Fury Unleashed

by N. J. Walters

  Lucifer yanked Kayley in front of him, using her as a shield. One of the daggers drove deep into her heart. Her mouth went slack, her eyes widened and filled with confusion as she stared down at the handle of the blade. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she crumpled to the ground.

  The devil laughed. “How do you think Morrigan will feel about you when she learns you killed her sister?”

  He didn’t care. Not as long as she lived.

  No surprise that Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. The angel was a master at slipping away whenever things got too dangerous.

  “Will you save her, I wonder?” Giving him a jaunty salute, Lucifer disappeared.

  When Maccus held out his hand, all his blades returned to him. He didn’t spare Kayley’s body another glance.

  Blood bubbled from the wound in Morrigan’s chest. He must have pushed her off balance just enough that the blade missed her heart. But she was in bad shape.

  Her face was stark white, her eyes wide open. Had she seen what he’d done?

  “I’ve got you.” He spied his jacket a couple of feet away, grabbed it, and laid it over her. “I have to get you home.”

  His hands were shaking. His hands never shook. He held them out in front of him, not recognizing them.

  Morrigan’s breathing was weak. The rattling in her chest worried him. She might be stronger than most humans, but she wasn’t immortal.

  He lifted her as carefully as he could, but she still cried out. He expected her to pass out, but she was still awake and aware.

  “I’ll take care of you,” he promised. Maybe she’d hate him for what he’d done, but so long as she lived, he could handle her hate.

  The deep, dark presence inside him shifted again. He had to save her. She was the only one who could keep him from becoming a monster.

  …

  Morrigan had dealt with pain before, but nothing like this. Breathing was like sucking fire into her lungs. The wound burned. The fire migrated to her blood and now pumped through her entire body. It was as if she was burning alive from the inside out.

  The blade had likely been dipped in poison. That was Lucifer’s way.

  Her sister was dead. Or was she? It was hard to pick fact from fiction. Her mind drifted from memories of happier days to ones of fire and Hell, to the scene that had unfolded in the alleyway.

  Buildings whizzed by so quickly her stomach churned. She closed her eyes and swallowed heavily.

  “Look at me,” a deep male voice demanded. Even though her eyes were heavy, she forced them open. She knew that voice, didn’t she?

  “Where…” She swallowed heavily, tasting something metallic and bitter.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  Home? She hadn’t had one of those in a long time, maybe never. Her body was heavy and warm. Leather creaked, and she caught a scent that cut through the sulfur and the overpowering smell of blood.

  Maccus.

  She turned her head slightly so she could see him. His face was set in a scowl—nothing unusual there. His smiles were rarer than blue diamonds.

  “Hurt,” she managed to get out.

  If anything, his features hardened even more. “Lucifer caught you with his knife.”

  She’d left Maccus’s side. Why had she done that? Her sister…her sister had been pleading with her.

  She licked her dry lips. “Kayley?”

  He didn’t answer, which she supposed was an answer in and of itself. What had happened? She couldn’t put it all together.

  The burning in her veins was getting worse. In spite of her resolve to be brave, tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “Hold on.” He put on a final burst of speed. The night breeze brushed her face. The sounds of the city were muted in the background. They stopped moving. There was the ding of a bell.

  She finally opened her eyes when he laid her on something soft. A bed. Were they home? And when had she started considering Maccus’s place home?

  The handle of the dagger still protruded from her. The pain tore through her, becoming unbearable.

  He tore open her shirt and dragged her bra off, tossing it aside. As he finished stripping away her clothes, he swore. The sound of his voice helped ease the pain.

  When she chuckled, his head jerked up and he pinned her with a glare. She coughed and moaned. “Impressive swearing,” she managed to get out. At least five languages she’d recognized and many she hadn’t.

  “This is going to hurt,” he warned.

  “Already does.” She fisted her hands in the sheets and gritted her teeth. Maccus wrapped his hand around the handle and yanked. She screamed as pain ripped through her.

  Blood spurted from the hole in her chest now that the knife wasn’t blocking it. Maccus grabbed a pillow and pressed it against the wound.

  She wasn’t going to make it. The world got fuzzy around the edges, and the darkness followed. Panic filled her. She was going to Hell.

  Maccus swore and pressed hard against her chest.

  She gathered her strength and used the last of her breath. “Love you.”

  He jerked back as though she’d hit him. Not the reaction she’d hoped for. But Maccus wasn’t an ordinary man.

  She loved him—had been ready to die for him. The only other person she’d been willing to do that for had been her sister.

  Kayley. Where was her sister?

  Something had happened.

  Something.

  Then the world faded away into nothingness.

  …

  “No! No! No!” He yanked the pillow away. It was soaked with her precious blood. He didn’t know what to do to help her, wasn’t versed in even basic first aid. What didn’t kill him made him stronger. But she was different.

  She loved him.

  That’s what she’d said. Maybe it was delirium. She certainly couldn’t remember he’d killed her sister.

  Now she was dying in his arms.

  He threw back his head and roared. The chords of his neck ached with the strain of his fury. Why? It would have been better to have never met her than to have her for so little time.

  His breathing grew deeper and heavier. The sweet scent of Morrigan mixed with the stench of her sweat and blood.

  Blood. Could he stop the bleeding?

  He manifested one of his blades from his body. Holding it in his hand, he willed it to heat. Her breathing was almost nonexistent. He forced himself to ignore her and focus on the blade. They were an extension of him, a part of him, just like the tiny sliver of light left from his time as an angel. He pulled on it, dragged it from the depths of his soul where it resided to the surface.

  The blade quivered in his hand as though trying to escape from the light.

  Ruthlessly, he forced his body and soul to comply, bending both to his will. It might kill him, but so be it.

  Bright light radiated from his palm, and the tip of the blade exploded in a blaze of white fire.

  He laid the flat of the blade against her skin, covering the wound. The stink of burning flesh was overwhelming, but he held on, pouring the light into her.

  “Come on,” he muttered. This had to work. There were no other options.

  The light on the blade began to fade. “Not yet.” Sweat beaded on his forehead, and tears bled from his eyes as he pushed himself to the limits of endurance. Finally, he was so weak, the light snapped back and retreated, dimmer than it had been before.

  Maccus pulled the blade away and stared down at her chest.

  The wound was gone. The bleeding hadn’t just stopped, there was no scar, no blood, and no sign there ever had been a knife in her chest.

  He slumped forward, barely having enough energy to catch himself before he fell on top of her. His knife disappeared back onto his body.

  Leaning down, he listened for her breath.
It was there, slow and steady.

  There was still much to be done. With a groan, he pushed himself off the bed. First, he collected her clothing and set it aside. Then he set to work cleaning her up and changing the sheets.

  When she didn’t even stir, he went into the bathroom to get a quick shower. Not willing to leave her alone, he kept the door open so he would hear if she woke.

  She loved him.

  It was likely she didn’t mean it. It was something said in the heat of the moment when she’d expected to die. Still, he savored the words. No one had ever said them to him before, not in his long, immortal life.

  That made Morrigan very rare and special. She understood who he was, what he was, and still she’d uttered those words.

  She’ll take them back when she finds out about her sister. The voice of reason was trying to protect him, but he feared no shield, no weapon could protect him if she turned on him and withdrew her love.

  He stepped out of the shower, dried off, and tossed the towel aside, eager to be by her side. Naked, he padded back into the room. She hadn’t moved.

  He pulled back the covers and crawled into bed. Lying on his side, he wrapped his arm around her waist, needing to touch her.

  Her chest was unmarked, her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took. By some miracle, she was still alive. When she woke, they had much to discuss.

  Until then, he’d hold her and watch over her.

  …

  Gabriel walked into the upscale piano bar and paused just inside the door so everyone would see him. He did so love attention.

  The person he’d come to meet was in one of the luxury booths bookended by two lovely ladies. No surprise there.

  As he made his way across the room, he enjoyed the sweet sounds of the piano. Humans did have their strengths—art and music being their best and possibly only true talents.

  By the time he’d reached the table, Lucifer had sent the women away. Gabriel slid onto the leather seat. The high back and circular shape of the booth gave them relative privacy.

  “What were you thinking?” he finally asked.

  Lucifer lifted the brandy snifter and swirled the amber liquid before taking a sip. “I was thinking I was tired of waiting. You may be content to sit back and watch, but I make things happen.”

  “You tried to kill the woman,” he pointed out.

  “Ah, yes.” He smiled. “I wondered if that might push Maccus over the edge into total darkness, but he’s a quick bastard. Still, I don’t expect she’ll live long. And when she dies…”

  “And when she dies, you expect he’ll come after us for revenge.” Gabriel leaned against the back of the booth and studied his ally in this endeavor. They didn’t trust each other, but they did have a common goal—getting rid of Maccus once and for all. “And the sister? I thought you liked Kayley.”

  Lucifer’s laugh had a sinister edge that made a chill race down his spine. “I still have her. She’d be dead if I hadn’t gone back for her. I wasn’t the one who hurt the girl. That was Maccus. If Morrigan lives, she might spare us the work and kill him herself.” He paused and took a sip of brandy. “Either way, I win.”

  “It’s risky.”

  “That’s the problem with you,” Lucifer pointed out. “You’re never willing to put your own neck out there.”

  Gabriel inclined his head and stood. “We’ll see how this plays out.” He left the devil enjoying his brandy and women and didn’t allow himself to smile until he’d stepped outside.

  No, he didn’t like to put his own neck on the line, and why would he when others were so willing to risk their own? If his brother was right, no matter how things unfolded, he’d get what he’d been waiting for since he’d tossed his former friend into the pits of Hell—Maccus sanctioned by both Heaven and Hell. Then the bastard would finally die, something he should have done thousands of years ago.

  Best of all, none of it would come back on him. He could point the finger at Lucifer. All he’d done was watch the scene unfold. And wasn’t that what angels did? They watched and didn’t interfere.

  Still smiling, Gabriel walked away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Morrigan drifted. It was such a pleasant state to be in that she didn’t fight it. It was like being hugged by a giant feather mattress—cozy, warm, and safe. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so content.

  Something dark and ominous stirred just beyond her. She turned away, refusing to look. Maybe it was cowardly, but she was so tired.

  Why am I so tired?

  Memories were elusive, flitting just out of reach. Nothing existed beyond this moment.

  But the longer she was aware, the less satisfied she became.

  Where am I? What am I doing here?

  These were questions that needed answers. And there was only one way to get them. She was going to have to move. Sighing, she went to sit upright. None of her muscles or limbs responded. Panic exploded. Was she paralyzed? A captive?

  Images flashed through her brain of another time she’d been held immobile. Demons danced and laughed as she screamed. Blood dripped from her body. Fire scorched and ice burned. She shuddered, refusing to give in to the memory.

  It’s not real. It’s not real.

  But no matter how many times she repeated the mantra, the scene remained the same. It occurred to her that her eyelids were closed. This had to be a dream. All she had to do was open them, and she’d be free.

  Like her limbs, her eyes weren’t cooperating. They weighed about two tons each and refused to budge.

  Anger bubbled up inside her. Fear fell victim to indignation. Who was doing this to her? A picture of a man appeared in her mind. He was big and dangerous, his features rough. His hair was shaved on the sides, and the rest fell to his shoulders like a curtain of black silk. His dark eyes bore into her soul.

  Maccus.

  She shook her head to deny what she was seeing. He wouldn’t hurt her. Or would he? He wanted to survive just like she did.

  But he would kill her outright. He wouldn’t torture her. Not like this.

  Lucifer?

  Yes, he’d not only torture her but enjoy every second of it. She had to open her eyes. It was the only way.

  Why is it so hard?

  She tried again and again, struggling to make her eyelids even flutter. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped down her temple. A sound penetrated her awareness, and she tried to home in on it, but it was difficult to hear anything beyond the screams of the demons in the nightmarish scene she was trapped in.

  She searched for it endlessly but was unable to find the source. Despair threatened to swamp her. It would be so easy to give up, to give in to the inevitable.

  Only she wasn’t a quitter—she was a fighter. Her fingers itched to hold her weapons. Since she didn’t have them, she’d have to fight with the only thing she did have—her mind.

  Blocking out the howls and macabre laughter, she sought the voice. It was deep and male. There. There it was again.

  She followed it, using all her tracking skills. She longed to know what it said, to hear any message of hope in the darkness.

  “Wake up, damn it. You’ve been asleep long enough.”

  No tender words of encouragement, but a demand. The familiar voice was a lifeline, and she grabbed at it with all her might. If anyone could defeat the demonic dream holding her captive, it was him.

  The images and sounds of Hell were lessening the closer she got to his voice.

  “It’s been long enough. Wake the fuck up, or I’m going to hand you over to Lucifer personally.”

  His promise should have frightened her. It did the opposite, reassuring her far more than kindness would have.

  Maybe Hell was the reality and Maccus the dream. Her blood ran cold. What better torture than for Lucifer to let her re
ach for hope then snatch it away at the last second?

  If this was Hell, she could live this scenario over and over and over until she went mad. There was no greater torture than hope.

  So be it. If it was a trick, she’d find out, and she would remember. That was another trick the devil used. Sometimes he’d make you forget so everything was fresh and new, the anguish real and immediate. Sometimes he’d let you remember, and you knew how the scene would end but be unable to stop it.

  It was a tossup as to which was worse.

  “Stop lazing around in the damn bed. Get up.”

  He seemed closer, his voice louder. She tried to open her eyes once again, and this time they seemed lighter, like maybe they only weighed a ton each. She put every ounce of her power into moving her eyelids. Inside, she screamed as the pressure in her skull built to enormous proportions. The strain was huge.

  Something inside her let go, and her eyes flew open. She expected Maccus to be sitting on the bed beside her, but she was alone. Where was he? How long had it taken her to wake?

  …

  It had been three damn days, and she still hadn’t stirred. At his wit’s end, Maccus peered out the window at the city beyond. What else could he do? His already nonexistent patience had worn thin.

  In pure desperation, he’d logged into the Forgotten Brotherhood website and asked for help. But none of the others had ever dealt with such a situation.

  Asher had offered to come to turn her. His reasoning—if she were a vampire, she’d die to her mortal body and reawaken a vampire. That he’d make such an offer, when Maccus knew he’d pledged never to turn any human, meant a lot.

  He’d thanked his friend but turned him down, realizing he’d kill Asher if he touched her in such an intimate manner. As soon as he thought about it, two blades appeared in his hands. His fingers caressed the handles, but he had no memory of summoning them.

  Yeah, he’d decapitate the vampire if he so much as tried to get near her, let alone sink his teeth into her and drink her blood.

  Not happening.

  It was the first time he’d ever asked any of them for anything. Okay, the second. He’d asked for information when he and Morrigan had first met. Both times he’d asked for help were because of her.