Only One I Want (UnHallowed Series Book 2)

by Tmonique Stephens

  “Why are you here?” She bit her tongue. One didn’t question a seraph, or rather an archangel as he was called when not guarding the Throne. “Sorry about my manners. They’ve lapsed since our last meeting.” Years without guidance, testing her limits, challenging herself to be more, and never losing focus of the goal took precedence of good manners.

  “There is a farm in Danville.” He touched her forehead and she knew the address. “Be there at noon.”

  “No.” She rubbed at the spot on her forehead.

  “Amaya.” His tone turned glacial. She doubted he heard the word often, or at all. “I placed you here to perform a job. Are you no longer capable of carrying out that job?” Yet patience is what he exuded.

  Perform a job, huh. She kept her snort to herself. How dare he question her capabilities. He should’ve seen her handle the Darklings and that UnHallowed fucker. Amaya squared her shoulders and nodded, slightly ashamed at how eager she was to please.

  Michael leaned closer until he filled her vision. He peered into her eyes and rooted around inside of her soul. She couldn’t move, couldn’t lock him out. She didn’t want him to see her doubts and all her failings. He didn’t need to know her fears, because none of those things mattered. She was here, not running away, prepared to do whatever was necessary. But she couldn’t stop his thorough examination of her, though she did try to erect mental shields, as if she had a chance against him.

  Suddenly, her mind was her own again. “You have my confidence, Amaya. Never doubt me or the confidence I have in you.”

  “Does that apply to Braile also?” she blurted and hated herself for it. A decade had passed without her asking about him, pretending she didn’t care what he or Michael thought about her, all ruined because she had to know he was proud of her. Did he watch her from Heaven? Know she was the badass he trained her to be?

  The gold in Michael’s black eyes widened. “Yes, Amaya.”

  The knot grinding in her stomach that she hadn’t even been aware of loosened, and she seemed to breathe for the first time since she entered her apartment.

  “Although, if the need arises, I will replace you, as would Braile.”

  With who? Was her first thought. The next, Were there others like me, an assembly line of trainees waiting for their chance in the spotlight? She thought she was special, unique. Now, she may be one of many. So much for being indispensable.

  “At noon, you will be at the farm.” Then he was gone. Didn’t even wait for her answer.

  Amaya sighed and took out her phone, and sent a thumbs down emoji and a sad face. She really did want Thai.

  Pilar: You better not blow off the art show next week!

  Amaya: I promise to try.

  Amaya googled the address. The place was past the suburbs and into the no man’s lands of Michigan. She hoped her 2001 Camry could make it.

  5

  “No one would suspect the Cruor being in this hovel.” Bane stomped around the dim room, kicking trash out of his way. He didn’t expect an answer because he hadn’t posed a question, also, he was alone.

  He crossed to a boarded window. The tiniest bit of sun peeked through the imperfect attachment. All around light leaked into the room, threatening his existence. The house was well out of town, surrounded by farm land. The nearest dwelling was miles away, and that farm house was also abandoned.

  The basement was several feet deep and multilayered, with some modifications, completely suitable for UnHallowed needs. On top of Michael’s betrayal, Bane’s mind kept spinning and churning, and bouncing from Michael to his UnHallowed brethren to the Darklings, and every damn thing in between. Finally he settled on the face of the female that he’d met last night, and laughed. He couldn’t see her face or any part of her, except for her muddy green eyes.

  He wanted to see her face, catch the scent of her hair, touch her body, have her heat against his side. Her eyes. The green was all wrong. Contact lenses had to be the cause. What was their true color? The need to discover all her secrets burned almost as hot as the sun searing his flesh.

  Bane stepped over the debris and squashed his annoyance. He dumped himself into the only chair in the room, a gnawed-on straight back which creaked under his weight. The battered desk in front of him wasn’t in any better condition.

  Shadows gathered in the corners of the room, reminding him of his brethren. Michael may only trust Bane, but the Cruor deserved more than one UnHallowed protecting it. He may be able to convince Tahariél, Kushiél, and Daghony to lend their aid. His head ached at the thought of trying to negotiate with those three and any of the others.

  The UnHallowed needed a guiding hand to lead them out of the darkness and into the light, so to speak. He was the man to take the reins. The rest were too solitary to manage the feat. Too comfortable in the darkness to be of much use for guard duty. However, they also needed a leader to place them back on the sunlit path. He’d worked toward that goal from the moment the Maker granted the fallen angels a reprieve and allowed them to crawl out of the lowest level of Hell.

  The Maker, his and the other UnHalloweds’ name for their absent Father since they fell.

  Bane pushed thoughts of the Creator out of his mind and moved to the staircase leading to the lower level. Two stories down, the basement was the typical root cellar built into the foundation of a Midwestern home. Until you adjusted a shelf on the back wall and another set of stairs appeared behind it.

  A knock sounded on the front door, then a prolonged squeal of the hinges as the door opened, followed by the sound of footsteps overhead. Someone had come calling. And it wasn’t Michael.

  A

  maya slowed her Camry until it crawled down the packed-dirt lane. The house came into view in painstaking increments. Set back at least fifty feet from the pitted road, and nearly buried by tall grass, it was a traditional two-story country farmhouse with a sagging wraparound porch and shuttered windows. The house would’ve been pretty if the paint was fresh instead of a filthy gray and peeling. The windows on the second floor were broken, while those on the ground floor were boarded with warped planks. A dead tree leaned against the side of a rusted car in the middle of the yard.

  She tried to check the address on her phone’s GPS, but the app stopped working two miles ago. She drove the rest of the way by instinct. Perhaps Michael had implanted that information also.

  Quietly, on foot, she circled the house. Overhead the sun beamed. Chances of a Darkling attack was slim, yet Amaya refused to second-guess her instincts. And right now, her instincts had planted a big flashing stop sign in her path. Everything in her screamed “Reverse! Go back.” Turning back wasn’t in her nature.

  She was a bit early when she stepped onto the porch, rubbed her sweaty hands on her jeans, and knocked.

  No one answered.

  She turned the knob and gave the door a push. Light leaking from the warped wood covering the windows illuminated the dark interior. There was movement inside, a rush for the shadowy places in the room as light spilled into the foyer and beat back the dark. A wild animal she suspected. Still, she freed her weapons—never left home without them—toed the door open a bit wider, and eased inside.

  The foyer was small and opened to a large living room. To the left was the dining room. To the right, a study lined with empty bookshelves. Dust, a mile thick, covered everything in a gray blanket. Light peeked through the uneven slats of the boards covering the windows, creating a speckled field where dust motes danced.

  There was grandeur to the old place, even with the warped wood, peeling plaster, and fading wallpaper. She didn’t know much about houses, but was certain with love and care the house was salvageable. She always wanted to live in a big house, the kind of house TV families had, with a mother and father, lots of kids each with their own rooms. And a dog. A collie with long hair.

  Nice dream. Unachievable on her salary as a clerk at the DMV. And her chances of getting married ranked up there with winning the Mega Lottery.

 
Amaya stiffened. Danger had her heart slowing, her muscles tensing for a fight. She wasn’t alone.

  Behind her.

  On the right.

  A predator stalked her.

  Tall, muscular, male, and deadly. That’s all she could tell from her peripheral vision. It was enough.

  Hands on the hilts of her weapons, Amaya spun. The man stepped out of the dark corner of the room, a smile she well remembered gracing his arrogant face.

  “You,” she gasped.

  6

  The UnHallowed’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his head tilted in contemplation. His gaze touched every part of her, intimately. Heat stoked his cold aquamarine eyes. “I’m at a loss, human. Not that I’m not absolutely delighted, but have we met?”

  Amaya struck fast, swiping one blade in a wide arch while bringing the other to thrust into his unprotected chest. He dodged each attack, folded into the shadows, and emerged behind her. She kicked back and connected with his knee. He grunted, then grabbed her ankle, and yanked.

  She landed on the floor and rolled. He countered the move and followed her down. She flung him away and watched him crash into the opposite wall. The damned UnHallowed was on his feet before she climbed to hers.

  His presence surprised her and threw her attack off balance. It wouldn’t happen again. Amaya settled low onto her haunches and waited for his first move.

  He waved a finger at her. “Now, I remember you. The ninja has shed her clothes to reveal a most beautiful woman. Your name?” he demanded, menace in his tone and grin.

  Just as she remembered, his voice was dark and decadent, like expensive wine and Swiss chocolate. Amaya ignored the heat spiking her system and pulled a dagger from a sheath along her pants leg. She targeted the center of his chest and let it fly.

  He swatted it away.

  “You’ll have to do better than that. If you know anything about the UnHallowed, you’d know a knife, or a dagger”—he pointed to her weapons— “are pointless.”

  She pulled a silver vial filled with holy water from another pocket, thumbed it open, and poured the contents over her second dagger.

  His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Oh. Fuck.”

  She didn’t expect him to back off and he didn’t disappoint. He stepped to her, strolled actually, as if his immortal existence wasn’t threatened by the dagger gripped in her hand.

  She blinked and he was upon her, her wrist caught on the downswing. Her other wrist clamped in his other hand like a vise.

  He leaned closer until all she could see was him and the crimson around his icy eyes.

  “Why are you wearing contact lenses? I want to see the color.”

  “I don’t care what you want. Let me go.”

  “I want to see into your soul, to see who you are at the most basic level, and those colored discs prevent it. You will remove them.” His voice caressed her skin like rough silk.

  “Go screw yourself!” She yanked to be free. His grin was all sorts of temptation. An annoying flutter started in her stomach.

  “You will remove the lenses and let me see the light within you.”

  The rage inside her paused. “The UnHallowed seeks the light? Step outside where there’s plenty.”

  He smiled with the same menacing twist to his lips. “Wit and strength. You shouldn’t have been able to shake me off, but you did. What other traits do you have?”

  “Cunning.” She smashed her forehead into his as hard as she dared without knocking herself out. His grip loosened and she was free. She brought a knee into his gut. When he doubled over wheezing, she slammed a fist into the back of his head. The UnHallowed dropped and took her with him. They rolled around, limbs entangled until she landed on top with a blade at his throat. The other one lost somewhere.

  In a blink of an eye, she was on her feet, her back to his front. His arm wrapped around her throat, squeezing gently. “You will cease in your struggles.” He leaned down and—did he just sniff me?

  Instead of obeying, Amaya slipped her knife between his ribs. He hissed and she imagined his flesh sizzling inside and out. He applied more pressure, not enough to cut off her oxygen, just enough to immobilize her.

  So, she complied and relaxed in his embrace.

  He stopped squeezing, but didn’t release her. Playing possum had to work. It was the only thing she had left. She sagged, her heartbeat slowing even more.

  He yanked the blade from her hand. Next, he swung her into his arms. She’d never been carried. It was a strange sensation, having a man’s arms completely around her as if she were helpless.

  He dumped her in the only chair, a worn upholstered hardback. Dust kicked up, nearly causing her to sneeze.

  “You are a horrible possum.” He moved out of the way before she could strike again.

  She righted herself and watched as he slapped a hand to his side. The material from his shirt was wet and partially melted. When he drew his hand away, black covered his palm. A drop fell from his fingertips and burned a round hole in the wooden floor.

  “So, it’s true. Acid for blood. I hope you bleed out.” She started to rise.

  “Remain where you are or this time, I will kill you,” he snarled and crossed the room to the fireplace. The old wood ignited and flames danced at his approach. He placed the knife in the orange flames.

  A minute later, the UnHallowed grabbed the hilt, lifted his shirt, and slapped the glowing flat surface of the blade to the wound. His flesh sizzled, smoke snaked from his skin, and the scent of burned meat flavored the air. Her lips curled in disgust, not the glee she expected. She should rejoice in any pain he suffered, not flinch at the grimace tightening his features.

  “What now?” she asked when he tossed her blade aside.

  “You tell me your name.” He leaned against the fireplace. Backlit with an orange glow, he appeared demonic and dashing in equal parts.

  “Why?”

  “Since we’ve broken the ice with blood, I want to know the name of the female who stabbed me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He mumbled something then said, “Your name is not Fuck You. Though I am not opposed.”

  Her throat dried, and not totally in fear. Her mind went there, to her and him—naked, sweaty in front of the fireplace. Him, head bowed at her nipple, sucking with deep pulls into his wet, hot mouth. She shoved the image away, yet it was lodged there. His gaze strolled down her body and she tensed, prepared for a different kind of attack.

  “Very well.” He picked up her purse from the floor.

  “Hey!” She plucked her discarded dagger off the floor and rushed him.

  “Do not move.” Power radiated from his voice and she froze. Every muscle in her body, except for her heart, stopped. She couldn’t even breathe. All she could do was watch as he dumped the contents on the floor and kick through the items until he found her wallet.

  With a flick of his fingers, he brought the billfold to him, and opened it. “Amaya Prince.” Her work ID was in his hand next. “DMV employee.”

  Fury blazed through her system as she white knuckled the dagger. The UnHallowed let the wallet fall from his hand and stepped to her until the dagger pressed to the center of his chest. All she could see was the wide expanse of his pecs.

  His cool palm settled on her neck. His body temperature had to be lower than ninety-eight point six. He stroked the column of her throat and moved to her jaw. Her insides shivered as he trailed a finger to her chin and lifted. Her gaze traveled up his chest, the pale column of his neck, past the cleft in his chin, and followed his straight nose to his eyes.

  He leaned forward, his lips much too close to hers, and said, “Hello, Amaya. I am Bane.”

  7

  This was true terror, her body frozen while her enemy hovered over her. Dying like a sheep wasn’t Amaya’s plan, couldn’t be after all that damn training. The pain. Broken bones. Cuts. Recovery. Concussion. Recovery. Coma. Recovery.

  I will not die like this.

  She had no
t suffered for it all to end here. Not today. Not now.

  Amaya dug deep into the place within her soul, the place she was told not to go because she wasn’t ready for the consequences.

  “When will I be ready?” she’d cry as her wounds healed in record time from her latest round of training.

  “You will know,” was Braile’s reply.

  Well, she was ready now. This was the moment she’d trained for.

  Why did he have to dump the contents of her purse? Now, she’d have to scrub her life clean and start over. New city, new job, new identity. That’s if she got out of this room alive.

  He yanked the dagger out of her hand and tossed it into the fireplace. Suddenly, her knees buckled and she stumbled to stay upright. She was free, gasping air into her starved lung, but she hadn’t done anything.

  “Sit, Amaya.” He pointed to the chair.

  Under her own steam, she backed up. Panic kills was the first lesson she learned. For every situation, there is a solution, regardless of how repugnant that solution may be, was the second lesson. There wasn’t much in the hollowed-out house, but she would find a way.

  “How do you know about the UnHallowed?” He stood near so she had to strain to meet his eyes. A tactic meant to intimidate. Hard to do with his once orderly hair sticking up like black straw.

  She looked away and he dropped to his haunches in front of her.

  “How do you know about the UnHallowed?”

  Lesson three: plan for every contingency. She was fast. He proved to be faster. She needed a distraction. To do what? Think! She focused on the top of his blue-black hair and said, “Your secret society isn’t so secret.”

  “Who told you?”

  Her gaze strayed to a muscle ticking in his left temple. “I don’t snitch.”

  His brows knitted and red expanded in his eyes. “So, your life means nothing?”

  Not if it meant giving him up. “To live, you have to be willing to die for something.”