Epilogue
Famine paced back and forth inside the dark cave carved into the side of a mountain in the range that spanned from the icy glaciers of the north, then twisted and snaked its way hundreds of miles south where it ended in a spectacular cliff at the edge of Eastlake Falls. Or what remains of Eastlake Falls. A grin momentarily broke through Famine’s fury.
What I wouldn’t give to see the Protector’s face when he finds his precious village gone.
Right before his brothers were banished to the Underworld by that arrogant bastard Michael and his Guard, with the help of daemons, Famine snatched the dark sorceress, Circe, and fled to the cave. A place the Horsemen assembled when necessary for over at least a dozen centuries. Fuck! To be betrayed by his own kind was an insult of the highest order. No self-respecting daemon would ever deign to align with the angelen.
“How much longer do you plan on staying here?”
Famine dug his claws into his palms at the sound of the female’s shrill voice. All the bitch had done since they arrived was complain, about the lack of comfort, how cold it was, how she should be treated to luxury and pampering. If the whiny cunt wasn’t imperative to overthrowing Michael and releasing his brothers from the Underworld, he would sever her head from her body and bury the pieces on opposite sides of the Earthly plane.
Using great restraint, Famine spun to face Circe. Her lips formed a pink pout, and she fluttered her lashes as if he were nothing but a common human male. As with nearly all immortals, Circe was stunning and knew it. She stood tall, her body willowy yet curvy. Long black hair and bright blue eyes formed the perfect contrast on her flawless pale skin. But Famine was old and knew better than to fall for the sorceress’s sad attempts at seduction. He was above petty manipulation and her actions were futile. Famine wouldn’t touch the conniving whore with someone else’s cock.
“I know not how long. As long as it takes to come up with my revenge.”
Until he required energy. Famine could go months without feeding, but he assumed it would take much longer than that to extract his revenge and have his brothers at his side.
Famine grew so tense, it became near impossible to hold back his true form, a daemon only… more. Destroying the pathetic village that the emotionally weak Michael loved so much did wonders to temper Famine’s rage at losing his brothers. But the satisfaction was disappointingly short lived. With Circe nagging him every ten minutes and any form of life, human or immortal, at least three hundred miles from the cave, the whiny bitch was about to suffer the full brunt of his roiling anger.
“I’m hungry,” Circe said for the tenth—or maybe twentieth—time since arriving at the cave, and that pushed Famine’s temper to its flash point.
“Go!” he roared, the sound so loud, the loose tendrils of hair that framed Circe’s face blew back. “I shall call upon you when I’m prepared to extract my revenge on that spineless, human-loving Archangel.”
Circe looked nonplussed. Eyes narrowed, she cocked a hip and braced a hand on it. “When will that—”
Famine strode across the cave and tall though Circe was, he towered a good foot and a half over her to the point he had to bend in half to lock eyes with the sorceress. He spoke slowly, each word as sharp as a dagger. “I. Shall. Call. For. You.” Dark energy crackled inside the cave, giving the air an electric charge. Famine caught a flicker of fear in Circe’s eyes before she fixed her expression back to cold and calculating, though he wasn’t fooled.
No matter. It shall serve her well to fear me.
“Fine.”
Fuck, that insolent tone of hers had him itching to backhand the sorceress. Females held no special status in Famine’s mind and he would treat one no different than a male. In truth, no immortals, save his brothers, were given any thought whatsoever beyond what they could do for him. Being a class eight sorceress, Circe was most certainly useful to Famine, but nowhere near as strong as a class nine, or that bastard man-child practitioner Michael had under his thumb. Even from a great distance, Famine sensed the pubescent male held powers beyond any immortal he previously encountered.
Circe dematerialized without uttering another infuriating word. Thank fuck.
Great Infernum, that female pushed his self-control to its very limits. Deep in thought, Famine fingered the leather pouch that hung around his neck and grinned. The stone gave him complete control over the sorceress, the result of an ancient curse set upon Circe by a crossed lover. With the stone, Famine could call her whenever he wished and force the bitch to perform spells at his whims, and that infuriated the female.
Too old and powerful to bully in their typical manner, it took centuries for Famine and his brothers to gain favor with an ancient elf, one rumored to possess the stone, and convince the elf to hand it over. It was that very stone that saved Famine in the barn, though he cut it close. If the wards hadn’t faltered for a mere fraction of a second, just long enough Famine demanded Circe extract him from the dilapidated barn, he would be with his brothers, suffering in the Underworld for eternity.
With Famine walking the Earthly plane, he still had a chance to free his brothers, and poor company or not, Circe was a key participant in reaching that goal. Famine’s thoughts spun as he pondered his next move. There was much to be done before making an attempt to release his brothers. Famine couldn’t simply rush to reopen the portal. Certainly, Michael assigned powerful immortals to guard the largest gateway to the Underworld. One that lay beneath the smoldering remains of Eastlake Falls.
Famine grinned again and took a moment to bask in the memories of the devastation he unleashed, once more imagining the expression on the bastard Archangel’s face as Michael took in the ruin and wreckage and the charred remains of the pathetic human chattel Michael wasted his time and energy protecting.
Famine squeezed the leather pouch and gave his oath. Mayhap it would take years, decades, or even centuries to put each piece in place, but he would free his brothers. Then together, they would finish their work on the Earthly plane. They would open the maior sigillum, the final seals, and bring forth the apocalypse as planned. Once he unleashed the bowels of the Underworld upon the Earthly plane, overrunning it with the worst of the evil in existence, Famine would dance on Michael’s broken soul before banishing the bastard to the Underworld along with his pathetic assortment of mindless followers.
Famine concentrated as various strategies flicked through his devious mind. It mattered not how long it took, he would have his revenge.
Michael could count on it.
* * *
“It looks so… different.” Initially reluctant, with a little prodding Michael convinced Honor to accompany him to the first meeting of the Trinity. She wanted no part in setting foot inside the King of Lust’s mansion. Nearing six months since Michael freed her from that cold cell and the nightmares that took place within, Honor still harbored lingering trauma from her time spent in the dungeon, bound and tortured.
“As I explained,” Michael said, standing behind Honor with his hands on her shoulders. She reached back and covered one hand with hers. “Everything inside has been changed, dulcedo. Gutted, painted, and redone from top to bottom.”
“What of the… the furniture.” She shuddered at the memory, though nothing she laid eyes upon in her previous visit to this house of horrors qualified as furniture. Devices of torture were more accurate.
Michael brushed his lips across the shell of her ear and she shuddered again, only not from fear. “Burned, my love. Every last piece.” Affection flowed from Michael and warmth filled Honor’s heart and soul. In truth, Michael never failed to amaze her. Every day spent with her soulmate brought with it new discoveries, deeper emotions, their connection strengthening with every touch and kiss.
Honor twisted her head to gaze up at her beautiful angel. “I love you.”
Michael lowered his mouth to hers, lips lingering a moment before pulling back. “And I you.”
Her mind went back to earlier, when she awoke with a moan to find her lover between her thighs. Fates, their couplings were soul-shattering, mind-melting, body-tingling bouts of ecstasy that only got better the more they came together.
Practice makes perfect.
Honor smiled against Michael’s lips and he groaned, no doubt sensing her desire through the bond.
“Come on, lovebirds. They’re about to start the meeting.” Honor giggled when Tony breezed through the front door and hurried past where they stood in the grand foyer.
Hand in hand, Michael led Honor through an impressive arch and down a hall paved with smooth cream marble, each tile woven with intricate veins of gray. They entered the third door on the right and Honor froze.
This is actually happening.
Her idea, thought up on a whim from atop the cliffs whilst the village burned far below. She scanned the large chamber and met the gaze of each of the many immortals contained within. Seated around an enormous table were thirteen males and females of various size and shape, some Honor recognized, many she did not.
Michael cleared his throat and gathered Honor under his arm to give her a reassuring squeeze. “Most of you have met my soulmate, though some have only heard of her. This…” Michael gazed at Honor and her breath caught at the amount of devotion in his eyes. He didn’t simply love her. He worshiped her, and that knowledge was overwhelming. “Is Honor Ward, Watcher and my bonded soulmate.” Murmured greetings floated up, but Honor heard none. Her lover’s gaze had her enthralled. “Honor…”
“Oh!” Honor blinked and broke her trance. Her face burned when she found everyone staring at her. “Apologies.”
Tony grinned knowingly and had they been alone, Honor would have stuck her tongue out at the saint’s teasing. Michael quickly listed the names of the immortals Honor knew, Dion, Joan, Donovan, and Tony, then slowed down when he reached the unfamiliar faces.
“Next to Dion are the other four practitioners, Duncan Harris, sorcerer…” A short, round, but attractive redheaded male waved. “Geoffrey Fitzgerald, divinator, Nichol Aleington, Psi Mage, and Phillipa Thorpe, sorceress.” The practitioners nodded their greetings. “Then we have the representatives of the daemons. You know Maximus and Davin.” Honor smiled at the two males, but inside, her heart broke at the sight of them.
Michael introduced the final three daemons, but Honor found herself overwhelmed, desperately missing her friend. Dante left Eastlake Falls the day it burned and never returned. He said he needed time, but how much? When would she see him again? Would she see him again? Honor looked to Davin who shook his head, his lips pressed tight. So Dante had not contacted his cousin either. No one had seen Jack, as well. Honor assumed the wraith to be with Dante and for that she was glad. At least Dante wasn’t out there somewhere, suffering alone.
Michael led Honor to the seat to the right of his at the head of the table, and stood behind his chair. Gazing at the faces in the room, fifteen in all not counting Honor—five from each faction; Hereafter, Underworld, and Earthly Plane, and her lover smiled.
In his stern, commanding voice, Michael said, “I hereby call to order the very first meeting of the Trinity. May the Fates be our guide.”
Honor glanced up and caught Michael staring. Love saturated her soul and even though Dante’s absence left a teeny, tiny hole, her heart felt more or less complete. She gave her mate a saucy wink and the shocked look on his face was worth whatever punishment he found suitable for flirting in front of others. Whenever she teased Michael, his punishments normally involved claiming Honor. Proving she was his and his alone, his only tools a bed, a lack of clothes, and a whole lot of screaming… the good kind. Michael’s punishments didn’t exactly stop Honor’s naughty behavior.
Fates, my life… no, make that my existence is better than I ever thought possible.
Michael began the meeting and Honor couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be than at her soulmate’s side. Forever.