The Bastard

by Inez Kelley

  Rex was a man-whore, spending most evenings out with this piece of tail or that. Sexual innuendo flavored almost every word out of his mouth, but it was delivered in such a charming manner it made her laugh. When she’d cautiously asked if he practiced safe sex, he gave her a spontaneous hug and swore he never did anything without full protection.

  Myth carried a dry wit and a sophistication that astounded her yet never made her feel outclassed. One of her favorite new pastimes was to play Senet e roso, a complicated antique race game that always reminded her of backgammon on speed. He never let her win, but he never made her feel stupid.

  Zale was… Zale. He refused to eat anything she cooked and hadn’t said a single word to her. He alone could still send shivers down her spine with a simple, eerie look. Thankfully, she rarely saw him. He spent most of his off-duty time in his apartment.

  Erik was almost too perfect, too much to believe in. He ran interference with the police, finally agreeing to let them speak to her by phone, but refusing to disclose her whereabouts. She’d grown used to waking beside him, to curling against his back as she fell asleep, to finding strange gifts in the kitchenette he’d left to surprise her.

  They were never anything huge, but each one carried meaning. If she mentioned craving chocolate, a box of candy would be discovered and shared over melting kisses. A murmured desire to read garnered a stack of books by authors she’d tossed out casually. She was never sure how he found the tea she had to order from England but each cup was like an embrace from him. Sure, he had some rough edges, but those never bothered her. They were uniquely his. It was his tenderness when they were alone that touched her.

  Though he was an intensely private man, he’d told her that his parents sent him away at age seven. A military-like school, he called it with a sardonic grin. He had been trained as a soldier since before puberty and hadn’t been allowed to return home for his mother’s funeral because only the weak wept. Memory had hollowed the tale until he stopped speaking, turning instead to her kiss for comfort.

  He’d never told her he loved her, never hinted at a future, but her heart and her mind filled in the blanks. It seemed incredible to her that in the middle of her life crumbling and falling apart, she’d found her hero.

  Her blood froze as the elevator door slid open. A stranger sat on the couch playing with the Xbox, his feet propped on the coffee table, a jam-covered biscuit in his hand. In a faded green sweatshirt and ragged jeans, he looked like a typical college kid. Dark auburn hair cut long brushed his collar. His eyes were the same multi-colored swirls as Sela’s.

  “Good day, woman. Did you make these? They’re good.”

  “Thank you,” she muttered on automatic. A fast glance showed none of the men around. “Who are you?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He shoved the controller aside, popped the last bite in his mouth and wiped his fingers on his jeans. He stood and offered Lacy a slight bow. “Gabe Vangeli.”

  “Vangeli? Related to Sela?”

  “Sort of. She calls me her little brother.”

  “That’s because douchewazzie isn’t her style.” Nomad came out of the hall. Omen’s ears were laid back and his teeth were bared in a silent snarl. “What do you want?”

  “Peace on Earth, but I’ll settle for the Angels in the playoffs. Where’s Sela?”

  Nomad glared. “Lacy, you need to go upstairs. We’ll be busy with Sela’s brother for a while.”

  “I was just going to grab some stuff to clean Dray’s apartment.” Lacy darted into the hall for the cleaning supplies. When she came back, every man minus Dray had circled Gabe, irritation etched across each face. Vike positioned himself between her and Gabe until she got into the elevator.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “Nothing to worry about.” His thumb brushed the curve of her cheek, but it didn’t hide his lie. “Stay upstairs until one of us comes for you, all right?”

  “Everyone acts like he’s a threat. Is he dangerous?”

  Vike’s lips flattened as he punched the elevator button. “Go upstairs, Lace.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Vike bellowed. “What the shit were you thinking, popping in here like a fucking firefly?”

  “I came in human dress,” Gabe sneered. “Looks like you hired a maid. It’s nice in a man-cave meets Animal House sort of way.”

  Sela paused in the hallway, stealing a few seconds to calm her racing pulse. So long, it had been so long since she’d seen him. Memories of old times, of laugher and song, rose from somewhere deep. She couldn’t halt her feet as they flew to him.

  “Gabe!”

  He picked her up, spinning her around. Even when he put her down, his hand lingered on her shoulder. “You look great, Sela.”

  “I haven’t seen you since Rome fell.” I’ve missed you so much. “What are you doing here? You could have called first.”

  “Nah, I like making your men go all rabid.” He laughed before sobering. “I was sent with an announcement from above.”

  Irritation cooled her excitement. Michael had always used Gabriel for the unpleasant tasks or things he couldn’t be bothered with. The younger Vangeli never complained, but after so many centuries, it had to grate on him. She pasted a deliberately bored expression across her face. “I really have no interest in any announcements Mikey has.”

  “The announcement comes from higher up.”

  Disquiet tightened her stomach. Higher up than Michael meant… Her heart began to pound. After so many eons, she had not been forgotten by her Creator. Part of her wanted to weep with relief, but her men looked on, each one eagle-eyed and tense. They trusted no one but her. She could never let them see her in any way other than in complete control.

  She tried to keep her eagerness from her voice, waving her hand in a magnanimous arc. “Very well. Do your wing-thing.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Can’t I just tell you? Do I have to do the whole ‘Fear Not’ bullshit?”

  Despite his claims, Gabriel loved the theatrics of Holy Announcements and it had been far too long since she’d witnessed any of Heaven’s glory. “Indulge me.”

  “Does he have to?” Vike sneered. “The whole Vangeli-as-Loud-Speaker deal chaps my ass.”

  “Coulda just sent a fucking text message,” Nomad grumbled.

  Gabriel bristled then his eyes shone like luminescent gold. Dove-gray wings spread from his shoulders as the reverent light haloed his entire body. The flash was a little more than was necessary and Sela fought her smile. Gabe loved to show off. His clothing melted to a rich flowing robe in royal blue. His voice deepened to a rolling cadence of music that stirred her holy soul.

  “Fear me not, soldiers of His Right Hand, for I bring tidings that shall ease your way. Perilous days approach but know you are not alone. Heed His servant. Obey and believe and she shall guide you for her talents are more than she knows. He has given many gifts, but of these, the greatest is within your power. Stand strong and fail Him not.”

  Sela blinked. Talents more than she knew? What could that mean?

  “I really hate doublespeak,” Vike snarled.

  Gabriel’s cold-fire eyes locked on him. “Your irreverence is noted, warrior.”

  “Yeah?” Nomad cupped his crotch. “Note this, Cupid.”

  Sela kept her face stoic but inside, she rolled with laughter. Her men had no qualms about showing their disrespect for her brethren and their passion delighted her. This was what drew her to them — their zest, their fearlessness, their absolute refusal to follow the mindless throng of public opinion. Tenacity was as deadly as steel and confidence more powerful than explosives. Her warriors embodied both.

  “What the hell kind of announcement is that?” Rex threw up his hands. “If you want to announce something, tell us how we can find any live Scion before Samael does.”

  “I did.” Light flashed and Gabriel was back in his sweatshirt and jeans. “Obey and believe, jerkwad.”

  “Behave.” Sela smacked his shoulder.
No one disrespected her men, not even her fellow Vangelus.

  Gabe settled his long frame back on the couch. “So was that the Scionim? Her biscuits were great.”

  Unease vibrated in Sela’s bones. Heaven had a traitor. Her soul cringed, but she had to admit one of her kind had turned. She had no idea who it may be. Gabriel’s faith was strong, embedded into his very core. But then, Michael had had faith as well and still he’d betrayed her. She sent a silent prayer that the traitor wasn’t Gabe. She’d lost one friend because of deceit, she couldn’t lose another.

  “Are you here to help?”

  The look he settled on her was softly chastising. “You know I can’t fight with you. The other Vangelus are forbidden to assist on the mortal plane until Armageddon breaks. Michael’s Righteous have begun battling the Soul-Leeches here on Earth.”

  “So I heard.” Sela shot a warning glare at Nomad. “My men gave them some instructions.”

  Gabe’s mouth twitched. “Not enough. They’ve got a lot to learn. Why don’t you talk with him, work something out between you two?”

  Always a dreamer. Futility dried her mouth. Nothing was impossible under the Creator of All, but she was a lesser being with faults and shortcomings. She didn’t have it in her to forgive Michael the pain he’d inflicted.

  She knew no boundaries in battle. She’d use her body, her mind, her spirit. Wield a gun or a sword or a flamethrower. If she must, she’d face Samael alone and strip naked to save her men, but there was no way she could ever forgive Michael.

  “That can never be again.” She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Don’t be a stranger, Gabe.”

  “Wait. We have the same ultimate goal so…” He scratched behind his ear, his eyes darting to Zale. “Can we talk in private? Without traitors listening?”

  Zale’s spine jerked straight. His scowl never changed as he whipped around and headed toward the gym. Sela cringed. Gabe was like a small boy. He loved to pick at scabs until they bled. Picked scabs left a scar that might fade, but never disappeared. “You just love to peck at him.”

  “Habit.” Gabe grinned.

  “Break that habit. Leave him alone. He’s paid for his crimes.”

  “Those in Paradise perhaps, but the ones he committed on this plane disgust me. Children are precious to Heaven and yet the Creator allows him to breathe. I don’t understand it.”

  Unable to defend what she herself did not understand, Sela opted to deflect. “None can know the reasons for the Creator’s mercy. It is enough that the mercy is given.”

  “I suppose.” Gabe sighed. “But now that he’s gone… Michael said something that reminded me Samael always was a twisted shit. He can’t resist the irony of mocking sacred places. The more sacred, the better.”

  The truth of it sank into her bones. Of course. Samael simply couldn’t resist thumbing his nose at various human religions. Using their sacred remains to hide his stolen arsenal was just his type of perversity.

  “Tzion,” Sela breathed.

  “It sounds extremely logical to me. There must be several places.” The younger Vangeli stood and embraced her. “I better get back. Good tidings. I wish you victory.”

  For a few seconds, Sela allowed herself to soften, to rest her head on his shoulder and remember happier times of friendship and ease. He smelled of home, the light sweet fragrance of pure peace. Her eyes burned and she forced her spine to straighten before her men could see her weakness.

  Gabriel settled his kaleidoscope gaze on Nomad. “Qayin, have you a message for anyone? Your brother, perhaps?”

  Nomad didn’t blink. “If I want to send a message, I’ll use Gmail.”

  Countless holy places dotted the globe. Samael could have chosen any of them, or none of them, to store his sleeping horde. Sela hedged her bets and headed for the big one. Jerusalem was a collision of the past and present, wrapped in the religious history of three major factions. As far as Vike was concerned, it should be wiped off the map. Thankfully, they were able to bypass most of the pilgrims and devout practitioners. Their destination wasn’t exactly the Dome of the Rock, it was more the bowels of the mountain.

  Political interference was a hidden blessing. Few scholars or historians were permitted to dig beneath the sacred Mount any more. Their long abandoned tunnels opened far from the city streets and provided a pathway underground. Sela led the way. They’d drawn straws and Nomad had gotten the short stick, staying behind to guard Lacy and a still-sleeping Dray. He’d grumbled that Vike had rigged it. He had.

  A pristine Holy light shrouded Sela, the halo illuminating walls of rock and long forgotten aqueducts far better than any flashlight or lantern. Characters etched into stone read like a backward timeline, the freshest in modern languages but tapering to ancient letters, pictures and glyphs as the hours passed. Fallen rocks, cracked timbers, and huge stones fell away with a blow from Sela’s fiery sword.

  Occasionally the pathway was too perilous for might and they had to use slower muscle and sweat to break through. Each step took them further into the Earth. Dust coated them all, dulling their black shirts and BDUs to a gray ash-like color. Air grew thinner, nearly non-existent the lower they descended. Heat pressed in and coated them with a fine sheen.

  “Now I know what a gopher feels like,” Myth chuckled.

  “More like a worm, squiggling through a grave.” Rex scowled and swiped at his shirt.

  Vike paused to mop the sweat from his face as Zale broke through a crumpled rock barrier. As soon as the opening was large enough for a man to enter, Sela’s light fell across hundreds of soul-boxes. A burn erupted between Vike’s shoulders seconds before his eyes registered movement. Imprisoned Soul-Leeches descended like locust.

  Sela yelled a wordless battle cry, hefted her blade high and charged. Vike couldn’t spare the time to watch her fight. He had four Leeches barreling at him. From the first swing of his axe and the first swipe of his sword, he ceased to think. He became the battle. Crimson flooded his sight, his blood boiling in a Berserker’s cauldron.

  Soul-Leeches were raised from sleep by corrupted Vangeli powers and so they were weaker than any of the Awoken. Although bullets had no effect, killing them with a blade was no more difficult than killing a human. But their sheer numbers could turn the tide.

  Blood sprayed, slicking the stone and peppering the soul-boxes. Vike was sure some of it was his but grim satisfaction made him laugh. Most of it was Leech blood. It turned to dust if it remained in their bodies upon death, but the Forsaken made sure plenty was spilled before they were reduced to ash. Vike grew drunk on the scent, the copper taste of it in the air. Norse storytellers, the skalds, had dubbed him the Artist of War and Wetter of Swordplay. He reveled in the title now as his blade chomped through the neck of one attacker with enough force to send the head sailing against the rock wall.

  Rex whooped a maniacal cackle as his gladius skewered one female Leech. A second jumped on his back, but he grabbed her hair and swung her to the ground, driving his sword into her face. Sword in one hand, war fork in the other, Zale was poetry and punishment in one body. He never moved without blood spewing before him or a body sailing from his path. Myth stood like a pillar, his khopeshes spinning like a lethal butterfly. The sickle-swords were extensions of his arms and felled anything that came close.

  Her blazing sword cutting a swath through bone and muscle, Sela was a deadly dancer to a murderous melody. Every cut on her skin healed before the blade could fall again, but even she was covered in wet scarlet, hers and their enemies. A hot slice split Vike’s cheek, but he felt no pain. Bloodlust gripped him and he snarled, downing three with a mighty swing of his axe. Bits of muscle flew up and splattered his face but he didn’t break to wipe it away.

  The battle raged. Time had no meaning. It could have lasted minutes or days. Vike only knew the tide was turning. Stepping became as treacherous as the flying blades. Rex tripped over a fist-sized rock. His combat boots couldn’t find a grip on the blood-soaked and dust covered floor
. He face-planted it. Two huge Leeches lunged for him. Vike screamed and hurled his axe, catching one in the back of the head. Rex spun on the ground and rammed his pugio up and through the second’s throat.

  A punch knocked the air from Vike’s chest. He jabbed his sword to the left even as red flew from his lips and his thighs grew wet. An attacker collapsed, his left arm flopping beside him. Both body and arm turned to dust. Dizziness crashed into him and Vike looked down. His intestines hung like an unbuckled belt. Sound faded under the thump of his pulse. Warm, dripping flesh filled his hand as he cupped what he thought might be his stomach.

  Myth whirled close, his spinning blades mowing Leeches like grass in his wake. His mouth moved but Vike couldn’t hear what was said. Pain hadn’t set in yet, but he gritted his teeth, knowing it was coming. Sela turned her head at Myth’s shout. Her eyes widened and she nodded once, but her sword never slowed. It seared a Leech in half.

  A huge dark hand, its palm so creamy by comparison, swiped Vike’s face. “Stay awake, Viking. Leap with me. Two Leaps, got it? One to the tunnel entrance, four steps and Leap home. Medi-room patio. Do you hear?”

  A burn started in his gut. The pain was coming. Vike nodded, closed his eyes and let Myth help him Leap. As the battle faded, Vike thought only of Lacy. He couldn’t leave her like this.

  Lacy jumped, her breath catching in her throat when Dray shot upright on the bed. Fear and pain carved into his face with harsh lines. Dropping the scrub rag, she hurried to his side. “Dray? Are you okay?”

  His skin was still pale, sweat rolling from his forehead in rivets. His frantic eyes darted around until they landed on her, focused then narrowed. “Can you hand me my pants?”

  “I don’t think you should be running around yet.”