by Vivian Wood
Then, his very presence commanded attention and fear. Now, he needed the very opposite. He could fight nearly any demon and most of the Fallen one-on-one or in small groups, but if one of them sounded the alarm…
Kirael didn’t want to die under a swarm of Hell’s most vicious demons and vindictive Fallen angels. Not today, anyway, when the word forgiveness was still ringing in his ears.
He threw a low-level shield up, not enough to put off a strong energy signature, and held his breath. Two low-level Karast demons trundled past, arguing in low, creaky voices as they went past. Their lumpy gray bodies didn’t slow, didn’t notice him at all.
As soon as they were past him, he slipped out and went on his way. A few long strides down the tunnel though, he heard one of the Karast demons give a loud shriek. He whirled, expecting to see one of them coming at him, though he was still throwing a shield.
But no. Down the tunnel, he saw one of the Karast come barreling toward him, making an alarming sound. Kirael spotted a golden blade jutting from the side of its neck, and blue-black blood gushing from the wound.
Muttering a curse, Kirael held out his right hand and summoned his own sword into existence. The cool, heavy steel was a comforting weight in his hand as he raised it and lunged forward, thrusting the blade into the Karast’s belly.
The demon crashed to a gurgling halt, then gave a final shriek as it went up in a puff of brimstone and dust. He didn’t speak the demon’s language, but he was fairly certain that its last words had been a warning. Which meant that he couldn’t leave the other one alive, lest it run off and start talking.
Snatching up the blade when it clattered to the floor, he vanished it to his storage bolt-hole as he focused on the second demon. One small part of his brain was still working through the concept of where the golden blade might have come from. Unfortunately, the realization that there was likely a third party came a little late.
He found the other Karast grappling with, of all things, a human woman. Not one from The Dunes, either. Kirael could recognize a hellbound soul from a mile away, they got this look about them when soul was starting to part from body.
This woman… well, her soul was firmly attached to her body. Physically, all Kirael could take in was that she had a long, dark rope braid, pale skin, and leather head to foot. She held a second blade, something between a knife and a short sword. Seconds after he spotted her, she dispatched the second Karast, severing its head.
It the dusty puff of smoke it left behind, Kirael and the woman stared at each other.
Damn, he did not need this right now, whatever this was. She started toward him, determination stamped on her face.
“Stop!” he called, lowering his sword.
She didn’t.
“You’ll raise the alarms,” he warned, but she didn’t slow. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m sure you’re not supposed to be here.”
Then she raised her hand, holding a glass orb filled with yellow mist.
“Shit,” he muttered. She was going to try to orb him, trap him and transport him… well, undoubtedly somewhere he didn’t want to go.
Vanishing his sword, he moved his left foot up and leaned slightly forward, ready to take whatever she was going to dish out. As soon as she was close enough, he threw out a warning: “Do not throw that orb. You’ll die where you stand, and I won’t be able to help.”
He saw half a moment’s hesitation on her face, then she shook her head. She rushed at him, and he realized that she planned to smash the orb into his flesh. She must only have one shot if she was so unwilling to chance missing him with a bad throw.
“Fuck,” he whispered, both his hands snapping out to block the downward arcs of the orb and the dagger, respectively.
He caught her wrist, preventing her from crashing the orb into his shoulder, but fumbled the other hand. She plunged her dagger directly into the back of his shoulder. He managed to twist away from her at the last moment, but she still landed it all too close to his heart. It slid straight through him, back to front, an inch from snagging his collarbone.
“Fuck!” he said, releasing her wrist and jerking away from her so that she couldn’t yank the blade free. “Are you fucking crazy?”
She snarled, and he sensed her frenzy; she truly wanted or needed to capture him, that much was certain. He heard a distant sound; no doubt someone coming to investigate the noise and the twin surges of power from Kirael and the woman dispatching the Karast demons.
“For fuck’s sake,” he said. “They’re coming now, are you happy?”
She glanced back, then refocused on Kirael, raising her arm to hurl the orb. Kirael waited until it was out of her hand, then threw up a shield at the last second. The orb bounced off and hit the jagged stone wall, shattering and releasing its mist harmlessly.
The woman surprised him by jumping right through his shield the second he dropped it, trying to get her hands around his neck. He was at least six inches and a hundred pounds heavier than her, which meant her move was sheer, desperate insanity. Even with the dagger through his chest, even though he couldn’t move his left arm well, there was no way she could take him.
Kirael released a low growl, grabbing her arm and whirling her around. Careful not to cut her with the very blade she’d thrust into his chest. He pulled her close and got the crook of his arm around her neck. She struggled, scratching and sputtering like a cat dipped in water, but ultimately Kirael was too strong.
He pressed and held her carotid, waiting until she sagged against him and then a few seconds more. She slumped forward, and he was forced to let her fall to the floor with a dull thud.
Blowing out a breath, he reached back and pulled the dagger from his shoulder, hissing between clenched teeth.
“You are going to regret that,” he said to the unconscious woman. “Don’t know why you’d want to do that, but…”
Before he could even finish his thought, he heard the stamp of heavy boots. Meaning that there were probably some big bad demons coming his way, possibly even a few Fallen.
In less than a minute, they were going converge on his location.
Kirael had a split second to decide what to do with the woman. He got the toe of his boot under her body and rolled her over.
He stilled; now that she was motionless, her beauty was a punch straight to the gut. Long dark hair, ivory skin, high cheekbones and pouty pink lips. She was tall and lean, but with curves enough in the right places. A few moments ago, she’d showcased a stunning emerald gaze, too.
Something about her pulled at him, whether it was her physical beauty, the desperation of her actions, or simply the fact that no human deserved to be stranded here in Hell.
He looked down at her, already knowing that he couldn’t leave her here. A human sneaking into Hell would meet a truly grisly end, after a great deal of torture.
He wasn’t a good man, that was lost long ago. But he would never, ever leave an unconscious woman alone in Hell, no matter her agenda.
He vanished her second knife, then leaned down and scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder. Closing his eyes for the briefest moment, he re-oriented himself and then headed for the closest side tunnel, taking right turns where he could find them. Slowly but surely, he emerged into The Dunes once more, on the far side of the tunnel that brought him from the New Orleans hellmouth.
The sky far above him began to darken, the stars winking out one after another. The Fallen were descending now, their black wings blocking out the night sky. Kirael gave up all attempts at secrecy, clamping his arm around the woman’s waist as he ran flat-out for the correct tunnel.
He made it in just as Fallen were landing behind him, vanishing their wings and calling forth flaming swords as they rushed after him. Kirael raced for the exit, going up and up, growing shaky with the shock from his wound, with the effort of carrying his burden.
“KIRAEL!!” came from behind him. The voice unmistakably belonged to Belial, Kirael’s longtime arch-enemy.
If he had to face off against Belial, wounded as he was, Kiral and the woman would both die horribly. The portal was so close, he was only a few strides away, but Belial was far too close…
Kirael dug deep, found a desperate burst of energy, and surged ahead. As he passed the portal, it seemed to cling to him for a moment, as if the membrane itself was trying to keep him in Hell. Kirael burst through with a scream, avoiding by mere inches a flaming sword whose heat he could feel sweeping up his back.
Before him, the air in the room where the portal lay was thick with acrid smoke, leftover from the spell he’d enacted. He coughed, but refused to let it slow him down.
He didn’t stop moving, though he knew none would follow; no one entered or left Lucifer’s kingdom without his express permission, and Kirael’s pursuers couldn’t receive it in time.
Still, better safe than sorry… or dead, in this case.
Kirael ran straight out the back door and around the corner. When he finally stopped, he dissipated himself and the woman, managing to get them both safely to his house before he started to feel truly faint. Dumping her on his living room couch, he dropped into an armchair with a groan.
His shoulder itched as it began to knit and heal. In a moment, he’d get up and put some salve on it to move things along.
For the moment, though, he just needed to lean back and rest his eyes…
6
Vesper
When Vesper first opened her eyes, her vision swam for a couple of minutes and her arms felt strangely weak. Slowly she came around, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple with a groan.
She sat up, finding herself in a strange living room. She was on a silver satin couch, clearly a well-preserved antique. In fact, the whole room was full of antique furniture, dramatic plush chairs and end tables done in dark wood and velvet.
She stood and looked around, patting herself down. She was uninjured, but also unarmed.
Walking over to the window, she peeked out and found herself looking straight down into Jackson Square. She calculated that she must be in a condo above one of the art galleries.
Not exactly where she’d expected to wake up. Well, after she attacked Kirael Lesange on his home turf, knowing that Hell’s army would descend at any moment… she hadn’t really expected to wake up, per se.
Her mind jumped back to the contract she’d signed, agreeing that she would try to trap or eliminate Kirael Lesange. She’d scoffed when Jacinth insisted on putting in a clause that said if she killed or trapped Kirael and died during the act, Mercy would still go free.
I’m not desperate enough to give up my life for this, was her first thought, but… maybe the Vampyre had sensed something in her.
In the heat of the moment, in hand-to-hand combat with the Fallen angel, she’d been willing to lay down her life to complete her mission… to save Mercy.
Turning from the window, she wondered how she’d ended up back in New Orleans instead of enslaved in the deepest bowels of Hell.
More importantly, she wondered where her two golden Tanto swords were. Made by a true master craftsman and imbued with Fae magic, not to mention kissed by dragon’s fire… They weren’t replaceable.
The swords had crossed the world with her several times over as she’d pursued some wilder, richer bounties on particularly wily demons.
Vesper heard the heavy thump of boots coming down the hall. She tensed, waiting…
And then blinked in surprise when Kirael Lesange himself walked into the room. His muscular torso and chest were bare, his shoulder wrapped in white gauze. Low-riding dark jeans clung to his hips; his dark hair was damp from a recent shower, just long enough to cling to his jaw and the nape of his neck.
Vesper shivered as she looked him up and down. He was… incredible.
With his heavy black motorcycle boots and the shining indigo tattoos covering most of his upper body, he was decidedly sexy as Hell… and undoubtedly dangerous. Just sizing him up made her shiver.
Though Vesper was pretty sure that Fallen could recover from nearly any wound, Lesange seemed to be moving slowly, like he was in pain.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice a throaty rumble. His ocean-blue gaze pinned her, his lips thinning a little as he looked her up and down.
“Where are we?” she asked, crossing her arms. “And where are my swords?”
“Your swords are locked up somewhere safe,” he said slowly. His accent was strange, carrying the distant echo of London, perhaps. “And we’re standing in my parlor.”
“But why?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“Why?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his expression. “I don’t know, Vesper, why did you attack me? Why were you in Hell in the first place?”
Vesper blew out a breath. “You know who I am, then.”
“Mercenary bounty hunter, sword collector. Rap sheet as long as your arm, all earned in the last five years, mostly for aggravated assault and property damage done while you ran down a bounty.” He looked her up and down once more, then shrugged. “I got the gist of it, I think. What I don’t know is why you came after me. I got the impression that you pursue demons.”
“I accept targets from all walks of life, as long as they deserve it,” she said, giving her head a little shake.
“And I deserve it, do I?”
“You’re a Fallen, actively helping Lucifer run Hell. What do you think?”
Surprise flared on his face for a moment. “Your information is inaccurate.”
“Look, Lesange, I don’t really care. I just take the assignments, I don’t really worry about the context too much.”
“It’s Kirael,” he corrected her.
She fidgeted and looked away, having no answer for that.
“I don’t work for Lucifer anymore,” he said.
Vesper looked back at Kirael, startled. “Sorry?”
“I defected from Hell three months ago.”
He reached up to brush back a lock of hair that fell into his eyes, his muscles rippling with the movement. For a fleeting second, Vesper lost her train of thought.
Focus! she scolded herself. What is wrong with you? Since when have you ever looked a guy up and down like that?
“I don’t really know anything about it,” she said after a moment. “Like I said, I just take the cases as they come, anyone who seems like they deserve getting orbed.”
Kirael’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t take the bait.
“Who hired you?” he asked.
“What does it matter?”
“I saved your fucking life. I could have left you there, let the Fallen swarm on you and torment you in ways you can’t even imagine,” he said, agitated. “But here you are, safe and sound. I carried you here, all dead weight. And that was after you stabbed me, if you’ll remember.”
“Jesus,” she sighed. “Fine. It was a Vampyre named Jacinth.”
Kirael didn’t reply directly, looking thoughtful. “Just out of curiosity, how much did he pay you?”
“I don’t see what that matters.”
It’s interesting to hear what one’s worth is in cold, hard cash. Plus, it must have been significant. A human bounty hunter taking on a Fallen angel? It’s madness.”
“He didn’t offer me money.”
“What, then?”
Vesper shot him a glare. “Can I leave now?”
“I’d like an answer.” He leaned in the doorway, not exactly blocking her exit, but making his intimidating size more apparent.
“I’d like a lot of things,” Vesper said. When he didn’t reply, just stared her down, she rolled her eyes. “It’s personal. He was going to help me get my sister out of a bad situation.”
“Ah,” Kirael said.
Vesper stalked up to him, getting closer than she should. He could have easily reached out and grabbed her, hurt her, but he didn’t so much as move a muscle.
“I need my swords,” she said.
Kirael cocked his head and stepped forwa
rd, closing the gap between them. This close, her chest an inch from his, she could actually feel the heat radiating off his big body. It made her shiver.
“Think I’m going to hold onto them for a bit,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in an amused smile. “Don’t want you killing me in my own house, little bounty hunter.”
The growl that came out of Vesper’s throat surprised her more than Kirael. She deliberately bumped him with her shoulder as she made for the doorway, then let out a gasp when she felt him reach out to stop her.
Kirael slid an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his bare, muscular chest. She immediately began to writhe, pushing at his arm. She felt his warm breath at her ear as he bent to whisper to her.
“Don’t make the same mistake twice,” he whispered. “I won’t be so nice next time.”
With that, he released her. She didn’t glance back, just hurtled from the room, half-stumbling down the hallway until she found stairs that led down to a back hallway on the first floor, presumably behind the art gallery.
The second she made it outside, the too-warm New Orleans afternoon already stifling, Vesper had to stop to catch a breath. Leaning against the building’s brick exterior for a second, she closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten.
Something about Kirael… maybe the constant, quiet power that rolled off him. Maybe it was his assertion that he wasn’t what she thought him to be.
Hell, maybe it was just how damned good looking he was… she’d never encountered another Fallen before, but she’d heard stories of their near-divine beauty.
Whatever it was about Kirael that unnerved her, he’d really managed to throw her off her game. Hard. She should have gone after him again the second she saw him.
He was wounded, barefoot, and unprepared for a serious fight.
And yeah, he probably still would have trounced her, but it would have been her best shot by far.
So why hadn’t she done it? Why was she standing outside, hands shaking?