by Brandi Evans
Kaia—more likely her boss—wanted something only Seth could deliver and they’d used Lyndi to make sure he complied. More like bent him to their will. No fucking way it was coincidence that the day after he’d had his first and only intimate relationship with a human, the same human had appeared on his death list.
But why? And to what end? What did the demonic faction want that only Seth could provide?
With a poof of cool air, Kaia materialized in front of him. Behind her, the wings of a sculpted angel headstone stretched out as if they extended from Kaia herself—ironic considering Kaia was anything but angelic these days.
Seth tried to picture his former lover as the young angel he’d fallen in love with all those millennia ago. A sweet Virtue with the stars in her eyes.
But he couldn’t. He’d seen her as nothing more than an evil, callous bitch for far too long.
“I knew you’d call.” Kaia fisted her hands on her man-eater hips, acting like the innocent woman she wasn’t. “I keep hoping you’ll call for something that’s not work related, but no matter the reason for the visit, it is nice to see you again, lover.”
Seth’s jaw clenched. He took a deep breath. “Stop it, Kaia. We both know why I called you here.”
“Yes, yes. To save your human.”
His human?
Seth got right up in Kaia’s face. “Her name is Lyndi Garrison, and she’s a person. Not a damn possession.”
Kaia laughed. “Wow. You’re more gone than I thought. When did you start seeing these pathetic mortals as anything more than a means to an end?”
“A better question,” Seth countered, “when did you start seeing them as only a means to an end? You used to be a Virtue. You inspired people. Now you prey on them.”
She placed her hand on her heart. “Ouch. You wound me, Seth.”
Yeah, right. Besides “wound” was such a watered-down version of any of the multitude of things he wanted to do to her. “Come on, Kaia, let’s drop all the bullshit and get down to business. What does your boss want from me?”
“Get down to business?” She squeezed her breasts through her skintight corset. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He let her innuendo pass. The sooner he found out what Kaia wanted, the sooner he could do whatever dark deed that would save Lyndi’s life.
Kaia laughed, looking at him the same way a human might look at a piece of rotting meat.
“You’re thinking of her right now, aren’t you?” Kaia asked.
Of course, I am bitch. I love her.
“We both know your side somehow managed to get Lyndi’s name on my death list,” Seth said. “I’m not sure how you did it, but I will find out. And—”
“And by the time you figure everything out, our plan will be finished.” She sauntered closer. “Look, Seth, babe. The way I see it, you have one opportunity to save your human. Work with us.”
The idea of helping Kaia—for any reason—left a bad taste in his soul. But if Lyndi died for no other reason than she’d had the misfortune of getting too close to him? His soul would never recover.
“Or maybe,” he said, “I could get really industrious today and slaughter every demon on your side before—”
“My side?” She pointed a manicured finger in his direction. “It’s your side too, and you’d be better off if you remembered that every once in a while and start doing what you fucking fell to do. Live your life by your own rules.”
He spoke right over her. “I didn’t fall so I could live by my own rules. I fell because I was trying to protect—”
He cut his words off at the neck and changed the subject back to saving Lyndi.
“What do you want from me, Kaia? What is it you need done that your boss’s army of minions can’t do?”
“It’s simple. We need someone to stop breathing.”
“As in dead?”
“Very dead, yes.” She conjured a piece of paper then handed it to him. No, not paper. A photo of a man, mid-forties, glasses, balding, white lab coat.
“If you want someone dead,” Seth said, staring at the picture, “take it up with one of the Angels of Death. I only arrange deaths on their orders.”
“Even when that life is your human’s?”
Not a chance in hell. “Only if it’s required of me,” he lied, praying he’d managed to keep his voice steady and believable. As the situation stood, he feared he might wipe out the entire northeastern seaboard if the act would keep Lyndi alive and in his arms another day.
“And if I propose a plan that might spare her?” Kaia asked.
“Might?”
“Would,” she amended. “Would spare her.”
Hope pounded in his chest, but not hard enough to drive out all the apprehension and fear. Making a deal with the devil’s messenger was the same as making a deal with the devil himself. Seth had to play this carefully.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Well, as you know, we demons can’t kill, an unfortunate byproduct of our banishment. We are sowers of discord, strife, evil. You know the deal. We don’t possess the kind of power required to challenge The Divine outright, and trust me, He’d consider this a challenge worthy of retribution.”
The “little quid pro quo” she’d mentioned earlier sounded worse and worse with every word she spoke.
“Again I ask. Why me? Can’t you just, ya know, demonic-mind-game him to death?”
“Normally, yes. Our standard approach. But in this case…” She pointed at the photo. “We’re running out of time. Not to mention, his damned Guardians have thwarted all our attempts.”
Guardians. Plural.
A red flag went up in the back of his mind. Only the most valuable individuals received even one personal Guardian. He’d know, he used to be a Guardian.
To have more than one, he must be very special indeed. Only something on the scale of a major revelation for all mankind would constitute that kind of protection.
How was Seth supposed to kill someone who might usher in the next phase of mankind’s existence?
Was his happiness—Lyndi’s life—worth that kind of sacrifice?
Shit.
Shit!
“You,” Kaia continued, “since you work for the Angels of Death, have the blessed ability to actually take lives, and—wait for it—your boss’s visions trump a Guardian’s ability to protect. You know that. The little do-gooders won’t even see you coming.”
This deal wasn’t looking good in the keep-Lyndi-alive arena. “Who exactly is this guy? And why is he on your boss’s hit list?”
“His name is John Campbell. And why? Because we want him dead. Simple as that.”
Simple? There was that fucking word again!
Seth swallowed the bile building in the back of his throat. “I’m going to need to know more if I’m going to—”
“What you need to know,” Kaia interrupted, “is that your worthless human trash will die by midnight if you refuse to accept our offer. But if you accept, we will help right the accidental inclusion of her name to your list.”
“And why should I trust you’ll follow through with your side of the bargain? You are, after all, a demon.”
Her smile was pure evil—just like her. “Because it’s me, baby.”
Not very reassuring. “And what happens to me?”
She shrugged.
Yep. Figured. Once he did this, his chances of ever returning home were nil—if that good. If he didn’t, Lyndi died. And what was infinity in paradise if he couldn’t spend every moment with the woman he loved?
“I’ll have to think about it,” he said.
Kaia shook her head. “The clock is already ticking, Seth.”
“I know. I know.” He thrust his fingers through his hair. “I have until midnight to—”
“Oh, no. Midnight is cutting it way to close for us. You have until Lyndi gives in to all the glorious anguish she’s feeling. Tick-tock…”
If possible, her smiled dropped a hundred
feet below the “simply evil” threshold. Oh, no…
In an instant, fear took over.
Gives in to all the glorious anguish.
What had Kaia done to Lyndi—was doing to her? Demons might not be able to kill outright, but they could convince a petty thug to ransack Lyn’s studio because she “had a stash of speed” somewhere. They could incite a lust so great in a man he’d rape Lyndi without a second thought. Put ideas in her head or disguise themselves as people she knew in order to prey on her vulnerabilities, push her until she took her own life.
One of their previous conversations came rushing back. She’d been suicidal after she’d lost her baby. She hadn’t told him that in so many words, but he’d read between the lines.
I didn’t think I was strong enough to make it through the turmoil. For a while, I didn’t even want to…
A demon could grab onto any lingering traces of the hopelessness, magnify them until the pain was even more raw and devastating than it had been before.
Seth rushed Kaia and clamped his hands around her throat. “What did you do to Lyndi?”
“I haven’t laid a finger on her,” she assured, “but I can’t speak for any of my coworkers. Demons will be demons.”
“You bitch!” He shook her, his rage spiking. “You black-hearted, soulless bitch! I swear to The Divine if you hurt her I’ll—”
“Shit, I really like it when you’re angry.” She flashed him that wicked, flirtatious smile he hated. “Your anger makes you powerful. Strong. Mmm, fuck, it’s such a turn-on.” She grabbed his cock through his pants. “Forget about your human whore and let me remind you what true pleasure feels like. Together, we could be an unstoppable force for our people.”
He ignored her words and her unwanted touch. “I should kill you now.”
“I’d prefer you fuck me instead. Just like old times. In these bodies. Feel the lure of human flesh.”
“Not a chance in Hell.”
102 Tempted
Her appearance shimmered and shifted and Seth found himself looking into a face almost identical to Lyndi’s. Almost. Except for Kaia’s evil eyes.
“Is this better?” she asked. Even her voice sounded like Lyndi’s. “Is this what a demon has to do to get a little fuck time with you?”
Chapter Eight
Lyndi stumbled into her studio, Daryl’s words echoing in her mind.
What did you do, Lynds? Will the child to death with your anger for me?
She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. While she had thought those terrible things while lost in the black void of Eva’s death, Eva’s death wasn’t her fault. The defect had been a fluke, and nothing she did or didn’t do had caused it. She understood that now, no matter what Daryl implied. She’d loved her daughter and she’d almost died inside when she’d lost her.
How many days and nights had she spent lost in her black misery? So lost, she’d feared she only had one way out.
“No,” she whispered, refusing to think about what she’d almost done to escape her grief.
You should have killed yourself for what you did to Eva. It’s your fault she’s dead.
The voice sounded in her head, loud and solid, her thoughts but…somehow not.
Eva’s death is your fault. Haven’t you figured that out yet?
Lyndi shook her head. She needed to paint. Now. To bleed these emotions onto canvas before—
You’re a virus to everyone you love. Why do you think they leave you? Daryl. Eva. And now Seth.
She put her hands over her ears. But how did she stop the taunting when the voice she wanted to silence was her own?
Shit. Shit. Shit! She was losing her mind.
The main space of her studio had already been set up for her art show, so she headed straight to her “storage room”. In the corner of the dimly lit room, an always-ready-and-waiting canvas called to her —set up in case of emergency inspiration or, in this case, emergency emotion sloughing.
She grabbed her palette, several jars of dark paint—dark fit her mood at the moment—and started painting. No object in mind.
Only release.
Creation consumed her mind, her body and everything disappeared. She imagined her paintbrush was a conduit for her emotions. Her world became a bubble—nothing could touch her in the bubble’s protection. Not her pain over Eva’s death. Not her uncertainty over Seth. Not even the taunting voices.
As long as she stayed here, she was safe.
Lyndi didn’t know how long she’d been working when the incessant ringing of a phone in the distance threatened her sanctuary. She tried to ignore the interruption—the studio was closed until Monday. Whoever was calling could phone back then.
The ringing continued and continued and continued…
Lyndi slammed her brush and palette on the squat paint table. Why the fuck wasn’t the voicemail taking the call?
Fuck!
She’d go unplug the phone and come back to her bubble.
What if it’s Seth calling? The soft voice compelled her to answer.
Yes, what if Seth was calling to tell her where he was, that he loved her? Yes, she had to answer.
She plucked the cordless receiver from its base. “Garrison Art Studio.”
“Lyn, babe, I’m glad I caught you,” the high-pitched male voice said as an introduction.
Garrett Wilson? Weren’t he and his partner supposed to be in Miami until tomorrow night? Why would her publicist be calling her on his vacation?
“I’ve got some upsetting news about your show next week, hon. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…”
Oh, no. Please don’t say it.
“I just talked to Mr. McMillan. And he’s pulling his funding.”
“What!”
Lance McMillan was the owner of McMillan Fine Arts and Imports. More importantly, he was providing the funding for her show. At least he had been.
Lyndi had met his wife late last year and they’d struck up an immediate friendship. One thing had led to another, and voila! Lance McMillan was offering to back her first art show.
The protective shield around her failed, and with the rushing current of a devastating vortex, pulling everything toward it, the voices were back.
McMillan finally realized you’re lame…just like your so-called art. You call yourself an artist. Ha! Your work is feeble, at best.
No, she was a good artist. Her artistry had provided her with a good living. Not grandiose, but good. She lived doing what she loved. She had a good life.
“He can’t back out now, Garrett. I’ve already booked the caterers, ordered the food and drinks, hired the event staff—”
“I know, Lyn, and I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound fucking sorry. “You’ll have to bring that up with McMillan.”
With that, he was gone. And so were her dreams of ever making it big in the art world.
Like this is the reason you won’t make it big. Are you forgetting the tiny detail that you have no talent?
“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!” Lyndi flung the cordless phone across the room, setting it on a collision course with the leg of the tripod nearest her. The one that held her favorite painting.
The Angels of Death.
The work portrayed a gray, circular room where beings of light and dark came together in a neutral arena. The “light” creatures stood on the right side, with their “dark” counterparts on the opposite, and three beings stood in the center—the morally neutral Angels of Death.
The image had come to her in a dream after Eva’s death, when Lyndi had been thinking about joining her daughter in death.
You should have killed yourself then and saved those you loved from having to be disappointed by just how pitiful you are.
“No!” she screamed, moving toward the painting, but it was too late.
As if the scene were unfolding in slow motion, Lyndi watched helplessly as the frame struck the painted concrete floor with a deafening snap. And cracked.
The destruction didn’t stop there. Like one domino tile knocking into a line of other waiting pieces, the falling tripod stand knocked into the stand next to it, which knocked into the next stand.
Within a span of ten seconds, four pieces were ruined.
Ruined.
The voices laughed at her. You killed them. Just like you killed Eva.
“No.”
Yes…
Lyndi dropped to her knees, tears scalding her cheeks. Four precious pieces of art demolished. Because of her. In a moment of sheer anger, she’d killed them. Oh, God. She was a destructive force. She didn’t deserve to draw breath—
She shook her head. She wouldn’t go down that path again. She wouldn’t.
Damn the voices!
Damn everything!
She screamed into the empty room.
She plucked the wounded phone from the floor where it had come to rest, praying it still worked. The back was gone, the battery hung free, but—thank you, thank you, Jesus!—it still had a dial tone.
With shaking fingers, she punched in seven familiar numbers and her big sis answered after the second ring.
“Mari. Oh, Mari! Thank God.”
“Lynds? What’s wrong? Did something happen with Seth? I know how upset you were last night.”
The voices cut in and Lyndi couldn’t hear the rest of Mari’s words. She only pretends to care because she’s jealous and she wants to sabotage your chance at happiness. That way, you’ll stay miserable like her.
“You’re wrong,” Lyndi countered. “She wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Lynds.” Concern drenched Mari’s voice. “What are you talking about? Is there someone else there with you? Seth?”
“No, I’m alone,” Lyndi said, cutting off the voices in her head.
God, what was happening to her?
“Mari, could you come over for a little bit? I…” How did she phrase this question without sounding like a lunatic? “I’m not feeling well. I’m afraid—fuck, Mari, I think I’m losing my goddamned mind! Daryl just showed up and started asking to see Eva because, fuck…he didn’t even know, Mari! Then Garrett called to tell me McMillan pulled his funding. I’ve destroyed half my gallery and I can’t stop thinking about Eva. I’m afraid I might try something again—”