King of the Wicked (The Banished Series Book 1)

by T. R. Hamby

  Michael went to her side too, gripping her hand.

  “We’ll get him,” he whispered soothingly. “We’ll find him--scare the shit out of him.”

  But everything was flooding back. Lying on the floor, his hands on her throat...Will sneaking up behind her, pinning her…

  “Gilla,” Michael said, squeezing her hand, and she was pulled back to reality. She was in Nora’s arms, Michael at her side. Two Angels were watching over her.

  She was safe. She had to be safe. Please, god, please…

  “Gilla,” Mel said gently, taking a step forward, “I need to know some things about him.”

  “Why?” Michael snapped, but Gilla shushed him. She could tell Mel was thinking of something, something important. He needed more information.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  He came up to the counter, gripping it. His face was gentle, though he still looked afraid.

  “What did he do before you met?”

  She shrugged. “He said he worked as a banker…”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t seem to know what bankers do. He never kept normal working hours. He would sleep in, get home early...he did eventually get a job, though...a real one. I know because he had a badge, and I knew the company.”

  “Did he speak Swedish well?”

  She shook her head. “Enough to get by. I had to teach him some.”

  “What did he speak originally?”

  “Well...he said Dutch. But he seemed like he had trouble with it when we moved to Brussels.” She flushed. “He was...easily angered by then, so I didn’t question it.”

  Mel closed his eyes for a minute, and she knew he was concerned with her answers.

  After a moment he said, “I looked him up on Facebook. I’m sorry--I wasn’t trying to be nosy,” he added, looking at her. “His profile’s only about three years old.”

  Gilla frowned. “Yes...he didn’t make a profile until he met me. He wasn’t very tech savvy.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  She shrugged again. “He always had trouble using a computer. And he didn’t have a phone until he met me. He said he didn’t like phones, too isolating. That’s also why I didn’t think he had a job at first...you need a phone for a…”

  But she trailed off, struck by the look on Mel’s face. He was staring at Michael, and she looked at him too. Michael looked angry--very, very angry. She looked at Nora, whose face was pale and fearful.

  “What?” she breathed, panic rising within her. “What is it?”

  Mel and Michael were still staring at each other. Mel straightened, nodding.

  “We have to kill him,” he said, and Michael nodded too.

  “Why?” Gilla cried, bewildered and panicky.

  Michael turned to her, grasping her arms and squeezing soothingly. “He’s an Angel, Gilla,” he whispered. “Bakker’s an Angel.”

  She stared at him.

  No. That was preposterous. She had known him for a year, had slept with him, eaten with him…

  Then she remembered--he would often forget to eat. He had said he just didn’t like Swedish food. But he never seemed to like any food except McDonald’s--he would eat that with a vengeance. He was built, muscular, but never went to the gym. He didn’t know how to drive a car, but also seemed unfamiliar with how to ride the subway. His company headquarters was on the other side of Brussels--but he had said he simply walked there everyday.

  But he hadn’t walked there. He had Traveled.

  She felt dizzy, and gripped the counter again. It explained so much. The lack of tech skills, his eating habits, his unfamiliarity with the most mundane things. She had loved him so much that she had ignored it, passed it off as quirkiness. But she could never deny the horrible strength he had used on her...especially when he had pushed her down the stairs...lifting her by her neck and throwing her…

  She looked at Michael, horrified.

  “He’ll kill us,” she moaned, but he squeezed her again.

  “No--Mel and I will kill him,” he said firmly. “I promise you. He’ll never hurt you again. You’ll be safe.”

  “But he’s an Angel. He’s just as strong as you.”

  Michael straightened, a dangerous look on his face.

  “Nothing,” he breathed, “is as strong as me.”

  Mel

  There was a knock at the door.

  Mel automatically reached for Nora, while Michael stood in front of Gilla, shielding her. Nora swore under her breath.

  The three of them felt it. The Presence.

  Gilla seemed to know what was going on, and trembled, clapping a hand to her mouth.

  “Take them to your place,” Mel said, going for the door.

  “Mel--no!” Nora breathed.

  He looked at her pale face, and icy fear washed over him. He tried to look firm, strong.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said. “I love you.”

  “Come on,” Michael said, gripping the women’s hands. Nora stared at Mel--there was a strange expression on her face--almost conflicted. But before she could protest further, Michael yanked her backward, and they vanished.

  Mel stared at the spot where she had stood, his heart pounding in his chest. What mattered was keeping her safe. Both of them. He would be fine--he and Michael would be fine. They had done it before.

  He turned to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

  Will Bakker was about as tall as Michael. He looked just like his picture--blonde-haired, blue-eyed. He was even smiling the same smug smile.

  He studied him. “You must be Melkira,” he said, and there was excitement in his voice. He was speaking their native language, with a slight Swedish accent. “I always hoped I would meet you someday.”

  Mel felt the first hint of anger stirring within him, but he fought it. He couldn’t let Bakker know he was onto him.

  He stepped aside, letting him in. Bakker walked in, almost brightly, looking around at the decorations, the open presents.

  “This your place?”

  Mel closed the door, stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Yes,” he lied.

  “I was expecting something more extravagant,” Bakker replied casually. He cocked his head at the presents. “You look like you have guests.”

  “A few friends,” Mel said. “They went to get Chinese.”

  He chuckled. “The difference in cultures is interesting. I wasn’t expecting that...I thought all humans were the same.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  He brightened; he seemed to like Mel’s attention. “I wanted to see it. All of it. Father’s precious Creation...all I had heard as a child. The humans especially. I’m sure you know them better than I do.”

  “I meant,” Mel said, trying to stay patient, “why did you come to my place?”

  “Oh,” he said, and he chuckled. “Sorry. I heard you were in Rome...before I came down here. And then I started sensing you...I’m sorry. It’s just--you’re legendary. I had to meet you. Melkira, you know--the King of Death.”

  Mel raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they call me now?”

  Bakker nodded, smiling.

  Mel had to hide his disgust. “Not very original.”

  Bakker shrugged. After a moment, he asked, “Are your guests human?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you do with them?” he wondered, fingering the tinsel on the tree.

  Mel ground his teeth together. “Same as I would with our kind.”

  “Really? They’re so...inept. Messy, you know?” He glanced at him. “Easy to control. That’s the only good thing about them. I see why Father Created them...they’re playthings. Dolls. I like making them do things for me.”

  Breathe, breathe. Don’t lose control. Not yet.

  “So that’s why you’re here?” Mel asked quietly.

  He shrugged and nodded. “Yes. There was one human...a woman. Very beautiful. Very pliant. She fell in love
with me in a matter of weeks; it was so easy. It’s always easy--you just have to give them attention. Tell them you love them. I got her to do things for me so quickly. They don’t fight back, either,” he continued, “the women. If you hit them, they get scared. They don’t leave, because they know you’ll find them. Mortality makes them scared of everything.”

  Mel forced himself to nod, taking deep breaths. Not yet. Not yet.

  Bakker seemed pleased that he was agreeing. “Anyway, she’s somewhere in the city. Took me a while to find her...had to use a computer...hate those things. I’ve been walking around, hoping to run into her. I don’t know if she’s still singing--she sang opera when I had her--but I’ve been walking near the theaters just in case. She’s clever, though--she got away from me in London.”

  He smiled. “It’s like when humans hunt animals. I assume that’s how they feel...that power.”

  Just then Michael appeared, just a few feet from Bakker. Bakker jumped, then stared.

  “You’re here too?” he exclaimed, delighted.

  Michael looked oddly calm, but Mel knew better. It was a dangerous calm...underneath, Mel knew, was rage.

  It was time. Mel looked at Bakker, and the dam broke; anger surged within him, made the air still with it, icy, horrific.

  But Bakker simply looked at him. He was confused, curious, and he cocked his head.

  “Why are you doing that?” he asked.

  Mel frowned, glancing at Michael, who looked equally as confused.

  Bakker’s lips twitched, and he turned to face Mel fully.

  “I have a Talent,” he said boldly. “I’m immune to others’ powers. That must mean yours too,” he said, looking at Michael, “your Talent being your strength.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  Bakker moved quickly, grabbing Michael by the shirt and throwing him into the couch. Mel charged him, grabbing his arms. They tumbled into the tree, making the bough snap like a twig. Ornaments showered onto them.

  Michael straightened, reached out and grasped Bakker’s foot. He yanked him across the floor, sending the coffee table flying. Bakker struck at him, but Michael parried his blow, and sent his fist into his face.

  Mel got to his feet, while Michael punched and punched, Bakker flailing beneath him, blood spraying.

  Mel ran to the kitchen. Fire. Fire. They needed fire to kill him. He tore open drawers, rifling through them, searching. Where was the lighter?

  “Fuck!” he shouted. He looked over at Michael, who was now choking Bakker, slamming his head into the floor.

  “I can’t find the lighter,” Mel said, coming over to them. “Michael!”

  “I heard you,” he growled. He was so angry his breathing was ragged, and it was clearly with great difficulty that he paused.

  Bakker gasped for air, coughing, gripping Michael’s wrists. Blood was gushing from his nose, and his eye was swollen.

  “You fucking--”

  “Don’t you fucking dare, you miserable fucking cunt,” Michael hissed through his teeth, his eyes blazing.

  “You have to go,” Mel said, and he grabbed Bakker’s arms, wrenching them to the sides. “I can’t; I’ll fuck it up.”

  “I can’t leave you--”

  “We don’t have a choice!”

  Michael smacked the floor, making the wood splinter. “Fuck!”

  “Go!” Mel shouted. “By my fireplace!”

  Michael swore again, before jumping to his feet and vanishing.

  Bakker immediately jerked, jarring Mel, who used his body weight to hold him down.

  Bakker groaned. “Why?”

  He bucked, sending a knee to Mel’s stomach, almost toppling him over.

  Mel fought to keep his arms still, placing a knee on his thigh. Bakker grunted with pain.

  “You--hurt her,” Mel breathed, furious that his rage wasn’t affecting him. “How dare you torture Father’s Creation...how dare you…”

  Bakker suddenly jerked again, sending a fist into Mel’s jaw. He felt an explosion of pain, and fell to the floor, dazed.

  Bakker scrambled up. He looked down at Mel...he was taking something out of his pocket...and Mel knew what it was.

  Bakker came down with the Blade, and Mel rolled out of the way just in time. He got to his feet, stumbling dizzily, and faced Bakker. Bakker smiled, flicking the Blade, which was nearly six inches long. The hilt was encrusted with rubies, and Mel recognized his own handiwork.

  Suddenly there was a noise behind Mel. The door was opening--finally Michael--

  He glanced over his shoulder, and his heart froze. It wasn’t Michael. It was Nora and Gilla. Nora was tugging on Gilla’s arm, trying to drag her away, and Gilla was standing, staring horrified at Bakker.

  Both Bakker and Mel let out a breath.

  “Go!” Mel cried, as Bakker shouted and charged. Mel grabbed him, dodging the knife, and shoved him backwards. “Run! RUN!”

  Bakker sprang to his feet and brought the Blade down. The Blade buried itself into Mel’s arm, before Bakker wrenched it out. Mel was surprised he didn’t feel pain, but he clutched his arm anyway.

  Then something worse happened. Far worse than Gilla and Nora arriving.

  Michael appeared, in the same spot he had vanished--just a foot away from Bakker. A lighter was in his hand, and he looked shocked to find himself so close to him.

  Bakker was quick. He spun around, gripping his Blade, and plunged it three times into Michael’s gut.

  Time seemed to slow. Mel stared, watching as Michael gripped his stomach. Blood was already wetting his hands, blossoming on his shirt. Bakker shoved him, and he dropped to the floor.

  Gilla screamed, and time resumed. Bakker whirled around, smiling, delighted at the terror in her voice.

  Mel lunged, knocking him to the floor. Fear coursed through him as he fought to disarm him...Michael...he would be fine...it wasn’t as bad as it had looked...he would get up any second…

  But he didn’t get up, and Bakker was striking Mel, over and over in the face, while he tried to get the fucking knife out of his hands…

  He roared, giving an almighty heave, and Bakker’s arm snapped. Bakker screamed, and the knife skittered across the floor. Bakker grabbed Mel with his good arm, shoving him several feet across the room.

  He sat up and saw, to his horror, Gilla darting across the room. She grasped the knife, dropped to her knees, and in one swift motion, hurled the Blade into Bakker’s throat.

  It felt like everything--even the air--had stilled, except for Gilla. Bakker choked, and she yanked the knife back, held the dripping Blade aloft, and sent it back into his throat. Blood spurted, but she didn’t stop; she plunged it in and out of his neck, over and over, breathing heavily, hissing,

  “Don’t--worry--it’ll--be--over--soon--you--vile--shit--you--fucking--”

  Mel shakily got to his feet, still staring shocked at the scene before him. Bakker was still, and Gilla was slowing.

  He went to them, caught her wrist and held her gingerly.

  “It’s done,” he whispered. “It’s done. It’s over. He’s dead.”

  Sure enough, Bakker was still. Blood was everywhere. Gilla was covered in it, her fair hair pink with it.

  After a moment the body vanished, leaving behind Bakker’s clothes and shoes.

  Gilla let out a breath. They knelt like that for a moment, Mel’s arms around her, staring at the spot where Bakker had been.

  “Mel!” Nora’s voice shrieked, and he looked around. She was bending over Michael.

  They scrambled over.

  Mel swore. It was bad. Michael was ashen, clammy, clutching the wounds in his stomach, which had soaked his shirt and pants with blood. A scarlet puddle was forming on the floor, and he was writhing in pain, shivering and grunting.

  Nora got up and disappeared into her bedroom. In a second she was back, holding a towel. She knelt over him and tried to move his hands.

  “Michael--I need to s-see--let me see--”

  Mel fell to his kne
es and knocked Michael’s hands out of the way. Then he gripped the hem of his shirt and tore it apart. The wounds were small, but spilling blood. He took the towel and pressed it firmly against them, and Michael cried out, jerking.

  “Stop--stop--”

  “Keep it together,” Mel said sharply, gripping his shoulder enough to hurt. “Michael. Come on.”

  He groaned. “I hear you.”

  Mel felt a surge of relief. “We’ll get you fixed,” he said, keeping pressure on his stomach. “You’ll be fine.”

  Michael was still shivering. Gilla got up and knelt by his head, brushing shakily at his hair, and he looked at her.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “Stop,” Mel growled.

  “Mel,” Nora breathed, and he could hear the terror in her voice.

  “No,” he said firmly, and he looked at the two women. “We’re not doing that. Understand? We’re not. Keep it together--help me stop the bleeding--”

  “Michael,” Gilla suddenly said, shaking him. Mel looked--Michael’s eyes were closed. Gilla shook him again, but he didn’t respond.

  “Michael!” Nora shouted. “Michael!”

  “Hold pressure,” Mel said, and he and Nora hurriedly switched places. “Michael! Michael!” He gave an almighty shake, but Michael didn’t stir. He was pale...very pale.

  Mel’s insides were frozen...surely he couldn’t be...no, no; not his brother…

  He shook Michael a final time, then held two fingers to his neck.