by May Dawson
The angel's wings beat, slowly and powerfully. The air from its wings slapped me across the face. I felt my hair blow back with the force of those wings.
Nimshi cried out as the blade slid in the rest of the way, hilt-deep.
I screamed, but neither saw me.
Zuriel let go of Nimshi's body, which crumpled to the ground in front of me. Nimshi's face fell to one side, slack.
Zuriel turned to me, his eyes gray stone like his body, eerie and unearthly. "You cannot change what comes for you."
The statues shimmered and then, quicker than my eyes could make sense of them, reversed themselves; Nimshi leaped off the ground and back to being locked in combat with Zuriel, whose outstretched foot came back to earth, his wings beating one last time to return to being outstretched in the air. The two of them froze, locked into combat again.
"Fucking watch me," I said, furious.
There was no point in being the Lilith if I couldn't change the course of the world. The guys and I had tried to puzzle out our purpose, reading the Lilith verses, but ultimately, I didn't believe this was just God's mighty self-improvement project for the reincarnated Lilith. I was put here to work.
And I would save my half-demon from himself and from anyone else. If I believed in who I was, in what I was meant to be, then I couldn't believe he was a mistake either.
I walked on, even though I kept expecting the sound of stone grating over stone behind me, the statues coming to life again. I couldn't stop whirling around. Every time, the landscape behind me was still, just rows of tidy green hedges that I couldn't see past or above. But I couldn't shake the feeling that things were moving behind me. Maybe the walls. Maybe more figures.
I turned again, and again, following seemingly endless green curves. The hedges seemed to grow even taller as I walked. What was ahead of me was a mystery. A terrible mystery.
I turned another corner into the largest pocket I'd come across yet in the labyrinth. The green walls stretched far away from me, leaving a space as large as a football field; the next doorway was on the far side. At the center of the field was an enormous, complicated statue carved of stone, with many figures engaged in combat.
Even from here, I could see that those distant figures were fighting the angel who hung suspended in the air. The angel's sword sliced down toward a tall, broad-shouldered man, who was frozen stumbling back, his sword up defensively. Levi. Ryker was poised on the balls of his feet, leaning toward the angel, caught in the midst of running to save his brother from what looked to be a fatal blow. Jacob was on the ground, his teeth gritted, obviously wounded; he was crawling to his sword, his arm outstretched, his fingers grasping but not reaching the hilt. Nimshi was frozen in mid-air, as if Zuriel had thrown him. His outstretched hand was reaching after his sword, which was flying away from him.
Where was I in this nightmare diorama?
This could not be our future. I would do whatever it took to protect them from Zuriel.
I walked closer, and as my viewpoint shifted, I saw the two frozen Company men, hunkered down in the grass. One was sited in on the boys, holding a rifle with scope pressed to his shoulder; the other held the trigger of a machine gun on a tripod.
Hell. No.
I didn't want to watch this battle. Even from the slice of what I saw ahead of me, I could feel the hopelessness of this battle in my bones. And yet, if I watched, I might learn something that would help me stop it.
I straightened my spine. I held myself tall and took a deep breath, trying to slow my frantic breathing. My heart thumped wildly in my chest.
I walked forward to the battle ahead.
The statues came to life. Jacob dragged his body forward painfully on his elbows and reached for the sword again. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, and he tried to raise himself to his knees. His body jerked as bullets sprayed through his body before he fell, still and lifeless.
Nimshi hit the ground hard and tumbled end over end, but he rose again, racing back toward Zuriel and Levi. Ryker realized he was going to be too late and raised his sword above his head, throwing it toward Zuriel. But Zuriel's sword was already sweeping down, and Levi's sword flew out of his hands. Zuriel raised his arm for a second blow that fell as Levi raised his hand defensively, desperately. Levi’s sword pierced Zuriel's side, but he still drove down the second blow that struck deep into Levi's neck, separating his head from his body.
"No!" I screamed. The flame was in my hand before I realized it, and I launched it at Zuriel.
Blue flame. I didn't even know how to make blue flame yet, but I knew it was more powerful on angels than simple fire.
Zuriel looked at me unfazed. Of course he did; he was made of stone. But the fire was in my hands, burning my palms now, and I threw the other fireballs before I could burn up myself.
"You are the one who destroys it all," Zuriel said.
The statutes froze and reversed themselves.
Ryker was at my side. The real Ryker, in living color. "Ellis, calm down," he said urgently. He put his hand over mine, but my hands were on fire, the balls of flame in my palm blazing hot.
"I'm trying," I said, trying to shake the flames out. I could feel tears on my face from the heat of the fire and my own desperation. "Oh my God. Did I set the house on fire?"
"It's fine," he said, his voice low and tender. "I'm here. We're all here for you. With fire extinguishers."
Ryker cracking a joke right now eased my panic. "I can't make it stop."
"You own the flames," he said. "Just breathe. Just trust yourself."
"Did you hear what he said?"
He put his hands over mine, even though he wasn't really there; his palms hovered above mine, the flames leaping through his skin and bones without burning them.
"Never trust a talking statue," Ryker said. "Calm down, Firestarter. You're still in my bed. Safe. Loved. Probably drooling on my pillow."
I tried to imagine the flames dying down, but they just blazed higher. "It hurts."
I saw the briefest flash of panic cross Ryker's face, as he struggled to help me, but it turned into resolve. He turned his palms over, offering them to me. "Give it to me."
"I can't." I shook my head. "It'll hurt you."
"When you can't carry what you have to carry anymore, I'll always be here, Firestarter." He leaned in close to me, his lips near my ear "And I know you'll carry me when I need you. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too." I bit my lip, trying to hold down the scream that wanted to tear through my body; my hands were in agony. "I let you down."
"Never." His breath teased against my hair.
I stared back at him, my eyes widening. "You're really here."
He put his palms over mine, wincing in pain, trying to take the fire out of my hands.
And the flames blinked out between the two of us.
Suddenly, there was nothing there in the garden but he and I, our hands joined together.
I cried then, my hands throbbing in pain. His hands were tender on my raw, burnt skin. He raised my palms to his hands to kiss them. His lips were soft and tender. New, itchy skin bloomed across the burns on my hands.
I bit my lip at the fresh pain of healing skin, letting my eyes drift shut, trying to endure. He lowered my healed hands to my side, still holding my wrists. His thumbs stroked the inside of my wrists, finding a tender erogenous zone that made me feel a throb of something besides agony.
His lips met mine, warm and firm.
I felt my lips part against his.
"How are you here?" I whispered when we separated, our lips still just a breath apart.
"I don't know," he said. "I can't always parse the magic between us. But when you need me, I'll always be there."
"Did you mean it?" I asked. "When you said you'd let me carry you when you need me?"
He hesitated, as if there were a smart-ass comment on his lips, and then said, "Yes. Even though I don't care much for the idea."
"That's all I want," I said. "To be
your equal."
He nodded, but I found myself pulling a face. "As ridiculous as that sounds when I just almost set your house on fire in my nightmare."
"This isn't a nightmare." He nodded at the frozen statue in the center of the labyrinth. "It's a vision of the Far."
"This is what we have to look forward to?"
"And so much more," he said. "Come on. Let's go see the rest."
"We're going to come here on purpose," I said. "Well, that seems like a terrible idea right now."
"Yep," he said.
Hand in hand, we skirted the far edges of the field, trying to stay away from the statue—
I didn't need to relive that all over again—and headed toward the entrance to the rest of the labyrinth.
We took another turn in the labyrinth and came into the next pocket. Within the hedge walls were tall stone walls; the pocket was small and claustrophobic. When I turned back, it seemed that the opening we'd just come through had closed between us.
But there was no statue here, just a tall stone slab that stood upright on its end. Just then, two statues dashed in; like us, they held hands. A small boy, no older than four or five, and a tall, broad-shouldered man with the face of an angel.
"If I don't open the door in a few minutes," the man promised the boy, "Someone will come to rescue you. Don't be afraid."
"I'll help you fight them," the boy said.
The man smiled faintly. "I love your spirit, son. But this isn't your fight. Don't ever forget that I love you."
"I love you, too." The little boy threw his arms around the neck of the man.
The man squeezed him gently, burying his face in the boy’s hair, and carried him the last few steps. He squeezed the boy tightly as he set him down on the slab. Then he pulled away, taking a quick step back. He raised his hand, and the slab turned, closing between him and the boy. The boy curled up with his back against the slab, hugging his knees. His face twisted with fear and sadness, on the verge of tears.
The man turned his back on the slab.
Two statues stood in the gap of the wall across from us. A woman with a sword in her hand; the tattoos etched into her gray arms looked like wounds. Next to her stood a boy who reached her shoulder, and he, too, held a sword, his face set and determined. It took me a second to recognize the man I knew in the little boy. Levi.
"Where is he, Hedron?" she asked.
"I thought you wanted me to protect him," Hedron said.
"I can't leave you alive," she said. "Now it's my only chance at saving the kid."
"The Hunters' council put a bounty on us both and you came to collect?" Hedron asked. "I'm not going to hurt you, love. They're your enemy now, not me."
"Good," she said. "That will make this easier."
When she swung at him, he side-stepped, ducking low under the blade. The two of them fought, locked in combat. Levi edged around, his sword held at the ready, looking for his chance to strike a blow.
"I'm not your enemy!" Hedron roared at Wendy.
"You told them where to find my firstborn!"
"I didn't betray you," Hedron said. "Look within your own circle—"
He looked down. Levi had struck him through, and the sword stuck out of his side.
Wendy began to incant.
Hedron's body fell.
"Mom?" Levi said. He leaned down, pulling his sword out of Hedron's side with effort.
"Don't pay any attention to him," she said. "You can never trust a demon."
She rested her hand on the stone door, and then cursed. "Demon magic. I don't know how to break this. We have to get help."
On our side of the wall, Nimshi's shoulders shook with tears.
And then the statues froze. Reversed. They moved backward out of the picture, the slab twisting again. For a second, the sound of scraping stone was loud, and then it faded away into the quiet of the garden.
"No," I said. "What happened after that? Did your mom rescue Nimshi?"
"I don't know." He stared at the figures, his eyes troubled. "I didn't know about any of this. I don't think she told Levi what she..."
"What she made him a part of," I finished, because he couldn't. "That Levi killed Nimshi's father."
"In a manner of speaking," Ryker hedged. "The demons don't really die. He got sent back to Hell."
"Which is why Nimshi wanted to rescue his father," I said, remembering what he had said in the demon's case about trying to bring his father back. He’d been forced to break down a human body for Samael to enter instead. "Hedron didn't seem..." I trailed off.
"It's a trick," Ryker said confidently. "What we saw before, it didn't happen yet. It won't happen. Maybe this didn't happen either."
"You said this was a vision."
"Visions are notoriously unreliable," Ryker said.
"You're an expert on visions now?"
"And you are?"
"Well, it is my vision."
"Maybe Nimshi's controlling it somehow. Trying to convince you demons aren't all bad—"
"Ryker," I said. "I just...know. I'm asking you to trust me. Finally."
He stared back at me, his eyes troubled. He cupped my cheek with his hand. "I don't like this, Firestarter."
"It wouldn't be trusting me if it was what you wanted to do, Dreamstalker."
Ryker cursed under his breath.
"Fine," he said. He leaned forward, sealing his promise with a kiss. I wrapped my hands around his shoulders, feeling their power under my hands, kissing him back passionately.
The garden fell away from us. We were in his bed, and I could feel him shift, his arm around my lower back.
In the distance, I heard Levi say, "She's back. Let's get out of here."
There was a clunk as fire extinguishers were set on the ground. I could smell smoke and the chemical scent of fire extinguisher foam. Distantly, the door clicked shut.
Ryker murmured, his lips against mine so that his words tickled my lips, "God, I've missed you."
"I've missed you so much," I said. I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. I was going to be worthy of the faith he had in me, even though I knew that I hadn't lived up to it before. No more lies or half-truths. No more secrets.
I pulled back from him. He groaned as his hands slid down my shoulders, his fingers skating over my skin and raising goosebumps. I straddled his hips as I pulled the Led Zeppelin t-shirt over my head. His seeking palm cupped my breast, tweaking my nipple roughly, and this time we both groaned in unison. His thumb rubbed across my nipple, his fingers sliding beneath the curve of my breast to weigh it in his hand. The rhythmic motion of his thumb made me grind down on his hips.
"You missed these," I teased him.
He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me down roughly so we were nose-to-nose. My hair fell in a wild tangle around us both, blocking out the rest of the world.
"No," he said, his voice rough with longing. "I missed every goddamn thing about you while you haven't been mine. The way you taste. The way you laugh. The way you smell like burnt sugar and lemons."
"I smell like lemon bars to you?"
His fingers tangled in my hair as he kissed me. It was probably a better choice than answering that question.
He suddenly rolled, pinning me beneath his body for a second before he pushed up, his hands braced on either side of my body. He kissed my belly. I writhed under his lips as he slowly traced his way down toward my hips. He slid a finger under the waistband of my panties and then yanked them down my thighs. There was a faint ripping sound. I didn't care.
His hand delved between my thighs. His thumb strummed me, surely as if he were playing the guitar, and I gasped out loud.
"Lemon bars," he confirmed, as his lips pressed between my thighs, just above his thumb. His fingers worked inside me as his thumb stroked my clit. My legs began to tremble, my knees falling open, welcoming him in.
Deep green eyes met mine, watching my every move as I trembled with my desire for him. His hand worke
d steadily as he turned his face to kiss the inside of my thigh. He looked up at me, his eyes mischievous, before he nipped the tender inside of my leg. I jerked away, but the sting sent yet another thrum of lust through my body.
My hips tried to buck away, but he pinned my thighs down with his hard forearms and, without preamble, licked between my thighs. My lips parted, my head rolling back in his pillows, as his tongue seemed to set my body on fire. He took his time, alternating licks and kisses that left my clit exposed and cool and sensitive to every movement of air in the room. Then when I thought I would orgasm from that alone, his tongue slipped inside me. It seemed as if he thrust his pink tongue straight to my g-spot. My knees tried to close, but he held them apart; it was almost too much to bear.
He brought me to the very brink of shuddering orgasm, the point where the pleasure became almost unbearable, and then he abruptly pulled away. He threw himself next to me on the bed, one arm around my waist drawing me toward him. I threw my naked leg over his legs, wanting to press myself against him. He kissed me, and I tasted the citrus-and-smoke scent of myself on his lips. I rested my hand on his beard-stubbled jaw possessively, kissing him hard, licking that flavor from his lips and tongue.
He grabbed my hips in his hands and yanked me on top of him. I could feel his hard cock even though his boxers, and he popped his hips up. I scrambled to get my footing on the bed, but he had one hand hard around my hip, steadying me, as he kicked off his boxers.
"You definitely do not need those." I reached between his thighs as the two of us settled back down onto the bed, and drew his cock over my swollen, aching clit. His eyelashes fluttered with desire, and when he couldn't bear it anymore, his thumbs hooked into my hips and he yanked me down hard onto his cock. He filled me up, wide and deep, and I gasped at the sensation.
"Too much?" he asked. Suddenly it wasn't just heat in his eyes; there was concern for me, too.
"Never," I said fervently. "I want it like this."
"Like what?" His voice was low and husky.
"Rough." My voice came out in a whisper.
His fingers, tangled in my hair, pulled my head down to his. My forehead met his. His deep green eyes smoldered as he kissed me hard, holding me there. Then his hips began to move. With his hands on my hips, he pushed into me again and again, driving up. And I bounced on my knees, pushing him deep into me every time, feeling him fill me until my throbbing clit could take no more. My core tightened around him, and I leaned forward into his arms, gasping with the power of my orgasm.
