Chapter 10
“What is this you speak of?” Michael asked. He followed Dante’s line of sight and saw nothing. “There is no one else here.”
“Dante?” Tony asked, his mouth pulled in a deep frown. “What do you mean we’re not alone?”
Dante shifted his focus from the empty corner of the hall, to Michael. “Tell me, Michael, what know you of my abilities?” Dante asked. “As the Son of Lust, that is.”
Michael smashed his lips together and ground his back teeth so hard he was surprised they didn’t crumble to dust. He wasn’t in the mood for riddles.
“Skip the parlor games and twenty questions and tell me exactly what it is you are trying to say, daemon.”
Dante rolled his eyes and Michael suppressed the desire to plant his fist in the arrogant immortal’s face. “Fine. Like my father…” Michael didn’t miss the way Dante spat the nominative. “I feed upon lust. To do that, I must needs know whether someone, be they immortal or human, is aroused. In essence, I can see their aura. Each emotion on the spectrum is represented by a different color, which emanates from its source. Violet is pride, red is wrath, dark blue is lust, and so on. When I come upon a human or immortal with a dark blue aura, I know my daemon can feed.”
Michael was both fascinated and disgusted. To know someone’s mood at a glance was quite an impressive gift, but the manner in which Dante utilized that gift made Michael’s skin crawl. Devouring lust. Gross. Such a nasty habit.
“And what does this have to do with your previous statement? About a Watcher?” Tony asked.
Dante pointed over Michael’s shoulder to the unoccupied corner. The daemon wasted no words on pleasantries. “The Watcher is standing right there, and he or she is currently more frightened than a one-legged elf being chased by a ravenous Hellhound.”
Michael stared at the space for a heartbeat or two, then pushed from his chair and strode toward the corner. Ignoring the now-familiar surge of activity of his life force, Michael stopped short of actually stepping inside the area indicated by Dante. He erred on the side of caution and left a gap between himself and the supposed Watcher, if Michael were to believe Dante, that is. Curious, Michael reached out as if to touch the invisible presence.
“Is that a good idea?” Tony called out.
“He shan’t be able to make contact,” Michael heard Dante murmur, the daemon’s tone unconcerned. “Watchers are crafty like that. I only know he or she is there because I can see the aura of fear. They mask their presence. Unfortunately, this one forgot to mask his or her aura as well.” Michael glanced back to find Dante watching him. The daemon cocked his head and hummed, then rose and approached Michael. “This is quite… odd,” Dante said as came to a stop next to the Archangel.
Michael huffed. “What could possibly be more odd than the entirety of this meeting, Lust?” Michael waved his hand through the empty space. He was about to boast of there being nothing there, when a bolt of lightning struck his fingertips. Shocked, Michael yanked his hand back, fingers tingling with energy. “I… I think…” Michael lost his thought as his blue energy pitched forward, and his life force poured from him in a powerful rush.
“Michael?” Dante asked. The daemon gave Michael a strange look and took a cautious step back.
Tony must have rushed over because Michael heard the saint’s voice in his ear. “Michael! Michael! Dante, what’s happening to him?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen this.”
Michael couldn’t answer, couldn’t form words, didn’t want to form them. Because in all his existence, Michael had never experienced so much pleasure, such ecstasy. It was laced with a dull, stinging pain, except somehow the pain enhanced the pleasure. Sharpened it to a spear point that entered Michael’s heart then unfurled to suffuse his body with mind-blowing rapture. Michael’s eyes rolled back in his head, his nostrils flared, and he was hit with a wave of sweet cinnamon. All at once, Michael knew.
“Bloody Fates, it’s her,” he whispered.
Michael saw no one, yet he had no doubt as to whose presence he felt. He could smell her, unable to get the scent of cinnamon out of his nose for weeks now. It was his female, the one from his dreams. Honor. In awe, Michael was silent as he watched the blue and lavender of their life forces intertwine, the strands twisting and energy flowing in a mutual exchange, the purpose of which Michael knew not. He was conscious of growing warm, feeling loved, cherished even. It was as if he were in the Hereafter, but still able to feel his body, carefully wrapped in a blanket of the softest cashmere and set upon a bed of the fluffiest down feathers.
Then, everything changed.
“Ahhhh!” Michael cried out as pleasure ebbed and pain took its place.
Overcome, Michael collapsed to his knees and clutched his chest, vaguely aware of Tony shouting in the background. Every muscle in Michael’s body clenched whilst his ligaments pulled tight as an archer’s bow. His breath frozen in his lungs, whilst kneeling, Michael bent over, one huge fist pressing into his thigh as he struggled not to cry in anguish.
“Go!” Michael heard Dante roar, the daemon’s words directed at the empty space, his voice a throaty snarl. “Leave! You are hurting him and thus yourself!” Michael lifted his head in time to witness Dante dart past him. The daemon prince purposefully placed himself between Michael and the unseen Watcher. A Watcher with the unheard of ability to render an Archangel completely helpless. “Watcher, I can see you are afraid and also in pain,” Dante said, his tone deceptively calm. “Prithee, go and recover, lest you both end up destroyed.”
With his entire body howling in agony, Michael had difficulty processing the fact that the Son of Lust put his own existence in danger to save an enemy. To save Michael. But that’s exactly what Dante did.
Whatever brutal hold the Watcher had upon Michael’s life force vanished, as did the luscious scent of cinnamon. She was gone. Drained of energy, Michael toppled over and rolled to his back, gasping for air. His spasming life force retreated into its sphere, serene once more. The lilac tendrils blinked out of existence, gone from his insides. Tony’s hand landed on Michael’s shoulder and the saint helped Michael push into a sitting position.
“Are you injured?” Tony asked.
Michael shook his head, still catching his breath. “No. It… it was… painful. An all-consuming pain. As if… my insides were turning… to the outside.” Michael glanced at Dante, and took a deep breath. He was surprised to see the immortal shared the same worried expression as Tony. “Thank you,” Michael said. “For whatever you did.”
Dante nodded. “The Watcher. I believe he or she was experiencing symptoms similar to yours.”
Both Michael and Tony’s mouths hung open.
“How do you know?” Tony asked.
“I could see the Watcher’s aura.” Dante turned to Michael. “It mirrored yours.”
“In what way?” Michael asked as he staggered to his feet. He pushed Tony’s hands away when Tony attempted to assist. “I am fine, amicus.”
Tony snorted. “You weren’t,” he said with a hefty dose of sarcasm.
“Prithee explain, Dante,” Michael said.
Dante gaped like a fish. “You… you used my name.”
Sweat dripping down his brow, Michael rolled his eyes and dropped into his chair. The others followed suit. “You saved me, Dante. From what fate I know not. But you had no reason to do so. If you are willing to place yourself in harm’s way for me, you have earned my utmost respect.”
“T-thank you,” Dante said, clearly stunned. “I shan’t waste the gift you bestow upon me.”
“Nor shall I,” Michael responded.
“Can we discuss what in fiery infernum just happened?” Tony squawked. “I mean, that was beyond strange.” Tony turned to Dante. “Tell us about the matching auras.”
“As you wish,” Dante said and faced Michael. “When you approached the Watcher, your aura was yellow—curious. The Watcher’s was ice blue—frightened.” Michael gestured for Dante to continue. “When you thrust your hand into the Watcher’s space, both of your auras turned…” Dante paused and to Michael’s surprise, the daemon’s cheeks flushed.
“Just tell us, Dante,” Tony urged.
“Both of you grew… aroused,” Dante said. “Dark blue. Lust. Mine own sin. I would recognize it even if my eyes were closed.”
“Oh,” Tony murmured.
Heat flooded Michael’s neck and face. In hindsight, it made perfect sense for Dante, being the Son of Lust, to sense Michael’s desire and the rush of pleasure he experienced. But to discover the Watcher—who Michael was convinced was the female from his dreams—was also aroused, gave Michael immense satisfaction. So much so, he had to suppress a smile.
Thankfully, Dante kept going instead of pausing to ask Michael to explain why he was aroused. “Then, both of your auras turned as black as Death himself. Stress and pain. That is what a black aura means. You collapsed to the floor,” Dante said to Michael. “And the aura surrounding the Watcher went to the ground as well. I can only assume the Watcher fell as he or she experienced the same symptoms as you.”
This news troubled Michael. “So, you are saying she felt the same agony?” Fates, the thought of the innocent and beautiful Honor suffering such unbearable pain made Michael’s stomach turn. Just like that, Michael’s protective instinct leapt to the forefront, overshadowing everything else including his own tortured anguish. He would not see his female suffer again.
“Peace.” Michael blinked and found Dante holding his hands up between them. Michael growled at Dante, fury and guilt still warring inside. “Your aura is red, Michael—wrath. You are very angry,” Dante said hesitantly.
“Son of a djinn,” Michael hissed under his breath, only it must have been louder than he thought, because Dante chuckled at the crude oath.
“Aye. To answer your next question, I can see every one of your moods, should I chose.”
“Then turn it off,” Michael snapped.
Fates, how humiliating.
“As you wish,” Dante said. “It is done.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “It’s that simple?”
Dante nodded. “In truth, as it is natural to my daemon half.”
“You consider your daemon separate from your human side?” Tony asked.
Dante’s expression turned flat. “I’d rather not discuss my daemon.”
Michael could tell Tony wanted to push Dante for answers, but reluctantly let it go. Good, because Michael had other issues he needed Lust to explain and honestly couldn’t care less how the immortal felt about his daemon.
“You demanded the Watcher take leave,” Michael said, recalling Dante’s words. “That is when that…” Michael waved a hand back and forth from his chest to the empty space in the corner, “stopped.”
“I did,” Dante confirmed. “And aye, that is why whatever disturbed your life force and that of the Watcher, ceased.”
Michael sank back in his chair to mull over this new information, and when the answer finally came, he wondered why it took so long to put the pieces together. Michael rose from his seat, spurred by an urgent need to take a trip to the Hereafter and beat some answers out of a sneaky, backstabbing Archangel.
“I must needs go,” Michael said and turned to his second in command. “Tony, arrange for another meeting with Dante.” He flicked his gaze to the half-daemon. “And bring the wraith.” Before Tony or Dante could respond, Michael dematerialized.
That little shit Gabriel had some serious explaining to do.
* * *
Honor’s hands trembled so badly she had to sit on them to stop the shaking. Except, when they were finally still, it allowed her mind to wander and her focus turned to her hammering heart. It slammed against her breastbone so hard, it felt as if the overtaxed muscle would burst free of its bony cage and take flight. Desperate to lessen the anxiety, Honor closed her eyes and did some deep breathing in the hopes of slowing her pulse, but the second the world went dark, the forest around her disappeared. A torrent of visions took up residence, every single one featuring the memory of Michael, suffering pain so immense the powerful Archangel was literally brought to his knees. Even whilst it occurred and she could barely stand to Watch, Honor’s own pain was of no concern, though in truth it was so excruciating she recalled at one point she wished for death. And if Michael were indeed dying as they both writhed on the floor, then death was exactly what Honor desired. In the short time since she first set eyes on the Archangel, Honor knew she couldn’t exist without him.
In the moment, Honor knew not why her soul leaked from her physical body, only that she must needs prevent it from happening, which was easier said than done since she had no Earthly idea what affliction plagued her and Michael’s souls. At first, all Honor felt was pure, limitless ecstasy, the heights of which knew no bounds. An ecstasy that thundered through her body and soul whilst her sizzling life force sought out Michael’s. The sensation that burned its way through her veins was indescribable. Every single cell sang with pleasure, creating a symphony of rapture. It was so amazing, in truth, when caught in its clutches all Honor desired was for Michael to pull her to the floor and drape his heavy, muscular body on top of hers. Wanted the warrior to pin her down beneath his bulk and use that incredible strength to hold her there. She wanted to rub herself all over his intoxicating, sandalwood scented skin until it clung to her and she could smell him all the time. But at the last second, fear of the unknown took over and Honor fought the pull with all her might. The influence of her soul was near impossible to resist and twice, she nearly gave in and simply allowed whatever the Fates had waiting for her to go on as intended.
Then Honor snapped out of the trance and remembered that not only was her soul taking leave, Michael’s was leaving his body as well, and that, she would not allow. The Fates could have Honor if they must, but Michael… For him, she would fight to her dying breath. The Earthly plane needed the Protector, and Honor… she needed to know that Michael lived on even if in doing so it led to her own demise.
So she fought, and mercy, did it hurt, as if her entire body and soul were shattering, tiny pieces breaking off one by one. Absurdly, it was the Daemon Prince who gave Honor the push she required to break free from the connection that pulled her soul toward Michael. When The Prince of Lust shouted and demanded Honor take leave, that she was the one hurting her Michael, Honor dug down deep, gave one final mighty heave, and her lilac tendrils snapped free of their grip on Michael’s core.
Tears pricked at Honor’s eyes at the memory. She hurt Michael. Whom she loved with all of her being. She knew not how or why her presence caused such agonizing pain. But if Lust could see her, and by all accounts he did, and knew what she was, then it was likely the daemon recognized what was happening. When Lust said it was Honor’s fault then she believed him.
Upon gaining that knowledge Honor knew what must needs be done. As much as it would destroy her to do so, there was no other choice to be made. Being near Michael was dangerous, for both Michael and Honor. There was no doubt in her mind that the next time she came anywhere near the Archangel, the powerful reaction between their life forces would transpire once again.
With a heavy heart, Honor dematerialized to the Hereafter to beg until Gabriel freed her of this task. Honor loved Michael. Enough that she would give him up. Blinking back tears, Honor understood she could no longer Watch over her heart and soul. It was time to let him go.