by Mandy Lee
She gave him a little smile. “Much as I don’t like the idea of you screwing hundreds of random demons...humans...whatever, it does lead me to an important question. Do you believe in fate?” she asked.
B frowned. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Well, look at my history. I feel a special connection to you, B. At risk of deeply embarrassing myself, I’ll go out on a limb and say that it’s a love connection. The last time I felt this pull toward someone was three centuries ago, and it was a vampire named Philippe. I didn’t know he was a vampire at the time. He presented himself as a wealthy young man trying to woo me into marriage. Long story short, he turned me during a feeding accident. For the longest time, I thought of Philippe as the biggest mistake of my life, but looking back now, if I’d never met him, I would never have been turned, and would have died of old age more than two centuries ago, and you and I would never have met. So maybe that connection was meant to happen in order to lead me to you.
“So you’re saying that everything we’ve been through has led us to this moment?” B asked, his voice laced with a tinge of hope.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, let’s set the rest of your bones.” Mara leaned over and reached for B’s other hand.
Before she could react, B sat up and grabbed her with his freshly set hand, drawing her face toward his. He felt his heart leap as their lips touched ever so gently at first. He had dreamed of kissing her since the first time he’d laid eyes on her, and could only hope that the feelings she’d admitted to were true. Her lips moved softly upon his, her tongue darting out to lick along the line of his lips. B opened his mouth and let her in, their tongues sliding together sensually as his body came to life. It was a feeling he thought he’d never fully experience, the blood pounding in his veins, his heart jumping in his chest. Mara’s arms came up to circle him, one around his back, the other sliding up his neck, her nails raking along his scalp near the nape of his neck. The tiny shivers from her sharp little nails were more erotic than any sexual experience he’d ever had. B’s heart felt like it was soaring free. Maybe there really could be a happy ending for him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The shape shifter stopped and checked out his new reflection in a shop window as he made his way down the street. Thanks to the mostly naked, unconscious cop he’d left lying in his cruiser one alley over, he was set for the next few hours. He adjusted the hat and straightened the shoulders of his stolen uniform. Not the most comfortable disguise, but it was the most expedient way to get the information he was after. Two doors down was the entrance to the police station and he quickened his pace. It was always best to look like he was in a hurry — people were less likely to stop him and get into lengthy conversations where he could be caught as an impostor.
Chaos reigned as he entered the station. A variety of small-time criminals were sitting around waiting to be booked. The receptionist waved at him as he made his way by; he tipped the brim of his hat at her and eyed the motley crew. A few girls that had been picked up for solicitation, possibly some of their johns, some corner drug dealers, and a few teenagers that were probably pinched defacing property. Officers were bouncing from interrogation rooms to their desks, furiously pounding away at their keyboards. Paperwork was being filed, and the offenders were slowly being booked into the system. The shifter laughed to himself, it would be so much easier if these humans took care of things the same way demons did in Sheol. If one of the Iustus demons, those charged with handling issues of justice, caught guilty thoughts and memories in the mind of an apprehended offender they were authorized to exterminate them. No fuss, no muss, and most importantly, no paperwork. In effect, demons really were an environmentally-friendly sort.
The shape shifter surreptitiously took a peek down at his nametag. Chalmers. He did a quick sweep of the desks and saw the one with the matching nameplate. He made a beeline for “his” desk and dropped onto the squeaky, rolling desk chair. He pulled the computer keyboard toward himself across the crappy, old, metal desk that had probably been here since the early nineties. He grabbed the mouse and shook it around until the screen popped up requesting a password. He shuffled through Mr. Chalmers’s memories like a deck of cards, coming up with the password…his dog’s name. Shaking his head, the shifter entered “Kinki” into the password screen and hit enter. He was in. Using his newly found knowledge of the police services computer system, the shifter navigated the variety of programs with ease. Within a few minutes, he’d located Mara’s address.
“Making some headway with ID’ing a suspect in your B&E?” An Officer Holmes asked, breaking the shifter’s concentration.
“Yeah, I’ve got a lead on an eyewitness. Going to head out to interview her.” The shifter closed the screen, locked the computer, and got to his feet.
“Good luck, man. I know that case has been a real bitch.” Holmes clapped him on the shoulder and headed back to one of the interrogation rooms.
“Thanks.” The shifter called out to the other officer’s back.
Now he had a cover for getting into the apartment building. He’d flash his badge at the concierge and tell them he was there to interview a witness. Sometimes these dumb humans had their uses, even if they were few and far between. He walked back to the alley and opened the door to the cruiser. He reached in and grabbed Officer Chalmers by the shoulder, tossing him onto the ground. He landed in a heap wearing only his striped boxers. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, pulling out into the flow of traffic. With any luck he’d be at Mara’s apartment in five or ten minutes. He flicked on the siren and the lights…better five than ten. He weaved in and out of traffic as drivers scrambled to get out of his way. He could get used to this.
He whizzed by buildings, cars, and pedestrians as he sped through the downtown core toward Mara’s apartment. The only thing missing was “Highway to Hell” blasting on the stereo. His tires burned rubber as he rounded a corner much faster than the vehicle was equipped to; he actually felt the tires on the far side of the vehicle leave the ground for a split second.
He squealed to a stop in front of Mara’s building and jumped out, leaving the lights flashing as he dashed to the front door. Putting on his most official expression, he approached the shocked concierge, pulled out his badge, and flashed it with authority.
“I’m here to question one of your residents, a Mara James, in apartment 1503.” He flipped the ID closed and put it back in his breast pocket.
“Yes, officer. Please, go right up. Just…is Ms. James okay? She’s a lovely woman, a good tenant, never any trouble. She’s a doctor at the hospital. Has anything happened to her?” The poor concierge stuttered and stumbled.
“Don’t concern yourself over Ms. James. She is a potential witness to a crime I’m investigating. We’re on a tight timeline, so I’ll just go on up now.” The shifter gave the concierge a calming smile.
“Oh, thank goodness. We’d be devastated here if anything happened to her. She’s so well-liked.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Go to the fifteenth floor and make a right."
The shifter gave him a little salute as he headed for the elevator. He’d originally planned to scale the building and do some breaking and entering of his own, but this whole cop cover he had going on was making this assignment so much easier. He punched the call button and the doors opened almost immediately. The sounds of easy-listening, elevator music assaulted his ears. Maybe scaling the building had been a better idea.
Exiting the elevator, he turned right and went two doors down. He grasped the handle on the door and gave it a violent twist, breaking the lock, and opened the door to Mara’s apartment. He closed the door quietly behind him, not wanting to alert any neighbors to his presence. What he saw surprised him. Most of the women he’d stalked or spied on took pride in decorating their homes, and had a variety of knickknacks and artifacts from their past. This apartment was surprisingly bare.
He started d
igging in drawers, pulling them out and dumping their contents on the floor. There was nothing promising here — letters and tax documentation from her work at the hospital, junk mail, cable, and phone bills. Everything was painfully generic. He left the disaster he’d made of her living room and entered her bedroom. Throwing open her closet doors he found clothes — piles of scrubs hanging neatly in a row, jeans, sweaters, tee shirts, and dresses. He reached out and fingered the material. They were well-made with expensive fabrics, the cut and design of each gown from a different era. Finally, things Mara had kept from her life before this city. Looking up, he saw an old letter box stashed away on the top shelf of the closet. He reached up and pulled it down. Taking it over to the bed, he sat down and raised the lid. A sparkling diamond tiara sat on a bed of velvet. The matching earrings and bracelet sat beside it. He had no interest in her jewels. The rewards promised to him for bringing down the fallen far outstripped the value of diamonds. He tossed them aside on the bed. Reaching in, he pulled out the velvet and threw it on the floor, revealing something far more interesting.
Under the velvet cover lay a packet of letters, yellowed and brittle from age, tied together with a length of black silk. He slipped the letters out and carefully opened up the one on top. They were love notes, filled with the poetic drivel that had been so popular back in that day. How any self-respecting human could put pen to paper and write this shit just to get laid was beyond him. He was about to toss the letters aside too when the signature on the bottom caught his eye. Everything was suddenly coming together. Pulling out his cell phone he flicked through his contacts, found the one he was looking for, hit send and waited as the phone rang.
“Hello?” The low, seductive, accented voice floated through the connection.
The shifter smiled. “Philippe. It’s been a while….”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sergei was freaking out. He’d been through every grimoire in his possession with a fine-tooth comb and still nothing had worked. He found cures for demon blood poisoning, crafted the cures, and injected Gadreel. No dice. He'd followed the spells to the letter, so it wasn’t the magic. He ran his hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. It must be the blood. The shape shifter must have laced it with some kind of counter-spell that he couldn’t identify. Sergei had run up against all types of magic in his life; nothing had ever stumped him like this before. It was frustrating. But beyond that, he couldn’t bear the idea of letting the guys down. He had become a part of their crazy little family, and had no desire to watch his newfound brother suffer as he succumbed to the power and control of the blood. Sergei had managed to keep his panic in check so far, but the last spell he'd cast to figure out what was spiking the blood had come up with fuck all. He was missing something.
Sergei leaned over to Sam and whispered in his ear. “Dude, I’m going out on the balcony for some air. I’ll be back in a few.”
Sam nodded and turned his attention back to the spell book he was poring through. Every single fallen angel in the room had their nose in a book. If things hadn’t been so serious, it would’ve been a Kodak moment. He pulled back the drapes just enough to open the balcony door and slip through, letting the dark drapes fall back into place behind him. He leaned on the balcony ledge and looked out at the city, hoping the cool breeze would blow the cobwebs out of his brain so he could latch on to some bright idea he hadn’t yet tried. The infection had started near his wrist, and had already travelled down Gadreel’s arm to his hands, and was making its way up to his elbows.
“You won’t find it.” A smooth feminine voice floated across the balcony toward him.
Sergei jumped, spinning around to face a dark shadow tucked up close against the wall.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“That’s not important. What is important is that you won’t find a cure in your books.” She stayed in the dark, but Sergei thought he could see a slight ruffle of feathers.
“Do you know where I can find a cure?” Sergei asked with a raised brow.
“I do, because I have it.” She moved slightly and the ruffle of feathers was more pronounced.
Sergei’s fear melted away, he was too curious to be scared. “I’m listening,” he said.
The shadow moved closer to him. There were feathered wings, dark as night, yet soft and downy. They folded away to reveal their owner. She was stunningly beautiful. Her hair was snow white, tied in a long braid that hung like a rope over the front of her shoulder. Her eyes glittered like cut diamonds; they were almost colourless with just a faint tinge of violet. Those beautiful black wings were folded up behind her back, the tops arching just over her head. Her black cat suit hugged every curve of her body.
Sergei cleared his throat. “I’m…”
“Sergei. I know,” she said with a half-smile. “I’ve been watching over them for some time.” She nodded toward the apartment.
“So, you know what’s going on here?” Sergei asked.
“The demon blood that infected Gadreel isn’t normal blood,” she stated.
“I noticed that. Nothing’s working.” Sergei balled up his fist on the balcony railing.
“He was infected with the essence of pure evil,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “There is very little that can be done on this plane to cure him. However, there is something that can slow the infection down and buy him time.”
The mysterious woman drew out a tiny glass vial. The contents sparkled with all the colours of the rainbow. Each tiny pinprick of colour seemed to be its own light source.
“What is that?” Sergei stared in wonder, the tiny lights mesmerizing him with their beauty.
She looked longingly down at the vial. “This is the essence of Heofon. It is pure light. This is the only way to combat the pure darkness of Satan’s blood.”
Sergei stood there in shock. “Satan’s blood?”
“That’s why you weren’t able to find a cure in your grimoires. Nobody has ever recovered to be written about. This vial is not enough to cure him, but it is all that exists in the human realm. It is desperately difficult to get hold of.” She held the vial out to Sergei. “Inject him as soon as possible. He will sleep for several hours, but when he wakes he should feel better.”
“How much time will he have?” Sergei reached out and took the vial.
“It’s hard to say, but without it he will lose control of his own body and mind within a day. This may buy him several weeks. You have connections in Heofon; they may be able to get you more. I only ask one thing in return,” she said.
“Anything.” Sergei said with deep gratitude as he gazed into those impenetrable diamond eyes.
“Don’t reveal my assistance in this matter,” she requested, looking out over the balcony.
“If that’s what you want, sure.” Sergei looked away for a moment, his panic at Gadreel’s condition receding in the wake of this strange encounter. “Can you at least tell me your name?” he asked.
He heard a whoosh and turned around just in time to see a brief flash of dark wings as she leapt off the balcony and took off into the night sky. He stood there alone, the sparkling vial in his hand, wondering how he was going to explain this one.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
B stretched out his hands and feet. It felt absolutely fabulous. For the first time in the last few days he wasn’t in pain, bleeding, or drugged. Turning his head to the left, he took in the face of the beautiful woman lying next to him. Life was good at the moment. In her death sleep, Mara was so still. She had fallen asleep facing him. They’d talked and kissed until she could no longer stave off the exhaustion of the past few days, her body needing the deathlike sleep to regenerate. His brow wrinkled in a slight frown as he took in Mara’s extreme pallor. It must’ve been ages since she’d fed. He’d have to help her take care of that as soon as she woke — that was definitely a cause he was willing to bleed for.
The bedroom door opened softly, drawing B’s attention away from Mara. Sam’s head poked in. He wa
s about to say something when B raised his finger to his mouth to silence him. Sam raised his eyebrow and gave B a wry smile as he gave him a quick thumbs-up and closed the door silently. B smiled to himself as he looked back down at his lovely resting lady. He had no idea if she could be woken by noise or not, but he wanted her to rest as long as she needed to. He could still hear muted conversations from the other room. It seemed that their investigation of Sergei’s grimoires continued. B knew if anyone could find a cure for his friend it would be Sergei.
Mara’s eyes suddenly opened, connecting with B’s like twin emerald laser beams. Those eyes in that face calmed him more than any hit of salvia could. A sense of ease washed over him, taking away the anxiety that had built as Mara had slept. He knew he needed this woman more than anything else on earth, Heofon, or Sheol. Words were unnecessary, B leaned in and kissed Mara gently on the lips. As he drew back, he took in her sleepy smile. For the first time in his life, B wanted to see that look on this one woman’s face every day for the rest of time.
“You need to feed,” he whispered to her, gently cupping her cheek.
Mara leaned her cheek into his hand and smiled. “Yes, I do.”
“I can help you with that you know.” B stretched his neck out and gave her a cocky smile.
Mara jacked herself up on her elbow. “B, you don’t have to do that. I know that it might be…difficult.”
He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Not with you. And remember, you fed from me once before and things were fine. Well, they were fine until Sergei gave it a go.” He gave her a wry look.