by ML Guida
Punishment
Punishment
Angels of Death
By
M.L. Guida
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cupid, Angels of Death Excerpt
Dear Reader
Other Books by M.L. Guida
Copyright
Chapter One
A gust of wind swirled around Blade, churning faster and faster. Dirt and leaves sprayed into his face, stinging his eyes, slapping his cheeks, slipping into his mouth. He gagged and raised his arm, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. Cold penetrated his skin and frosted his bones into brittle icicles. He bent his legs and jumped into the air to fly, but his wings failed to open. Instead of falling, the wind lifted him, spinning him around and around and around, his arms and legs flailing, his stomach churning.
“Balthazar,” he screamed, “Help me.”
But the demon Balthazar refused to answer. Only the wind answered, taunting and hissing his name.
Blade slammed onto the hard ground and rolled and rolled until he banged into something hard. The air was knocked out of him, and pain stabbed his shoulder. He groaned and put his hand on his forehead. Pine branches blew over his head. Between the branches and clouds, the moon played peek-a-boo. He spat out dirt and leaves and inhaled, filling his lungs with sweet mountain air. Where the devil had the Archangel Raphael sent him?
He shook his head and pushed himself off the ground into a sitting position. Pine needles and twigs stuck through his long-sleeved tee-shirt, pricking and scratching his skin.
He brushed the debris. “Why the hell am I in pain? I'm a bloody demon, a fallen angel.”
Raphael shimmered in front of him, his white wings spread out wide, and stared at him with those large silver eyes that always made him squirm. He cocked his eyebrow. “Balthazar? Really, Blade?”
Blade gritted his teeth. “You didn’t think I’d ask for you.”
The full moon rose high into a cloudless sky littered with a million stars. A cool breeze blew the tall pine and aspen trees. He shivered. “Where the hell am I?”
“Frisco, Colorado.”
“Why am I here?”
Raphael shrugged. “For your penance.”
Blade put his hand down and pushed himself up. “My what?” He grimaced. His body ached, but his right shoulder screamed with agony.
“You heard me. Peddling the Hell drug, Xanadu, is a serious offense. You killed innocent people to satisfy your lust for revenge.”
Blade clenched his fists. “If you would have healed Samantha, I wouldn’t have fallen.”
Raphael shook his head; blond strands fell from his loose queue. “I keep telling you, she wasn’t your angel-mate. You never spoke the binding words.”
“I would have if Samantha hadn’t been murdered.”
“Samantha’s death was not Heather’s fault. Heather couldn't control her client. The man was an addict and refused to accept Heather’s treatment.”
Bitterness swirled in Blade’s mouth. “The bitch shouldn’t have released someone from her rehab center unless he was fully cured.”
Raphael’s eyes glowed. “There’s…somebody else for you.”
“Like hell there is. I have no intention of repenting. Forget it.” He rubbed his shoulder and winced. “Why the devil am I in pain?”
“You’re human and will remain human unless you repent.”
Raphael folded his wings into his back and walked over to a large white boulder, his black boots crunching the twigs. He sat, folded his arms across his naked chest, and stretched out his long jean clad legs. He shifted to the side so his sheathed sword Magic lay comfortably next to his thigh.
“You stripped my powers?” Blade stared at Magic. With just one touch, Raphael's blade could heal or kill.
“Of course. You’re lucky I healed you. Michael wanted your guts for garters.” Raphael shook his head. “You really should not have gotten on his bad side, Blade. He’s called out the assassins.”
“Shit, I am so screwed. So, you took away my powers? Why thank you. Now it will be a fair fight.”
Raphael rubbed his chin. “They have to find you first.”
Blade staggered to his feet, his left hand rubbing his throbbing right shoulder. “That shouldn’t be hard, since I’m a bloody human.”
“Actually, it will be difficult.” Raphael waved his hand. “Frisco now has a barrier.”
Blade scanned the forest and only saw trees, fallen logs, boulders. He glanced up at the clear blue sky but didn’t detect anything unusual. No angelic fortification. No force field. No silver aura. “Where? I don’t see anything.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re human and unable to see it.”
Blade snorted.
“No angel or demon will be able to contact you nor will you be able to contact them,” Raphael said. “The barrier exists.”
Blade’s heart pounded. He refused to stay. “Stuff it.” Blade scanned the sky. “Balthazar, answer me.”
Raphael smiled. “You can scream all you want, but Balthazar can’t hear you. Count yourself lucky. If he could hear you, then so could Michael.”
Blade swayed on his feet. “Why do you want me to repent?”
Raphael held his gaze. “There’s still good in you Blade.”
Blade met Raphael’s stare with hatred. “The hell there is. Remember, I’m a demon?”
“No, you’re not. You’ve fallen, but haven’t completely turned.”
Blade put his left hand on the tree and caught his breath. “So, if I repent, I get my powers back?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.” Blade spat onto the ground. “Now, give me back my powers.”
Raphael shook his head. “Blade, Blade, Blade.” He braced his hands on the boulder. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”
“Raphael, I’m not capable of repenting. I switched to the other team. I detest all of you.”
Raphael sighed. He glanced up at the moon. “Your brother has faith in you and so do I.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
“Blade, you will remain human with all the frailties. When you truly repent for distributing the Hell drug Xanadu and make amends…”
“Make amends? What the fuck do you mean make amends?”
“You’ll know when the time comes.”
Blade dropped his hand and limped down the mountain. “More riddles. God, I get so tired of the archangel games of hidden messages, mysteries, half-truths. At least, demons are forthright.”
“Ah, right,” Raphael said. He flashed in front of Blade, blocking his path. “Demons never lie.”
He touched Blade’s shoulder. Warmth spread through him, diminishing the agony throbbing in his shoulder. Torn muscles knitted together and bones mended. Watching the archangel warily, he rolled his shoulder then stretched out his arm. He should be thanking Raphael, but archangels never gave any gift away for free. There was always a hidden thorn. “Why are you healing me?”
Raphael dropped his hand. “This will be the last time I heal you unt
il you repent.”
“Good. I don’t want your help.”
“You have no way to support yourself, Blade. You’re human, remember? You need food, clothing, shelter.”
“I’ll figure it out.” He stepped around him.
“Part of your penance will be working in an adolescent drug and treatment center, called Buffalo Mountain.”
Blade rolled his eyes. “I’d rather starve to death.”
“You have no idea what hunger is, boy.”
“How bad can it be? I'm a demon.”
“Not anymore you’re not.” Raphael snapped his fingers. “Starve.”
Blade doubled over and fell to the ground. His stomach growled; his mouth watered. Acid sloshed in his gut. An incredible hunger shot through him as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks. His skin hung off his bones. He tried to roll to his side, but he was too weak. He couldn’t even move a finger. He labored to breathe. Unbearable agony bore into him. It felt as if he was slowly digesting his organs. “What did you do?”
“This is what it feels like to be in a concentration camp.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Really? You’ll be a tasty snack for coyotes, bears, or mountain lions.”
“You bastard,” Blade spat. He held his rumbling stomach as it slowly expanded, bloated with air. Each time, he took a breath, his gut clenched. Pain immobilized him.
“You did say you’d rather starve to death than work in a treatment center,” Raphael said. “Or was I mistaken?”
Blade wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but his gut not only expanded, it twisted. A mournful howl echoed through the trees, sending shudders down Blade’s back. A coyote? A little over the top, even for Raphael, but then when did archangels ever play fair?
“Fine,” he panted. “You win.”
Raphael snapped his fingers. Blade’s gut stopped expanding; the acid disappeared. He could breathe without pain. He stood on his wobbly legs and glared at Raphael. “Well, gee thanks, for not letting me be eaten by coyotes.”
“It could be worse. I could have sent a Hellhound to rip your ass apart.”
Blade bit back a retort. Hellhounds made wolves look like miniature poodles. As a demon, he could control them, but as a human, he’d be their new chew toy. Their razor claws could rip through bone in one swipe and their long canine teeth could tear flesh from bone.
Raphael snapped his fingers again. Blade stood in a tan painted bedroom. A large, brass, king-size bed faced the window. A thick, red quilt covered it and white, lacey pillows lay on top. Over the bed, a crucifix hung on the wall, and on the opposite wall was a quilt of three black bears walking past pine trees. “Now, where the hell am I?”
“Home.”
“Home?” Blade strolled over to a large patio window and looked at the side of a rocky mountain where pine trees fought to grow in the rocks. Below, a bicyclist rode on a paved bike, disappearing into a grove of aspen and pine trees. Blade wished he could trade places with him and ride away to freedom.
“Yes, this is your condominium.”
Blade turned around and raised his eyebrow. “My what?”
“I have supplied you with a flat screen television here and in the living room. The closet and dresser are filled with clothes, and there is a fully stocked kitchen.”
“And the catch?”
“As long as you go to work, there are no conditions.” He nodded at the clock radio on the nightstand. “It’s 3:00 in the morning. You’ve got to get up in three and half hours. Be at work at eight.” Raphael glowered. “Don’t disappointment me.”
Blade stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Fine.” This sucked. Where the hell was Balthazar? Was he even looking for him?
“I mean it, Blade.”
Blade gazed at the bed. After fighting with his brother, Scythe, and losing badly, the bed looked tempting. Awfully tempting. His body ached and he wanted to sleep for a week, but first things first. He wanted out of this crappy deal. “I get it. Just leave.”
“Oh, by the way, Blade.” Raphael took a step closer, his aura glowed silver and his power was barely concealed. “If you try to double cross me and not show up tomorrow, you’ll be sorry. There’s no place you can hide that I can’t find you. Believe me, you’ll not like my punishments.”
The fine hair on Blade’s arms stood straight up and his heart raced. His skin tingled. The power was electrifying, terrifying. He retreated. As an angel, he never noticed it before, but as a human, it was like a lightning bolt threatening to fry his ass.
“I get it. I get it. I’ll be at work tomorrow.”
“Good.”
A bright flash lit up the room. Blade winced, shielding his eyes with his palm and staggered. The back of his knees hit the bed, and he toppled onto his back. When he opened his eyes, he was alone.
He propped himself up on his elbows. The moon peered down at him, and he shook his head. Yeah, Raphael watched him all right, from the fucking moon, his favorite perch.
Blade collapsed onto the bed and rolled over onto his gut. He refused to look at the damn moon. The soft red quilt lured him to sleep. He dragged himself up to the head of the bed and wrapped his arms around a pillow, the lace caressing his face. His worn out muscles slowly relaxed. He took a long deep breath, inhaling fresh linen. It could be worse. He could be imprisoned in an icy Heaven cell, waiting to be tortured.
A loud buzz rang. Blade jerked off the bed. The damn clock read 6:30 am. He slammed his hand down on the black clock radio. He rubbed the bridge on his nose and groaned. “Great, I get to go to work today. Fun times.”
He dragged himself out of bed and found the bathroom, stripped, and stared at his coiled cobra tattoo on his chest. He took a deep breath and moved his hand over his chest. No scales slithered beneath his palm nor did a flickering tongue lick his skin.
Dead.
Or the cobra might as well be, thanks to Raphael. Blade’s cobra had been alive once—ready to terrorize or kill his victims.
He ripped open the glass shower door and turned on the water. He jumped in, immediately jumping out as ice cold pelts hit his skin. “Christ.”
Shit.
He’d forgotten he had to wait for the damn shower to heat up. Being human sucked.
Steam filled the bathroom. He stuck his hand into the shower, the warm water rushed through his fingers. He stepped onto the base and closed the glass door. The hot water pulsated over him, caressing his skin, reviving his muscles. His eyes still struggled to stay open. How did humans get up every morning at this ungodly hour, take a shower, and go to work? All he wanted to do was stay in bed.
In the closet, he found clothes—nice slacks and sweaters. But he chose none of those. Screw Raphael. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, then braided his damp hair.
His stomach growled. He exited his bedroom into a narrow hallway, walked past a smaller bedroom, and another smaller bathroom, barely glancing at either one. He wanted food. Now.
He entered the compact but luxurious kitchen, complete with white tile floor, black granite counter tops. He opened the buzzing silver side-by-side refrigerator and found it fully stocked.
As he made a three cheese and bacon omelet, he glanced at the living room. A black leather couch and matching love seat faced a gas-log marble fireplace. Above the fireplace, there was a flat screen television. Blade slammed the frying pan into the black granite sink, splattering bacon grease.
Raphael tried to tempt him with a luxurious condominium, but Blade wasn’t fooled. Raphael wasn’t his decorator. He wasn’t his friend. He was his jailor.
As he wolfed down his omelet, he read a hand written note with Raphael's elegant script—
Buffalo Mountain Treatment Center – 101 Granite Street. Don’t be late.
Next to the note was a leather wallet, and inside was fifty dollars. He smiled.
Blade grabbed the note, crumpled it, and threw it in the trash. He jammed the wallet into his back pocket, grabbed a long, black, leather dust
jacket out of the coat closet, and headed out the front door.
An hour and half later, he clutched a Ouija board close to his side as he climbed the wooden stairs two at a time to his second story condominium.
Correction.
Raphael’s condominium.
Blade unlocked the door and headed over to a square oak coffee table in the center of the living room. He ripped open the package, placed the black board onto the coffee table and sat on the hardwood floor. It didn’t matter if the board was cheap. It only mattered that humans played the Ouija board and asked their questions. Asking questions was an open invitation for Balthazar to possess their souls.
He grinned. Balthazar would answer. His boss could never resist any human calling him by name. He’d get Blade out of here. Restore his powers. Screw Raphael.
Taking a deep breath, he stared at the simple Ouija board with black alphabet letters and numbers zero through nine. In the left corner was the word yes and in the right corner, the word no. He put the heart shaped planchette on the space between the letters and the numbers and lightly pressed his fingers on it. “Balthazar, can you hear me?”
The refrigerator buzzed in the background and he tuned it out, straining to hear Balthazar’s voice.
As he lowered his head, he closed his eyes. “Balthazar, please answer me.”
He waited.
The planchette trembled beneath his fingers. Blade sucked in his gut. This was it. He’d soon be out of this lavish prison, but the planchette jerked toward the right corner of the board. He frowned and removed his fingers. “No? What the hell? I asked for Balthazar. Not some lower class demon.”
He cracked his knuckles and set his fingers back onto the planchette. It rocked back and forth like a bucking bronco. It circled the board, the speed increasing faster and faster. His fingers nearly slipped off. Perspiration dripped down his temples, sliding down his neck. His shirt stuck to his stomach. “Balthazar, answer me, damn it.”
Suddenly, the plastic heart soared off the board and smashed into the marble fireplace. Tiny plastic fragments flew into the air. Blade sucked in his breath. Chills ran down his back and he shivered. “Shit.”
“What did I tell you about my punishments?”
