Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES)

by Meljean Brook

  “Wow.” She huffed out a breath. “You’re really ripping away the blinders today.”

  “Yes.”

  If he would hold her close for eternity, take her reactions and responses with him, far better that she respond to the man he truly was—even if she hated what she saw.

  He couldn’t tell if she did.

  Her focus shifted down the street again. An unmarked car pulled up to the curb in front of Brandt’s house.

  “Detectives,” Andromeda said. “And it sounds like one of them is talking to the senator. So that’s that, then. Now the shit hits the fan. Should we go see Khavi?”

  “Her mind is shielded.” Michael couldn’t anchor to her. “And we have a demon to question first.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “We do?”

  “Yes. I sensed it a few moments after we teleported in.”

  “In your psychic sweep? Why wasn’t he shielded?”

  “It must have been either attempting to sense whether other demons were near, or trying to probe a human’s emotions. Now it’s waiting for us in the nosferatu’s cavern.”

  “Waiting for us?” Doubt flashed across her face. “You think he’s just going to hang around?”

  “Yes.”

  Because that was exactly what the demon was doing.

  * * *

  Michael would not hide this part of himself from her, either. He could have healed the demon before Andromeda steadied enough to lift her head. Instead, he held on to her and waited.

  She stiffened on her first breath. Scenting the blood. She glanced up, and a tremor worked through her body before she stilled again.

  Horrified. He couldn’t blame her.

  In appearance, the demon looked like a man. And while it was unconscious and unmoving, even Michael couldn’t have known on sight that it was a demon. But he knew by the swiftness with which it had turned when Michael had teleported in behind it. He knew by the sword it had called in from its cache. He knew by the lack of human odor—and when he’d torn out its spine, by the smell of its blood.

  Now it hung against the cavern wall, pinned upright to the stone by an iron spike through its forehead. Andromeda couldn’t see the injury to its back, but the ruined face was enough. A man’s face—but she might have been horrified even if it had shape-shifted into its own form.

  She swallowed. “You did that?”

  “Yes.”

  Her horror faded. He’d seen the expression that replaced it on her features dozens of times. She was taking a mental step back from her gut reaction, reconsidering.

  “That spike,” she said. “That’s what they did to Rosalia.”

  “Yes.” Not this particular demon, but others.

  “Is that why you did this? Or was it just to keep him here until you came back?”

  “No. I also paralyzed it. But this seemed more merciful.”

  She shot him a disbelieving glance. “Merciful?”

  “Less cruel than tossing it to the floor.”

  “Where he would be aware, but helpless,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  He held her gaze as she studied his face. Perhaps thinking of the frozen field. His own helplessness as he watched Lucifer’s demons torture the human souls in front of him.

  But Michael didn’t empathize with this demon. He simply saw no purpose in cruelty now.

  “Maybe it is more merciful,” she finally said. “But you’ll torture him if he doesn’t answer your questions, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “This demon will not know mercy again until I destroy it.”

  “Oh, God.” On a deep breath, she covered her face with her hands. “I’m all for slaying demons. But it’s harder to see it done this way.”

  “Yes. Do you want me to take you away from here and return alone?”

  He wouldn’t think less of her; he admired her all the more for her struggle. This should be difficult. If Michael had been more human, it probably wouldn’t be so easy.

  “No.” She straightened her shoulders, lowered her hands, and tucked them into her trouser pockets. Her gaze cooled and flattened. “Let’s find out what he knows. Like playing bad cop and really bad cop.”

  He could be that. Michael took a step toward it.

  “Okay, wait—” Andromeda shook her head. “What’s our angle? Why would any demon answer if he knows you’ll just kill him? The other demon you tore apart didn’t. And why wouldn’t he just lie?”

  “Last time, I made mistakes.” He’d allowed his rage to take over. “This time, I’ll threaten it with something it fears more than pain or death so that it lowers its psychic shields. Then I’ll take what I need to know.”

  “What would a demon fear more than death? You?”

  “No.” Though that would be a start. He formed his wings, darkened his eyes, and called in the dragon spear. Flames leapt from the weapon.

  “Don’t forget the toga,” Andromeda said. “You always look like you’re ready to kill someone in it. Your muscles are kind of impressive, too.”

  Michael changed his clothes, then had to wait before continuing. Appearances mattered to demons. This one wouldn’t be intimidated if Michael was still laughing when the demon took its first look at him.

  Then he thought of Savi, Colin, and Brandt and laughed no more.

  He slammed two more iron spikes through the demon’s shoulders to hold it upright. The flesh had already healed over its missing spine. Some of the nerves and vertebrae had begun to regenerate, but it wouldn’t be able to move on its own for several more hours. With his healing Gift, Michael repaired just enough of its spinal cord to allow the demon to breathe and speak, then yanked the spike from its head and healed its brain.

  The demon’s eyes opened and flared crimson. It couldn’t mistake Michael’s identity, couldn’t mistake its upcoming fate. But it immediately began calculating a way out.

  “No bargains.” Michael headed it off. “Tell us why you were near Mark Brandt’s house.”

  He didn’t expect the demon to answer, but he wanted the reason at the forefront of its mind. Its psychic shields were as solid as a stone wall. Michael only needed a crack. He only needed to sense its fear, then create a wedge to open its mind. He’d dig out the answers himself.

  “If you want to know, you’ll make a bargain that leaves me alive.”

  “It would be more merciful to kill you now. Lucifer is returning to Earth.”

  The demon’s heart began a faster beat. That told Michael all he needed to know. This wasn’t a demon that Lucifer had sent from Hell with a plan. This was one of the rogues who had fled Hell before the Gates had closed, hoping to use the five hundred years to establish their own small kingdoms.

  Lucifer would not kill them for their betrayal. He would do worse.

  Michael projected a low hum from the back of his mind, the faintest echo of Lucifer’s psychic song. He could sing it in full, but even an echo was terrible enough. Lucifer’s all-consuming hatred squirmed through his brain like a knot of serpents wriggling in an open wound, their venomous fangs striking at raw flesh. Michael wouldn’t give it full voice.

  It was enough. The hum pressed against the demon’s senses, and the stone wall of its psychic shield shivered. Not a crack. Not yet.

  “This is your choice,” Michael said. “Tell us what we want to know, or I’ll return you to Hell now. I will leave you helpless at the foot of Lucifer’s throne.”

  “You would not, Guardian. You have mercy, even for us.”

  Michael smiled. “You know who I am. And I am not just a Guardian. I am also grigori.”

  Another shudder wracked its defenses. The demon looked past Michael to Andromeda, its expression pleading, the appearance utterly human.

  “You will have mercy, fledgling.” Soft hope lit its eyes. “You aren’t capable of this. Lucifer would not destroy me, though I would soon pray that he would. Let us come to an agreement. Let me live, and I will repay your kindness.”

  Andromeda wouldn’t be foole
d. She knew that appearances were deceiving. But though the demon adopted that expression to stir her compassion, its words were not lies. Andromeda would never forgive herself for handing it over to Lucifer.

  Michael preferred not to, either—and it was not his intention. He should have told her. She had no reason to trust that he wouldn’t choose that cruel end for this demon.

  “A woman that I love is missing,” Andromeda said. “You have no idea what I’m capable of doing to get her back alive. So tell us why you were interested in Brandt or take a trip straight to Hell. It’s your choice.”

  Her voice was flat and hard. Michael couldn’t hear or feel a hint of conflict within her.

  The demon wouldn’t have, either, but it was willing to call her bluff. “Take me to Hell, then.”

  Michael pushed harder against its shields, Lucifer’s dark hum a poisonous gash opening in his own. He tore away the spike at the demon’s right shoulder. The hot scent of its blood filled the air.

  “Tell me.”

  The demon laughed.

  He ripped away the second spike, caught the demon around its throat. “Tell me.”

  “You are not capable of this, either, grigori.”

  Michael leaned in, spoke softly in the Old Language. “The woman that I love is missing a friend, and in danger of losing her life if her world burns. So tell me again what I’m not capable of.”

  The demon’s eyes widened. “Wait—!”

  Michael anchored to Hell and teleported. The cavern vanished around him, replaced by a chamber of black marble

  —a heartbeat like thunder behind him—

  four demons vivisected and strung on thin glowing wires, the scent of their gaping flesh

  —raw power smashing his shields, crushing his mind, picking out pieces—

  the stone under his feet trembling from a single step

  —don’t let him see Andromeda, protect her, protect her from—

  “How kind of you to return Fazeal to me, Michael,” Lucifer said, and echoing beneath,

  I see that you will soon not be capable of anything else.

  AND YOU WILL SEE ANDROMEDA TAYLOR DIE FIRST.

  —protect her—

  He teleported back.

  Fazeal’s scream shattered against the cavern walls, shields cracking and fear shrieking through. Michael stole the sound and his mind shrieked the demon’s terror back at it, widening the cracks, his own rage pounding the psychic wedge through.

  Only screams came from the demon’s mouth, but Michael didn’t need it to speak now. He stabbed through Fazeal’s memories, found Mark Brandt’s face, a recollection of the first video.

  He stabbed deeper, deeper. He saw Mark Brandt’s face . . . but Fazeal had recognized the demon beneath.

  “Tell me!” he roared in Lucifer’s voice and shrieked the demon’s own terror from his mind.

  Fazeal’s psyche split open. Michael ripped out what he needed and slammed the iron spike through its forehead again, silencing Fazeal’s ruined brain.

  Shaking, Michael braced his hands against the cavern wall. Softly humming Andromeda’s song purged Lucifer’s echo from his head. He could hear her behind him, her heart pounding and her breath ragged.

  So now she had seen this about him, too. He looked at the demon, its slack face and shattered skull. Blood poured from its eyes, nose, ears. In his rage, his Gift had physically torn its mind apart before the spike had finished the job.

  “Did you get what we needed?” It was a raw whisper—as if she had been screaming, too.

  Michael glanced back and agony ripped through his heart. Her body trembling, Andromeda sat huddled on the stone floor, knees up to her chest and her hands flattened protectively over her ears. The blood vessels had burst in her eyes, flooding the whites with dark red.

  “Andromeda.” His voice emerged hoarse and broken. He fell to his knees in front of her. “Forgive me.”

  “Don’t freak out. It’s just a headache.”

  “No.”

  Her body stiffened when he reached out with his healing Gift, repaired the bleeding capillaries in her brain, the burst vessels in her eyes.

  She bit her lip, looked at Fazeal before her gaze met his again. “So I guess it was worse than a headache.”

  “Not as bad as the demon’s. Your shields held.”

  She nodded. “But barely. So what did you learn?”

  “The demon who impersonated Mark Brandt on the video is one of Lucifer’s sentinels.”

  “A sentinel? Is that bad?”

  “They’re loyal to Lucifer. They can’t be bargained with, and they have no purpose but to serve, even if that service destroys them.”

  “Shit.” The tips of her fingers made small circles over her temples. “So that’s why Colin didn’t call for Maggie to help. A sentinel would have broken the Rules to further the cause.”

  “Yes. And if a sentinel does sacrifice itself while pursuing the goal, that is not the end. They are always in a cadre of four—and Lucifer might have sent more than one cadre to Earth, each to carry out a part of his plan.”

  Though if it was as Michael believed, now there were only three sentinels in at least one cadre. The demon he’d torn apart two years ago would not bargain, would not break—would not even speak.

  And it had known to look for Andromeda. Now Lucifer also knew that Michael loved her.

  “That’s worse than bad.” She stopped rubbing her temples, looked at him. “That voice you did. That was Lucifer.”

  “Yes.”

  “When you jumped—did you see him? You were only gone a half second.”

  “I didn’t see him. But he was behind me.” And Michael hadn’t dared take the time to look around before jumping back.

  “That’s kind of terrifying.”

  Kind of? Michael’s own terror still hadn’t left him. Khavi had said that Lucifer’s power was immense now. He still hadn’t expected that the demon would so easily shred his shields and rip through his mind—or so quickly pluck out his feelings for Andromeda.

  He had faced Lucifer before, but this time he hadn’t been prepared. His only advantage had been in surprising the demon. Another half second, and Michael would have never escaped.

  “‘Kind of’ is an understatement,” he said.

  “That you say that makes him even more frightening.” She swallowed hard. “I saw him once. The night you won the wager and forced him to close the Gates. We were in that old warehouse in the naval shipyards, remember? He was there, and he was so big. And everything was scary—the nosferatu, you, Sir Pup in that huge form, the whole crazy situation—but Lucifer was . . . so much more. Not even because of the horns or the scales or his size, but just terrifying me through to my bones. I still don’t know how I didn’t run away screaming.”

  Michael knew why she’d remained. He knew because her shields had been thin, and he’d heard every emotion tearing through her head. She’d stayed because of the human lives that she’d needed to save, and because her partner had been there, and she would never leave him behind.

  She’d already caught his interest. But he’d begun loving her then.

  “Then the fighting started, and Sir Pup took Joe and me out of there. Just carrying us by our collars, and I was yelling at him to put us down—and then we just dropped to the ground, because Lucifer had cut off two of his heads.” Moisture pooled in her eyes. “And I looked up and I thought, ‘Now I’m going to die.’ Because even though I knew about the Rules, I didn’t really get them, and there was Lucifer, standing over us with a sword in his hand. I thought he was going to kill us and all of a sudden I was just pissed.”

  “You told him to fuck off.” Michael had heard that, too, followed by Joseph Preston’s laugh.

  “Yes.” She grinned, shook her head. “I don’t think he was impressed.”

  “No.” But Michael had been. “He wanted you to cower. When you didn’t, you proved yourself to be a human idiot who didn’t know enough to bow before his obvious power
.”

  “I’m glad to have disappointed him, then.”

  “I have disappointed him for many thousands of years.” Desperate to touch her, Michael cupped her jaw, stroked his thumb across her cheek. “And I am also glad.”

  He felt her smile against his palm. His stomach clenched with the need to know more, to kiss that smile, to taste her. But he didn’t move, absorbing every nuance of her expression, the sound of her heart, the scent of her skin. This would be one response that he would hold closer than any other.

  And when she sighed, he forced himself to withdraw his hand. She looked to the demon again. “So was that another Gift?”

  “Yes. The one that I no longer use on human memories.”

  Though he had never caused physical damage to their minds. This had been his rage and the demon’s shields.

  “I can see why.” But her gaze held no recrimination. “What about the fear? It tasted like the demon’s, but it was coming from you.”

  “That was not a Gift. Emotions have unique sounds, and those are unique to each person. I replicate the song, project it—and intensify that emotion. Fazeal didn’t know the difference between its own terror and what I sent to it.”

  “Handy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that another talent you rarely use?”

  “Yes.”

  “Except for when you were in Hell, and you forced me to crawl up over your scaly chest and kiss you. That was why I wanted you so much.”

  He didn’t trust his voice. His answer was a single nod.

  Her jaw clenched. She stared at him before pushing to her feet, pushing away from him. Her steps carried her to the demon. Her heart pounded, but she wasn’t breathing, and Michael couldn’t read anything but the defensive set of her shoulders, the determined lift of her chin. Those reactions usually didn’t fit together on her.

  Until she asked, “Should we test out my Gift?”

  So that she could use it against Michael if necessary. The realization was a painful slice through his ribs, but he would do anything to protect her.

  Even from himself.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “Close your eyes and try it now.”