“I will.” She leaned over the younger woman and held her hand. “You’re going to be all right. I promise.”
Lily’s breath wheezed, a terrifying sound of life escaping. “No. You have to stop him. Never let this… happen again.”
“I will stop him. But first I have to—”
Lily gripped her hand. It was the grip of a desperate woman, a woman on the brink of death. “Promise me one other thing.”
Tears clogged her throat. “Anything.”
“Promise me… look after my baby, Rowan. She’s human, too. Just like you.”
I won’t cry. That wouldn’t help Lily. “I promise.” And I promise that somehow, some way, I won’t let her life be consumed by the need for amber acid.
Lily’s hand slipped from hers. Her head tipped to the side and she looked at her tiny daughter for the first time. The ghost of a smile touched her white lips. “My baby,” she whispered. “My beautiful Willow.”
Silence quivered in the room after Lily’s words. Rowan battled the rising panic that threatened to suffocate her as she desperately recalled every healing ritual she’d studied. But they were futile. Lily was beyond her help now and finally she took the baby—Willow—into her arms.
The emblem of the Enclave was a phoenix sitting in a willow tree. Did Lily know? But the phoenix was not a myth, and she’d do everything in her power to ensure Willow was the last child born during Sakarbaal’s existence. She turned around and Brad was staring at her, looking as shell-shocked as she felt. A thousand questions and accusations pounded against her skull but in the end she asked the only one that mattered.
“Why did he bring her here?”
He glanced in the corridor before turning back to her. “Something about wanting backup, even if it was inferior quality.” He glared at her. “He was more than happy to bring me to Romania. Turns out he’s sent out a call to every Enclave HQ, ordering all dhampirs to be sent here.”
Shudders ripped along her spine. What had Nico said? That Sakarbaal wanted to release all the souls he’d harvested at the same time into the astral planes?
Did he intend to include the souls of dhampirs who had not yet died?
She’d wondered how Sakarbaal had captured all the dhampir souls over the years. And now, as she stood with the vampire lord’s latest child in her arms—my half-sister—a horrifying answer came to her.
Dhampirs did not die in their beds. They died while out on assignment. Their bodies were transported back to their nearest HQ and were then disposed of. Sure, they held private memorial services but for all she knew the coffins that entered the crematorium could contain anything.
Or nothing.
“He had them all brought here.” She stared at Brad’s uncomprehending frown and her suspicion solidified. “Over the last fifty years, Brad. He had every dhampir who died brought here so he could control their souls.” Another horrible thought hit her. “But when you die, your soul leaves the body, right?” She’d never much thought about it before, and from the way Brad glowered at her neither had he. “Shit. I think Sakarbaal had all the dhampirs transported here before they died. And he’s been somehow keeping them alive until the right moment.”
“Nothing he’s done would surprise me.” Brad’s glance flickered to the baby before once again focusing on Rowan. “The dhampirs here know a lot more about what’s going on than we ever did. It’s common knowledge here that any dhampir who becomes romantically involved with a human has signed their death warrant. The order comes from Sakarbaal. The Elders in all the HQs are in on it. It’s never had anything to do with the Strigoi, Rowan. That was all part of the web of lies to keep us in line.”
She’d guessed as much. “I’m going after him. I need you to stay here and look after Willow.”
He recoiled. “I’m not a babysitter.”
“No, you’re a warrior. You need to make sure Willow’s safe. She can’t be taken by any of the Enclave’s Elders.”
He didn’t look happy about it, but he didn’t try and argue the point. She put Willow in a sterile looking crib and her heart ached. Such a tiny little thing. Such a tragic heritage.
She’d spend the rest of her life making up to Willow for everything she had lost.
Rowan kissed the baby on her forehead, drew her katana and left the chamber.
Chapter 39
Azrael
Sakarbaal was in the dungeons. But it wasn’t the dungeon of Azrael’s vision. It was a high-tech laboratory and seven transparent columns soared from flagstone floor to scrubbed stone ceiling, each one filled with twisting orange-gold flames.
The vampire’s piercing emerald eyes glinted. They looked nothing like Rowan’s gorgeous green eyes. But even as he denied the truth to himself, he could see the likeness between them.
The luxuriant black hair. The aristocratic bone structure and striking beauty. The air of otherworldly power that he’d so long failed to identify in Rowan.
Sakarbaal curled his lip. “The uniilă returns at last.”
“Did you ever doubt it?” He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his katana. Unlike nine hundred years ago when he’d burst in on Sakarbaal, he wasn’t filled with fury and disgust and revulsion. An icy calm filled his mind. He was here for Rowan. For the dhampirs Sakarbaal had sired.
The dhampirs he had slain in the past.
He was even here for Nico. And this time he would not fail.
Sakarbaal stroked his thumb over the bejeweled hilt of his sword. It was a deliberately idle gesture as though he considered Azrael’s presence little more than a minor irritation.
“Tell me. Did you enjoy fucking my daughter? I taught her well in the arts of seduction. A pity she failed her final assignment, but she served my needs to the best of her ability.”
His words, intended to provoke, had the opposite effect. Because it was clear Sakarbaal had no idea she was still alive.
He forced a derisive laugh. “Was that the best you could do, bloodsucker? Send a girl to try and subdue me with shit you obtained from the Guardians?”
Sakarbaal responded with a mirthless smile that showed his gleaming fangs. “The Guardians have a vested interest in my plans, archangel.” He made the word sound as offensive as uniilă. “They also covet entry into the celestial heavens as they believe it’s a gateway to parallel universes. Foolishly they assumed I would share my knowledge with them in exchange for road testing their experimental serum… on you.”
For a second Sakarbaal’s comment threw him off balance. Had the vampire approached the Guardians or was it the other way around?
He kept his expression blank. “As you see, it didn’t work.”
Sakarbaal shrugged. “You’re here now. And you will not be leaving.”
He unfurled his wings from the glamour and launched himself at the vampire. Sakarbaal didn’t waste time meeting his thrust. He dissolved into black vapor, his mocking laugh echoing in Azrael’s ears.
“Coward.” Azrael ground the word between his teeth, as he flung a mental blast around the chamber. It ricocheted off the stone walls and slammed back into his chest with enough force to rattle his ribs.
Two could play that game. He flung up a glamour to conceal his presence but as the vampire continued to shift from solid form into vapor, frustration stirred deep in his gut.
Even when his katana sliced through flesh, it was no longer flesh and no blood was spilled. They could circle each other like this for eternity, and neither would be the victor.
To liquefy a brain, he needed to get a secure lock. But every time his mental probe brushed Sakarbaal, the vampire dissolved.
There had to be way around it. If he could paralyze Sakarbaal with a mental thrust and simultaneously cripple him with a physical blow, theoretically it would give him a precious second while Sakarbaal was immobilized to finish this once and for all.
He waited for the moment. Sakarbaal was clever but he was arrogant, and his maneuvers weren’t as unpredictable as he imagined.
Almost there.
The door to the dungeon lab crashed open and ice speared through his heart as Rowan burst through, her bloodied katana raised. What the hell was she doing? She’d gone off with Brad to help her friend. He hadn’t for a second thought Rowan would leave her. He’d thought she was safe. But instead she’d charged into the one place he feared he might be unable to protect her.
Sakarbaal materialized just feet in front of her and Azrael catapulted a blast of energy directly into the vampire’s brain. It bounced off his skull, as if he’d just tried to neutralize a fellow archangel.
He hadn’t fucking expected that reaction. Sakarbaal might be an arrogant son of a bitch but he also had formidable power.
With an infuriated curse he rematerialized next to Rowan.
“You survived the archangel’s wrath.” Bizarrely, Sakarbaal sounded pleased. “Your warrior soul glows brightly, Rowan. The braver the dhampir, the more intrinsically the phoenix essence bonds.” He flashed a mocking smile. “Twenty-seven years on the mortal plane is the optimal age. Any longer and we discovered the phoenix connection degrades.”
“You bastard.” Rowan’s voice vibrated with rage and grief. “You won’t get away with any of this.” Before he fully realized her intention she leaped at Sakarbaal, but at the last second she twisted sideways, as if she’d hit an invisible wall.
As a look of shock spread across her face and Sakarbaal’s scornful laugh echoed around the chamber, Azrael knew the truth. He’d once joked with her that the bond of blood wasn’t everything, and she’d laughingly disagreed. But she’d been right. Because she couldn’t kill the vampire lord any more than Nico could.
“Get out of here, Rowan.” His voice was harsh as he shoved her back towards the door. “Leave this to me.”
Sakarbaal raised his sword, his focus only partially on Rowan but his intent clear. Instinctively Azrael spread his wings, a protective gesture, and then the world turned a crimson maelstrom of unimaginable agony as the vampire’s blade severed his feathers.
He doubled over, clinging onto his katana only by sheer instinct. Every feather throbbed, every nerve in his body screamed, and pain such as he had never imagined stabbed through his brain, distorting his vision.
Through the wild cacophony that thundered in his ears, he heard her horrified scream. But even as he tried to straighten, tried to face the vampire, disbelief hammered through his crippled senses.
How had the vampire’s blade sliced so easily through his wing? Only the blade crafted by an immortal of the highest echelons could achieve such a thing. How in hell could the vampire have stolen such a weapon?
“Fuck you, bloodsucker.” Fury and terror warred for dominance in Rowan’s voice and as he staggered backwards, as he tried to calm his mind enough to heal his injuries, he saw her slash her katana through the nearest transparent column.
“No, Rowan!” His yell was too late, as fire burst from its constraints and sucked greedily at the oxygen filling the chamber. Rowan, her lips pulled back in a snarl, backed away from Sakarbaal who no longer appeared amused by events, and struck out at a second column.
Red and gold flames spilled into the chamber, snaking along the floor and up the walls in an unnatural wave. He glared through the vibrant flames, where the shadow of Sakarbaal stalked Rowan.
He’d get the vamp now. While he was focused on Rowan. He pushed forward through the fire, his damaged wing dragging a bloodied trail along the floor. She danced like a possessed fire goddess between the columns, destroying them one by one, taunting Sakarbaal and causing his guts to knot. Why wouldn’t she just get the hell out of it?
“That’s enough, dhampir.” Sakarbaal’s low hiss caused the flames to leap higher and as she once again tried to reach him with her katana, the vampire plunged his immortal-forged sword through her heart.
Chapter 40
Azrael
Time ceased to exist. The world shrank. All Azrael could see was Rowan as she looked through the flames at him, her beautiful green eyes filled with shock, with disbelief… with love.
Crimson stained her sweater as Sakarbaal brutally wrenched his sword from her body. Still clutching her katana in one hand Rowan pressed her other to her breast, and her blood gushed over her fingers.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. He had told her of the vision and therefore he had changed her destiny.
This isn’t her fucking destiny.
But he remained rooted to the burning floor, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to believe the evidence of his eyes as Rowan, his Rowan, the woman who possessed his heart and soul staggered back into the depths of the raging furnace.
Denial clawed through his mind, but his throat was locked and all he could hear was the roar of the flames, the laugh of the vampire, and the petrified screams of…
His beloved.
The knowledge erupted from deep within his soul. Erupted and flooded through him and he teleported into the flames to save her—except he remained welded to the spot, his injuries too severe.
“No.” He didn’t know whether the roar was only in his mind or whether it rocked the walls of the chamber, but he leaped for Sakarbaal and the vampire’s blood coated his blade before the bastard turned to vapor.
Blindly, he blundered through the flames, his wings smoldering as they dragged on the floor. Where the hell was she? She had fallen right here. What had Sakarbaal done with her?
“A pity about Rowan,” the vampire taunted, rematerializing for a fleeting moment before once again vanishing. His disembodied voice clawed along Azrael’s senses. “Her soul was strong. She would have continued to serve me well forever.”
Rage pounded and he embraced it. Because rage he could deal with. Rage he could channel into hunting the vampire. Rage would sustain him and keep at bay the screaming vortex of insanity that offered sweet oblivion within its bottomless black depths.
Eternity passed. He’d been battling the vampire forever. There was no past and he had no future, but nothing else mattered. He’d drawn blood several times, as had the vampire, but nothing fatal and he had the detached certainty they could battle for all time and still no killing blow would fall.
“Give it up, Archangel.” Sakarbaal materialized a few feet from him, sweat dripping, clothes ripped and bloodstained. Azrael lunged, hacked through flesh and bone and the vampire once again turned to vapor.
“Go.” The vampire panted from behind and he swung around, chest heaving. The vampire’s damaged arm hung at his side. “You can’t destroy me any more than I can destroy you. There’s no need for this endless foolishness.”
He didn’t waste his breath responding. Sakarbaal had murdered Rowan. The thought hammered in time with his heart, and again madness beckoned on a not-so-distant horizon.
How tempting. But first he would exact justice. No matter how long it took.
Behind Sakarbaal the fire grew brighter. Unbearably so. He reared back, unable to look away, and inexplicably the knot in his chest tightened.
Shadows moved within the flames. Sakarbaal belatedly realized his attention had slipped and he frowned before glancing over his shoulder.
He froze.
From the flames Rowan emerged, black hair tumbling down her naked back, her skin unscathed, and in her hands she held her katana—now a weapon forged of fire.
He stared, mesmerized. Rowan didn’t die? Vaguely he was aware she wasn’t alone. That the dazzling dhampir soul he’d encountered on the astral planes was by her side and above Rowan’s head appeared a fiery phoenix.
Rowan looked directly at Sakarbaal. The vampire lord appeared to have lost his power of speech as he stared at her as if she was something from his worst nightmare.
“Hello, Father,” she said softly. “My mother named me well.” And then she plunged her katana of fire through his heart.
Sakarbaal staggered back, a look of indescribable shock etching his features. Azrael leaped forward, swung his katana and decapitated the vampire, but stil
l the look of utter disbelief remained fixed on his face as his head fell to the floor.
He stepped over the rapidly decomposing body, his gaze never leaving Rowan’s.
“I thought I’d lost you.” His voice was rough, and his glance dropped to her breasts. No gaping wound marred her flesh. Yet he’d seen the vampire thrust his sword through her heart. It was impossible she could have healed such a devastating injury so swiftly.
She couldn’t have healed it at all. He couldn’t have healed her. The wound had been fatal. Even for a dhampir.
“You did.” Her voice was still soft, and he pulled off his coat and gently draped it across her shoulders. She gave a faint smile as she slid her arms into the sleeves. “I died, Azrael.”
His heart jackknifed, although he couldn’t think why. She couldn’t have died otherwise she wouldn’t be here now, in front of him, wearing his coat for gods’ sakes.
“No.” His voice was thick. Was she telling him she was a spirit? And now that Sakarbaal had been dispatched to his own brand of hell she was leaving?
He gripped her arms. She felt warm, alive. He wouldn’t believe she’d died. Wouldn’t believe he was going to lose her again. I won’t allow you to leave me again.
She pressed her palms against his chest and his heart beat for her, and only her.
“My body perished in the flames. I felt it, Azrael. But after the first few seconds of agony it changed. The fire was still there but I was outside my body. And then I wasn’t here at all. I was somewhere else, with the phoenix—somewhere beautiful and tranquil.”
The astral planes where, after the death of its body, the soul retreated to heal itself from mortal trauma. It still didn’t mean she had died.
“That’s where Belinda found me.” She turned to the dhampir soul who no longer emanated such hopeless desperation. “She discovered what Sakarbaal was doing, what he intended for her. She took the only way out she could.”
Nemesis: Paranormal Angel Romance (Realm of Flame and Shadow Book 2) Page 27