Forevermore

by Kristen Callihan

  She wanted to smile, but the sound of laughter, ugly and thin, filled the air. Layla stiffened and looked round. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Sin glanced about. “What did you hear?”

  Layla hugged herself close. “I thought . . . no, I heard laugher.” She did not like his worried expression. “You didn’t hear it, did you?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “But that does not mean I don’t believe you did.”

  Again came the laughter, and again Sin did not react. Tiny feet of icy cold seemed to dance up her spine, and she leaned closer to Sin. “Take me home. I do not feel up for fighting anymore today.”

  “Of course,” Sin began, but stopped when six men appeared at the mouth of the alleyway.

  Ugly looking thugs, they spread out, blocking the exit. Layla might have thought them street roughs but their eyes were all yellow.

  “Raptor demons,” Sin said at her ear. “Looks like we’ll have our fight after all.”

  But then the leader did something truly odd: he bowed. “Mistress, we have come to ye’.”

  Mistress? Sin had to have heard wrong. But there they were, six raptor demons bowing and edging closer to Layla as if she were the queen herself.

  She frowned at him and then at the demons. “I’m sorry, but I believe you have me confused with someone else. I don’t know you.”

  The leader, a large and lumpy brute who was wearing his human form rather shabbily, for it kept flicking in and out over his true shape, stepped forward. “Aye, but we know you. Our lady. Our leader. Did ye like our offering?” He gestured to the body on the ground. “Nice an’ fresh, it is.”

  “You . . .” Layla blanched. “Did this for me? Why?”

  The demon tilted his head, his thick brow furrowing. “Does my lady prefer male bodies? We could gladly—”

  “No,” Layla nearly shouted, her skin white with horror. “Not necessary. I should merely like to understand why you left this for me. Who do you think I am?”

  “You are Layla Starling, daughter of Lena, our lady. Thus you are our lady as well.”

  They all bowed again.

  “Our lady Lena preferred blood to all other foods. As do you, yes?” The big lug looked so hopeful that Sin wanted to laugh. But he was too unnerved.

  As was Layla, who pressed her hand to her cheek. “That is very . . . kind of you. However, I’d rather . . . acquire my own . . .” She swallowed hard. “Food.”

  “But my lady, it is our pleasure and duty.”

  Layla stood up straight, the wings of her brows lifting. “Have you been leaving bodies before now?”

  “Of course.”

  Another one chimed in. “You liked them well enough. Drank all their blood right up.”

  “I’m going to be ill,” she murmured. Then in a louder voice, “You must stop. I cannot abide by murder.”

  At this, all six demons reared back, their expressions displaying varying levels of disgust and shock.

  “No murder?” said their leader. “What would ye have us do, then, if not murder?”

  “Look,” Layla said, “I do not know what sort of arrangement you had with my mother. But I am not her.”

  “No,” said one, his lip curling over a lowering fang. “You are not.”

  “Nor are you fit for my lord king?” said another.

  “And who is this lord king?” Sin asked.

  Apparently they’d either forgotten he was there or never really paid him heed to begin with, for all six demons’ gazes snapped to him. The air of goodwill grew decidedly chilly.

  “You? You’ve the glow of angels on ye.”

  Glow? He glowed? Sin glanced down despite himself. Layla gave him a glance too. Her lip twitched. “Well, I don’t see it.”

  “Rudding, angelic being, with our mistress.”

  “Not ours if that’s the company she keeps.”

  “Aye, she’s a right disappointment. Unworthy.”

  “Whoring with angels.”

  “Enough,” Sin snapped. “Go now before I show you how very angelic I can be.”

  The leader sneered. “As if we’d be afraid of a bloomin’ angel.”

  Sin grinned. “I’m afraid I’m not an angel.” Not the being they considered an angel, at any rate. “Though I do have wings.” He let them snap out and turned full Judgment.

  One of the demons backed up. “What the hellfire is that?”

  “Looks like an angel to me. It’s got wings.”

  Raptor demons weren’t the smartest lot.

  He looked down at Layla. “Do you want to practice fighting or shall I simply dispatch them?”

  The demons had shed their human skins, growing larger, their skin turning shades of earthen green or blood red.

  Layla edged closer to him. “You mean to take them all on?”

  “This is nothing, but if you’d like to fight them, I’ll wait a bit before getting rid of them.”

  Truthfully, he did not want them getting anywhere near Layla, but she had asked for applicable experience. He would not deny her that. But Layla shook her head. “They brought me gifts. I cannot raise a hand to them.”

  “True. And now they mean to hurt you.”

  “Take a taste of her too,” said the leader, clearly listening in. “Royal blood and flesh in me mouth, on me bob and tackle. How sweet.”

  Sin glared. Enough was enough. They weren’t touching Layla. Not now. Not ever.

  The leader jumped, intent on toppling Sin. He met with Sin’s fist instead, his body flying back with a crash. The others attacked. Sin let the ice within him go. Frozen demons fell to the ground. Sin might have been inclined to let them go, had they not made it clear they’d intended to hurt Layla. The mere thought of her being defiled by their hands had whips of lightning arching from Sin’s hands, snapping into them.

  The demons vaporized, leaving behind only trails of smoke and scattered bits of black ice.

  Layla gaped up at him. “Good lord, is that what you do as Judgment?”

  Sin rolled his tight shoulders while returning to his natural-born form. “No, that was what I do as Sin Evernight. As Judgment, I would suck out their souls and send them to hell.”

  Her brown eyes were round and glossy in the pale oval of her face. “Why did you not do that this time?”

  Because it felt too good to simply kill, didn’t it? You relished the moment their bodies blew to bits, didn’t you?

  Sin frowned. “Did you hear that?” For the voice had most definitely not come from inside his head.

  Layla’s pretty mouth pinched. “I heard the laughing again. What did you hear?”

  Tell her, St. John. Tell her how good it feels to kill. To fuck. To cause pain. Take her with you into the hells. Do what you were born to do.

  Sin took a deep breath. “Nothing.” He grabbed hold of her elbow. “Let us go.”

  Layla heard laughter; he heard mocking. Something was out there. Something powerful enough to send thoughts into one’s head. It wasn’t Augustus, but Sin had a bad notion that it was something equally ancient and strong.

  You would be correct, young Evernight. Run, run, run, as fast as you can.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Augustus

  He’d failed. The disappointment was so crushing that it took effort to walk back to his hotel. For some time now, he’d known Lena would never be his. Nor would he force the issue; love was worthless if it was not freely given. But he had not thought she would turn her back on her child in need.

  Anger swirled in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He rarely became enraged; it was not advisable. But the emotion would not be denied and it seeped from his body, infecting the very air around him.

  As he passed them, humans began to stir as if agitated. Their movements became jerky, quick, as they glanced about as if to seek the source of their disquiet. One man looking over his shoulder bumped into another man. Immediately they began to fight, shoving and shouting. It rippled outwa
rd from them; more humans fighting, little groups of squabbles.

  For a sharp moment he wanted to enter the fray, hit and slash, slice that soft human flesh into bits. He could taste their blood on his tongue, feel their bones crunching under his fists just as surely as if he’d actually done the deed. A shiver went through him. This was why he did not lose control. The angel in him¸ that inhuman warrior who knew only battle and retribution, craved the fight.

  Augustus picked up his pace, knowing that as soon as he was out of range, their anger would ebb. Even so, the shrill sounds of a policeman’s whistle cut through the air, the cries of annoyed humans growing louder.

  When he neared St. Stephen’s Cathedral, the streets thinned of all pedestrian traffic. He did not think much of it until a wave of unnatural heat, like that of a baker’s oven doors being thrown open, flowed over his shoulders. The rotten scent of brimstone followed in its wake. Damnation. He turned, half expecting to see Lena yet knowing it would not be her.

  Some fifty feet away, a male figure lounged against the doorway of a now-empty tavern, his silhouette limned in gold by the gaslight flickering overhead. The male gave him a slow, easy smile, his fangs glinting white in the dim. “Quite the disturbance you caused just now, Judgment.”

  Augustus kept his back to the cathedral. “I’m beginning to wonder if it was all my doing.”

  The Damnation pushed off from the wall and sauntered forward. “I’m afraid so. Though their rage made such a lovely song, I could not help but follow it.”

  When he was ten feet from Augustus he stopped. His skin was a deep, blood red, his hair like pitch. They were evenly matched in height, but Augustus knew that, when at full power, the Damnation could grow to top twelve feet.

  “And you thought you’d drop in for a chat, did you?” Augustus said mildly. Inwardly, however, he took stock of his powers and found them sadly lacking. If this Damnation was pure blood or bred, he’d be in for trouble. Augustus did not know this particular one on sight; so few of them existed on this plane anymore.

  The Damnation gave a brief smile. “You know why I’m here.”

  Augustus suspected he did. Thing was, he didn’t particularly want to die today. Unfortunately, the Damnation chose that moment to unfurl his wings. They snapped open, revealing wings that were not batlike but angelic in shape. Wings like St. John’s, only so deeply red they appeared almost black.

  This was not a half-breed but one made by the source of all Damnation. Perhaps Augustus would die today after all. “What are you called?” He would know that much about his attacker.

  The Damnation smiled again. “Such manners.” He gave a little bow, and his wings rose high as little flames began to dance down their length. “My maker calls me Enoch.”

  Son of Cain. So few knew that Damnation had started with Cain—not an angel but a son of the first fallen. Child of the devil. In Egyptian times, he’d been known as Anubis. So many names, but all led back to one constant.

  As if reading his thoughts, the male named Enoch spoke again. “You may call me Death.”

  Augustus laughed then, slowly gathering up anger. “And you may call me Judgment, servant of Maat and Thoth. And death, my dear fellow, is just the beginning of another journey.”

  Enoch launched at him with a snarl. Augustus leapt high and quick, flipping over the male and landing on the other side. Just as Enoch turned, Augustus kicked high, catching the Damnation on the chin. His head snapped back with a loud crack. Augustus kicked again, low and sweeping his opponent’s legs. But Enoch was quicker, jumping at the last moment.

  His volleying hits smashed into Augustus with the force of a cannon. Flames shot from Enoch’s fists, incinerating Augustus’s clothes. He turned full Judgment, his wings snapping out, his flesh going hard and clear.

  They fought with equal fervor. One good kick to the gut sent Enoch crashing into the side of the cathedral. The ground shook, the bells gently rang.

  “That is all you have?” Enoch asked with a laugh. “Kicks and hits?”

  A rolling wave of white-hot flame rushed over Augustus. And another. Taking his breath, singeing his lungs. He snapped his wings in front of him like a shield then used the one true power he had left.

  What is it that you fear, Enoch?

  The Damnation flinched as Augustus’s voice filled his head.

  “Is that your power?” Enoch asked with a sneer. “Silly parlor tricks? Oh, very sad.”

  Oh, but I see you. I see your fear. Cain found you a failure, did he?

  Enoch shouted and threw another blast of fire at Augustus. “You know nothing.”

  I know you cannot return to his side. You’ve been cast out. Doomed to wander just as the Cain of myth was doomed. You hate this world, and yet you cannot leave it.

  “Cease!” Enoch flew forward, his body colliding into Augustus’s.

  They fell to the cobbles, the stones flying upward upon impact. Enoch’s fist smashed into Augustus’s face, breaking his cheekbone.

  You will fail. Always. It is written in your soul.

  Enoch lashed out again, but Augustus rolled, evading the hit.

  Damnation. Never loved. Never accepted. Cold and lonely.

  Enoch screamed, his eyes flashing yellow. He shook with rage and the terror Augustus thrust into his mind. But it was not enough. Augustus knew he was merely buying time. He was not strong enough anymore. He had to run from this.

  But it was too late. Enoch caught hold of his wing. With a roar, the Damnation ripped it from Augustus’s body.

  Unlike St. John’s wings, Augustus’s were part of his flesh, and the loss sent shards of jagged agony along his spine. The wing landed with a wet thud on the ground. Augustus rolled, throwing up an arm to deflect the next blow, but Enoch’s clawed hand knocked it aside and punched into his chest.

  “No!” The scream seemed to ring from his very soul. But it was not his voice Augustus heard.

  A blur of shadows descended upon his failing sight. Enoch was thrust away, his body battered from side to side as hits rained down upon him.

  Augustus blinked, clearing his vision. It was Lena, her eyes flashing red, her body growing taller and taller with wings the color of obsidian stretched out behind her. Wings the shape of a bat’s with razor sharp claws at the tips and joints. Those claws sliced into Enoch’s middle like a scythe through wheat.

  Enoch stumbled back, grabbed hold of his spilling guts with one hand. He hissed, his fangs descending. Swiping with a speed too fast to track, the Damnation knocked into Lena.

  Augustus lurched up, shouting out as Lena’s crimson blood sprayed wide, her wings falling to the ground.

  But she did not fall. Even as she bled she attacked, obsidian blades conjured in hand, whirling in the dim light. Enoch fled, gone into ether and leaving them alone on the street.

  Augustus

  For a moment Lena stood tall, her slim form a slice of blackness against the streetlights. Then she sagged and turned back to Augustus. From across the way her gaze met his, and his chest, gaping and flowing silver blood, constricted. She mouthed his name, her expression shattered.

  And then she was at his side, her arms pulling him close against her breast.

  “Lena,” he whispered, his shaking hand touching her cheek. “Love, your wings.”

  She touched her forehead to his. “Yours too.” She pressed a palm over his wound, and he hissed. Warmth flooded the area.

  “Do not drain yourself to heal me,” he snapped, though his voice was weak.

  “Shut up,” she answered softly. The streets were abandoned, their emptying caused by Enoch’s powers, but they would soon fill with humans once more. They’d certainly notice a nude man and a woman covered in blood. Lena helped Augustus stand. Together, they walked the short distance to the inn where he’d let a room, Lena using her powers to cloak them from sight.

  “You knew I was here,” he observed mildly. “For how long?”

  She made a scoffing noise. “I knew the moment you stepp
ed foot in Vienna.”

  Once in his room, she helped him into bed. That she utterly ignored his undressed state was rather insulting but, as he was in no condition to do anything, he supposed it was for the best.

  To his surprise, she stripped down to her chemise and knickers and followed him under the covers, holding him against her side.

  They sagged into each other, and he felt the strangest sensation. Light, soft brushes against his temple. His breath caught, and his eyes closed as she gently kissed him.

  “Augustus.” Her voice was broken. “Why won’t you heal?”

  Silver blood oozed over her fingers where they pushed against his chest.

  “As I said, I am fading.”

  She stilled. When she spoke again, it was snappish and demanding. “Do not be ridiculous. You don’t fade from this life because of a wound. You heal. Heal yourself this instant and stop playing games with me.”

  He could not help but smile. “Not from this. Or perhaps so.” His weak attempt at levity was met with a scowl. And he suppressed a sigh. “It is the curse. My time here is at an end, Lena.”

  He thought her still before. Now she was stone. They sat in utter silence.

  Her sob broke it. “Do not make me choose, Augustus.” A shudder went through her. “Do not make me do it.”

  He closed his eyes, utterly weary. “I am not asking anymore, Lena. I am done.”

  He felt her jerk, heard her swallow. Guilt crept over his heart but he ignored it. He would no longer beg. He’d go and be at peace. But he needed to fix things with Layla first. He needed to set eyes on her one last time.

  Lena’s voice flowed over him, sad and thin. “My soul would taint yours.”

  It was his turn to flinch, and his eyes flew open. Her expression was forlorn but stubborn—as usual. But the dark sorrow in her eyes was new. For a long moment, he stared at her.

  “Is that what you think?” he said finally. “It that truly why you’ve resisted all these years? For fear that you will taint me?”

  Her pert chin lifted a touch. “I do not think it. I know it. We join souls, and mine will corrupt yours.”