***
Zen teleported from the home to a peak high on the roof of the world. The decayed air helped him think. He went to his knees and bowed his head.
Madison. Amos. The two of them had become precious to him. Meant the world to him, had become….
My family.
He blew out a choppy breath. His gut soured. The acid burned toward his throat as he contemplated Madison’s transformation and the knowledge Amos had been visiting with Micah. Neither was tolerable behavior. It was everything they’d worked against.
Destiny has a way of claiming one regardless of his intentions. It was why he’d been instructed to murder so many before their fate claimed them.
He inhaled, turning his hands palm sides up and resting them on his thighs.
How do I proceed?
In the past, these transgressions would christen them for immediate death. Swift mortal justice should’ve been granted to her as a baby. One unintentional peek into her infant eyes and he’d failed the universe. Caved to weakness by blue eyes that he’d known would taunt men in her maturity.
Killing a child had never been easy—he knew from experience. A weak excuse, but he’d committed the offense more than once. Even though all the youths’ demises haunted him. Each remained with him, like black holes pock-marking his soul. He remembered their faces, their names, never what they would become and how they would devastate the world.
At the very least he should’ve been capable of casting Madison from the world when she evicted him from his crystal prison. Again, he’d made the fatal mistake of staring into her eyes and yielding to the bravery he’d heard in her mind.
If neither of those moments prompted her death, then when she broke the lid to Pandora’s Box to save Phoenix from his hellish pact—that should’ve brought his killing hand without hesitation.
They’ve become my family. Like my sister, my nephew. And he felt as protective toward them as he had his real kin so long ago. How far would their wrongdoings perpetrate before he took decisive action?
Lifting his head, he sat back on his heels. The horizon enthralled him on normal days, but the view from his sky-scraping perch was lost to him today. Wind ruffled his hair and whistled off the mountainous range. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
An unknown entity endangered his family. He couldn’t dismiss the likelihood he might be a part of the threat.
How do I proceed?
The wings in the photo could be metaphorical. He was godly driven. Yet, the Word of his maker hadn’t requested he betray his family’s trust and assassinate them. If the holy-speak whispered duplicity, they would be at cross-purposes. His creator spoke directly to him often, and Madison hadn’t been a heavenly agenda before Hell. Nothing suggested she was now. The holy silence in his head confirmed that assumption. Except for the simple reality that he’d never required a direct command to take out a known threat before.
For hundreds of thousands of years, he’d existed for one purpose. Keep the balance. Simple. He’d been good at his job. Feeling nothing as he took life after life—except for the innocent lives that had yet to turn evil.
I’m torn between keeping the balance and protecting my new family.
Madison very likely wasn’t human any longer. The scales inside him reiterated she tipped the balance and needed to die.
She’d laid claim to Pandora’s powers, defeating the sentient creature while in Hell, had accepted her demonic inheritance, and almost taken down a fallen archangel as easily as if she sipped lemonade. Death would’ve been the result for any other being that made those actions. Could he bring himself to kill her if he decided it the best action?
He did not know.
Wind whipped around him. A quick shove swiped his hair out of his eyes.
He simply did not know.
Rocks to his right rolled, dislodged from their perch by the angel materializing. Royal blue flesh, with green striations marbled the heavenly host’s skin. The angel’s wings were as black as his hair. Unlike in popular culture, in the paranormal universe, black did not define one as evil.
Kneeling before the ethereal creation was too submissive for him, so he pushed to his feet. He met the angel’s direct stare.
“You beseeched the Word?”
“You’re not it.”
A lazy shrug from his visitor as the angel took in their locale. Tangible tension coiled from the divine being like the wings rising over his shoulders. He suspected a purpose to this unexpected rendezvous. He also doubted the angel understood the extent of his attributes. He was dealing with a baby angel, one born after the Fall.
“I was sent. That is all you need know.”
Cocky, if he expected Zen to believe that. Wanting to know his caller’s aim, he checked his disbelief beneath a blank expression and droll voice. “What is your name and rank?”
“Drahel. My rank is Esdras.”
Esdras…Fire of God. Flames would rain upon the earth like it had in Sodom and Gomorrah if the Word sought their brand of justice.
“I discern my hierarchy means naught to you. Allow me to elucidate—”
“I am the breath of God.” A subtle way of saying he knew everything the Omniscient discerned. The angel’s eyes widened so slightly; if he hadn’t been paying attention he’d have missed the visitor’s surprise. Interesting…that he knew nothing of Zen’s origins. “I know what you are.” Death in a neat, unassuming package. “What do you want?”
A swallow and a brief glance across the view. Nervous? “You are discussed often in Heaven. Many believe you have forgotten your role in Father’s mission.”
“Few understand my purpose.” No point in admitting he had begun to question his role.
“You are to kill the girl and the child.”
A cold chill skittered down Zen’s spine. “Madison and Amos?”
Drahel executed a stiff one-nod. “Yes.”
“This is your father’s mandate?”
A brief stutter. “Yes.”
Lie. Proof this angel knew nothing of his gifts.
“A unit will be sent in to micromanage those in the home. You are to kill the woman and child while a contingency of angels looks on. We’ll report to Father your obedience.”
This baby angel proved how little he knew. As his constant companion, God saw and heard everything he did, making it redundant to report his compliance to his creator. Did angels work against their father’s ultimate design? That brought them perilously close to a Fall.
“Say the names of those you wish dead.” I want to hear him say the names of my adopted family.
Drahel’s shoulders stiffened. “Why?”
“Because it pleases me. Say their names. Madison and Amos.”
“M-Madison. Amos. They are to be killed.”
“Why?”
The angel’s eyes blazed with heavenly fire. White, unlike the orange-red glow of the Kings of Hell.
“Because Father has deemed it.”
Zen was on the angel before he could flinch from his attack. A hand around the back of Drahel’s head and a finger tapped against the base of the angel’s throat and he melded with the heavenly host’s mind.
Numb surrender deadened him when he located the information he wanted. He released the angel with a shove. A nightmare of epic proportions.
Drahel tossed him an unholy leer. They would take pleasure in killing his family. Zen hated him and his cohorts for that.
He thwarted his desire to turn the Esdras inside out for wanting them dead.
Wind tugged at Drahel’s shaggy black hair. “Refuse and we will usher in the apocalypse.”
Come for my family and I’ll deliver the apocalypse upon you and your brethren.
Something of his thoughts must’ve shown because Drahel said with a shrug, “Your execution, Zennyo Ryuo.”
They knew nothing of him if they believed that.
Chapter Eleven
Nix located Mads in the kitchen. Bacon sizzled in the frying pan and g
rits were on a slow boil in a pot on the stove. She beat up a batch of pancake mix; at least he thought that was what she whipped up.
“How can you cook at a time like this?”
She did the most normal things at the weirdest moments.
“I’m not convinced this isn’t one of Micah’s attempts to bring me to heel.” She set the bowl aside and pulled out a griddle. “And cooking soothes me.”
God knew he loved her food. His belly grumbled in agreement. The way she moved as she prepared food was a thing of beauty, too. Watching her calmed him.
He handed over the photo Amos had drawn.
She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel before grasping the picture. After a long moment, she canted her face toward him. “What’s this?”
“Amos had a vision. Went glowy-eyed. That”—he nodded at the paper in her hand—“is the man he says is behind the attack.”
“An angel.” No question. A stated fact. Mads blew out a breath and leaned against the counter behind her. “He and Georgie hadn’t seen before….” She rubbed her eyes. “I thought Micah was lying. Like always.”
“He rarely lies.” The angel was painfully honest more often than not. It hurt to admit that even to himself. He wanted her to think of her husband as an unfeeling monster, but Nix’s relationship with Mads would always be built on honesty.
Her head snapped back. “Don’t defend him.”
“I’m not.” Not really, just stating the truth. He strode around the island and stepped in front of her. “We need him to help protect you both.”
“No.”
“Mads, baby….” He settled his weight against her. She adjusted her stance, widening her stride and granting him space between her thighs. His fingers slid through her hair, as her hands settled on his hips, her thumbs anchoring in his belt-loops. “I want you two as safe as I can get you. If accepting that bastard’s aid is going to keep you breathing, then we need it.”
Her fingers dug into his sides. “I don’t want him here.”
He knew that to be untrue. She’d nearly slept with the man in Hell. Both times.
“Amos says neither of you will survive without him. Georgie….” Her vision he feared the most, because the dread that he’d lose Mads for good this time around fed off his trepidation like a leech would his blood. Can’t think about that now. He cleared his throat. “What she saw is bad. Real bad. I thought I lost you once, and I went deep into corruption.” His palm shifted to her nape and he brushed her neck with his thumb. “I fear what I’ll do if I lose you again. Baby, please let him help us.”
“Zen will never agree.”
“He already has.”
Mads’s eyes widened. The statement had clearly surprised her. “If he comes here, he’ll try to get me into his bed and I don’t know”—she exhaled in slow increments as if already damned—“if I can resist him.”
“I’d prefer you be in his bed rather than dead.”
“Don’t.” Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Don’t be understanding. The idea of you with another woman turns me violent. I wanted to kill that hussy when I interrupted you in South Beach.”
Nix grinned. Jesus, that was ages ago, somewhere close to four years back. He liked that she had a possessive streak, though. “I don’t want any other woman but you, baby.”
“And I don’t want to betray you.”
With no idea how to respond, he kneaded the nape of her neck.
“You know how his seraph affects me, Nix.”
“I do.” Remembered well how she’d responded in Hell. The same reaction she had to his messian. Her whimpered climaxes off their magic a fond memory. “I’ll make sure I’m giving you mine as you’re freebasing on his.”
“I don’t like this idea. Not even a little.” She vibrated against him, her body evidently disagreeing with her words.
He placed his thumb beneath her chin and tipped her head back so he could stare into her eyes. “If I thought the only way to save you was getting you into Micah’s bed, I’d carry you there myself. I’d strip you for him.” Wide eyed, she stared at him. Her mouth parted, but nothing emerged. Panic tightened the edges of her eyes. “That shouldn’t surprise you. I told you I’ve had fantasies where we enjoy you together. We planned it to happen once you joined us in Hell.”
“I cannot think of that right now.”
A grin twitched his face. “My point, Mads, is that while I prefer to be selfish with you and keep you all to myself, I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Even share you with your asshole husband. So, stay alive at whatever cost.”
Mads wrapped her arms around his waist and he held her. His body aligned against hers, with his mouth against her temple, as he breathed in her unique sweet scent. She had no idea how far he’d go for her. He’d make a new demonic deal to save her, to eliminate her struggles, and to give her a normal life, if the pacts worked that way.
She nipped the curve of his neck. He flinched in surprise.
“My bacon is burning.” She tilted her head back but didn’t shift to save the pork. “I gave you my heart, and I want to keep that vow. I will do my best not to betray you.”
She’d given Micah her heart, too, and Nix wasn’t altogether certain she’d ever taken it back. Loving two men as divergent as they were wouldn’t be easy. Not on her. Definitely not on them.
“Hang on.” He transferred the pan with the burnt pig in it off the burner. Afterward, he cupped her face and bent his head to skim his mouth across hers. “Not taking what you need from him will be considered a betrayal to me.”
She shoved him away. “Don’t push me into Micah’s arms.” Her movements were jerky as she twisted the knobs on the stove to off. She snatched up the skillet of ruined meat and dumped it in the garbage.
He’d cage her husband in Hell to keep him away from her if that were possible. Taking down a fallen angel King wasn’t his role in life. Or possible with his heavenly magic. Mads and Amos were his new line of work. Keeping them safe was his single-minded focus. He’d pay any sacrifice to see them survive.
“I’m not pushing you into that motherfucker’s arms.”
“It feels like it. Feels like you’re already giving up on us.” Mads turned her back and dumped the cookware in the sink. The grease spit and sizzled on impact with the cool water, a poetic sound to the spitfire he’d seen in her eyes just before she turned from him. Her shoulders sagged, and she buried her face in her hands.
He touched her shoulder. She shrugged it off. “Don’t touch me right now, Nix.”
“Mads, baby, I need you to understand where I’m coming from. How important you are to me.” The wound of her supposed death remained too fresh; the soul-searing ache had spawned him to commit depraved acts. Because of them he had hit the Sherlock monster list. To lose her again would damn him completely. “I fucking love you. The atrocities I committed after losing you the first time—I cannot lose you and have humanity remain untouched by my sorrow.”
“I understand.” Her voice sounded scratchy, her Southern accent stronger with her emotions. She lowered her palms to the sink ledge and shot him a watery glance. “But I need you to expect a little more from me right now or humanity may be damned either way.”
Nix flinched. Mads rolled against the counter and leaned against it with her hip, facing him. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. He wanted to touch her. The look in her eyes suggested it’d be a very bad idea to act on his desire.
“You are a full-blown fire inside me, Nix. I love you and I want to be with you. But there’s a smolder inside me for Micah that has never died. The ‘what ifs’ and ‘could things be different than before’ thoughts rolling around in my head complicate everything. When I factor in my history with him, the son we have, and our connection to Hell, that creates a big rivalry for you. Maybe insurmountable competition. I don’t know. But I need you to fight for me, not be the better man.”
Madison walked out of the kitchen.
Shoving his hands in his jean pockets
, he stared out the kitchen window.
“Nix?”
He glanced over his shoulder. Georgie stood in the doorway.
“Everything will work out.” She swiped strands of her hair behind an ear.
Nodding, he turned to face her. She’d never tried to take the spot of his mother, but she’d become his surrogate mom nonetheless. He trusted her opinions above most others. “Do you agree with James and Gage that Mads is dangerous?”
“With the right provocation, aren’t we all dangerous?”
A slight wisp of sound emerged when he skated his fingers along his jaw. “That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”
Steps hesitant, she strolled toward him. Georgie captured his hand and squeezed. “Since before I met her, I knew the name of the only woman you would ever love. Mads. Imagine my surprise when the day I met her, you told me you’d nicknamed her Mads. I admit I was thrown with the knowledge because I knew you wouldn’t be with her until you had your fight with Hell. I never imagined you’d meet her so early or that she’d be part demon.”
Nix grinned at her small chuckle, recalling the day with ease.
“For that reason alone, I have to believe she’s not as dangerous as James and Gage fear. But her future grows foggy in my head. Zoe has enough faith in her for us all.”
Chapter Twelve
Nix’s wince as she walked out of the kitchen replayed in Madison’s head. She wouldn’t apologize for being truthful even if the words were on the tip of her tongue. Exiting the kitchen before she did something stupid, like touch him to soften the impact of her statement, was the only choice she had.
Micah’s appearance on her front porch had whammied her hard. She’d wanted to accept his offer of help, and she fought against her demon’s desires to claim her husband. She brawled internally to remain committed only to her Sherlock. But she wanted them both. Dear God, how she wanted them both.
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