Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES)

by Meljean Brook

  “They do,” Michael said. The agonized tenor of those screams was as familiar to him as his own breath. He had listened to them for more than a year. “All of Anaria’s soldiers come from the frozen field. But not everyone who was freed managed to escape. In their minds, they are still there.”

  Pity softened Alice’s expression. “So the soldiers have brought them into the camp rather than leaving them for Lucifer’s demons?”

  Who might have delighted in torturing them further. But Michael didn’t know whether those souls would even notice. The torture of the field would be more painful, and unending. “Probably by Anaria’s command.”

  “How kind of her,” Alice murmured.

  “No.” When Alice looked at him in surprise, Michael said, “Kind would be to take them to the Pit and toss them into the molten river, so that they might be released from their torture. But Anaria does not want anyone to burn. She believes it is cruel.”

  But this was cruelty. They knew no difference between a camp or the frozen field, and refusing to burn them only extended their suffering.

  Though clearly troubled, Alice nodded. “I suppose that is as it should be.”

  Yes. If Lucifer had not perverted the Pit with his tortures. If Anaria would not pervert the process with her kindness. Belial would likely keep the souls here as well, tortured because he believed humans inferior, and unburned so that they couldn’t return to Heaven before he did.

  Even if Belial knew how easy it was to go, however, Michael didn’t believe he wanted to return. Perhaps once, his father would have. But not the demon Belial had become. He desired the throne and power more. Michael had never thought that he would hope for the day that Belial would take it—or that he would see Khavi and Anaria help give it to him.

  These were strange days.

  Lighting the spear with leaping flames, he looked to Hugh. “We’ll teleport to the inside clearing, near the general’s tent.”

  Hugh nodded. As Michael expected, he didn’t draw his swords. The spear and the hellhound would be enough to intimidate; any more weapons would indicate an attack and force them into defense. “Let us go.”

  “Cover your ears, Hugh,” Jacob said. “And if Sir Pup can, too.”

  The hellhound couldn’t, but Sir Pup would not anyway—any more than Michael would. They jumped into a storm of lightning striking all around them, concealing their arrival. A hail of shouts rose from the army, drowned in the claps of thunder. No one loved shock and awe more than Jacob, but the young Guardian always had a purpose. The confusion gave Hugh an extra second to regain his balance before the lightning stopped, revealing their presence to the camp.

  Silence dropped over the soldiers nearby. Unfolding his wings, Michael ran his dark gaze over them. Some drew their swords. Some fell back. He recognized thousands of them. Though he had not killed any of the humans, Michael had slain many of the halfling demons. Hugh had slain many of the others. Realization rose like a chorus from their minds. His name whispered from mouth to mouth. Michael cared nothing of that. But he liked the word that rose with it, from thousands of tongues in a thousand languages, some that he hadn’t heard for millennia.

  Guardian.

  Good. This was what he wanted them to remember when they thought of a Guardian—strength and power. He pivoted toward the general’s tent, where Khavi waited inside. Six human guards stood at the entrance. Two fell back at his approach. The others held their ground, though they trembled when he looked down at them.

  “Let him in,” Khavi called, and she was frowning as he entered. Her sigh carried a soft echo.

  They are not all soldiers.

  But no one wants to disappoint her.

  “Truth,” Hugh said, shaking his head. Behind him, Sir Pup remained at the tent entrance, standing guard. “Though I didn’t hear anything.”

  He wouldn’t have anyway. Michael healed his friend’s eardrums, then looked to Khavi. She was alone, and the tent empty except for a marble slab, upon which a battle plan was spread. No real protection from above or the sides—and the fabric walls and ceiling concealed any enemy’s approach by air. Khavi must hate this. Though her Gift offered an advantage in combat, she never completely relied on it. Now she made herself vulnerable to further her plan.

  Michael hoped her effort would be worth the risk. “Where is Anaria?”

  “She is tending to those who scream.” Though she would do better to release them, she never will.

  Just as Michael had thought, but he could see Hugh’s confusion. There were more statements being made than Hugh could hear, yet he was seeing the truth of them all. “Flatten your voice. Now answer this: Colin and Savi have been taken, as well as Colin’s niece Katherine Blake. Do you know anything of it?”

  Khavi frowned, looking from Michael to Hugh. “No.”

  “Truth.”

  “Have you been in communication with Lucifer recently?”

  “No. I cannot even find him. I believe he’s in the tower, but I’m not certain.”

  “Truth.”

  Michael would not let his relief stop him. There were too many possible twists out of truth. As a long-time companion of Anaria’s, Khavi knew them all. “Have you ever told Lucifer or any of his demons about any vampires or humans whose blood has been tainted by a dragon?”

  “No.”

  “Truth.”

  “Have you been in communication with his demons on Earth?”

  “No.”

  “Truth.”

  Khavi held up her hand. “What has happened? Have Lucifer’s demons opened the portal on Earth?”

  “Not yet. Can you see if we find Colin and Savi?” If she could, Khavi could say where to find them.

  Her Gift rushed out, as dark and as deep as the ocean. Not aimed at him—she was looking into Hugh’s future.

  Her power drew back, leaving a deep scowl on her face. “You are blinding me to everything, Michael. Your future is too tangled with theirs.”

  “Truth.”

  Michael didn’t know if he could trust the answer, despite the truth. “Then how did you know to find me with Andromeda?”

  “Because I felt my spell almost ripped apart.” She waited for Hugh’s confirmation, then said, “So let me look.”

  You idiot.

  The echo bled through her irritation, the insult softened by concern. She swirled her index finger in a tight circle. Obediently, Michael turned his back to her and vanished his cuirass and tunic, then rolled his wings forward to reveal his skin.

  “You were very lucky.” Gently, she prodded the raw symbols, still healing. “But you have shortened your time.”

  The light around him seemed to dim. For an endless second, the pain in his chest didn’t let him speak. But he had to know. “How long?”

  “A week, perhaps.”

  A week. He closed his eyes. He’d already had the beach, that hour. He’d already had a day at her side, searching for Mark Brandt’s murderer. More than a year in her mind, and so many minutes with her before that, from the day he’d first seen her to the night he’d transformed her. All combined, it would be enough.

  It had to be.

  Behind him, Khavi sighed. “What did you do to damage the spell?”

  It hadn’t been her spell that failed. “I almost lost my will to live.”

  And his will and that spell were all that held him together.

  Her hands froze. “Over something that Taylor said?”

  That she’d lost faith in him. Even now, the memory of her words tore at his heart. Michael had known he’d hurt her, shattered her trust. He hadn’t known how deep that hurt went—and it devastated him to know he was the cause. He’d lost faith before and it had nearly destroyed him. If Andromeda’s loss had hurt her even a fraction as much, it must have ripped her apart.

  He couldn’t blame her for wanting to hate him. It would have been so much safer. And she might believe that her leap of faith was an act of stupidity, but he could see only courage.

  “
Yes,” he said.

  Her hand on his arm, Khavi turned him to face her again. “You love her so deeply?”

  “I do.” And beneath it, a hoarse echo.

  More than my life.

  She gripped his hands in hers, a gesture they had not used in thousands of years. An offer of strength, a promise to serve as his sword if he could not lift his own. “Then I will protect her with my life when you are gone.”

  “And I will always be indebted to you.” His throat thick, he squeezed her hands in acceptance before letting her go. He met Hugh’s gaze, saw the realization there. Yes, they both lied to themselves. “Lucifer knows of Andromeda.”

  Khavi stepped back. “Of course he knows of her. He hates her. She told him to fuck off and her partner laughed at him.”

  Hugh frowned. “How could you know that? It happened before your return from Hell.”

  “When Michael was still linked to Taylor, I saw a future in which Lucifer captured her. He does not forget such disrespect, and he made her pay for it. I suspect that he has hated her for as long as Michael has loved her.”

  Not quite. But almost.

  “He would have hated her even if she’d prostrated herself to him,” Hugh said.

  “Truth.” Khavi offered a sharp smile before returning her gaze to Michael’s. “We have not seen Lucifer at all. Only Cerberus, sniffing at the edges of our armies before he returns to the tower.”

  And no doubt returning with soldiers to be tortured and questioned. Lucifer trusted the hellhound more than any of his demons. “You have not slain him?”

  “I have asked Belial repeatedly for your sword so that I might. He has not given it to me yet.”

  A dragon could easily slay a mature hellhound, but even Khavi would have trouble without the proper weapon—and Belial would not trust her with the sword, not when she could use it to kill him and avenge her husband.

  “Next time, come to me for the spear.” And she could use it on Belial or Cerberus. Michael didn’t care which.

  “I will.” Her gaze narrowed. “Why do you believe Lucifer knows anything of Taylor? He didn’t use that knowledge to torture you in the frozen field. And he would have, if he was aware of how you feel.”

  “I teleported into a chamber with him yesterday. I only meant to jump to the tower, but I had been projecting his song, so I anchored to him.”

  As if uncertain she’d heard him correctly, Khavi shook her head. “His shields were open?”

  “They must have been.” Or Michael could not have anchored to him. But Lucifer almost never lowered his shields—and Michael couldn’t imagine why he would. “What would be the purpose?”

  “He wouldn’t need to lower his shields to open Chaos. But he must have some reason.” With a thoughtful frown, she returned to the table, studying the carved marble tower at the center. “I cannot see what it might be. Was his power as great as I suspect?”

  “He saw into my mind as if my shields were not there. Another moment, and he would have crushed me.”

  Khavi glanced at Michael in disbelief, then at Hugh. She clearly hadn’t expected Lucifer to be that powerful.

  “Truth,” Hugh said.

  Worry replaced her surprise. “Within four days, we will combine our forces with Belial’s army and march on the tower.”

  Foreboding weighed on his heart. “Lucifer will destroy you all.”

  “No.” Khavi shook her head. “That is not what I have seen. Only a hurricane of demons around the tower.”

  A spiraling combat formation. “And then?”

  She spread her hands. “I don’t know. There are too many possibilities. But one is certain: If Lucifer breaks through the frozen field to Chaos, he will burn through a great portion of his power. If you can prevent the portal from being opened on Earth, his only escape would be a return to Hell, and breaking through a second time would require another portion of his power. He would return much weaker—perhaps weak enough to defeat.”

  “We believe they will try to use Colin and Savi to open the portal from Earth,” Michael told her. “And that Lucifer is communicating with his sentinels.”

  She frowned. “How?”

  “We have come to ask you how it might be done,” Hugh said, and he glanced at Michael when Sir Pup shifted to a smaller size and padded into the tent, stopping at Hugh’s side.

  The hellhound must have seen what Michael could feel: Anaria was approaching. A psychic wave of adoration followed in her wake. Michael replaced his tunic and cuirass, wishing that he could steel his heart as easily as he could protect it with armor.

  Michael knew what it was to have faith, and to have it destroyed. Of the ten demon-born grigori, Anaria had been the best of them. The kindest. The one they all looked to for guidance after the angels had left Earth’s realm, the one who always knew good from evil, right from wrong. She had been their heart. She had been Michael’s as well—a light during the dark centuries when he’d wondered if his heart was anything more than a muscle beating in his chest.

  But it had been. Of course it had. He could have told Andromeda that even growing up with angels at his table, it was difficult to live so long without doubt. Without questioning meaning and purpose. Yet he’d eventually found his way and knew his heart for his own.

  Then Anaria had broken it.

  Though thousands of years had passed since she’d decided to discard the Rules and force humans to be good, Michael still didn’t know if her failed quest to conceive a child had changed his sister’s heart or if her quest had simply revealed an uncompromising self-righteousness that had always existed within her, so that she would cross any line in the name of good. She had decided to save humans from themselves, so that no one would suffer as she had. So that there would be only happiness, kindness, and joy—and she would kill anyone who hurt others.

  And there had been no reasoning with her. She would not listen when he’d pointed out that pain and hardship often forced people to learn, to change, to grow. Even when saving humans, Guardians often hurt them. They tried to prevent pain, but sometimes the only way to help people was to slay the demons that they’d loved, or destroy illusions that they’d built. Michael could accept that.

  Anaria could not—though in her determination to erase everyone’s pain, she would crush anyone who tried to stop her. Yet she couldn’t see the contradiction. She made excuses, shifted responsibility. It was always someone else’s fault when she had to hurt them.

  And Michael was the only one to blame for his pain now. If he didn’t still love his sister, it wouldn’t hurt so much to see her. Anaria was not who he’d believed she was for so long, and he still grieved that loss. He had known rage and denial, and finally acceptance. There was nothing good in his sister that he could trust, and her presence only served as a reminder.

  But despite that, he still hoped. One day, he might find something in her to believe in again.

  Knowing that pain, it was almost too much to believe that Andromeda had found it in him. In the week he had left, Michael would do everything possible to live up to that, so that she never regretted trusting him again.

  Outside the tent entrance, Anaria landed on the red sand and folded her white wings behind her. Her tunic fell to midthigh and was as simple as Michael’s—though not for ease of movement, but a humble rejection of vanity.

  Her face smiled as she entered. Happiness sang from her psyche in a pure, beautiful note. Her arms rose as she approached Michael, her hands slipping beneath his wings to enfold him in a warm embrace.

  His chest ached. He should rip out her spine. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and returned the embrace instead.

  “I was overjoyed when Khavi said that you had escaped the frozen field. Even though you brought it on yourself when you forced my hand and used me to break your bargain, I never wanted you to suffer. Now I am overjoyed that you are here.” Anaria stepped back, studied his features—yet not seeing him, Michael knew. She was seeing the spell, his will, and the thin bind
ings that held him together. “You are not well, though.”

  “I am not.”

  “The dissonance . . . that is the Guardian you linked yourself to.”

  “Andromeda Taylor,” he said, loving the sound of it as he spoke, the echo of her psychic song in his throat, her taste on his tongue.

  “If that is her song that you hum, then it is her. I did not learn her name.”

  Michael couldn’t reply. His sister had spoken to Andromeda several times, conversations that lasted more than an hour. Andromeda had comforted Anaria after one of the nephilim—Anaria’s child—had been slain. Andromeda had held her brother’s body and soul in her keeping, yet Anaria had not learned her name.

  Oblivious to his anger, to his pain, Anaria smiled again. “Khavi tells me that you helped us at the Pit, bringing more soldiers to us.”

  “I helped slay the demons, yes,” he said quietly. He would not mention that he and Khavi had also helped those who wanted release find it by taking them to the molten river. Anaria’s new soldiers were primarily souls who’d been too afraid to take that leap, or those who hadn’t trusted Michael and Khavi’s word.

  He couldn’t blame them. In a place such as Hell, it wasn’t safe to assume that someone who rescued you had your best interests at heart. Sometimes hope was given so that demons could delight in destroying it.

  “And I’m pleased you finally see that mine is the best solution.” Her joy sang a warm melody through the words. Though her voice was as harmonious as Khavi’s or his, no echo lay beneath. Anaria hid nothing. She believed what she said and said exactly what she meant. “Shortness of life offers such wonderful clarity of thought. I know that well—and I can thank you for my own clarity now, and forgive you for your cruel decision to execute me. You did not know better.”

  He knew better than to let her live now. But he could not kill her—and he could not lie to her. Yet he didn’t have to say the entire truth, however much he would have liked to.

  While creating the nephilim, Anaria had studied at Lucifer’s side and learned many of his methods. Telling her that he still disagreed with her concept of right and good was not worth losing the opportunity to find Colin and Savi.