Chapter Three
Dommiel
Damn. Anya was fucking hot. How the hell was I supposed to focus on finding Uriel while following around this black-haired, violet-eyed angel wearing those tight-ass leather pants?
We’d sifted out onto a cobblestone courtyard at night. With a quick glance around, I spotted the dome of the Duomo’s silhouette, even without moonlight and stars. One benefit of being a demon. I could always see in the dark.
“Who are we visiting in Florence?” I asked, enjoying the view of her fine ass.
“A priest.”
“Of course.” I sighed, taking note of the clustered buildings and the narrow street opening into a courtyard.
“Here.” She pointed down an alley.
I glanced around, expecting to find an abbey or rectory set off of a cathedral where the priest might live, but there was none. Sensing no danger, I followed. The narrow path meandered on uneven pavement till the angel stopped and rapped lightly on a nondescript door. I pushed in close while we waited in silence. The lamplight above the door cast a sheen on the feathers of her sapphire wings. I reached up, wanting to stroke my knuckles along the curve, then fisted my hand back at my side.
She tensed, glancing back at me over her shoulder. In the night, her eyes darkened to deep indigo. A demon could lose his soul in eyes like that. If he had one.
Footsteps on the other side, then three bolts unlatched and the door cracked open.
“Father Antonio,” she whispered, her voice soft and raspy. “It is me.”
The black-clad priest squinted and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Then he smiled and opened the door wider. “Come in, come in, Anya.”
“May my partner come in, too?”
The priest’s eyes landed on me, getting a better look with the light of the interior. He shifted his gaze back to Anya. “If you say he can be trusted, then of course.”
“He can.”
I swallowed hard at that. How could she declare that I was trustworthy? She didn’t even know me.
“Both of you come in.”
I followed Anya into a cozy den where a fire burned in the grate. A smallish kitchen set off of this room and a rickety wooden staircase led upstairs into shadows. I sensed no one else in the house, but something had me on edge.
Anya took a seat on the sofa, sitting forward, her wings keeping her from leaning against the cushion. A flash of her on her back on my bed, wings spread wide, jarred me a moment. I sure as fuck couldn’t be thinking these things about this virginal angel. Sure, she might look like sex and candy, but there was no doubt she was untouchable. And didn’t that just make me want to touch? Everywhere.
Taking a seat next to her, my knee brushed hers. She didn’t flinch away as I’d expected. Rather, her gaze slid to mine, her pupils dilated, mouth falling open just a touch. Enough to tell me her pulse was probably tripping faster. Still, she didn’t remove the point of contact from our legs. And that had my brain wandering back down the dark, dirty alley till the priest cleared his throat.
He settled on a well-worn chair with an afghan tossed over the back. He took his time examining me. “And who might this be, Anya?”
“Father, this is Dommiel. He is a demon, but he is also loyal to the Vessel Genevieve, who has vouched for him on my quest.”
He nodded. Genevieve was the chosen Vessel of Light, the one with the power to kill any creature on earth with the flick of her hand and a single word. Of course, she couldn’t be everywhere at once, so the war raged on. The hunters and angels could only expel us back to the underworld. This made Genevieve important and respected by all hosts from on high. Kind of convenient we shared a blood vow.
The priest settled deeper in his chair. “I presume your quest is still to find Uriel.”
“It is.” She shifted forward, one of her wings brushing my shoulder before she tucked it close to her back again.
“There is nothing more I can tell you than what I already have.”
“I understand. But can you repeat what you do know for Dommiel?”
“Of course.” A silver tabby cat crept from behind the ratty chair, jumped in his lap, and curled into a ball, its narrow gold-eyed gaze fixed on me.
I arched a brow. Anya watched the cat, probably expecting it to hiss and flee for its feline life from the predator in the room. But I knew otherwise. I held out my hand, palm down. The cat twitched its whiskers and sniffed, then rubbed its head into the cup of my hand. I gave the tabby a scratch under the chin for being a good kitty, then an extra rub behind the ears, enjoying Anya’s shocked face. The cat purred like a motor.
“She likes you,” said the priest. “Funny. She hardly likes anyone.”
Catching Anya staring, I shrugged. “What?”
She made no comment but focused on the priest. “Tell us what you know, Father, one more time.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “He told me he was looking for a contact in Venice. Not another priest but a man who had dealings with the underground human resistance he thought I might know.”
“His name?” I asked.
He looked at Anya, brushing a hand over the cat’s back, when he answered, “As I told you before, I don’t know.”
Now that was interesting. “You’re lying.”
“What?” The priest winced.
Anya gasped and spun toward me. “Dommiel. Don’t be rude. I’ve known Father Antonio for decades. He would never lie to me.”
“Well, baby. He’s lying to you now.”
The priest stared down, his tabby abandoning him for my lap with a short leap. I stroked her as she settled in a ball.
Anya shifted next to me, her long slender fingers folded in her lap. So demure. Something squeezed inside my chest.
“Father?”
When the priest finally looked up on a heavy sigh, guilt lined his face. “Yes. The demon is right,” he admitted. “I’d hoped to keep it from you.”
“Keep what from me—and why?”
The priest smiled sadly. “I didn’t want you going where Uriel was going.”
“Tell us,” I demanded.
“He was looking for a man named Marko, a human resistance leader in Venice. I know him well. I wasn’t the last one to see Uriel. Marko was.”
Anya opened her wings as she sat forward, bumping me in the shoulder. “Sorry,” she muttered, wringing her hands. “What does Marko know that you’re not telling me?”
The priest stared down at the tabby, whose eyes had drifted closed. “When Uriel came to me, he was only seeking information on the movements of the demon hordes.”
Demon horde was the name given to the troops of all manner of netherworld creatures now meeting bands of angels on battlefields and conquering cities, one at a time. Angel hunters, demonic spawn, dragons, the killing creatures called furies who looked more beast than man—these hordes sought death and triumph over all creatures of Light.
“What did he find instead?” I asked, the question hovering in the air.
“Marko told me that while he was there in Venice, a young girl was brought in, saved from a demon, but she was raving like a lunatic. She had been…used, violated. She’d gone near mad, Marko said; her thoughts were incoherent gibberish. She kept muttering about a witch and the name Vladek.”
I let my head drop between my shoulders and shook it, staring at my mechanical hand laying on the cat’s back. I could lose a lot more than a hand venturing into that asshole’s territory.
“Vladek,” I whispered.
He was a disgusting piece of work. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed my time of sinful indulgence when I once reigned as high demon of New Orleans before heaven and hell opened up and ruined my world. But that demon prince took it to a new level. A foul, not-fun, twisted-as-fuck level.
“You can’t go after Uriel,” urged the priest.
“I must, Father. If he’s in trouble, I must help him.”
“If you go into the realm of that demon prince in Russia, you will never return.”
“Is there anything else that you haven’t shared?” I asked.
He shook his head.
I stood to go, setting the tabby gingerly on the floor. She blinked heavily, then curled into a ball by the fire.
“I think this party is over.”
Anya knelt at the priest’s feet and placed a hand over his. “I know you lied to protect me, Father. But there is no need.”
The priest inhaled a deep breath. “I only wanted to keep you from harm.”
“I know,” she whispered, her voice soft and barely there.
The suddenly maudlin moment caught me off guard. “We need to keep moving, angel.” I moved for the door.
When she stood, the priest did, too, then walked over to a shelf where books lined the wall. “You’ll need this if you’re going to see Marko.” He opened a copy of Brave New World and withdrew a scrap of paper. “He can be found in Venice. At least, that’s what I’m told. And when he asks for proof that I sent you, say to him this phrase.” He pointed to the paper, reading, “‘Now watch me become what I can become.’”
Anya gave him a puzzled expression.
“Just trust me, dear.”
I opened the door and slipped out into the darkness. Anya squeezed her wings close to her back as she exited the small doorway.
The priest gave me a hard stare. “Take care of her.” With a last adoring look at her, he closed the door.
But the expression on her face didn’t reflect the priest’s. Anger and frustration pinched her brow together as she exhaled deeply, staring up at the night sky.
“What is it?” I asked.
“He still thinks of me as”—she glanced at me, her frown deepening—“never mind.”
She stared down at the scrap of paper, then stuffed it in her back pocket. She didn’t want to open up to me yet. That was fine. All in due time. Because I wanted to open her up and discover all her little secrets. And I was a patient man.
“What a strange secret message that we’re to give Marko.”
“Nah. It’s from Harrison Bergeron.”
“From who?”
“Not who. What? Harrison Bergeron is a story about a man defying his oppressors, taking on the world. Makes sense actually if this Marko is part of the Twelfth Night.”
Her violet eyes studied me in the dim light near the door. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve been on earth for hundreds of years, angel. I’ve read a thing or two. Now give me your hand.” I held out mine and waited.
She arched a pretty brow. And damn if my dick didn’t get rock hard.
“You’re behaving quite dominantly with me.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, baby. I haven’t even gotten started yet.”