Hopefully with me.
He checked the time again and huffed. There was still so much that must needs get done. Most important, Michael had to find Famine and locate the financial backer of the human fights. Thomas checked his watch yet again. This routine had grown old. Wasting time whilst Faith was delivered to the courthouse every day by her mate, Lust, was inconvenient. He understood the need for precautions, but his understanding didn’t stop it from making his life difficult. Thomas paced just outside the back door when the two immortals materialized in the parking lot.
“Sorry we’re late,” Faith said straightaway.
“It’s all right,” he answered, knowing if he said anything to the contrary, Lust would tear into him in the blink of an eye. To say the Son of Lust was protective of his soulmate was an understatement. The male could hardly stand to let her out of his sight. Today, he appeared particularly agitated if the daemonic blue glow of his eyes was anything to go by.
Thomas waited not so patiently while the lovers kissed and exchanged good-byes, then endured Lust’s glare whilst it burned holes in the back of Thomas’s head until he escorted Faith into the warded building and the door closed behind them.
“I am truly sorry,” Faith repeated. “Dante got a call right before we were supposed to leave. He went to his office to take it and whatever was said made him incredibly upset. Then Dante explained what happened and I had to calm him down while I was freaking out the entire time and…” Faith took in a deep breath, letting her sentence taper off. She shook her head, dismissing her thoughts. “Anyway. I’m here now.”
“Is everything okay?”
They conversed as they moved through the halls, heading directly to the sentencing rooms. Thomas wanted the djinn banished as soon as possible.
“Not really. I can’t talk about it just yet. Can I tell you later?”
Something wasn’t right. Faith looked fragile, and her voice wavered as if holding back tears. But no way would Thomas push and mayhap make her cry. Like most males, weeping females made him nervous.
“No problem. Whatever you want.”
They passed through several warded doorways, each guarded by towering Angels of Protection, until they reached the final gated section of the courthouse. The maximum-security wing which contained the sentencing rooms. The area is heavily warded, more so than any other part of the building, save mayhap the Regency. But Thomas would bet this section of the courthouse was the most immortally secure set of rooms in the entire city.
Faith handed her purse to one of the guards, as Thomas had been in such a hurry, she hadn’t a chance to lock it in her office. Thrown into work the second she walked through the door. No matter. The angels would watch it and Faith would retrieve her belongings when they exited the wing. She followed him to room two, where the djinn was scheduled to be sentenced. They stepped inside and waited for the prisoner.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, concerned for Faith’s well-being. Now that he got a good look at her, he noticed she looked unwell. Her skin was paler than usual and her eyes rimmed with red. Gaze dropping, Thomas saw her hands trembling. “Are you well enough to perform the sentencing?”
Faith squinted and frowned as if offended by the very thought. “I can do it in my sleep, Thomas.”
Oops. Duly noted. Never challenge the abilities of a class nine sorceress.
“I didn’t mean… I know you’re strong…” he sighed. So far this morning, Thomas had really stuck his foot in it. “You just seem upset. I’m asking if you’re up to it mentally. I know you can do the banishment, I just don’t want to overtax you emotionally.”
From what Faith mentioned in the past, unlike minor sentences, banishing immortals left her feeling “empty.” The last thing Thomas wanted was to return a sobbing and broken sorceress to the Son of Lust. Fates, he would be furious if his mate were anything but happy at the end of the day. He shuddered at the thought of what Dante Vittorio would do if he thought Thomas upset his soulmate.
“I’m fine.”
The conversation came to an abrupt end because the door opened and two guards brought in a snarling, struggling djinn. Clad in a standard, white prison jumpsuit, the light color made Balor’s coal black eyes stand out like two deep pits in his twisted and furious face. Thomas could tell the djinn wanted to shift to his Hellhound form. Fortunately, the wards prevented the change.
“I’m going to come back,” Balor roared, those inky eyes flashing fury at both Faith and Thomas. “And I’m going to kill you both.” As many times as he’d been threatened in this very room and thought nothing of it, for some reason Balor’s words sent a shudder down his spine.
The guards shoved the djinn forward and he stumbled, landing hard on his knees in the center of the devil’s trap. Panicked, he leapt to his feet and growled. When he hit the invisible barrier, and realized he couldn’t leave the confines of the runes permanently etched into the floor by a thousand year-old elf, he went crazy.
“I’ll kill you all!”
Balor continued ranting as Faith began her quiet chant, speaking the words to open the portal to the Underworld. The two Angels of Protection stood near the door and Thomas pressed his back to the wall next to them. The room was circular in shape, so there were no corners in which to hide. For any immortal, pure instinct made them want to be as far from the devil’s trap—and the open portal—as possible.
A low hum vibrated in his chest and he felt the surge of power as Faith called upon the aether. The energy hung in the air above their heads, like an enormous ball of static electricity. Faith’s eyes glowed a pale yellow and two large crackling spheres formed in her open palms. She brought her hands together and the energy combined into one large roiling orb. The djinn roared, more fear than fury, and the ground beneath his feet cracked and split, the sound as loud as thunder. Bright orange and red light spilled from below and Thomas must need squint to protect his eyes.
Faith continued chanting, murmuring phrases only she understood. Terrifying screams came from the open portal, multiplying and growing louder as the hole increased in size. The sounds of the hideous creatures trapped in the Underworld. Thomas broke out in chills and he must needs suppress a shudder. Thrashing and shouting, the djinn levitated off the ground. Faith held him directly over the portal as the opening became so large, Thomas felt the intense heat that emanated from the fires of the Underworld.
So fast you’d think it to be a trick of the eye, the djinn vanished. A deafening whump accompanied the closing of the portal. His ears popped and the room went silent. The devil’s trap stood empty, leaving no trace of the djinn.
Regaining his bearings, Thomas gave the angels a nod and they left the room. When he glanced at Faith, he found her staring at the ground. Thomas approached and caught the shimmer of a single tear glistening on her cheek.
“Hey…” Faith looked up. “Why don’t we grab a coffee and you can tell me what’s wrong?”
She nodded and followed him out.
CHAPTER 5
W hen Faith told Thomas the gist of Dante’s call, he was speechless for several minutes. Then he wondered why he had yet to receive a call of his own.
“Dead?”
Faith nodded. “Dead. I mean, I didn’t think an immortal could be killed.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with a napkin she dug out of her purse. Thomas handed her the box of tissues from behind his desk. She blew her nose. “Thanks.”
“It is very difficult to do, and very rare, but aye, immortals can be killed.”
Faith made a sound. Sort of a combination between a strangled laugh and a sob. “Kind of goes against the whole point of being immortal.”
He gave her a sad smile. There was much Faith must needs learn about their world. She was so young, newly come into her powers, it hurt to watch her get a crash course in some of the less pleasant aspects of immortality.
“Yeah, I know. Does this dead immortal, Melora, have family? A partner?” He doubted it since daemons couldn’t form so
ul bonds as they didn’t possess souls. Faith’s mate an exception only because Dante is nephilim, a half-daemon, his mother human.
“No. Just her. The thing is, I don’t get why someone would kill her. She wasn’t anything special or threatening. Just a bartender.” Faith wrung her hands, pulling the tissue through her fingers over and over.
“I have no idea. I’m sure Michael will take this very seriously. As I said, immortals don’t perish often. In truth, I haven’t heard of one since the Great Battle.”
“When they do die, how does it happen?” Faith stared at Thomas, her eyes watery and full of trust.
Shit.
Thomas took a moment, unsure how much he should divulge. Should he withhold information to spare Faith the nightmares that would no doubt plague her? Then he remembered Faith was a class nine sorceress. There really was no reason to hide the truth. Besides, didn’t she deserve to know if only to better protect herself? Thomas decided to go ahead, praying Lust wouldn’t rip out his throat for scaring his soulmate.
“I wasn’t present so I am merely relaying information. At the time this occurred, I had been born, but had yet to reach the end of my human life. The way I heard it, during the Great Battle most of the immortals who died, did so at the end of Michael’s sword.” Faith’s eyes widened. “Every Archangel possesses a weapon, and those weapons can kill an immortal. Collectively, they are known as the Maledictus Arma, which loosely translates to ‘cursed’ or ‘all powerful’ weapons.”
“I didn’t know any of that.” Faith’s face drained of color and she looked faintly ill.
He backpedaled, covering to make the the Maledictus Arma seem to be no big deal, if only so Faith wouldn’t freak out. “The Archangels almost never have reason to use their weapons. In truth, I distinctly remember being told Michael was incredibly upset every time he wielded it to kill an immortal. But Michael is the Archangel of Protection and when in battle, there are times Michael has no other choice. The problem is, the daemons that sided with the Daemon Kings weren’t banished during the Great Battle. The ones that remained on the Earthly plane must needs be dealt with. It fell to Michael and the other Archangels to do what must. They hunted down and killed those wishing harm and chaos on the Earthly plane.”
Faith remained silent, absorbing everything he tossed in her lap like a ten-ton bowling ball… filled with TNT. Thomas just rocked her world, altering everything she believed about immortality.
“What else can kill an immortal? Because I’m positive an Archangel didn’t murder Dante’s bartender.”
“Well…” he rubbed his chin as his thought over his answer. “Mayhap an extremely powerful cursed object or a spell cast by a higher class of sorcerer or sorceress. But those are mere theories, as to my knowledge, neither have ever been confirmed to have taken a life. But it is possible and either could be used to either outright kill an immortal or allow a soul eater, such as a Horseman, to consume an immortal’s soul or life-force.”
“That’s… that’s terrible. You think Famine killed her?” Faith asked, her breaths coming short and quick.
“Firstly, we know not how the bartender passed on. Remember, I’m only speculating in regards to soul eating without any facts to back me up. As for a cursed object, mayhap a blade created from ancient metal, forged in the blood of a soul eater could kill an immortal, but it would have to be cursed by a class eight or nine sorcerer or an ancient elf, and elves don’t play well with others. I would find it hard to believe any elf with such abilities would create this kind of object.
“The only other thing I know of that can kill an immortal is one of the Daemon Kings’ weapons. The Daemon Kings are essentially the opposite of the Archangels, as such, each King has his own Maledictus Arma. Michael was fortunate as the Kings did not expect the attack, and none had their weapon on hand the night they were banished. As far as I know, after the Great Battle, their weapons were collected and banished as well.” Faith absorbed everything and Thomas knew she was working through how she felt about this knew knowledge.
“So if there’s no weapon, either a powerful sorcerer or sorceress or a cursed object killed the daemon.” Fates, this wasn’t going well at all. In truth, Faith looked positively green. He took note of the nearest waste basket just in case her stomach decided it had enough.
“Listen, there’s no point in trying to figure out what happened without more information. Why don’t you call Dante to come get you and take the rest of the afternoon off? There aren’t any more big sentences on the schedule today. The smaller ones can be done tomorrow.” He pasted on a pathetically fake smile. Luckily Faith didn’t notice, too busy staring off into space, tears once again filling her big blue eyes.
She nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Yeah, good idea.” Mechanically, Faith rose from her chair and trudged out of his office.
Thomas put his head in his hands and massaged his temples. Dead immortals. Fates, he really needed to schedule a vacation.
“ARE you sure you need another? I mean, it hasn’t been very long since the last one and the energy of an immortal should—” Famine shot the babbling sorceress a dark glare and her unsolicited lecture came to an abrupt halt.
“Aye, I require another. The power is there for the taking, and in great quantities. Plus, the way it feels is…” He shuddered with pleasure. “Incredible. One immortal soul is more potent than a dozen human souls. I must needs be at my strongest when the portal is opened.” He narrowed his eyes and the female flinched. “And don’t question me again, sorceress.”
Circe’s eyes widened. Wisely, for once she actually listened to him. The raven-haired female nodded and left the dark alley in search of his next meal. The sorceress, the one he used during the Great Battle, though as irritating as she had been five centuries ago, proved to be even more useful than before. This endeavor was so successful, he couldn’t stop a rare grin from spreading across his gaunt, pallid face. It tugged on his thin lips, curling them up in the corners to what he knew to be a hideous sight.
Once again, my very own class eight mercenary.
It was brilliant. Famine deemed himself lucky Circe approached him. It was rare to come across such an unsavory immortal. Mayhap he no longer possessed the stone to keep Circe under his thumb, but over the decades, the sorceress had turned to selling her abilities to the highest bidder. Shunting all morals aside, Circe offered her class eight services to anyone able to pay the hefty price. Mortal wealth meant nothing to Famine and was simple to procure. Of course, the sorceress could also acquire as much as she desired, all on her own. Circe needed no help obtaining human money. No. Famine believed what the mercenary sorceress desired was much more valuable. Protection. To open the portal all she required was his protection, along with a simple favor once she opened the portal. He didn’t think twice before agreeing to her pathetic terms.
Now he was again the proud owner of a corrupt class eight. One who performed all sorts of tricks, including his recent favorite.
Bringing me my meals.
And not just any meals. When the sorceress explained what she had the power to do, something he’d thought impossible, he was instantly intrigued but highly doubtful. Now that Famine had a taste and Circe proved the impossible to no longer be out of his reach, he would never go back to feeding on mere human souls. The heady rush, the sense of absolute rightness from feeding upon an immortal, was indescribable. An experience he imagined to be similar to that of a human heroin addict as they pressed the needle into their vein.
Famine craved it. Needed it. And would have it no matter the cost.
His long legs ate up the ground as he paced the length of the alley, working to control his increasing agitation. Craving that seductive hit, Famine found himself beyond impatient whilst waiting upon the sorceress. Every time his frustration grew, the need to destroy pushed against his insides with such force, he thought he’d explode if he didn’t act immediately upon the violent urges to flatten this wretched city. Fortunately, as Famine’s ang
er increased, his ring would vibrate in preparation to open a seal. It reminded him he must needs control the darkness. His innate depravity. The raven black core of sin coiled tightly in the center of his human form. A core of evil that fought to be set free. Fought to be unleashed so it could manifest in the form of death and destruction upon the Earthly plane. Just as it was meant to be.
This newfound boost in power made it near impossible to prevent his nature to take over. To break the seal and revel in the absolute devastation he shall bring, the likes of which had yet to be witnessed by the pathetic and ignorant creatures inhabiting this useless plane.
Keyed up and annoyed by not only the overwhelming craving for an immortal soul, but the constant hum of the ring on his left hand, Famine cleared his mind and leaned against the damp bricks of a building to wait. The scent of mildew and rot filled his nostrils along with the sharp tinge of burnt ozone that emanated from the sheer amount of raw power which surrounded him. That part was new, as previously, he wasn’t powerful enough to touch the aether. Famine was near giddy from the realization.
Despite his effort to hold back, the swirling dark mass within him became too large to contain. It overflowed from his tall, near-skeletal body as it leeched out of his core. The potent energy crackled across and above the surface of his Earthly form’s skin. He inhaled and savored the scent as he released a minute amount of sizzling electricity. A hazy black glow illuminated his fingertips. Grinning, Famine tested the new powers, mesmerized as he manipulated pure evil, sparks leaping from one hand to the other at his command.
An invisible pressure pressed against him and he levered off the wall, all senses on alert. When the air around him shifted, his ears popped and Circe materialized in the alley, an unconscious immortal in her arms. He vibrated with anticipation, tortured as he attempted to remain unaffected whilst his insides clawed and begged, desperate to devour the energy contained within the unconscious incubus. Like the junkie he was, Famine shook with need.
Hope For More (Trinity Book 3) Page 8