Chapter 4
“I can’t do this anymore.” Claws extended, the tips tinted in shades of red, Dante held back a crushing sob. Instead he focused on the rage that thrummed through his bulging veins. The violent emotions grew and expanded within the confines of his body until they pressed upon his skin from the inside, pushing the boundaries. Dante felt as if he were to draw a sharp claw along his arm, his skin would split right open and raw fury would pour out of the wound.
“Cousin… I beg of you. Try to remain calm.” Davin reached out to Dante to stop the snarling half-daemon from tearing a hole in Davin’s precious imported, one of a kind, hand spun silk rug, like Dante gave a shit in his current condition. Dante roared, his actions out of his control, and shoved his cousin so hard Davin’s eyes bulged and his mouth formed an ‘o’ as he flew across his bedchamber and crashed to the floor. Dante snapped out of it and gaped, horrified by what he did to his closest friend and only ally.
“I-I’m sorry, Davin. I just…” Dante retracted his claws, wrapped his arms around his own midsection, and shuddered. He hadn’t meant to harm Davin, but the thought of anyone touching him after… after what his father did… Dante swallowed thickly as yesterday’s memories assaulted him. Eyes squeezed shut, he shook his head, frustrated hands yanking at his hair. It was as if a great weight were pressing down on his very soul, crushing him beneath its heavy boot. “Just don’t touch me,” he pleaded, hoping Davin would understand the request without asking any questions. Living through it was humiliating enough. Having to repeat details of his father’s assault would likely break Dante.
Davin climbed to his feet and straightened his clothes. “It’s quite all right, Dante. I apologize if I did anything to upset you.”
Shame colored Dante’s cheeks. It was one thing for Davin to know what Dante’s father did to him on a daily basis in the abstract. But to look his cousin in the eye and tell Davin the exact horrors Dante suffered when his own father brutally violated him, was almost too much for Dante to withstand.
Unfortunately, to convince Davin to help him, Dante had no choice than to further explain the intimate details of his life at his father’s estate. If Dante were ever to get out from under the King of Lust’s rule, he required Davin’s cooperation. The half-daemon sons of the seven Kings were powerful, but literally unable to go against any command issued by their sires, no matter if they were in the same room or hundreds of miles apart. Dante was forever at his father’s mercy… unless the Kings were banished.
That was why he needed Davin.
His cousin would disagree, but Dante thought, pride be damned, and told Davin exactly what happened.
* * *
“You want to what?”
Dante internally cringed at Davin’s raised voice. Of all his cousins, the Son of Pride lived the best life. Spoiled by his father, Lucifer, Davin wanted for nothing. He spent his days in his chambers, coupling with the most attractive females in the world, both human and immortal. Davin would tell Dante he loathed “sullying himself” by taking human lovers, but he made exceptions for those of extraordinary beauty. Davin’s pride prevented him from turning down the chance to bed the most stunning females he could find, even if they were lowly humans.
After pouring out his darkest, most shameful of secrets, Dante painstakingly salvaged his composure. He kept his face relaxed and manner casual as he sipped a dark merlot from an elegant crystal wineglass before answering his cousin.
“I said I wish to banish the Kings.” Davin’s eyes widened in disbelief and Dante held up a hand. “Stop. I know I ask a great deal of you, as your father is the lesser of the evils that they represent, but the rest of us?” Dante referred to their remaining cousins, Gluttony, Sloth, Envy, Wrath, and Greed. “Our existence is hardly comparable to yours.” He made a sweeping gesture with his glass at their decadent surroundings.
“In particular,” Dante continued, “Maximus,” the Son of Wrath, his father more commonly known as Satan, “would be more than willing to jump at the opportunity to rid the Earthly plane of his sadistic father.” Like Dante, Maximus was the main focus—or as Dante thought of himself, victim—of his father’s attentions, none of which were pleasant. It wasn’t much, but at least when he felt like it, Dante was allowed to participate in his father’s orgies to feed his lust, though when given a choice, Dante passed. His father also permitted Dante to engage in consensual sex with a partner of his own choosing on most days. Not every day was as brutal as his father’s most recent assault. But at the compound of the King of Wrath, with every new day came pain, torture, and the sick bastard reveling in the screams and agony of those upon which he inflicted his rage, and more often than not, it was Maximus that took the brunt of it.
Davin rubbed his angled chin as he pondered Dante’s request, his brilliant blue eyes never straying from Dante’s. “You do understand that should we fail, any suffering you have endured thus far would pale in comparison to what Asmodeus will do to you?”
“I do.”
Davin cursed under his breath.
Dante felt terrible to ask his cousin to betray the King of Pride, a father who gave Davin anything the male could want for and then some. But for Dante, if he didn’t get away from his own sick and twisted father, he would shrivel to a mere husk of an immortal. His body to remain intact while his mind slowly withered over hundreds of years of sexual assaults.
“I’m sorry,” Dante said. “I understand should you want to stay out of what is rightfully my fight.”
“Yet you shall proceed whether I join you or not,” Davin said.
Dante nodded. “I have already called a council. In three days our cousins will gather at the old mill.” The rare times the cousins convened, they used a watermill that sat unused, abandoned for the last fifty years. Ever since the residents of the village barricaded the small tributary off the Eastlake River and strengthened the flow of the main waterway, the mill became redundant and was left to decay. More than once Dante fled to the familiar wood structure after enduring a one of his father’s particularly brutal sessions. At times Dante even brought lovers to feed lust to his daemon half. Many times, forced couplings under the direction of the King of Lust failed to satiate his needs.
“If you banish the other Kings, you will be unable to leave my father on the Earthly plane,” Davin said. “He will simply release his brothers the second you get rid of them.” Dante leveled a stare at his cousin that said everything he could not. “Shit,” Davin murmured. “You’re going to banish him too.”
“Again, I am sorry, cousin.” Dante ducked his head and knew his aura was black as night, troubled and stressed for betraying Davin. Was it selfish to alter Davin’s perfect existence to escape his own misery? A hand covered his and Dante jerked his gaze back to Davin’s. To his shock, Davin wasn’t angry. In fact, his cousin looked more determined than Dante had ever seen the male.
“Then I shall help,” Davin declared. A quick squeeze of Dante’s hand and Davin pulled back. “In three days at the mill, you say?” Dante nodded and swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Cousin of mine, you may remain in my quarters until then.”
“I cannot thank you enough,” Dante whispered.
“You are family, Dante. I might be a narcissistic bastard…” He wiggled his dark brows in jest. “But watching you suffer is not something I take pleasure in.” Dante grunted in agreement. “Besides, I can’t be seen about with you when you’re all surly and covered in bruises. What would people think of me?” A wide grin spread across Davin’s face.
Dante mock glared at Davin and playfully elbowed him in the side. “Prideful asshole.”
The male shrugged. “No argument here.”
Dante’s expression softened. “My deepest thanks, Davin. I owe you my life.”
Davin waved off his words in an attempt to keep things light, but Dante saw through Davin’s facade. Anyway, Dante was dead serious. He would never, ever forget what his cousin was willing to sacrifice for him.
* * *
Michael rematerialized in a large, fallow field, the land a washed out gray heavy with shadows cast by the light of the half moon. Honor appeared immediately after, using her Watcher ability to remain hidden. Donovan appeared next to Michael, the angel still cursing under his breath.
“We should wait for the rest to arrive,” Donovan whispered angrily.
“There is no time.” Michael scanned the area. Honor watched as the Archangel did a slow circle whilst he searched for the Horseman. Halfway round, Michael froze. “There.”
Honor copied Donovan and followed Michael’s gaze. Her heart just about stopped at the sight. A good distance away she spotted a low hanging cloud, black as the night sky and so large mayhap it spanned a full half-mile. Honor’s entire body twitched as streak of lightning flashed and struck the thick fog. For that fraction of a second, the burst of light illuminated a figure beneath the gloomy mist. That figure sat astride a huge pale horse, his arms spread high above his head. The beast was larger than any Honor had ever seen. No horse of Earthly origin reached the size of that monster.
Another crack of lightning split the air and Honor gasped. Though she hadn’t given much thought as to what the embodiment of Death would look like, the images she came up with were of a hideous, almost corpse-like creature. How far from reality she was. Being an immortal, the Horseman was strikingly handsome. Broad of height and width, the male boasted a strong jaw cast with a day’s worth of stubble and a face that made him look roguish. His dark hair was slicked back off his forehead, showcasing a perfect Roman nose. Honor knew Death was speaking, his lips moving rapidly, but she was too far to hear his words. Another bolt of lightning struck the cloud and the light allowed Honor to notice a ring on Death’s left hand. It shone an ominous silver-gray.
The exact second the last bolt of lightning flashed, Michael attacked. Honor scrambled back when immense wings sprouted from the Archangel’s back to spread out from his body, the white of the wings a stark contrast to the dark sky. Each wing was at least twice Michael’s height and in this moment, he was without a doubt, the most beautiful thing Honor had ever laid eyes on. Even as fear gripped her throat, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the picture Michael struck. Michael was no longer the kind, sometimes temperamental, and intimidating male. Right now, he was every bit the powerful avenging angel and Protector he was meant to be, and Fates, did seeing Michael so glorious make her heart race and her body tingle.
Death’s head whipped around at the flash of Michael’s white wings. Two rows of perfect teeth seemed to glow as the Horseman smiled before urging his steed toward Michael.
Honor wanted to hide her face. She couldn’t watch the beautiful Archangel fight the embodiment of Death. But she had no choice. She was a Watcher and as such, it was her duty to witness everything Michael did, even if it led to his demise. If Michael could be strong enough to literally stare down Death, then Honor could be strong enough to lay witness.
Ear-splitting roars shook the ground and the two immortals crashed together in the middle of the field. Death’s horse whinnied and Honor heard the distinct slide of metal as Michael unsheathed his sword. Michael swung the mighty weapon, the blade surrounded by radiant blue energy—the energy of the Archangel himself. Honor gaped. She couldn’t believe she was witnessing one of the true Maledictus Arma in action and even better, the male wielding it was a sight to behold.
Wings outstretched, Michael hovered over Death. His biceps and shoulders rippled as he brought the blade down. Honor was certain the blow would find its mark, but Death threw out his arm and blocked the attack at the last second. The sound of metal scraping on metal screeched loudly as the sword struck Death’s armored bracer and brilliant blue sparks rained down.
Michael prepared to strike again. This time, when Michael raised his muscular arms, Death shot a bolt of silver lightning from his ring. Michael dodged to the side and the crackling electricity barely missed, grazing only the tip of his wing. Several feathers the length of Honor’s forearm caught fire and burned to ash, but Michael showed no sign of pain. Furious, Michael roared and lifted his glowing sword high above his head—blond hair circling his face like a golden halo—prepared to bring it down on Death. The Horseman let out a terrifying snarl and yanked his mount’s reins, moving out of the way just in time and the Sword of Light sliced the air mere inches from Death’s face.
“You dare to challenge the Protector? You bastard!”
Honor twisted around, horrified to see Donovan racing toward the battle.
“No!” Michael shouted.
It was too late. Donovan, his own huge wings unfurled, leapt onto Death’s back and crashed into the immortal. The Horseman was knocked off his mount and landed hard on the ground, the roaring angel on top. Donovan yanked his own sword from its sheath to strike at the Horseman.
What in fate’s name is he doing?
Even Honor knew only a Maledictus Arma could kill an immortal. Donovan’s weapon certainly wouldn’t, but she hoped it could at the very least injure Death. Donovan was too competent a warrior to wield a useless weapon in battle. As Donovan raised his sword, Death laughed.
“Donovan, move!” Michael shouted. Donovan’s split second of hesitation at Michael’s cry was the opening the Horseman was counting on. He backhanded Donovan so hard the enormous angel went soaring through the air as if he weighed no more than a leaf blowing in the breeze. Donovan landed in a heap with a loud rush of air from his lungs. Unwilling to leave his warrior unprotected, Michael positioned himself between Death and the broken Donovan, frightening determination on his face, his shimmering sword at the ready.
“Pitiful,” Death said as if bored by the entire exchange. The Horseman’s cruel voice sent an icy finger dancing down Honor’s spine and the cold coiled tight around her insides.
Death aimed his ring and another bolt of lightning shot at Michael. The Archangel deflected it off his blade, but Death merely shot another, and another. Michael twisted and parried, deflecting or ducking each attack as Death kept them coming.
That’s when Honor figured out what Death had been planning all along. Unseated from his mount, the pale horse was now a separate foe. The beast thundered toward the fallen Donovan, colossal hooves tearing up chunks of earth. Death was using Michael’s protective instincts to take them both down at once. The horse would crush an unconscious Donovan whilst Death dealt with Michael. Honor had no idea what kind of damage the beast’s hooves would cause or how many injuries the angel could endure.
Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse whooshed behind her ears. Exactly as—Honor was now positive—Death had predicted, Michael heard the beast approaching and turned his head. The diversion was the opportunity Death was waiting on. He fired a final brilliant bolt from his ring. With a deafening crack and flash of light, the lightning struck Michael directly in the chest. Michael let out an agonizing cry and crashed to the ground, wings bent at unnatural angles.
Honor screamed. She tore across the field toward Michael, no thought put into it, no plan in place, going only on instinct. All Honor knew was she couldn’t—wouldn’t—watch the Archangel die.
Death stood looming over Michael’s broken body and crouched down, hand extended as if to touch the injured Archangel. Touch. Honor didn’t know why, but she couldn’t allow Death to touch Michael. Somehow Honor knew it would end the Archangel’s life.
Honor barreled toward the Horseman, tears dripping down her cheeks and silent sobs ripping from her chest. When she was less than three feet from the Horseman, Death jerked upright and, despite her invisibility, looked right at her. Shocked, Honor scrambled to a halt and stared back, pushing down every impulse screaming for her to flee the oppressive evil emanating from the Horseman. Instead, Honor straightened her spine and hid trembling hands behind her back. If Michael were about to die, then by the saints above, she would damn well go out trying to save him.
To her surprise, Death did something unexpected. He smiled—looking much more handsome than anything called Death had a right to look—and winked at her. Honor’s jaw dropped in shock. A small chuckle rumbled in the Horseman’s throat and without breaking eye contact, he brought two fingers to his mouth and whistled. The pale horse immediately hooked a left, missing the knocked out Donovan by inches. The beast whinnied and stopped at Death’s side. Too stunned to move, Honor watched as the Horseman threw a leg over his mount and towered over her.
“Naughty, naughty,” Death tsked, shaking his head and waggling a long finger at Honor. “Mustn’t interfere. I shall see you soon, beautiful.”
With that, Death kicked his mount and they both disappeared.
Michael!
Honor remembered to breathe, ran the final few steps, and fell to her knees at Michael’s side. Thank the fates, he was breathing and there was no blood she could see. His beautiful wings were damaged, but otherwise, Michael looked so at peace, he could have been sleeping. Honor flicked her gaze to check on Donovan and exhaled with relief when the male opened his eyes and groaned.
Time to leave lest they see me.
Against all her teachings, Honor interfered with fate. If she were to do anything more, she would suffer even worse consequences, if the punishment she was sure awaited her wasn’t already as bad as it could get.
Honor took one final look at Michael. One final time to soak up his features. She was still amazed at how handsome the male was, especially from this close. Unable to stop herself, Honor lifted her hand and lightly caressed his cheek. By the angels and saints! Touching Michael was better than she ever imagined. The short stubble felt amazing against her palm, prickly yet soft as silk. Honor shivered in delight.
“Michael?”
Donovan was gaining awareness and Michael was also starting to come around, his eyelids fluttering. Honor saw movement behind his closed lids and a tiny groan escaped Michael’s lips. Fates, those lips. Even though the thoughts and images flooding her mind would never come to fruition, Honor gave in to one tiny fantasy. She cupped Michael’s face and leaned down to gently press her lips to his. A quick brush of flesh and it was over. The kiss was brief, too brief, but it was more than Honor could have hoped for. Just in time, she moved from his side and shielded her presence, and Michael’s eyes popped open. Donovan dragged himself over to Michael’s side.
Shouts broke out on the other side of the field. Honor turned and saw the rest of the Guard finally arrived, a panicked Tony leading the charge. Her heart sank at the thought of leaving Michael, especially with him injured, but it was time. Fearing it may be the last time she saw him, Honor took one last long look at Michael. She made sure to drink in everything; blue eyes, strong brows, straight nose, and full lips.
Then, with a heavy heart, she dematerialized far away.