CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Michael, leader of the Malakhim, dropped his arms and watched as the dream faded from his new gilded full-body mirror. He snarled a little that the Seer had a stronger hold on the demon than he would have liked. But that could not be helped, at least for now—all he had to do was touch the demon again and make sure this time he sent his mind into permanent La La land.
He turned and brushed his hand down his suit, a soft whimpering bringing his attention to the angel lying face down on the floor of his office. Michael sighed and walked around his desk. He had his wings hidden in the ether right now—they just did not match his suit the way he wanted.
Chamuel was face down, his magnificent black and grey wings spread out and filling the floor. Driven into them every two feet were large iron spikes. He sobbed softly and kept his head down, his hands in fists as he tried to stop himself from moving; the pain was too great. Black blood spread slowly from the wounds, and his face was white with fear and pain. Michael knelt near his head and reached out, touching his brown hair and stroking it softly. Chamuel recoiled from the touch, but Michael ignored that and touched him anyway.
“I may have been a bit harsh with the punishment, Chamuel. I will admit you caught me at a bad time. But you did deliver a wonderful gift. That little girl may be the perfect one to open the Box. The souls of innocents have so much power, don’t they?” He stood and stepped over the prone form of his subordinate.
The door to his office opened and Gabriel, the second in command of the Malakhim, stopped, his eyes moving from Michael to the Malakhim pinned to the floor. The wounds that, until recently, had been red raw scars, were starting to fade into dim white which stood out against his skin. He flicked his black and silver wings back, tightening them to his back in clear revulsion. He was silent for a moment before lifting his honey-colored eyes to his leader.
“You called for me?” His throat was still raw from when he had been attacked by the hellhounds. Michael hated thinking about it; he’d almost lost his second in command that night.
“Yes, see to Chamuel, would you? I think I went a little overboard, but I find myself in a particularly happy mood right now. I think I am going to give our ‘guest’ some company.” He walked past Gabriel and patted him on the shoulder, a grin on his face.
Gabriel ran his hand through his messy dark hair and shook his head. Michael had been in a rage for weeks after what happened with Envy and the Seer of Hindsight. They had not only lost another Seer, but all but one of the children they’d taken had been rescued as well—thank the Lord in heaven. The angelic blade that had been made fell into the hands of the demons. Michael’s drive to kill innocents had almost ripped the Malakhim apart. Not even one of them had escaped injury. Okay, his had technically been self-inflicted when he told the Sin of Envy to use him as a distraction so they might save the children. Gabriel couldn’t express his joy that Michael had not gone back to that idea, yet.
Gabriel was sure this latest “punishment” would drive an even bigger wedge between the men. Well, most of them. Raphael would follow Michael to the ends of the earth for a scrap from his table. Gabriel didn’t know what was worse these days, Michael when he was upset or when he was happy.
His heart constricted as he thought about the Seer of Dreams locked away in their realm. That was how Michael was now moving around the mortal world—by using the Dream-Weaver’s mirror to enter and move at will. Gabriel thought about accidentally shattering that thing to rob Michael of the power to Dreamwalk, but he knew that would be a mistake. He might lose his wings for that. Turning, he looked down at his comrade and moved to kneel beside him.
“I take it he didn’t accept the news that you lost control of the demon well?” Gabriel reached out and ripped a stake from the ground. The squelching sound of the metal moving through muscles and blood turned his stomach.
“He was upset, he said I was weak. I am weak, I deserve this.” He cried out as Gabriel grabbed another stake and pulled. Maybe a little harsh, but damn it, he felt anger surge through his veins when he thought about any of his men considering themselves weak.
“Shut up, Chamuel, you are not weak, and you don’t deserve this.” He pulled another stake out and then moved to the other wing.
These were not the actions of the Michael who had once led the angel scores through the heavens. The one who would have given the shirt off his back, a man who had laughed and spent time with his men. This man now was a stranger in his old friend’s form—if it hadn’t been for the Seers and their warning to Gabriel about the sickness that they could see, he might have fallen under the spell as well.
Right now, the Archangel who had once fought on the side of the mortals was trying to force a Seer to open the box. Michael had tried everything aside from sexual assault to make her comply. Gabriel had to give it to her, she was strong, but any more of Michael’s “care” and he doubted she would hold out. Michael was starting to move to psychological torture. Hence the Dream-Weaver mirror. The poor female never got a break from him—he kept at her during her waking hours and during her dreams.
Pulling the last stake from the ground, he released Chamuel’s wings and gently folded them against his brother’s back. Chamuel gasped in pain, his eyes squeezed closed. Gabriel slowly helped him to stand and let him use his body to slump against.
Gabriel half-carried the angel down the hall, letting him lean against him. The bleeding had finally stopped, but now the angel was passed out. It was a good thing, too. The pain from having your wings hurt was like being kneed in the balls. He kicked open the door to Chamuel’s room and lowered his brother down onto the bed. Sighing, he moved back to the door and put his hands on the frame. He wanted to smack Michael around the head. How could they have fallen so far that killing children was acceptable? That harming his own brothers had become an everyday occurrence?
Of course he was no better; he had followed Michael as well, believing the dream that Michael spouted was the future for them all. He had wanted to see the world free of sin, free of darkness and fear. He had been wrong to believe wiping out sin would fix the problems in the world. He was seeing clearly now—they didn’t have the right to do this; they were not the judge, jury, and executioners of the human race.
He walked from the room and paused, turning his head to see Raphael leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked way too smug for his own good. Gabriel faced him. He didn’t trust this angel not to stab him in the back so he could replace him as Michael’s right hand.
Despite the look on his face, the once handsome angel appeared as if he had aged thirty years. He had the worst luck with the Seers. Both had attacked him, mentally breaking down any small amount of sanity that had once existed in his brother’s mind. He was now certifiably insane, his eyes wide and crazed, his hair streaked with white from their attacks.
“Can I help you, Raph?” Okay, so using the little nickname was a jab Gabriel knew would annoy the angel, but he couldn’t help it.
The angel tensed, his hands tightening on his arms. He turned his head slowly and smiled. Why the creepy-ass smile?
“Gabriel, doing okay? How is Chamuel? Not in too much pain, I hope?” The disregard for his comrade irked Gabriel. He wanted to punch that smug look off his face.
“He will be fine in a few days. Don’t you have some boot licking to do?”
“Oh, you’re funny. But guess what. Your reign is over, Gabby. I know your secret.” He pushed off the wall, his blue icicle eyes filled with more malice than Gabriel had ever seen.
He kept his face dead straight but his mind rushed wildly, thinking about Aria, his daughter. Was she safe? Had Raphael found her? Had he told Michael? If the leader of the Malakhim found out Gabriel had sired a half-angelic child, his life and hers would be forfeited.
“Spit it out, Raphy, I have things to do.” Yeah, goading him wasn’t the smartest idea. But he needed to get out of here, he needed to get Aria out of L.A.
“What’s wrong, Gabriel, you got somewhere to be? Might be a bit late, I’m afraid. I sent someone for her wings—for Michael’s wall, you understand?”
Gabriel didn’t move. He just locked his gold eyes on Raphael’s ice-cold ones. “If you have harmed her in any way, Raphael, I will hunt you down and deliver you to the Seer of Empathy so she can finish what she started.”
Gabriel could not help the rush of satisfaction as the angel before him paled and took half a step back. He was terrified of that Seer ever since she’d paralyzed his mind with emotions he couldn’t forget. So instead he fed his darker energies, focusing on anger, hate, and jealousy. He hissed low—animalistic—and turned, leaving Gabriel in the hallway.
The angel waited, his heart thundering in his chest—he waited until he could no longer hear the footsteps. He opened his wings and vanished from the realm, heading straight to L.A. and the apartment where his only child lived in her effort to avoid him.
Eviee Cramer opened her eyes as the locks to the door of her prison opened. He was back—he always came back. She knew every action and every tone of his voice now. She knew when he would hurt her, and when he would try and convince her, or when he was in the mood to seduce her to his will.
Sitting up on the bed, she looked around the room that had become her cell. The very walls glowed, preventing any darkness to filter in at all. She’d had difficulty sleeping at first, but now she was used to the quick cat naps she was able to take. At least she had until Michael the Cruel had stolen her Passway Mirror—the one that allowed beings to travel between the mortal world and the dream world. Now he spent as much time in her dreams as he did in her room, trying to bully her or force her to open that blasted jar.
Today he pushed open the door and walked in with a smile on his lips. This was the most terrifying of his moods. He could snap in a second, and he could go from smiling to terrible rage in the blink of an eye.
She had given up trying to count the days. She didn’t know how long she had been here, but while here she had discovered she needed very little food and water. This realm apparently kept its inhabitants alive through energy transfer. Unfortunately, it also healed any injures quickly, so her body healed in a few days, leaving him free to start all over again with his beatings.
He rubbed his hands together, his copper eyes shining. He hummed happily as he kicked the door closed behind him and moved to sit beside her. Eviee had learned in the first few days if she reacted to his presence by recoiling he would hurt her even more. So she sat still, her hands in her lap as he reached out and brushed her black hair back behind her ear. It took all her willpower not to move away from his touch.
“You know today we could just talk. I need you to understand why this is important, Evelynn.” He paused and lifted a long curl of her hair to his nose, breathing in her scent and closing his eyes. His low groan made her stomach convulse. “You are so beautiful.” Slowly his fingers trailed down her neck, and she swallowed the heave of revulsion. “For a human, that is.” He grabbed her chin and turned her face to his, keeping a tight hold, the strength in his hands making her jaw ache.
“Your eyes remind me of the perfection in this world—a beautiful sunset. Then I remember they belong to a mortal. But you are not fully mortal, are you? You are one of the chosen ones, a Seer. If you would just help me finish my work, I could bring you such joy, you would want for nothing.” His lips lowered but did not touch hers. She knew he liked tease himself and then blame her, as if she were the one making him desire her. He managed to stop himself from kissing her this time and pulled back with a grin.
“But you have not been a good girl; you won’t do as I ask. If you would just open the jar for me, all the pain would go away, I would make you a queen of the new world.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip and Eviee turned her eyes to his. The copper would have been attractive if they had not belonged to a certifiable nut job.
“You can go fuck your new world. I will have no part of it.” So she had managed to temper her body’s reactions, but that brain/mouth barrier… nope. When it came to him, she didn’t have one of those.
Pain sparked over her scalp as he yanked her head back by her hair. The first chance she got she was cutting her hair. The bastard liked to hold her down by it—she would never give him that opportunity again. He hissed beside her throat and pulled harder on her hair. Burning spread over her scalp and she was sure he had ripped some of her hair out. She let out an involuntary gasp of pain.
“So stubborn. It’s funny, you know, I find the more you fight the more I fucking want you. So keep fighting, Evelynn. Keep pushing back. I will break you, and when I do, you will beg at my feet for my touch. You will do anything I ask, even open that jar.”
Eviee was no one’s slave, and she would never allow a man to rule her. She moved her head forward, despite the pain exploding all over her scalp, and spat in his face, hitting him under his right eye. The small action of defiance was like an addiction to her—she would fight this bastard until she could no longer breathe. Hell, until she could no longer move. He didn’t lessen his grip on her, he just lifted his hand to his cheek and slowly wiped it off, that sick smile returning to his lips.
“Did I tell you my news? No, you distracted me as always. I found three more Seers. Oh, and one of them is a child, a malleable blank slate. A few months with her and she will have forgotten she was ever anywhere but here. If you behave, I might keep you around. It has been a long time since I experienced pleasure, and I have no doubt your body would provide me what I need.”
God, the idea of him touching her in a sexual way almost made her throw up. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. The flood of blood into her mouth helped to keep her mind from falling into that place of terror.
Michael leaned in, his scent invading her space as he slowly licked up the column of her throat. She tried to turn her head away while pushing at his chest, but his hand in her hair held her tight. One of his hands moved to her throat and began to tighten around the column of her neck, holding her down to the bed until she stopped moving. She felt the heat building on her face, the pain blooming in her chest at the lack of oxygen—but she refused to panic. Finally he pulled back, looking down on her with a smile that in some insane way could almost be described as adoration.
“Soon, my pet, I will return to you. Your dreams are a canvas where I can woo you properly.” He released her throat and leaned in, peppering kisses over the tender skin. Letting her hair slide through his fingers, he stood and brushed his hand down his suit. With a smile that promised pain, he turned and left the room, the door locking securely behind him.
Eviee waited—waited for what seemed like hours before she let out her held breath, tears spilling from her eyes and running in rivers down her cheeks. Rubbing the spot on her neck he had kissed and licked almost violently, she sobbed and stood. She paced back and forth across the room and then slammed her fists into the glowing stone. Opening her mouth, she screamed—she knew no one would hear it, but it helped get out some of the maddening fear that threatened to make her give in to him just so he would kill her and get it over with.
She banged her head against the wall two, three, four times. She finally stopped panting and closed her eyes. Turning around she leaned her head against the wall and stared up at the glowing ceiling. She was going to lose her mind here or die—maybe both. How had she been so stupid, going on a date with someone she met online?
Yeah, fucking wonderful. He had been charming, sweet, and almost perfect. His copper eyes had been hypnotic, and before she knew it she had invited him back to her home. She had wanted him. Fuck, she had let the bastard kiss her. Bile rose in her throat even thinking about that. The moment her lips had touched his she had felt darkness swamp her. She woke up here in this place days, weeks, hell, could be months ago.
Moving back to the bed she sank down on the sheet and closed her eyes. She needed to sleep, she needed to get some rest—she was losing her mind being locked up here. She had forgotten what the sky looked like, the scent of grass. Since Michael had acquired her Dream-Weaver mirror he spent his nights keeping her from resting, trying psychological torture to get what he wanted. She was half Dream-Weaver; dreams were supposed to be her domain, but now, they were only a place of fear.
Despite the fight, she felt in her blood, the hate she had for this man, she knew she would give in eventually—she was not trained to deal with this kind of interrogation. Lying back on the bed she covered her eyes with her arm, trying to get some darkness, some respite from the light.
God, he had found a child. If he tortured her like this, what would that soulless bastard do to a child? Eviee licked her lips and reached down to the edge of the mattress. She pulled out the small piece of sharp metal. It was about the length of her middle finger and had a deadly pointed end. She had been sharpening the old piece of metal. Rubbing her thumb against the smooth side of the makeshift weapon she held back her excitement. She should be terrified, scared that she was thinking of killing someone. No, Michael had driven any sweet mercy from her heart; next time he came in here she was going to kill him.