by Cherrie Lynn
Celeste chuckled. “Actually, no. I apologize if that offends you. But I don’t really want to know where all those souls I’ve lost have gone.”
His hand fell away from her face. It disturbed her how much she missed that touch once it was gone, and when he moved to sit up, an empty hollow yawned wide in the pit of her stomach.
“Fair enough. I’m sure it wouldn’t make you feel any better.” The bitter edge in his voice hurt, and just then she thought she might pay any price to ease his suffering.
Their new position gave her a full view of his back, with its intricate, swirling black patterns. She put her arms around his waist and dropped her lips to his shoulder. “When must you go?”
“Soon.”
“And I won’t see you again?”
“I don’t know.” He turned to look at her, half his face silvered by moonlight. “Perhaps you will, eventually.”
She didn’t want to think about all those tasks ahead of her, struggling for souls against his colleagues. She would be missing him the whole time. And when they finally faced each other again years from now—centuries even? What then?
Of course, she was assuming she wouldn’t be reassigned for this little excursion.
Distressed, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed closer to him, breathing the fiery, exotic scent of his skin.
She didn’t want to go home. The swift, sudden knowledge shook her to the core.
Damael turned back to look out over the ocean, his hair a brush of silk against her cheek.
His fingertips trailed along her arm, and then his hand grasped it hard. Lifting her head with a frown, she followed his gaze to see an eerie, wavering orange glow burning under the swells of the ocean.
“It’s a portal.” Damael stood abruptly, pulling her with him and exhorting her to put on her robes. She did so quickly, fear thrumming through her.
“Are they coming for you?”
“Most likely. I need you to go.”
“No—”
He finished shrugging into his shirt, leaving it open, and took her by the arms. His dark eyes burned into hers. “Celeste, listen to me. You and I, our job is done. Go home. If they want to hurt you, I don’t know that I can stop them.”
“I can,” she insisted. “Do you really think I can’t take care of myself?”
His eyes narrowed. “Because you did so well against Nax.”
“She caught me by surprise. It won’t happen again.”
“Dammit, you’re not a fighter. Go. It’s not worth you staying here and risking—”
“It’s not?” she interrupted, hearing an unaccustomed hard edge in her voice. “What we just shared isn’t worth it, isn’t worth fighting for?”
“Pointless is what it is. It can never be, don’t you understand? Now go, before I’m forced to send you back myself. And that won’t be pleasant.”
“Damn you, Damael. I should have known you were nothing but the heartless, merciless, cruel minion of Hell I’ve always taken you for.”
Something dangerous flared in those eyes. “When have I ever professed differently? Now—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by a crashing of waves, and Celeste felt Damael jerk her behind him as he turned to face the demon that coalesced on the sand next to them. She had no urge to cower, even though he was somehow far more frightening a specimen than her lover. His hair was a swirl of gold under the moonlight and his eyes might have matched had the sun been reflected in them. But the evil that came off him was palpable, battering against her in waves. She doubted he was even trying to project that malice. It just was.
“Saklon.” Damael’s greeting was tight and cold.
The golden-haired demon didn’t return the greeting. His gaze settled on Celeste over Damael’s shoulder. She glared back.
“I would say congratulations, job well done,” Saklon said. He spoke to Damael, but he wouldn’t stop looking at her. She shifted her feet in the sand, uneasy now. “But there’s that pesky matter of you releasing souls that rightfully belong to us.”
“I’ll gladly suffer the consequences. If you’ve come to drag me kicking and screaming back to Hell, I’m sorry, but you’ll be disappointed. I’ll go willingly.”
The faintest hint of a sinister smile curved Saklon’s lips. Finally, his gaze flickered away from her face to Damael’s. “That was exactly what I’d intended, until I had a much better idea. We’ve a plane to catch, you and I.”
Celeste felt the confusion filter through the body in front of her, and her hands clenched involuntarily on his shirt. What…?
“Our rock star’s time is up in twenty-eight minutes,” Saklon said. “If you will not collect him, then I will…and trust me when I say that won’t end well for you.”
Ice flooded Celeste’s entire being, and her voice rang out of its own volition. “The contract was destroyed. Adam has been released.” Damael snapped a sharp look in her direction, one she interpreted as imploring her to keep quiet.
Saklon frowned at her as if he’d just discovered something filthy stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “This one doesn’t have the final say, angel.” He spat the final word like a curse.
“The hell I don’t,” Damael said. “I make them, and I break them. If I fail to deliver, I’m the one who suffers the consequences. I told you, I’ll suffer these. Let this one go.”
Those steady golden eyes locked on Damael again. “That might have been the way of it before I ascended, but no longer. I don’t like it when our acquisitions are tossed away arbitrarily. And I won’t stand for it, especially not with this one.” Saklon’s pale hands shimmered in the light of the moon as he made a quick motion. A sudden puff of fire in the air formed into the hated scroll, which he brandished in front of them. “It’s been reinstated as previously written.”
She surged forward, unsure of what she’d do if she got her hands on that scroll, but its very existence was an abomination at this point. Damael caught her and held her. “You can’t do that!” she cried.
“I just did. And we’ll have him, Damael, if I have to rip his soul out myself. If it comes to that, you’ll be lucky to ever find yourself free of the shackles in the deepest torture dungeon for your disobedience. It’s your choice.”
Torture dungeon? Dear God. She didn’t have time for the roaring weakness that rushed over her at those words. “I demand to see—” she began, her eyes still on the parchment, but Damael cut her off.
“No need. I can assure you it’s real.”
Helplessly, she clutched him tighter, trying to read something in his etched-in-stone profile. Completely and utterly still, he watched his general, but even the eye she could see was emotionless. No compassion lurked anywhere behind that gaze. “Go on, Saklon,” he said quietly.
“Adam is midflight on his way home now. You’ll take him to Hell, or I’ll see that you regret it for eternity.”
“No.” Celeste tried to break Damael’s grip, to face his master herself, but he held her fast. “For once in your wretched existence, show mercy.”
Saklon’s eyes narrowed on her. He opened his mouth and drew a breath, seeming to choose his words carefully. “If you address me again,” finally came the casual, almost pleasant reply, “I shall blast you back to your maker with your wings ablaze.”
“I’ll get your acquisition,” Damael snapped, his voice a savage hiss. Celeste looked up at him, shocked. “But if you cause any harm to come to her, I’ll shove a fucking pitchfork up your golden ass. Are we quite clear?”
Saklon burst out laughing as Celeste twisted in Damael’s arms and grasped his shirt in her fists. “No,” she pleaded, hearing her heartbreak in her own voice. “You can’t take Adam, not now.”
The flat, emotionless void was still in his eyes. She couldn’t see a flicker, not one flicker of anything that might restore her faith in him. “What choice do I have? Either I do it or he will, and Adam is only one soul. One, among the thousands you’ve lost before. What difference does it make?”
“They all make a difference!” She couldn’t control the high, wild pitch in her voice. She’d told Adam he would be okay, and she’d lied. This was the worst of it. She’d never falsely assured one of them of their safety before, only to lose them later. “They all do. They all wrenched my heart. I would give up my place in Heaven to save any one of them, but I can’t. You were there as I lost so many; didn’t you see what it did to me? Don’t you understand?”
No, he didn’t, she realized as he stared silently at her. He couldn’t. Because his heart was as cold, as black, as she’d always accused.
“How sweet,” Saklon mocked. “I wonder, would you even bother trying to reason with him if you knew his plan was to get between your angelic thighs and then take the wretched mortal’s soul anyway? Didn’t tell you that, did he?”
She wanted to snap at him that he was a liar, only she feared him meting out the punishment he’d promised. Then she realized something far more horrifying than Saklon’s words: Damael wasn’t denying them, nor did he even look vaguely appalled by them.
“He’s lying, isn’t he?” she asked softly, searching Damael’s face. Even her immense shame couldn’t stop the words. “Please tell me he is.”
“Well, that wasn’t the way it happened, was it?”
“Well, what’s happening now?”
Her biting words gained her no ground. His expression was closed off from her, empty. Whatever false emotions he’d poured into it during their time here, they had run out. “Go home, Celeste. This is my job, nothing more. You did all you could.”
Tanan’s exact words from earlier. It was the story of her existence. Doing all she could. Hardly doing anything at all. She was so tired, so heartsick. So through with this, with everything.
“If you go near Adam now, after all that’s happened…” she said, thinking the low, shaking voice that came out of her couldn’t possibly be her own, nor the words. They tore at her heart like teeth and claws. “I will stop you. By whatever means necessary.”
For the first time since Saklon’s arrival, she saw a faint flare of emotion on Damael’s stony features. A spark lit in his eyes. She couldn’t help but think it was one of challenge. “You do that, and you’ll face judgment.”
“I face judgment already. What’s one more transgression?”
A wretched sound from behind her caused them both to look. Saklon had rolled his eyes heavenward. “I am fucking bored with this. Come, Damael. You have a soul to reap, and time grows short.”
Time. Adam’s twenty years were up in twenty or so minutes. They only had those few minutes to take him, or else a second past his deadline he would be freed by default. The contract had been reinstated, but if they tried to change the terms, she’d drag them both in front of Nicolae by their scaly black tails.
Damael removed her hands from his shirt and gently pushed her back a step. “I have to go.”
“Please don’t,” she ground out, and she knew he understood she wasn’t talking about him leaving.
“I wouldn’t follow, if I were you.” One minute more his gaze held hers, searching her face as if committing it to memory. His mouth was set in a grave line, his jaw clenched. She poured every ounce of pleading she possessed into her expression, every last drop of her longing for him and his redemption. Praying it would get through to him somehow.
But his face only blurred and then vanished altogether, the firm hands clasping her arms dissolving into the humid night air. Turning, she saw Saklon was gone too, leaving her alone on the empty beach with no sound but the mournful rhythm of the waves.
Chapter Six
The Gulfstream V jet carrying Adam home was well on its way to Los Angeles. Damael and Saklon materialized in the plush cabin, where the doomed man sat sipping a drink and staring out the window at the newly darkened sky. He couldn’t see them for the moment. Across the aisle from him, his girlfriend dozed. No one else was in sight.
Damael shook his head without looking at Saklon. “I hate you for this.”
“You should thank me, being that I just saved your ass. Like you told your angelpuff, this is your job. It’s what you do. I didn’t think when I gave you your orders they would cause you to take complete leave of your senses. Was she really worth losing everything?”
She was worth every damn horror Hell had to offer, but he wasn’t about to tell Saklon that.
“Now take him, before I’m forced to do it. You won’t find the consequences of lying down on the job again so pleasant.”
“Do you think if you say that a few more times, I might believe it?”
Saklon crossed his arms and smirked. “I’m done talking. It’s time for action, yours or mine.” The golden eyes smoldered. “I suggest it’s yours.”
Saklon was right—it was only a job. Damael didn’t give a damn about the throngs of blundering mortals. He didn’t give a damn about the one in front of him now, the sitting duck who foolishly signed away eternity.
But knowing Celeste thought badly of him ate into his heart like acid. She’d seduced it into beating again; now she was trying to tear it into pieces. As much as he tried to deny it, she was at the forefront of his thoughts, and the way she’d stared at him as he left her had his hands clenching into fists as he watched the oblivious Adam.
Well…perhaps not quite so oblivious, Damael thought. Adam set his drink down and leaned his head back against the seat. There was a pinch to the man’s mouth, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the armrests. The dread he’d described to his girlfriend must have returned, sitting heavy in his chest. Every turbulent jerk of the plane made him jump, and a fine sheen of perspiration had sprung on his brow.
Damn it. If not for Celeste, Damael would be standing here salivating with anticipation. What had that angel done to him?
Whatever it was, he only wanted her to do it again.
If you go near Adam now, after all that’s happened…I will stop you. By whatever means necessary.
He would almost welcome her intervention at this point, but he didn’t think she would dare. Those words had been driven by nothing more than hurt and anger. Right now she was most likely sitting alone on that forlorn beach crying those same tears that had burned him, just like he was burning now…
Ah, to Hell with it. He’d known from the start it was impossible, because of what they were. She should have known it too, and if she hadn’t, then she was more naïve than even he had thought. Their time together had been…miraculous, for lack of a better word, but then he didn’t believe in miracles. People created their own realities and destinies. Adam had created his.
Dropping the shields that concealed his presence from the mortals, Damael watched Adam closely as the man’s eyelids lifted and then snapped open wide when he saw him standing there. He attempted to scramble out of his seat, almost climbing over the armrest, before Damael grabbed his arms and planted him firmly back in it. Melody went on sleeping, and she would until this was over. He sent out a wave of power that rendered everyone else on the plane unconscious, save for the pilots. They were rather necessary.
“You!” Adam panted, his eyes showing white all around the irises. Vainly, he struggled against Damael’s grip.
Damael tightened his hands in a show of strength, not that he needed any more to pin the mortal’s thrashing. He allowed a slow grin to unfurl across his lips. “I thought you might remember.”
“No man, no, that was a bad fucking trip—”
“You know better. You’ve felt it. The constant dread, the darkness that haunts you? The happiness you could never quite attain no matter how often your dreams came true? It was me. I own you. I’ve only come to collect what’s mine.” The words rang hollow even to his own ears. He’d used them countless times to work himself into a feverish frenzy and stoke the terror of his victims. Only they sounded flat to him now.
“Please, I’ll give you anything—”
Damael had almost forgotten Saklon’s presence. “Anything?” the other demon asked,
his voice the embodiment of all the slimy, slithering things in Hell. “I must say this looks to be a tasty morsel right here.” Damael glanced back to see him lifting the blanket off Melody, licking his top lip in a lascivious sweep as his gaze traveled over her curves.
“No!” Adam cried. “Not her, don’t touch her…”
“But I thought you said anything.” The jet suddenly bumped wildly. Saklon made a show of steadying himself and looking around in mock terror. “Oops. You know, your careless bargain may have just doomed not only you, but the only other mortal stupid enough to genuinely love you. And a few innocents, for good measure.”
“Stop it,” Damael growled. “We’ve come for him, and him alone.”
“Really. Whatever happened to your sense of adventure, Damael? You’re no fun anymore. Did some of the angel’s sunshine and rainbows rub off on you? Shall I buy you a kitten?” Saklon straightened, all hints of amusement gone from his features. “I say we reap them all. I would consider it compensation, more or less, for the soul you tried to deny me.”
“You’re not being denied anything, you bastard. I’m here now, aren’t I? You’re getting what you want.”
Saklon’s eyes burned like metal in a forge. “I notice I still haven’t gotten it yet.”
Damael turned back to Adam, who’d blanched whiter than Celeste’s robes. “I was a stupid kid,” he said, his terrified gaze searching Damael’s face. For what? A hint of compassion? “I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t know it was real. I would never have—”
“Enough. Have you any idea how many of you say that? ‘I was stupid, I was desperate, I had nowhere to turn’… It gets tiresome after a while. You made the choice. All you mortals, so caught up in your personal dramas, not realizing you’re the lucky ones.” Damael felt his lips twist bitterly with sudden, scathing jealousy. “You have options.”
“So do you,” Adam said softly, his sudden bravery startling Damael so that he nearly recoiled. “I can see it. You don’t want to do this—”
