Fate's Kiss

by Elysabeth Grace

  26

  Gabriel pounded his fist on the thick wood door of Holland’s League. Silence greeted his knock. He waited a few seconds before he twisted the handle and pushed. Something was definitely wrong. The brothel had never been this quiet and the feeling of dread that dogged him since he left Alenesby Manor doubled. Maybe he should have come to London instead of traveling to the manor to ask Jonas’s pardon. The man hadn’t deserved to bear the brunt of his wrath. As they talked, Gabriel had felt it — the sensation of a knife piercing his heart. Instantly, he knew it was Anne and she was in trouble.

  He ordered a protesting Jonas to remain at the manor and translocated to Holland’s League. The unearthly quiet that followed his entry only added to his growing alarm. It was late afternoon. The house should have been lively with visitors. It was rare to find the brothel so silent. He mentally searched the house for any signs of Anne’s awareness before, shaken by her absence, he hurried down the dimly lit hallway, flinging open doors. Every room was empty. Where were the courtesans? Where were Ishmael, O’Brien, and Malcolm?

  Gabriel turned a corner. His body stiffened and his canines descended. He sniffed the air around him and slowly inhaled. The taste on his tongue was unmistakable. Demons had been in the brothel. He stalked the odor until he reached a wall. He sniffed again. The demons’ frustration was apparent. Whatever they searched for, they hadn’t found.

  The faint sound of a soft cry had him abruptly seeking its source. There. He quickly translocated into Anne’s private salon. His senses told him the safeguards woven to protect the space remained intact and he would be able to enter. As his body became solid inside the room, he spied three of the courtesans, Malcolm and Ishmael huddled together in a corner farthest from the door. Malcolm and Ishmael were armed with knives and pistols and had positioned themselves so anyone entering the room saw them first before seeing the women.

  Bella leaned against Anne’s desk, a short sword in her hand. She looked at him, seemingly unsurprised by his sudden appearance.

  “Where is she?”

  Several of the witches shrank against the wall, their shrieks a single cry of terror. Bella pushed away from the desk and approached him. “Your fangs are showing, my lord.”

  His gaze swept her. “Then answer my question. Where is Anne?”

  “I don’t know, Demon, and I’m very worried,” Bella answered. “The Tamahaq left yesterday evening to search for Maggie, who disappeared without warning. When neither one returned, O’Brien went in search of them. This morning, two more witches disappeared. We’re all that remain.”

  Gabriel eyed the two men as if he judged them responsible. “Protect these women if you can. I will go after Anne.”

  Once outside Holland’s League, he started walking, not caring where his path led or ended. If he hadn’t fled to Ashborne, Anne would be safe. He berated himself for blocking her from his mind while in Cornwall. Fear and anger had led him to do so, especially fear of what she had come to mean to him. He was the one to blame for her disappearance. He would find her and whoever took her would have hell to pay.

  He would not lose her.

  Gabriel drew his hand down his mouth and chin. The truth was a difficult medicine to swallow, as Cadan and Asiya had reminded him. His vitriol against his life mate was a mask for how quickly he had come to love Anne. At first her body, and then the woman and warrior he discovered hiding behind the white-faced bawd. She’d seen through his armor and straight to the man who believed himself flawed, unworthy and undeserving of any woman’s love, especially hers. She had fought him at every turn, refused to bow to his threats, and embraced him for who he was, the undead who was her life mate.

  He inhaled, struggling to combat the helplessness that threatened to cloud his reason. Her scent snuck up on him, filling his nostrils. His head jerked up, his predatory senses flaring. A cold smile formed on his lips. There were times when being undead had its advantages. He sniffed the air and turned in the direction where the smell of her seemed strongest. It led toward Christ Church. Long strides guided his feet, while he set free the predatory instinct that made him an extremely successful hunter. Faint traces of an unknown supernatural briefly touched his senses before fading. By the time he reached the churchyard, excitement built inside him. Anne had passed through the courtyard. Her trail led him behind the church.

  As he turned a corner and headed down the paved walkway, Gabriel’s senses suddenly failed. Nothing of his life mate touched the gray stones or the musty air. It was as if she had never set foot near the church. His curses echoed off the stone walls as the weight of absolute helplessness dropped on him once more. Was it an illusion? Had his mind played tricks on him?

  He circled the outside of the church before he entered. When he finally strode out of the building he slammed the door so hard a thin crack appeared in the stained glass window above it. The only one who could have taken her was Mephistopheles. What Gabriel couldn’t fathom was how. Anne was unlike any supernatural he had encountered. Her ability to change her shape, to create powerful safeguards that even he struggled to penetrate, and her gift of healing should have protected her from demons. So what changed? How did the demon king capture her?

  Gabriel knew what drove his questions was a sense of failure. Why hadn’t he been aware she was in danger? What good was their union if he had no clue when she was in trouble? What the hell was Fate thinking when she created the bond? If he couldn’t protect his mate, then he shouldn’t be tied to her.

  Are you quite finished with the self-flagellation?

  Gabriel halted mid-pace, his fists clenched at his sides. “What do you want, archangel? Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

  Besides finding humor in your self-pity, I’m here to answer most of your questions. As to causing you trouble . . . you have no idea the trouble I could bring to your life if I so choose, namesake.

  Before Gabriel could speak he heard Raphael’s irritated voice. Tell him what he needs to know, Gabriel.

  A snort rolled across his awareness before he heard, “The reason you aren’t able to touch Anne’s mind is she was taken by Uriel, not Mephistopheles.”

  “Where did he take her?”

  Regret pushed into his thoughts followed by a deep sigh. The latter caught Gabriel off guard. He hadn’t expected such an emotion from the archangel. “Why haven’t you answered my question, archangel?”

  “Raphael and I cannot interfere,” the archangel said. “The bond between you and Anne must become stronger, and this trial will either achieve that or one of you will die. When the time comes you will have a choice to make, namesake. Choose wisely.”

  Gabriel whipped around as malicious laughter filled the knave of the church. The presence of his guardian was gone. His body stiffened and he closed his eyes as a violent jerking seized him. An explosive crack roared in his ears and the sound of thunder roiled across the darkened church. Tightness coiled around his ankles and slithered its way into his muscles, gripping his body the way a snake clinched a mouse. His struggles served only to increase the numbness taking hold.

  “If you continue, you will eventually lose consciousness,” a voice said.

  “Was this exercise of power necessary? A cursory hello and may we talk would suffice,” Gabriel said smugly despite his pain. “Which Fallen are you?”

  His binds loosened as laughter scraped against his ears. “Uriel.”

  “I suppose you’re not going to tell me where my life mate is being held.”

  “Of course not,” Uriel said with a deep chuckle. “That would spoil the game.”

  “If it’s a mere game, then what is your purpose in coming to me? Why not let the game unfold as it is destined?”

  Gabriel sucked in air as his bindings constricted then relaxed. He let out a hurried breath. He realized he and his life mate had one thing in common, a willingness to challenge archangels with impudence.

  “Because it amuses me,” Uriel offered. “I came bearing advice, Demon Gabriel
.”

  “And that is?”

  “Accept your destiny, which lies with your sire. Any other path will not end well for you or your life mate.”

  The tightness that held Gabriel in its grip disappeared. He swayed and gripped the back of a bench to steady himself, surprised by the incredible weakness that held him. The sensation was not unlike the days as a child when he refused to heed his bloodlust. The painful gnawing in his belly, the lightheadedness, and the tremors that wouldn’t cease. He dropped to his knees, his stomach twisting in vicious knots. He ignored the taunting voice in his mind, urging him to leave the church and find a victim.

  As his blood hunger sharpened, Gabriel closed his eyes and transported himself to Alenesby House. Lifting his eyelids, he shakily grabbed the thick wood post of his bed. His belly cramped a little less and the dizzy spell began to ease. His eyes took comfort in the familiar. The colors of his drapery, the dark wood of his wardrobe, and the scent of Anne that never left his bedchamber. He breathed in with his entire body, his pores absorbing the smell into every cell until he found relief.

  His hand glided across the silk cover. He could almost feel the warmth of her body beneath his palm. “Where are you, life mate?”

  He cleared his thoughts of all emotions except for love. Her face surfaced in his mind. He saw her as she’d been the last time they shared his bed. Her bright hazel eyes filled with laughter at his expense, although her mouth had pursed with annoyance whenever he baited her. He could see her brown skin glistening with the sweat of their lovemaking, her pupils dark in passion amid her eagerness to master all that he could teach her. As the memories folded in on each other, he struggled to halt the cascade of pain that came with them and the gnawing realization his soul suffered more than his heart. Anne was his life mate, their threads forever intertwined. Without her he would not live.

  Gabriel.

  The word floated into his awareness like a flickering will-o’-the-wisp. It was faint, nearly lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, but he heard it. Anne?

  Find me, life mate.

  Gabriel’s eyelids flew up and his gaze quickly scanned the room. Where are you?

  His life threads vibrated wildly as sensations pricked his nerve endings. He cursed when they suddenly stopped. “Where are you, Anne? Help me find you, tell me where you are.”

  A damp chill filled the air around him and Gabriel raised his head. He shivered as an unnatural cold seeped into his bones. The odor of unwashed bodies huddled together in a cramped space mingled with salty sea air filled his nostrils. He knew the scent. It was the stench of an enslaver’s holding cell.

  Anne.

  He pushed her name outward into the ether as hard as he could, hoping against hope. Despair slowly crept in as silence reverberated in his awareness. His forehead dropped to the palms of his hands and fear twisted inside him. A faint rustling sound brought his head upright and he leaned in its direction. Then he felt it. The slight mental vibration that traveled with sound. His shoulders clenched when a whisper of pain shoved a single word into his mind.

  Plymouth.

  27

  “I’m scared,” Maggie whispered. “I’d never seen a demon before. I always thought they looked like the ones in the old books, with horns and cloven feet, and long tails. But the books told a lie. Demons aren’t like that.”

  She lifted terrified eyes to Anne’s face and her voice wavered as she said, “They’re just like us. In looks and everything … they’re just like us.”

  Anne pulled the young woman into her arms and gently stroked her back. “Which is why they can live among humans but they aren’t like us, they aren’t human. Why did you leave Holland’s League, Maggie?”

  A stuttered sob escaped Maggie’s throat. “I believed a lie, Mistress Holland. A boy brought a message that my sister had been taken and was being sold into slavery.”

  “Your sister? Is she a witch?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t discover my magic until my twelfth birthday,” Maggie replied. “Celia is only ten years old. No one would guess we were sisters unless they were from our village. My father died and left me and my mother with nothing except enough land for a garden and the cottage where I was born. We didn’t even have a cow. I was too young to earn any coins and mama did tatting and mending to pay for seed and bread.”

  She closed her eyes, her face pinched with pain. When she lifted her eyelashes Anne saw the determination and strength in the eighteen year old. “We were nearly starving when Henry came. He’d fled enslavement and settled in our village. He was a joiner and a blacksmith so it was easy for him to get work in the village and the local manor despite his black skin. He courted my mother and eventually they married. I have two brothers and Celia. They look more like Bella or you than me. I didn’t know you were black? Is this your magic? You can change your skin color?”

  “What did the boy say?” Anne asked, deflecting Maggie’s curiosity. “The one who brought the message.”

  “He said Celia had given him two pence to tell me she was being held on a ship about to sail to Plymouth and then to Virginia. I had to find her before the ship sailed to the colonies.”

  Maggie faltered, tears running down her cheeks. She grabbed Anne’s hand. “It was a lie. Nothing but a trap to get you. The demon who brought me here told me. He said his master knew I would come for my sister and you would come for me.”

  “Is your sister here?” Maggie nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her. Hush, someone is coming.”

  Anne released her and, ignoring the spike of pain, slipped into Maggie’s mind and the courtesan slumped to the floor. Anne rubbed her aching temples. The gold collar around her neck was a stark reminder of the painful consequences of using her abilities. No matter what, she was determined to not allow Uriel use Maggie as a weapon against her.

  The door creaked open and brightness framed the threshold. Shadows seemed to dance around the edges of light. Demon trickery. One of the shadows moved into the room and she swallowed nervously when light bled into the dark corners. Fascinated by the display, Anne blinked rapidly as an apparition began to take shape. Its form solidified until wings snapped and expanded behind the creature.

  “Anne Saria Willoughby,” a deep seductive voice said. “I have looked forward to meeting you.”

  Illumination flooded the room and Anne studied the creature shrouded in light. The angel’s wings were darker at the tips then faded to a pale gray before becoming a pristine white near his broad shoulders. She cursed softly, wishing she had paid more attention to Raphael’s history lessons, or at least the images of the Fallen he’d included in his lessons. Oh well, she told herself, now was not the time to show fear.

  “You have me at a disadvantage,” she stated.

  Laughter swept across the room. “Lilith’s blood runs true in her Tamahaq descendants.”

  The angel stepped back and executed an elegant bow before he returned into the light. “How remiss of me. Satan, son of Ser and Rapha, and twin brother to the one you foolishly pledged your allegiance.”

  Anne didn’t bother to hide her astonishment. It was obvious Satan’s presence did not bode well for her or Maggie. “I would say I’m honored to make your acquaintance but such a declaration would be a lie. By the way, I do not consider my pledge to Lucifer foolish, especially since you murdered my ancestress Saria.”

  “We are not here to discuss Lilith’s death,” Satan said icily.

  “I believe I must disagree, Seraphim. We are here precisely because of her death.”

  “And what could you possibly know of that?”

  Anne peered at him, hearing the dismissal in his voice. Rage swarmed around the angel like angry wasps. Her fear almost silenced her, then she thought of her life mate and the women she had fought to protect. “I possess Saria’s memories, all of them.”

  “That’s impossible,” Satan declared. “You were not alive when she died. How can you hold her memories?”

  “Your arrogance
, Seraphim, is your flaw,” Anne stated. “Perhaps you should study the true prophecy. Fate has left nothing to chance for Saria’s descendants to become the means for your defeat. I saw what Saria saw, I heard the words between you. How could you violate the life mate bond? Murder the one you loved?”

  Satan glanced away before he said, “She was consort to my brother.”

  “Your fist may have been the instrument of her death but it was your rebellion, your betrayal, and your pride that truly killed Saria.” Anne sucked in air and slowly released it. “Because of Saria’s memories, I pity you, Satan. I understand what your ambition has cost you, what you will never recover because of your actions. Saria loved you. Loved you more than her own life, more than anything.”

  “Except her loyalty to my twin.” Satan stared coldly at Anne. “We are not here to discuss my relations with Lilith. She is dead and you are living. You are in this predicament because your bond with Mephistopheles’ offspring changed things. Fate appears to have cast you to the devil so to speak.”

  He waved his hand and a chair appeared. Satan seated himself and, in the steady glow of his brilliance, Anne saw his piercing blue eyes study her. She opened her mouth and then snapped it closed.

  “Silence? Given your taunting of Ishtar, I’m surprised. Quiet is a rarity in a woman in general, and unexpected in one who possesses your talents and current occupation.”

  She shrugged. “What did you expect? Threats? Curses? I can do all those but vituperation is rather pointless since it is impossible for you to be other than what you are. However, if you prefer my animus, remove this yoke and my tongue will run freely. As it is, the metal and design are not my usual choice in jewelry.”

  Satan’s laughter was unrestrained. “You are a delight and so deceptively well-mannered. The collar is a necessary inducement for your cooperation and must remain. Have you reached out to your life mate, Anne? Has he began his search for your whereabouts? He is the final piece of the puzzle.”