“How long ago was that?”
Sniffing, she played with the hem of Lucia’s shirt. “A month? I don’t know. A long time.” Without realizing it, he’d crept forward and placed his hand on Delia’s leg.
“What happened?”
“I just found places to hide.”
Putting aside for a moment how the little thing was able to survive alone, he went back to his question. “What happened to your dad, Delia?”
If possible, she made herself even smaller. She curled behind Lucia’s knees like she was a wall between the two of them and shook her head.
“Delia,” he made his voice very calm, infusing it with what he hoped was kindness. “Is he dead?”
One big tear gathered along her lower lid, spilling and running over her pouting lip. She nodded.
“How did he die?”
A burst of wind hit him, knocking him on his ass. It swirled around the room, ripping pictures off the wall. Glass crashed to the floor, and Lucia’s eyes popped open. Struggling to push herself up, she cried, “Delie. Are you okay? What’s happening?”
Her eyes had gone black. Armaros smelled her power rising, so similar to his sister’s.
“Delia.” Lucia gripped her shoulders, shaking her.
The wind shoved at his body, forcing him to crawl toward the couch on his hands and knees. “Delia,” he called.
Her power was a tempest, pushing furniture out of place. A light smashed against the ceiling, raining glass on them. Lucia threw her hand over Delia’s face, the glass cutting her skin.
“Enough.” A whisper of sound and the power was gone. Delia fell forward, caught by Lucia who dragged her into her arms.
Immobile, all Armaros could do was stare at the creature who had invaded his home.
“What’s this?” The voice was silky, deep. It sounded like satin sheets and red wine. Lucifer.
He’d taken the form of a man. Auburn hair fell away from his forehead, drifting to his shoulders in soft waves. Instead of black, like one might expect, he wore grey as if a businessman about to attend a board meeting. “I have never felt anything like this before, Armaros. Who is she?”
One moment, he stood in the center of the chaos and the next he loomed over Delia and Lucia. Frozen and unable to answer, the question was rhetorical.
Armaros’s power was nothing compared to the First Fallen. But he tried. With every bit of reserve he had, he poured his strength into movement.
And managed to blink.
From his position, he saw Lucia’s fingers curl. Thumb wrapping around her middle and ring finger. She would need more than the horns to ward off this evil. Still, he admired her.
“Stay away,” she warned. What did she think she could do? No one, nothing, could deny Lucifer what he wished.
“Quiet, pet.” With the command, he stole her voice.
“Do you know me, little one?” Kneeling, he stared intently at Delia.
A surge of possessiveness overtook Armaros. The child was his—all that remained of his family and his sister. He hadn’t made his mind up about Lucia, but his niece counted on her. Until he figured out what to do with her, she was his, as well. As the thought occurred to him, a sense of rightness overtook him, and with that, the ability to move returned to him. He didn’t question how it was possible, how the thought resulted in action. There would be time for that later.
Quickly, he inserted himself between Lucifer and the two females. “What do you want?”
Standing, the First was taller than him, a familiar trick he used to intimidate and cow those he thought beneath him. “Armaros. Introduce me.”
A ruse. Everything was already known to him. There was some darker purpose to his visit. The question was: did Armaros play along or did he resist? Until he understood Lucifer’s game, his best bet was to play. “This is Delia and Lucia.”
“Delia.” Her name was a purr. “And where have you come from, Delia?”
Shaking her head, the girl clamped her lips shut. Armaros’s first impulse was to smile, proud of her for refusing him, but fast on its heels was worry.
“I’m good friends with Armaros,” Lucifer cajoled. “That means we’re friends, doesn’t it?”
Delia winced. He was prodding for information the way Armaros had with Lucia. Retrieving answers by force was torturous for those on the receiving end.
“Enough,” he spat.
“Hush, old friend.” And just like that, he was again unable to speak.
A growl began, low, like a warning. It grew and as it did, the hold on him lessened. A roar filled the room, Lucia pulled at Delia whose black eyes glowed like smoldering coals. Orange flames flickered in their depths, and for a moment, Armaros recognized the flames of hell. Heat overcame him, as if he were standing right at the gates. Hot wind blew his hair around his head, even ruffling Lucifer’s.
“I said enough!” the First boomed. His voice should have doused the flames, but they didn’t extinguish, and he realized it was Delia’s power he felt. How was such a thing possible?
The wind blasted Lucifer, pushing against his body until he slammed into the window, shattering the thick glass. He unfurled his beautiful golden wings. Of all the Fallen, his retained their glory and luster. One strong thrust against the air and he rocketed upward and out of sight.
Turning, Armaros surveyed the damage of his home. It was destroyed.
Fitting.
Yet again, he belonged nowhere, and even this small haven was lost to him.
“We need to hide.” Lucia leapt off the couch, grabbing a throw and shaking it out before wrapping it around Delia and lifting her into her arms, determination evident on her face.
Unable to keep from laughing, Armaros watched her. “There is nowhere safe from Lucifer.”
“Lucifer?!” the human squeaked. “Okay, let me think. Maybe a church. We’ll ask a priest. I’ll buy a ticket to Rome, we’ll hide at St. Peter’s.”
“He’s afraid of me,” Delia whispered.
The child’s words didn’t merit a response. While he admitted Lucifer’s behavior odd, it was impossible he was afraid of Delia. No one was more powerful, more all-seeing than Lucifer. His presence must have been due to his curiosity. Delia was different. Armaros had never seen anything like her, most likely Lucifer hadn’t either.
“I think she’s right,” Lucia added and he rolled his eyes. He respected, begrudgingly, her attempt to protect Delia, but she was only human and had no idea what this universe was truly like.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me. You ran away from her, too.”
“I didn’t—”
Waving him off, Lucia continued, “For whatever reason, you needed to escape and regroup. I think Lucifer did the same.”
He groaned, frustrated with her arguing, and irritated she might be right. “Fine,” he growled. “But there is no place to hide from him.”
Her gaze fell on his face as she seemed to consider him. She hid nothing, perhaps she was incapable of it. Every emotion flashed across her face: annoyance, fear, distrust.
“I’m not lying,” he found himself defending his assertions.
“I’m not saying you are,” she countered, her finger tapped against her chin and she examined the room. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a breath, fixing him with a serious stare. “But you need to tell me everything. Who are you? Who is Delia’s mother, and what the fuck is going on?” Her eyes cut to Delia. “I’m sorry. Bad word again.”
Oh, so an easy explanation, then. Anger pulsed inside him. Who did this human think she was, demanding answers of him? Of him! Where was her earlier fear now? He wanted it back, needed it as a shield and sword.
Allowing his eyes to grow black and the evil inside him to rise to the surface, he crowded Lucia, looming over her dangerously. “You think to make me talk?”
Her blue eyes widened, and though her lips trembled, she nodded.
“No.” Delia’s voice cut across him, pushing down the darkness. He tried to keep it close
, but she fought him, and amazingly, it slipped. The grip it had on him now tenuous, he struggled to maintain it. He shifted his attention to the girl, saw her small shoulders rise and fall rapidly and her eyes blazed. “Don’t be mean.”
Her demand was so ridiculous, it stunned him. Left him confused. Delia took advantage, and overwhelmed him with…something. Light? Goodness? It was clean and whole and stronger than anything he’d ever experienced. Like oil, the evil sloughed off him. “What did you do?” slipped from his lips.
Shrugging, she answered, “I don’t know. Made you stop.”
His mouth opened, but he was stymied. Stepping backwards until his legs hit a chair, he collapsed into it. Exhausted, he put his face in his hands, rubbing his cheeks and along his jaw. What just happened?
“Answer me.” The human refused to be ignored.
Sighing, he faced Lucia. “Your question isn’t easily answered.”
“I’m sure it’s not,” she agreed.
A flash of sunlight reflected off a piece of broken glass hanging from the mirror over the mantle, distracting him. He’d answer her questions, but not here. Lucia had been right about it not being safe, and while he couldn’t hide them from Lucifer, he could delay him for a bit. Making his decision, he reached for both Delia and Lucia, in the blink of an eye transporting them away from his home to a place he hadn’t been in over a millennium.
10
Armaros
“I’ve been here before,” Delia informed them matter-of-factly as she peered around.
Lucia, for once, was speechless. Her eyes opened wide, and her mouth was a large O. Along the walls were tapestries, threadbare, their colors muted and shapes dull. Moving closer to make out the picture, Lucia gasped. “This is…” She didn’t finish, but spun in a circle, walking rapidly to a column attached to a high arch and opening into a snow-filled courtyard. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was The Cloisters.”
Impressed, Armaros nodded. “You wouldn’t be far off, but this is not New York.”
Shaking her head, Lucia walked slowly into the courtyard, hands rubbing her arms and shivering. Her breath left white clouds in the air.
Delia followed her slowly, dipping down to scoop a handful of snow and packing it into a ball. She tossed it into the air and caught it before catching his eye and dropping it to the ground. “I wasn’t going to do anything,” she muttered, and again, he had the uncommon urge to laugh.
“France?” Lucia finally asked, pausing on the opposite side of the courtyard. Her face tipped toward the sky.
“How did you know?” He tried to keep from sounding impressed, but realized he failed when she bit her lip to stop from smiling. “Position of the sun,” she replied nonchalantly, continuing her revolution around the yard.
Tipping his head back, he searched the sky for the sun, but thick oppressive clouds obscured it. He couldn’t find it. Confused, he caught her smug expression and raised an eyebrow.
“Are you going to let us freeze? Or is there somewhere we can talk?” She seemed to consider something and whispered, “This is a monastery, right? Are you about to burst into flames, because if you are, I don’t think Delia should see it.”
“I’m touched you worry about my safety,” he answered dryly, but then snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t banter.
“Sorry,” she apologized, her face becoming a lovely shade of red.
He’d been teasing, but her conciliatory tone pacified him. “No.” He took pity on her. “I won’t burst into flames. Despite the monastic appearance of this place, it hasn’t been holy for a long time. You don’t need to worry about me.” Bitterness seeped from his words. Though she glanced at him sharply, for once, the human held her tongue and followed him out of the cloisters and into a small room.
Inside, a fire was lit. The small windows left the room dark, the only light coming from the flames. Despite the stone floor and walls, it was warm inside. Furs were piled high on wooden furniture, making what would be hard and uncomfortable, tempting. Delia found a low bench and climbed onto it, wrapping a fur around her shoulders and burrowing like a kitten beneath another one. Her eyes blinked and he got the sense she was moments from oblivion. Warmth suffused him and he smiled at her. “You’re safe here.”
“I know,” she answered enigmatically. “I came with my mom and dad before. Can you hand me my stuffie?”
“What do you mean?”
Lucia had followed her point and found a small, white stuffed wolf on a pile of similarly colored furs. Before he could question the girl further, Lucia gave him a quick shake of her head. “My questions first, then you can ask.”
His intentions were apparently easy to read now. A disturbing thought.
Lifting the blanket, Lucia tucked the wolf next to Delia and then bunched a blanket under her head. She slid to the floor next to her, wincing a little when her butt hit the stone. In a matter of seconds, the girl let out a small sigh. A wave of contentment settled over the room, causing him to sink to a nearby chair. Sleepiness, a state he shouldn't have felt, overcame him.
“Is Delia making us sleepy?” Lucia asked, her voice low and tired. She hid a yawn behind her hand, prompting one from him.
“I think so,” he answered, watching her closely. Every moment with Delia was a revelation. Her power and emotions were uncontrolled, affecting everyone around her. It was fascinating.
“So?” the human prompted, pulling his attention from the child.
He found himself scowling at her address. “So?”
Rolling her eyes, she went on. “What’s your name? Who are you to Delia? Who was your sister?”
His eyes lingered on Delia’s face. His sister’s features were most evident now, when she was relaxed. “My name is Armaros, and I believe my sister was Delia’s mother.” When he chuckled suddenly, Lucia flinched. “I have transported you through space, landing you an ocean away, and your question is about my name?”
Her face pinched, nose wrinkling. “I can’t quite handle that yet. But Delia’s mother… she’s dead?”
An arrow of pain pierced him. Forcing himself to answer, he ground out, “Yes. I believe so.”
“And she wasn’t human.”
A statement of fact, but it was so much more. “You accept such an idea very easily.”
He studied her figure and waited. Lucia continued to watch Delia, her hand lifting to push her hair out of her face. “It’s not easy, but…” She paused and he waited.
When she didn’t continue, he prompted, “But…”
“But… I have an aunt who reads tarot cards and saw you, and Delia, in my future. I was raised Catholic and every Sunday the priest turned wine to blood, and bread to the body of Christ. Your name means ‘cursed one’ in Greek, and if I remember my origins stories correctly, and since I’m getting my PhD in ancient history, let me assure you, I do, it is also the name of a fallen angel. I recognize there are things I can’t see or understand, and I think you, and Delia, are two of them.”
Her explanation left him breathless, needing time to consider his response. “No. I am not human. Neither was my sister. I don’t believe Delia is either. Not fully, at least.”
“Her father?”
Standing abruptly, he made a turn around the room, stopping at the heavily leaded glass windows to stare out at the rocky landscape and down to the ancient village. He could make out the rooftops and the spire of the church they’d moved when he had taken over this monastery. Smiling, he remembered the looks of horror on the monks’ faces when he and his sister had announced their intention to stay. Poor men. How many exorcisms had they tried? A dozen?
“I don’t know who her father was. I need to ask her more questions.”
Lucia nodded and sighed, leaning her head against the bench. Delia’s breath ruffled her curls, blowing them across her nose. “Let her talk about it in her own time. What does it matter if she tells you everything right away?”
“Don’t be naive.” If she was half as intelligen
t as she claimed, she’d see the importance of answers he needed.
“She’s a child,” she argued.
“She’s dangerous.”
“Then stop being an asshole. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s only been dangerous when you’re threatening.”
“I—” She was right. “Okay.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Um…earlier, when you did the Spanish Inquisition on me—”
He grimaced. “Sorry.”
“You should be. That hurt.”
“Habit.”
“Can I finish?”
Waving a hand for her to continue, he struggled to keep his expression neutral. She challenged him. Despite everything he’d done to her, she still found the courage to argue and antagonize him.
“Did you possess me?” Her teeth cut into her lower lip, blanching the pink to white. “Read my mind?”
“Worried I read your deepest darkest secrets?”
“Ass,” she muttered. “Yes, actually. I am. What’s in my head is none of your business.”
Instead of enjoying her discomfort, it bothered him, and he answered, “Your name. I only searched for what I wanted.”
“My aunt did this thing. She said it was the evil eye.”
“Close enough.” Turning his back on her, he went to the fire, holding his hands out. He studied them. No one would know from looking at him the damage he had done in his lifetime. His skin was smooth, unwrinkled. Every inch of him gave the impression of easy living. How ironic.
Small hands joined his, held outward toward the flames. “The devil, huh.”
Sighing, he drew back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Lucifer.”
“Known him long?”
Whipping toward her in disbelief, he caught a half smile on her face as she rubbed her hands together. “Are you joking?”
She folded her arms across her chest and faced him. “Laugh or cry…” she mused.
Hair fell into her face and before he could stop himself, he was pushing it away, tucking it behind her ear. One curl was a perfect spiral and he pulled it gently, watching the way the light reflected off the black strands. It wound around his finger like onyx rings. She didn’t pull away, and they stood, lost in their own thoughts.
Matched With A Demon Page 6