CHAPTER SIX
Layla rolled over in bed and threw the covers off her body. The air inside the cabin was chilled from the cool night but her mind was running a million miles a minute. She couldn’t shut her brain down. Lifting her hand, she rubbed over her eyes and kicked her feet on the bed. This was insane—the beast, his words—everything about him confused her. She felt drawn to help him, more so than any other creature she had seen before.
She sat up, grabbed her robe, slipped her arms into the fluffy cloak, and slid from the bed. The cabin was quiet, Lexi’s soft snoring could be heard through her door. Layla paused at the small room her daughter slept in and pushed open the door. The star-shaped nightlight let out a soft blue glow into the room, illuminating the bed, which was devoid of one small five-year-old. Layla had gotten over the panic of Annabelle leaving her bed long ago; she knew where her daughter was. Shaking her head, she headed to the stairs and into the main room of the cabin.
It was cold down here, the fire long dead. She knelt beside the large stone fireplace and threw on a few more logs. She grabbed the poker, stirred the embers, and within a few moments fresh flames licked hungrily over the wood. Layla made sure the grate was back in place before she headed to the back door and slipped her feet into her cold boots. She went out into the winter night.
The clouds had cleared, leaving behind a stunning myriad of stars flickering in the sky against the black of the trees. The eerie silence that only comes from a night with snowfall used to unnerve her, but years of living in the mountains had taught her this was the time nature recharged and slept. The crunching snow under her boots filled the silence of the night, shattering the peace. Pulling her robe tighter around her to stave off the chill, she pushed open the barn door. A soft glow came from the stall that held the pegasus.
“Mommy says he might be dangerous. You told me I should listen to my dreams, so that’s what I am going to do. In my dream he is a nice dog,” the soft voice of her daughter whispered through the barn. Layla moved forward slowly and stood just off to the side.
The large white stallion sat down in the dry hay, his long legs curled under him. He had one wing extended, covering the small child dressed in a Disney Frozen robe and her PJ’s. The stallion lowered his nose and lipped at her hair and she giggled. That sound always managed to lighten Layla’s heart.
Dimoni is dangerous, child. A curse hangs on him, one that will not easily be broken. Child, your mother awaits you. The magnificent beast lifted his head and looked right at Layla, his silver eyes swirling with mythical intelligence.
Annabelle lifted her head from the straw and looked at her mother. She dropped her little gaze and pulled at some of the straw.
“I know, I’m not supposed to come out here at night. But I needed to talk to Stanley.” She slowly wriggled out from under the wing and climbed over the straw.
“Bed, now, young lady. Do Not Stop. Do Not Pass Go. Bed.” Her tone brooked no argument from the small sheepish child. She nodded and gave the stallion a little wave before running off and out the barn.
Layla watched her go and turned as the pegasus moved to his feet, his black tail swishing. He shook all over and flicked out his stunning wings once again. She moved to the door and looked at the beast.
Your child has no respect. Stanley? Hardly a name worthy of a beast such as me. Though it was clear he disliked the name, he had never said as much to her daughter. That spoke volumes on how much he actually liked Annabelle.
“You honor me with your care of her, handsome one.” Layla smiled as he lifted his head, as if preening at the compliment.
The cursed one, he will not leave, yes? Turning his head, he nipped at an itch on his side and shook out his black mane.
“He says I help him. If he is cursed as you say, then I have to help him. Annabelle drew a picture of him in the form of a man, not a wolf.” Layla grabbed the lamp her daughter had brought down into the barn with her and held it to her tummy.
She is special, her soul shines with ageless knowledge. If she sees a man within the beast, then it is true. Careful, Seer of Nature, his curse is powerful and old; you may attract the ire of the one that cursed him if you continue down this path.
Layla shivered at his words. It was true, if someone had cursed him for a reason, she could piss them off and bring that anger down on her family. Turning her head to the darkness outside, she thought about him out there alone in the cold. Her heart ached in her chest. She had never felt this pulling drive to help so strongly before.
“I have to help him, cursed or not. I can’t leave him like that.” If she needed to, she would send her sister and her daughter away, keep them out of any danger that might come.
Brave Seer. The stallion was done talking. He moved around in a circle and sank to his knees, indicating he was going to sleep now.
Brave or stupid? She pulled the door closed and walked from the barn, leaving the place in darkness and heading out into the night. Closing her eyes, she sucked in the cold air, feeling the chill against her skin. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and she lifted her hand to brush them from her face. What was she doing drawing this trouble to her family?
The crunching of snow off to her side drew her eyes to the beast. He emerged like a stalking panther, the shadows almost melting from him, his huge paws sinking into the fresh snow. The light she held to her stomach illuminated his eyes, the back of them reflecting the light in a terrifying picture of his power. He took her breath away, his sheer power and awe. He stopped before her with his head down. Those glowing blue eyes seemed to spear right into her soul, and she found herself lifting her hand and brushing her fingers along his long muzzle.
The winged horse is correct, I will bring you pain. He had been listening? Even now she could hear the ceaseless loneliness in his voice.
“I… I know. But it is not in my nature to leave you lost like this.” His very presence drove the cold from her body as his head pressed against her hand.
Foolish female. I thank you. He moved with her as she began her slow walk toward the cabin. She dug her fingers into the fur at his neck, and kept his large body pressed against her. From the low rumbled sound emanating from him he appreciated the contact.
“I will find a way to help you. I never asked, do have a name?”
He snorted, his breath misting in the air. I must have, but I do not remember. You are Layla.
A smile spread on her lips. Despite the cold of the night she felt warmth rush through her. The damn beast didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish; it was clear he had been listening to learn her name.
“I’m going in now. If it is too cold out here, there is a spare stall in the barn. Try not to upset the other animals, or eat any of them.” She could have sworn there was laughter in her head, but she could have been wrong. His large head butted against her, and then he vanished back into the darkness. The cold of the night rushed over her again, bringing goose bumps to her skin. Was it just her imagination, or did the night feel more bitter without him?
The winged Malakhim watched from the darkness, ensuring his presence was hidden from the Seer and the cursed one. His breath made no mist in the air, his body almost transparent. The ancient angelic warrior Chamuel shivered against the cold and crossed his arms over his broad chest. He felt like he had been given the short end of the stick on this assignment, all because he had not fully agreed with Michael’s plan of killing children to create angelic blades on their last mission.
Despite his misgivings about the death of innocent kids he still believed wholeheartedly in the cause. A world with no sin, a place where they would exist without the mortals polluting the gift bestowed upon them. He lifted his hand and rubbed his chest. The wound he had suffered in the last altercation with the Sins and that bitch Seer of Hindsight still pained him—they had come close to killing him that night.
The very angelic blade Raphael had created had been used to run him through with a burning light. It had been sheer damn luck the Seer had no skill with it or he would not be here right now. Michael had saved his life, swooped in and chased off death. He would owe that man for the rest of his days, so despite this assignment being a punishment for failing, he looked at it more like he was being given a chance to shine and prove his worth once again.
He ran his hands through his short brown hair, and flakes of snow fell to his shoulders. He curled his lips, brushing the flakes away. Damn snow. His yellow sun-like gaze locked on the cursed demon, watching him slinking back into the shadows. So, he had found a Seer. Not just one Seer, he had found two—and one very, very interesting female child. Michael himself could never have predicted this fortuitous turn of events. They could remove the demon and claim the Seers, all in one fell swoop. He rubbed his hands together, a smile spreading on his slightly blue lips.
Michael wanted him to report on the madness within the demon of Wrath, but it was clear the Seer had managed to hold that at bay, for now. It would not take much to drive him back into the abyss. But first, Chamuel needed to inform his leader of the developments—stumbling on two, possibly three Seers, all living under one roof.
Now, however, it was time to break the tie the demon had to this female. That would be easy. He had once been the Archangel of peace and relationships. He had abilities none of his brothers possessed. He had once calmed ire in those who loved so deeply they found anger easily. He could make them communicate and love again, bring them peace. As such he could also bring about turmoil—that was his plan for the beast.
The snow whipped up around him as he vanished from the forest, following the beast in silence, just a wisp of snow on the wind. He watched as the hound laid his dark body down under a bush devoid of snow and settled for sleep.
Pulling on his mastery of the mind, Chamuel hung over the hound, sinking easily into a brain that didn’t remember the trick of protection. He found the madness hanging hard on the edge of the beast’s sanity. Whatever that Seer had done had almost shattered the curse. Michael’s curse could not be broken. He would not allow it.
The mind of the hound was a mess, but he could see it—the reconnection of the shattered fragments—words had returned to him, a sense of self, and the knowledge he was more than a beast.
The Malakhim smiled and began to stoke the nightmare that would break the Seer’s hold on him. The demon within the hound stirred and tried to fight back against the tsunami of madness that washed over from the forming night-terror.
He was back in the cavern in Tartarus. Before him the bodies of his brothers lay bleeding out on the floor. He was covered in blood, his chest heaving with exhaustion and adrenaline. He looked around the cave, the smell of blood choking the back of his throat. Looking down at his hands he frowned. What was going on? This was not what he remembered.
“You killed them. I have to say I have never seen someone with so much rage and hate within them. It was impressive, demon.”
Wrath lifted his head quickly and narrowed his gaze, squinting into the darkness. The shimmering form of Michael appeared before him—he was embellished in glorious armor, a sparking glowing blade in his hands, his long straight white hair immaculate, shimmering golden eyes looking down on Wrath like some kind of bug that needed to be wiped out.
He felt it then, fury rising in his blood. His roar rocked the chamber and he charged at the Malakhim before him. His brothers were dead; Michael was the cause, not him. He could never harm his brothers, no matter how angry he was.
The sick laughter from the angel mocked him as Satanus passed right through his body, slamming into the hard stone wall. Hissing low he turned around, watching the misty form of Michael turning to face him and lifting the blade.
“Your rage is fantastic, give me more. Give me your fury, demon!” He opened his arms wide and laughed as the demon charged him again.
Satanus tripped, falling over the body of his youngest brother, Mammon. He looked into his brother’s dead eyes, blood seeping into his clothes and clinging like a second skin. Growling low he pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the angel. The wings of the psychotic angel opened and he laughed loudly, shaking the chamber floor.
He felt the change taking hold of him, pain spreading through his limbs. Roaring, he fell to his knees. He leaned over heaving. He didn’t know what was happening to him. Lifting his hand, he watched his bone shifting under his skin. He felt his mind being ripped apart. He roared out his agony to the cavern.
Michael, the angel, knelt before him. “You belong to me, demon—your mind, your soul, everything. Your fury is like a fine wine, and it is mine to command.”
“NO!” His voice did not sound like a voice. It was a raspy throaty sound that came out more like a growl. Pain blinded him as he hunched on the floor, feeling his spine twisting and realigning. The manic laughter of the angel filled his head and drowned out everything but the madness that rushed over him like shadows. He gripped at his head and tore at his own hair, crying out in agony and turmoil as he sank into nothing.