Punishment

by ML Guida

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I know what to do.”

  “Do you?” Balthazar smirked. “I’m sure you don’t.”

  Ringmaster gave him a curt nod. Blade exhaled a shaky breath. Even if Abigail didn’t know how to contact Scythe, those two would. They’d get word to Scythe. Scythe would find a way. Or at least, he hoped he would. He prayed his brother still wanted to save his soul.

  “Don’t even think about rescuing him,” Balthazar said. “He belongs to me now.”

  “No one here will interfere,” Michael agreed.

  Blade swallowed. Maybe all hope was lost. Scythe would not defy Michael. He was a soldier, a warrior, an Angel of Death.

  Nails elongating, Balthazar gripped Blade’s arm tight. Blade winced.

  “We’re wasting time,” Balthazar said.

  Abigail screamed. “No!” She lunged for Blade’s other arm, but Balthazar snapped his fingers.

  Cold wind whipped over Blade’s body, penetrating his clothes. He spun around and around, faster than when Raphael brought him to Frisco. Balthazar’s cruel laughter rang in his ears. He closed his eyes and clamped his mouth down to keep from spewing and covering himself with vomit.

  The cold mountain air vanished. Hot, steamy heat beat down on Blade. Sweat soaked his body as if he’d been cast into a blazing sauna.

  Blade fell onto his hands and knees into a roaring Hell fire and screamed. He pulled on his hands and knees but couldn’t move. Flames burned his flesh and hair. His eyes watered. Smoke burned his lungs, and he gagged.

  Nothing on Earth or Heaven burned as hot as hell fire. The Devil had perfected it. Not even Michael could withstand the pain.

  Balthazar spread his arms wide. “Welcome home, my boy.”

  Anguish consumed Blade. He collapsed onto the fire. Before he passed out, he prayed to God, something he hadn’t done for a long time, thanking him for keeping Abigail safe. Raphael would protect her, and she would never know the tortures of hell.

  Pain exploded on the side of Blade’s cheek. He woke to more agony. His cheek throbbed. He was stripped half naked, chained to a wall.

  Balthazar cast his gaze over him. “Have a nice nap, boy?”

  “Fuck you,” Blade growled.

  Balthazar slapped him across the other cheek. More torture. Blade refused to cry out.

  “Ah, going to play the big tough guy, are we?” Balthazar taunted. “We’ll see about that. Soon, you’ll scream. Soon, you’ll beg for mercy. Soon, you’ll beg for death.”

  He snapped his fingers. A fire pit appeared; a branding iron lay in the hot coals. Blade tried to remain still, but his body betrayed him and trembled. He clamped his mouth tight, refusing to give Balthazar the satisfaction of seeing him panic.

  Balthazar strolled over to the pit and picked up the branding iron. The word bitch glowed on the end. He blew on the words and smiled, his smile chilling Blade to his soul.

  “I think the first thing in order is to mark you what you truly are, boy.”

  Blade met Balthazar’s sadistic stare and braced his shoulders against the cold brick wall.

  “Bitch!” Balthazar yelled. He seared the iron into Blade’s chest.

  Unbearable pain scorched Blade. His skin blackened and his nipples sizzled. He arched his back and clutched the chains tight. Balthazar pushed the iron deeper into Blade’s flesh. His resolve broke. He screamed, only to hear Balthazar’s contemptuous laugh.

  Balthazar lifted the branding iron, and Blade collapsed. Chains pulled on his stretched out arms. He wanted to be dead.

  “I’m just getting started, Blade,” Balthazar said. “But I can’t play with you all day. I’ll be back, but some of your former friends would like to play with you.” He gestured toward the darkness before he faded away.

  Growls and snarls hissed in the blackness. Pairs of yellow glowing eyes peered at him and approached. Long nails scraped on the ground. Shit, ghost demons.

  Out of the darkness, shapeless black shadows emerged. He could see their gold horns and glowing eyes but could not make out any other features. Although ghost demons did not have a definite form, they could hurt, bite, and maim. The creatures could tear apart an angel; he was human and vulnerable.

  The ghost demons lunged. Jagged teeth bit and shook him. Sharp claws shredded his flesh, muscle, and bone. Blood spurted into the air. Crimson splattered onto the hard ground. He screamed, and his body jerked. Waves of pain drove him mad. He tried to fight back, but the ghost demons refused to release their prey.

  Wetness flowed down his torso. Thankfully, sweet oblivion overtook him. The last thing he remembered wasn’t Balthazar’s sneering face or the snarling ghost demons or the roaring fires of Hell, but it was the feminine scent of mimosa and the soft, soothing touch of his sweet healer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Abigail stared at the place where Balthazar and Blade had only been moments before. Blade was gone, taken to hell to pay for not only his sins, but Brayden’s. Brayden moaned. She raced over to him, turned him over, and stared into his pale face. Sweat poured down his face. He scowled as if he was in pain. He was still unconscious, his breath shallow, but he was alive, his soul intact. Thanks to Blade. Her brother was safe, but at what cost? When would this horrible nightmare end?

  “My work here is done,” Michael said. “The board is locked up in Heaven, away from any further harm. Blade is paying for his blasphemy and crimes.”

  Abigail pushed Brayden’s hair out of his face, unable to look at the Archangel. Angels were supposed to be forgiving and helpful, but no gentle words of comfort ushered from the Angel of Death.

  “Yes, I see it worked out very nicely for you brother,” Raphael said. “Happy for once?”

  “Despite what you may think, brother, I don’t derive pleasure from this. My task isn’t always an easy one, but it’s the law. I enforce the law.”

  “Abigail,” he said.

  Abigail took a quivering breath and forced herself to look at Michael. Being defiant to the Angel of Death was up there with throwing gasoline on a forest fire.

  “I’m sorry this worked out this way for you,” he said. “I truly am.” He flashed and disappeared.

  “That’s surprising,” Raphael said. “He never apologizes.” He rubbed his chin. “This may work in our favor.”

  “What do you mean?” Abigail asked, too tired to try and decipher Raphael’s cryptic message.

  Ringmaster staggered to his feet. “God, sometimes I miss my demonic powers.”

  Raphael jerked his head.

  Ringmaster raised his hands, his palms facing Raphael. “No, no, no, I’m not saying that I want to be a demon again. It’s just holding that zombie board nearly killed me.”

  “You didn’t die,” Raphael said. “You have more than enough powers.”

  Ringmaster lowered his hands and muttered under his breath. Poison stepped in front of him, acting as a shield. Raphael acted more loving and forgiving than Michael, but he was an Archangel, sworn to up hold the law. He could be just as deadly as Michael.

  “Raphael.” Abigail pushed back her fear as she wiped the sweat from Brayden’s furrowed brow. “Do you mean there is a chance?”

  Raphael didn’t answer her but conferred quietly with Ringmaster and Poison. Abigail strained to hear what they were saying, but it was as if she had gone totally deaf.

  Raphael walked over toward her and Brayden, his shoes tramping on the hardwood floor. She blinked. The barrier had vanished. Raphael knelt. Abigail clutched Brayden tightly, afraid Raphael would hurt or punish him. Raphael held up his hand. “I’m not going to hurt him, Abigail. I promise. I can make him forget some of the darkness that grips his mind.”

  He put his palm on Brayden’s flushed forehead. Like Michael, a white light flickered underneath his palm, and Brayden stopped moaning. A peaceful serene look came over his face and his normal color returned.

  As she blinked away tears, relief surged through Abigail. “Thank you.”

  “You
’re welcome.” Raphael removed his hand and stared into her eyes. “If you want to save Blade, there is still a chance. Michael and I cannot interfere. More important, Michael hinted he would not stop us from rescuing Blade.”

  Excitement flowed through her veins. She hoped she was hearing him right. “Seriously? How did you glean that? Michael told Balthazar that we would not interfere.”

  Raphael shrugged. “No, he said nobody here would rescue Blade. You have to read in between the lines. He meant no Archangel would interfere. We have the ability to go into Hell and save a worthy soul. Not that this happens frequently. Blade sacrificed himself for Brayden. Something Michael will not forget. I can tell you he was surprised. Blade isn’t known for his selflessness. This is a testament to him changing, his soul repenting.”

  Abigail blurted. “So, does this mean all angels are banned from helping Blade?”

  He gave her a knowing smile. “No.” And slowly disappeared.

  Poison sat next to Abigail and glanced at Brayden. “He’s lucky. Damn lucky.”

  Abigail swallowed. “I know. Can you bring Blade back?”

  Poison shook her head. “Only an angel who has true love and determination can walk into Hell and bring Blade back.”

  Abigail sagged. “You mean an Archangel?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. Blade told you who could save him.”

  “Scythe is his brother, isn’t he?” Abigail asked.

  “Yes,” Ringmaster answered. “But they didn’t part on the best of terms. Blade tried to kill both Scythe and his angel-mate.”

  “Heather?”

  Poison nodded.

  Crap. Blade had definitely carved a chasm between him and his brother.

  Abigail grabbed Poison’s arm. “Will he help? Can you find him? Ask him to do it?”

  “I’ve been kicked off the Angels of Death’s team,” Poison said. “Not exactly welcomed up there.”

  Abigail slumped, the slim chance of hope fizzled into despair. “Then how do we contact him?”

  “Pray,” Ringmaster said.

  “Blade had said the same thing.” She couldn’t hide the disbelief in her voice.

  Ringmaster stood over her. “You humans never get it, do you? Prayer is one of the most powerful weapons humans have, but you humans place absolutely no value in it. The doubt humans possess over prayer is Hell’s greatest weapon.”

  “And pray Saber doesn’t hear you first,” Poison said.

  Abigail blinked. “Saber? Who is Saber?”

  “Saber is Michael’s second hand man,” Poison explained. “The job used to be Scythe’s, but when he tried to save Blade and broke the rules, Michael demoted him.”

  “So, would Saber hear my prayers?”

  “He’s a control freak. Worse than Michael,” Ringmaster said. “He likes to go through everybody’s mail so to speak. Meaning prayers. Doesn’t want another angel to go rogue under his watch.”

  “He and Scythe have called a truce, but I can tell you Scythe wants his job back. I think Saber is worried that Michael will forgive Scythe and award it to him. He’s itching to show Michael that Scythe still can’t be trusted,” Poison said.

  Abigail bit her lip. “So, this would count, huh?”

  “Yup, something Mr. Control-freak would love to sink his teeth into and squeal like a vulture,” Ringmaster said.

  Poison grabbed Ringmaster’s hand and forced him to sit. “He’s not that bad.”

  Ringmaster winced. “Hey, I don’t like people getting into my business, and I don’t trust the guy.”

  “So, how do I pray to Scythe without Saber finding out?” Abigail asked.

  “You have to concentrate,” Poison said. “Block everything out of your mind, but Scythe. You know the Guardian Angel prayer, right?”

  “Well, you substitute the words Angel of Death, and say his name.”

  “Really? That’s all,” Abigail widened her eyes.

  “Humans,” Ringmaster muttered.

  Poison punched him in the arm. “Ringmaster.”

  “Ow,” he said, rubbing his arm.

  Abigail looked around the dark hallway at the overturned furniture and blood-stained floor. “So, should I pray here?”

  Poison raised her eyebrow. “Is that how you pray? With a room full of people and then rushing through the words?”

  Heat rushed over Abigail’s cheeks. “Well, um, I don’t know.”

  “Prayer is only powerful when you mean it. You must concentrate, meditate for the prayer to be powerful,” Poison explained. “You must do this for Scythe to hear you.”

  “I’ll carry the boy to his bed,” Ringmaster said.

  Abigail bit her lip, not sure she could trust him. “But—”

  Poison smiled and clasped Abigail’s clammy hand. “He’ll be fine. We will watch over him. You’ve got some soul searching and meditation to do.”

  Ringmaster scooped Brayden into his arms. Abigail reluctantly watched Ringmaster carry Brayden to his room. Poison gave her a quick hug. “You can do this. Scythe is much friendlier than Blade. Blade had an icy heart and you melted it. Scythe will be grateful.”

  Abigail nodded and hugged Poison back. She had grown to like the little, fiery spirit angel, but she wasn’t sure Poison was right. She’d had to make a choice of whether Blade or Brayden went to Hell. Would an Angel of Death be okay with her sending his brother to Hell? Technically, Raphael made the choice, but he had just said it so she hadn’t had to utter those horrible words.

  Abigail straightened her shirt, then fixed her hair.

  Stupid.

  But she was going to meet Blade’s brother.

  Or at least she hoped she would and not his boss, Saber.

  She walked down the stairs and went to the living room. No one was down here, but it felt too open, plus she couldn’t get the image of Natalie attacking Callie out of her mind. She hurried down the hall way to the conference room, shut the door, and sat in one of the eight chairs pushed around an oval table. She stared out the wall-sized, bay window that faced Buffalo Mountain. Stormy, gray clouds hovered over the mountain, but the rain had stopped. Drops dripped from pine trees and splashed onto the ground. She put her elbows on the table, pressed her palms together, and concentrated. She slowly exhaled and inhaled.

  Faith. She had to have faith.

  Pushing away doubt, she prayed. “Angel of Death, Scythe, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love keeps me here; Ever this day be at my side, to light and guard and rule and guide. Amen.”

  Abigail raised her head. She stood and glanced around, but she was the only one in the room. She had said the prayer the way that Poison had told her. What went wrong? Maybe calling forth Scythe had to be more than a prayer. The calling had to come straight from the heart.

  She pushed the chair away and got onto her knees, delving deep into her heart. She remembered Blade’s leather scent, his soft touch, and the taste of his lips. She prayed once more and repeated the prayer, but added, “Scythe, your brother, needs you. You’re the only one that can save him. He asked me to call you. Please hear me, I beg you. I love him with all my heart.” She recited the Act of Contrition and continued to repeat the prayers.

  “You can stop now,” a male voice said.

  She stopped, afraid to open her eyes. Was it an angel or a demon? The voice sounded like Blade’s. She raised her head. A tall, dark-haired man, with wings spread wide, stood beside her. He had the same color hair, but it was a bit shorter than Blade’s. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his silver eyes. He held out his hand, and she put her shaky one in his. He pulled her to her feet.

  Strength and power emitted from his simple touch. He had the same menacing presence as Blade. With his black boots, leather jacket, and tight white T-shirt, he could be a member of the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang.

  She found her voice and managed to squeak out, “You’re Scythe?”

  “Where’s Blade?”

  She bit her lip. Great, neither Michael nor Raphael had told
him. “Hell. Balthazar took him.”

  “Hell? Shit,” he grumbled. “What happened?”

  She rubbed her foot on top of her other one, not sure how Scythe would take the news. “I’m not sure—"

  “You’re wasting time. Tell me what the hell happened. My brother is hell’s new favorite crapper.”

  Abigail quickly told Scythe what happened. His cheek twitched. “So, he finally thought of someone else besides himself.” He cast his eyes over her. “He didn’t mark you, did he?”

  “What? I’m sorry.”

  “Claim you as his angel-mate.”

  “No—” Did this make a difference?

  “Interesting. Maybe he’s still carrying a torch for Samantha.”

  She lowered her gaze. “Oh.” She had wanted him to fall in love with her, but that didn’t matter, the only thing was rescuing him. “He’s in trouble.”

  “Trouble? You call what’s happening to him trouble?”

  She gripped the back of the chair and dug her nails into the wood. “Can you help him or not?”

  “No, he can’t,” another male voice said.

  Scythe and Abigail turned around. A brown-haired man sat at the end of the table. His shoulders were broad, and he had a jagged, white scar down the side of his right cheek. The ends of his hair curled past his shoulders. He had high cheek bones, a slender nose, and pinched together lips. His silver eyes were brilliant, brighter than Scythe’s. Despite the scar, he was beautiful, but danger seeped from his pores. He strummed his fingers on the table.

  “Mother of Mercy,” Scythe murmured.

  “Hello, Scythe,” the man said. “Following orders as usual?”

  She shrank from the man’s glowering face. Fear settled in Abigail’s stomach as she stepped closer to Scythe.

  “Damn it, Saber,” Scythe said. “He’s my brother."

  “It was his choice to fall,” Saber said.

  Sadness clouded Scythe’s eyes. “I know.”

  Abigail found her voice and relaxed her grip on the chair. “You don’t understand. He sacrificed himself for my brother.”