“Oh, they know.”
“They’re the lucky ones, aren’t they? Secluded from the violence in the big cities.”
The waitress returned and plunked two pints of beer on the table. “Soup will be out shortly.” Without a backward glance, she returned to the kitchen.
Anya took a swig of the beer, her brow puckering before she coughed into her sleeve. I took a drink myself. Good, strong German beer. I pulled from my inside pocket my cigarette pack. Lighting one up, I let the brimstone sizzle along my senses and amp up my demon energy.
There were no otherworlders in the vicinity except Anya sitting across from me. The locals talked of a coming blizzard and food stores and keeping the farm animals fed through the winter. One couple in the corner talked of love. The young man held the girl’s hand under the table. He wanted her to go home with him, despite the fact her father said he wasn’t good enough for her. The look in her eyes said she’d be going to the boy’s bed tonight, which made me drag my eyes back to Anya.
She watched me. Intently. Specifically my lips when I put the cigarette to them. Neither of us spoke, the tension burning a hole through both of us. She tilted her head, her black hair sliding in a glossy sheet, brushing the table. My fingers twitched, knocking the tip of ash on the table. Her pretty mouth slipped into a smile.
“Do you regret last night?”
Taking a long drag, I blew a slow stream up into the air.
“I never have regrets.”
“Never?”
Her voice held a thread of challenge. Interesting. The angel wanted to play.
She took another drink, downing two big gulps, then set the tankard back down with a determined thunk.
“I think you do have regrets. Maybe not about last night. But something in your past.”
“Do you now?”
“Tell me. Why do you treasure a well-read copy of ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’?”
When the fuck did she see that?
“You were snooping at my place?”
“Hardly. I was looking around.” She shrugged a shoulder. “It wasn’t hidden.”
That’s because I’d never brought anyone into my personal lair. No one. Except her. Refusing to acknowledge why that particular piece of literature hooked me hard, I kept silent, watching her.
She wiggled in her seat and cleared her throat.
“I’m just curious why a self-professed condemned demon would cling to a narrative poem about a man finding redemption.”
I sucked in a deep drag of brimstone till it burned in my chest, singeing me from the inside out.
“It’s not about redemption. It’s about penance.”
She stared, then squirmed again. Something about her discomfort made my beast perk up and sniff the air. Seeking her.
“I beg to differ.” Her delicate, long-fingered hands cupped the tankard, one finger tapping lightly. “The old man must tell his story over and over to those in need of hearing his tale. So they will learn from his mistake. He’s seeking redemption for what he’s done.”
I wanted to laugh, my mouth twisting into a cynical smile. “You’ve misinterpreted the whole point. The man made a terrible mistake. A sin against the heavens. So what happens next? He wanders the ghastly sea, starving, dying of thirst, then meets the Grim Reaper and Lady Fortune along the way. They gamble for their lives. And does he die as he should? No. His shipmates are all taken, their zombified bodies doomed to sail the ship alongside the mariner. His punishment continues.”
“But then the angels come for him—”
“No.” I slashed my hand with the cigarette, then flicked the ash. “They come for his shipmates. Not for him. The mariner is left alone. Completely alone.”
Some cold, dark thing clawed inside my chest. A raw emotion choked off my speech for a moment, and I realized my fangs were sharpening. I closed my eye, breathing in deep and slow, calming the monster inside. When the beast backed down, I opened my eye to find her watching, violet eyes wide, breath coming quick.
“The story is about his payment. His long-suffering, endless payment. Nothing more.”
She raised her imperious chin in the air, gaze narrowed. “You’re one of those glass half-empty people, aren’t you?”
“I’m a realist, baby. I don’t color the world with pretty dreams. I see them as they are. Coleridge wrote that poem because he saw a man who’d committed a sin and who should pay for it. Eternally. I like that. The idea that the truth is…there is no redemption. Because there isn’t.”
“What are talking about? Of course, there is.”
I stubbed out the brimstone cigarette and relaxed, my arms spread along the back of the booth. “Tell me, Anya. You’ve spent your entire immortal life serving as a guardian and a warrior angel. At what point have you been released from service? At what point have you experienced this so-called redemption? This paradise for your sacrifices? When does your endless duty end?”
Tears pricked, making her eyes brighter, more beautiful. I wanted to reach across the table and pull her into my lap, cover her mouth with mine, invade her body, her mind. Her soul. The compulsion was a fierce, terrible thing, cutting my gut into little pieces as I remained still, refusing to do the beast’s will.
She gulped hard and licked her lips. “The redemption doesn’t come in the end, Dommiel. It comes in the laughter of a child I’ve saved from abusive hands. In the gratefulness of a mother I’ve saved from a horde. It comes from the small grace I feel inside when I’ve done what’s right and good.”
She clenched her fist to her heart. My own breathing was labored, my chest rising and falling more quickly. Defiance, denial lacerating my innards.
“And that’s enough for you? To remain a slave for the heavens for those small moments of grace?”
“Yes.” Her declaration was strong and clear and pierced straight to my nonexistent heart. “Is it enough for you to serve only yourself? Collecting coin and hoarding it like a cold-hearted dragon? To live alone? To be alone?”
I growled and leaned forward, flattening my palms to the table, my voice menacing and harsh.
“All of us are alone, Anya.”
“I’m not.” Her slender, pale hand slid across the table and wrapped around my flesh one. “Not when I’m with you.”
Shock didn’t describe what I felt in that single, goddamned moment. I froze, pulse firing through my blood with painful speed. She couldn’t do this. Tell me such insane, fucking things that made me wish for more. Wish for her.
The waitress sidled up. “Here we are.”
I jerked my hand away, still watching Anya as the girl set the bowls of soup and a basket of bread down. She cleared her throat, drawing my attention away from the temptress across the table.
“You might want to eat that bread while it’s hot.” She pushed the basket toward me with an arched brow, then walked away.
Flipping open the cloth that kept the bread warm, I saw a piece of paper folded at the bottom. Quickly, I opened it, scanning the brief note scrawled in a swift, pretty hand.
“Well,” Anya whispered, as if anyone here knew what we were about. “What does it say?”
I slid the note across the table.
“Looks like you get to meet your first demon witch.”
Chapter Sixteen
Anya
Dommiel and I waited on the outskirts of the village behind a small church with a sharp steeple pointing into the night. We faced the woods. I leaned against the wrought iron fence surrounding the churchyard, hands in my jacket pockets while Dommiel stood a few yards away, scanning the perimeter.
I scanned as well, sensing no otherworld being nearby. “She’s taking a long time. It’s been much longer than half an hour.”
The note had instructed us to meet her here in thirty minutes. It had been nearly an hour.
“She’s being cautious,” he said, keeping his distance from me.
As if keeping away from me could prevent what had changed between us. Yes, I’
d been a virgin until last night. But I’d also been alive for hundreds of years. I knew that people and otherworlders had sex all the time without forming any emotional attachment at all. But sex with Dommiel had done something to us. Solidified a connection that had been there from the start.
Perhaps it was the fact that we were both such solitary creatures, that we’d recognized the aching loneliness in one another. Perhaps it was his wounded past—which he’d yet to reveal to me fully—that called to my innate need to nurture and heal. It’s like we were two halves, broken apart, living contentedly in our solitary worlds. Until we’d met and saw what was missing all along.
He was right when he was inside me, demanding I admit that I had fallen into his possession. I had. Entirely. Willingly. Happily.
I didn’t care what Maximus or Xander or other angels thought of me for it. I was Dommiel’s. And he was mine.
He fought the connection we both felt. I imagine it would be terrifying to someone like him who’d trusted once and who’d been tossed aside by his own kind. And yet, there was more to his feelings of betrayal and loss than that of his demon prince carving out his eye and putting a price on his head. There was something else he kept close and guarded.
In a blink, Dommiel was in front of me, his back to me, protecting me. He sensed her before I did, a tingling along my sixth sense, magic in the air. She practically appeared right out of the gloom, moving silently, shrouded in a white mantle. Her piercing blue eyes sparked with otherworld power as she strode softly until she stood before us. She was stunningly beautiful, looking more like a seraph angel than a demon witch. Her white-blond hair blew out in wisps from under the hood of her cloak.
“You are Dommiel, are you not?”
He remained tense, unmoving in front of me. “How did you know?”
She smiled, and though it wasn’t meant to be seductive, her sensuality reeked from her like a scent in the air.
“Axel had but one friend who’d lost his eye to a demon prince. He told me of you.” Her ethereal gaze flicked to me. “I am Nadya.”
“My name is Anya.”
“You can release your cast of illusion, Anya. Follow me.”
She turned and walked back toward the shadows. Dommiel looked back.
“I sense no other demons. It’s safe.”
I followed close behind him as we wound our way into the snowy woods, the evergreens thick here. I stumbled on an unseen branch in the snow. Dommiel grabbed my hand and tugged me closer. It was the first time he’d touched me since we’d woken from our night of passion where he hadn’t kept his hands off me. I knew he was afraid, and I accepted that. But I wouldn’t accept him pulling away from what was happening between us. It was precious and rare. Especially in a world trying to tear itself apart.
Because I’d been alone for so achingly long, I knew this to the marrow of my bones. And so did he. I’d have to find a way to make him trust me. To trust us. It seemed an impossible task for a demon who had faith in nothing and trusted no one. Good thing I was an optimist. I never gave up. Never.
A tiny glow of yellow light appeared up ahead through the trees. The smell of wood smoke filled the crisp air. A white stone cottage blended in with the snowy surroundings, almost invisible if one wasn’t looking for it. The demon witch stopped at the threshold, opened the door, and turned.
“I don’t have the usual wards. Mine are made of…another kind of magic. Take my hands.”
She held out both of hers to us. Exchanging a quick glance with Dommiel, I put mine in her warm palm. He finally did the same.
She whispered in Russian. “Druz’ya.” An incantation that opened with that one word, “friends.”
A shiver of energy pulsed through my body, sucking the breath from my lungs. I gasped and gulped in air again, the fizzling of magic tingling on my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
She dropped our hands. “You may both enter my home now.”
Perplexed, but feeling safe, I entered before Dommiel. I felt nothing, no sting as we crossed the threshold. It was as if we were surrounded by her spell. Protected.
“I’ve never felt that sort of magic,” I said, taking in the cozy surroundings of her cottage.
She unclasped her cloak and set it on a hook by the door, dressed in brown boots, a flowy blue skirt, and a white loose-fitting peasant blouse. She could’ve stepped out of a time capsule from the middle ages, except her clothing had more color, the fabric more luxurious.
“Please.” She gestured toward the sofa by the burning fire. “Have a seat.”
Again, I sat first, then Dommiel followed, sitting directly beside me. I knew his protective demeanor by now. Though we’d sought out this witch, neither of us knew if she was good or bad or had set a trap for us. Dommiel could never relax with the enemies he had. Yet, I sensed she meant us no harm. That was something I possessed. I knew innately when someone meant me or another I cared for ill will. Perhaps it was a leftover from being a guardian. This witch was good. At least, now she was. The pain behind her crystal gaze told me she’d suffered much.
Dommiel leaned forward, pressing his leg against mine. “Where does your magic come from?”
“It is neither from heaven or hell,” she explained, folding her legs beneath her as she sat in an overstuffed chair perpendicular to the sofa.
He snorted. “All demon witches get their power from their master, a high demon. That most certainly comes from the dark.”
Her crystal eyes shifted to the floor a brief moment before lifting again. “Witches are born with innate magic. Human, yes. But also…more. Our gifts are amplified by our demon master, it is true.” Her stare chilled the room, her voice icing over. “But I have relinquished my master. I do not use the dark power he gave me.” She shifted her gaze to the fire. “Not anymore.”
I sat forward, my hands clasped as I proved gently. “Your master was Prince Vladek. Wasn’t he?”
A sad quirk of her full lips. “Yes. He was.” She studied me a moment, seeming to divine my own thoughts when she said, “You seek information about the archangel Uriel, don’t you? That’s why you’ve come to me.”
My pulse tripped. Simian’s bite throbbed under my skin as if reminding me I was close, but not close enough. Time was running out.
“Did Axel tell you before we came?” asked Dommiel.
She tilted her fey gaze to me again. “He didn’t need to. There’s a desperation vibrating off of you, Anya. You’re afraid for him. And for yourself.”
I gulped in air as Dommiel turned to me, examining closely. I stayed fixed on Nadya’s serene expression of understanding.
“Did you see him in captivity? With the witch, Lisabette?”
She winced, her brow wrinkling a moment before smoothing to fine porcelain again. “Yes. I saw your archangel.” A wave of pain swept her expression then was gone. “He was still there when I escaped.”
“I need to save him…” My voice trembled on a whisper.
I didn’t go on to confess that if I didn’t save Uriel and get him from that place that it wasn’t just his life that would be forfeit. He was my only hope. The archangel’s kiss could take away the poison creeping toward my heart. The only reason Simian’s essence seeped through me so slowly was because of my many immortal years of shrouding myself in the good and the light of this world. It acted like a shell, a shield, that was slowly cracking, allowing his veins of poisonous essence to weave through.
I didn’t need to tell her any of this, for it was as if she knew already. Dommiel’s scrutiny of this invisible exchange between myself and the witch pressed heavily. I was more than terrified to tell him the truth now, not when the infection inside of me could put him in danger, too. If Simian enslaved me, he could use me as a weapon against Dommiel. There was no telling when Simian’s essence would reach through and encapsulate my soul. For that reason, I owed it to Dommiel to tell him the truth. To warn him. He might abandon me right here, but if I waited too long, it could be too late.
I caught his wary gaze, knowing there was fear in my own.
“There are few ways to get inside Lisabette’s lair,” said Nadya, her voice cold and glacial. “And once inside, there’s no guarantee you’ll get out.”
“Then just take us to the perimeter of her wards.” Dommiel lay back against the sofa spreading his arms wide along the sofa back. “We’ll find a way in.”
Nadya scoffed, leveling him with a look of disdain. “I will never return within a hundred miles of her realm.” She gripped the arm of her chair. “Not for anyone.”
Something terrible happened to her there. The darkness of it was in the room, drifting in the air.
“Fine,” Dommiel conceded. “But you could show us on a map.”
She shook her head, her silvery hair sliding over her shoulder. “It wouldn’t matter. Vladek has cast illusion around her lair. His wards are ironclad. And she’s embedded his spell with her own blood incantations. The only thing you’ll do by getting close is trip the alarm for her men to capture you. They surround the entire perimeter of Vladek’s inner sanctum for a hundred miles.”
I stood suddenly and paced to the fire, arms crossed over my chest.
“But there has to be a way. We can’t just leave him there. If this witch is as horrible as you’re implying, then I’m in more earnest to get Uriel out of there as soon as possible.”
I gritted my teeth, chastising myself for only thinking of myself in this rescue. I always wanted to save Uriel from whatever hell he’d fallen into, but when Simian caught me in that battle in London alongside Xander, it became paramount and urgent. The fear this witch Lisabette instilled in Nadya told me that Uriel was certainly in grave danger.
“Will this witch kill him?” I asked softly.
Nadya blinked heavily with a slow shake of her head. “No. She adores her toys. And Uriel is her most prized ornament at the moment. Or at least he was when I left.”
“When did you leave?” asked Dommiel, his voice rough and dark.
She placed her doll-like hands in her lap. “I escaped three weeks ago.” She tucked her skirt under her folded knees tightly. “Axel helped me escape. Among others.” She fixed on Dommiel. “So if he sent you, then I’ll do all that I can to help.”
Darkest Heart Page 15