His Soul to Hold (The Dark Knights of Heaven Book 2)

by TW Knight

  "Yeah, I guess."

  The demons ran from the room.

  Shaking her head, Margarite slipped from the stool and gathered the dropped silverware. "Poor thing. I hope she's okay."

  "Poor thing? Have you lost your fuckin' mi—" Before he finished the word, Sam flew across the room, pinned to the wall by his shoulders. His breath caught. Before him hung the face of death, eyes burning.

  "You do not yell at her," Tam rasped, his fangs lengthening.

  "Oh, okay. Sor—sorry," Sam stuttered.

  "Tam?" Margarite's sweet voice filled the kitchen. "Tam, honey, let the boy down."

  With a grunt, Tam released him and stepped back, his eyes and teeth returning to normal. "Sorry," he grumbled, turning to kiss his woman. "Your water's boiling." The big man nodded toward the stove. Returning to his seat, he dug into his sandwich as if nothing happened.

  "I don't think I'm hungry, anymore." Sam backed from the kitchen and ran back to his room, his shaking legs barely keeping him upright.

  ***

  Bree hated to leave the shower, which she'd ended with a long, hot soak, but shriveled fingers was a clear sign it was time to get out. Luxuriating in the fluffy robe, she lay back against soft sheets on the most comfortable bed she'd been in, well, in years. She could get used to it.

  Loud footfalls followed by a slamming door snapped Bree from a comfortable doze. Rolling to her knees, she held her breath, attempting to quiet her pounding heart. Crashing noises echoed through the wall separating her room from her brother's. "Damn it, Sam." Grumbling, she threw on a tank top and shorts she found in the closet and stomped to her brother's room, shoving open the door without knocking.

  "What's with all the noise," she groused.

  To her surprise, she found her brother sitting on the floor against the wall by the closet, trembling. Evidence of his tantrum was strewn around the room.

  "Sam?" Her stomach tightened when he didn't answer. "Sammy?"

  Bree stopped and knelt at his feet, brushing her hand through his damp hair. "Sammy? Talk to me."

  He moved so fast, she yelped. With her upper arms in Sam's tight grip, Bree was pulled forward to look into his dilated, glassy eyes.

  "We have to get out of here, Bree. These people, these things, are crazy. We have to get out. They're going to kill us."

  A sob escaped her throat. Bree pulled her brother into her arms. He hung on, whimpering, as she tried to calm him. "It's okay, Sammy. I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise. It'll be okay." Inside, she hoped to Hell she told him the truth.

  Sam sobbed and curled against her. Bree's heart lurched.

  The last time she'd seen Sam so scared was the night the demons attacked and killed their parents.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bass looked down at the broken sword. Breanna was probably waiting for him to return to the villa so she could kill him. Wait for him to come back. Kill him again. The hurt in her eyes when the blade snapped cut Bass to the core. It probably took her years to get a sword of this quality. Shaking his head, Bass wrapped the blade shards and hilt in a cloth and tucked them back into the sword case, vowing he'd make it up to her. He'd get her a new sword. A better sword. Maybe he would give her the Honjo Masamune he'd squirreled away. For a moment he wondered what the Shinto priest who gave it to him for safe keeping would think about a woman wielding it, and decided he didn't care as long as it made Bree happy.

  Looking up, he caught Hacker watching him, a smirk on his lips.

  "What?"

  "You got that look." His friend laughed.

  "Excuse me?"

  Zach joined him. "You know. The look. The one Rail, Tam, and Boomer get when you know they're thinking about their women."

  "She's not my woman," Bass snapped, slamming the sword case into the pile of things to be taken back.

  "Don't bother, man. They all tried to deny it and it didn't matter." Hacker tossed another pack into the mix.

  "I am not in love. I feel guilty for breaking Breanna's sword. That's it."

  "That's it, huh?" Zach smirked.

  It was a losing battle. "No. You're right. That's not it. I'm tired, cranky, and newly resurrected. No sooner than I return from death, then I'm fighting for my life again. So forgive me for being a little pissy." Tossing the backpack he'd picked up across the hanger, he stomped off.

  "Hey," Hacker called after him. "Where the hell are you going?"

  "To find some action!"

  Not waiting for a response, Bass flashed from the building and headed north.

  Flashing only got him so far, a few miles or so from the old hanger and mining camp. He could have gone a little further if he concentrated, but his thoughts scattered like snowflakes on the wind. The travel restrictions placed on them after their Heavenly exile really pissed Bass off. Once upon a time they could get anywhere with a single thought. After, they needed help to get more than a few miles. The restriction baffled Bass considering until recently the Knights lived as solitary beings. As Cassidy once pointed out, how could they efficiently fight the demons if they were shackled by the inability to travel anywhere in the world at a blink of the eye?

  The whole damn situation frustrated him.

  Grumbling, he stomped through the snow for about a mile before he picked up the vibrations marking a nearby town or village. Bass' spirits rose. A town meant women, and women meant relief.

  Relief from thinking about Breanna.

  Relief from how she made him feel.

  Relief from the nagging pain, no matter how fleeting.

  Three hours and twelve beers later, Bass' gut twisted like he'd taken a ride in a washing machine. His thoughts still focused on Breanna. The visiting climatologist from some-university-or-other hadn't done a damn thing to cool the heat burning in his blood.

  He still wanted Breanna.

  And he felt sick and guilty, like he'd kicked a puppy.

  Damn it.

  Nothing happened with the co-ed beyond a rabid make out session ending with the girl passed out in bed, alone and fully dressed.

  Why was the bond fucking with his mind, his emotions, forcing him away from his happy little way of life?

  No, that wasn't right— it forced him to remember who he used to be.

  A person he'd long since buried.

  Bass pulled on his shirt and let his consciousness drift into the woman's dreams to tweak her memory. While he couldn't remove the past few hours, he could blur his face and let the girl's imagination fill in the blanks with her own fantasies. Dora? Nora? Whoever, would wake up feeling fabulous with a hazy memory of a one night stand and too much alcohol.

  Too bad he couldn't perform the same magic on his own mind and remove Breanna from his thoughts.

  Too bad he couldn't ease the anger his cock expressed at having been denied.

  "Deal with it," he grumbled, adjusting his pants.

  With a final glance back at the bed, Bass zipped his parka and slipped into the night. He only flashed a short distance to get out of town. He'd walk the rest of the way. Ten miles was no more than a good stretch of the legs to someone like him.

  Someone like him. He snorted at the thought.

  What was he?

  Fallen angel, Guardian of Humanity, Dark Knight, half way to becoming a demon, womanizer, selfish bastard, careless, damaged, heartless, soulless, a loner.

  Alone.

  Great. Now he could add depressed to the list.

  Another reason to refrain from thinking.

  The vibration in his pants pocket alerted him. His companions were ready to leave.

  He answered a second before the call went to voice mail. "I'm on my way back." He disconnected, not waiting for a response. They would have just started the lecture about dicking around while they cleaned up the scene. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Bass flashed as far as he could, walked a few hundred yards, and flashed again.

  By the time he reached the hanger, Bass was still grumpy and confused about his feelings, but he had a
plan. He would apologize to Breanna for the sword, get her a new one, and sign up for every patrol he could until he passed out. With luck, he could stay away from her until the hypersensitivity from the awakened soul-bond wore off.

  Hacker and Zach were still complaining about his side trip when they reached the villa's courtyard. Most comments were outright insults regarding what an ass he was for going off to score some tail. He wasn't about to tell them he'd felt too guilty to do the deed. After all, he had to maintain his reputation as an asshole. As the onslaught continued, Zach suggested Bass should clean every inch of the compound by himself. With a toothbrush.

  He was certain Kaz would approve.

  Ignoring the comments, Bass hefted Breanna's packs onto his shoulders, grabbed the sword case, and headed inside. He didn't need anyone to tell him where to find her. Her resonance called to him.

  Of course Serephina put her in a room across the hall from his.

  Outside the two doors across from his quarters, Bass stood frozen in place. Breanna's resonance hummed from the room next to the one he thought would be hers.

  She must be with her brother. Setting the packs down, Bass sucked in a breath and opened the door.

  The air left his lungs as though he'd been punched in the stomach. The room was trashed. The mattress and bedding hung off the bed frame, broken knick-knacks littered the floor, and furniture was over turned.

  "What the?" Entering cautiously, he set Breanna's sword case inside the door, and drew a dagger from his boot. Something was very wrong here. Instinct guided his movements. If another Un'tar had gone rogue, he'd hunt it down and kill it himself.

  To his shock, he found Breanna sitting on the floor against the wall by the closet, her brother lying on the floor next to her, his head in her lap. Both slept, but not restfully. Bass sensed tension rolling off them. Sam twitched.

  Sheathing his blade and shucking his parka, Bass approached slowly.

  "Bree?" He kept his voice low and a watchful eye on Sam.

  Bree's eyes opened. "Bass?" Her groggy voice was utterly sexy in its throatiness.

  His mouth went dry. Moving to where Breanna sat, he squatted in front of her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Everything okay?" he asked softly.

  "Yeah. Sam just— something scared him. He..." She waved her hand to indicate the room.

  "Is he alright now?"

  Bree shrugged and stroked her brother's hair.

  "Can we talk?" Bass stood and held out his hand.

  He couldn't miss the look in her eyes. Bree was reluctant to leave her brother's side, but after a moment's hesitation, she nodded.

  It took some maneuvering to get out from under Sam without waking him. Once clear, Bree took Bass' hand and let him pull her to her feet.

  The moment she was upright, she fell forward against his chest.

  "Sorry. My legs fell asleep."

  Trembling at the contact, Bass gently set her back at arm's length, but kept his hands on her shoulders for support. "Uh, yeah, I guess that would happen sitting on the floor like that." Heat radiated up his fingers through his bones and Bass felt that awkward needing again. "Maybe we could talk in your room or the hall?"

  "No! She's not going anywhere with you!" Sam sat up, uncoiling like a snake ready to strike. Fear and anger lit his eyes with inner fire.

  "Sam. It's okay. We're just going to go talk—"

  "No!" Sam sprang to his feet, knocked Breanna out of the way, and took Bass to the floor. "You're not taking her away from me!"

  ***

  Bree gasped for air. "Sam! Stop it!" Horrified, Bree stood frozen while her brother rained blow after blow upon Bass. The warrior wasn't really fighting back as much as blocking the strikes. What he didn't manage to block, he took in resigned silence. Bree sobbed, knowing he wouldn't fight back because hurting her brother would hurt her.

  The shock burned away. She couldn't stop Sam by herself, not with him engulfed in a mindless rage. Sam wouldn't stop until he killed Bass.

  She couldn't let him commit murder, even if the warrior would return to life.

  Scrambling to her feet, Bree ran from the room and down the long hall to the left. At the last door, she stopped and drummed her fists against the wood. "Hogart!"

  The barrier disappeared. She fell forward a step.

  Bree gulped, afraid she had the wrong room. The man standing before her was dramatically different than the one they'd arrived with a few hours earlier. Instead of the ragged Wildman, Hogart appeared sleek and healthy, more like the other warriors.

  He'd cut his silver grey hair short, shaved his bushy beard into a neat goatee, and wore gray sweatpants instead of furs and leather. His cold, haunted, eyes hadn't changed, though.

  "What," he snapped.

  "Some— something's wrong. Sam's gone crazy," she stuttered. "He's going to kill Bass."

  The warrior vanished in a blur Bree only registered as a passing breeze. Pulling herself together she raced after him.

  Sam continued to yell. Hogart held him off Bass in a bear hug. Bass lay on the floor, breathing heavily, bleeding from a split lip and his left eye. "Oh, God. Sam, what did you do?" Bree flung herself at her brother and punched him hard enough to send his head back into Hogart's shoulder. "What did you do?"

  "It's okay, Bree." Bass' voice sounded whiskey raw with a slight lisp, but it was music to her ears.

  "It's not okay. He beat the shit out of you."

  "Yeah. Well, apparently he needed to get it out of his system." Wobbling like a new born colt, he pushed to his feet and spat blood on the floor. "You good now?" Bass eyed the boy warily.

  "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. You can let me go," he directed to Hogart.

  Bree stepped back from her brother. "What got into you?"

  "I don't know. It was like... I don't know. I just wanted, needed, to fight."

  Hogart nodded and grasped Sam by the scruff of his neck, giving him a little shake. "We'll clean this mess up. You two can go. We'll be fine."

  Torn, Bree hesitated, but when Bass moved toward the door, she followed with a sad glance over her shoulder to her brother.

  As he exited, Bass stopped and pointed to his coat lying on the bed. "Your sword is under there."

  "Thanks." Bree snatched the case and the forgotten parka, and followed the warrior into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her. "Let me help you."

  "No," he barked. "I'm fine."

  "Why did you let Sam beat you?"

  "He needed to."

  She snorted. "He needs a swift kick in the ass."

  "Yeah. And I need a shower." Turning away, Bass stumbled to his room and shut the door, loudly.

  Bree stood amidst the things brought from Alaska, staring at the barrier between them. Bass let Sam beat him and walked away. Did he feel he deserved to be beaten?

  Unable to push the idea from her mind, Bree tossed her belongings into her room, pushed Sam's stuff against his door, and stormed into Bass' room. "You said you wanted to talk."

  He didn't respond, and frankly Bree didn't want him to spoil the moment with words.

  Her heart pounded like a jackhammer. She could take her eyes off the God standing outside the bathroom door. The dim yellow light made his golden tan glow and accentuated the hard planes of muscle. Entranced, she let her gaze flow over him.

  Strong shoulders turned into arms she longed to feel around her. Stretching from beneath his hair to his glorious ass, ink covered his back, like a work of art supported by the muscular pillars of his legs. The way his muscles tightened in his thighs, he knew she stared.

  She didn't care.

  Slowly, she trailed her gaze back up to the tattoo. He'd turned his head slightly, allowing the curtain of hair to slide away and reveal the image. She bit her lip to keep from gasping. A serpentine dragon covered his entire back. Its wings stretched over his shoulder blades and down his arms, the tips ending at his wrists; the neck bent forward as though the massive jaws were ready to strike— to tear the viewer to pieces.
The only bit of color accenting the grey shading and deep blacks hung in the creatures blood red eyes. Captivated by the beauty and madness in the image, Bree studied the sinuous body as it traveled down the length of Bass' body, the dragon's tail wrapping itself around the trunk of his right leg.

  For a moment she thought the creature would tear itself free from Bass' flesh and attack her.

  "Why did you choose a monster?" Bree clasped her hand over her mouth, trying to capture the words. "I didn't mean..."

  "Isn't that how you see us?" He glanced over his shoulder.

  She shook her head and Bass laughed with no humor.

  "Then you're a fool, because that's what we are. Beasts, monsters all wrapped up in a pretty package."

  "No. Those things you fight are the monsters."

  "Eventually we'll be just like them. Look at how bat-shit-crazy Hogart is."

  "He seems better."

  "For now." He turned and gave Bree an unimpeded view from the front. "You like what you see?" he asked suggestively.

  Bree took a step back. He'd gone from angry to seductive in two–point–three seconds. She would have to answer yes, if she let herself. It took all her will power to not throw herself against his insanely defined abs, explore the rest of his tattoos, and lick every inch of him. Proud of her ability to quell the urge, she crossed her arms and took an indifferent stance. "I've seen better."

  Bass flew forward and pinned Bree to the wall, catching her off guard. Bree squirmed. Damn him, he'd done the same thing in Alaska to intimidate her.

  Leaning forward, Bass nuzzled her neck. "Why did you follow me?"

  "You, you said you wanted to talk." Bree placed her hands on his chest, her arms a useless barrier.

  "And you thought I would still want to talk after the ass beating I took?" he purred, the rumbling going straight to her core.

  Bree swallowed and found her mouth dry, which was odd considering the moisture forming between her thighs. Her stomach quivered. "I was worried about you," she rasped.

  "Riiiight. You're worried that your brother was really going to do damage to me. How sweet." Bass chuckled and nipped her ear. "Why are you really here?"