He leans forward, pressing his cold lips to mine, kissing me with a passion that he no longer has the power to restrain. When he raises his head from me, he smiles down into my eyes.
“You’re getting lost in me again, Brennus,” I say as a warning.
“I’ll na be satisfied ‘til I’m buried in ye,” Brennus replies, rising from the bed. “Playtime wi’ ye is over. Bring me da other or I’ll make yer aingeal undead and he will hunt ye ta da ends of da earth for me.”
Nearing the regulator clock resting on the antique table near the window, Brennus opens its glass face. Without preamble, he distorts in a swirling jumble of flesh, being sucked through the portal with the alacrity of a seasoned traveler.
Other figurines on the table tremble and flip up, being consumed as the rest of the items in the room begin to distort, too. But then, just as abruptly as it occurs, it ends, indicating that Brennus has made it through and closed the portal at the other side.
Immediately, I begin to cry again, but softly, heartbrokenly. It’s over, I think. I can’t betray Russell, so I can’t save Reed. Brennus will make Reed hunt me and then, I’ll let him kill me. I sniffle loudly, while I cry harder.
A small creak, coming from the hinge of the door connecting the bathroom to the suite sounds. Glancing to it, I recognize the dark-haired Throne leaning negligently against the doorframe. Anya’s musical voice penetrates the gloom as she says briskly, “Russell was correct: Brennus is an evil a-hole. If you promise to help me kill him, I’ll untie you.”
CHAPTER 23
Old Is New
“Anya!” I breathe, seeing her toss her sleek, black ponytail behind her shoulder. Anya walks swiftly from the doorway of the bathroom to the elegant, four-poster bed. She carries in her hand a glass of water, which she sets on the beautiful, bedside table. Her emerald-colored eyes study me appraisingly before she sweeps my hair back from my face.
“Shh…” she says with her finger to her lips, glancing over her shoulder to the door behind her. She moves from me to the window near the clock. Quickly, she opens it, waving her hands to try to ventilate the room. “Paah,” she wrinkles her nose at me and makes a cringing face. “He stinks!” Anya whispers accusingly, speaking of the sweet, sticky scent Brennus left behind in the room.
When she notices the regulator clock on the table near her, she sticks her elbow out sharply, knocking it over. The clock crashes to the floor, smashing its glass face and scattering the gears and cogs onto the expensive rug. The door to the sitting room crashes open and four Dominion Power angels prowl in with swords drawn. One goes directly to the bathroom, inspecting it quickly while the others fan out, opening closets and windows.
Anya speaks in Angel to the tall Power with the light-gray wings. Her face looks conciliatory as she gestures to the clock with a shrug. The Power looks suspiciously around, seeing me tied up and tousled on Brennus’ huge bed. With a frown, he turns back to Anya, speaking to her in Angel. She shrugs again, speaking while approaching me to sit by my side. Picking up the glass of water from the bedside table, Anya holds it to my lips, helping me take a sip of it. When I’ve had half the glass, she pulls it back from me, replacing it on the table.
The same Dominion Power edges closer to me, lifting the discarded scarf from the bed. He hands it to Anya. Gently, she pushes it back in my mouth, tying it loosely at the back of my neck. When she’s done, she smiles demurely to the Power who is inching closer to her, his eyes drinking in every curve of her in her black, body armor. He speaks again, this time with a flirty little smile. She smiles back, responding in kind to whatever it was that he said. The Power from the bathroom playfully slaps his partner on the chest, shoving him towards the door to the sitting room. They exchange some kind of banter in musical tones. With a fleeting glance at Anya, the last Power exits the room, closing the door behind him.
“Powers,” Anya sighs, looking at the closed door. “They’ve been here too long.”
Glancing back at me, she unties the gag in my mouth, removing it. Then she bends close to me, staring into my eyes. “If I trust in you, do you promise to help me kill Brennus?” she asks with a frown. Before I can answer her, she adds, “I want to know if you’re willing to reach into his chest and rip his icy heart from it. Anything less than that and I’m leaving you here and I’ll take care of him myself.”
“I promise,” I whisper hoarsely, staring back at her.
“Good,” she says with a decisive nod. Quickly, she begins to untie the rope binding my wrists.
Lying on my side, I ask, “Where’s Russell?”
“Gone,” she replies absently, concentrating her attention on the intricate knot.
“Russell left without you?” I ask incredulously.
“Not exactly,” she replies.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Is he here or isn’t he?”
“He’s gone, but he didn’t leave willingly,” she replies in a low tone. “It took Xavier, Cole, and more than twenty angels to get him to leave, but in the end, it was Zee that pulled Russell with him into a portal.”
“Why didn’t you go with him, Anya,” I ask her in a raspy voice. “He loves you.”
Her hand stills for a moment. “I wasn’t ready to leave yet.”
“Aww,” I groan, “he’s probably freaking out that you’re still here!” I whisper, exasperated.
“The bad freaking out or the good freaking out?” she asks with a flat voice.
“The bad freaking out! Very, very, bad freaking out,” I say with a frown. “He’s insane about you. He was pushing you away because he was afraid of losing you. He told me how he feels when he’s around you.”
Anya’s hands still again. “How does he feel?” she murmurs.
“He…he has those butterfly things—and don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about because I know you have them, too,” I reply, frustrated now because Russell will never forgive me if I let something happen to Anya.
Anya continues untying the knot, whispering, “That is attraction—not love. You did not hear the things he said to me before he left.”
My heart sinks. “What did he say?” I ask.
“He demanded that I go with him…he said that my ‘bad-assery’ is going to get me killed.” She pauses for a second, and then asks, “What is ‘bad-assery?’”
“Uhh,” I think quickly, “it means to act like a bad-ass—act really brave and cocky.”
“He called me cocky, too,” Anya admits. “What does that mean?”
“It means arrogant,” I mutter, adding, “but, that’s a good thing around here—no one respects you unless you have an edge.”
“Then what does moron mean?” she inquires.
I cringe, prefacing, “He calls me that sometimes—”
“Moron?” she asks again between her teeth, realizing it must be bad by my tone.
I whisper quickly, “Someone who can’t make common sense decisions, but—”
“Ballsy?” she asks between her teeth.
“Now that’s a compliment—someone who takes risks…is courageous…” I sigh.
“Wickeddamnsexy?” she asks in an intense whisper.
I smile despite everything. “Wicked-damn-sexy is, well, the most beautifully alluring being you can imagine.”
She gives a soft snort of frustration, before whisper-shouting, “Not all of this is in Webster’s—if he would just adhere to English I wouldn’t want to kill him all the time!”
“You’re English has improved,” I point out.
“I’m very intelligent,” she replies stiltedly, like she doubts I think so.
“I know,” I agree. “You must be to get in here.”
“That was easy,” she shrugs off my compliment. “Xavier believes that I’m at odds with you over Russell. He trusts me to watch you like prey and keep you from them while he searches for Reed.”
“You’re not at odds with me over Russell?” I inquire.
“No,” she answers. “We both want
the same thing.”
My eyebrow rises. “What’s that?” I murmur.
“For Russell to be safe—and that moron, Brennus, is threatening that,” she whispers, while focusing on the ropes. I feel them loosen as she twists them back and forth. Then she mutters, “Ugh, Xavier must be desperate to keep you safe. He bound this with his heart strings.”
“What?” I ask, hoping she isn’t speaking literally. “Please tell me that was a metaphor.”
“Yes—a metaphor. Xavier…he is afraid of losing you—he is also insane for you,” she breathes, using my words absently. “Insane for you without the soul to join yours or the deep attraction to awaken you…but with the devotion to endure this Godless place for you.”
“I didn’t ask him to come here!” I whisper-retort.
“Are you sure about that?” she inquires softly.
“Why would I want him here when he does stuff like this to me?” I ask rhetorically, lifting my wrists an inch to indicate that they’re tied behind my back.
“Because your guardian angel is fierce and scary—intelligent and venerable…and uncontrollably virile,” she responds easily.
“Don’t forget overbearing and cruel. He drugged me and tied me up!” I rage softly.
“I did not say he was perfect,” she replies calmly. “I just meant that he loves you. He has always loved you, ever since your soul was created,” Anya whispers, pulling tight on the rope.
I wince, but not from the rope. “Did I…did I love him, too?” I ask in a whisper.
“Of course,” she sighs in frustration as the rope tightens again. “The two of you had your own language—you spent more time together than if you were soul mates. I warned him about it.”
“What?” I ask, holding my breath.
“I told him it was bad karma to try to come between soul mates. I suggested that he reassign to protect another soul—he wasn’t a very good guardian angel for you,” she whispers ruefully.
“He wasn’t?” I murmur my question, trying to see her face.
Anya shakes her head, explaining in a low tone, “Well, he was outstanding if your mission was to face extreme danger and to be thrown into harrowing situations. You found your way into more revolutions, upheavals, and catastrophes than the average soul. He said that you could handle them, but I think he was just trying to get you back to him sooner and away from Russell.”
“How did he react to your warning?” I wonder aloud.
“Xavier made it seem like you two had some kind of mission together—covert. It had always seemed like a mission from the start, but then, he grew so close to you…he wouldn’t discuss it with me. It was easy to see that there was something—”
“What was easy to see? What was suspicious about the fact that he was assigned to me?” I interrupt her.
“He’s a high-ranking Seraphim, performing the duties of a Virtue,” she explains. “And, his only assignment was you—he guarded no other soul in all that time. There was no rotation between your lifetimes to ensure that he wouldn’t bond intrinsically to you. It was unheard of—” The rope around my wrists slips off me, leaving just the ropes strung tight around my ankles and wings to tackle. “It is a good thing I know Xavier so well, or I’d never have gotten this off!” she whispers in triumph.
“How do you know him so well?” my curious whisper rings in my ears like the accusation of an ex-girlfriend as I use my hand to rub the circulation back into my aching wrist.
“We were born of the same fire,” she replies in a gentle tone, while making me sit up, “and I saw him often. I crossed paths with him because of you and Russell. Karma tends to erupt around you.”
I almost can’t speak...almost. “Okay, I have so many questions.” I stretch my aching legs and arch my back, trying to remove the knots in my muscles. “Let me start small and work my way up. Okay? What does it mean to be born of the same fire?”
“It’s shocking what you don’t remember,” she mutters. “Maybe it is a little like sharing the same womb, although, I don’t know if that’s true,” Anya responds, sounding puzzled.
“So, you and Xavier are like siblings?” I ask her.
“Again, I don’t know what that’s like,” she replies.
“Do you want to kiss Xavier?” I ask.
“Pah!” she wrinkles her nose like Russell does. “I’d rather kiss the stinky, dead moron!”
“Siblings,” I decide quietly.
“So, the karma thing? What do you mean by that?” I ask.
“You always bring out extremes in others, Evie,” she states like it’s a fact.
“I do?” I ask.
“You do,” she affirms. “You are notorious in my circles.”
“I am?” I ask.
“You are,” she replies.
“Why?”
“I don’t understand,” she says. “What do you mean, why?”
“Why? Why am I notorious?” I ask.
She snorts, like something I said is offensive. “You question everything. You are never satisfied with how things are. When you attempt to change things, you cause others to react, sometimes negatively, sometimes positively, but they always react. Thrones trail in your wake, sometimes rewarding the behavior of others and sometimes meting out justice.”
“How?” I ask.
“Karma—good fortune, misfortune. Whatever is required. We dispense reward and retribution...earned fate and recompense.”
“Is that how you fell in love with Russell?” I ask. “He always tries to do what’s right.”
“There is no one like him,” she says.
“I know,” I agree.
“I followed him too long...I couldn’t help myself,” she says. “I attempted to change my assignment because of my feelings. I was ignored. It was as if they wanted me to fall in love with Russell. It must have been worse for Xavier. He has been with you so much longer.”
“You’ve followed us...Russell and me? How come you couldn’t speak our language?” I ask.
“I came on my own. I did not get imprinted for a mission. It is taking me longer to recall all that I have learned in the past,” she says.
She tugs on the rope lashed to my wings. I bite my bottom lip so that I won’t gasp in pain as the silken strands cut deeper into me around the base of my wings. Anya’s quick intake of breath is soft, before she hisses, “Did you try to shapeshift while you were tied up?”
“It didn’t work,” I wince.
“Of course it didn’t,” she scolds. “I’m surprised it didn’t tear your wings off!”
“Me, too,” I grunt, trying to catch my breath.
“You can’t shift when your wings can’t retract. Hold still,” she says in a very gentle way. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to be an angel?”
“Well…we’ve kind of been in reactionary mode—playing defense. Everything’s on a need-to-know basis,” I whisper. “I just learned to shift. I’m sure someone would’ve thought to tell me eventually.”
Anya groans. “I forget that you’re just a baby,” she says, sounding contrite.
“I’m not a baby,” I retort, somewhat offended.
“Your soul is not, but the angel part of you is,” she comments wistfully. “Old is new, just like your mission here…”
My breath catches in my chest. “What do you know about my mission here?” I rasp, trying to keep my voice from raising several octaves.
“I know what you told me,” she replies absently, concentrating on the knots again.
“Why would I confide in you?” I ask.
“Because we had a common interest,” she whispers, her voice straining.
“A common interest?” I counter. “Russell?”
“Russell,” she agrees.
“It must not be a very strong alliance. You tried to shoot me with your arrow in Torun,” I point out.
“You tried to keep my aspire,” she replies sullenly. “How does Russell say it…I was ‘pissed off.’ That is the karma I felt you deserved.”
>
“Really?” I reply sarcastically. “Anyway, he’s my soul mate,” I say with equal sullenness.
“He will always be your soul mate, but he is my aspire now. You pushed him away and now, you cannot have him back,” she whisper-retorts, pulling on my wing a little harder than I think is necessary.
I hiss softly in pain.
“Karma,” Anya whispers.
“I pushed him away?” I ask skeptically. “Why would I do that?”
“Your mission here was confidential. But, I have a theory,” she says.
“Which is?” I ask.
“I think you believed that you wouldn’t be coming back,” she mutters. “You didn’t want him to suffer forever.”
My mouth feels dry again. “Oh…”
“He told me that something felt cut after you agreed to this mission…that intensity between your souls…it was, not gone, but it was not the same. I cannot describe it because I have never felt it—it’s the connection, the link…”
“The thread,” I whisper hollowly, thinking of the thread that connects me to Reed—the one that we both hold onto so tightly.
“You understand,” she murmurs. “Then, you became very involved with the planning for this mission. You and Russell fought. He didn’t want you to go.”
“Why?” I wonder.
Anya is silent for a moment, before she whispers, “Because you were making yourself a target for the angels in Sheol.”
I close my eyes. “So it’s true?” I ask. “I wanted to come back to Earth and become half-angel and half-human…a weapon against evil.”
Anya stills behind me. “You think that is the only reason you came here?” she asks.
“Isn’t it?” I counter with my shoulders rounding.
“I know you well enough to say that there had to be more than killing Fallen to make you volunteer for this,” she says in a tight voice. She gently tugs the rope embedded in my back out of my flesh. My fingers grasp the coverlet on the bed, balling it in my fists so that I won’t cry out. Anya exhales softly, “I did not mean that one.”
It takes me a second to open my eyes and pant, “S’okay.”
The rope wrapped around my wings slips gently from my crimson feathers. Anya moves in front of me again in order to begin untying my ankles. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Incendiary (The Premonition Series (Volume 4)) Page 38
