to leave.
“Wait.” When Levi only slowed, Raphael continued. “I don’t deny my blood runs through your veins, but it was Ashford’s first.”
Levi whirled on him, anger turning his hazel eyes nearly black when a woman’s agonized scream rent the air.
10
The anguished sound of Amalya’s scream wrenched through Levi as he ran full-out toward the master bedroom.
A blur of movement as Raphael pushed past threw Levi off balance and made him stumble. Levi reached out to steady himself against the wall and regain his footing before he continued his mad dash toward the bedroom. By the time he turned into the bedroom doorway, the sounds of Jethro clamoring up the stairs behind blended with the noise of the pandemonium before him.
Raphael, dressed entirely in black leathers, fought a stocky man that reeked of demon. The rest of the room was mired in the stench of blood and freshly spilled intestines.
Icy fear squeezed Levi’s chest as he tried to see past the battle to the bed where he’d left Amalya. But the two combatants’ movements were so fast, they seemed a constant blur to Levi.
Raphael and the demon circled and exchanged blows as Levi’s fear ratcheted inside him until his ears rang with the overload of adrenaline flooding his body.
Concern for Amalya drove him forward.
He crisscrossed his arms to reach the daggers tucked in either side of his waistband and in one continuous motion slid them out of their sheaths and threw them at the back of the demon’s skull.
Both blades found their mark with an audible thunk, and the demon stumbled but didn’t fall.
Raphael stepped forward, taking advantage of the demon’s inattention, and in a
quick motion snapped the demon’s neck.
A loud pop echoed through the room, which signaled the demon being sucked back to Hell as its physical form was destroyed.
“Dear God.” The anguish in Jethro’s voice brought Levi’s attention back toward the bed and he had to swallow hard as his brain worked to make sense of what he saw there.
Amalya was covered in blood, her blond hair matted with it. A large gaping wound showed in her neck and above her breast, but the worst was her stomach, which was nothing but so much ragged meat. The only sign she still lived were the short breaths that sounded from her at irregular intervals.
Levi crossed the room in quick strides, but Raphael stepped in front of him blocking his way. “Let me heal her. We don’t have much time.”
Levi bit back all the denials that sprang to mind and instead clamped his lips closed and stepped back. He wanted to go to her, to touch her, to comfort her, but held those impulses in check and fisted his hands at his sides to let Raphael tend her instead. The inaction went against every fiber of his being, especially when it came to Amalya.
He’d sworn to protect her, and he’d failed.
Self-recriminations flowed through his mind and he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. A quick glance toward Amalya’s still form and he shoved his guilt aside and instead did something he rarely did—prayed.
Raphael advanced toward the bed but stopped short when Jethro pulled out one of his guns, placing himself squarely between Amalya and the large Archangel.
Panic jumped through Levi as Amalya’s breathing faltered and slowed. “Jethro, he can help.” Levi started forward to reason with the other man, but when Jethro swung the gun toward him, he froze and held his hands up in front of him.
“He’s an Archangel. If anyone can save her, it’s Raphael.” As fear raced through him, he cast about for something to say to convince Jethro to drop the gun. “Please. She may not have much time.”
Jethro ignored Levi but met Raphael’s gaze for a long moment as tension in the room mounted until Levi thought all was lost. But then, slowly, Jethro lowered the gun until it hung by his side. “If you can save her, do it. Do it now.”
Raphael laid a gentle hand on Jethro’s shoulder as he passed, but Jethro seemed to barely notice as he turned back to stare at Amalya.
Raphael sat gently next to Amalya’s still form on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. When he was settled, he held both hands palms down over the gaping wound in Amalya’s abdomen and closed his eyes.
Within seconds, a golden glow erupted from his palms and bathed Amalya’s entire body in a glow of warm light.
As Levi watched, her skin slowly knitted and closed, the blood fading as if it had never been.
A soft grunt from Jethro who still held the gun limply at his side told Levi Raphael hadn’t bothered to mask the evidence of his work from the full human.
When Amalya’s stomach was perfectly smooth and unblemished once more, Raphael continued his vigil, sweat breaking out along his brow, his lips set into a hard line of concentration.
Levi watched the scene before him, the silence stretching his nerves until he thought they would snap. But he was thankful now that he’d summoned Raphael, no matter the truth about his parentage. If the Archangel could save Amalya, Levi would deal with his mother’s twisted version of the truth about him and his family, later.
A soft moan from Amalya pierced Levi like an accusation. All the self-recriminations resurfaced with a vengeance.
He’d left her alone and she’d somehow been attacked. Raphael cursed and then gently pulled Amalya into his lap, arranging her so she leaned back against him at an angle, her head cradled by one large arm. “She needs blood . . . mine . . . or she’ll die.” He nodded toward Jethro. “Put down that gun and come up here on the bed. I need you to hold her arms. She’s going to flail, and I need to concentrate on getting her to drink.”
“To drink blood?” Jethro demanded.
Raphael turned his heavy gaze on Jethro and the man shuddered as if someone had just touched his soul before he looked away and stepped forward to do as Raphael had asked.
The Archangel’s dark gaze turned toward Levi. “I need you to hold her legs. Put all your weight on them. Succubi are strong, especially with the energy kick she’s going to get from my blood.”
Levi stepped forward and crawled onto the bed, straddling Amalya’s legs, ready to bring all his weight to bear when it was needed.
Raphael tucked Amalya’s head firmly into the crook of one arm and plucked a dagger from his boot. With a little maneuvering to reach around Amalya’s still form, he slashed his wrist deep. Bright blood welled out of the wound and using his free hand to open her mouth, he pressed his wrist to Amalya’s lips.
For a long moment, she lay still as blood dripped from the sides of her mouth. Then without warning, she began to fight.
She flailed and bucked, squirming against their hold. Raphael held her head firmly in his grip, forcing his wrist against her lips until she swallowed and then gasped, sucking in a large breath before he pressed his wrist to her mouth again.
Jethro struggled to hold her arms while Levi was forced to use all his body weight and a good amount of leverage to keep her from kicking him off and sending him ass-first onto the floor.
“It’s all right, little one,” Raphael softly murmured as he held her gently but firmly against his large body while he forced her to swallow again and again.
When every muscle in Levi’s body ached, and he was convinced he wouldn’t be able to hold Amalya down much longer, Raphael finally wiped her lips and nodded to both men that they could let her go. “Let’s take her to the guest room. Fresh sheets and no dead body.” He gathered her in his arms and took her down the hall.
Levi jogged ahead of him to pull the covers back and allow Raphael to lay her gently on the bed. Jethro tucked her in like she was a small child, his features pale and drawn.
“It’s not over.”
Raphael’s pronouncement surprised Levi and he had just turned an incredulous stare on the Archangel when Amalya’s entire body began to convulse.
He darted toward the bed to hold down her legs as Jethro did the same with her arms to keep her from hurting herself. Her strength increased with each passing second until Raphael had to help.
As the long minutes ticked by, sweat slicked Levi’s shirt to his body and threatened to drip into his eyes.
Jethro’s curses grew louder as one of Amalya’s flailing arms would occasionally catch him in the face.
When her movements began slowly to still, Raphael motioned for Jethro and Levi to move and let him sit beside her. Raphael gently stroked Amalya’s cheek with his fingers until her eyes fluttered open and she met his dark gaze.
Amalya stiffened and froze, staring into Raphael’s eyes for several long minutes as Levi exchanged concerned glances with Jethro.
Levi softly cleared his throat, impatient to know what was happening. A few long seconds later Raphael glanced away and Amalya relaxed, her eyes fluttering closed.
Jethro rushed forward to the other side of Amalya’s bed from where Raphael sat and gently took her hand. “Is she . . .”
“Rest now, little one,” Raphael whispered to Amalya as she sighed in her sleep. Raphael glanced up and nodded to Jethro and then slowly stood, his spine making small pops of protest. “She needs rest and then food. She should be fine on energy for a while but probably shouldn’t turn it down if either of you are willing.”
“I’ll stay with her.” Jethro’s voice was low. “Food is ready downstairs. If you’re going to talk, go, so she can sleep.”
Levi didn’t miss the low thread of anger in Jethro’s voice. He didn’t need any further accusation to blame himself—he’d already done that from the first second he saw the demon in Amalya’s room. He motioned Raphael outside and closed the bedroom door behind them.
Without turning to acknowledge the large Archangel at his back, he walked down the stai
rs and, for lack of anywhere else to go, made his way into the kitchen and checked the burners under the spaghetti sauce and green beans. Apparently, when Amalya had screamed, Jethro had already finished cooking and had just been keeping things warm.
“Perfect.” Raphael leaned over the large pot of spaghetti sauce and sniffed. “I know I could use some food, and it wouldn’t hurt you any either.” He hunted through the cabinets until he found plates and silverware and set the table for four before taking two plates to the stove to fill them with noodles, sauce, and green beans.
Levi stood frozen in place as his adrenaline ebbed away and he was left with guilt and anger that chewed at his insides like acid. “How did the demon get in?”
When Raphael wouldn’t meet his gaze, Levi grabbed the man’s arm, nearly knocking one of the plates to the floor. “Tell me.”
Raphael sighed and set both full plates of food on the kitchen table before sitting and glancing up at Levi. “You summoned Caldriel before me?”
Levi nodded as foreboding slid through him like an icy caress.
“He was most likely looking for her. Or you,” Raphael added almost as an afterthought. “And she probably didn’t hide her movements.”
“Me?” Levi glanced around the room trying to make sense of Raphael’s statement before he turned back toward the Archangel. “Why would he be looking for me?”
“You have the blood of Caldriel in your veins. That alone would make you an enemy of many. I’m surprised you haven’t run into that long before now.” He gestured to the seat beside him and then took a hot roll from a bowl covered with a linen napkin in the middle of the table.
“I haven’t seen my mother in two hundred years.” He sat heavily in the chair next to Raphael and stared at the food in front of him as his stomach roiled.
Raphael pursed his lips. “Demons are patient. The best explanation is that he followed the scent of her blood that runs inside you and found a nearly helpless succubus instead of her.” He glanced up. “It’s not your fault. It’s Caldriel’s. I don’t wish to say something disparaging about your mother, but it’s the truth and will keep you from blaming yourself.” He picked up his fork and used it to point at Levi. “You and Jethro are going to need all your strength to protect Amalya. You can’t afford time for guilt or selfdenial. So eat.” He nodded toward Levi’s plate before digging into his own.