Betrayal

by ML Guida

  Blade laid his head on the back of the couch. “He’s gonna pay for this.”

  Too scared to say anything, Heather bit her lip.

  He lifted his head. “Wondering where super prick is?”

  Heather held her breath.

  “He’s fighting a demon. Hopefully gonna get his spleen ripped out.”

  The hatred in his voice terrified Heather, but she couldn’t stand it. A demon? “As in from hell?”

  “Precisely. Balthazar hates to lose.”

  Her heart stopped. Two against one? Why didn’t anyone from heaven help Scythe? When was the “seek and you shall find” coming in?

  The smell of burning flesh choked her. She wrinkled her nose. She looked toward the kitchen, but nothing was on the stove. No fire burned in the fireplace. Was it him?

  Susan sped into the room holding a white fluffy towel in one hand and antiseptic in the other. She skidded to stop and grimaced. “What is that disgusting smell?”

  “Give me the towel, you idiot,” Blade whispered.

  She handed it to him. “Oh, sorry.”

  Arching his back, he wrapped the towel around his hand. A sea of red soaked the white cotton.

  Susan sat next to him. “Let me put this on it.”

  Panting, he glanced at her shaking hand holding the clear bottle. “That won’t do shit.”

  She reached for his hand. “Blade, it will only hurt a little bit.”

  “Don’t touch me. You don’t get it, do you? The poison is scorching my blood and skin.”

  Susan frowned. “What poison?”

  “Haven’t you been listening? God, talk about dumb blondes. The Heaven blade is dipped into Heaven’s Light, a clear liquid that attacks and kills anything evil.”

  Heather couldn’t believe it. Had Scythe tried to kill his own brother? What about saving his brother’s soul? Was this how he planned to do it? Cutting him with a Heaven blade?

  Susan put the antiseptic down on the table and knelt in front of him, placing her hands on his knees. “What can we do?”

  “We?” His voice mocked her. “We can’t do anything.” He lifted a lock of her blond hair, turning it red. “But I know someone who can.”

  He gave Heather a cool look, and she trembled.

  Susan gave her a sneer, then stared up at Blade, her eyes shining with eagerness. “So, what do you want me to do?”

  “Give her the drug.”

  “With pleasure,” Susan purred, as she walked to Heather and caressed her cheek as she headed for the kitchen.

  Heather jerked. “What! You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am.”

  Blade’s flat voice terrified her. There was no pity, no mercy, nothing. He cradled his wounded hand close to his chest. Pain filled his eyes, and he panted. “You’re going to bring my brother to his knees.”

  No words came to her mind.

  Susan opened a kitchen cabinet and dumped black dust onto a plate.

  “Cook it first,” Blade said.

  Susan gave him a quizzical look.

  He lifted his legs again and stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “She’s not going to snort it. You’ll have to inject it into her.” He snapped his fingers and a syringe appeared on the counter. He turned away from the ceiling and flicked his gaze over Susan. “You can manage that, can’t you?”

  “Um, yes, I can,” she stammered.

  “Then do it.” Blade closed his eyes, his face turning whiter.

  Susan took out a small white tea candle and a miniature frying pan, then dumped the black dust into the pan, not spilling a drop. She slid her finger over the plate and sucked her blackened finger. She closed her eyes. “Ummm, so good.”

  After lighting the candle, she held the pan over the tiny flame. The substance bubbled and crackled in the pan.

  The stench of burnt chemicals turned Heather’s stomach. She wrestled with her binds, but her fingers couldn’t budge the cord. What was she going to do? She refused to take that damn drug. Not after what it done to her sister and her patients. No fucking way.

  Susan placed the pan on the counter and then blew out the candle. Giving Heather a you’ve-had-it now gaze, she put the needle tip into the liquid and pulled the tab back.

  Heather’s heart pounded. She wrenched her shoulders, but the binds tightened. “Susan, no. Stop.”

  Susan lifted the shot in one hand and laughed. “Okay, Polly Pure Heart.” She strode over to Heather with a gleam in her eyes. No mercy or recognition reflected in them.

  Heather scooted on her seat. “Stay away from me.”

  “Like you’re going anywhere. Blade?”

  “Shut up and do it.” Blade never opened his eyes.

  “Sure thing, honey.” Susan grinned.

  Blade smiled. Honey? More like fucking asshole.

  “Susan, no.” She searched Susan’s face to find one shred of evidence of the sweet caring person who had always been her friend, but disappointment sank into her gut.

  Susan gripped Heather’s chin, her nails digging into her flesh. “You’ll thank me in a minute. You can’t imagine the high.” She pushed Heather’s hair away from her neck and twirled her fingers into her hair, forcing her head to the side.

  “No, please!” Heather squirmed. “Let go.” The sharp prick of the long thin needle slowly edged through her neck. Hot white lightning pain injected into her veins and she couldn’t breathe. Desperate for him to hear her, she screamed, “Scythe!”

  Cruel male laughter echoed in her ears. “It’s too late. Now it’s your turn to murder.”

  17

  The smell of ash permeated from Balthazar. Scythe wrinkled his nose. He detested the demon’s constant stench. Wearing a long black dust jacket, dark jeans, and a silk shirt, Balthazar must have seen one too many vampire movies.

  Scythe glared. “Where the hell did you send my brother?”

  Balthazar leaned on his sword. “Someplace safe.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a cruel, twisted smile.

  Scythe ached to slam his fist into the demon’s face and permanently erase his surly grin. “Yeah, right.” Burning tingles ran up his arm from where Balthazar had nicked him with the hellish sword. Damn, it felt like scalding lava.

  The sun set behind the looming mountains. The weight of his failure weighed heavy on Scythe’s shoulder. Michael’s deadline was up. Once again, he’d failed, but this didn’t mean he couldn’t take down the demon who turned his brother. He edged toward Balthazar. “Anything happens to him…”

  “What? In case if you haven’t noticed, Angel, your brother wants you dead.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Wielding his sword, Balthazar glanced at Scythe’s bleeding arm. He cocked his eyebrow. “Arm hurt, death angel?”

  “Bite me,” Scythe gritted his teeth. He glanced at Balthazar’s sword. “Not exactly fair.”

  Balthazar shrugged. “Like I said before, I play to win.”

  “Pussy.”

  The smile faded from Balthazar’s lips. His eyes burned red, and his face paled. He picked up his sword and held it with both hands. “Prepare to die, Angel.”

  He swung. The air singed and electricity crackled. “You’re going to be holding your intestines in your hands.”

  Scythe sucked in his gut. “Missed.”

  Balthazar lunged. Scythe dove to the ground. Balthazar slammed the sword onto the ground, the tip digging deep into the Earth. Scythe rolled and back and forth to escape the demon’s hellish sword. Sparks flew off the sword each time he hit the ground and each time, he got closer and closer to slicing Scythe in two.

  “One more time, and I’ll spill guts, Angel,” Balthazar said.

  Sweat poured down Scythe’s face. Shit, any minute his guts would douse the mountain. Not a way he wanted to die.

  The waning sun’s rays peered through pine trees, casting long dark shadows onto the ground. With his long black dust jacket and black pants, Balthazar blended into the shadows e
xcept for his glowing red eyes. Out of the darkness, the sword crashed down next to Scythe’s head, driving a sharp edge of steel into his shoulder. He arched his back and yelled. Wetness seeped onto his shoulder and down his chest. He ignored the blinding agony. If he failed, Heather and Blade were lost.

  “You’re growing weaker.” Balthazar lifted the sword high over his head. “Soon, I’ll have both you and your mate at my disposal.”

  “Never,” Scythe promised. With grim determination, he gripped his dagger, dropped to the ground, and swung. He sliced Balthazar’s calf. Balthazar staggered and dropped his sword. “Shit. You bastard.”

  “A present from Blade.” Scythe wiped the bloody and gory blade onto the grass. Gasping for air and pushing the pain back, he rolled to his side and slowly stood, ready to battle.

  Balthazar used his sword to help him stand. His hands shaking, he gripped it tight. “Let’s try that again.”

  “Bring it on.” Scythe sounded braver than he felt.

  Even dragging his leg, blood dripping into his boot, Balthazar hacked the sword like he was one with it. He could cut off Scythe’s head with one swipe.

  Scythe had one chance. With angelic speed, he snatched a rock and threw it with all his strength. The rock whizzed through the air. Balthazar smacked it with his sword, sending the missile spinning. It shaved off leaves from an aspen tree, then embedded itself into a pine.

  “Fool, is that the best you can do?”

  “Maybe.” Scythe kept his freehand close to his midsection again while his other hand, he clutched the pearl handle, pointing the sharp tip down. He had to get closer, but he’d be dead if he did. He grabbed a broken aspen branch, never taking his eyes off the crafty demon. The smooth bark rubbed against his hand as he pointed the jagged end at his nemesis.

  Balthazar laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding?” He edged around Scythe, his eyes scanning for any weakness. “You really think you can kill me with that?”

  “No.” Scythe’s voice faded. Blood pooled down Scythe’s chest and abdomen. Perspiration stung his eyes, blurring his vision. The mountain air grew cold against his skin, but his insides burned.

  “Scythe?” A female voice called. It couldn’t be. Heather? How could she get here? Had to be a trick. So, that was Balthazar’s plan—distract him with Heather, then cleave his head. Not happening.

  The silhouette of a female moved between the aspens. He inhaled Heather’s scent of jasmine. Scythe froze. The aroma smelled different, tainted like an insecticide had been sprayed on it.

  Balthazar swung. The sword hissed. Scythe whirled to the right, but the tip of the sword sliced into the flesh of his forearm, gouging a deep gash into the muscle and sinew that ran the full length of his elbow. His boot slipped on the blood drenched ground, costing him precious seconds. Balthazar capitalized on it, slashing at Scythe’s ribs and thigh, the poison sizzling into his open wounds. Agony gushed through him.

  Scythe staggered and crashed down onto one knee. His arm ripped open to the bone that would have rendered a human useless, Scythe held onto the tree branch, his strength draining. He strained to get to his feet again, his lips drawn back into a snarl. He lunged first, an ungodly bay carrying him forward with all the lethality of the Angels of Death brigade.

  Scythe smashed the branch into Balthazar’s knee. The demon’s bone shattered. Balthazar hissed and screamed. His howling rage sent the back of Scythe’s hairs standing straight. Anguish swept through Scythe’s shaking arm, his fingers loosened, dropping the branch to the ground.

  “Scythe,” Heather cried.

  He turned to see her darting through aspens and pines. Twigs broke and leaves crunched. Her dark hair flew behind her. Her perfume grew stronger, not sweet and exotic, but rotting and foul, churning his stomach. Only one thing smelled that putrid and could stamp out his mate’s sweet perfume. Xanadu. She had taken it. Shit.

  Panting, Balthazar followed Scythe’s gaze. “Ah… I… see…she’s…arrived.” He struggled to stand, using his sword as cane to lift him. His arms trembling, he lifted the sword over his head.

  “No,” Heather screamed.

  Balthazar turned to say something to her, giving Scythe one last effort to foil the demon. He threw his knife and struck silver. Balthazar clutched his thigh. The sword crashed onto the ground. He threw back his head and shrieked. His hand trembling, he grasped the handle and pulled, but the dagger only moved a few inches. A red wave of blood gushed down his leg and rolled over his fingers. Balthazar fell on his ass. “Damn you, Angel. I swear you’ll pay for this.” Hate flickered in his eyes. “Sooner than you think.” He disappeared.

  Scythe collapsed. The pain of hell surged through him. Each time his heart beat the poison flowed into his veins, gnawing away at muscle and bone. He clutched his neck and side, feeling his own blood seep through his fingers. His rib ached and it hurt to breathe. His strength left him, and he fell flat onto his back.

  Heather skidded to halt in front of him. The mountain breeze blew her hair behind her. Her once beautiful brown eyes burned red and dark circles were under eyes. No mercy reflected in those eyes, but a desire to kill, maim and hurt. Her once tan face, now took on an ashen sheen. She set her mouth into a tight, straight line. Her lips were gray and cracked. Is that where Blade had gone? To give his angel-mate Xanadu?

  He shivered and his teeth chattered. Clamping his jaw tightly, he didn’t know if it was from the dropping temperature, the poison thumping in his vein, or gazing at his possessed angel-mate. Every muscle hurt and weariness overcame, but he vowed next time he met Balthazar, he’d rip him apart with his bare hands.

  She covered her mouth with her small hand. “Oh, my God. I wanted him to kill you.”

  He arched his back as pain pumped through him. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  She reached behind her back and pulled out a dagger, stained with blood. His blood. “Blade’s?”

  She held up the blade. The light bounced off it, but the dagger grew dark as the sun disappeared. Overhead, purple and pink clouds floated.

  “Yes, it is. Blade gave it to me. Said to give you a message.”

  Her cold voice iced his insides. “Yeah, what?”

  She gave him a sick smile. “He told me to rip out your heart like you did his.”

  “Jesus,” he moaned. For Heaven’s sake, Blade! The bastard was pouring his hate into Heather so she could do his dirty work. Hell, what did he expect? He’d learned from the best.

  Heather knelt down and studied him. “You’re beautiful, even cut like this.”

  He frowned at her robotic voice. “You don’t recognize me?”

  “No, why? Should I?”

  “Blade, you bastard,” Scythe growled. He peered into Heather’s possessed eyes. She raised the knife higher.

  He wet his lips. “Listen to me, love. You know me. Remember.”

  He touched her cold hand and poured his fading angelic powers into her. Her brows furrowed and a crease formed on her forehead. Recognition reflected in her eyes. She lowered her hand. “I…uh…what’s happening to me?”

  “You’ve taken Xanadu.”

  She put her hand on her forehead. “I feel funny.”

  “Fight it, Heather. Come back to me.” He clasped her hand tighter, but her hand remained icy as if it had been put into a freezer.

  She jerked it away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “It’s the Xanadu. It freezes your heart, corrupts your soul. Give me your hand.”

  “No!” She scooted away and shook her hand. “God, it hurts.”

  He squeezed his eyes as pain seized him. “It’s good and evil fighting.”

  “Shut up. You’re gonna pay for this.”

  He opened his eyes as something cold and sharp touched his neck. “Been hearing that a lot lately.”

  She smiled, one that sent to chills to his bone. It instantly reminded him of Balthazar. “I’m going to slit your throat and rip out your heart.”

  “Heather, don’t. The madness….”r />
  “I’ll live.”

  “Actually, you won’t.”

  Scythe smiled at the familiar male voice—Raphael. He must have heard his plea.

  Heather screamed and dropped the blade. She covered her ears. The blade lay on his chest. With his remaining strength, Scythe grabbed it and threw.

  “Raphael, it took you along enough to get here.”

  Raphael shrugged. “I was hiking in the Scotland. How many times do I have to save your ass?” Sure enough, he had on blue jeans, a white muscle shirt and hiking boots and had a blue backpack strapped to his back. With his blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, he resembled a granola eater.

  “It hurts. It hurts,” Heather moaned.

  Scythe glared. “Sorry, it’s not easy taking on two demons.”

  Raphael frowned. “Two?”

  “Balthazar.”

  “Ah, so he’s joined in on the fight. Usually he lets others do his dirty work.”

  “Make it stop.” Heather wriggled on the ground, holding her palms to her ears.

  Her cries tore through Scythe. “Raphael?”

  “Sorry. I forget sometimes how my voice impacts evil.”

  “She’s not evil, just possessed.”

  Raphael studied her. “So, you say.”

  Heather shrieked, convulsed and passed out. Scythe’s breath stuck in his chest, but when Heather’s chest rose and fell, he exhaled.

  “You thought I killed her?” Raphael took the backpack off. “I’m not Michael.”

  Scythe turned his head. “Yeah, I know.”

  Raphael knelt next to him. “Not doing too well are you?”

  The merriment in his voice rubbed Scythe like steel wool over raw skin. “Don’t start. Are you going to help me or what?”

  “Keep your pants on.”

  He frowned. “Man, he worked you over good.”

  “You try going up against a hell sword with nothing but a heaven dagger.”

  Raphael cocked an eyebrow. “You’re alive aren’t you?”

  “Whatever. Heal her first.”

  “I can’t.”

  Scythe glared. Bitterness bore into him and he caught a glimpse of what ate away at his brother. “You mean won’t. Typical Michael.”