Tirade

by Cambria Hebert

  TIRADE

  Heven and Hell #3

  By Cambria Hebert

  TIRADE Copyright © 2012 CAMBRIA HEBERT

  Heven and Hell #3

  Published by: Cambria Hebert

  All rights reserved

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions

  thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief

  quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  http://www.cambriahebert.com

  Interior design and typesetting by Sharon Kay

  Cover design by MAE I DESIGN

  Edited by Amy Eye and Cassie McCown

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

  either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

  fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Dark Summer

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my husband, Shawn. This book has always been special to me, but you made it more so by gracing the cover with your handsome face.

  Acknowledgements

  I can’t believe I am wrapping up my third novel in this series. It seems like just yesterday I was getting to know Heven and trying to pry secrets out of Sam. Since I began writing Tirade, it has always been special to me. I am not really sure why. I think because I like where the characters go. I like watching them grow and change, I like the plot and poor Heven really has to overcome a lot in this book. Plus, there is Riley. I would like to acknowledge Riley. Riley Stone makes me smile, he makes me laugh and I love writing him. He kind of snuck up on me, but I am so glad he did. He’s also an attention hoarder. He likes to try and steal the spotlight and he likes to bug me for things like motorcycles and tattoos. Still, I’m glad he’s in my head.

  I want to thank my husband Shawn—yes, I always thank him—but this time for different reasons. He gave a face to Riley, sat through several photo shoots, and paraded around in the yard with a red hood with fur on it—all for the sake of the cover. You may embarrass our daughter with your chest hair, but I think you make Riley look hot.

  To my son Nathan, who keeps life interesting and reminds me to laugh when you wear socks in the shower, “forget” to wash your hair, and make me have Beywheelz races in the kitchen. To my daughter Kaydence, who paints my toes, wears my shoes and sets up shop to make me pumpkin bread and lattes. I can’t wait to see you on the very next cover, and you are right… chest hair is gross (and so is armpit hair).

  A shout out to my Street Team newly named “Cambria’s Hellions.” You all come by that name honestly, hahaha. You also make me laugh, cheer me on and encourage me to wear thongs on my head (or was that my idea?).

  Big thanks to Jennifer Pringle for telling me I need a handler because I need someone to tell me to quit worrying and just believe a little more. You’ve brought a little Zen to my life and we all need a little Zen.

  Speaking of Zen… I would like to thank Lipton tea makers for their Ginger Twist Tea. Every time I make a cup (several times a day!) I see the little messages on the tea packets like “Ginger Tea In; Stress Out” and I feel a little better.

  I never thought I would actually enjoy having a stalker—but I do! Maghon Thomas, you are the only stalker that I have ever encouraged (I usually call the police!). Thank you for helping me get reviews, for hosting me endlessly on your blog, and for always being there with positive words and encouragement. You are always willing to help and you never ask for anything in return. Also, to Gladys Atwell, for believing in me and my series and telling me when I need to stab myself with a pencil (I often feel the need!) to make sure it’s not mechanical but a solid #2.

  Big acknowledgements to Cassie McCown and Amy Eye, the editors of this masterpiece (like I would call it junk!). Thank you both for helping me make this novel into everything it could be and spending hours working to make it great. Regina Wamba, your cover designs get better every time and I am so glad to work with you. I can hardly wait to see what you come up with next!

  To my fellow writing buddies, Tish Thawer (The Rose Trilogy) and Heather Hildenbrand (Dirty Blood Series), thank you both for taking my emails, answering my questions, and helping me navigate the choppy waters of publishing. It’s so wonderful to be surrounded by such talent. You make me work harder.

  And finally, to my fans, thank you all so much for the emails, messages and posts! Keep reading!

  TIRADE

  Chapter One

  Sam

  Seconds feel like hours, minutes feel like days and days… Days feel like eternity.

  Being a prisoner of hell sucks. Endlessly.

  All day long I pace inside this dark, tiny, cell… And I think. The thing about the dark is that it takes away distractions. Distractions that allowed me to ignore all the things I wanted to ignore. I liked myself better when I didn’t have to think. How easy it is to act without thinking, to let your feelings guide you. I’ve done a lot of reacting to my situation—to Heven’s situation. I’ve done a lot of things I would like to forget. But forgetting isn’t an option when all you can do is think. Unfortunately, thinking changes things.

  It changes you.

  My reaction the first time I laid eyes on Heven was so strong—so all-encompassing that she was all I saw—all I wanted to see. But time’s passed… And while I still love her like that first day, it’s grown deeper and stronger. She’s grown stronger. She doesn’t need me to do the things I’ve done in the past because we can fight together.

  Only we aren’t together. I’m stuck in this hole and she’s up there facing God knows what. I’ve never been helpless before. I’ve never needed a rescue. I’m not supposed to be weak. I’m the strong one. I always knew Heven was strong. I just never thought it was me she was going to have to be strong for.

  Heven

  On the outskirts of the orchard lies a long divot in the ground, a long, winding dent that swivels in the earth. If it wasn’t dry, I would call it the perfect place for a curving stream. In this divot, a single apple tree grew, its twisting limbs stretching into the sky, reaching out like gnarled fingers trying to grasp its prey. The sky seemed to ignore the demands of the brittle branches while it turned a peachy pink in the early twilight hours.

  It was beside this tree that I lay hidden.

  But I was not afraid.

  Pressing my ear to the earth, which felt cool and smooth against my skin, I concentrated with everything in me. My eyes narrowed, the only indication my tense, waiting body gave that I knew someone was headed this way.

  It took them longer than I thought to find me.

  I closed my eyes and did something that came as easily to me as breathing. I c
onjured a perfect image of Sam in my mind. He was so real and breathtaking sitting right there behind my eyes that, for a moment, he took my breath away. This was the real reason I was lying here. He was the reason for everything I did these days. Well, him and revenge for everything that’s been done to everyone I love. Gripping the daggers in each palm, I waited, coiled and ready to face my opponents.

  One, two, three…

  I leapt out of the ground with all the force I possessed and caught the first attacker by surprise.

  Exactly as I planned.

  The muffled curse made my lips curve in a sadistic sort of smile as I launched myself, daggers extended, straight forward. My boot landed solid in my opponent’s chest and we went down. Both my daggers tore into the earth on either side of my attacker’s head, missing the skull by mere centimeters.

  Our eyes met.

  The person under me smiled.

  I remained as I was. Never let your guard down. I reminded myself.

  “Very good,” Gemma said, motioning for me to let her up.

  I did so without turning my back or relaxing my stance. She laughed as she got to her feet. But I knew it was a ruse, an attempt to get me to let down my guard.

  I spun on my heel and threw a boot out, my foot connecting with something solid. He went down with a curse, but I didn’t stop there. I brought my hand down in a chopping motion across the new assailant’s back and heard a groan. Keeping with my momentum, I kicked out my other foot underneath his ribcage and sent him all the way to the grass. A steel dagger sank into the ground right beside his face.

  “I win.”

  Cole rolled to his back. His face was red and streaked with dirt. “Damn, Heven.”

  I toed the thick padding he wore around his body to protect him from my attack. He laughed when I first suggested he wear it.

  He wasn’t laughing now.

  “I told you,” I said, pulling the dagger up and wiping off the dirt on my pants. “I’m not playing around.”

  “I see that,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “I’m ready,” I stated and turned to Gemma. There was humor in her wide grey eyes.

  “One perfect fight doesn’t make you ready for war.”

  One perfect fight was all I needed. I pushed myself hard these last few days, further than I ever thought I could go. I wasn’t about to let up now.

  “I’m ready,” I told her again, my body language dared her to defy me.

  “It’s your funeral,” she stated, shrugging.

  I ignored Cole’s sharp indrawn breath and began walking back to the orchard.

  As long as it wasn’t Sam’s funeral, I didn’t care.

  *

  My arms shook and burned, yet I refused to stop. I refused to give up. When I hit my desired number, I wanted to collapse on the ground, but I didn’t. Instead, I stood, shaking my arms out a little. Cole had followed me back to the orchard and stood over me with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at me in disapproving silence. In a strange way, his foul mood only made me more determined.

  “How many was that?” he asked, disgruntled.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t count,” I answered, mildly amused.

  “Counting how many push-ups you can do is not what I call a good time.”

  Yet, he stood over me while I did them every day. I lifted a brow and he scowled. “Twenty-two,” I said, then sighed. Tomorrow I would do twenty-five. I bent and scooped up the daggers I had been working with earlier and carried them over to Gemma and her never-ending bag of weapons.

  I threw everything in the bag, stopping when I got to the last dagger. It was a little heavier than the others, but otherwise, it looked the same. It was fashioned out of solid steel and was tarnished and scuffed from repeated use. It wasn’t as pretty as the enchanted dagger Gemma gave to Cole to carry when we were in Italy. The one that somehow housed the pure, bright light of heaven and saved our butts more than once. I should’ve known it was special the first time I saw it with its jeweled handle and rainbow-colored gemstone at its base. Yet, I hadn’t realized what it was capable of until my photographic memory pulled up an image of it from an ancient drawing in the Catacomb of San Sebastiano when we were in Rome. Turns out when you stab the dagger into something and press the gem, a blinding white light is released, so powerful it destroys whatever is being stabbed from the inside out.

  “What is it?” Gemma asked from beside me.

  I looked back down at the plain dagger in my hand. It had been Sam’s favorite. He chose it every time he trained with Gemma. I closed my eyes and called up a prefect image of it clasped in his hand. I used the memory to mirror how he held it. Knowing my hand was in exactly the same place that his had once been gave me comfort.

  “Can I keep this one?” I asked Gemma, my voice turning hoarse. I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders, sorry for my moment of weakness.

  “Of course.” She gave no indication she knew how my insides were churning.

  “Thanks.”

  “Let’s get some lunch,” Cole said, coming up behind us.

  “Can’t,” I told him. “I’m heading to the hospital to see my mom.”

  “Want me to come with?”

  “No. You and Gemma stay here, go through the books. We have to find a way to retrieve a Lucent Marble and get through the portal to hell without a hellhound.”

  “I’ve been through those books a thousand times over the years,” Gemma said, looking over at a large leather bag that contained three large leather-bound books.

  “Then you aren’t looking hard enough!” I snapped. Gemma’s face didn’t change, but instantly I felt guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” I was yelling at one of the only people who had been working tirelessly to help me get Sam back. On day two of Sam being trapped in hell, Gemma offered up the books that are hundreds of years old. They contain knowledge I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else, including the internet (finally proof that Google does not know it all!). They contained fact after fact about heaven and hell, how they were created and all the information about what most people today would think are merely myths. From some of the stuff I’ve read, I’ve come to think it’s better if most people do think of this stuff as myth. Otherwise, everyone would be afraid to come out of their houses.

  Gemma was hoping there might be something in there we could use to help get Sam back. So far, we hadn’t found anything but more proof of how hard it would be to go up against Beelzebub, AKA the Prince of Demons, and Hecate, the original witch of hell.

  “I get it,” Gemma said, brushing off my mood.

  “No.” I laid a hand on her arm. “You’ve been nothing but helpful and supportive. You didn’t deserve that. I’m just so frustrated.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” Gemma shrugged off my arm and stepped back. She didn’t know how to act when someone showed they cared for her. I had a feeling she spent a lot of years pushing people away and not getting close to anyone because of something in her past.

  Cole glanced at me, then back at Gemma. “You go. I’ll stay here and help Gemma look through the books one more time.”

  Gemma nodded. “I’ll look again, even though I know there isn’t an answer in that book. You need a hellhound or something else that is incapable of drowning and strong enough to swim to the bottom of all the sludge they call water.”

  I blew out a frustrated breath.

  “Why don’t we just free Sam and then let him get the marbles?” Cole said. It was an idea he kept on voicing.

  And I kept on saying no. “We can’t do that, Cole. He’s been trapped down there for five days. Five! Before we killed the demon that had been living inside Logan, it sliced his arm with a dagger. He’s exhausted and I’m pretty sure he has some broken ribs.” I know because I can feel his pain through our Mindbond. “Not to mention, they are hardly feeding him and I will not risk his safety down there for one single second longer than I have to. I have to have those marbles because the second he’s
out of that cell, I’m busting them open and we’re getting out of there.”

  “You may not have a choice,” Cole said darkly.

  “I have to go,” I said tersely, not wanting to admit what Cole was saying might be true. “We’ll meet up later?”