Darkest Heart

by Juliette Cross

  “What does that do for you?”

  “What? This?” He flicked off a tip of ash from the brimstone. “It heightens my senses, brings me back in tune with my demon.” He raised it in offering. “You want to try?”

  “No.” I was afraid of what I didn’t understand. Of the way he looked at me. Of myself. For what if the brimstone heightened the senses of the demon who had bitten me? Would I fall even further from myself? Would I become more evil than good? What if it heightened a darkness that was already there, waiting to be lit from within?

  “You need some sleep,” he said as a command not a suggestion.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “This world is wearing you down. I can see it in your eyes. Trust me. You need sleep. And I don’t think they’re coming for us anytime soon.”

  He was right. In Elysium, I never slept. I was fueled by the air around me. But here, the weight of this world pressed harder and heavier every day. Without further comment, I lay down on the mattress, letting my wings fall flat behind me at rest.

  Dommiel gazed, observing with close scrutiny. His expression waning to something nostalgic. I perused his broad shoulders, imagining what he would’ve looked like as an angel. Before the fall.

  “What color were your wings before?”

  His eye, having drained of the ruby red back to the dark brown, almost black shade. “What color do you think?”

  “Black,” I answered on quick impulse.

  A subtle smile ticked up the corner of his mouth.

  Before I thought better of it, I poured out more. “The darkest sable. So rich that it shined, begging for fingers to touch it.”

  He froze, his hand with the cigarette resting on his thigh, a plume of gold-gray smoke rising like a cobra from its cage. He didn’t say a word, just stared at me.

  “Like that of your familiar, the raven.”

  His mouth spread into a full smile, sending my pulse pounding yet again.

  “You noticed Puck?” He took another drag and blew out another stream of smoke. Once more, I was drawn to his lips. A dangerous thing. “Of course you did. You don’t miss anything.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “You got that right, baby.” He held my gaze, capturing me in a smoldering look that made my middle pool with warmth.

  “You named your raven after a Shakespearean character?” Such a peculiar demon to have an interest in the Elizabethan bard. Just as I did.

  “Rhymes with my favorite word,” he smirked. “And he likes getting into mischief.”

  “Like his master?”

  He dragged long on the brimstone, the fire-red tip brightening the room before he blew out a stream of the heady smoke, dropped the stub, and ground the heel of his boot on top.

  “Go to sleep, Anya,” he commanded again, more softly.

  And I wanted to obey him. A strange compulsion, since I’d only ever obeyed the commands of my angel superiors. Yet here I was, falling under some strange spell by the former high demon of New Orleans, now an outcast with motives to aid our side that I’d yet to puzzle out. For though he had joined me on this quest only for drakuls, I knew he wouldn’t have taken the job had he not other reasons.

  I unbuckled my dagger sheath and set the belt aside, then closed my eyes, trusting the demon on watch, the demon who was slowly drawing me in. Making me wonder about my beliefs of my own world and of his. Making me wonder if the lines truly were more blurred than I’d thought. If he was right, I’d have to confront everything I’ve ever known…and change.

  Chapter Seven

  Dommiel

  I couldn’t stop staring at her. All night long, I watched her, memorizing the way her slim shoulders slumped forward when her body relaxed, the way her black hair covered part of her pale cheek. Her lips pursed in deep sleep, giving her the appearance of a young girl, not a seasoned warrior.

  This woman, this angel, was an enigma. I’d been told to fuck off by female angels before for simply looking too long. Anya didn’t sneer at my attentions, didn’t recoil at my touch. She should’ve shoved me, punched me, the second I pressed my mouth to her skin. No. She leaned in. Christ, she moaned with pleasure, and it was the best fucking sound I’d ever heard.

  It might as well have been a death knell tolling its bell, for now my demon wanted her like nothing else. Clawing and roaring inside my chest, wanting to slip down to that mattress and make her moan again. And again.

  Sure. “Off limits” always lured me stronger than the easy ones. The challenge of seduction was a game I knew well and had perfected over the centuries. A game. Nothing more. A way to entertain myself so I didn’t lose my fucking mind in the repetitive boredom of immortal indulgence.

  But Anya, she wasn’t a toy to play games with. Not a bauble I’d fuck and forget.

  For the thousandth time since she’d closed her eyes, I let my gaze wander over the soft curve of her wing leaning forward to caress down her body. The morning light, though gray like every dawn, touched her feathers, lighting them with a cobalt sheen. I imagined sliding my hand along her side, dipping at the indention of her slender waist and over her rounded hip, then sliding back up to her breasts. Small, not quite a handful, but perfectly round. I wondered if her nipples were dark or rosy pink. I salivated.

  Leaning forward on a sigh, I ran my hand over my face. Dangerous game, Dommiel.

  “Leave it alone,” I mumbled.

  Her shoulder twitched, then jerked with violence. Her brow puckered into a deep frown, lips mumbling something inaudible. She reached for her neck, scratching roughly at her porcelain skin. Someone pursued her in her dreams.

  Kneeling beside her, I shook her gently.

  “Wake up, Anya.”

  She jerked again, her eyes popping open, fully dilated from fear. Whatever chased her in her dreams was a bad motherfucker. She jolted upright and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

  “What time is it?”

  Her sleepy voice made me want to push her back down to the mattress.

  Fucking hell, I needed to get laid. That’s what it was. It had been too long. Two months was a long goddamn time for a demon like me. Once I scratched that itch, I could think of something else besides how good this angel would taste between her sweet thighs.

  “Morning. Not long after dawn.” I stood and stretched, running a hand through my hair. “You seemed to sleep well. Until the last few minutes.”

  Her bright violet gaze flicked up to mine.

  “Bad dreams?”

  She gulped hard, averting her eyes. She stood, then buckled her belt and dagger sheath around her waist. “Did no one—”

  The door unlocked, then swung open. Zoe stood there, grim faced as she was the night before.

  “Come,” she said without further greeting.

  Glancing at Anya, I followed first, unsure whether this would be a setup. Though it was highly unlikely that a Twelver had escorted us into their lair and kept us alive all night just to kill us in the morning, I’d seen stranger things happen since the dawn of this apocalypse. I didn’t bother asking where we were going. Zoe wasn’t the talkative type, nor one to give us answers. Not yet anyway.

  She led us back down the long corridor and the room with dark-stained wood shelving. The ornate detail reeked of the handiwork of the monks who’d built this place centuries earlier. The remnants of their holy rites lingered in the air, pushing on my chest as if reminding me I didn’t belong. No need for that. I knew I was damned.

  Finally, she led us into a larger chamber where a portable black-iron fireplace had been obviously added, shoved in the corner with its chimney pipe jutting through the ceiling and beyond. I never noticed the cold unless it was a supernatural one. But humans, yeah, they’d need something more than blankets and lanterns to keep them warm.

  There were two overstuffed chairs by the fire with a red-and-gold carpet between, but the people in the room sat at a large rectangular table. Except for two men bearing guns, obviously loaded with ether ammo
, standing just inside the door.

  A man, not especially large or small, sat at the head. His imposing figure appeared in the form of a pair of watchful green eyes and an expression of alertness I’d only seen in military humans, warrior angels, or high demons. This was Marko.

  At one side sat another man, built broad and sturdy, but also wore the look of a man who knew his world was going to hell fast.

  Zoe stood to the side and presented us.

  “This is Dommiel, a high demon. And this is Anya, an angel working with him. They knew our code.”

  “Please have a seat.” Marko gestured toward the table.

  “I’ll stand,” said Anya.

  I didn’t remark, but remained standing next to her. Best to keep vigilant, though they appeared cordial enough.

  Marko glanced between Anya and I. “I heard you were looking for me,” he said in perfect English, not a hint of an accent. “And though Zoe explained in detail that you were indeed an angel and demon working together, I swear I didn’t believe it till this moment.”

  “You’re American?” Shocking, that.

  With a dip of his chin. “I was visiting my parents when this war began.”

  “So now you’re leading a resistance.”

  “I’m one of many leading the Twelvers. Someone has to.”

  I smiled at the memory of what had been my homeland for centuries. “Americans make the best rebels.”

  Anya stood beside me, her impatience humming in the air. “Father Antonio is a dear friend of mine. He said that you could help us.”

  “Possibly,” said Marko. “Let me introduce my lieutenant, Savino.” He gestured to the man seated on his left.

  “What is Zoe’s role?” I asked.

  The watchful woman in question, now standing to the right of Marko, sharpened her gaze on me.

  “Zoe is head of intelligence here.”

  “How many posts do the Twelvers have?”

  Marko crooked a smile. “That’s all the information you need for this meeting.”

  Crossing my arms, I gave a casual nod. “Just curious. I’ve done some work for Cooper in London.”

  “Huh,” grunted Savino. “You’re that demon?”

  “Heard of me?” I grinned. So they did communicate across the channel.

  Rather than answer me, he turned to Marko. “This is the one who gets them into King Henry’s warehouses.”

  Marko assessed me more carefully. “I see.” He shifted forward, clasping his hands upon the table. “Tell me what it is you’re looking for.”

  Anya didn’t hesitate. I could feel her nervous energy amping up at my side. “The archangel Uriel went missing several weeks ago. Father Antonio said you were the last one to see him and that he was given information about a girl you found injured by the demon prince, Vladek. We need information on where he went from here. We’ve lost all communication with him, so we know he needs our help. Wherever he is.”

  Anya’s emotions were pumping her heart rate up. I could see it in the quick rise and fall of her chest. Her anxiety made my own rise. I had the barely leashed need to hold her, calm her, comfort her.

  “Please,” she added.

  No one spoke. Marko looked at us both as he considered whatever the hell he was considering.

  “I will give you the information you seek, but as you must know, nothing is free in this new world of ours.”

  “Of course,” I piped up. “What kind of payment would you want? Guns? Ether ammo?”

  With a quick shake of his head, he said, “Wards.”

  Right. They’d want to keep all of my kind out of here. Made sense.

  “You put up the wards around the entire island,” said Marko, “then we’ll let you talk to the girl who was held by Vladek. You’ll get all the information you need.”

  “Deal,” I agreed, gesturing to Zoe. “You’ll want to come with me, so you know exactly where the wards lay inland. Maybe even mark them for reference.”

  Zoe stepped closer. “Not just wards against demons.” She glanced at Anya. “Against her kind, too.”

  Anya flinched, her lips tightening at the accusation angels might come to hurt them. But she didn’t protest that there was always that possibility. Angels mainly avoided humans, unless they needed something in their war against demonkind.

  Zoe stopped mid-step and pivoted slowly to face her. She trailed a finger along the scar that marked her face. “It wasn’t a demon who gave me this.”

  Anya’s pained expression pulled me closer.

  “I’ve told you before,” I whispered to her. “The lines are blurred.”

  “You don’t need to keep reminding me,” she bit out through clenched teeth.

  Ignoring our exchange, Zoe asked Anya, “So will you do it? That is our price.”

  Her reply was low but strong. “Yes.”

  “Then follow me.”

  I waited for Anya to go first, some innate drive demanding I put myself between the men with guns at our backs and her. Just in case they tried to harm her. Not that they’d shown any intention, but I knew what ether ammo could do. It would destroy her beautiful body, then send her soul straight to hell. The thought of her in the hands of the demons down there darkened all my thoughts, pulling a raging, ruthless beast from deep within my chest.

  Indeed, the lines had blurred. Not just between good and evil, or heaven and hell. But in my own fucking black heart. What was left of it anyway. Seems this beguiling, enigmatic angel had sparked some pitiful little light there. Rather than follow my own selfish desires, as I had my entire immortal life, she bewitched me toward peril. Something told me I should quit this job and get as far away from her as possible. Save myself while there was still time.

  Then my gaze landed on the straight line of her back, the steady stride of her confident gait, the strength of her tall wings, and the brain-hazing beauty of her—body and soul. I was doomed. Fated to follow her and this quest till the end. Even if it led me to the darkest pit of hell.

  I heaved a deep sigh.

  Anya glanced over her shoulder, those violet-blue eyes narrowing with worry. “You okay?”

  “Fine, baby. Just admiring the scenery from back here.”

  She caught my lowered gaze at the height of her ass, then rolled her eyes and faced forward, her shoulders tensing. “You don’t need to say such things.”

  “No. I could lie to you, if it makes you feel better.”

  She shook her head and marched forward with longer strides, her hips swaying even more.

  Hmph. Maybe the darkest pit in hell was worth it.

  …

  It was past noon by the time we’d completed the circle of wards around the entire island. Though a small island, it required Anya and I to sift only a few yards at a time till we completed the perimeter while speaking the enchantments to block out both of our kind. With the wards came the cast of illusion so that passersby would overlook the island altogether, unless they knew it already existed and could break through the illusion. A high demon or archangel could do so easily, but none of the lower beings or spawn. Neither would be able to penetrate the supernatural barrier we created, making this outpost a safe haven for humans.

  Once we’d come to the quay where we’d started, I stopped speaking the old words, demon magic sizzling around me. A few paces in front of me, Anya completed the circle to the edge of the stone wharf where Zoe stood with Marko, Savino, and a young woman who couldn’t be more than twenty.

  The wind had picked up, a northern chill blowing across the water, ruffling Anya’s feathers. Having spoken the enchanting words for several hours, her skin glowed with luminescent energy. My demon itched under my skin, canines sharp from immersing myself in ward sign. The young woman next to Marko took one look at my face and cringed closer to her protector.

  I crossed my arms and stood my ground. “I’ll finish the circle when you give the information you promised.”

  “You don’t trust us?” asked Marko.

  “I d
on’t trust anyone in this brave new world.”

  He smiled at my reference. He took the young woman’s hand and marched closer. Zoe and Savino flanked them. I waited as they came to me, Anya moving to my side as well.

  Softly, Marko whispered down to the girl, “Tell them what you know, Sophia.”

  Her frightened gaze latched on to my face, particularly my eye, surely red as blood at the moment. Her hands clutched Marko’s arm, her body coiled and ready to flee.

  Keeping very still, I spoke in a low, crooning tone, “Can’t help what I am, girl, but you have nothing to fear from me. Tell us what you know.”

  Her face paled further as she swallowed hard. “I was a slave in his palace, captured here in my homeland and brought to his fortress,” she said in Italian, voice trembling. “One of many. His demon witch came one day and took some of us with her to her mansion.”

  “Where was this mansion located?”

  She shook her head. “We were blindfolded. But it was only a few hours’ drive, though I thought I heard the rushing of a river when we stopped once along the way and the door opened.”

  Anya drew closer to me. “You weren’t sifted there?”

  “No,” said Sophia. “The witch sifted away, but her men were lower demons without the power to sift. They did her bidding and drove us in a van.”

  “Forgive me,” said Anya softly, “but why do you call her a witch? Was she not simply a lower demon herself, given her powers by Vladek?”

  Her gaze flicked back to me, as if I might attack her at any moment. I remained in a passive stance, unmoving. I knew about the demon princes and their witches, but I let the girl talk.

  “They are given powers by the princes, yet they possess power of their own.”

  “How? I don’t understand.”

  Sophia shook her head, her dark hair shadowing her downturned face.

  Seeing Sophia’s ability to stand in my presence begin to sheer away like leaves from a winter tree, I wanted to make this quick.

  “Witches are more than lower demons. They earn their power through service to their prince.”