The air around her crackled and the hair on her arms stood at attention.
Ravenna Mal was accustomed to facing demons, battling vampires, washing inhuman blood from her clothing and learning new techniques by which to banish the unholiest of creatures back to the bowels of Hell. Her Guardian had taught her everything, had adopted her, raised her as his own, and instructed her in the old ways of the world.
She was the One of the Few, and she lived for her cause.
Only Kenneth was dead, and he’d taken Nicolai with him. He’d murdered the only man in her life she’d ever truly loved, and he’d tried to end her life in the process. Her surrogate father had betrayed her, and thus everything he’d ever taught her hung in question.
Nicolai was dead. Nothing else mattered.
Nothing but the circle of salt in which she stood, and the demon crowding the doorway.
“Do you know who I am?” the demon asked.
Ravenna had imagined several incarnations of a Hell Demon’s voice, but whatever expectations she had quickly fled in a fit of surprise. Despite the booming roar of his entrance, the demon’s words rode out in a cool, elegant timbre. A sliver of malice, deadly but deceptively calm, edged in the underlying rhythm of his greeting, fashioned to send shivers down her spine, to keep her perfectly aware with whom she dealt. This was a demon who cared not that she was One of the Few, a demon who cared not that her career consisted of sending his friends back to Hell. This was a demon molded of a caliber she had never before encountered, a demon old as time itself. He could blink her out of existence without actually blinking if he so willed. No amount of salt would protect her.
Yet, even knowing this, she refused to tremble.
“You are Paimon,” Ravenna replied, her voice strangely composed. “King of Hell. Servant of the Legion.”
Paimon inclined his head politely. He stood tall, nearly seven feet in height. It surprised her that he didn’t have to crouch inside the cottage, but then, demons could likely bend the laws of physics to their particular whim. He was dressed extravagantly, complete with a great jeweled crown atop his head. Ravenna sensed the movement of others outside the lodge walls. He had not arrived alone, and she was not surprised. The books Mal had left behind had indicated that no figurehead of Hell traveled alone, at least not those of truly noteworthy significance.
“You accept the consequences of my summons?”
She nodded solemnly. “I do.”
“You understand it is my right to ask whatever I desire?”
“I do.”
“You understand it is my right to demand whatever I desire as payment for services rendered?”
“I do.”
“You understand that failing to adhere to any request will result in the immediate acquisition of your soul?”
Ravenna swallowed hard and thought of Nicolai. “I do.”
Paimon gestured elegantly as if to give her the floor, a curious smile playing across his lipless mouth. “By all means,” he offered softly. “Make your case.”
“I seek the release of a demon.”
“Ah,” he replied, his red eyes flaring with immediate recognition. Of course he’d know immediately the reason of his summons. She had expected no less. “A certain vampire, if I am not mistaken.”
“Nicolai,” she agreed with a nod.
Paimon arched a brow, or what would have been a brow had he possessed one. His strikingly feminine facial features bore no emotion. The only indication as to the nature of his reaction came in the unnerving tone of his voice. “Does your vampire not possess a surname?”
“Surnames hold no value to vampires.”
“Ah, young Ravenna. Try again.”
She swallowed hard and nodded, a chill poisoning her veins. Her wounded wrist ached. Her head felt light. Muted splatters of blood struck the wooden floor, but she made no move to hide or tend to the cut. “Nicolai had no use of his surname,” she replied. “At least none that he shared with me.”
“Mmm, yes,” Paimon cooed. “Nicolai was a rare breed. He left his past in his past. Didn’t even bother to slaughter his family, as so many vampires do.”
“He was unique.”
“Others might call him weak.”
Ravenna’s eyes narrowed dangerously and fight strengthened her tired body. “They would be wrong.”
Paimon smiled indulgently. “A woman prepared to fight for her man,” he said appraisingly. His eyes trailed down the length of her body and focused on her bleeding wrist. “And sacrifice anything to acquire what she wants.”
She flexed her hand demonstrably. “It’s only blood.”
“Of course,” he replied politely. “And you’ve sacrificed your fair share of blood for dear Nicolai before, haven’t you?”
“I love him.”
“A warrior in love with a vampire.” The devil’s eyes twinkled. “I must admit, I am fascinated. What did you find so…how do you say…appealing about this particular species? I’ve known many vampires, as you might imagine, and they are quite a sloppy race. All fang, no courtesy. Many won’t pause long enough from ripping one’s throat out to ask civilized questions.”
“Nicolai was different.”
“Ah. Amore. It affects all, yes?”
Ravenna couldn’t imagine the Hell Demon being at all affected by love, but wisely bit her tongue, fighting the urge to glance down. She didn’t feel afraid. She truly didn’t. In honesty, her lack of alarm truly terrified her. She stood before a minion of the Legion without fear. Losing Nicolai had stripped her of concern for herself. She just wanted him back, and if dark magic and bartering with the Devil proved the way to do it, she would navigate the necessary channels and sell what she needed to sell, no matter the cost.
Nicolai might have been a vampire, but he was a good man. She couldn’t abandon him. She wouldn’t.
“You do know that what you ask is highly unorthodox,” Paimon continued thoughtfully. “It has never been done before.”
“I know.”
“Resurrecting the spirit of a demon… would you like him just as you remember him?”
She would give anything to see her love’s eyes again, but would similarly accept Nicolai in any form. “Yes,” she replied hastily. “Yes, please.”
“Yes, you would want it all. Right down to the sneer on his lips, unless I’m mistaken.” Paimon nodded, his blood-red eyes narrowing into two thin slits of contemplation. “And I am not mistaken. You truly would sell your soul for a vampire. A demon.”
Ravenna swallowed hard. She hoped to whatever deity existed that it would not come to that, for she knew she would. If she came to regret it, she would find solace in the knowledge that anything was worth saving her Nicolai. Anything. Even at the cost of herself.
“I would,” she replied.
Paimon studied her for a long minute.
She knew without question that he believed her.
“Foolish,” he decided after a long, quiet beat, “but noble. It is a worthy man who earns such devotion, or in this case, a sublimely fortunate vampire.” He paused. “And perhaps you are fortunate as well. You see, I have no interest in your soul.”
Ravenna blinked disbelievingly, but she did not question him.
“You are surprised?” Paimon chuckled and waved dismissively. “Yes, I’d imagine you are. I was a little misleading. Believe it or not, child, your warrior’s soul holds little value in the underground. Certainly, there are demons that would shred each other to tiny bits to get a taste of you down there. As it is, the High Council set you loose in this world with a handy clause which makes you utterly useless. You, my dear girl, are untouchable. Even if I dragged you kicking and screaming to the gates of Hell itself, Lucifer could not so much as blow you over.”
A potent rush of panicked relief flooded her veins. If her soul could not be touched, she stood in no danger of losing it and committing that ultimate act of self-betrayal. Yet, if her soul could not be touched, Nicolai might be lost to her forever.
She might have summoned a demon to her doorstep for nothing at all.
Her bones froze. No. She would make it work. Somehow, someway, she would make it work.
Better now before she bled to death.
“There is something, though,” Paimon continued, “that you have. Something I want.”
“It’s yours.”
“Don’t you want to hear what it is?”
“It can’t be anything of consequence. Not if my soul is off the table.” Ravenna shuddered, her arm going numb. “I will give you whatever you want. Just return Nicolai to this earth.”
He fell silent again, considering her thoughtfully. “You truly desire this?”
“Yes.”
“No matter the cost to you?”
“Yes.”
“It could be years before I could reconfigure his existence into this realm. A vampire cannot simply disappear and reappear without throwing the whole of the universe out of order.” He shook his head gravely. “No, it must be planned. He must be born again. Right into the blessed womb of his mother, grown up and shaped into the man he was before he was sired. And ultimately, yes, sired again. There will be remnants of this life, of course. One cannot simply exist, not exist, and exist again without some… mark carrying over. He might hate you.” Paimon chuckled. “He might hate what you’ve done, what you’ve made him relive. He might wish you dead.”
“Nicolai would never.”
“He loves you so?”
Ravenna nodded fiercely, her heart full. “Yes.”
“And you trust the word of a demon?”
“I trust Nicolai. There is nothing else but that.”
“Mmmm.” A few beats of quiet settled between them. “And I suppose, in this perfect universe, you would be reborn as well.”
“Yes.”
“As I said, it might take some time.”
“Time does not concern me.”
He arched a brow. “Oh?”
“I will find him. He will find me. Of this I am certain.”
Paimon fell silent again, considering. It seemed an eternity passed in those few endless minutes as he watched her, debated her, as though tossing stones into a murky sea of knowledge beyond her understanding.
It ultimately served as a battle of wills. When she thought she might lose her mind for the silence, he offered a solemn nod.
“I accept your bargain. What you ask shall be done.”
Euphoria raced relief as her balance wavered. The blood-stained planks beneath her feet heaved as the air around her head grew even heavier, her eyesight beginning to dim. Nothing existed but understanding, a golden promise for the cosmos to grasp and make into reality.
Nicolai.
She would not have to live without him. He would be coming home.
She sighed a long sigh that matured into a relieved sob. Ravenna lurched forward, her feet coming dangerously close to the barrier of salt, her voice crackling with liberation.
“Name your price.”
The demon’s eyes crackled and the air around her grew inexplicably cold. Then he said a word. One word. One word that would change everything.
“You.”
Her heart thundered. “Me?”
“Yes.” Paimon smiled a frightening smile, though Ravenna didn’t know what was worse: the fire in his gaze or the knowledge that whatever price he mentioned would be given in a blink. “When the time comes, I will collect.”
“You said my soul was useless.”
“My dear, it’s not your soul I want.” He drank her in eagerly. “It’s the power.”
* * * *
Present Day. Dover, New Hampshire. Seven days before Raven’s twenty-first birthday.
He’d had his eyes on her all night. She knew. She felt him watching.
Club Intensity was, well, as intense as ever, but she hadn’t scoped out anything dangerous to slay. Aside from Mr. Stares-A-Lot, a few harmless demons chattered in the corner about an upcoming marriage, and the only slightly frightening demon in the joint had passed out at the bar. Raven knew she shouldn’t be here. Dexter would kill her if he found out, especially since she’d forgotten her cell phone and hadn’t told him where she planned to go on the evening’s watch, but the streets lay dead and the club buzzed with life. Just once… just once, she wanted to look and feel and take in what everyone else experienced every day.
Just once she wanted not to be One of the Few.
Which was all fine and dandy, except a vampire had spent the night eyeballing her, and that was never a good sign. Vampires were unpredictable. Some lived by a code of protecting humans, while others loathed the human race and wanted nothing but the world to return to the way they thought things had once stood. Judging by the malice in Fangy’s eyes, he fell into the latter category. It was just as well, Raven supposed. She hadn’t had a good fight in ages.
It looked like she didn’t have to wait any longer. Blood Breath had started her way, worming a path through the club’s rowdier patrons, eyes never wavering.
Something about those eyes…
“You know what I am,” he said by means of introduction.
Raven licked her lips and nodded, trying and failing to shake off the feeling that she’d seen him before. She hadn’t. She’d certainly remember a vampire like him. Most anti-human vampires were fangs out, ask questions later. This one didn’t come bearing fangs. His short brown hair fit his face nicely, accentuating high cheekbones and those killer blue eyes which seemed to hypnotize. His well-muscled body stood clad in a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt, and though he didn’t tower over her, he did top her off by a few inches. It was… nice, in a weird way. Raven wasn’t exactly known for her height. She figured she appeared well proportioned with the hour-glass shape, and everything looked like it belonged where it belonged. She wore her chestnut hair at her shoulders and she definitely wasn’t tall, making most men feel like skyscrapers in comparison.
The vampire was different. He didn’t overwhelm her with his size. He complemented her.
A very dangerous thing for a vampire to do.
He was so…pretty.
“I know what you are,” Raven said, pressing her thighs together. All at once, she was aware of a thousand things. Her skin was hot and flushed, and strange tinglies were spreading through her veins and making her panties moisten. Lust seemed a foreign sensation, one she’d felt in spurts during her teens but she’d never been given the opportunity to explore it as it served as a danger and could cost One of the Few his or her life.
Right now, she just wanted the vampire to touch her.
Another very dangerous thing for a vampire to do.
“Then you should know my name,” he said, head dipping. His voice fanned her ear, igniting a flame she hadn’t known there was to ignite. Her nipples tightened inexplicably, and she felt damp between her legs. Hot and… wet.
Oh God, so dangerous.
He whispered his name. Nicholas. It rolled off his lips and wrapped around her like a blanket, and the shiver she’d felt before exploded into a world of sensation.
It didn’t strike her as a remarkable name, rather it was one that she’d heard many times before. However, that did little to explain why she felt so…
Complete.
And then, like proverbial mist, he was gone.
* * * *
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Raven nodded, breathing heavily and wiping sweat off her brow. “I’m sure,” she said, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. The Guardian regarded her curiously, as though providing another opportunity to answer the question. “Seriously certain,” Raven said again. “Mind’s made up. Whatever you need to hear me say, pretend I said it. I’m going out tonight.”
“It’s your birthday.”
Her brows perked. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Kinda the point of going out. Party hardy, shake my groove thing, do my birthday shots.”
Dexter’s eyes darkened a shade at that. It didn’t ta
ke much for her Guardian’s feathers to ruffle, and there were certain things he didn’t joke about. Her safety topped the list. “If you’re drinking,” he said, shoulders tensing, “you’re definitely not going out.”
“Drinking’s part of the twenty-first birthday ritual.”
“Then you’ll do it here. With me.”
Raven laughed in spite of herself. “Wow, that’s really lame.” She paused thoughtfully. “Then again, you are the only person I know, which is even lamer.”
“Raven, you know—”
“The dangers. Yes. Consider me informed.”
“Especially this birthday. Especially.” Dexter sighed heavily and tore his eyes from hers, his shoulders dropping as his fingers combed through his sandy hair. “Twenty-one—”
“Three times seven,” Raven recited. “Two mystical numbers acting together does not a happy Guardian make. It’s just one of the evils of mathematics. Mystical numbers occasionally bump into each other.”
Dexter grunted unhappily. They had discussed this for weeks to little avail. Twenty-one was a particularly dangerous birthday for a particularly silly reason, being that three and seven were regarded as mystical numbers. They always had been, through ritual and tradition. Three was the number of the Holy Trinity, for one thing. It also came into play in the Three Jewels of Buddhism, the Three Pure Ones in Taoism, the Triple Goddess in Wicca, and the Hindu Trimurti. Practically every religion in the world had some mythology surrounding the number three. The connotations weren’t always bad or evil, but oftentimes the bad or evil creatures in the world played upon the sacred to create the obscene. Religious scholars often thought demonic forces set the time of Christ’s death at three o’clock with that concept in mind.
The number seven had its own mystical baggage. There were the seven days of creation, seven deadly sins, the number of days it took to tear down the walls of Jericho, the number of heavens, levels of earth, and fires of Hell in the Islamic tradition, the number of palms in an Egyptian Sacred Cubit, and so on.
Ripples Through Time Page 2
