Chapter 9
“There you go. Come on. Wake up for me, young one.”
A cool cloth was laid upon Honor’s forehead and saints above it felt heavenly.
Honor took a moment to stretch and winced. Unfortunately, the cloth could only do so much to soothe her pain. Honor’s body suffered a bone-deep ache and her mouth was as dry as a scratchy wool blanket. No amount of cool compresses would cure that. But even the aches were nothing compared to the blinding pain that pierced her head when Honor opened her eyes.
“Ow.” Honor squinted to keep out the light, but that did nothing to lessen the agony of the twisting of the knife that currently dug its way into the base of her skull.
“I know it hurts and for that I am sorry. You will likely be in pain for several hours.”
It took a moment for Honor’s eyes to adjust to the sunshine pouring through a nearby window. When she could properly see, Honor focused on the figure hunched over her and startled.
“You!”
“Me?” the female responded, her brows knitted, the dark slashes a severe contrast to the female’s white-blonde hair. Honor knew this immortal. How could she forget? Never had Honor seen a female with hair cut short like a male’s. “Hmmm.” The immortal tipped her head. “You appear to know me yet I’m certain we have never met.”
By the Fates and all that is sacred, Honor had to get the heck out of here lest she expose herself as a Watcher. In a panic, Honor bolted upright, which turned out to be a grave mistake. Her stomach rebelled and she gagged when the room spun and the knife in her head gave a cruel twist and sank deeper.
“You shouldn’t move. It’s best you remain still until the rest of the poison is out of your system.” Honor allowed the female to guide her to lie back once more. “Better?”
“Aye,” Honor croaked as the whirling room began to slow.
Honor was stunned. How in the name of the Fates did she end up in the care of St. Joan of Arc? Of all people, she woke in the home of the sole female member of the Guard of the Righteous. Honor picked through her fragmented memories, sections riddled with holes, until she pieced enough together to form a rough outline of the previous evening. She recalled walking alone on a remote path near the forest after dark. Then… By the very angels and saints above! Strong arms pinning her to the ground. A filthy, putrid male pressed on top of her, his grotesque arousal hard against her thigh. Eyes filled with evil intent. Honor’s heart raced and her nostrils flared. The chemical stench of a cloth over her face.
Mercy, no!
“Oh!” Honor cried and covered her face. Did they? Was she? Squeezing her eyes shut, Honor began to sob. “They… I was…” Terror plucked at raw nerves. Honor wept so hard she could no longer pull in enough air to speak.
A hand rested upon her arm and gave it a gentle pat. “I know what it is you fear,” Joan said somberly. “Do not worry, young one. You remain untouched.”
Untouched? Honor stopped crying and sniffed. She glanced at Joan through watery eyes. “What?”
The petite St. Joan smiled and patted Honor’s hand. “I stumbled upon you and those…” Joan’s sweet face crumpled into such a frightening mask of anger and hate that Honor cringed. “Those sick bastards,” she spat. Joan glanced at Honor and must have seen her fear, because Joan fixed her sneer back into a placid smile. “Don’t worry, young one. They shan’t hurt you or anyone else again.”
“T-thank you.” Honor let out a long breath. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until Joan assuaged her fears. “So they… they didn’t…?”
Joan shook her head. “They did not assault your body, if that is what you ask. Thought I do have to wonder, why were you so far from the village?”
Oh. “Do you know who, er, I mean what I am?”
“I do.” Joan cocked her head and squinted as if studying Honor. “At mean, I know you are immortal. I can’t…” Joan’s brows pinched. “I must admit I cannot be sure what class of immortal you are. Not a daemon.”
Honor gasped, horrified and if she were honest, insulted. “No! I am most certainly not a daemon.”
Joan smirked. “I meant no offense. Don’t worry, no immortal would mistake you for a daemon.”
Now Honor was insulted for an entirely different, totally illogical reason. “Hmph. I could be a daemon,” she huffed. What was it about her that made Joan think she didn’t have what it took to be daemon? Was she too naive? Too weak looking?
By the Fates, why am I even upset about it? I don’t want to be a daemon.
“All I meant is that you are obviously shielding your identity, and daemons cannot mask their true nature. Not without a practitioner, that is, and I don’t sense any spells around you.” Joan narrowed her eyes again. “But I can’t help to think there’s something about you that’s almost… familiar.”
Honor’s heart skipped a beat. Joan couldn’t possibly recognize her, could she? In truth, Honor did spend hours in Joan’s presence while Watching Michael, yet she never made herself known to any of the Guard. Honor was vigilant in keeping with her orders to remain masked.
“No,” Honor said a little too quickly. “We have not met.”
“Hmm,” Joan hummed noncommittally.
“Really, we haven’t…” Despite the excruciating agony in her head, Honor tossed back the quilt and swung her feet to the floor. “Thank you for your kindness. I must needs be going.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot go until you are well.” The stubborn saint pushed against Honor’s breastbone until she was once again flat on her back on the bed.
“But—”
“Nonsense. I insist.” When Honor glared at Joan, the saint merely crossed her arms and glared right back. “Must I fetch a healer to convince you?”
The suggestion obliterated Honor’s attempt at bravado. She had no idea if an immortal healer would know she was a Watcher. Honor would be a fool to risk exposure.
“No! I’m fine. I mean… I’ll rest as you said.”
Joan smiled. “See? That wasn’t so difficult.” A rapping sound made both females turn their heads toward the door. Joan glanced down at Honor. “Apologies. With all the commotion, it slipped my mind that I’m expecting someone. Let me see if I can reschedule.”
Honor was about to tell Joan she didn’t want to be an inconvenience and Honor would simply go, but the tiny blonde whirlwind was already pulling open the door. Her visitor didn’t get a word in before Joan spoke.
“I hate to do this, but can we meet a little later?” The door blocked Honor’s view of the visitor, but she could see Joan leaning against the wood frame. Joan’s gaze darted from whomever stood outside to Honor, and back.
There was a short pause before the visitor responded. “What exactly is going on, Joan?”
Honor’s heart didn’t merely skip a beat when she heard the visitor speak. It stopped dead to rights and her breath caught in her throat. She knew that voice.
Michael.
Honor observed as Joan extend an arm across the entrance, likely to keep the stubborn Michael from barging his way inside. Emotions all over the place, Honor found herself torn. For a moment, she wished the door opened outward so she could lay eyes on Michael in all his stunning glory. On the other hand, Honor hoped Michael would turn around and leave without questioning Joan further, because she wasn’t certain what would happen if Michael entered and they came face to face.
Without warning, Honor’s body suddenly came alive with activity. She bit her lip and closed her eyes as her life force woke from its calm slumber to begin hissing and pulsing, sending out little electric jolts that zapped Honor’s nerve endings with pleasure. Honor would swear to the Fates she sensed Michael’s own life force mimicking hers. She could picture Michael’s bright soul snapping and crackling within his chest. It was as if their life forces were calling to each other.
Which was ridiculous.
“Who is it you have in there?” Michael asked. His tone brokered no argument, but Joan, always the feisty rebel from what Honor had learnt by watching the female, was not intimidated in the least.
“Michael, you need to back off,” Joan warned. Then Joan lowered her voice to speak in a whisper Honor failed to hear in full, though she caught the gist. Joan was telling Michael how she rescued a village human from being raped, and a male of Michael’s large stature barging in would only frighten the fragile victim. Honor was taken aback by Joan’s blatant lie, as Honor was definitely not human. No matter, as the saint’s plan worked and Michael, always chivalrous, gave in to Joan’s request.
“Fine, but I expect to convene in two hours, Joan. Two. And I also expect answers as to whatever is going on in there,” Michael growled.
He isn’t fooled. Michael felt it too.
Honor closed her eyes and swallowed. Michael was a great many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows something is off and that it has to do with whoever is inside Joan’s house.
Joan closed the door and sighed, but Honor paid no mind. Her thoughts were filled with visions of Michael, searching for a reason for the bizarre way her body—no her soul—reacted to the Archangel, and if she believed what she witnessed, the way his soul similarly reacted to hers.
Honor came out of her musing and remembered Joan told Michael Honor was a victim, and Michael needed to stay away lest he frighten her.
That’s when it struck her. Honor knew without a doubt, she would never, ever be afraid of Michael. How could she? Because it was in that moment, that Honor realized she was in love with him.
* * *
The meeting of the Guard was adequate but could have gone better, Michael decided. While they failed to come up with a more immediate plan to find the Horsemen, the others did agree with Michael’s theory that the Horsemen most likely found a practitioner and used him or her to stay one step ahead of the Guard’s efforts to track them down. Michael assigned Donovan and Joan to consult with Dion immediately. It was quite possible the Master had knowledge as to which practitioner the Horsemen were using and they must needs know whether Dion had a way to circumvent his or her power to take away the Horsemen’s advantage.
That Michael was left behind grated on his nerves. He clenched his jaw to keep from lashing out. He wanted to be the one to go with Joan to visit the Master of Practitioners. Unfortunately, Michael had a previous engagement. One he now regretted agreeing to. An engagement that was the reason Michael now waited alone in the Guard’s chamber, on edge and apprehensive. The thought of the upcoming face-to-face had Michael scowling and left a sour taste in his mouth.
Immediately after it adjourned, Tony left the gathering of the Guard and would return soon. With him he would bring the Prince of Lust. Michael shook his head, amazed to find himself in such a situation. One he never imagined possible. Bloody Fates, he must be going mad to have agreed to this. To allow the dangerous daemon anywhere near the Guard’s hall.
The rare times Michael allowed himself to ponder recent events, he concluded in truth, it was more than likely he was going mad. The only explanation for what transpired of late was a decent into complete madness—the erotic dreams, the mysterious female, and the strange manner in which his rock-steady life force went berserk at random. The unusual flare and spark of his soul, which initially was restricted to Michael’s sleep—and even then only when he dreamt of the sultry temptress, Honor—now occurred regularly during his waking hours as well. Earlier at Joan’s, it happened again. Out of nowhere, Michael’s life force expanded and began to crackle and swirl with power. Flashing blue tendrils unfurled and reached out from his body, as if seeking the female and her lavender life force. Not only was Michael wide-awake when this transpired, but the stunning Honor was nowhere to be seen.
Michael would swear the auburn-haired female was hiding in Joan’s quarters, but when he tried to bypass Joan at the door, the fierce saint refused him entry. If it weren’t for millennia of practice controlling his fits of rage—maintaining his stoic, unwavering facade—and his great respect for females, Michael may very well have simply shoved Joan aside and forced his way in. But that would be overly dramatic, because in truth, the female from his dreams didn’t exist. Therefore she couldn’t be inside Joan’s home or anywhere else for that matter, right?
She isn’t real.
But what if… what if she were? Michael closed his eyes and brought up an image of Honor’s face, so delicate with her pale complexion and rust-colored freckles. Those long, seductive lashes that dipped down every time she snuck a shy glance at him. The whisper soft touch of her fingertips on his rough skin. Fates be damned, Michael wanted to ravage her. Take her in his arms and press her down beneath his body. Strip off their clothes until they lay skin to skin, and sink deep into her slick heat.
“Michael?”
Michael’s eyes flew open and his cheeks grew hot. Damn. Mayhap Tony failed to see Michael’s embarrassment, what with being caught in the midst of such wicked and sexual thoughts. Michael’s gaze flicked to Tony’s companion and his body went ramrod stiff. A flood of shame and anger pulsed inside Michael. Tony didn’t know what went on inside Michael’s head, but the knowing smirk on Lust’s face meant the daemon knew exactly what type of thoughts Michael was enjoying, and that made Michael furious. Remaining silent, he raised a brow at Tony and waited for an introduction.
“Oh.” Tony cleared his throat as he approached, the other male in tow. “Michael, this is Dante Vittorio. Dante, this is—”
“Archangel Michael Caelum. The Great Protector,” the daemon said. Michael made no move to offer his hand and neither did the Son of Lust. Even if Michael hadn’t known who was coming, he had no doubts as to who the immortal was. Lust’s power literally rolled off of him, thick and cloying. Besides, the daemon looked every bit the part he was literally born to play. Lust was tall, dark, and impossibly handsome. Black hair highlighted strikingly blue eyes. Eyes that were created to seduce. Eyes that currently sparkled with mischief. Lust’s overtly masculine body was the perfect lure to attract the prey upon which the daemon fed, his repulsive need to consume the lust, sexual desire, and carnal sins of others, bottomless and never satisfied.
In the midst of studying the daemon, a longing so intense, and despite recent events, unlike anything Michael experienced thus far, crashed over him. It pierced Michael’s skin to sink impossibly deep, like an arrow shot straight into his very soul. His life force reacted immediately to the intrusion. It flared and grew brighter as it began the now familiar awakening, only a hundred times as potent. Lust and desire roared through Michael’s being, penetrating all the way to a cellular level. His body responded similar to that of his recent dreams, only much more potent. In the blink of an eye, Michael’s cock was as hard as his steel blade and great pressure swelled from within. It felt as if he didn’t get release soon, Michael might explode.
“Do you mind?” Michael snarled as he glared at Lust with furious loathing. The daemon exchanged a confused look with Tony, as if he didn’t know what Michael meant, bastard deceitful daemon. Michael’s fury grew to unbearable levels, because the daemon bloody well knew exactly what he was doing. Jaw clenched, Michael growled, “Tone. It. Down. Prince of Lust. I can feel your sin spilling out and I don’t appreciate your attempt to influence me into your perverted ways.” It enraged Michael that the daemon Prince dared to influence his body and his life force, to use his power to make Michael’s member stiff and fill his mind with carnal desires.
“But… I’m not…” The Prince—Dante, as Tony introduced the vile immortal, stumbled over his words and his brow furrowed as he shook his head. “I’m not compelling you. I swear to the Fates.”
“Do you take me a fool, impudent half-breed?” Michael roared as another impossibly powerful wave of desire exploded from within. Red-hot need coiled tight in his groin and the base of Michael’s spine tingled with excruciating pleasure. He desperately needed to adjust his painfully stiff arousal as it pressed against his trousers, but he’d be damned if he’d do it in front of the Son of Lust. Michael stifled a moan as visions of the glorious Honor, standing before him whilst slowly removing her silky white robes to expose her femininity, smacked him upside the head. Michael ground his molars in the need to control both his body’s reactions and his overwhelming fury for this happening in front of Lust.
“Michael,” Tony said.
“What?” Michael snapped. He knew his restraint was slipping and Michael despised how the helplessness made him feel. Iron-fisted control was one of Michael’s most prized virtues. How dare this… this immoral filth come to Michael’s territory on his gracious invitation—despite his misgivings agreeing to even meet with the cur—only for the daemon to attack him with his depraved and dirty thoughts.
“I don’t feel anything,” Tony admitted, sharing another puzzled look with the daemon.
“I am not using my influence,” Dante insisted. “I give you my oath.” The Prince of Lust held his hands up in a show of innocence.
Michael grunted and stomped away to hide his enormous erection. He closed his eyes and held his breath, concentrating on calming his body and his rebellious life force. It took several minutes for Michael to regain control of his wildly fluctuating desires… for the most part. His core of power, as stubborn as Michael himself, refused to cooperate and continued to sizzle and spark, blue tendrils spiraling out and around Michael’s Earthly form. Well, Michael would take what little reprieve he could get. The flaring life force he could deal with so long as his excitable manhood behaved.
“Are you okay?” Tony asked.
Michael took a deep breath and turned to face the saint and the daemon. “I’m fine.” He pointed toward the table. “Sit.”
“Do you want to talk about—”
“No.” Michael most definitely did not want to discuss his recent… sexual desires with Tony or anyone else. And definitely not in front of the Prince of Lust who likely sensed every licentious feeling and thought Michael had, which in itself was humiliating.
“All right,” Tony said. Michael should feel remorse for putting the bewildered look on the saint’s face, but he didn’t. He was too concerned with what was happening to him as of late. Michael needed to get this blasted meeting over with so he could consult with Raphael again. His condition was growing worse and Michael couldn’t continue like this. If he didn’t regain full control over his own bloody body, he feared he may be told to rest, and with the Horsemen working to bring about the apocalypse, Michael couldn’t afford to be so selfish as to take time off because his wayward dick wouldn’t behave.
Michael turned to, ugh, Dante. “Talk, Prince of Lust. Why are you here and what makes you think I’ll allow my sancten and angelen to help your kind with anything?”
Dante paled, but in the daemon’s defense—though nervous—didn’t appear to be intimidated by Michael in the least. Dante’s eyes flicked to a spot over Michael’s shoulder and understanding crept in.
“Ahhh. You fear my sword?” Michael asked. He smirked at the handsome daemon who swallowed loud enough to hear, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Aye, the daemon’s eyes were fixed on the Sword of Light, nestled in its sheath and strapped to Michael’s back. Normally, Michael didn’t wear the sword to gatherings of the Guard, but with the knowledge he was to meet with Lust, Michael erred on the side of caution and strapped the weapon in place.
“Michael,” Tony warned. “Can we play nice for five minutes?”
Michael narrowed his gaze at Tony. He didn’t understand his friend’s affection for the half-daemon Prince. But in truth, Michael did trust Tony. With his very existence. He supposed he owed it to Tony to be more tolerant and bickering would get them nowhere. Plus, Michael wanted this meeting over as quickly as possible, which meant cooperating.
“Fine.” Michael faced Dante. “I have no intention of using my weapon. Lust. Speak.”
* * *
Honor watched as Dante’s face relaxed, but noted the rest of the daemon remained tense. Dante licked his lips, clearly nervous. “I want to banish the Kings.”
Michael snorted and Honor’s gaze snapped to the Archangel. “And why would you do that? Banish your own father?”
This was a side of Michael Honor had not yet witnessed, and admittedly, she didn’t particularly care for it. Sarcastic, rude, and threatening didn’t suit the honorable Michael. In her opinion, he was above these petty emotions, or so she had believed. In a way, Honor understood Michael’s frustration. Her own simmering desire had detonated when Dante entered the room, burning hot and as intense as a roaring inferno, scalding her body both inside and out. Unlike Michael, however, Honor believed Dante when the daemon insisted he had nothing to do with Michael’s—and therefore her own—surge of lust. She believed him because Honor had had these bouts of… passion for a while now. Mayhap the daemon’s presence served to intensify the new and thrilling sensations which raced through her, but Honor knew without a doubt it was Michael, not Dante, who brought about the incredible desire and caused her lilac energy to flare into a mighty blaze.
Fascinated, Honor watched Dante’s cheeks grow red and the daemon dropped his gaze to the table. Dante was the very first creature of the Underworld Honor encountered, and she must needs admit, he was nothing as she imagined. Dante was handsome—very handsome—well spoken, dressed in the manner of a nobleman, and carried himself as such, yet the male seemed withdrawn, almost sad. Where Honor expected to sense a veil of evil surrounding the male, Dante was courteous and though she didn’t have the ability to see it, believed she sensed the seductive presence he brought with him. In truth, his aura didn’t feel all that dissimilar to the angels and saints with whom Honor came into contact.
Dante was a male who, from what little Honor could tell, believed in doing what was just and righteous.
“My father,” Dante explained, “deserves the fate I intend to deliver unto him.” His cheek muscles ticked and the tendons in Dante’s flushed neck strained. The daemon was angry and upset, yet met Michael’s harsh glare with his head held high. “The Kings wield too much power. Over myself and my cousins, other immortals, and the humans of Eastlake Falls.” Dante leaned into Michael’s space and Honor held her breath as she waited for Michael to react negatively. “They are destructive, evil, selfish beings. The Earthly plane shall be better off without them walking upon it.”
To her surprise, Michael didn’t respond, not to Dante crowding him, nor the venom in the daemon’s words. They weren’t directed at Michael after all, even Honor knew as much. What was clear was that Dante despised his own sire to the point he was willing to go to extremes to get rid of him. Honor wondered how terrible the King of Lust must needs be for his own son to turn against him. She shivered at the thought and wrapped her arms around her torso. Mayhap it was better she didn’t know.
“I admit the Kings are a problem,” Michael said, “but now is not a good time to start a war.” Michael’s features hardened and he stared directly into Dante’s eyes. “That is what it would come down to, Lust. War. Or at the very least, a long, painful battle. Are you prepared for that? You may well lose one or more of your cousins. You yourself might perish or find yourself banished. You say you want them gone, but can you handle the consequences?”
Dante maintained Michael’s steady gaze. “I am prepared to accept my fate. If this plan doesn’t work or should you decide to refuse my request, I am prepared to have myself banished to escape my father if needs be.”
Michael’s brows shot up and Honor was sure her own did as well. No immortal asked to be banished to the Underworld. From what little she heard about the place, existing in the Underworld was a sentence to an eternity of suffering. To consider banishment for himself, Dante was well and truly serious about escaping his sire.
“Michael,” Tony implored, “I beg of you to at least listen to Dante’s plan. It shall work. The Guard has given the Kings free reign for much too long and they grow bolder. Dante says Asmodeus maintains a harem of humans he keeps and uses as sex slaves. And apparently Satan, the King of Wrath, has been abducting humans to use in fights to the death for his entertainment. This has been going on for centuries, and yet we sit back and allow it to happen!” Tony’s face was red and he pounded his fists on the table. “We must needs stop them.”
“The Horsemen—”
“If you join me in fighting the Kings,” Dante said, “I shall assist you in finding the Horsemen. Anything I can do, any resource I can provide, shall be at your disposal.” The daemon shared a glance with Tony who nodded. Dante turned back to Michael and dropped a bomb in Michael’s lap. “Including my secret weapon.”
“Hmm, aye, this supposed secret weapon,” Michael said, his voice laced with a tad too much derision for Honor’s taste. “What is it you have that you believe will make me eager to say yes to your proposal?”
Dante’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth lifted. Honor’s heart stuttered in fear. Whatever the daemon had, it was in truth deadly. And a game changer.
“I have at my disposal, a very close friend. One who has sworn loyalty to me.” Dante’s smirk morphed into a stunning grin.
“And…?” Michael asked, one brow cocked.
“And… he’s a wraith.”
Honor had no idea what that meant, but it was obvious Michael did, because he lurched back in his chair with a stunned expression on his face. After taking a moment to recover, and without any further discussion, Michael spoke a single word. A word that truly shocked Honor.
“Deal.”
Both Tony and Dante whooped with joy. Their happiness was infectious, and despite the gripping fear at the thought of Michael going to war, Honor couldn’t help but smile. The joy was short lived. Where her heart had stuttered a minute ago, the next words out of Dante’s mouth made it come to an abrupt halt.
“By the way,” the daemon said. His eyes flicked to where Honor stood and she froze in place, certain the daemon could see her. Dante glanced at Michael and said, “Were you aware we are not the only ones in the chamber?” Dante turned back to Honor and smiled. “Greetings, Watcher.”