Benevolent Passion

by Amanda Pillar

  She broke away briefly, to catch her breath.

  Z tucked her head under his chin, and she felt precious, protected. For a tiny moment in her life, she was special.

  Slowly, she disengaged.

  He was staring at her. “Wow.”

  “What?” She raised a hand to her hair, self-conscious.

  “That was amazing.”

  “Really?” She turned around, so he couldn’t see her blush. “I’ve never done it before.”

  Hands settled on her shoulders once again and Z spun her back toward him. “I was your first?”

  “I couldn’t before—my touch—”

  A smile spread over his face, masculine satisfaction stamped on every feature. “I’m honored.”

  Hesitantly, she asked, “Was I yours?”

  His expression became shuttered, and a lump formed in her throat. It shouldn’t matter that he had more experience. That would be a good thing if they became a couple; at least one of them would know what to do.

  I didn’t think angels did carnal things.

  “I’ve only done it with one woman before,” he said. “It was more of an experiment than anything.”

  “Did you love her?”

  He ran a hand over his hair. “I thought I did at the time, but I realized a while ago that I was in love with the idea of her.”

  That shouldn’t have made her happy, but it did. Did that make her a shallow person?

  He smoothed some hair from her face, then pressed his forehead against hers. “Should we try the Orb again?”

  Biting back a sigh, she nodded. She wanted to keep kissing him, but considering how quickly her emotions swung from highs to lows, she figured that the Orb, at least, was safe.

  “Let’s give it another go.”

  Chapter 34

  They had been taken on a tour of the Mortus den—the palatial part, at any rate. To Z, it had seemed like a lot of hallways punctuated by side rooms of varying degrees of wealth and ostentation. Considering it was kept largely for the king, his family, the harem, and the retainers, it had seemed rather extravagant.

  “How many Mortus live here?” he asked.

  Godric, their tour guide, stopped to look at him. “Why? So you know how many angels to bring to wipe us out?”

  It showed how far he’d fallen, Z thought, that the idea hadn’t occurred to him.

  It would put Peony at risk.

  And he wasn’t willing to do that.

  “Just curious,” Z replied. Staying silent would only play to Godric’s accusation.

  “Around six thousand, I think,” Peony said.

  Godric’s eyebrows rose. “How did you know that?”

  “I can feel their life forces.”

  When the demon just stared at her, Peony shuffled a little. “Isn’t that normal?”

  “No.”

  “So, your uncle couldn’t do that? Or the fire-thing?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” Peony glanced at the ground.

  Z wrapped a green-threaded wing around her briefly, and she gave him a small smile in return, one that had his heart beating so loudly he was surprised she didn’t comment on it.

  He wanted to kiss her again.

  Who was he kidding? He wanted to do more than that.

  She’d never been kissed before.

  In a way, he wished he hadn’t been with Dina, because Peony could have been his first, too.

  That’s a dangerous thought.

  Then again, everything about Peony was dangerous to him.

  Z’s mind was still reeling from what Godric had announced earlier—angels didn’t have fated mates. Angels could be someone’s mate, he supposed, but Peony wasn’t destined to be his, not unless he chose it to be so.

  And did he want to make a choice that would exile him from Heaven, forever?

  You’re already an exile.

  While Heaven’s Heart remained lost, yes, he was. But if the Darts managed to retrieve all three pieces, it could be his ticket back home.

  Do you really think that’s possible?

  Z knew the others had tried to make their situation look more appealing than it was, that they weren’t angry they had been punished for his and Dina’s failure. But even they hadn’t been able to pretend that their mission was anything other than impossible.

  It would be a win if they could simply find the piece of the Heart that the Infernus had stolen.

  Besides, now his wings were...different, would he be allowed back into Heaven’s army even if they did find the missing pieces?

  Godric reached the end of another hallway and swung open a gilded door to reveal a bedroom. “This was the king’s main sleeping area.”

  Peony stepped up to the threshold and looked inside, her posture stiff. Z came up behind her, taking in the ornate silks, the huge bed, and the intricately carved wooden furniture. One wall contained a rack of whips, chains and other devices that looked like they excelled in producing pain. On the walls were paintings of naked women, all wearing expressions of fear.

  His lip curled in distaste.

  Goosebumps spread over the skin of his forearms as power seared through the room. In little more than a heartbeat, the bed, the ‘toys’ and all the paintings had been burned to ash.

  Peony spun back toward him, her eyes a black field against which danced green flames; then she blinked, and they were clear again. “Go through the items that remain and keep anything you feel is of value,” she said. “The next time I come back, anything left will join the piles of ash.”

  Godric nodded, although Z was pleased to note a tiny droplet of sweat dripped from the demon’s brow to trickle down his cheek.

  “Now, is everything ready for the conference?” Peony asked.

  “Yes.” He checked his watch. “It should start in around fifteen minutes.”

  “Excellent. Take us there.”

  Z followed again as Godric led them out of the king’s chambers, and toward a short hall. The door opened back onto the communal room where Z had first seen Peony. The ashes that marked the dead were still present, but now a throne had been set up at the end of the room. Peony walked toward it, her steps determined, although her expression spoke to him of sadness.

  “What’s going on?” Z asked.

  “I am holding audiences each day from now on, until all the Mortus living here have had a chance to come and see me, to witness for themselves that I am now their queen.” Peony sat on the throne, her expression somewhat rueful. She was clad in blue shirt and pants—the outfit she had worn back in the assassins’ den when she had been treating his injuries.

  “You aren’t going to try and abdicate?” Z asked, trying to keep his voice bland. If she gave up the crown, there was a chance he could be with her and get back into Heaven...

  “No.” She bit her lower lip, then sighed. “I don’t think I can, to be honest. When they crowned me, it felt like my soul had been tied to Inferno.”

  He stared.

  Tied to Inferno.

  She had become part of Hell.

  There was no way, if he started a romantic relationship with her, that he’d ever be accepted in Heaven. His heart twisted, the pain intense, like he’d been stabbed. Again. Z didn’t know which thought brought the pain: the idea he couldn’t get back into Heaven, or that he would have to walk away from Peony.

  Pain flashed in her gaze as she watched him—could she sense the internal battle he fought?

  “You don’t need to stay with me,” she said quietly. “You have your wings back, and you found your friend. I am a cambion who only wears this crown because I became a murderer.” Tears made her eyes glassy, but she maintained eye contact.

  “Why did you kill him?”

  It was a question he should have asked earlier, would have asked earlier if he hadn’t had complete faith in her inherent decency.

  “He took pleasure in hurting others. Encouraged others to do it too
, no doubt. I can sense the souls of every Mortus—I know who’s been naughty or nice.” A smile twisted her mouth. “But he wanted to hurt a woman he had almost killed the day before. If not for Lady Eramine and me, she’d have been dead. Hurting her once wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to do it all over again. I couldn’t live with myself if I had done nothing. So I touched him.”

  All true.

  “Death was too kind a punishment,” Z said, leaning toward her.

  “You’re an angel, you don’t need to lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying. I was a warrior before I was abducted. I’ve killed in the name of duty. Does that make me a murderer?”

  Her face clouded over. “I don’t know. Killing people isn’t right.”

  “Sometimes, death is the only way to stop evil. And sometimes, we will kill to protect those who can’t do it for themselves.”

  The doors to the chamber opened, and Mortus demons filed into the room. Those at the front paused at the sight of the ash mounds, before weaving their way carefully around the piles.

  “Weren’t they meant to be cleaned up?” Z asked.

  Godric and the older female demon came to stand beside Peony. “I thought it would give them a nice warning.”

  “The Mortus only respect power,” the female demon said. “Peony is an abomination—a cambion. They will not respect her unless she proves she is stronger than them.”

  Z had a knife out and at the woman’s throat in a second. “Don’t you ever call her that again.”

  If he needed evidence he’d lost his mind, here it was. Almost skin-to-skin with a Mortus demon, all to protect another who was strong enough to turn them all to ash if she wanted.

  A gentle hand touched his arm, and he lowered the weapon and stepped aside. “Z, it’s okay.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not.”

  “I am only saying what the Mortus think,” the female snapped.

  “What you think.”

  “Lady Eramine is my grandmother, Z. If she can’t accept me,” Peony nodded at the gathering Mortus, “they won’t.”

  Her grandmother?

  He couldn’t see any resemblance, aside from the color of their irises. Although, those glacial gray eyes did remind him of Dru.

  They turned to the crowd as the doors swing shut, sealing them all in. There was perhaps three hundred Mortus crammed into the room.

  Peony gripped the arms of the throne and leaned forward, although she did not stand. “You will bow before your queen.”

  At first, no one moved, rebellion in every line of their bodies. But then, shockingly, Lady Eramine dropped to her knees, followed a microsecond later by Godric.

  Gasps sounded throughout the crowd at the royals’ actions, but soon others were bowing, until almost all of the Mortus were genuflecting before their new queen.

  Peony flicked her hand, and Lady Eramine and Godric stood.

  “Might is right in Hell,” Peony’s voice rang through the hall. “I killed King Alvin. I am also the daughter of Prince Clement. I rule the Mortus by this right.”

  Murmurs sounded, but she ignored them.

  “Things are going to change. New laws will be made. But first, know this. The harems will no longer exist. The women are now free to live where they choose, go where they please. Any person seeking to have sexual relations with a female Mortus must first gain my permission—with the female Mortus present. Any sexual activities conducted without my approval will be met with immediate and harsh punishment. Any Mortus who abuses another in any way will also be punished.”

  Angry shouts now sounded, while the few women present huddled down on themselves.

  “You’re nothing but talk!” a Mortus shouted from the middle of the crowd.

  Peony pointed at a gilded chair to her right. Her eyes turned the now-familiar inky black with green flames, and a second later ash rained down softly on the carpet. “I do not bluff. Fail to abide by my laws, and you will be punished.”

  Uncowed, a male who appeared to wear more gold than clothing, shouted, “I will not be ruled by an angel-lover!”

  Peony glared at him, and for a moment, she appeared as cold and deadly as her sister. Z wanted to reach out and touch her, to bring back the warmth he knew she had. But to do so would weaken her in front of the audience, and that he was not willing to do.

  “Who I am friends with is none of your business. But you forget your lore. The mother of our race was an angel.”

  “We are the children of Satan!”

  “And an angel.”

  Truth. She spoke the truth.

  Shock floored Z. An angel had helped create a race rumored to be so evil that even other demons feared them? Had the angel willingly offered her body to the ruler of Inferno?

  “You lie!”

  For a moment, he panicked and thought he had shouted that useless denial. But no, it was the gold-encrusted Mortus, along with several others.

  “The writings in the halls state this. Your own den proclaims the truth. As do your legends.”

  “Lies!” The male rushed them, hands spread out like claws, rage making him appear manic.

  Z stepped forward, wishing he had a sword in his hand to defend her.

  A blade of jade green flame burst to life, the hilt warm and alive, momentarily taking him aback. Then he swung it in a high arc, slicing it through the male’s neck just as his body combusted, drizzling yet more ash onto the carpeted floor.

  The blade vanished.

  Surprise held him immobile for a brief moment, before he stepped back to Peony’s side.

  He had called forth his first blade!

  Silence descended on the hall then, a silence filled with rage and hatred so intense it licked at his skin. But alongside those emotions, he could see a begrudging respect in the features of some of the Mortus. Peony was winning them over.

  She raked the room with her eyes. “You are all dismissed. But make no mistake, if you fail to adhere to my rules, be prepared to find yourself in an urn for the rest of eternity.”

  The double doors at the rear of the room swung open, and the Mortus began leaving. Eventually, only Lady Eramine, Godric, Z and Peony remained.

  He was...proud of her, he realized. She had not hesitated to protect his life, and those around her, when the Mortus had attacked. And she had set rules which he thought were only fair and just.

  She will make a great queen.

  One the Mortus needed.

  A slow whistle sounded to his left, and Z spun on the balls of his feet, fist snapping out quickly in a punch.

  Azrael dodged the blow, barely, and grinned. “You’re getting quicker.”

  Z settled back. “Hmph.”

  “What was the whistle for?” Peony asked.

  “You’re almost as scary as my lady love. I was impressed.” He turned to Z. “And you summoned a blade of fire.”

  “Lady love?” Godric sneered.

  “Dru, of course.”

  Peony slumped a little at that. “Dru is scary in a crazy way.”

  Azrael grinned. “Yeah, it’s great.”

  Chapter 35

  They were back in the king’s—Peony’s—study.

  Her body ached. She was exhausted, but too wired to sleep; so much had happened. She had broken her vow. Twice. Rage at her own weakness poured through her. She wasn’t even sure how much time had passed, but it could have easily been a couple of days.

  And the worst part?

  Z was going to walk away from her.

  Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually he would leave. He had to. He was a fully-fledged angel with wings, and she was a cambion tied to Hell. They were doomed.

  But she wanted him anyway.

  Even if only for a day.

  “Are you all right?” Z asked, leaning his hip against the stone desk.

  Peony stared at the Orb, which just showed her Z’s face again. It helped bolster her resolve. �
�Not really.”

  He moved closer, until his hands settled on her shoulders. Oh, how she loved the feel of him touching her, of his warmth seeping through her clothes to settle against her skin. She leaned up on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his.

  He pulled back slowly, reluctantly. “I am not sure this is a good idea.”

  Peony linked her arms behind his head. “I am. Z, I need this.”

  He had no idea how much, or how vulnerable it made her to admit that.

  Z would be the only man she’d ever be able to touch. If this was her sole chance at intimacy, with a man she had grown to adore over the weeks she’d been healing him, then she’d take it.

  No regrets.

  Z’s eyes turned a deep emerald so dark it was almost black, and he inhaled deeply, like he was memorizing her scent. “You are so beautiful.”

  She wanted to laugh, a little sadly. “You don’t have to lie to me, just make out with me.”

  “I don’t lie, and especially not about this.”

  Then he kissed her.

  Desperate, hungry for more, Peony pressed herself against the hard lines of his body, feeling her heart pound as tingles formed in her belly...and lower. She shoved her hands between their chests, struggling to remove his shirt, so she could touch him, really touch him, for the first time.

  How could one piece of clothing be so difficult to take off?

  He ripped the shirt away, then pulled her close, kissing her deeply, his tongue imitating sex.

  She pulled away, laughing with delight. Z’s hands grazed the bottom of her shirt. “Can I take it off?”

  “Gods, yes.”

  Then she was just in her basic bra, the white cotton embarrassingly practical. But Z stared at her like she was magnificent. Peony spread her hands over his tanned skin, marveling at how smooth it was, how delicious. Then she was kissing his neck, tasting him as his pulse jerked wildly against her tongue, as his hands ran over her body, learning her curves.

  This is what it’s meant to be like.