Chapter 8
“We are stretched thin as it is, Tony,” Michael said as the saint stood before him. “We cannot start a war with the daemons on top of finding the Horsemen and preventing them from bringing about Judgment Day.”
Tony was going mad. He turned up at Michael’s home unannounced and dropped an enormous complication right into Michael’s lap. One Michael neither needed nor cared to be involved in.
“But the Princes are willing to fight at our sides,” Tony pressed. “Certainly they can gather more daemons to join their cause. We can amass an army, Michael.”
Michael shook his head. “It’s pure madness. Firstly, why should I trust the Sons of the Daemon Kings not to turn on us? You have a rapport with the Son of Lust, not I. I don’t know the male save for the legacy of his father, Asmodeus, and that bastard is as evil as the Hereafter is white.”
Tony’s face flushed deep crimson and his eyes flashed with anger. “The sins of the father are not those of the son, Michael. You are better than that.“
The vehemence in Tony’s voice shocked Michael. Like everyone else on the Earthly plane, immortal or not, Tony had moments where he lost his patience or became frustrated. Emotions came with the human form they took on the Earthly plane, which meant they were fallible to the same temptations as humans. Yet in all their time together, Michael had never seen Tony this upset over mere words. Actions, sure—coming upon a scene of destruction such as one left by Pestilence, the deaths of innocents that Michael and the Guard failed to prevent, or when a member of the Guard was injured, Tony had a tendency to lash out. But Michael was the one with the hair-trigger temper and struggled to contain his rage, not Tony. For whatever reason, it seemed the Son of Lust was important to Tony.
“Apologies, amicus,” Michael said. And he meant it. “You are correct. I have never heard of an instance where one of the Princes did harm upon another, immortal or human. Only the Kings hold that distinction.”
Michael’s placation eased Tony’s attitude a bit, but the male was still vibrating with anger. Though Michael didn’t believe it to be directed at him this time. Most likely at the Daemon Kings.
“Mayhap this is our only chance to take out the Daemon Kings,” Tony pressed, his excitement at banishing the seven deadly sins palpable. “Think of it, removing Eastlake Falls’ largest source of sin and corruption, not to mention all the instances those damn Kings released more daemons from the Underworld.”
“I have no doubt banishing them would make the Earthly plane, and especially Eastlake Falls, safer. It is simply that at this time, we cannot abandon our pursuit of the Horsemen to chase the Kings. The Apocalypse hangs in the balance. The Horsemen are close to opening the portal and freeing every evil being in the Underworld to roam the Earthly plane. That must take precedence over banishing the Kings.”
“Just meet with Dante. Ten minutes. Give him the chance to convince you, Michael. What can it hurt?”
Michael knew it wouldn’t hurt to listen to the daemon, but the thought of sitting across from one of the spawn of the seven deadly sins made him physically ill. Daemons and angelen didn’t mix. Sancten either, for that matter. Tony, always headstrong and rebellious, would have to be the one to try and build a bridge across the centuries old barrier.
“Fine,” Michael conceded. “Ten minutes, not a second more. And we meet on angelen territory.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded his acquiescence. “I shall contact Dante. Thank you.”
Tony was almost to the door when he paused and glanced over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face. “I almost forgot. Dante said he has a secret weapon, one that will have you begging him to join us.”
Before Michael could stop him, Tony slipped through the door, leaving Michael with a thousand questions. Frustrated and just plain tired, Michael sagged onto his bed and propped his elbows on his knees to cradle his head in his hands. He inhaled a deep, cleansing breath, and let it out slowly while concentrating on relaxing each of the tightly knotted muscles in his back. Michael was weary beyond mere exhaustion. In fact, never in his existence had Michael ever felt so overworked and burdened. Too much was happening at once, and Michael couldn’t afford to chance shoving anything aside to deal with at his convenience. There was nothing convenient about being the Archangel of Protection. This he knew without a doubt.
On top of his many worries, finding the damned Horsemen was becoming an impossible task. The Master of Practitioners, Dion, provided amazingly accurate information when questioned. Yet with the exception of his and Donovan’s failed encounter with the Horseman, Death, neither Michael nor any of his Guard had stumbled upon one since. By the time the Guard arrived at each location foreseen by Dion, whichever Horseman had been there was long gone. Even more infuriating was that the traces of evil left behind could be detected in the air, the stench heavy and oppressive.
Michael shook his head. If he didn’t know any better, he would think the Horsemen somehow knew when and where the Guard was coming…
As if they had a Divinator or Master of their own. Michael’s head snapped up from where he cradled it.
No. Could they? Could the Horsemen have a practitioner? Son of a—
Michael leapt to his feet, intending to call a meeting of the Guard. He got as far as pulling on his boots before he remembered the late hour. Feeling powerless, Michael growled in frustration. Damn the Fates! He would have to wait ‘til the morrow to speak with the Guard. Even if Michael gathered everyone immediately, there was nothing to be done. First, they needed to prove Michael’s theory, find evidence the Horsemen had a practitioner at their mercy. Then they must needs come up with a plan to deal with their findings. The process could take days or even weeks to set in motion.
Just thinking about it drained him.
If Michael were honest, he was grateful for an excuse to call it an early night, Michael shrugged out of his tunic and trousers to splash water on his face. With a soft cloth and a bar of fresh milled soap, he bathed his body, dried off with a well-worn towel, and climbed into bed. Michael’s heart began to race as he sank under the quilt and got comfortable.
Would his stunning female return to tempt him again tonight? Would he once again be allowed to luxuriate in her presence, the one that sent pleasure down his spine, curled Michael’s toes, and affected him in erotic ways? Ways that brought sinful thoughts to his mind and depraved desires to his body?
Ashamed at his lack of control, Michael struggled between whether he wanted the seductive innocent to stay away, or wanted to give in to the raw need that pulsed from every cell in his body by praying for the female to not only return, but never leave.
* * *
With Michael all cozy in his bed, Honor made the difficult decision to take the night off even though Watching the male sleep was her favorite part of her day. When Michael’s unyielding features softened and his tense muscles relaxed, the warrior transformed from ruggedly handsome to decidedly vulnerable, yet somehow still portrayed strength and power. The sight warmed her heart, much more than it should, in fact. Honor would go so far as to say her heart wasn’t the part of her heating up and it was becoming torture to Watch but not touch as intense waves of desire pushed at her boundaries. Staying away during night hours made sense, especially as around a sleeping Michael, Honor lost all semblance of propriety. She even dared to touch the slumbering Archangel. When she recalled the way his rough day’s growth of beard felt under her fingertips, a shudder shook Honor to the core and she became aroused. Honor closed her eyes and swallowed in a futile attempt to banish the memory from her mind.
Honor knew she should be ashamed for taking advantage of Michael in his most private of moments. Yet she didn’t have it in her to regret her actions. Those simple, indulgent caresses stung like embers popping out of a fire to land on her bare skin. With each brush of her skin on Michael’s, Honor’s life force sparked and flared brighter, sending the most exquisite sensations throughout her Earthly body. Honor couldn’t be certain, but as with her dream, she swore to the Fates she sensed Michael’s own deep blue core reacting similarly to hers, as if the two centers of their beings reached out to one another much like Honor reached out to Michael.
More than once Honor wondered what would have happened in that moment if she maintained contact as she slumbered. Oh, how her dream self had wanted to, more than anything. But when strands of her lilac life force splintered off and snaked their way from her fingers to penetrate Michael’s sleeping form, dream Honor panicked. Frightened, she yanked her hands back and stepped away from the bed for fear she mayhap do harm to her beautiful angel.
No. It was best she avoid Michael’s home whilst he slept. As wonderful as it felt when their energies intermingled—the electricity surrounding Honor with a sense of safety and peace so perfect it was like being wrapped up in Michael’s strong arms, like coming home—in truth she had no idea what could happen to both herself and Michael should she allow the exchange to continue.
So instead of spending the evening Watching over the perfect embodiment of masculinity, incredible strength of both body and mind, and righteousness to his core, Honor found herself wandering aimlessly along the streets near her own tiny shack. Most of the villagers in bed for the eve, the footpaths were deserted. Honor had tried her best to get some sleep, but ended up tossing and turning, too restless to remain still, her mind bursting with visions of Michael. The fresh air failed to cure the overwhelming urge to go directly to Michael’s, but Honor did feel moderately better given something to do other than stare at the walls of her temporary home whilst obsessing over the sleeping Archangel. Going for a walk seemed a better option than torturing herself until she gave in to temptation.
Mayhap she should visit the Hereafter and speak with Aaron? Or simply have a rest in the peaceful white plane for a spell. Aaron did mention the Hereafter was good for reenergizing her Earthly form. Though Honor knew she wasn’t weary or tired. She was worried. About a great many things. About Michael pursuing the Horsemen, along with the new complication brought to Michael by St. Anthony. One that involved putting faith in the Son of Asmodeus, the Daemon King of Lust. Honor most certainly opposed the idea of Michael speaking with any immortal spawned from the loins such evil.
The sound of soft footfalls raised the hairs on the back of Honor’s neck. She glanced around and realized she had paid no mind as to where she meandered. Bordering one side of the path was a thick forest. Beneath her feet, the growth of grass and plants over sections of the dirt lane indicated it wasn’t well traveled. Honor paused to listen and heard nothing but her hammering heart and rapid breathing, both loud enough to render her ears useless. All Honor had to go on was her prickling senses, the ones that told her she wasn’t alone, and that frightened her.
It was time to go back.
For the most part, the humans in her tiny village left Honor alone, though they were suspicious of a female living on her own. Males attempted to court her attentions, but she paid them no mind. At times Honor felt unsafe, but Aaron assured her she could simply dematerialize from danger and he would take care of the consequences of the human that witnessed her vanish. The only stipulation given was Honor was not to dematerialize whilst in contact with another. Whether human or immortal, whoever it was would dematerialize with Honor, and according to Aaron, that was unacceptable.
Honor knew she shouldn’t be afraid. She was already dead, so what could a mere human do to her?
That very thought was going through her head when a pair of incredibly strong hands grabbed Honor from behind. Her sharp shriek was cut off when a cloth pressed firmly over her nose and mouth. She inhaled the sweet, sickly scent of chemicals and immediately grew light-headed. Honor tried to dematerialize, but was unable to think, her mind fuzzy. A deep voice chuckled in her ear and her skin broke out in chill bumps. Honor’s only thought was to get away. Her sluggish brain attempted to come up with a way out and she had one final thought.
He’s touching me… can’t dematerialize…
Then the world went black.
* * *
Hot, foul breath gusted over Honor’s face. As she came around, Honor had difficulty focusing, but what little she could see made her sick. Images flashed every time her heavy lids blinked—dark, lifeless eyes, a gleeful sneer, crooked teeth, and a wide, flat nose. Whoever took her was male and human, that much she knew.
“Put ‘er on the ground an’ I’ll get ‘er clothes off.”
Dear Fates, there’s more than one.
No! No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t. The very shame of what was about to happen caused tears to leak from her eyes and the hot moisture trickled toward her ears. Nearly hyperventilating, Honor was paralyzed by fear. She was pure, saving herself for marriage, or at the very least to find true love before giving away such a precious gift. Now that Honor knew what awaited her, the unfairness of it all struck hard.
It isn’t supposed to be this way.
“Still awake, eh?” the hideous man with the nasty breath said with a chuckle. “Not for much longer, luv.” He pressed the cloth across her mouth and nose once more and the world went fuzzy and dark around the edges. Honor couldn’t feel her limbs. For the briefest of seconds, it reminded her of the Hereafter and the strange, floaty sensation.
It was her last thought before she lost consciousness.