Summon Toren (Archangels Creed #3)

by Daniels, Kenra

  “Stop the truck,” he yelled. “Now!”

  She slammed the breaks and both the creatures fought to maintain balance. Toren rolled out of the truck to land in a wary fighting stance.

  “What are you doing? Toren!”

  Toren hopped onto the hood of the truck and the mongrel lunged with its teeth bared. Toren slammed his palm onto the beast’s face, his fingers spanning the muzzle and clamping the mouth shut. He kept squeezing, crushing jaw and nasal bones as the thing emitted a high pitched scream in its throat.

  It lashed out at Toren, hands and feet sporting surgical looking talons for rending flesh. Moving with supernatural speed, Toren launched off the truck, holding the thing by the muzzle and slamming it to the ground. Not wasting a second, he pummeled the creature over and over until it flopped limp.

  “Toren!”

  Toren spun to see the reanimated Farmer-Brown looking man yank at the drivers side the door. She screamed and braced herself in the center of the seat, rifle to her shoulder cocked and ready to fire. He sprinted for the creature as it ripped the door off the hinge. A loud boom exploded from the truck and Toren realized she’d fired a shot. The thing bucked back a little only to charge again, even angrier. Sam screeched, officially freaked that the huge hole in his chest didn’t faze him.

  She scrambled to the far side of the truck in a panic as Toren grabbed the thing from behind. He tossed it head over heels away from the truck. A quick glance showed the monkey thing still down, so he concentrated on the reanimated dead. He leaped astride its chest interlacing his fingers to combine his fists into one massive battering ram. Punching down into the thing's upper chest, he landed a crushing blow that pulverized the rib-cage.

  Under the breast bone he met momentary resistance, then the heart ruptured under the continued pressure of his blow.

  “Toren!”

  He turned and saw the monkey creature had recovered and was clambering to its feet. Toren's heart pounded and he latched onto the reanimated head, fingers spread wide.

  Gritting his teeth, he twisted the head hard to the left, then right. Another jerk up, and the head separated from the shoulders with a wet sucking sound, bone and ligament crackling.

  Toren stood, hefting the head in one hand. Twenty feet away, the monkey man growled and edged toward the truck and Samantha. The thing shook its heavy shoulders with a growl, then awkwardly gestured toward Samantha with one taloned hand, touching its genitals, clearly aware of the implication of such a threat. It grinned, putting heavy yellowed fangs on display and started to advance at Toren as if it thought it had a solid advantage.

  Toren edged toward it, careful to conceal a bit of a limp. The creature growled again, louder, and made a short, aggressive advance to test Toren's defenses before dancing away like a demonic jester. Toren let it go, paying careful attention to the ground under his own feet.

  Sensing weakness, the thing gave up wariness and darted into firing range. Spinning with the reanimated skull, Toren blasted it at the creature. The cranium struck in the midsection at several hundred miles per hour, shattering on impact.

  Shards of bone protruded from the creature's body. The thing howled again and brushed desperately at the gelatinous globs of gore covering the front of its body as if it had been splashed with acid or something.

  Fur and skin started to smoke and sizzle with a sickening sulfurous odor. The howl changed to a high pitched wail of pain. What in God’s name was in that reanimated thing?

  Toren took advantage of the creature’s distraction to move in for the kill. Samantha made a sound to draw his attention and offered up her rifle.

  He took it, remembering how he’d see them used. He aimed the primitive weapon at the creature and fired three rounds into its throat at point-blank range, decapitating it.

  Sam flew out the truck with wide eyes, shock quickly turning to irrational inebriation. “Oh my God, oh my God.” She staggered near the truck eyes locked on Toren, horror stricken.

  A hundred yards behind the truck, the steer the things had assaulted bellowed in terror and pain, still held fast in supernatural restraints. Toren took a moment to assess its condition. It would never recover from the physical damage, but the psychological destruction wrought by the evil beings was far worse. Death would be kinder than a life like that.

  He looked at Sam, knowing what he was about to do would no doubt finish her fragile psyche off. But now was as good a time as any to break the news to her. “Sam, I’m not what you think I am.”

  She looked around at the mess then stared at him, confused about everything. “W-what, what do you mean?”

  “I need you to trust me. Can you do that? I need to show you who I am but you have to promise me not to freak out.”

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What are you…what are you saying, just say it. She looked around, seeming worried more of those things were out there.

  “I’m an archangel.”

  She jerked her gaze to him, perplexed. “A what?” Like that was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

  Worried she might be right about more of those things, he wasted no more time and let his wings loose, a loud metallic clamor of mercury feathers.

  “Oh holy shit,” she gasped.

  “Yeah,” Toren muttered, feeling like it had to be the most awkward moment in his existence. Needing something to do besides stand around on impossible display, he removed a dagger from one of his flight feathers with a flick of his finger and commanded it to slice the jugular of the animal suffering several hundred feet away. The dagger shot out, fulfilled his order and returned like a boomerang back into place with a metallic shink.

  “Oh, okay.”

  Hope surged through him and he looked at Sam just in time to see her eyes roll up in her head as she collapsed. He flashed to her side and caught her before she could hit the ground. With a sigh, he lifted her in his arms and sniffed the air for more danger. Not smelling any immediate threats, he got in the truck and drove her to the small shack. Guess it was time to lay it all out to her.

  ** ** **

  Ezekiel Beshara stepped off the bus into the insignificant little town and a dozen more people followed. He ignored them as he retrieved his duffle bag and moved away from the bus to check out his surroundings. He'd followed his quarry to the little backwater, step by painstaking step. Revenge had come so close he could taste it in the air. All he had to do was put everything into play.

  First things first. Find work and a base from which to study his prey. A quick glance revealed a small diner with a sign proclaiming computers and high speed internet service available for customers. Just what he needed. He crossed the street diagonally, speeding to a jog for the last few feet for an oncoming pickup truck.

  The diner's arrangement for the computers left much to be desired with the machines lining a counter along one wall, screens fully visible to the room at large. No doubt a deterrent against teens visiting pornographic sites. The owner deserved public recognition for civic responsibility.

  He ordered a large breakfast with the pragmatism of a man who has no idea when his next meal will turn up, and ate quickly. Finished, he moved to a computer, selecting the second from the door, a little uncomfortable with exposing his back to the room. Fingers flying over the keyboard, he rapidly went through several pages, clearing the machine's memory after every few clicks.

  A light flowery scent invaded his senses as a young woman sat at the computer next to him. He stifled the urge to cough and clear the cloying odor from his throat. A quick glance in her direction confirmed his initial impression. Slim and brunette, her snug jeans served only as an exhibition prop to display her ass and legs. Her shirt, made of some soft and clingy fabric, revealed a hint of cleavage and clung to her breasts in a way that made a man's hands absolutely ache to hold and take their measure.

  Thankfully, not this man. Ezekiel was tempted by very few things and that wasn’t one. He clenched his fists for a moment, then resolutely returned his a
ttention to his task. Allowing the American slut to sidetrack him would derail his whole mission, and the woman sitting beside him was the quintessential American slut. With a practiced determination, he erased her presence from his awareness, something he’d learned to master since his earliest days as Askazura's apprentice.

  Back then, when he was seven years old, it had been a candy bar, unwrapped and ready to eat. And any boy who allowed the candy bar to distract him from memorizing an assigned passage from Sun Tzu's "The Art Of War" would receive a flogging and ten days on punishment duty.

  Ezekiel paused the memory when it reached the one that held the single instance when he’d suffered punishment. He cleared his throat with a vigorous cough, but it wasn’t to clean his air of that woman’s scent, but to gain more oxygen for his suddenly claustrophobic lungs. Fifteen days with your head covered in a sack had that effect on you. For Ezekiel, having his mouth or face touched were two things he couldn’t tolerate. He’d fought the phobia for years before resigning to owning it.

  The one thing that punishment had gained him was the ability to master the skill of focus. Distractions like Miss America on his right were as tempting as a camel’s ass.

  He scanned the help-wanted ads listed on the local paper's site. Restaurant help. Factory worker. An assortment of other jobs with specific requirements that he didn't have, or didn't bring him in proximity to his enemy. Truck driver for the local feed store. Ranch hand.

  He quickly consulted his map of local properties. The ranch bordered the one he needed access to. Perfect. With a few keystrokes, he had directions to the place.

  Finally. After eight months, revenge was eminent. He would have the blood of the man who had pinned him with the blame for a botched illegal arms deal. The man had set every extremist group on Ezekiel's trail. Not something he appreciated since his very birth put him in the center of religious conflict.

  He stood to leave.

  "Um, excuse me?"

  Great. The American whore of course would have the nerve to speak to him and force civility.

  Ezekiel managed to stop and glare at her.

  Of course she didn't get the message. Her blue eyes just closed in a slow blink and she smiled. "Sorry to bother you, but I'm new here. Do you happen to know where the C-Bar ranch is? I'd rather not drive all over Montana searching for it."

  Ezekiel started to growl some nasty reply and stalk off then her words sank in. She was going to the same place he needed to go. And it sounded as if she had her own car. Hitching a ride with her would save him a long cold hike through some nasty snow drifts. Okay then. He forced a somewhat friendly grin to his mouth. "I'm headed there too. Trade directions for a ride?"

  A shadow of wariness passed through her eyes and she tilted her head a little as if gauging the danger.

  She needed a little reassurance. "I'm not a serial killer or rapist. Promise. Just a soldier down on his luck and looking for work." He lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. "I'll help you get to the C-Bar if you'll give me a ride."

  She lifted a perfectly sculpted brow and seemed to consider for a moment. "Okay. But if you step out of line I'll gut you."

  Great. An American slut with a knife she thought she could use. Well, it was what it was. He'd deal.

  A rough shuffling sound approaching from the right drew his immediate attention. The stench hit him immediately. Guy smelled like he'd rolled in a week old carcass like a dog would. And he looked like that might be a possibility too. Hair that might have been light colored hung in greasy mats to his shoulders and his visible skin was stained gray with filth, dirt clearly embedded in lines and creases and packed into large pores.

  "'Scuse me, mister. You's headin' to the C-Bar? Wonderin' if I might get a ride." The man's breath could be bottled as paint stripper and his visible teeth were broken, decayed, and crusted with all sorts of nastiness. Some part of his emaciated form stayed in perpetual motion. Tweaker.

  The girl might be an American slut, but she didn't need to be around anything like that either. "Nah, I don't think so, man." As soon as Ezekiel got the refusal out, the man turned to the slut.

  "Please ma'am. I ain't had no work in months an' my ol' lady jus' had another baby. I got no other way to feed 'em."

  Ezekiel saw the exact moment she gave in. Her face softened with compassion and pity. The tweaker saw it too. The glance he gave Ezekiel was filthy with triumph.

  "I don't see what the harm could be. Hopefully they'll have work for all of us." She shrugged and gathered her coat and handbag. "My truck's in the side lot. If you're both ready we can go ahead and go."

  The tweaker pasted himself to the slut's luscious rear and followed her to the parking lot. Ezekiel pulled his coat on and shouldered his duffle bag, At the back of the woman's pickup truck, the tweaker was clearly making her uncomfortable, crowding way too close and making no secret of leering at her tits and ass. Served her right.

  Except the look she shot Ezekiel was full of fear. She was in over her head and had no idea how to get out. Her kindness had put her in a dangerous situation. Ezekiel had no idea why since it was totally out of character for him, but he found himself saving her ass.

  "Why don't you get the truck started, miss."

  She gave a grateful nod and slid away from the tweaker, wasting no time in climbing into the cab of the truck.

  The nasty bastard grinned at Ezekiel. "That's one fine piece of ass and I'm gonna have a go at it. You stay outa my way and you can have what's left." He drew one side of his greasy coat back to display the handle of a cheap hunting knife that had seen far better days. "Get in my way and you'll grow a new mouth."

  Ezekiel shook his head, deciding how best to handle the situation. He'd prefer to leave the tweaker right there, but you never knew what kind of idea someone like that might get. Guy might even think he was bad enough to come searching for Ezekiel. He'd rather not have to look over his shoulder for something like that at this point of his game. Better to get him outside town and cut his throat and toss him over a hill somewhere.

  "Whatever, man. I know a spot a little way out of town, perfect for it. I'll give her directions there instead of the C Bar. But you gotta ride in the back. You've already spooked her. If you get in front, she'll be suspicious and end up taking us both to the Sheriff's office."

  The tweaker nodded, eagerness lighting his weird eyes. "Good. I'll get in back then. How long to the place?"

  Ezekiel shrugged. "Not sure with the road slick. Fifteen minutes maybe." He started for the passenger door. The slut probably wouldn't allow him to drive, of course. "Get in. See you there."

  The tweaker clambered into the truck bed with surprising agility, considering his condition, and took a position up near the cab where a big toolbox that spanned the width of the bed would block some wind.

  Ezekiel swung into the warm cab and nodded to the slut. "You realize he was planning to rape you? Now he thinks I'm going to help him."

  "What?" she gasped as she put the truck in gear.

  "That poor old guy, so down on his luck you fell for his story, is planning to rape and kill you." Ezekiel watched anger flush her face. "He even generously offered me his leftovers."

  "And you let him get in the truck?" She glared at him. "What were you thinking?"

  "That I'd wait until a few miles out of town to cut his throat and roll him over a hill."

  "You're insane! You can't do that!"

  Ezekiel took a deep breath. "Look, he's a meth head. At best. I'm not leaving him here just so I can spend the next few weeks sniffing over my shoulder for his stench. You want to bring him along so you can dodge him through the hay loft at some isolated ranch?"

  Her mouth hung open in the kind of shock that said she’d never had anything like this happen to her. Or maybe it was a look that said will my luck ever improve. It was hard to tell and that was a new one for Ezekiel. The idea that it could mean the second had him curious about her. Her stuttering done, she finally managed, "Well, he didn't actual
ly do anything." She turned onto the street. "You can't kill someone for idle talk."

  "Fine. Your ass." He should have known better than try to help the slut. She deserved everything she got.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sam fought her way through the inky blackness, fighting to reach that point of light above her. And the sound of her name. Echoing. She felt cold fingers slowly wrapping around her legs, preventing her from kicking to freedom. She fought harder. Suddenly she saw him at the light, waiting. He was familiar. The cold fingers wrapped tighter on her leg and she strained and screamed his name.

  “Toren!”

  He reached through that pin point of light and grabbed her hand and yanked her to safety. She burst awake into consciousness and found herself wrapped tight in his embrace and pressed possessively to his body. She gasped against the skin of his neck, gobbling up the air and scent of him.

  “I have you, I have you,” he whispered, stroking her head and back. She realized he sat on a bed. Her gaze landed on the stained and faded painting with the little girl in a field of flowers and realized they were in the shack. She immediately became overwhelmed with the feel of his skin beneath her fingers and lips. Taste. It was a reflex. He tasted like something that should be licked all day long.

  Then memory reasserted itself. Terror slammed her and she leapt out of his arms and scrambled back on the bed, away from him. “Oh God you’re…” she pressed against the wall at the head of the bed and pointed at him with a hesitant finger. “…you’re a-a-a.” God, was she still dreaming? “Am I dreaming? Am I in a coma or something?” She really was hoping he was real, but of course, he was way too good to be true.”

  “You’re not dreaming. And I am real, and I do…”