Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4 Page 7

  She’d just given him, he was sure, the same song and dance she’d no doubt used to obtain all those necessary permits she’d spoken of. But the answer sounded too convenient, a little too rehearsed.

  And he wasn’t buying a syllable.

  He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You know what I think?”

  She lifted her chin and arched a regal brow.

  “I think you’re looking for the sword.”

  A huge spike of energy slammed through the room, powerful but unstable all the same. He was surprised the windows hadn’t blown out.

  He had to give her credit though. She barely blinked. But he could see the cogs spinning, trying to gain traction, as she scrambled for something to say. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, or felt the surge in her energy, he might have missed the minute physical giveaways.

  “A sword?” she asked, her voice perfectly regulated. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  Sebastian braced his hands on the arms of the chair as he glanced around the floor in mock concern. Then he lifted his feet in the air.

  She frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “If the bullshit gets any deeper in here we’re going to be floating, and these boots are brand new.”

  Her mouth snapped closed, and she glared at him. Clearly she didn’t find his comment the least bit amusing. That was fine. He didn’t have the time to waste on verbal sparring anymore either. He had a feeling Xander and the others were in over their heads on this rescue mission. He should be with them. Should be helping to set Mikhail free. Should be skewering Stolas to the wall of his polished, onyx great hall for starting this whole damned war to begin with. A primal need to punish leaped up inside him, thirsting for blood. He pushed it back down, ruthless and determined.

  Dropping his boots to the floor with a loud thud, Sebastian leaned forward once more and clasped his hands between his knees. “Let’s cut to the chase. I’m running out of time and so are you. So let me tell you what I know.” He put special emphasis on the last two words so that she understood he was serious, and that there would be no more evasions, no more half truths.

  “I know you are descended from a line of Holy Guardians charged with protecting the Sword of Kathnesh. Given your profession, your love of antiquities, and your dedication to learning the fine details of the places and people you study…” He paused, offering her a ruthless smile. “Yes, I know what Google is, Professor—you have an impressive reputation, by the way—I’m assuming you also know the history, The Prophesy, pertaining to that sword. How the Sword of Kathnesh, the one weapon prophesied to be capable of taking Lucifer’s head, along with the Arc Stone, the Scrolls of Prévnar, under the control of the Chosen One will be powerful enough to overthrow Lucifer.

  “I’m also guessing that you know if that happens, the world as you know it will be overrun with demons bent on the destruction of Earth and the enslavement and, ultimately, the complete annihilation of mankind. I also know you’re now looking for a way to recover the sword because the last Guardian lost it.”

  As he’d recited the Prophesy to her, she’d lost what little color she’d regained. But, at his last accusation about the former Guardian, anger glittered in her emerald eyes and color rushed back to her cheeks. “It wasn’t like he had a moment of forgetfulness and misplaced the damned thing.”

  The instant the words passed her lips, her expression registered her shock. She clamped her mouth shut, but it was too late.

  Sebastian cocked his head and let one corner of his mouth lift. Gotcha. “Out with it. You’ve already given yourself away.”

  “Who are you?” she asked, subdued.

  “I already told you, I’m Sebastian.”

  “No. I mean who are you.”

  He rolled the dice. She might as well know exactly what she was dealing with. “I am the Demon of Vengeance.”

  He watched the blood drain from her face once more and her eyes widen. Shit. Was she going to get sick again?

  “Vengeance,” she whispered. She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and pressed, “As in ‘Death comes on the wings of Vengeance’?”

  Another tiny spike of energy.

  What the hell is she?

  Judging by her expression, his reputation had preceded him. He hadn’t heard that phrase in centuries. He’d starred as the boogeyman in many a native culture. Still, that she knew the phrase surprised him a bit.

  That was all right though. It would save time.

  “You saw me. You saw the wings. You know what I can do. Kind of stupid to deny what I am now,” he added.

  Would she finally come clean about what she was?

  He watched as she looked to the door, then to the window.

  A stronger shot of power pulsed from her for a moment before withering away.

  Hoping for a way out, princess?

  Finally her attention returned to him. Her lips set in a mulish line.

  Apparently no easy admissions would be had here today.

  Yet again, she displayed a complete lack of trust. His instincts roared inside him. Over the course of the last several days, as he’d tended her and nursed her back to health, Sebastian had reached the conclusion that she was the one for him, the woman he was set to claim as his mate. The connection he felt to her was just too strong to ignore, too powerful to deny. Did she not feel the connection? She sure as hell wasn’t acting like it. And it was driving him crazy.

  Still, he sought to reassure her. “You, of all people, have no reason to fear me.”

  “Sure I don’t,” she hissed. “You only managed to singlehandedly decimate a cave full of those…those other creatures. And you’ve just told me you intend to keep me prisoner. But I shouldn’t fear you? Ha!”

  Okay, maybe she should fear him. Fear the fact that he wanted, more than just about anything else on Earth right now, to turn her over his knee and—

  His vaunted patience snapped like a brittle twig. “I killed those demons to save your life. Demons, if you hadn’t noticed, that were doing a damned fine job of making a meal of you. And then I saved your life again from venom poisoning…at great expense to me, I might add. You’ve been damned near comatose—and at my complete mercy—for four entire days. If I was going to kill you, I would have done so already.”

  “Why would you do all that? Why save me?”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. How much to tell her? How much before she ran screaming for the hills? Roll the dice again and tell her the truth—that he’d decided to make her his mate?

  No. He didn’t think she’d handle that too well. Not yet anyway.

  Better stick with the party line. He was a patient demon. She’d come around to his way of thinking. He just needed time to convince her.

  “Because I am of the Fallen. No longer a warrior of Hell. I, along with my brothers Xander, Niklas, Gideon, and Mikhail have thrown off Lucifer’s rule and strive for redemption. We work to reclaim our places in Heaven. We want only forgiveness.”

  She watched him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Yet you seek the very weapons that will kill Lucifer.”

  Of course she would lock on that point. He clenched his fists in his lap and inhaled deeply, striving for self control.

  “Only to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands. To keep the barriers between Hell and Earth from toppling. The balance between good and evil must be maintained. We, myself and the other Fallen, will keep the Sacred Relics safe. While we no longer follow Lucifer, we will keep those weapons from the hands of those that seek to end his reign and enslave all of humankind. That’s why it’s so important to get the sword back from the demon prince who now has it.”

  “What demon? Who’s trying to overthrow him?” she asked. He noted the way her fingertips had crept up to trace the scar on her throat. Ag
ain, he didn’t think she was even aware of it.

  So she didn’t know who was behind her attack? His mind immediately began turning that puzzle over and over, looking for ways to use it to his advantage. It was all about information right now. Information he had that she wanted. Information she had that he needed.

  So he took a gamble. “I can tell you about him, the one behind the attacks on you.”

  Her attention flew to his face, and he knew the hook was set. He just had to reel her in.

  “I can tell you about him.” He waited a long beat, just to set the hook a little deeper. “But I require a sharing of information.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, her brow scrunched. She was waffling. He waited, wouldn’t speak until she finally gave a faint nod.

  “His name is Stolas, the one who’s making the power play. He’s Lucifer’s own grandson.” She was hanging on his every word now, sucking the information up like a dry sponge. And he knew he’d chosen the right tactic. “Stolas is the one who took the sword and killed the last Guardian… Or rather his minions did, as Stolas is trapped in Hell. But he’s actively working on changing that. My compatriots have already prevented his summoning once. If he gets his hands on the rest of those relics, your world is going to burn. I’m here to stop that from happening. But I need your help.”

  She eyed him, suspicious, as she sat up a little straighter, tucking the blanket beneath her armpits, baring those delicious shoulders to his hungry eyes, or one of them anyway as the other was still covered beneath a thick pad of gauze. “You’re keeping me here against my will. How can that be deemed as an act of someone wanting forgiveness?”

  “Say the words, honey. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll take you back to Mexico. Hell, I’ll even help you summon the damned sword back to Earth.” Yeah, he’d take her back in a heartbeat. But he wouldn’t be leaving her. He’d never let her go.

  “So you can steal it for yourself, you mean?”

  He stared at her, hard, and he pledged from the bottom of his black soul, “I give you my solemn vow I will never take the sword from you. It shall remain in your possession, always. And I vow my protection to you until the day I die.”

  She weighed his offer in silence, a deep frown etching her features. With a small shake of her head, she asked, “Why would you make that promise?”

  Because you are mine.

  Mine to keep. Mine to protect.

  She wasn’t ready to hear that truth of what he wanted from her though, not yet. That was plain as day. So he guided her in another direction. “I’m guessing this latest incident with Sïnsobar isn’t the only bit of trouble you’ve experienced. And I’m guessing you got that scar from one of Stolas’s minions. You should know, things are only going to heat up from here on out.”

  Her brow puckered. She was cornered and, he could see, she didn’t like it. Not one bit. She clenched her hands in her lap. “Why are the attacks getting worse? Why now?”

  Not exactly falling at his feet in gratitude and unconditional acceptance. But her body language had relaxed a bit, and her frown wasn’t nearly as suspicious as before, only more curious. Ah, sweet progress.

  “My brothers and I have already found the Arc Stone and the Chosen One.” No way was he going to tell her how they’d managed to obtain the Chosen One, at least not just yet anyway. Or that Stolas had captured their most dangerous warrior. No need to freak her out if he didn’t have to. “I’m sure Stolas must be feeling pretty desperate. Logic dictates those attacks are just going to get worse. Only I can keep you safe. You need me.”

  He fell silent, letting the implications sink in. She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face, her fingertips sliding beneath her glasses to massage her eyes. Saints above, she was adorable when she did that.

  But she was tiring faster than he’d anticipated. Asher’s antidote might have cured her, but the venom had still taken its toll. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her index finger and settled back on the bed with an exhausted sigh.

  Concern for his mate battled with the pressing worry for his brothers, his need to save Mikhail and recover the relics.

  “Admit it,” he coaxed, feeling like a rank bastard for pressing his advantage. “I could be a very useful ally. I’ll be the brawn to your brain. I can protect you while you search. And just think, no more need for airplane tickets, no more bumpy rides.”

  At least, not on a plane. He fought to restrain the wicked grin pushing at his lips.

  Staring up at the ceiling, Phoebe huffed out a mirthless laugh. “I think,” she said with a great deal of wary resignation, “there’s far more brain in that head of yours than you’d have me believe.”

  His cheek twitched. She had his number. She knew it. And she was going to make damned sure that he knew that she knew too. Praise God, she was perfect for him.

  She lay there so long he feared she might be slipping back into unconsciousness again. But then she let out a disgusted groan.

  A patented sound of aggrieved acceptance if ever he’d heard one.

  “I don’t have any choice here, do I?”

  “Nope,” he said, doing his best to keep his tone as far from gloating as possible.

  At last, she gave in. She turned her head on the pillow to look at him. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  Chapter Five

  Sebastian sat back and crossed his arms like judge and jury.

  Easier said than done. Her father’s journals had cautioned her to the extreme, insisting that she must never confide in anyone about the sword. For any reason. Not until she was ready to pass the mantle on to her own child.

  Besides, she felt like death warmed over. Her limbs were as useless as rubber, heavy as if weights had been strapped to her wrists and ankles. Her shoulder throbbed where that…that thing had sunk its fangs into her. She probed at the thick pad of gauze covering the wound, grimacing. Her body hurt everywhere, but at least the racking, fiery pain had subsided. She wanted to sleep for another week. Or two. But her mind whirled. According to him, she’d already been out for four days. She didn’t have any more time to lose.

  If all he’d said was true…then she owed him. Owed him huge. He could be a useful ally.

  If she could trust him.

  That was a big if…

  She wasn’t sure she could. He was a demon. And, up to date, her experience with demons had been less than pleasant.

  All she could do was go with her gut. Go with her gut and ignore this stupid physical attraction that had her all tied up in knots. Rely on what she’d seen with her own eyes, what she’d witnessed in that cave. She remembered bits and pieces of her illness, fragments of moments, really. His face close to hers as she’d slipped in and out of consciousness, his brow creased with worry. His gentle hands as he’d forced her to drink. Over and over. His steadfast strength when he’d held her as she’d gotten sick. His soothing voice murmuring encouragement, telling her over and over that he would not allow her to die. How he forbade it.

  So she’d trust her gut. But she’d also use her head. Just because they were on the same side didn’t mean she had to play all her cards up front.

  Another memory surfaced, and she felt her face grow warm. Cold water. Icy cold. Cascading down her naked body. And…

  And someone had been in that shower with her, holding her up, bracing her. Unbelievably strong arms wrapped around her with such tender care, supporting her, cradling her against an equally naked, very hot chest as that bone chilling water beat down upon her. And, quite honestly, that hot could be taken in more ways than one.

  Oh, dear God, please let that have been a hallucination.

  Rubbing her lips together, she pushed that thought aside. She’d never be able to work with him, never be able to look him in the eyes again if she thought for one minute that—

>   The very idea left her mortified.

  And all her girly parts shockingly aroused.

  Business, she reminded herself sternly. She needed to look at this as a business arrangement. Work with him until it no longer worked in her favor.

  Or maybe she was just exhausted and delusional.

  Either way, she really only had one option.

  So to hell with it.

  Still, there was a niggling iota of self preservation swimming around somewhere inside her that hadn’t completely drown in exhaustion. Self preservation and a horrible sense of unreality. She could do this on her own. Without him. She should do this on her own, she told herself.

  Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. Her father’s all too frequent warnings to her came back to haunt her. She ground her teeth.

  “So…if I tell you what I know, you promise you’ll help me find the sword? Help me find it, but you won’t try to take it away from me?” Sweet Mary, she couldn’t believe she was doing this. “You’ll swear on whatever it is you hold sacred that you won’t betray me?”

  She watched, wary, as Sebastian rose from the chair. He crossed the distance between them in three determined steps and sat down beside her, hip to hip. He took her hand and clasped it between his like a medieval knight pledging troth to his lady as he stared deep into her eyes. His hands were slightly rough in texture, strong, and oh-so-warm. His expression was so serious it created an uncomfortable ache in the pit of her stomach.

  “I swear to you, on everything I hold sacred, I will never betray you.” He placed her palm flat on his chest, directly over his heart, trapped it there with one of his hands. The heat of his flesh burned her though the thin cotton. His muscles felt like granite beneath her touch. His free hand, he laid gently over her own heart.