She stood and grabbed Ram’s arm. “Do you know where it is? Can you take me there?”
He stiffened, glaring down at her as panic coated his words. “What? Are you crazy?”
She was so close to finding her father, she could practically reach out and touch it. “You know where it is, don’t you?”
Lips tight, he shook his head.
She squeezed his forearm. “You’re lying. You must know something. Help me find him. Please.”
No, she couldn’t really ask him such a thing. Not with that haunting pain in his black eyes.
What am I doing?
She was no better than the demoness that forced him to live in hell if she forced him to go back for her own agenda.
Before she could take it all back, he yanked his arm out of her reach, practically pushing her away. “Didn’t you hear him? If those chains were really forged in hell, you don’t have a chance of breaking him free. You can barely flash fifty feet in front of you. What makes you think you could save anyone?” His words scathed. His eyes roamed up and down her form and probably found it lacking in the strength she truly required.
It stuck like ice in her veins, stabbing shards of anguish through her body. “I don’t leave people that I love to die…to be tortured. Ever.”
“Miss Kyria.” David’s voice sounded so small and weak. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can try again later.”
Knees weak, she went down in front of him. “Oh, sweetheart.” Trying to keep her hands from trembling, she cupped his face and gently sent light into him. “We have enough. We’ll take it from here. Thank you.”
When she stood again, rubbing her eyes to make sure the tears didn’t fall, Ram stood in the doorway as if to block her from leaving.
“No one is going to hell, Kyria. I’m sorry, but your father’s fate is sealed.”
Proud and strong, his power hid his vulnerabilities well. He was scared. It was visible in tense shoulders and the slight trembling of his anger when he spoke.
There was no way she was making him take her to hell. Clenching her fists, Kyria closed her eyes and flashed to the stables. Time to figure out how to reach her father on her own.
Half an hour later, Kyria brushed Alaska down then left her stall, having spent some time venting to the animal after instinctively flashing straight to her.
Head cleared, she stored the grooming equipment away and exited the stables. When she rounded the corner, she came face to face with an upside-down Bishop.
She screamed and jumped back, nearly falling over. She managed to catch herself against a stack of hay bales.
Bishop crossed his arms, dangling by a rope tied around his ankles. “It’s okay. I get that a lot.” He examined his nails. “It’s getting worse, you know. Decisions must be made. Fated ones have to join, or we are all lost.”
His cowboy costume was gone, replaced by a pair of worn overalls covered in patches of tin foil. His sun-streaked hair stuck out in all different directions. Gravity didn’t seem to make any difference.
She placed a hand over her racing heart. “What the heck are you doing?” She should find it funny that Bishop scared her more than the ghost had.
“Just hanging around.” He uncrossed his arms and fumbled with some marbles between his hands. He was talented if nothing else. “I had hoped the mark would take by now. But it’s a no-go so far. Burn, baby, burn.”
“What are you doing in the barn?” Stupid. Why am I humoring this guy?
“I don’t remember actually. What do you recall?”
She scratched the back of her head. “The last time I saw you was with the kids at the bunker.”
“Jelly beans are pretty important.”
“Right.” She didn’t know what she expected. Conversations with Bishop were never very productive. She bent over and turned the spigot on so she could splash her heated face.
As the hose sputtered and spat cold water, Bishop grabbed ahold of her ponytail and gave it a few yanks. “I’ve seen that mark before. It siphons energy from the parent so the child may grow. Like a black lace-weaver spider being eaten by her young.”
Kyria stood straight, forgetting the running hose on the ground as warmth drained from her face. She slapped a hand over the back of her neck, pulling away from Bishop. “Then it’s true. I am the one killing my dad. But why? Where have you seen it before?”
“In a book. Pages of words. Pictures. Lots of Pictures. It’s a game changer. Just the way life is sometimes. Sacrifice is our motif, little girl.”
“Does the mark mean anything?”
“Super-size me.” He laughed.
“Bishop.”
“Knight to E5.”
Kyria frowned and dropped to pick up the hose again, tempted to spray him with it. “What do you know about the mark?”
“What mark?”
“My birthmark.”
“What about it?”
She sighed. “You said it was in a book.”
“Book? Valiel has books. I can never tell if she’s a librarian or a candy man. Maybe both.”
Well, it was a start. If she couldn’t get a straight answer out of him, she’d take what she could get. He did say the other day that they didn’t ask the right questions.
“Do you need help getting down?”
He frowned. “I was about to ask you the same thing. How long have you been upside down like that?”
“Never mind.” Kyria shook her head. After already dealing with one lost cause today, she didn’t want to handle this basket of crazy. “The books with the marks, what stories do they have? Can they show me a way into hell?”
“Stories. Stories are good. That’s the way man records his history and lies. They lie to make themselves look bigger. They collect the innocent and build power.”
A pounding started at the base of her head and moved to her eyes. She needed to record everything he said. Val or Ram would understand some of it.
“Is my father connected to the missing children and the demons?” Her dad had taught her to keep her head low and mind her own business, but it wasn’t right. Not anymore. Not after everything and everyone she’d run into the past few days.
“Connecting the small dots will put you on the right path. Closer and closer they get. But too close and the walls of ice will break apart.”
“Walls of ice?” Her heart rate doubled. But every time she asked about her father, he veered off on some other topic. “Why do the demons hunt the marked Nephilim?”
“Now that is a good question, marked one. Where is your fated? Where has he gone? The children are waiting, they need you now.”
She glanced past the barn to the house beyond. Why was she the only one hearing this? “Where are the children?”
“Not in the ice. Not in the sky. One by one, the sheep disappear. Shelter one, shelter them all. The rats know.”
She wanted to cry. “Bishop, please give me one straight answer.” She clenched her fists hard. “Help me find my dad, dammit!”
“Rulers are straight. The path to fate is crooked. You need your fated by your side or we all end in a fiery explosion. BAM.” With the last word, he vanished.
No more running or hiding, then. I can do this. Whatever else Bishop rambled on about, she would research the mark. If it had to do with her and David, if it had to do with Nephilim in general, then it had to do with hell. Maybe she’d find clues about a secret backdoor to a demon’s lair or something.
She tightened her ponytail and walked faster toward the main house.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A saint plagued by devils, being eaten alive. Ramiel frowned at the image in Kyria’s book as he stood in the doorway.
After a whole afternoon of avoiding her and cursing himself, he had finally tracked her to Valiel’s study, sitting on the floor with her back to him. Slim hands ran over grotesque illustrations in the pile of open books strewn about.
He remained silent, studying her as she searched for answers she wouldn’t find. He
should have told her his suspicions. He should have believed his own hunch. He was a coward.
Finally, he spoke. “I ran into him once.”
“Who?”
“Your father.” I owe her something. He kept the truth of David’s visions from her, denied her the one thing he could give her. A way to obtain her father.
The moment the boy described walls of ice and horror, he had known it was Nema’s den. The demon had Darius, and there was no way in hell Ramiel was taking Kyria anywhere close to that bitch. If Darius cared for her at all, he wouldn’t want her there, either.
She perked up, attention on him now. “What do you mean?”
“During the war. I caught a group of betrayers trying to leave heaven after breaking in to steal some sacred weapons for Lucifer. Darius was one of them. I told them they were making a mistake. One of them attacked me. I had to kill her.”
Ancient memory crept closer. “They were scared. I could smell it.” Nostrils flared. Taking in Kyria’s sweet scent calmed him, cleansed Hell from his brain. “But not of me. Still not sure what had them so worked up, so afraid of failing.”
“What did you do?”
He paused. “Your father fell to his knees and begged for mercy. Not for himself, but for the others. So, I let them go. Him, Valiel, and one other. I used to regret that decision, wondering if my chains were my punishment.” Clarity hit him hard. An epiphany unlike any he’d had before. “But if I hadn’t let him go, he’d never have had you.”
Her lips parted on a breath.
Air froze in his lungs. Her not being here in the world. She could be his redemption if he had anything to offer in return. It was too late for him. This was about her.
Something so warm and innocent was never meant to be his, but somehow, she belonged to him. He wasn’t worthy, never had been. Not even in the early days of his self-righteous glory.
Now that he was corrupt and foul she was in his life? Anger pushed at him.
His encounter with Darius happened so long ago, the time when angels fought angels. The Great War caused by the Mother’s creation of humans. It surprised him how easily he could still recall it even after all this time.
“Thank you. For not killing him.” Her words caressed the air. “Not for me, but him. He’s a good man.”
The muscles across his shoulders loosened. Letting the betrayers go had not been a mistake. They were one regret he wouldn’t carry any longer.
She smiled. “You know, you’re not as terrible as you want the world to think.”
He grunted and moved to sit down in a large leather chair. “And you’re trying to pretend you aren’t wearing yourself out. You need to stop. As primarily human, you need sleep, food, and maybe even blood.” He frowned. “There’s no point in doing more training if you’re weak.”
Closing one of her books, she scrutinized him. “I’ll do the best I can to pace myself so I’m strong for training. Do you doubt me?”
“No. To be so small and delicate, you’re one of the strongest beings I know.” A grimace tightened his face. “I’m sorry…about what I said. At the bunker.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please, Eli used to tease me all the time about being small and weak. I’m used to it. But compared to most women, I’m considered tall. See?” She lifted her arms then flexed. “And I’m getting pretty buff.”
He shrugged, fighting an upward tug of his lips. He had no right to be drawn toward her, to want to claim her. He figured it was the blood deprivation when he first met her. But now, instead of his fangs aching, it was his heart.
She went back to her research. He settled into the chair and took in every subtle movement. Her fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Everything about her was soft and warm while being fierce and determined. She was perfection. She deserved perfection.
What was he going to do with her? Nothing. He was a product of Hell, and if it was the last thing he did, he would guarantee that she’d never know that place.
Arching her back, she glanced at him. A hint of a smile turned the corner of her lips. “You’re looking at me as if I’m a puzzle missing the last piece.”
His scowl deepened. “You make me nervous when you smile like that.”
Her mouth went wider. “I know you don’t like being touched, but you don’t seem to mind kissing.”
Kissing her again? Every muscle in his body tightened. He faked relaxation and leaned back in the chair. Away from her.
Her features softened, and she must have taken his lack of comment as encouragement. On her knees, she moved closer, kneeling in front of him. “I spoke with Bishop.”
One corner of his mouth went up. “Sorry about that. Need any painkillers?”
A wide smile brightened her face. “You made a joke. No, he talked about missing sheep and marked Nephilim. So, I thought looking for clues in Val’s old mythology books might give me some insight on what my mark means. I might even check the public library.”
“That would make sense. But you need to stay here at the ranch.” A flash of his vision burned his eyes. Kyria under attack, holding a dead boy in the streets of the small town. A stream of panic rushed through him. He moved toward her as if to shield her from whatever omen hovered on the horizon. “Just don’t go into town.”
“Yes, you keep saying that.” Her face tilted. “Bishop also talked about my fated one again. Why is he calling us that? It’s you, right? You’re my fated.”
Standing on her knees, she reached out and placed one hand on his chest, right over his heart. Her proximity scorched him.
Not a single coherent word of any language could be found in his brain. “Is that why I feel this bond even though I have no reason to?” A spark of curiosity and a dose of desire turned the blue of her eyes so dark and deep.
He didn’t dare move. Not even when, with a gentle touch, she placed a hand above each of his knees. It was slow motion, a heady mix of enticing and gut-wrenching.
Those soft hands bewitched him as they slowly, hesitantly moved up his thighs.
Every single nerve in his body shut down. In one swift motion, he pinned her hands under his.
“There might be fated issues, but actually, you’re a creature of free will. You make your own choices.”
No fear or hesitation, she leaned closer. “I’m a creature?”
“A beautiful one.” He released her hand and pushed her away from him. “I don’t like skin contact.”
She sat back on her heels. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to touch you. I didn’t mean to—”
Embarrassment and humiliation clouded her stunning eyes.
Damn it. He hurt her. Against his better judgment, he reached out and cupped her face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Gently brushing his lips across the tender skin of her lips, he explored her mouth until she moaned. She soothed the ugliness in his head and gave him peace.
She deserved to feel cherished, worshiped, not discarded. He moved to her jaw, her ear, her neck. “It’s me. I have too much darkness in me. I don’t know how not to hurt you.”
She moaned and tilted her chin, exposing more of her throat, giving him full access to her life force. He never wanted to give someone so much. Each breath he took deepened his connection to her. Beat for beat, their hearts synched in rhythm.
He wanted to give her pleasure but didn’t know how. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. She didn’t understand the blackness inside him.
Nema had ruined him, making him unworthy of Kyria. If he had wings, they’d be tarnished. Leaning back, he studied her face.
Eyes wide, she stared at him. Innocence and hope burned bright. And something else that he didn’t have a word for pulled at him. She wanted what he couldn’t give her.
Her hands moved and rested on top of his shoulders. They didn’t stay still for long. Her fingers, warm and soft danced along his collarbone.
No one had ever touched him with such…love. He should pull back, leave. Instead,
he sat on the edge of the chair, legs spreading so she could kneel between them. Without a word he begged to get closer.
Anther inch and their bodies would be pressed together.
“Ram, I want to touch your face.” Her voice, tentative but longing, had him surrendering everything to her.
She didn’t move until he nodded. Long, gentle fingers slid up to frame his face. She skimmed the pads of her thumbs across his rugged features. Warmth radiated from her caresses.
Gradually, she moved forward until she was close enough to press a light kiss to his disfigured lips. He should stop her, but the way her breath fanned his ruined skin revitalized him.
He leaned down closer to her so she could trail a few more kisses up his nose and across his brow. She fumbled, her mouth warm, inviting. His heart struck hard against its cage.
Wanting to hold her close, he forced his fists to press against his thighs. He would not ruin her with his crude desires.
“Ram, please touch me.”
Oh, God forgive me, but I can’t tell her no. The yearning in her voice danced like musical notes, begging him to join her in a private dance. To share his black soul with her.
His body relaxed, giving up the fight. His tension and rigidity melted away beneath the soft treatment of her touch.
She sat back on her heels, dropping her hands. “Is it like this because we’re fated?”
The cold was slipping round him. Missing her touch already, he shook his head. “I don’t know.”
He really didn’t. He had never understood the human drive to connect sexually. But with her, he did. He wanted to give her the pleasure meant for a mate.
He considered himself a broken monster, but she obviously didn’t.
“Ramiel. I’m sorry for pushing you at the bunker.” She rose like a goddess standing above him. “I shouldn’t ask you to take me to Hell when you’re already a slave to it. That was unfair of me.” Shifting, she put her weight against his shoulder then nipped the edge of his ear. Her hand went to his ribs then skimmed lower.
Unchained Desire Page 15
