Fate's Consort

by Elysabeth Grace

  What you call insecurities is nothing more than a refusal to accept who we are. As to your humanity, we can never lose it. You are its genesis. When you’re done with this pity party, we can finish what we started. Are you ready to destroy the barrier between us?

  Analise lowered her sword. “What inspired this telepathic session? Never mind, I don’t need an answer – and the barrier remains until I get answers from you.”

  As usual, she spoke her mind and retreated. Until next time.

  Analise stretched to relieve some of the tension. It didn’t help. She was far too wired to continue practice. Maybe she could sneak off to Santa Cruz without the Guardians knowing. She shook her in disbelief. Not bloody likely. Angel boy probably had her telepathically microchipped and as soon as she left the city alarms would go off.

  Heading for the door, she paused when it abruptly swung open and Master Deng entered. Analise swallowed her greeting and shivered when the door closed behind him. Master Deng’s gait was uneven, his back hunched as he walked toward her. Her fencing teacher had impeccable grace and fluidity. Something was definitely not right.

  Her fingers gripped her sword’s hilt and she assumed a defensive stance. “Master Deng?”

  Her shriek bounced off the walls as layers of decayed skin fell from Deng’s body. She staggered backward, her stomach churning at the smell. Her grip on the hilt of her blade tightened when a viscous cloud coiled from the mound of dead flesh. Damn, the smell was worse than the soul-seeker’s. She coughed, trying to get the stench from her nose and lungs.

  Her gaze focused on the cloud, she considered her options. Escape through the door was blocked and the only other way was window behind her. The window as too small and too high to reach.

  “This definitely is not looking good. Time to call in the cavalry.” She opened her mind to summon Izem when she found herself blocked. “What the hell?”

  You must fight this battle yourself, Tamahaq. The warriors cannot be revealed at this time. Don’t worry, I’ll be at your side.

  Analise took a shallow breath and released it. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Of course, I do.

  The confidence made Analise laugh and she gripped her sword. “Damn, at times I’m glad you’re part of me. Okay, as long as we kick ass, I’m game.”

  Open your mind to me, Analise Saria. Embrace me, Tamahaq, and become who you are.

  Analise mentally turned inward. As her mind settled, she found herself standing before an open door. The other side was nothing but blackness. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the nasty cloud or the unknown behind door number one.

  You must take a leap of faith, Analise Saria.

  She took a step then hesitated. Years of paranoia was not easily abandoned.

  Trust in yourself, Fate. Leap.

  “I’m so fucked if this doesn’t work,” Analise mumbled before she leaped.

  Fragments of knowledge exploded outward, like prisoners unexpectedly released and not knowing how long freedom would last. Her awareness expanded and she grasped that the voice was hers. A sliver remained hidden from her. Analise was about to scratch at it when she said,

  Not yet, Tamahaq. We need to deal with these shitheads.

  Her eyelids flew up since it was the first time she heard her swear. Analise was about to demand answers when she said, focus Tamahaq.

  Analise looked at the motionless cloud. Her hand grew warm, an icy burn against her palm. She glanced down. Instead of her fencing saber, her fingers clenched a sword she had never seen. An unearthly light raced from tip to hilt, turning the metal silver.

  It was made for Lilith and her female descendants. The last Tamahaq to wield this weapon was Anne Saria Willoughby.

  Analise frowned. Anne Willoughby? Was she one of my father’s ancestors?

  No, your mother’s ancestress. It’s a long story and we really don’t have the time, so please focus as I’d like to get out of here.

  Gripping the sword’s hilt, Analise huffed. “We’re are going to make time because I need answers that only you seem to have.”

  That’s true but can we please get on with some ass-kicking right now?

  Analise watched a demon emerge from the cloud. Once the fog cleared, she saw a second creature. The demon’s scent was familiar. Instinct guided her as she tilted her head and her tongue darted out. She slowly drew it back inside her mouth. The memory of where and when she’d smelled the odor hit her, and Analise’s anger erupted.

  I thought you’d feel that way.

  A prickly sensation raced down her spine and she glanced at the other supernatural. An adolescent, thirteen or so, and beautiful except for the scary emptiness in icy gray eyes striated with a light green. As he studied her, Analise knew whatever he was he’d never been innocent.

  “He is a demon,” she said, pointing her sword tip to her right. “What are you?”

  “I am the fifth Anselm of my kind.” Whip-thin lips parted and fangs appeared. “Humans call me an undead.”

  “A vampire? Supernaturals are coming out like cockroaches all of a sudden.” Analise peered at him. “Okay, I’ll play. Who made you?”

  “Four hundred years ago, my king fathered my ancestor on a human witch who thirsted for power and was willing to trade the use of her body. She was one of your kind, her mother a Tamahaq witch raped by a Spaniard.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned what was done to your Tamahaq ancestress. Now, I’m going to have to revenge what was done.”

  “I am forbidden to drink your blood or harm you, Tamahaq,” Anselm stated. “My Sire requires your body and soul intact since you are to become his queen. I don’t suppose you would forego battle and allow us to escort you to him?”

  “Do you not recognize me, Tamahaq?” the demon demanded as if jealous of the attention she paid to Anselm.

  Analise shifted her sword to her right hand and rubbed her left hand on her fencing trousers to remove the sweat. She retrieved her dagger as the demon’s name flowed into her mind. “Asael. You were in the house the night my parents died. Why did you kill Master Deng?”

  Asael took a cautious step toward her. “The foolish man who teaches you simple fighting skills thought he was powerful enough to defeat me.”

  She ignored the demon’s half-handed insult and searched inside herself for signs of fear. There were none. “So what ass-wipe sent the two of you, and who would like to die first?”

  “Do not speak of my Sire in such a way,” Asael snarled. “He has waited centuries for you. You will learn the true extent of his power when you are at his side.”

  Analise tugged off her fencing mask and tossed it aside. “In other words, your master is delusional. Sorry, but I’m in a relationship and not free to accept the position of demonic queen at this time, especially to a wanker.”

  Asael snarled. A scimitar appeared in his hand. “If the king did not want you alive, I’d kill you for the insults, Moorish witch.”

  “Your first mistake is to believe the lies fed to you by your foolish king,” Analise said as she adjusted her stance. “Your second mistake is not knowing a Tamahaq when you see her.”

  She attacked and Asael deflected the blow. Analise realized she knew exactly how to fight demons. Puzzled by vampire’s immobility, she glanced at Anselm. If he hadn’t spoken earlier, she’d swear he was a statue. Skipping away from Asael’s sword, she pointed at the vampire.

  “What’s his problem?”

  “He is to carry you to our king. I am not allowed.”

  A rush of terror exploded inside Analise, causing her to stagger and nearly drop her sword. A sharp prick of memory reminded her demons could tap into surface thoughts to control a human. Berating herself for her lapse, she reinforced her blocks and grinned at Asael’s exasperated curse.

  “Is this the best you can do, Asael? No wonder you’re a mere slave,” she taunted. “Your king should have sent a better sales rep since I’m not buying your pitch. You suck at it.”
>
  Analise blocked the demon’s angry slashes, dancing away from his sword before returning to launch a vicious counterattack. She varied her strikes, forcing him to defend. He avoided her blade then feinted to the left. Asael’s black eyes widened in confusion when Analise halted.

  “Lesson one,” she taunted. “Expect the unexpected.”

  For some time, the noise of metal striking metal resounded in the soundproof room. Asael’s frustration mounted and he became careless. Analise’s strategy remained consistent. She struck at will, her sword slicing demonic flesh with finesse and accuracy.

  “Is your fear clotting in your belly, Asael? Is this how you will meet your end, defeated by a woman? I suspect your master will be disappointed with this day’s business.”

  An animalistic howl filled the room as the demon lunged. Analise had anticipated the move and easily avoid the blade’s tip.

  Enough, the voice in her mind said. The one by the door is more dangerous than the demon you fight. You need to end this now.

  Analise’s sword struck, a silver glimmer of heat and light as it sank into demonic flesh. She backed away when Asael’s severed head separated from his shoulders to land with a solid thud on the wood floor. The demon’s headless body collapsed to its knees and fell forward at her feet.

  She drove the tip of her sword into his chest, penetrating his heart. Flesh corroded until what remained was an oily mixture of black soot and ash. Analise grimaced as the puddle desiccated and vanished. Inhaling, she turned to face the undead. Anselm’s eyelids lifted and he bowed.

  “My king knew Asael would not be victorious, my Queen. It is why I am here.”

  “I see you have the semblance of courtesy but not wisdom. Ready to die?”

  “I cannot die, Tamahaq.” Anselm’s mouth twisted into an ill-formed smile. “I am already dead.”

  A black sword appeared in his hand seconds before he attacked. Analise parried his blow and countered. The undead’s fighting style was courtly, precise, and predictable. Very Renaissance-ish, she thought. She mimicked him for some minutes and then changed her strategy. A look of surprise flashed across Anselm’s pale face when her sword sliced his forearm. He staggered backward, blood dripping past his fingertips.

  “Asael was a demon who trained with the Moors,” she said. “My ancestresses also learned in Morocco. Fighting effete filth like you is in my blood.”

  Anselm’s eyes darkened with anger when he glanced at the tear in his shirt. Dried blood caked on the cloth and he smiled at Analise. “The undead heal quickly, although I am saddened by the damage to this shirt. It is a favorite.”

  “Vanity is a flaw,” she drawled. “Perhaps you can go back in time and get another one.”

  He renewed his attack, driving her back until she stumbled. Anselm lowered his sword. Analise felt a tight pressure around her ankle seconds before she was jerked from her feet. The undead leaped in the air. He was headed for the window, dragging her behind him.

  Analise’s screamed echoed in the room as she flailed in the air. The undead’s strength was immense and terror ripped through her.

  Seraphim.

  Anselm’s harsh cackle of laughter grated on her ears. Analise twisted and turned, trying to break his hold. She swung her sword wildly yet delivered only glancing blows. Looking up, she saw they were closing in on the single window. Escape option two was definitely going to do major damage. Desperation clawed at her and she used her sword like a knife, stabbing at the undead’s legs. While he bled, Anselm didn’t slow down.

  Analise was about to summon Izem when all motion stopped, leaving her suspended in mid-air. Her scream jammed her throat and she fought to breathe. The fingers gripping her were gone. The fall would crack her skull and—.

  I would never allow you to be injured, Consort. Be patient a moment while I seek answers.

  “Be patient,” Analise mumbled. “I’m dangling by a thread a hundred feet above the floor. The angel who comes to rescue me tells me to be patient because he wants answers from a dead man. Not cool, Seraphim.”

  It is curious.

  “What?”

  The human tendency to exaggerate. You are fifteen feet above the floor, not one hundred, and your body is not dangling since I altered the molecular composition of the air around you to hold you in place.

  “This is not the time to correct my powers of perception or give me answers to a physics test,” she hissed. “Just get me down.”

  I also want to note that this entire exchange has been telepathic.

  “Get me the fuck down, Lucifer.”

  Analise heard a pained moan and angled her head so she could see. Anselm’s body hung suspended in midair, cobalt sparks slamming into him. Lucifer was over-the-top pissed. She grimaced when several red droplets fell past her to pool on the floor. Her gaze went to Anselm’s face. Leached whiteness was not a good look on the already pale undead. His eyes focused on her. Rage, fear, and frustration darkened his irises. He assumed they would be away before the Avengers arrived.

  Avengers?

  “I’ll explain later. Please just get me down.”

  Lucifer floated her to the floor. Once her feet touched wood Analise sighed with relief. That was an experience she didn’t want to go through again. Parachuting and zip lining were suddenly a no go on her bucket list.

  “Gabriel, please escort my Consort to her apartment.”

  She folded her arms across her breasts and inhaled. She wasn’t going anywhere until she discovered more about the vamp and his king.

  This is not the time to challenge the Seraphim, Tamahaq. Besides, you don’t want to witness what your Consort has in mind for the undead.

  Analise closed her eyes and argued before conceding defeat and going to where Gabriel Angelis stood. He offered her his arm. “Consort.”

  She placed her hand on his forearm before giving Lucifer a quick look. His wings were fully extended and a pale cobalt glow ribboned his feathers as he hovered before the suspended Anselm. “You understand this time wasn’t my fault?”

  “I am aware. I will join you shortly, Consort.”

  She nodded as Gabriel escorted her from the studio.

  Chapter 16

  Lucifer strode from the elevator and into his office. He telepathically checked on his Consort. Finding her asleep, he ordered additional sentinels to watch over her while he conferred with the Guardians. After his meeting, he would move her to his residence.

  Where are you, Gabriel?

  We are entering the elevators, Sire.

  Lucifer looked around the room. The spacious office suited angelic bodies. High ceilings, cool wood floors, and expansive windows created an illusion of freedom. The room was also unpretentious, elegant, and furnished to accommodate all of the Guardians if need be. The office’s real value was its unobstructed view of the building where Analise Saria lived.

  Rage coiled deep inside as the image of her being held captive by a demon’s minion resurfaced. Before he ended the undead’s life, Lucifer searched Anselm’s memories and found no answers to the one question, who gave the orders. A conflicted part of Lucifer wanted his brother to be responsible despite knowing this type of attack was uncharacteristic of Satan. His twin preferred stealth, disarming charm, and patience in all his actions. It was how he located Lilith’s hiding place.

  Lucifer’s gaze went to the tapestry on the wall behind his desk. Cobalt, indigo and silver threads told the story of her death, although he did not need the tapestry to relive it. Lilith had entered his subconscious and telepathically shared the moment of her capture. His body locked in stasis, his mind was fed images of what passed between Lilith and his brother. He watched Satan fight to stop his fingers from crushing her heart. His twin’s agonized face contrasted with the compassion, love, and forgiveness on Lilith’s.

  Her dying words offered Lucifer solace through the centuries.

  Sleep, Lucifer, and know you have not failed. My destiny was to be the genesis to your true Consort. When it is
time for you to wake, to put an end to your brother’s madness, she will join her powers to yours. Do not mourn what you cannot alter. Forgive your brother. I went to my beloved willingly.

  Lucifer knew forgiving his twin would not be an easy task—forgiving himself would be even harder. He should have seen the festering corruption long before it consumed Satan. So much misery, hatred, and agony might had ended if he’d taken Satan’s life when he lay wounded at his feet. Staring into a face the mirror of his own, Lucifer saw his brother’s eyes clouded with pain and turned his back to his twin.

  It was a mistake, and Satan mocked him for his tender heart before striking the blow that nearly ended his life. That single failure opened the gates of hell for both angels and human beings.

  The faint whoosh of elevator doors broke through Lucifer’s reverie. He turned to see four grim-faced archangels stroll into his office. Each one inclined their heads before taking up favorite positions in the room.

  Lucifer’s gaze went first to the archangel Remiel. The Guardian’s favorite spot was in front of the window. Remiel’s green eyes focused on Analise’s building, adding his watchful presence to the angels guarding Analise Saria. Saraquel remained at the elevator doors while Raphael walked over and sprawled on the black leather sofa. The last to enter was Gabriel.

  The archangel wore his dark hair pulled back and tied with leather except for the thin braid falling along his jawline. Lucifer knew the Tamahaq braid was a source of irritation to Analise. She would be surprised to know that the braid honored Lilith, and Gabriel was the reason all Tamahaq wore the braid. As First Guardian, one of the elite warriors chosen to protect the Hierarchy, Gabriel considered his sole purpose was the defense of Lucifer, Lucifer’s Consort, and angel kind.

  The one Guardian absent was Michael. Lucifer dreaded the day his Consort discovered her BFF Mark and the archangel Michael were the same. He would have hell to pay.

  Hell to pay? BFF? You are becoming more human every day, Lucifer.

  Lucifer flashed Gabriel a sardonic glance. “Your insults fall on deaf ears, Gabriel.” He leaned against his desk. “What have you learned about the attempt?”