Punishment

by ML Guida

  Balthazar rose and stretched out his arms wide and motioned to the crowd. “Quiet, quiet.” The roar of the crowd diminished. “Quiet,” Balthazar ordered.

  He pointed at Blade. “We have a special performance tonight.”

  The gate rose higher and the hounds clawed at the opening, trying to squeeze through.

  Blade tried to remain still to force his terror back into his bones. He raised his head and met Balthazar’s haughty gaze.

  “For betraying us,” he said. “Your punishment will be our entertainment. Release the hounds!”

  Blade clenched and unclenched his fists. He was weaponless and about to become a shredded piece of meat. He scanned the ground and seized a jagged broken bone. Holy Grail, he was a caveman, trying to defend himself from hungry velociraptors.

  Five hellhounds escaped from under the gate and charged, muscles rippling. Death reflected in their glowing red eyes. They released a howl that sent his heart down to his toes. Ears lay back on their massive heads, and they gnashed their sharp teeth.

  The beasts lunged. Blade slammed the bone on one of the beast’s head, only to have the bone splinter into pieces. He dropped it and punched his fist into a hound’s jaws. The hound cried out, but his victory was soon trampled.

  Razor sharp teeth bit into his forearm, tearing his flesh. He pounded on the hound’s head, but it refused to let go. Blood squirted into the air. Pain blinded him, and he tried to ignore it. Claws and teeth ripped into his thigh. He smashed his fist onto a paw, only to have the beast bite his hand.

  Anguish plowed through him. He was being torn to pieces and powerless to stop it. The hoots and hollers of the demons rang in his ears. Their thirst for his death sickened him.

  A hound plowed into his chest, knocking him to the ground and robbing him of breath. The beast crawled up his torso and peered down at him, its’ foul breath choking him. He arched his back to buck it off, but he couldn’t even move it an inch. The beast bit his neck and shook him.

  Blade screamed. Blood seeped into his mouth, and he prayed for death.

  The hounds stopped and released him. Blade watched them warily. He panted and spit up blood onto the ground. He was a mangled piece of flesh. He wouldn’t be able to stand if he wanted to. Skin hung off his legs, exposing muscle and bone.

  He blocked out all the sounds around him—the jeers of the demons, the snarling of the hellhounds, the endless crackling of Hell’s fire. He wanted to die, wished he could die, but another feeling gripped him more than death, one he’d long forgotten—regret. Regret for murdering the innocent, for turning his back on God, for leaving Abigail.

  For the second time, he did something he’d sworn he’d never do again. He lowered his head and prayed. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry for my sins—”

  This time, he meant every word. He asked for forgiveness, for mercy.

  Balthazar laughed. “It’s too late to be calling on the Almighty.”

  Blade ignored him, blocked out the pain, and recited every prayer he knew. He was surprised at the peace filling him. What was happening?

  Balthazar snapped his fingers. “Heal.”

  Blade groaned, the pulsing pain lessened, his torn flesh and muscles mended. He rolled onto his back and gazed up at a smirking Balthazar.

  “You didn’t think I’d let the game end so soon, did you?”

  He gestured to the crowded demons. “We need to know exactly how strong our little bitch is. Next, we will have him take on only four Hellhounds. You may bet on how many you think he can defeat. Obviously, he is too weak to handle five. To win one year on Earth, my friends, you must not only guess how many Hellhounds Blade can handle, but you must determine the amount of time he can stay standing in the ring without falling.”

  The crowd roared. Demons held up their fingers. Balthazar nodded to a slighter demon with spiky, blond hair and shifty, red eyes, Viktor. “Get their bets.”

  Blade bent over and put his hands on his knees. He sucked in air while he could. Every muscle ached. Scratches burned on his flesh. He didn’t know how many bruises he had. His ribs throbbed like a mother—broken ribs. He’d fought five hellhounds. Then four. Each time, he lost miserably and Balthazar would heal him. Now, three hellhounds slowly walked around him. The other two sat perfectly still, their red eyes watching him, growling. God, he was weary, so damn weary.

  “Still think God is going to answer your prayers?” Balthazar sipped a glass of wine.

  Blade stood and slowly turned, refusing to answer Balthazar. He faced his three adversaries. Each time he healed, the demons quieted and waited for Balthazar to give the word.

  “He lasted twenty minutes with the four hellhounds.” Viktor wrote down the time on a blackboard. There were odds written—Twenty minutes had been the long shot.

  “That’s better than he did with the five.” Balthazar acknowledged. He motioned. “Attack.”

  The beasts charged once again. Blade grabbed one and threw it to the ground, but the other two seized his legs, one biting into his right thigh and the other gripping his left calf. The fallen hellhound stood and shook his head. Ignoring him, Blade turned to his left. He grabbed a hellhound by the skin and yanked. Its teeth tore his flesh. Blade cried out, but he managed to loosen its grip. Not soon enough.

  Teeth gnashed into his arm. He cried out. As he loosened his grip on the hellhound, it bit his hand. Anguish shot up his arm. Three hellhounds were his limit. His strength failed him. He sank to his knees and onto his back. The hellhound shook him and pulled, muscles tearing. Hot tears stung Blade’s eyes. A bright white light illuminated far above, something he’d never seen in hell.

  The hellhound, gripping his arm, yelped and released him.

  The crowd hissed and swore.

  “No.” Balthazar tossed the wine glass on the ground. Glass shattered. “He’s mine. Damn you, Michael. You said you wouldn’t interfere.”

  The other two hellhounds whimpered, got down on their bellies, and crawled away. Michael was coming to rescue him? He gasped for breath, staring up at the brilliant, radiant light that descended toward him.

  Balthazar materialized next to Blade and seized his arm. They flashed out of the coliseum and into a fire pit. Blade fell onto his stomach but couldn’t move. It was as if invisible chains trapped him. The flames blazed around, burning him again, his flesh blackening and cracking. Smoke blinded his eyes, scorching his lungs. Pain consumed him. His body sizzled. He choked on his own cooking flesh. He screamed, but only a hoarse whisper escaped his dry lips. Balthazar laughed, his foul laughter blocked out his cries.

  The white light shone, piercing the black smoke surrounding Blade, dousing the heat of the fire. He could move. Balthazar hissed and fled, shielding his eyes with his palms.

  Blade raised his head. Warm white light rushed toward him. A hand formed in the brilliant rays. As the luminescence drew closer, a male figure formed. Glowing wings spread out wide, an avenging eagle.

  Chills ran up Blade’s spine. “Michael?”

  As the figure approached, he held a glimmering sword— Benevolence.

  Silver eyes peered down at him. A grim smile caught his attention. He knew that smile. It wasn’t Michael. It wasn’t Saber. It was Scythe. Disbelief and joy flooded through him. He couldn’t believe it. God had heard his prayers.

  He stretched out his bloody hand.

  “No!” Balthazar howled from the shadows.

  Scythe grinned at him as he lifted him out of the fiery pit. “Surprised to see me, brother.”

  The soft, glow of devotion spread through Blade. The pain lessened, but he gasped to breathe. “No.” He clasped his brother’s hand tight. “I’ve got my faith back.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blade clutched his brother’s hand with both of his, trying to block out the anguish tormenting his body. He was afraid his cracked and burnt fingers would slip through Scythe’s hand.

  As if reading his mind, Scythe said, “I won’t let you fall, Blade. Trust me.”

&nb
sp; Below, Balthazar raised his fist. “Ghost demons attack!”

  Ghost demons pursued them, snarling and growling. They were gaining on them. His hands started to slip. Scythe gripped him tighter.

  “Let me go, Scythe,” Blade urged. “You can’t fight them and save me.”

  A ghost demon lunged. It bit Blade’s thigh, tearing and ripping flesh. Blade arched his back, loosening his grip on Scythe’s hand. He tried to kick the thing off his leg, but the demon refused to let go. His fingers slid out of Scythe’s hand.

  Balthazar stood in the fiery pit with a sneer on his lips. Two hellhounds on either side of him. Blade closed his eyes. The ghost demon yanked and pulled harder. Blade inched away from freedom.

  Scythe swung his sword and sliced through the ghost demon. It screeched, releasing Blade.

  “Hang on!” Scythe’s commanding voice gave Blade hope. He clinched his brittle fingers tight. Sweat trickled down his brow. He didn’t know how much longer he could hang on, his strength was fading.

  Another ghost demon attacked. It bit Blade’s foot. He kicked, but once again, the thing hung on, its claws ripping his calf. He cried out.

  Scythe swung again. The sword missed Blade’s foot by inches but cut into the ghost demon.

  Each time Scythe flew up higher, the demons attacked, always at Blade, ripping and tearing his flesh. By the time they flew out of Hell, he’d be a piece of Swiss cheese.

  His overstretched arms screamed in agony. With each heartbeat, pain pumped through him. His strength was gone, only Scythe’s dominating will kept him from letting go and falling into the pit of despair.

  “The cavalry’s coming,” Scythe said.

  Blade raised his eyes. His mouth fell open. Another angelic light streaked toward them. Power and grace emitted from the glow, renewing Blade’s stamina. He couldn’t believe it. Saber flew straight toward them, carrying a silver sword—Raphael’s Magic. The ghost demons gnashed their teeth.

  Saber slashed the sword, cutting cut through the ranks of the ghost demons, scattering them, their shrieks gladdening Blade’s heart.

  “What took you so long?” Scythe half grinned.

  Saber grabbed Blade’s arm. “You know me. Like making a grand entrance.”

  “Saber,” Blade gasped, still not believing the commander of the angels of death, his sworn enemy, was helping Scythe rescue him.

  “You got one hell of a guardian angel. Raphael couldn’t come himself, so he sent me.” Saber stuck out the sword. Magic blazed through the smoke and fumes.

  Balthazar screamed with rage and uttered a curse. Blade was too beaten and astonished to notice until something slammed into him like a red hot cannonball. His body burst into flames. He screamed as he released Scythe’s hand. He closed his eyes and he passed out.

  ***

  Blade shook his head back and forth. Someone softly dabbed his sweating forehead with a damp cloth. He inhaled the fragrant smell of mimosa. He fluttered open his eyes. He shot straight up. Pain seized him. He winced. Not a good idea. A quilt fell down from his naked shoulders, and he realized he wore nothing but the quilt.

  “It’s okay, Blade. You’re safe,” a soft voice said.

  He knew that voice, dreamed of that sweet voice. Abigail sat in a chair next to the bed, holding a wash cloth in her hand. He stared into those beautiful, green eyes, outlined by thick, black eyelashes. “You’re here.” Not sure if he was dreaming and about to wake into another nightmare.

  He wanted to kiss her, to taste those lips before he descended into more agony, but he could barely even breathe, let alone move.

  “How did I get here?” He bit his lip, trying to block out the pain. “The last thing I remembered was something slamming into me.”

  “A fireball,” Abigail said, her voice cracking. “Scythe and Saber managed to grab you before you fell back into Hell. You were so badly burned. I thought…I thought—”

  He was surprised that he wasn’t dead. He hurt, but his flesh wasn’t blackened nor was it torn to pieces. “You healed me?”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t completely heal you,” she said. Tears formed in her eyes. “You’re still badly bruised.”

  “Seeing you is all I needed,” he said, wishing he could kiss away her tears. “Where are the others?”

  “Poison, Saber, and Scythe are guarding the house. Ringmaster is still with Brayden.”

  “Is the boy all right?”

  “He’s still unconscious,” she said, her voice quaking. She cleared her throat. “But Ringmaster insists it’s a good sign. He says that Brayden is fighting to keep his soul. He can only fight in his dreams. If he wakes, he will fall under a dark spell and lose his soul forever.”

  Her eyes pooled. Blade wanted to ease her pain, tell her that Ringmaster was wrong. But it would be a lie.

  “Ringmaster needs more time to help Brayden hang on to his soul.”

  She reached out and clasped his hand, her thumb brushing over his. Tremors rushed over him, and with each soft caress, his pain lessened.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  He sighed. “Like a hellhound’s spit out chew toy.”

  Worry filled her eyes. “Scythe said you’d be different.”

  “Different?”

  “He said coming out of hell, you’d be angry, in a rage.”

  “I’m surprised I’m not. Just tired. Pain chilling tired.”

  She bunched her lovely brows.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I hurt. Everything hurts. But I’m not angry. When I’m around you, my anger vanishes.”

  She leaned over, brushing her lips against his, kissing him softly. Ignoring the pain of his bruised lips, he opened his mouth to taste Abigail’s sweetness. She swirled her tongue in his mouth, and he moaned, allowing her to explore the recesses of his mouth. He still couldn’t believe she wanted him, not after what he had done to her sister, Jessy. He’d spend eternity trying to grant her every whim.

  She stopped kissing him. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Holy Heaven, no. Don’t stop,” he said, his voice husky.

  He wanted her, ached to make love to her.

  Abigail stretched out on top of Blade. He wrapped his arms around her neck, holding her close. She kissed his lips again and trailed kisses down his throat.

  Her feathery kisses blocked out the pain—the memory of Hell. She moved her hands slowly moved down his arms. He closed his eyes, indulging her soft touch that caressed his tender skin, blocking out hell’s torment. She maneuvered down his torso, pulling away the blanket. Her silky hair brushed his sensitive skin, inflaming his desire.

  The anguish diminished. Or else, he forgot about it. He wasn’t sure which. All he could think about was her soft touch, her kisses and hair.

  She licked his nipple, kissing and licking, and his cock hardened. He wanted to grab her and thrust inside her but refused to give into his desire. Abigail was still too fragile, so he allowed her to indulge in her sweet appetite.

  She moved down his chest, her hair flickering down his bruised flesh, but the slight touch stopped the throbbing. He smiled. His little red head had the power to heal the powers of hell.

  She placed her knees on either side of his thighs and stared down at his hard cock. His heart quickened as she lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it to the side. He wanted to rip off the lacey bra hiding her perfect breasts. She reached unclasped her bra, freeing her breasts.

  He licked his lips, eager to kiss to taste those budded nipples again. She half smirked and slowly slid the straps down her slender arms. He sucked in his breath. She ran her hands up her belly, over her breasts and pinched her nipples.

  Blade panted and tried to keep his cock from ejaculating all over her tummy. He wanted her so badly.

  Abigail stood on the bed, towering over him, a teasing Amazon. She unbuttoned her jeans and slowly crept out of them, revealing a sexy pair of red underwear. He itched to rip those off to gaze at her red, feminine, curls. She slid her hands down
her hips and hooked her fingers underneath the flimsy lace, and pulled it out, teasing him with a glimpse of her soft mound.

  “You’re killing me,” he murmured.

  She smiled as she slid the underwear down those creamy thighs, past her sculpted calves, and stepped out of them, never once making the mistake of stepping on him. She gazed down at him. A fierce hunger grew within him. “Red,” he warned.

  Tossing her head back, she laughed.

  “Ride me, Red. Ride me hard. Make me forget everything but you.”

  She glided off the bed, ran her fingers slowly up, and down his cock. He gripped the sheets hard. God, he was about to explode.

  “Woman,” he growled.

  She released him and come trickled down his cock. He willed himself not to orgasm, not now, not yet, but his will power waned.

  Blade held his breath as Abigail straddled him and lowered herself on his leaking cock. Her tight muscles fit snug around his cock, cocooning him in her slick warmth. Her wicked grin sent tingles rushing over him. He couldn’t believe how much he wanted her, but that wasn’t enough, he wanted her for all time. He wished he could utter the words, making her his angel-mate, but he wasn’t an angel.

  He arched his hips and pushed his cock deep inside her. He thrust harder and faster, wanting her to climax, to see fulfillment in her emerald eyes.

  Ignoring the pain, he gripped her hips and grinded her harder on to his hips. She moaned. He pressed his thumb on her clitoris and rubbed her. She sucked in her breath. “Yes, yes!”

  He smiled and stroked her clit. Her golden skin glowed.

  He rocked harder. Hell’s pain faded. The letters branded on his chest dissipated. Bruises and scratches vanished. Torn muscles melded together. The deeper he thrust into her core, the more his flesh healed and his strength returned.

  Joy burned in his heart. He had never felt such rapture. Warmth rushed through his veins, and he could barely breathe. Abigail flung her head back and screamed. Wetness folded over his cock. He never wanted this to end. He might not be an angel any longer, but he wanted to say the words he had failed to utter with Samantha. Samantha had once been the love of his life, but those feelings paled compared to what he felt for Abigail. Maybe that was why he never uttered those words to Samantha, biding her to him forever. Maybe a small piece of doubt had gripped him, even though he denied its existence.