Chapter 12
Honor rematerialized in the impeccably manicured garden of a sprawling estate in the mountains that made up the north border of the village of Eastlake Falls. She discovered it whilst exploring her new home shortly after returning to the Earthly plane. Being amongst the thriving flora and fauna brought a smile to her face when little else could. Adjusting to being… dead, and subsequently made immortal took time. The manor lord owned so much land the mansion stood beyond sight from where she sat on a stone bench, carefully nestled alongside fragrant blooms and perfectly trimmed hedges. Honor found peace in this place and visited on a handful of occasions, whenever she felt the need to reflect upon her assignment. Or, if she admitted the truth, to escape the impossibly strong attraction, the undeniable passion, the incredible pull between Michael and Honor, or more accurately, their souls.
Honor sighed and fingered the narrow, velvety petals of a large, blood red dahlia. Stunning as the gardens were, Honor would have much preferred to visit the township in which she was raised. Despite how eager she had been when she was human, to leave the tiny village of Sheffield, she missed the familiarity of her home. But the mentors in the Hereafter made it abundantly clear that any and all previously human immortals were to avoid their place of birth, at least until any human who could recognize her was long dead and gone.
Honor supposed she should feel sorrow for the loss of her family. Grieve for her life cut short and those she left behind. Yet she found she could not. Honor simply held fond memories of those with whom she used to share a life. Mayhap not quite so fond when it came to her spoiled brat sister or her much, much older betrothed. Honor suspected her indifference was yet another mysterious effect of becoming immortal.
One more answer she would never receive.
Despite the ruckus in Gabriel’s chambers, the day was lovely and it would be a shame to waste it. Honor tilted her head back to stare at the sky, a clear, brilliant blue with nary a cloud in sight. A light breeze blew, just strong enough to tousle her hair. The hollow place in Honor’s heart, carved deep to await Michael’s soul, hurt just a tiny bit less as a lovely yellow and black butterfly flitted around a cluster of the spiky red dahlias until it chose one upon which to land. The sight brought a smile to Honor’s lips, a rare occurrence of late, where Honor spent the majority of her waking hours either confused, aching from a loss she didn’t understand, or inexplicably aroused.
Unable to elucidate her troubles at the moment, Honor closed her eyes and let the sun warm her skin whilst her mind wandered to Michael. Angels above, but the male was extraordinary. Honor wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, yet… the bizarre reaction of her life force whenever Michael was nearby made her nervous to be around him. Honor huffed out an unamused laugh. As if she could stay away. With a touch of anxiety and an excited flutter of her pulse, Honor recalled the crackle and hiss of her soul. How the long, lavender tendrils branched out and reached for the Archangel. The same way Honor wished she could reach out with her arms. She recalled the manner in which her insides lit afire, intense heat stoking a blistering, potent arousal that concentrated at the juncture of her thighs.
Disregarding her surroundings, her head overflowing with visions of Michael, Honor fell prey to her need and parted her lips to slick her tongue across them. Her cheeks flushed hot and a fresh wave of desire made her empty sex clench whilst she imagined how it would feel if Michael touched her there.
“Good morrow, m’lady.”
“Oh!” Honor jerked upright with such force she nearly tumbled off the bench. Mortified, both to not only be caught unaware, but whilst in the midst of a torrent of sinful and graphic sexual fantasies, Honor gave herself a moment as she attempted to collect her scattered wits. Eventually, she lifted her gaze. When she did so, Honor lurched back on the stone bench, her eyes growing wide. Standing close… mayhap too close… was an impossibly tall, heart-stoppingly beautiful male. Fates, he was gorgeous to the extreme. Jaw-droppingly handsome. The epitome of everything masculine. Yet as this vision of perfection stood before her, instead of blushing as she took in the male’s attractive attributes, every one of Honor’s instincts raised the alarm. Her terror increased when a smirk curled the corner of his full lips. She shifted her gaze and shivered. The gleam in his eyes made her sun-warmed body go frigid, and goose flesh dotted her arms.
The first attribute about the male—besides his inhumanly attractive face and body—that Honor took note of, all but shouted at the forefront of her mind.
Immortal.
More chill bumps prickled down Honor’s spine and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. Unchecked dread trickled into her soul and she shuddered. Immortal? Aye. But the male wasn’t simply immortal. Even with her lack of experience, Honor knew beyond a doubt, the male in front of her was not from the Hereafter and not a practitioner.
Which left only one option.
Daemon.
I need to get away, and fast.
“I-I’m sorry. I must needs go,” Honor stammered out when her mouth caught up with her terrified brain. Every reflex screamed, Get out of here! and Honor began to rise. Her first mistake was she hadn’t anticipated how impossibly fast the daemon would move. A hand as large as Honor’s head darted out and gripped her shoulder to hold her firmly in place. Fraught with panic, his touch caused Honor to freeze in place. For his part, the male made no move to remove his hand. It was huge and hot and heavy and the heat penetrated her silken robes. Honor winced at her second blunder.
Fates, not only did I fail to mask my presence, I didn’t switch clothes.
If the daemon had yet to work out Honor’s faction—Hereafter, Underworld, or Practitioner, her blinding white robes said all he needed to know. As a Watcher, Honor’s greatest asset was other immortals’ inability to both detect her presence and suss out her immortal status. The unearthly color of the robes negated Honor’s advantage, which meant the daemon knew she was from the Hereafter. No chance professing to be daemon in order to make a hasty departure.
“I think I should prefer you stayed.” The male’s voice rumbled through her very being, a deep baritone that pleased the ear despite his incontrovertible demand. To her horror, Honor found herself nodding in agreement, though she knew not why. Everything about the daemon radiated danger, yet Honor felt a familiar tingle of pleasure building between her legs. An intense pulse of lust hit Honor full on, filling her up to radiate outward in a flood of highly potent ecstasy. Despite a swell of shame at her wanton thoughts—her mind conjuring up visions of Michael’s nude body, his weight pressing hers into his bed—Honor couldn’t smother the humiliating moan that escaped her parted lips.
Though her mind fogged with intoxicating, relentless desire, somehow Honor managed to pluck a single rational thought out of the swirling mire of sex. There were only two immortals on the entire Earthly plane that held the ability to send one’s libido out of control so quickly and aggressive. Honor already met one, and the stunning male who stood in front of her wasn’t Dante. That left only one other.
Honor’s heart did a free fall, tumbling to land at her feet with a splat.
Oh Fates… It’s Asmodeus, the Daemon King of Lust.
“You are quite… spectacular,” Asmodeus cooed whilst he dragged a thick finger down her cheek. Honor shivered, though not from yearning. She might be naive and inexperienced, but she was far from foolish. Honor knew exactly what the Daemon King would do to her Earthly body—taking her soul down with it—if she failed to escape. Bile rose at the explicit mental images the grinning daemon thrust inside her head. One after the other, scenes of multiple naked bodies writhing, each in various states of intercourse. Visions of males and females bound to terrifying pieces of equipment whilst others whipped their exposed backsides until blood pooled beneath them. Pictures of sexual acts so grotesque, they made her stomach turn. Every image punctuated with lusty moans and broken screams of pain. Tears pricked at Honor’s eyes and despair clamped down on her lungs. And the worst part? To her great shame, her body continued to spark and flare with an unquenchable sexual hunger.
She must needs escape or make no mistake, Honor would be the next one strapped to a bench, beaten bloody whilst others stole pleasure from her broken body, destroying her precious soul in the process.
Is it no wonder Dante is so determined to rid himself of this monster?
Honor closed her eyes and with every molecule of her being, gathering every ounce of immortal energy contained in her life force, she pushed against the King’s ruthless compulsion that had wedged its way within her soul. Mercy, the weight of the daemon’s power proved heavier than a pack of rabid Hellhounds as it crushed her ribcage as she drove his compulsion out.
The King’s vicious grin slipped and his smooth forehead furrowed as he sensed Honor rebelling against his influence. Asmodeus’s momentary shock affected his mental hold on Honor. The power loosened and not wasting a second, she took full advantage of the daemon’s distraction by pushing as hard as she could against his influence. Sweat beaded on her brow and every muscle ached from the strain. By the Kingdom, but his powers are strong! Honor barely managed to lift a fraction of the artificial lust Daemon King thrust upon her, but it was enough.
Free from compulsion, all Honor needed was to get Asmodeus’s hand off her, else when she dematerialized the King would simply go with her. When a dematerializing immortal touched another, they transported together. Unfortunately, exhaustion already overtook Honor’s mind and soul. A Watcher simply did not possess the physical strength to move a Daemon King. Thinking fast, Honor ducked and rolled toward the end of the bench. If she fell to the ground, Asmodeus would have to release her shoulder.
Furious, Asmodeus snarled, and the sound turned Honor’s blood glacial cold. She cried out when vicious claws extended from the King’s fingertips and sank into her deltoid, the King determined not to lose his prize. Choking back a half-scream, half-sob, the agony of five sharp knives ripping their way through tendon and muscle filled the edges of Honor’s vision with white spots. Rivulets of warm liquid trickled down Honor’s chest, arm, and back. She was bleeding… badly.
And it hurt, merciful Fates, did it ever hurt. More so than even the agony of tearing her soul away from Michael’s. Honor would deal with her pain later, because the physical agony she currently experienced was likely a sweet caress compared to what the King of Lust had in mind for her future.
Claws still embedded, Honor yelped as Asmodeus used the blades to yank her to her feet. The daemon wrapped her in his thick, heavily muscled arms. The close contact detonated another scorching pulse of lust inside her life force. That damnable, intense hunger rippled outward to spread throughout her body and Honor was rent in two. Half of her wanted to give in to the irresistible urges, the cursed need that consumed her very being and left an unfulfilled ache between her thighs. Her other half was sickened by the Daemon King’s proximity, his touch, and the manner in which he used his free hand to smash her face against the daemon’s brawny chest.
Helpless to save herself, the King of Lust dematerialized with Honor in his cruel embrace. They rematerialized in a dark room, shadows filling every crevice. A single tear made its way down Honor’s cheek. Not from what lie in wait at Lust’s cruel hands, but regret.
Regret she ever fought her need to be with Michael. Regret she ignored the way Michael’s soul called out to hers. Regret she fooled herself into believing she be near Michael and not be wrapped in his arms. Regret she didn’t ignore Gabriel’s order to leave his chambers and instead take what she wanted, content to suffer the wrath of the Fates with Michael at her side. Honor would have accepted any and all consequences for disobeying Gabriel for one last touch of Michael’s lips upon hers.
Anything would be preferable to what lay in wait in the King of Lust’s house of horrors and worse, never seeing her Archangel again.
* * *
Michael entered the hall of the Guard, body twitchy and on edge as if headed into battle. Indeed, the Sword of Light was strapped in place on his back. Michael did not expect to fight, but whenever a wraith was involved, Michael left nothing to chance. As the Protector, Michael was nothing if not prepared.
The instant Michael stepped into the hall his body tensed. Ugh. The dark, heavy presence of the parasitic wraith hit him smack in the face. Adapting a warrior’s stance, Michael’s sharp gaze darted to the long table around which the regularly Guard gathered. Michael first met Tony’s stare, then Dante’s, and locked in place when he stared into the dark brown, stolen eyes of the male at the Prince of Lust’s side.
Wraith.
It took everything in Michael’s power, every ounce of his nearly depleted self-control, to not attack the wraith then and there. But Michael was a male of his word and therefore, would hear Dante out.
Never shifting his gaze from the wraith, Michael was surprised at the utter normality of the wraith’s appearance, though he knew better than to go by face value. Wraiths took human bodies, after all, and furthermore, Michael came across more than his share of wraiths over centuries past. Back when a large part of his mission involved ridding the Earthly plane of the vile creatures.
This one though, Dante’s… friend, stood out from every wraith Michael had previously encountered. Firstly, the wraith stood nearly as tall as Lust, who was similar in height to Michael. That in itself was an oddity, as humans rarely grew taller than six feet and almost never equal to Michael’s own imposing six-foot-six. On top of his unusual height, the wraith was as attractive as any immortal Michael had seen, whether daemon, saint, or angel. Had Michael not known the handsome outer shell housed a wraith inside, he would likely assume the male to be either angel or full daemon, not the monstrous freak that lurked within.
“Michael,” Tony said. Ever eager to fix awkward situations, the saint stepped forward to make introductions. “Per our last meeting, Dante brought his friend, Jack… umm…”
“Bellamy,” the wraith supplied when Tony floundered. Michael raised a brow. The wraith’s voice deep caresses the ears, smooth as silken cloth. Michael expected it to be more hollow, almost an echo, similar to that of a Reaper.
Neither the wraith nor Michael made to shake hands. After a long, uncomfortable silence in which the two immortals engaged in a staring contest, Dante interrupted. “If the two of you are done posturing, do you think we could discuss what we plan to do about the Horsemen and the Daemon Kings?”
The wraith, Jack, gave Michael a wide grin and made itself… er, himself comfortable in one of the many chairs. Michael frowned at the wraith’s casual attitude. He preferred the wr—Jack keep its distance and stupid smiles to itself. Himself. Whatever. Holding back a growl, Michael sank into the seat furthest from Dante and Jack, yet in a prime position to defend against an attack from either the wraith or any possible foe that may enter the chamber.
“Relax, big guy. I have no plans to devour you for breakfast.” A rumble in Michael’s chest warned the wraith not to test his patience. Less than five minutes in and Michael was beyond annoyed with the both wraith and his smart mouth. When Jack shifted his gaze to rake it lasciviously over Michael’s face and torso, licking his lips as he did so, Michael went from annoyed to incensed. “Unless you’re into that, of course. Then I’d be happy to devour whatever you like, big guy.” Jack threw Michael a saucy wink and right then Michael would trade his soul for the chance to slam his knuckles dead center in the wraith’s smug face. “No? All right. I shall settle for refreshments. The sweeter, the better.” Jack grinned again and Michael’s fist itched to watch the two rows of perfect teeth fly out of the wraith’s mouth.
“Jack, please,” Dante said with a hand on Jack’s arm. Lust sounded as irritated as Michael if the sharp tone and pointed look on the daemon’s face meant anything. “You promised you’d behave.”
Jack snorted and rolled his eyes. “Of course, amicus. How could I forget, considering you nagged me at least a hundred times over the last few days.”
That’s it.
Michael reached the end of his rope and aggravation spilt over. “If you’re not here to help or take anything seriously, I have no need for you, parasite.” Spit flew from his clenched teeth and Michael could think of nothing but throttling the wraith, who in Michael’s opinion, was no more charming than a Hellhound’s rear end.
Michael’s slur wiped the idiotic grin off Jack’s face and the wraith’s lips peeled back from those stupid gleaming teeth to create a contorted grimace. “Call me that again, angel, and you’ll find out how exactly how parasitic I can be.”
Unwavering, Michael stared at Jack as he reached over his shoulder to palm the handle of his sword. Before he unsheathed it, a strong hand wrapped around his bicep. “Don’t.” Michael met Tony’s concerned blue gaze and slowly lowered his arm. Michael watched as Tony turned toward Jack. “And you…” Tony narrowed his eyes and to Michael’s surprise, scolded the parasite like it was an errant child. “Either cooperate or I shall have you running from the Guard for the rest of your damnable existence, because if you don’t stop provoking Michael, I shall hunt you down until I find you. I don’t care how long it takes, but believe me, you will be looking over your shoulder every minute of every day because I will catch you. I’m not the Patron Saint of Lost fucking Items for nothing.”
Jack tilted his head, finger tapping his mouth, as if actually considering fighting Tony and Michael right then and there. Finally, the idiot frowned and grunted. “Hmph. Fine. I’ll behave. But I don’t have to like it.” Jack’s petulance earned him a jab in the ribs from Dante to which Jack glared at his friend. “What? You know me. I can’t help who I am. This is me, mouthy and rude, and… oh yes, gorgeous. Deal with it.” Innocent, wide-eyed expression pasted on his face, Jack turned to Tony and Michael. “Where are the refreshments, by the way? I’m starving.”
Tony and Michael furrowed their brows, stunned into silence. Michael didn’t understand the wraith. At all. Food? Who concerned themselves with eating at a time like this? Michael was too wound up to stay calm, let alone enjoy a meal. Not without most of it coming back up.
“Shut up, Jack,” Dante snapped. “You ate before we got here.” When the wraith opened his mouth to argue, Dante flashed his fangs and his eyes flashed an ominous blue. Michael strained to keep his stoic façade.
It seems the Daemon Prince can appear quite intimidating when the need arises.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Right now,” Dante said. After half a second of pouting, Jack mimed locking his lips together and folded his hands on the table all prim and proper.
“Mayhap we can begin?” Michael asked as the familiar roiling anger grew dangerously close to explosive levels.
Not for the first time since leaving Gabriel’s office, Michael wondered why he had yet to sense his Watcher nearby. There hadn’t been a flicker of recognition. Not once. His life force remained as blue and steady as ever and his heart pumped at a regular rhythm. No flutters in his stomach either. After experiencing symptoms of what he now recognized as the gorgeous female’s close proximity, Michael missed the familiarity of it. In truth, he longed for it. As confused as he’d been at the time, the warmth and comfort, not to mention the spine-tingling, cock-hardening, fantasy-spinning desire she incited deep in his core, occupied his mind and kept his volatile temper in check. Without his thankfully vivid imagination, used to create visions that centered on a rumpled, smiling Honor all twisted up in his bed sheets, Michael feared mayhap he wouldn’t make it through this meeting.
Tony and Dante nodded. The wraith, Jack, said nothing. Thank the Fates for small blessings. The three—four if you counted Jack, which Michael was loath to do—of them plotted and strategized for hours until they came up with a solid plan. One that gave them the best chance of beating both the Horsemen and the Daemon Kings.
* * *
“I still can’t believe we… no, I put the future of the entire Earthly plane and its very existence in the hands of a wraith.” Sullen, Michael dragged a calloused hand through his hair. The loose, shoulder-length waves scraped back to expose his agitated features before tumbling forward to frame his face. He knew his expression to be harsh, yet riddled with anxiety, showcasing tight lines at the corners of his eyes, pinched lips, and a rigid, razor-sharp jawline. The very air around Michael seemed to wrap around him in a strangle hold.
The stress of hiding his worry from the Guard, on top of everything else had Michael on the verge of imploding. Days passed since he sensed Honor, and were it not for the vital importance of this mission, Michael would be standing in the Hereafter, demanding Gabriel produce his Watcher.
“We must have faith, amicus,” Tony said, pulling Michael back to the present with a comforting pat to Michael’s arm.
Thrusting his concern for the enchanting Honor Ward to the back of his mind, Michael lifted a thick blond brow and gave Tony a wry stare. “Since when are you one to sit on the sidelines? Usually, you’re the first to jump in without thinking it through. In truth, I’m surprised you haven’t already slain Wrath’s guards and burst through the doors to shake the bloody creature silly simply to dictate how you believe he should go about his task.”
“Hmph.” Tony shot Michael a cross look. “I’m not that bad.” The saint sounded almost petulant, though petulant was the very last emotion Michael would ascribe to his friend. Impulsive, sometimes reckless, and fiercely devoted to the safety of their immortal and human charges were more consistent with Tony’s character.
“Ha!” Joan snorted. “Of course you are, Tony. Once you have your mind set on something, you’re like a Hellhound with a bone from a corpse.” She elbowed Tony playfully in the midsection.
“Oof! Bastard son of a djinn, Joan. That hurt.”
Joan held up her fist. “You know how I feel about cursing. Care for another?”
“I’m good,” he said, still catching his breath.
“She can’t help how tender and easily bruised you are, Tony,” Donovan said, an enormous grin splitting the angel’s face.
Though appreciative of his Guard’s attempt to lessen the tension, Anxiety had Michael too tense for jesting. He opened his mouth to demand they refocus on their mission when a figure materialized right in the center of their small group.
“Fates be damned!” Donovan yelped as he yanked his dagger from the leather sheath he kept tucked in his waistband. Feet braced, arms apart, Donovan wielded the blade, prepared to attack the familiar newcomer, an enormous male that stood much too close for comfort.
“By the Fates,” Joan whispered, her eyes wide.
Satan, the Daemon King of Wrath, loomed over them, taller than even Michael if only by an inch or two. Michael tensed and reached over his shoulder to unsheathe the Sword of Light. Only a true Maledictus Arma could kill an immortal, though Michael had doubts whether the weapon would in truth strike down a Daemon King. Injure, aye. But bring about death? Regular angels, daemons, fae, practitioners… in one swing, the sword would easily end their existences. Over several millennia, Michael never had an occasion to use the sword, certainly not on a higher level immortal, so he had no experience from which to draw. Michael went with his instincts and they told him to utilize caution. He kept his hand on the pommel, but waited to draw his weapon.
“Speak,” Tony snarled, impatience bleeding from the saint’s pores. Along with Donovan, Tony and Joan struck defensive poses, prepared to strike should the plan gone awry and the powerful daemon that stood before them attacked.
Satan smirked at the group and Michael’s fury rose. The sword called to him, urging Michael to pull it from his back and swing the Fate-forged blade through the daemon’s Earthly form. When the daemon said nothing, Michael gave in and slid the Sword of Light out of its scabbard. He gripped the hilt with both hands and held the weapon at the ready.
“You heard him, filth, speak. Make no mistake, I shall not hesitate to strike you down,” Michael snarled.
The air distorted a split second before Dante materialized next to the Daemon King. Dante appeared a mess, eyes bulging from their sockets, hairline sweaty, face flushed, and chest heaving. The daemon looked as worn as if he just escaped the battlefield after hours of grueling hand-to-hand combat.
“We did it,” Dante panted, bent over with hands on knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Dante swallowed and stood straight. Slowly, a smile tugged at the daemon’s lips until Dante positively radiated. Gone was the exhaustion. Dante’s eyes shone and, for the first time since Michael met the daemon, he saw true happiness. Dante raised a fist in the air and shouted, “By the fucking Fates, we did it!”
Michael, Tony, and Joan’s eyes flicked to the King of Wrath, who smirked. “Good morrow,” Satan said. The male’s voice was meant to terrify, and the low, foreboding timbre penetrated deep into Michael’s bones, setting off every one of his protective instincts. He struggled against the compulsion to attack Wrath.
Gaze fixed on the nearly seven foot tall King of Wrath, who dressed in typical warrior’s garb, Joan spoke to Dante. “Is this the wraith?” She tipped her chin toward Satan.
“Aye,” Dante answered. “Jack successfully possessed Wrath’s Earthly form.” Dante appeared quite pleased with himself, and more than that, he was proud of his morally-ambiguous friend. Michael shivered when Satan’s clear brown eyes turned solid black. All over. Even the whites disappeared beneath the inky darkness.
The eyes of a wraith.
Fates above, the wraith did it!
“So, what happened to the King of Wrath?” Tony asked as he took a step closer to peer into Wrath’s eyes. “Is he…?”
“Alive and aware inside this body with me?” Jack/Satan asked. The black receded, and the King’s deep brown eyes returned.
“Er, yes,” Tony said.
“We need to know what we’re dealing with,” Michael said. “If Satan is indeed sharing that… um, your body, how long can you keep the King at bay?”
“Indefinitely,” Jack said with conviction. Mayhap a bit too smug for Michael’s liking, though he gave the wraith due credit. Jack did what Michael previously believed impossible. Jack managed—with Dante’s assistance—to not only infiltrate Wrath’s well-guarded compound, but possess the Earthly form of Daemon King himself. “Not that I care to stay in this…” Jack scrunched his face in distaste as he glanced down to take in his new appearance. “This inferior body. It’s all marked up. And I’m already tired of listening to the whiny bastard complain.”
Dante rolled his eyes. “Ignore him, and Wrath is a violent prick. Did you expect his body to be unscarred, with skin as smooth as a virgin’s?”
Like all of the Daemon Kings and their sons, Wrath’s good looks went well above and beyond stunning. Though unlike most of the others, Wrath’s human form boasted large, striated muscles, beyond that of even a seasoned warrior. Thousands of years of fighting, feeding on rampant fury, combined with his heavy-handed, tyrannical rule added to Wrath’s bulk and hardened his features. Even still, the King was far from ugly.
Jack/Satan sniffed haughtily. “I simply dislike this body. It’s too… uncivilized.” Jack glared down at Dante, the King a few inches taller than the Prince. “You should be a little more sympathetic, amicus. I gave up my own host in doing this for you. It’s going to take forever to find a new one as flawless.” Jack sighed as if put out.
Michael frowned. It slipped his mind that once the wraith left his original host to occupy the Daemon King, the abandoned human body would wither and die, seeing as it lost its human soul to Jack years ago. Upon leaving Satan’s body, the wraith would require a new human host.
Another human needlessly destroyed by the disgusting parasite.
Michael shook the thought from his head. He required the wraith’s help, and if it cost the soul of one human to save hundreds of thousands, then the price would be paid. Michael didn’t care for the way the wraith existed, but this must needs be done for the greater good of the Earthly plane and its inhabitants.
“Where is Son of Wrath?” Michael asked Dante and the Jack/Satan creature.
Dante answered for the wraith. “He should arrive soon. Once Jack dematerialized, I assisted my cousin in disposing of Satan’s personal guard. Maximus is destroying the bodies to avoid suspicion amongst the staff.”
“Good.” Michael turned to the wraith. “You know what to do next?”
Jack shot Michael an unimpressed look. For his part, Michael nearly stumbled backward when Satan’s dark eyes focused on him.
“Of course,” the wraith said. “I am to return to Wrath’s compound, create a tale that requires me take leave of Eastlake Falls for at least a fortnight, and ensure my…” Jack sneered in disgust. “Underlings are aware I am leaving my son, Maximus, in charge and his word is to be obeyed at all times else suffer the consequences.”
“Then the rest of us shall meet at the arranged time and place,” Michael said. He spoke to Tony, Donovan, and Joan. “Let’s go.”
The angels and saints dematerialized and the daemon and wraith left to carry out the next step in ridding the Earthly plane of the cruelest, most immorally bankrupt, and destructive creatures the Underworld had to offer.
* * *
A shiver shook Honor from head to toe, the stagnant air around her so quiet, the clatter of her teeth reverberated as loud as the simultaneous cries of a thousand warriors charging into battle. She closed her eyes and desperately tried to return to her dream. The dream that kept her sane over the last few days… or mayhap weeks? Time lost all meaning, one minute bleeding into the next, some lasted hours, others skipped forward at a rapid pace.
Honor settled and focused on her safe place, an entire world created in the depths of her mind. A world where strong arms held her close. A place where fear didn’t exist and a profound, comforting warmth cocooned Honor in both body and soul. Unfortunately, this night—or mayhap day, as there were no windows here—the chill burrowed too deep, wormed its way into her marrow, rending Honor unable to drift into visions of Michael’s protective embrace.
Giving up on sleep, Honor licked her dry, cracked lips and opened her eyes, not that anything appeared any different than when closed. The cell in which the King of Lust held her was not only warded, rendering her powerless, but devoid of light, the darkness so all-consuming Honor saw not a thing. The lack of sight enhanced her other senses, which she deemed worse than if she felt nothing at all, because upon bringing her to this dungeon, the King ordered Honor stripped naked. The exposed flesh allowed Honor to feel each and every splinter and tiny ridge on the uneven slab of wood upon which she lay. Slick dampness of her sweat and blood seeped into the wood, keeping Honor wet and uncomfortable. The silence meant she heard every rattle and clink of the cursed chains around her wrists and ankles. Times when Honor blessedly forgot her circumstances, one twitch and the sharp bite of hard metal cuffs that dug into raw gashes encircling every limb, yanked her back to reality.
Honor never dreamt she’d long for the detached numbness of the Hereafter, but as of now she’d give anything to be there. Nothing ever hurt as much as her Earthly from did at that moment. Not even the agony of tearing her life force from Michael’s, because that pain was over and done in an instant. This? Trapped in darkness, bound and naked for days upon end, tortured both her body and mind. At times Honor thought herself slipping into madness. Her soul ached for Michael, the wounds on her flesh seared like the press of hot branding irons, and her skin stung, as cold as the frigid Eastlake River in the winter months, when Honor and her mother would do the family wash.
Is this how I’m going to die? Again, that is? Can I even die?
The thought of spending an eternity naked in this pitch-black cell sent Honor spiraling into depression. Essentially buried alive, in tortured agony, until her mind unraveled. Far from the future she predicted when she accepted the offer to be a Watcher.
Mayhap I should have gone to the beyond. Told Aaron no and left his chambers for the Hereafter. Mayhap my desire to return to the Earthly plane shall be my downfall.
Except, if she chose to pass on, Honor would never have met Michael, and regardless of the pain, the despair, the cold, and the emptiness in her soul, Honor knew if her only other option were to not have known Michael at all, she would gladly suffer ten times over. Having those one-sided moments with Michael, the way he affected her, the new and exciting feelings he brought forth, was worth every single second spent in this brutal purgatory.
Honor must have drifted off because the loud screech of metal jolted her out of an uneasy slumber. A bright shaft of light flooded the cell and slashed across her face. The instinct to shield her eyes caused the cuffs to dig into her wrists. Fresh, warm blood trickled down her hands as the fragile skin tore open.
Prithee, Fates above, I beg you grant me the mercy of death.
Ever since the King of Lust captured her and locked her in this prison of body and mind, Honor anticipated the inevitable. A virgin, aye, but Honor knew what Lust truly desired and it wasn’t pain or blood. Honor knew what the daemon fed upon. What he would eventually do to her. What the bastard would take without asking, likely in the cruelest, most brutal manner possible.
“Please,” she rasped to the unseen visitor, her aching eyes adjusting to the flare of light. Honor trembled as flames tore down her throat, a result of being deprived water. “Kill me or let me go. Don’t…” Honor swallowed but found no moisture to relieve her sand-filled mouth. “Don’t violate me. I-I beg of you.” Heart racing, she squeezed her eyelids tighter and waited for her jailer to determine her fate.
Instead of pain, whoever entered broke the spell, because the cursed cuffs opened of their own volition to clatter as they fell from her wrists and ankles. Before Honor’s sluggish body and mind reacted, a pair of hands hooked beneath her arms and hauled her to her feet. After spending so long bound and on her back, her legs refused to cooperate and Honor stumbled like a newborn colt.
“Stupid bitch.”
The vilest voice Honor ever heard slid down her spine like a poisonous snake. She closed her eyes and shivered as long bony fingers tightened around her too-thin biceps. Her captor hauled her bodily out of the cell. Weak from lack of food and water, the tops of Honor’s feet dragged along the rough stones, though pain hardly registered. Her soul, depressed, faded, and near to lifeless, hurt more than anything physical ever could.
Honor squinted, as even the flickering torch hung in the damp, moldy hall burned her sensitive eyes. Impatient with Honor’s uncoordinated faltering, her captor snarled and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Her head hung down his back and he clamped his arms around her thighs to hold her tight. The thought of her naked flesh pressing against this… person’s body made her retch. Thankfully, with her stomach empty, nothing came up.
“Disgusting,” the bastard snarled. “I don’t know what the King sees in you.” Contempt and loathing dripped from every word.
Honor didn’t want to acknowledge the loathsome creature, but she was desperate for information. Any information, especially that which mayhap return her to Michael, though Honor knew the chance of ever seeing her angel again was slim to none. She swallowed against the nausea and pain and asked, “Wh-what are you?”
Her captor sniffed haughtily before responding. “My name is Vyltaran and I am incubus.”
Again, Vyltaran’s voice resonated through Honor, only this time, instead of filling her with dread, she was horrified to find herself growing aroused. Familiar heat began to build low in her abdomen and pleasure gathered at the base of her spine.
“Stop!” Honor cried whilst attempting to wiggle out of the incubus’ grasp.
He cackled and tightened his hold, the pointed tips of his claws piercing her soft flesh.
“I’m merely preparing you, you filthy cunt. I might not sink to the level of fucking something as pathetic as you, but the King holds no such standards.”
“No! Please…”
Claws pressed deeper and Honor whimpered. To distract her mind from what lay ahead, she bit her lip hard until the coppery tang of blood hit her tongue. Honor wanted to fight. Wanted to scream and kick and hit until she freed herself from this Underworld on Earth. But weak and broken, even if she were to escape Vyltaran’s hold, Honor hadn’t the strength to dematerialize, plus there were likely wards to prevent that as well. Resigned to her fate, Honor’s eyes slid shut and she drifted into her favorite dream, safe in Michael’s arms, their naked bodies tangled under the covers, slick and hot from their lovemaking.
If she were going to suffer at the hands of the King of Lust, be violated in the most intimate of ways, Honor refused to give the bastard her tears. She vowed to keep her mind detached from her body, that part of her remaining in her fantasy, entwined with Michael in ways she wouldn’t experience.
Honor took a moment and mourned her loss. The loss of something she longed for but in truth never actually had, and accepted her fate.