Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4

by Brenda Huber

  She didn’t seem to have any abilities either. At least, if she did, he’d never, not once, seen her use them. Not even when her own life had been in danger. She didn’t radiate energy, not that he could tell. Though he’d be anxious to know what Gideon had to say about that. That was, after all, Gideon’s gift—the ability to detect energy. Was it possible—

  A terrified scream pierced the air. Sebastian shot to his feet, his focus cutting to Phoebe. But she was already in motion, sprinting up the steep steps of the ancient pyramid so fast her feet were a blur. Up above, a worker dangled precariously at the edge of a huge cut stone. They’d cautioned the workers about getting too close to the edge of the stones. Apparently, someone hadn’t taken the warning to heart.

  The sight of her running at top speed caused Sebastian a split second of surprise, giving Phoebe a head start. One she didn’t need. She was already at the top of the ruins before he could blink.

  How—

  No. Now was not the time to ask how. Now was the time to move. Without giving it a second thought, he shimmered to the top of the ruins just as Phoebe, laying flat on her stomach at the edge of a massive stone slab, was dragged toward the edge, pulled down by the worker’s weight. She’d stretched as far as she could go, and her grip on the worker’s hands was beginning to slip. Instead of scrambling for purchase as she should have done, she stretched, securing a tighter hold on the flailing man, which, of course, dragged her even farther over the edge until she hung by her hips.

  Cursing, Sebastian grabbed hold of the first thing he could get his hands on—the waistband of Phoebe’s pants. He hauled her back, then, arms wrapped around her waist, lifted her clear of the ledge. The worker came right along with her. Sebastian’s strength was great enough that their combined weight barely caused him any strain. No, his heart raced for another reason all together.

  The sight of her hanging head down over the edge of that nearly sheer rock face would have given him a coronary, had he been human.

  Gritting his teeth, he dragged her to safety, inadvertently pulling the worker along with her. Once they were back on stable ground, a safe distance from the edge, he dropped her on her butt. The worker landed beside her. And Sebastian lost the fight. He sat on his ass, hard, and fisted his hands in his hair, half a second away from pulling it all out by the roots.

  By the saints! If he’d been a second later in grabbing her, she could have been dragged right over the edge. She could have died.

  The urge to grab her up and shake the living daylights out of her slammed into him. Fury as he’d not known before rocked him. He sat there and breathed deeply—in, out, in, out—so that he didn’t do something he’d only end up regretting later.

  The worker leaped up, and a furious spat of Spanish poured forth. He made the sign of the cross, over and over, spewing prayers for deliverance from evil as he backed away, the word demon upon his lips. Sebastian rolled his eyes. The worker raced for the stairs and flew down them, almost as fast as Phoebe had ascended them.

  “Damn it,” Phoebe snapped, pushing herself to her feet. She dusted her ass off, and then slapped her palms to her hips as she glared down at him. “Well, that’s just great! I hope you’re happy now.”

  Sebastian could only blink up at her and sputter. And then he saw red. In a flash, he was on his feet and had his hands manacled around her shoulders. Unmindful of anyone else that might be watching, he jerked his energy in, centered his focus—or tried to anyway—and shimmered them away.

  The moment they solidified, he released her and stormed off. He heard her gasp and swear somewhere behind him. But he was too angry to care, too mad to stop.

  “Where are we?” Phoebe demanded.

  He ignored her and kept right on walking. How dare she be mad? How dare she take that tone with him? She’d put herself at risk. And he’d just saved her life. Maybe. But did he get a thank you? Hell no. In all likelihood, she would have plummeted to her death. Possibly. But who the hell knew? Because she wouldn’t discuss jack shit with him. Oh no. He was just supposed to fall in line, take the pat on the head like a good little demon and not ask any fucking questions.

  When he reached the line of trees bordering the meadow, he spun around and stormed back, just as worked up on the second pass as he’d been for the first.

  Well, no more. This conversation was overdue. Long overdue. And he’d be damned if he let this go on a moment longer. They were going to have it out.

  Right here.

  Right now.

  Just as soon as he calmed down. Just as soon as he could talk to her without feeling the need to shake her senseless and scream bloody murder. Just as soon as he could breathe again.

  Just as soon as the thought of her dangling over that ledge didn’t kick him in the balls.

  He reached her side, took one look at her, and then spun back around and marched off once more. It took two more passes before he didn’t fear for her safety. But, just as he reached her side, determined to have this out in a calm and reasonable manner, she stepped into his path.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She had the audacity—the sheer nerve—to glare at him. “Where are we? You know what, forget it. I don’t care. Just take me back.”

  Blood. To. Instant. Boil.

  “Hell no!” he shouted, inches from her face.

  But instead of backing down, which would have been the smart thing to do, she got up in his face and yelled right back. “Yes!”

  “I’m not taking you anywhere until you tell me what the hell you are.”

  “I don’t know,” she screamed. And the moment the words left her lips, her eyes flew wide, and she stumbled back a step, as if he’d just sucker punched her.

  Her mouth fell open, and she staggered back another step, sucking in a sharp breath. She jerked her hand up to cover her mouth, but it was too late.

  Sebastian pulled up short. His lips parted, and his temper slowly leached away. So she didn’t know.

  “Take me back,” she whispered.

  “No.”

  “I’m not going to discuss this, so you might as well take me back now.”

  “No.”

  “Damn it,” she exploded. “I have to go back. Now. These people are a superstitious lot. I’ll be lucky if half my crew doesn’t desert before we make it back to camp.”

  “Is that the excuse you’re going with this time?”

  “Excuse? It’s cold hard fact.”

  “Be that as it may, we aren’t going anywhere until we get a few things clear.”

  “There’s nothing to get clear. You need to take me back.” She turned and stomped away, giving her attention to the meadow. “Where are we anyway? This place looks like a war zone.”

  “That’s because it was.”

  She shot an inquiring glance over her shoulder as she came to stand beside a crater the size of a small car. Grass and a few wild flowers had begun to grow in the pit, but it, like numerous other areas in the meadow were still recovering from the vicious battle. A battle between the Fallen, a flock of angels, and a nest of demons. A battle that had nearly cost Sebastian his wings, and the Slayer his woman and his life.

  Sebastian gritted his teeth and strove for patience. She was trying to deflect the conversation, but it wouldn’t work. Not this time.

  She glanced up, scanned the tree line, took in an area over to the west where a towering forest had been sheared down to stumps. Nearby, what had once been a massive boulder now lay in shattered, ragged pieces. A short distance over, stretches of scorched earth had started to come back. Tender shoots of green had already started to form a blanket, decorated with tiny blossoms. Even the sight of nature’s resiliency wasn’t soothing his ire.

  “What?”

  “We’re in the Rockies, in a meadow near the Slayer’s cabin. The battle happened not quite a year ago between a group of Stol
as’s minions, a contingent of Michael’s flock, and us, the Fallen. There were no real winners, though Stolas’s followers took an ass whooping. Now, I’ll tell you what we are going to discuss.”

  She turned to face him, squared her shoulders, fire glinting in her stare. But he cut her off before she could blast him. “We’re going to discuss you being…not human.”

  The wind got sucked right out of her sails. She shook her head. “I am hu—

  “Enough,” he roared. Immediately, Sebastian closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Calmer, he looked at her and tried again. “Enough. You aren’t fooling anyone anymore, sweetheart. I know you’re a demoness.”

  Not exactly the appropriate term, but he figured she’d object far less to demoness than to the term demon spawn, though that was probably just as accurate, or at least closer to the truth. The term Halfling was generally used when referring to someone of human and angelic descent. What was the correct term for human and demon mix? Not full-fledged demon spawn. Demonesses were rare enough. But a female demoness of mixed race? Unheard of.

  Spawnling was the best he could come up with.

  As it was, she flinched. Why did she look so…so wounded?

  “Phoebe,” he said, and started for her, hands held out to capture hers.

  But she jumped away like a scalded cat and thrust her hands behind her back. She looked to his shoulder, the one she’d left her mark on, and then she turned her face away. As if she couldn’t stand the reminder of what she’d done. Of what she was. Beneath his shirt, the already healed wounds gave a slight throb, one that resonated in his balls.

  “Sweetheart, you are a Spawnling.”

  She hung her head, her shoulders drooped.

  “Is that what they call it?” she whispered. She sounded…broken.

  His heart twisted.

  Determined, he strode forward and wrapped her in his arms. She was limp as a noodle at first. But then, by slow degrees, she found her spine. Her arms went around his waist, and she turned her face into his neck. And then she was holding him tight. So tight. As though he were the only thing stable in her world. He couldn’t even begin to describe the sensation it caused. It floored him and left him feeling invincible.

  “I’m a monster,” she breathed, the confession torn from her like the blackest of sins admitted to a judge and jury.

  “No,” Sebastian said against her hair, pulling her closer still. “No. You’re still you, sweetheart. Still Phoebe. This is just a part of you.”

  She began to shake her head and draw away, but he captured her face in his hands, forced her to look at him.

  “You are still you.” He peered hard into her eyes. “You. Are. Phoebe. My Phoebe.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips to silence her when she made to object. “You are my mate, just as I am yours. I will not let you deny it again. And I will not let you go through this alone. I can help you. You just have to let me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  That evening, the moment they arrived back at the nearly deserted camp, Ricardo shot Sebastian the stink eye and pulled Phoebe aside. Sebastian waited by the campfire, watching as Phoebe engaged the old guide in a heated discussion. In the flickering golden light, she looked like a pagan goddess. She might still be unsure of herself, and of what she was—he’d barely been able to extract anything but the bare bones of information from her—but she stood her ground with the old guide, and Sebastian couldn’t be prouder of her. As she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose with one finger, his groin tightened painfully.

  At last, Ricardo hugged Phoebe and patted her head. Just the way Sebastian imagined a father might do. With one last angry glance in Sebastian’s direction, Ricardo disappeared into the shadows at the edge of camp. Phoebe returned to Sebastian’s side.

  “It was even worse than I feared. We haven’t lost half the workers. We lost all of them. Well, all of them except for Ricardo and Marco.”

  Now Sebastian turned suspicious eyes to the lone man sitting beside an empty tent not far away.

  “Why is he still here?” he asked Phoebe.

  She glanced over. “Ricardo said Marco fears his wife—should he return empty handed—more than he fears some demon.”

  Sebastian continued to watch Phoebe’s remaining crewman, until Phoebe elbowed him. “Knock it off, or you’ll scare him away too. Tomorrow we’ll go back to the dig site we worked at today. Dad’s journal indicated something of importance was concealed somewhere around there. I’m headed to bed. It’ll be an early start again tomorrow.”

  She didn’t wait for him. Instead, she rose and crossed the small clearing, not bothering to look to see whether he followed or not. Phoebe disappeared inside the tent. Sebastian shot one last glance at the remaining crewman, who still idled outside his own tent before following her. Man, right about now he was wishing he could use a massive pile of ward stones to liberally pepper this campsite. He didn’t like the feeling that his mate was exposed and vulnerable.

  Sebastian stepped inside the tent. She hadn’t lit any of the candles. It made no difference, his night vision was excellent. Judging by the pile of clothing folded neatly on the chair, she’d already changed at land speed record. He moved toward the bed, undressing as he went. And, as he climbed into bed, the small mound on the other side of the mattress shifted, moving closer to the edge. Any closer to the edge, in fact, and she ran the serious risk of falling out of bed.

  Sebastian let out a long sigh.

  “Phoebe?” He sank back into the thick mattress and was met with silence. But he knew she was still awake. No one could have fallen asleep that quickly. “I meant what I said earlier, in the meadow. I’ll help you anyway I can. I’ll even take you to meet the others, Gideon and Niklas and the rest. And their mates. We’ll teach you all about what you are, help you learn the scope of your abilities, if you have any.” He waited for a moment, and then rolled the dice. “We can help you learn to control them.”

  Silence.

  Frustrated, he pushed a hand through his hair. “I know you said you don’t want to learn, but you need to. Honey, don’t you see? You’re a demoness, a Spawnling, whether you like it or not. Whether you chose to acknowledge it or ignore it, facts are facts. Sooner or later, others are going to realize what you are too. And then you’re going to end up with a target on your back. You need to be able to defend yourself. In order to do that, you need to know what you are and are not capable of.”

  And damn it, wasn’t that another kick in the balls? He’d finally come to the realization that he was far more like Xander than he cared to admit. The instinct to protect was strong in him. All along he’d been preaching feminist equality in battle—probably just to get Xander’s goat in all likelihood, when deep down his own nature demanded he shield his woman and keep her from harm at all cost.

  He couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t promise to teach Phoebe what she needed to know to survive and then expect her to play the part of the good little woman who stayed out of harm’s way. Besides, his mate wasn’t the kind to play it safe, tending hearth and home, while he went on battling evil where he found it—hell, seeking it out—as though nothing had changed.

  Instinct demanded he be the one to defend her. He should be the one stepping into the line of fire, not her. But that wasn’t fair to Phoebe. And yet, was encouraging her to fight the right path for them either? Was he using this knowledge as a carrot, knowing how independent she was? Was it a lure to get her to own who she was?

  Because, if she accepted who she was, accepted what she was, then she’d also have to accept that he was her mate.

  How messed up was that? Maybe that was why he felt such an obsessive need to pamper her, to provide for her in every other way imaginable. Because, realistically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep her out of the fray. And he wouldn’t be able to be her shield. Not all the time, at least. Not if she was a Guardian.
Not if she was a demoness. Her very nature would insist that she be front and center in whatever battles they fought, whatever war they waged. Side by side.

  He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.

  Her continued silence almost pushed him to his breaking point. “Damn it, Phoebe. Talk to me.”

  She was still. Too still. Was she even breathing? Why wouldn’t she talk to him?

  He opened his mouth—he wasn’t sure what he’d been about to say—when she rolled to her back and huffed out a breath. But still she wouldn’t speak. Stubborn female.

  Sebastian stared at the dome of the tent, watched the shadowed paddles of the ceiling fan slowly circle, and racked his brain for something, anything to say that might get through to her. Why was she being so resistant?

  Fear of the unknown could often be a powerful emotion.

  Perhaps…

  Perhaps, if she knew more about their world?

  “Xander and Niklas were once the right and left hands of Lucifer. Xander was the great Slayer, Lucifer’s personal assassin. He has the ability to tell if someone is lying. He told me once it feels as though a thousand spiders are crawling over his flesh when someone tells a lie near him. He also used to be able to form Hellfire, though he can’t do that anymore thanks to a little…ah, bargain he made.” He turned his head on the pillow, though Phoebe had made not a sound, moved not an inch, and he continued, “What’s Hellfire, you ask? Well, since you’re being so inquisitive, I’ll tell you. Hellfire is basically a superheated plasma ball that will burn through anything.”

  Silence.

  “What was that?” he asked again. “Oh, well, you see, plasma balls are a primary form of defense for a demon. Be sure to tell me if I repeat myself, or if you’ve already heard this before.” He lifted his hand, held it palm up in the dark above them. “How a demon forms a plasma ball is… Hmm, well, I’ve never really thought about it before. I guess, the best way to describe it, since you asked so nicely, is you focus inward. Call forth the heat that always seems to hover, just beneath the surface. Pull it in, focus it”—he set deed to word—“send it spinning outward, toward your palm.”