My Avenging Angel

by Madelyn Ford

  To save her life, he must break a covenant—and lose his heart.

  An Angels and Demons Story

  It’s Victoria Bloom’s twenty-fifth birthday. But is she out celebrating? Oh, no. She’s in a stuffy old attic with the Three Stooges—a.k.a. her so-called spirit guides. There’s a demon who wants her dead, the same one that killed her mother two decades ago. No worries, say the Stooges. All she has to do is summon an angel. What could go wrong?

  Well, plenty when you summon the wrong angel. The next thing Tory knows, she’s got one very bad-ass, pissed-off and sexy Archangel on her hands.

  Michael, mighty warrior, leader of an elite team of demon killers, is shaking in his heavenly combat boots. Not because he finds all humans distasteful. But because he’d rather face Lucifer himself than the woman his soul has just recognized as his mate. Binding himself to a mortal, one who will eventually die, is the one path he’s sworn never to follow.

  It’s too late now; his fate is sealed. With one touch, she becomes as necessary to him as the air he breathes. He will move heaven and earth to protect her—but against a demon as powerful as Asmodeus, heaven and earth may not be enough…

  Warning: This book contains one bad-ass Archangel with a fiery, um, sword, a witch who blows things up, one nasty demon who is trying to kill them both, and ghosts who make interfering their mission. Steamy sex is had, even with the voyeur ghosts—though Tory is still blushing.

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  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  My Avenging Angel

  Copyright © 2010 by Madelyn Ford

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-043-7

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: May 2010

  My Avenging Angel

  Madelyn Ford

  Dedication

  To Rich, thanks for putting up with this writing thing. I love you. And to my kids, for thinking macaroni and cheese is the best dinner ever. And a special thanks to Kristin, for having to read this story “just one more time”. You’re the best.

  Prologue

  Asmodeus stared down at the sniveling, postulating human, a sneer lifting the corner of his lips. He’d been ripped from his dimension, brought to this godforsaken plain known as Earth and he wasn’t happy about it. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the protection spell the man had woven into the circle surrounding him, Asmodeus would have killed the weakling for his audacity.

  “Why have you summoned me, human?” he demanded, taking a step forward to test the barrier. He was delighted to find a slight weakness in his invisible cage. He could work with that.

  “I ask your help, my lord,” came the timid reply.

  Folding his arms across his wide chest, Asmodeus watched as the man remained on his knees, head bowed to his chin, and found the action mildly mollifying. He might just hear the human out before he killed him.

  “You called me forth to ask my help?”

  “Yes.” Brown eyes met his briefly before dropping back to the floor. “There is a woman—”

  “I am the Lord of Wrath, king of the vengeance demons, not a damn matchmaker. Release me now, human,” he growled, rethinking his earlier plan. He was going to enjoy taking this creature apart piece by tiny piece.

  The man’s head shot up, surprise lining his features. “I don’t want her love, my lord.”

  “No? Then what is it you seek?”

  Eyes narrowing, a look of intense hatred bleeding into those brown orbs, the man growled, “I want the bitch dead.”

  “And if I do this for you? What are you willing to sacrifice?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  Asmodeus studied the pitiful being for a moment, then a grin slowly spread across his face. Dead he could do. In fact, he would relish every moment of the act: skin tearing beneath his nails, blood oozing forth and the fragrant cries of pain tickling his ears. But he was getting ahead of himself. First there was payment. And then he had to decide if he would kill the human after reaping his soul or just maim him, leaving him alive to do Asmodeus’s future bidding. Oh, so much pain, so little time.

  With one tiny hand, she brushed sweat-drenched hair from her eyes while she reached out with the other, fingers trembling slightly, to nudge the prone figure on the bed.

  “Mommy,” she whispered. Her gaze fell to the empty bottles littering the bedside table and she knew it was a waste of her time. Mommy always got like this after the bad man left. But she had to try. “Please, Mommy. You need to wake up.” She grew louder as her urgency rose. “The bad man is coming back. We have to hide.”

  The soft voice in her ear told Tory she was running out of time. Hands swirled out of the mist in an attempt to herd her away from Mommy but she clutched Mommy’s shirt tightly in her fists. Unexpectedly, pain exploded throughout the side of her head, filling her eyes with tears. Mommy had hit her.

  “Go back to bed, you little shit,” Tammy Bishop mumbled, rolling away from her. “Get out of here.”

  “But Mommy…”

  The voices were frantic now, raising the level of terror coursing through Tory’s small frame. Then she sensed him, the bad man, the one Mommy had said was her daddy. But she’d felt the evil rolling off him and knew Mommy had lied. Tory’s daddy was a prince. Or an angel. Or maybe a princely angel. Just not the bad man.

  She let the mist guide her into the hall closet and burrowed under a blanket that had been thrown carelessly on the floor. Surrounding her, the mist obscured the blanket and her presence beneath it only moments before the front door of their little apartment crashed open. She slapped a hand over her mouth to conceal a tiny cry, tears beginning to slowly leak down her cheeks. The voices murmured softly, trying to soothe her, but it wasn’t until heavy footsteps went unheeded past her hiding spot that Tory’s immediate panic receded. And then the screams began.

  Clasping her hands tightly before her, Tory began to pray to the angels. She didn’t want to die and even though Mommy sometimes called her a baby, she wasn’t. Tory knew if the bad man found her, he would kill her. And so she prayed until Mommy grew silent and the laughter began. The sound, one Tory knew she would never forget, chilled her to the bone. Her prayers were forgotten as pure terror filled her soul, squashing all that was good, all the hope and love within her, leaving her dejected and heartsick.

  It called to her, trying to draw her into its evil web, and the only thing holding her back from answering was the mist. They saved her that night, the spirits drawn to her light, not releasing her from their otherworldly grip until all was silent and the veil of evil had lifted. Only then was Tory able to crawl out of the closet.

  “Mommy?” she called as she slowly trudged down the hallway.

  Coming to a stop outside Mommy’s bedroom, the hands tried to hold her back, but she slipped right through their grasp. Their protection had weakened them and she had to see…had to know.

  What filled her vision stunned her for one split second before high-pitched screams of horror were ripped from her throat. And while she shrieked, tears
streaming down her cheeks, trails of her mother’s blood slowly trickled down the walls.

  ***

  Task completed, Asmodeus was enraged to find himself forced back within the human’s circle. He should be free. He’d lived up to his end of the bargain. Now he should be able to collect the man’s soul and be on his way, but he’d obviously been betrayed. He was going to enjoy killing the little pissant.

  Centering his focus on the circle of protection, Asmodeus concentrated all his energy on the weakened spot until the spell fractured, leaving him free to cross the black line. The shocked look on the human’s face filled him with eager anticipation. He could only hope the man ran. Nothing was as satisfying as hunting a target down.

  “You can’t do that! You have reneged on our deal. You promised me the bitch would die!”

  To his great annoyance, the human did not flee. No, the sniveling little bastard held his ground, bitching and whining in the short span of time it took Asmodeus to reach him. He wrapped a fist around the man’s neck and then lifted the sputtering weakling from the floor, leaving him dangling in the air, clutching at Asmodeus’s wrist.

  “How dare you question my vow? Your drugs made it too easy. The woman was hardly any challenge at all. There was little left for your authorities to identify.”

  “She is not dead,” the human croaked out. “The child still lives.”

  The warlock’s words stopped Asmodeus cold and he dropped the human like a sack of potatoes. Child? There hadn’t been a child. And when he’d given voice to these questions, the man rose to his knees, his hands cradling his throat.

  “The vision has not changed. Obviously the girl still lives.”

  Asmodeus cocked his head, considering the human’s words. This time he would learn all of it. There would be no more mistakes. He would be no human’s puppet. “What vision?”

  “If the brat is allowed to live she will be the death of me.”

  A grin spread across Asmodeus’s face. The fool. “She already is. You just don’t realize it,” he purred as a black Khopesh sword materialized in his hand. Fear had barely registered on the human’s face when, after a broad sweep of his arm, the man’s head began rolling across the floor. Inhaling deeply, he sucked the escaping soul into him, to be forever more trapped in torment. Oh, life was good.

  Stepping over the body at his feet, Asmodeus set out to complete his mission. He had a girl to kill. Then he would be free.

  Chapter One

  Looking at the items around her, Victoria Bloom knew something was missing. She had the pentagram outlined in chalk on the old attic floor. At each point rested a large white candle, all of which was surrounded by a circle of protection. Ginseng burned on the makeshift altar, the scent so overpowering it almost gagged her. The Grimoire of Armadel was opened to the correct page. Ari, one of her spirit guides, insisted she was ready, but still she hesitated. The one thing Tory considered to be essential for the ritual to work was the very thing she lacked. Belief.

  Funny really, considering Tory was a medium, meaning she saw ghosts, and she was preparing to perform an ancient ritual, all on the advice of a woman who had been dead for almost four centuries. But she couldn’t deny something had to be done. On her twenty-fifth birthday, her powers had begun to emerge, powers her guides would soon no longer be able to camouflage. Calling forth an angel, though, seemed a little extreme, even for her.

  “Hurry up,” Ari whispered in Tory’s mind. “You don’t have all day.”

  “Yes, the spell must be performed before the sun sets. You don’t want to accidentally call forth a demon, do you?” Sam prodded and Tory sighed. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be the only voice in her head.

  “Boring,” Thomas added, his nasal tone a reprimand. “Now get the sigil drawn so we can get this over with.”

  Tory snorted but didn’t bother arguing. It wouldn’t do her any good anyway. One of the three guides always seemed to have the last word.

  In the center of the pentagram, she carefully copied the sigil from the ancient grimoire. The three stooges, something she had affectionately termed her guides when she’d been a child and continued because it annoyed them so much, had debated for days, poring over the book before finally coming up with a name. Tory would have picked the most powerful warrior to aid her but the stooges had been adamantly against her choice. It seemed even though Michael’s mission was to protect humans, he didn’t like them very much.

  Setting the book aside, Tory picked up the dagger. With the stooges egging her on, she sliced the blade across her palm and gasped. It stung like a bitch. Eyes watering, both from the incense and the cut, she pressed her palm in the center of the sigil, leaving behind a bloody print. Then she moved out of the protective circle and began to chant, calling forth the angel Zadkiel. The words flowed from her, unknown and mysterious, a testament to how much power now flowed through her, energy Tory feared would be her downfall.

  A blinding light burst forth within the center of the pentagram, causing her to draw a hand up to shield her eyes as the words faltered on her lips. Time seemed suspended. The rays illuminated every corner of the attic and Tory held her breath, fearing for the first time more than just the evil hunting her. As her body was enveloped within the white beams, she waited for the burn.

  Slowly, the light dimmed and she was stunned to find herself unscathed. But still Tory hid her eyes behind her hand. Who knew what the hell stood on the other side. And since her father was, if the bastard still lived, a demon-worshiping warlock, hell was entirely possible.

  “You foolish human. I was in the midst of an important meeting. Send me back. Now.”

  Her hand fell from her face, her gaze latching onto the figure in the middle of the pentagram. Holy shit. It had worked. And he was huge. Close to seven feet tall with long black hair cascading around broad shoulders and rippling biceps. His arms were folded across his massive chest, fists clenched in obvious agitation, causing the veins to bulge prominently.

  Tory lifted her eyes to his face and the stark beauty she found there left her dumbfounded. He had a strong face, high cheekbones and a pronounced jaw presently ticking in anger. Ice-blue eyes framed by thick black lashes and full lush lips frowned down at her.

  “Well?” he asked, arching one raven-hued brow.

  “Please, Zadkiel, I am in desperate need of your help.”

  “Lord, save me from idiots. I am not Zadkiel, you nitwit.”

  “Oh shit,” Ari muttered.

  “What do you mean, oh shit?” Tory demanded. “What have you three gotten me into now?”

  “Michael,” came the whispered reply, and Tory knew she was in some serious trouble.

  “Just what I need. A feeble-minded human. Can this day get any worse?” the angel mumbled, jerking her attention back to him.

  “I am not feeble-minded,” she cried indignantly, fear quickly forgotten. “And it would serve you right if Fate bit you on the ass.”

  Michael snorted. “Those three bitches know better than to mess with me. Now I have more important things, woman, than to share insults with you.”

  Tory watched him curiously, wondering what he thought he was going to do. His eyes closed and he seemed to be concentrating really hard on something. Several moments later, his face scrunched up, his eyes opening to pierce hers with an enraged glare. He took two giant steps forward, stopping inches from the edge of the protective circle. Tory held her breath, suddenly afraid it would not hold him, leaving her with one very pissed off angel on her ass. But Michael didn’t try to step over the invisible barrier.

  “Release me.”

  “I do not intend to hold you indefinitely as my own personal avenging angel.” Tory watched in fascination as her statement caused his brow to arch again. Damn, but he was hot. It was such a shame he was a jerk.

  “Then what are your intentions, human?”

  “I have a name. It is Victoria Bloom, Tory for short.”

  “Your names are meaningless,” h
e replied with an indifferent shrug. “Nothing better than cattle.”

  “Why protect us if you disdain humans so much?”

  “What you have become disgusts me. The corruption. The greed. But that has nothing to do with why I hunt the fallen. There is no atonement for those who raised a sword against the Father and it is my job to terminate them.”

  “The fallen? You mean demons?”

  Michael shook his head. “There are others who track and kill what you know as demons, the abominations created by Lucifer and Lilith. The fallen were once angels who rebelled and have been cast into Hell.”

  “Tell him,” Ari whispered in her ear.

  “Yes, tell him,” Sam repeated, an annoying echo in her head.

  “Asmodeus,” Thomas added insistently.

  “Who is Asmodeus?” Tory demanded. It was the first time any of the stooges had mentioned a name in connection with the demon who hunted her and she was pissed they had been hiding something so important all this time.

  “Asmodeus?” Michael growled. “What does the Lord of Wrath have to do with why I’ve been brought here?”

  Tory ignored the big bad angel, instead focusing her attention on the three stooges. “Someone had better start explaining. And quickly.” Her belligerent tone could not be helped. Discovering she had been kept in the dark when her very life hung in the balance didn’t have Tory feeling particularly magnanimous.

  Ari ignored her. The spirit’s awareness was completely centered on Michael, and neither Sam nor Thomas made a sound. Those two were never quiet. Especially Thomas. The cranky old bird had an opinion on everything.

  “Is it that bad?” she whispered, swallowing convulsively around the words and fighting the bleakness slithering up her spine.

  “Just who the hell are you speaking to?”

  Tory flinched at Michael’s demand. “My guides. They say the demon hunts me.”

  “Exactly how is this my problem?”