He had stolen memories from her without her permission and she felt a little violated by his actions, but also strangely relieved. That there was someone in this world who could simply look at her and see what had happened to her was a blessing in a way. She had been forced to talk so much about the things she had experienced in Hell that not having to speak about it was a relief.
Had he seen the things she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell anyone?
Her focus shifted to behind her, to the door of her apartment and the corridor beyond it, and surprise rippled through her when she realised she wanted to see him again, wanted to know if he had witnessed everything that had happened in that dark realm.
Had he witnessed the source of her deepest fear?
She sank deeper still into the water, desperately trying to ease the tight feeling that built inside her, squirmed in her chest like a living thing, making her restless with a need to run.
It whispered that she wasn’t safe here.
Zephyr would come for her.
She shoved that out of her head. She was safe here. The dragon couldn’t enter the mortal world without losing his powers and slowly dying thanks to some sort of curse on his kind. She was safe here. She was safe.
An image of Zephyr flashed into her mind, his green eyes crazed with a need that had terrified her, flooded with determination that left a cold feeling inside her, a chill she just couldn’t shake no matter how hot she ran her bath.
He wanted her to choose him. He wanted her to love him.
Did he want that enough to risk leaving Hell? Was his need of her powerful enough to drive him to breach the barrier the curse created between them?
When that happened, would she be strong enough to fight him, or would he take her back to Hell?
She swallowed hard.
When?
She struggled to breathe, to convince herself it wasn’t a case of when. It was a case of if. She was safe at Archangel. Even if he did come, he wouldn’t dare try to reach her in this place. He couldn’t shift in this world. He was weak here. If he tried to get to her, they could easily defeat him.
That thought had another desire rising, born of the rage that constantly burned in her blood. She sat up and clutched the edges of the bath as it blazed hotter, fuelled by her thoughts and a single one that stood out among them.
A thought that had fear shifting towards hope again and had strength and courage coursing through her once more.
If he was weak in this world, then let the bastard come.
Because she would kill him.
CHAPTER 3
Blood dripped into his left eye. A lucky shot by the male demon now fleeing across the moonlit park, his black jeans and long-sleeved top making him blend into the darkness. He swiped it away with the back of his hand and narrowed his gaze on the fiend’s back.
The cross emblazoned on the inside of his right wrist burned beneath the sleeve of his white tunic, shone fiercely in the night, pushing him to pursue the male and cut him down.
He kicked off, chasing the demon and determined to stop him before he entered the trees that lined the edges of the broad swath of grass in the southern end of the park in a busy district of Shanghai. Ahead of him, futuristic towers speared the sky, a multitude of colours that shifted and danced, attempting to distract him.
He was distracted enough without their help.
The demon made it into the trees, cutting through them with little finesse. The sound of branches breaking and leaves swaying filled the air as thickly as the distant honking of car horns and rumbling trucks and buses.
Determined not to lack refinement like a demon, he spread his white wings and beat them. It took a single flap to lift him above the height of the trees and another to have him gracefully gliding over the dense canopy. He easily tracked the demon, his acute senses pinpointing him in the darkness below. The male broke out onto the path on the other side of the small woods and banked left, following it back towards the busy road.
He swept down, calling his blade to his hand at the same time. It had been a mistake to believe he could defeat the wretch without a weapon or his armour. He swiped the back of his free hand across the cut above his eye again, brushing the blood away before it could impede his vision.
His boots touched the earthen path, and he spread his wings to block the demon’s path. The fiend ground to a halt, his lips curling back off bloodstained fangs, a reminder that the male had been gorging himself on humans before the Echelon had received orders to eliminate him.
He curled his fingers around the hilt of his blade and grimaced as a wound on his arm burned in response.
It had been a mistake to leave Heaven immediately to hunt the demon down. It had been another mistake to believe this demon would prove an easy kill. He should have taken the time to swap his white tunic and trousers for his armour.
His superiors’ words rang in his mind, a thousand replays of them teasing him for being rash, for letting his temper control him and cloud his judgement.
He curled his own lip at that, flashing blunt teeth at the demon as anger coursed through him. Blue flames erupted along the length of his white blade and darkened near the guard, a sign his mood was degenerating again. He tried to rein it in, aware that at any moment, his superiors could turn their gazes to him to check on his progress and would see he had allowed anger to take control again.
“Let us not dance around this. Kneel and we shall get this over with.” He gestured to the ground between him and the demon.
The male spat blood on it, his glowing gold eyes hurling a challenge at him.
He gladly accepted it.
He had been born to cleanse this world of demons, relished the duty that was everything to him, and carried it out without hesitation.
The demon eased back a step, and for a moment, he thought the male intended to make another attempt to flee.
But then the dark-haired male’s lips quirked and his pupils began to thin in the centre of his irises. The colour bled from his irises into those elliptical pupils, so they burned gold instead, leaving his irises as black as the pit he had crawled out of tonight.
The male rose to his full height, coming to match his seven feet, and rolled his shoulders back as he held his left hand out palm down in front of him. A sword formed, rising from the dirt towards the demon’s palm. The muscles of his arm tensed beneath his long-sleeved top as he slowly twisted his hand. The glowing amber pommel reached it, and he slid his palm down the black-leather-wrapped grip.
Perhaps he had underestimated this demon more than he had first believed.
“Satan spawn,” he spat at the wretch, putting every ounce of the venom he felt into the words as he narrowed his silver eyes on the vile creature standing before him.
That he was breathing the same air as one born of the Devil had disgust rolling down his spine and a need to back away flowing through him. He denied it and stood his ground, aware that the demon would view any movement to distance himself now as a sign of weakness and would attack.
The flames rolling along his white blade blazed brighter, beginning to turn gold as the mark on his wrist burned like an inferno, searing his skin.
He hadn’t anticipated this, but he wouldn’t back down from this battle. Tonight, the Devil would lose one of his men, and the world would be better off for it.
It was his eternal duty.
He launched forwards on a battle cry that shattered the night.
Brought his blade up at the same time as the demon and grinned as they clashed hard, forming an X between them. The male growled, flashing daggers at him, and the horns that curled from behind his pointed ears flared, a sign of aggression that didn’t stop him. He shoved with all his strength, driving the male back.
The demon might be powerful in Hell, feeding off his master’s power, but here in this world, he was weak. Vulnerable. And he knew it.
It was there in his eyes when he staggered back a step, gaining space. A flicker o
f fear.
He relished that too.
It wasn’t every day he got to fight a demon this powerful.
Normally, he hunted demons from the numbered realms, those who had mutinied against the Devil. They were as strong in this world as they were in Hell, but their strength couldn’t match this male’s. His surpassed theirs even when he was limited, some of his power drained from him by the mortal world.
The male rallied. Leathery black wings burst from his back and he beat them, propelling himself backwards.
“Running?” he sneered and readied his own white-feathered wings, aware of what came next.
His superiors would tease him about taunting his prey too. It was unbecoming, apparently. Taunting was not only a source of pleasure for him, but it produced consistent results too. He wasn’t the only one with a temper. Demons had one too, and it often only took a little poking, a derogatory remark here and there, a little questioning of their strength or spine, and they flew into a rage.
When they were enraged, they were predictable.
Easy to defeat.
Any moment now, this demon would snap and rush him, and he would skewer the male on his sword, clamp his right hand down on the male, and be done with it. The demon would be ashes in seconds, burned from the inside out by his Echelon gift.
The demon disappeared on a snarl.
Not what he had anticipated.
He turned, sure the demon would appear behind him and berating himself for another lapse in judgement.
His senses blared a warning.
He dodged right.
Fire blazed in his left side and he grunted as it rapidly swept through him, spreading outwards from a point just above his hip.
A low chuckle sounded behind him. “Kneel, Angel, and we shall get this over with.”
Cold sweat broke out across his brow as he edged his eyes downwards and he swallowed hard, his stomach roiling at the sight that greeted him. Blood covered his left side, spilling like a crimson waterfall down his white tunic and trousers. He watched as it spread beyond his knee to soak into the leather of his white boots.
His lips tugged into a tight smile.
Another lapse in judgement.
He seemed to be having them a lot lately.
He gritted his teeth and grimaced as he gripped the point of the blade protruding from his side and pushed it towards his stomach.
The demon clucked his tongue and drove the sword deeper, ripping a cry from him that echoed in the night.
Damn.
“My dark lord will have your wings mounted on his wall by daybreak,” the demon snarled close to his ear.
The first and last mistake he would make.
No one in this world was going to cut his wings from him.
On a defiant roar, he dropped his sword and twisted right, fiery agony sweeping through him as the blade cut through his flesh to drown out the scents of the human world with that of his own blood. He gritted his teeth against the pain as his vision swam and kept turning, desperately pushing himself onwards through the agony of the sword tearing a larger hole in his left side as he reached a trembling hand over his right shoulder, blindly groping for the demon.
A laugh broke from his lips as he made contact with the male’s shoulder.
He sensed it the moment the sleeve of his tunic fell back to reveal the stylised cross on the inside of his right wrist and the demon grew aware of what he was. The male tried to rear back as his panic flooded the air, the sharp scent of it mingling with the coppery odour of blood. He gripped the male, refusing to release him, and heat rolled through him as his Echelon gift triggered.
He sank into that heat and the pleasure it offered as fire burned beneath his palm and the demon roared, deafening him. The male made one last attempt to wrench free, managing it this time. The demon’s sword slid free of his flesh with a wet sucking noise, and he staggered a step, struggling to keep his balance as the fiend wheeled away from him.
Too late.
A single touch was all it took.
He turned slowly, breathing hard, both hands clamped over the wound in his left side as he came to face the demon.
The male looked himself over, panic flaring in his wide eyes as he desperately tried to stem the flow of black devouring his flesh. It spread rapidly, consuming the demon, and as it crept up his neck to his face, the male lifted his head and locked gazes with him, fury burning in his eyes.
His lips parted.
He would never know what the male had wanted to say to him with his last breath.
The flow of his Echelon gift devoured those words. The demon’s charred black skin fractured in places, fissures appearing that glowed gold in the darkness, and then he shattered, falling in pieces to the ground and turning to ash on impact.
He watched as the breeze caught those ashes and they swirled across the earth.
The burning in his side grew hotter and he pressed harder, grimacing as his hands slipped in the blood.
He had been lucky tonight.
But luck never lasted, and he had never relied on it before now.
He focused on his body, seeking the power he needed, closing his eyes as he formed the bridge between the human world and his. His head turned as he teleported, and he kept his eyes closed as he landed in his apartment in Echelon headquarters, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
He cursed himself.
This demon wasn’t the first one he had underestimated, but it would be the last. He would sharpen his mind and his blade, would hone them both again until he was back to his normal self. No more distractions. His duty was all he needed.
He slowly opened his eyes and frowned at the pool of blood slowly spreading outwards from beneath his left boot, creeping across the white marble.
The room swayed and rocked.
The double doors set into the white wall behind him creaked open and he sensed the female enter.
“I have been sent to you,” she said softly, her voice low. Respectful.
Unlike the half-angel he had been sent to collect.
She had shown no respect. None of them had.
He didn’t spare a glance at the petite female who stopped beside him, the same one they always sent to heal him. She would appear as she always did, her blonde tresses tamed in twined braids at the back of her head and her long white dress cinched with a gold belt around her waist.
A white dress that was always stained crimson when she left him.
He didn’t stop her as she removed his tunic and then his boots, felt nothing as she stripped him of his trousers. He stood there in the middle of his rooms, his focus slipping again just moments after he had vowed he would sharpen it and would banish all distractions, resuming command of himself.
He stared down at the floor as the female bathed his wounds with water steeped in herbs that had a faint antiseptic scent to them beneath the lavender and soothed his aching body. A gentle heat followed the sponge, soaked into his skin, and relaxed him.
His focus shattered.
His gaze penetrated the layers of the building beneath him, each of them sweeping past him in a blur that picked up speed as his eyes unerringly locked on to a location in the mortal plane.
The sprawling flat roof of an elegant sandstone building in the centre of London came into view and he slowed, needing to take his time now in order to stop his heart from racing as it did whenever he turned his gaze to her.
He braced himself as he focused. It took only the smallest shift, the tiniest effort, and she was before him.
Emelia.
He swallowed hard.
Faintly, he heard the female angel ask, “Am I hurting you?”
He shook his head, too mesmerised by the petite brunette at the centre of his focus to notice whether the healer was hurting him or not.
Emelia looked brighter today, filled with vibrant energy as she rained hell down on a cylindrical bag that was taller than she was, hung from the ceiling of what appeared to be some sort of exercis
e area within the compound. Her small fists were wrapped in red bandages, and sweat glistened on her back and arms, soaking into the form-fitting black sleeveless top she wore. The strands of hair that had escaped the twisted knot at the back of her head were damp, sticking to her pale skin.
He frowned as he peered closer, focusing harder on her.
A scar ran over her right deltoid to dart beneath the section of her top that followed the line of her spine to expose her shoulder blades.
He gritted his teeth as an image of a green-haired male flashed into his mind. He lowered his eyes to his dirty bare knees, fear and shame sweeping through him as fiercely as the pain did. No. Not his knees. Hers. Emelia’s.
He lifted his hand and touched that claw mark, felt the blood on his fingertips, and wanted to retch.
“I am hurting you.” The female angel’s voice penetrated the memories, shattering them and almost shaking his hold on the human where she continued to hurl punches at the weighted sack.
“You are not,” he snapped, then heard her gasp and gentled his tone. “Please, continue.”
He drifted away from her again as his focus resettled on Emelia.
In the weeks since he had met her, the burning need to see her in the flesh again had only grown fiercer. He had been sure it would abate, that he would forget what he had seen in her eyes and the need he felt to punish the male who had harmed her.
He had lasted mere days after meeting her before the need to see her again had gripped him and refused to release him. He had turned his gaze to her then, had only meant it to be a brief look to ensure she was safe.
He had ended up watching her for four hours, studying how she reacted to others, how she behaved when alone, and the tasks she carried out within the hunter organisation.
Since then, the intervals between turning his gaze towards her had steadily grown shorter. Now, he couldn’t go a day without looking in on her.
She seemed brighter each time he took a moment to watch over her, and at first, he had believed she was making progress, overcoming what had happened to her.
Avenged by an Angel Page 3
