Fate's Consort

by Elysabeth Grace

  Do not even entertain the idea.

  Her teeth scraped the corner of her bottom lip. It’s protocol in these situations, Seraphim.

  I don’t care.

  He was furious. The verbal contraction was a clue.

  With a sidelong glance at Michael, Analise allowed Lucifer to escort her from the apartment.

  ***

  “You disobeyed me.”

  The words were soft-spoken but Analise didn’t miss the underlying intent. Intimidation. Lucifer had been silent during the drive to his place. Now, apparently, all bets were off. She studied Lucifer’s naked back as he stood before the window of his apartment. The shirt had vanished as soon as they entered. His muscles flexed beneath his smooth skin, a visible sign of his internal battle for control. What made her nervous were his wings. Instead of the usual cobalt, white energy vibrated along the ridges connecting them to his body and flowed outward to the tips of his feathers. So beautiful, and. . .okay, brain overload, she told herself.

  This battle wouldn’t be easy, but she was tired of fighting his overbearing ways. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. It won’t be easing loving a Seraphim. You must teach him to respect you as a woman.

  Let the war begin.

  “There was no disobedience, Seraphim, because I never agreed to obey you.”

  Lucifer swung around to face her. For the first time in her dealings with him, she tasted fear. The usual tanzanite blue of his eyes changed to turquoise. Instinct warned Analise this change was rare.

  “You are angry,” she said, opting for a conciliatory path. “Why don’t I go home and we’ll talk when you’re calm?”

  “Your home is here, and you are not leaving.”

  “Okay, Seraphim. You want a fight? Then let’s get it on. Swords or pistols?”

  For a split second confusion clouded Lucifer’s face and Analise had to stifle a giggle. He huffed and strode to the wall behind his sofa to remove two swords. He walked over and handed her one. “Follow me, Consort.”

  Analise shivered at the icy tone in his voice. He walked into the foyer and turned left down a hallway. She followed, nervously nipping at the right corner of her bottom lip. Challenging a Seraphim wasn’t one of her brightest ideas.

  No, it wasn’t.

  Stop the leakage, she reminded herself, which was so hard to do with him sometimes. She shielded her mind. Lucifer led her into a room at the end of the hall. Light flooded the space when he entered. She walked inside and grinned.

  It was a fencing studio and an array of weapons hung on the walls. Some she recognized, others were a puzzle. Fascinated, she forgot Lucifer was in the room until he spoke.

  “Why did you disobey me, Analise Saria?”

  Her gaze shifted to him. He’d taken up a position in the middle of the room, his sword ready for battle. Analise recognized this encounter would end with her defeat. Stiffening her spine, she rolled her eyes at him.

  “What part of ‘I won’t obey you’ didn’t you get, Seraphim? I haven’t signed the contract for the Consort position.” She sneered at him. “Given your tendency to be an asshole, I’m not sure I want the job. If you’re done playing big bad wolf, let the games begin.”

  Lucifer smiled then struck. Analise squealed as the vibration raced up her arm. She forced herself to focus and danced away from him. Adrenalin shot through her. The last time she felt this excited was when she and Michael sparred.

  Lucifer fought differently than Michael and she adjusted her strategy. Her Seraphim was a master. She wasn’t certain her sword would even touch his body. However, she was determined to learn from him and teach him not to underestimate her.

  Unlike her matches with Michael, she was more cautious with Lucifer. An occasional pant or curse on her part marred the metallic clang of swords. He was playing with her, which pissed her off. She abruptly changed her style and began attacking. Lucifer did not alter his fighting style, yet he deflected her blows as if swatting a pesky fly. Frustration and anger built inside her. She glanced at his face. Nothing. No exertion, no sweat—okay, she hadn’t seen Michael sweat, either.

  When you are done warming up, perhaps you would like to engage me.

  Analise growled and executed a series of slashes and thrusts that should have knocked him on his ass. Instead, he blocked everyone one until her sword went flying. She jerked her dagger from its sheath and threw it at him. He slapped it away with his sword, the knife’s tip narrowly missing his cheek, before the sword’s edge hovered an inch from her throat.

  “Anger in battle means you will lose, Analise Saria. Why did you disobey me?”

  She pushed the sword tip away and walked over to pick up her dagger. “At some point, you will pull your enlarged head from your ass and listen to me.”

  Storming out of the studio, she walked down the hallway until she reached the elevator. Slow, methodical footsteps grew louder. By the time the doors opened, Lucifer stood behind her. She stepped inside the elevator and turned to face him.

  “I will never disobey you, Lucifer of no surname,” she said as the doors began to close. “To do so, I must first agree to obey you, which I will never do. Goodbye, Seraphim.”

  Consort, we are not finished with this discussion.

  A derisive snort and a short laugh were her response. If this was a discussion, I can’t wait for the conversation.

  She telepathically blocked him and strolled to where Raphael and Saraquel stood near the lobby doors. “I take it you’re my escorts across the treacherous street.”

  Raphael shrugged. “We knew the job was dangerous when we took it.”

  Analise stared at him. “OMG, you didn’t give me a line from that ancient cartoon show Super Chicken, did you?”

  When the archangel flushed, her laughter exploded. She took a breath and said, “You and Randall need to become besties. It’s one of his favorites.”

  They talked about old cartoon shows until she reached the door of her apartment. She turned to both Guardians. “Thank you. He’s pissed so make yourselves invisible for tonight.”

  “He’ll be fine by the time we return,” Raphael said. “You are his Consort, Tamahaq. If you jump into trouble feet first, you need to expect these reactions.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  The Guardians waited until she was in her apartment before they left. Analise dumped her tote on a chair. She considered the subtle changes Lucifer had made in her life. The Guardians were always there; not just as her drivers but also as protection even when she was in her apartment. What surprised her was how unbothered she was by their presence.

  Dream Candy definitely won this round.

  She strolled into the kitchen. Her phone beeped and she went to retrieve it. Reading the text, Analise grabbed her tote and left her apartment.

  Chapter 23

  Analise instructed Will and Remiel to wait outside the door as she walked into the lab. She shook her head as she knocked on the neon-red door. Richard had marked his territory. When his voice invited her in, she sucked in a deep breath and entered.

  For a second, she didn’t know what to do. Michael had kept death from her. He’d been the one to ID Martine, Me Li, and earlier that morning Iris, which meant she wasn’t sure how to deal with death. Wasn’t sure what she should say or do.

  When the time comes, I will step in, Tamahaq.

  Relieved to hear her voice, Analise made her way to where Richard stood. The lab reeked of hospice, the medicinal smell nearly choking her. She focused on a corner of the room where Francis laid on a hospital bed and her heart hitched at the sight of him. She hadn’t expected him to survive but to be a witness to his death was a visceral punch to her soul. The human in her wanted to scream. At Fate, at life, at the world, and at the one who made him. No living creature deserved to suffer such an existence. Blinking back her angry tears, she stared at the dying man.

  He laid on the bed, IV tubes slotted into thin veins in both arms. She winced as his face clouded with pain when Richar
d raised his head to give him water. Once he laid back on the pillow, Francis glanced in her direction, an exhausted smile on his lips.

  “You came.”

  Analise approached the bed. Death seeped through the pores of Francis’ skin, a sickly sweet odor of mildew and dust. She glanced at Richard for some indication of hope. He shook his head and walked away.

  Francis held out bone-thin fingers. “Richard tried to fix me. It is too late. Will you forgive me, my Queen?”

  Analise stared at the gaunt hand before she clasped it. “If you need my forgiveness, Francis, it is yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her eyes watered and she smiled. “Are you in pain? Is there anything you need?”

  He shook his head. “Will you release me, my Queen?”

  She nodded. Francis’s grip on her hand tightened. Death did not come easily to him. His mind tormented by the onslaught of memories, he wasn’t ready to let go of life. Analise listened in horrified silence to his rambling confession. Death shaped Francis’ existence from its beginning to its end. His life threads shimmered in and out of existence, flickering colors of gray, orange, and pale yellow. At the moment of his creation those threads had been vibrant luminous hues. Now, they were fading signs that his allotted time was at an end.

  Analise’s fingers caressed his chilled hand as she lowered her eyelids. A cool gray light cocooned them. She took over and whispered, “Do you know who I am, Francis?”

  His eyelashes fluttered up. A joyous smile unfolded on his skeletal face. “Yes, my Lady.”

  “Your life was not without purpose. Because you sought me, I am fully awake. Sleep. Your soul will be at peace.”

  Francis nodded, expelled a breath, and died.

  Analise lifted her eyelashes and stared at his peaceful face before brushing her fingers across his forehead as she sang him to her ancestors. A nurse moved into her field of vision from a corner and began removing tubes and electrodes from Francis. Analise recognized her as one of AnthroGen’s medical staff.

  “What did you discover, Richard?”

  Richard came to her side and took her arm. He led her out of the room and into his office. Turning a chair towards her, he gently pushed her shoulders until she sat. Her gaze followed him as he strolled over to a filing cabinet and opened a drawer. Returning with a bottle of their favorite tequila and two shot glasses, Richard filled them and handed one to Analise.

  “To Francis.”

  She raised her eyes to his face and lifted her glass. “To Francis.”

  They took the shots and both grimaced. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to have lime if you plan to keep tequila in your office?” She gasped.

  “Never touch the stuff.”

  “Tequila?” Analise snorted. “Since when?”

  “Limes. Scary little green things that ruin a perfect drink.” He set his shot glass on the table. “It was hard at first, Lise. I was so angry I refused to deal with him. I relegated his care to Emma.”

  Richard closed his eyes. “Once she left, he started to talk about the lives he took, the destruction of the lab. I was livid but I listened. Francis hated being human and not knowing where he belonged. How can it be, Lise? How can someone exist with no memories, no conscience, no bonds to anyone except an idea? Who could live like that?”

  Richard’s forehead dropped to his open palms. His body trembled and he raised haunted brown eyes to Analise. “You were his lifeline, his small bit of sanity. He cried as he described what it felt like to have a name, the name you gave him. Something we take for granted he saw as an absolute miracle, a gift of life.”

  Analise stood and went around the desk. She wrapped her arms around Richard and held him. “Thank you.”

  Richard nodded and eased himself from her embrace. He took a moment and became the scientist again. “Francis could not have arrived at a better time, Lise. We mapped his DNA, at least the human and shifter part of it. I need truths, Dr. Drake.”

  Analise didn’t speak for a few minutes. Instead, she paced the room. When she stopped, she folded her arms across her breasts. “Francis was genetically created.”

  “You mean modified.”

  “No,” she said. “Created. The part of his DNA you can’t identify is demonic.”

  Richard stared at her. “You’re telling me demons really exist?”

  “So do angels.”

  “If there are DNA codes for demons and angels, they don’t exist in our database. Or any database I know of, and I know them all.”

  Analise reached into her jean pocket and took a key. “There is a vault in the basement. On the third shelf to your left, you’ll find a safe deposit box. In it is a journal and some samples not in any database. Read the journal first, Richard.”

  She went to the door. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  ***

  Analise peered out at the bright dots, vivid on the glassy dark surface of Monterey Bay. Faint yellow lights marked the return of sailboats to Santa Cruz Harbor. The raucous squawks of seagulls penetrated the sliding glass door of her hotel room. Analise welcomed the noise. She had come to Santa Cruz to mourn. To shed tears for Francis. For Martine and the Drakes. For Mei Li Kwan and Iris. For her parents. She had come to find the solace Martine always felt.

  Unlike the birds, however, the incessant noise of her phone bouncing on the nightstand denied her the ease Analise sought. “Leave me alone.”

  She wasn’t worried about her safety. She’d felt the presence of Izem and the warriors after she summoned them. Once she checked into the hotel, she had sent Mark a text telling him she would be back in the city the next day. The phone buzzed noisily once more. “Stop.”

  Rather childish, don’t you think, Analise?

  “I’m tired, Mum.”

  Moping because you couldn’t save him? The creature—

  “Francis,” Analise snapped. “His name was Francis Christopher Willoughby.”

  Her mother’s exasperation played in Analise’s mind and she gently repeated her words. His name was Francis.

  Francis could not be saved. What was done to make him should not have been attempted. For him to live as long as he did is miraculous.

  “I know,” Analise said. “It doesn’t change the fact he lived, forced to commit horrific crimes, then tossed away like garbage. He suffered, truly suffered. He existed without memories except those connected to the people he murdered. No one cared whether he lived or died. His mission, which he didn’t choose, was to find me. No one cared.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. A warm pressure weighed on her shoulder.

  You cared, Analise. You cared for Francis. He took the lives of people you loved, yet you did not let it stop you from helping him, giving him a name and a memory. You cared.

  “I made him a promise, Papa,” she murmured. “You always said if I make a promise, I must keep it.”

  We are proud of you, Analise. You could not save Francis yet you gave him what he needed, what his maker could not give him.

  She dragged the back of her hand across her teary eyes. “What did I give him?”

  Humanity, even if for a short time. You gave Francis memories and his name, and that someone cared for him. You were with him when he died. He was not alone. Although he was not born a Willoughby, you gave him a family that mourned his passing.

  Analise felt her mother’s presence. You did what you had to do for Francis, Tamahaq. We are watching over his soul, so you need not worry. Your Consort is here.

  Analise scrubbed her face with her palms before she unlocked the sliding door. She heard the faint whoosh of feathers. “How long do you intend to sit on the roof, Seraphim?”

  Will my Consort allow me to join her?

  She stepped outside. “Come here.”

  Lucifer glided down to where she stood. Her breath caught in her throat as he landed, wings expanded and glimmering against the dark canvas of night. Energy emanated from him, tiny sparks whipping across feathers and skin. She stared
at his bare chest and a familiar heat ignited inside her. She wanted to run her fingers along his ribcage, wanted to feel the hard muscles against her palm and her lips. As usual, her lecherous thoughts seeped past her mental barriers.

  Lucifer’s knowing chuckle brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. Shall we pursue this later, Consort?

  Analise gripped his hand and walked him into the room. When he paused, she turned to look him.

  “I do not want you to take a chill,” he said, closing the glass doors behind him.

  For the first time since she left San Francisco, Analise felt the releasing comfort of laughter. “With you to warm me, I wouldn’t mind.”

  Moving to the center of the suite’s living area, her back to him, she was uncertain how to tell him. . .

  Now isn’t the time. One more event must occur before your life mate learns the truth.

  Her arms folded across her waist, she turned to face him. “I owe you an apology, and I really need you to listen.”

  “As you wish, Consort.”

  She took a deep breath and pushed it out. “None of this has been easy for me. To have my regimented existence so thoroughly overturned is scary. My dreams of you were safe because they weren’t real. At least it’s what I forced myself to believe. Peter Nathanson easily became part of the fantasy because I thought he was human, and he looked like you. I believed I could control things.”

  Her arms fell to her side as she laughed. “The best-laid plans of mice and supernaturals. Anyway, I found out you were real and not my imagination. You demanded something from me I didn’t want to give. I didn’t want to accept what you offered, what you evoked in me.”

  She turned to face him. “I don’t want to love you. I don’t want you to belong to me. I can’t imagine loving you and losing you. To have you taken from me the way I lost my family.”

  Analise’s hand went to her hair. She grabbed her braid and nervously played with it. “Who I am wouldn’t permit my ignorance to continue, abetted by one persistent Seraphim.” Her mouth curved into a warm smile. “You ignored everything I demanded.”

  You are my Consort and my life mate, Analise Saria.