Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES)

by Meljean Brook

  Michael nodded when Andromeda looked to him for confirmation. Khavi’s words were both sharp and bitter, but not from jealousy—only frustration. And she was right. Whether male or female, some of the soldiers recognized Anaria’s skill and strength. But most simply adored her . . . and adoration was not respect.

  “That sucks,” Andromeda said.

  “Yes.” Khavi’s jaw hardened. “I cannot tell you how many men have challenged me for position as her general, and how many I have been forced to put in their place. Now, because of one battle, they will blame our loss on my gender and my size and my pretty little head, and I will have to start over again.”

  “But they won’t blame her?”

  “Of course not. They want to serve her. And my position is the closest they can come to her.”

  Nodding, Andromeda glanced at Khavi again. “They challenge you—do you kill them?”

  “I take some to the molten rivers.” Khavi shrugged. “But most men only need to be reeducated with a good thrashing.”

  “No women?”

  “A few. Usually, however, the women who come to me do not look for a challenge. They wish to learn from me, instead. They are not as stupid. Except . . .”

  “Except for when they are just as susceptible to Anaria,” Andromeda guessed. “And just as obedient to her commands.”

  “Yes.” Khavi grinned before looking to Michael. “Belial will demand our obedience, too. That is a certainty. He will call the combination of our armies an alliance for a short time. But he will not be able to tolerate their worship of Anaria—particularly after some of his demons will join us.”

  Michael nodded. He did not need her Gift of foresight to know that Belial wouldn’t accept Anaria’s presence for long—especially if she began to tread on his toes.

  And neither Belial nor Anaria would be able to stop themselves. He would want her army’s adoration; she would try to save his demons from their evil natures.

  Andromeda’s brow creased. “Khavi, didn’t you have a prophecy where Belial takes the throne? Because Lucifer’s gone and Belial has won over all the demons. So that’s what he’s done, isn’t it?”

  “Not yet. No one can take the throne while Lucifer is still alive.” Khavi shook her head. “What I saw before is all uncertain now. I saw Michael in the frozen field, I saw Anaria’s return from her sarcophagus beneath the sea, I saw the destruction of Michael’s heart—Anaria—when Belial destroyed her. But much has changed, and I cannot see some paths at all now. They contain too much that I do not know, or that I cannot conceive.”

  Khavi could not see everything, but she was not wrong, either. His heart had been destroyed—though not by Anaria. Andromeda had done it with a single “fuck off.”

  And with a single kiss, she’d healed it again.

  In the sky, Anaria had finished her speech. Cheers rose around them, deafening chants of her name—and of declarations that they were not defeated. Michael tugged Andromeda closer to his side. She looked up at him, her gaze studying his face.

  “Does it ever bother you that Belial is your father?”

  She automatically lifted her voice over the din, but he would have heard her even at a whisper.

  “No. Because Belial is not my father. The seed was his, but the demon is not the man who raised me. He is not the man who loved my mother and my sister and me.”

  So Michael’s feelings toward Belial were uncomplicated. Nothing at all like his love for Anaria.

  “Then why haven’t you slain him?”

  “Because while he and Lucifer wage their war, they destroy each other’s demons. It also distracts their attention from Earth.”

  Not fully. But every bit helped.

  Andromeda’s nod stiffened when Anaria descended, landing silently on the red sand in her bare feet.

  His sister’s gaze fell to their linked hands. Disappointment filled her sigh. “You were always thoughtless, Michael.”

  Sometimes. But he suspected Anaria’s definition was different from his. “How am I thoughtless now?”

  “The manner in which you use humans. How many did you take for your pleasure, without a thought to their feelings?”

  Michael hadn’t counted. When he was young, he’d voraciously consumed food and sex in equal measures, and he’d accepted them from anyone who’d offered. Age, gender, appearance—none of it mattered, and he’d taken many different forms as well. But Michael couldn’t deny how thoughtless he’d been at times. He’d never deliberately hurt his lovers, yet he had hurt some of them—either by failing to return their feelings or when they’d expected more from him than he’d given.

  If Anaria referred to Andromeda Taylor, however, there was no similarity. He had been thoughtless with her, too. But it was not the same, and the pleasures of the past were shallow compared to what he’d found with her. Of all the men and women he’d been with, nothing he’d experienced stirred his emotions as deeply as watching Andromeda take a single breath.

  Michael didn’t expect Anaria to believe that. “That was many thousands of years ago,” he simply said.

  “Yet you are obviously using this one now, making her fall in love with you and holding her at your side because her psychic song will keep you alive longer.”

  Michael should have torn out her spine. He watched his sister’s compelling words stab Andromeda’s heart like a knife. He saw her believe them, heard the scream of pain rip through her psychic shields. Reeling from the swiftness of it, feeling as if an ax were embedded in his chest, Michael caught Andromeda’s face in his hands, desperately seeking the words that might convince her . . . but she had already closed her eyes.

  Her psychic shields softened as she pushed the poison of Anaria’s voice away. “I can keep him alive longer?”

  “If you open your mind,” his sister said.

  “Is that true?” Andromeda glanced up at him.

  Not a hint of distrust in her eyes, despite his sister’s words. Only warmth, hope.

  Relief thickened his voice. “Yes. But not long. A day at most.”

  “That is true, too,” Khavi said.

  Without hesitation, Andromeda’s shields opened fully and her song poured beneath his skin, a soothing balm for the ever-present pain.

  He preferred the pain. “I would rather your mind was protected.”

  “And I’d rather you live longer.”

  He did, too. But protecting her came first. “I don’t like the risk.”

  “What risk? That someone will sense how I feel about you? That my heart will be vulnerable?” With a laugh, she shook her head. “My shields are nothing to anyone we have to worry about. Isn’t that true?”

  “Yes.” And perhaps Michael was the only one she needed to worry about. Her beautiful melody sang through him, a balm to his pain but fuel to his fire. Make her mine. Ravenous for a taste, his thumb smoothed over her smiling mouth before he released her and turned to Anaria again. “I need you to help me find a cure.”

  He spoke to her in the Old Language—Michael had been thoughtless before, but he wouldn’t be now, and Lilith’s words still echoed in his head. He wouldn’t give Andromeda false hope.

  Anaria’s gaze softened. “I know of none, brother.”

  “Then create one. I will try anything.”

  With a heavy sigh, his sister nodded. “There are a few things we might attempt. We cannot create a new soul for you, but perhaps we can make a new body to match your song. We won’t have much time, however.”

  And they had to defeat Lucifer first. But it didn’t matter.

  “It will be enough time,” he said.

  “You would have to be an infant and child again.”

  A new body . . . a new mind. “Would I be myself?”

  “Mostly. You would have to grow and relearn.”

  Trepidation skipped through him. His hunger for Andromeda and his need to protect her were soul deep. They would not change. But it had taken eight thousand years to become the man he was now. He would wait t
hat long for Andromeda. Perhaps she would, too.

  But he didn’t want to wait. He would just have to learn much faster, next time.

  He had little other choice.

  “Michael,” Khavi said softly.

  He heard the warning in her voice and didn’t know if she was cautioning him against Anaria’s plan or alerting him to Belial’s approach. If the first, he wouldn’t be cautious. He’d take any risk. If the second, he already knew that the demon was coming. Belial’s mind created a burning hum against his shields.

  Around them, Anaria’s army had been in the process of returning to the camp. Now, in the sky and on the ground, humans and halflings turned to look, shielding their eyes against Belial’s brilliant glow.

  At his side, Andromeda pushed closer, averting her face. “Angels look like that, too?”

  “Yes and no. Only physically.” Six wings, features that were neither masculine nor feminine, skin that was both dark and light—as if always illuminated by an impossibly large source, yet at the same time always shadowed by it. “And not so bright. Or not bright in the same way.”

  She tilted her head back to give him a narrow look. “That’s not helpful.”

  Michael had to laugh. “I can’t describe the difference. Except that he resembles an angel, but he is not one. It is partially how he looks—but primarily what he makes me feel when I look at him.”

  “What does he make you feel?”

  “Nothing,” Michael said. Belial didn’t affect him at all. “He is just a powerful demon who can shape-shift into an angel’s form.”

  Andromeda turned her head to look, squinted again. “And who can make your eyes water.”

  Michael’s eyes didn’t. The soldiers around them stepped back, making more room for the demon as Belial landed with a cadre of four sentinels behind him. Anaria stepped forward to greet him, the bronze of her skin washed pale by his light.

  Her smile was just as bright. “Father. You did well, slaying the dragon so quickly.”

  Michael would have let the dragon consume more demons first. And Belial could not have killed it with such speed without Michael’s sword.

  Belial did not carry it now. Perhaps for the best. Though he’d once hoarded many treasures, Michael hadn’t felt possessive toward any object in millennia. That sword was the exception. His chest tightened with fury whenever he saw it in Belial’s grip, and the impulse to challenge the demon for it burned hot.

  But Michael didn’t need the sword. Irena’s spear sufficed. So even though the weapon was his, Michael wouldn’t take the risk of battling Belial for it. Especially not while Belial wielded that sword. A weapon was not worth dying for.

  Only people were.

  Holding the most important one at his side, he glanced at Khavi. Thin amusement curled her lips, concealing the anger and hatred he knew she felt toward the demon who’d murdered her husband. Whatever goal she was working toward, Khavi must have wanted it badly enough to delay her revenge, or Belial would have already been dead.

  Now, she apparently took pleasure in watching Anaria and the demon each attempt to gain the upper hand against the other. Anaria had already won the initial point by speaking first and offering a gracious compliment.

  So Belial would have to offer an even greater declaration. “It is a triumphant day for every denizen of Hell. The assistance of your army was welcome.”

  Though I would not have needed the help echoed beneath it. I am pleased you have stepped into your proper role as the issue of my flesh.

  “Lucifer fled before us,” Anaria agreed. “It was his only choice; he could not have defeated us.”

  “He could not withstand our combined might.” For there is nothing so powerful as the belief that drives my armies, nothing as strong as their belief in me.

  Michael sighed. Lucifer could have killed them all. The only reason he hadn’t was because the demon lord wanted them alive to see the world burn—and because it would be far more satisfying to Lucifer when he returned to Hell and stole Belial and Anaria’s supposed victory away.

  Belial’s golden gaze fell on Michael before sliding down to Andromeda, who had averted her face again and was attempting to watch the conversation with her hand cupped beside her eye, shielding her from the worst of the shine.

  “Your Guardians were also much help. We should lay aside our differences and create an alliance that extends to Caelum as well. An alliance united against Lucifer.”

  Under my leadership, we will crush him.

  Anaria nodded and looked to Michael. “The Guardians should ally themselves with us.”

  For a moment, Michael agreed. But only for a moment. For now, they were aligned to fight a common enemy—but the Guardians would never have another goal in common with either Anaria or Belial.

  But he said nothing. There was no point in arguing. Neither Anaria nor Belial would hear him.

  “Caelum and Hell, united.” Belial’s voice swelled. “And when our enemy is vanquished, I would lead you all back to Grace.”

  If it is possible for humans to attain such glory.

  Khavi closed her eyes. Michael felt the same. He could not tolerate this for much longer.

  His sister smiled. “The Guardians will help you find that path as well.”

  “I can show it to you,” Andromeda said beside him—then stiffened.

  Compelled by Anaria’s voice, by a few careless words.

  Andromeda’s heart began to pound. Wary, Michael tore his gaze from her dismayed expression. Belial’s lip curled in amused disdain—but Anaria’s eyes widened.

  “That was truth,” she said. “That was truth. Tell us how.”

  Andromeda shook wildly against him. Fighting the compulsion, but the answer broke from her anyway. “It’s my Gift.”

  Michael gathered her tighter. A single move from Belial, and he would teleport. Beside him, Khavi angled herself between Andromeda and the demon. Her own Gift rushed out, searching for the possible outcomes. A sharp note of frustration told him what she’d seen: nothing.

  He didn’t know what would come of this, either. But he needed Anaria to heal him, and his sister would never relent until she was told.

  “How is it done?” Anaria repeated.

  “She sees that the demons’ souls are tied to Heaven,” Khavi said. “When they are slain, that is where they return.”

  “It is a lie,” Belial said. A human cannot have knowledge of Heaven.

  “It is truth,” Anaria responded fiercely, certainty hardening her voice. “So show us how it is done, young Guardian. Would you deny millions of demons a return to Grace?”

  Trembling, Andromeda looked up at him. Michael didn’t have an answer to give.

  Except for one—the answer he would always give. “It is your choice,” Michael said softly, and he called in the dragon spear to his free hand. “We can leave here or you can show them. I will protect you either way.”

  “Show us,” Anaria said.

  No choice. Compelled, her Gift opened, and Andromeda’s crystalline melody joined the warmer song from her lowered shields. Her hand closed around the air in front of her chest.

  Heaven’s song rang through Hell.

  Silence fell, except for the rustle of leathery wings and the pounding of hearts and the shifting of sand as millions of demons turned to listen. One of Belial’s sentinels dropped to its knees—a thud that became a thunderous roar across the realm, a rolling drumbeat beneath Michael’s feet. Tears burst from halflings and humans.

  Followed by a wailing lament from millions of voices when Andromeda let go.

  “It is just as Gabriel sang.” Shining a bright white, Anaria’s eyes glistened. “Father. You have your way home. You only need enough faith to do it.”

  Belial had no faith. They would argue each other into oblivion. Unwilling to subject Andromeda to another careless word, Michael anchored to Alice at the edge of the battlefield—but he could not leave yet.

  “Come with us,” Michael said to Khavi.r />
  Eyes obsidian, she spared him a glance. “Anaria and I will follow.” I must see what happens. This is not what I planned.

  Michael nodded. “If you need help, we will not be far.” Just far enough.

  He returned to Alice’s side—standing atop the rounded back of the dragon’s corpse, the abdomen of a monstrous spider blocking the sky overhead. The furnace of the dragon’s heart had not yet cooled, and the smooth scales sizzled faintly beneath his bare feet. Most of the Guardians had already returned to Earth. But nearby, a blood-spattered Irena hacked at the dragon’s hide with her angled knife, peeling gleaming scales away from the steaming flesh and piling them up beside her.

  Michael had no words.

  Irena saw his face and grinned. She waved one of the shield-sized scales at him before adding it to her pile. “They will make fine armor!”

  They would. Impenetrable to any weapon but her spear and knife and his sword. Clever, resourceful. Michael could not have been more fortunate in his friends.

  “Well done,” he said.

  Andromeda stiffened beside him. She’d lifted her head. Steady, and staring out over the battlefield. He heard her throat work and the swollen note of bilious horror in her psychic song.

  He followed her gaze. A swarm of wyrmrats had found the battlefield. Reptilian rodents squirmed through the fallen demons, gnawing away flesh. Eyes glowing, hellhounds skulked through the corpses, the larger beasts devouring bodies whole, and the puppies ripping them apart between the three heads. A cloud of bat-winged nychiptera swooped over the carnage, talons plucking bodies and unlucky wyrmrats and young hellhounds from the ground and carrying them into the sky, where other nychiptera fought over the pieces, bloodied shreds of flesh raining down.

  “Ugh.” Andromeda closed her eyes, swallowed hard.

  After a long second, she opened them. Her expression froze, and she followed one enormous segmented leg up . . . and up, where black hairs as long as telephone poles jabbed downward from a glossy black carapace.

  Shuddering, she closed her eyes again. “I just can’t.”

  Laughing, Michael pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It is fortunate that Irena has only one knife, or she would recruit you to skin a dragon.”