Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES)

by Meljean Brook

  “I could do that. But the spiders—” Another involuntary shudder ripped through her. She glanced up at him. “I’m sorry if I screwed things up.”

  He frowned. “When?”

  “With Belial. And my Gift.”

  Michael shook his head. Despite his sister’s eagerness to point out his thoughtless actions, she never recognized her own. “Anaria is careless with her voice.”

  “What will happen now? Do you think Belial will actually do it?”

  Destroy himself? “No.”

  The demon wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his chance to sit on the throne. Michael looked across the battlefield, where the dense tower of demons was slowly dispersing. Belial’s light still shone near the base.

  But that light was rising now—with Anaria by his side. Addressing their armies again.

  Michael had not thought they would come to an agreement so quickly. Perhaps Khavi had influenced them.

  But, no. Michael could see his friend where he’d left her, face tight with exasperation as she watched Anaria and Belial ascend. In the air, Anaria’s wings beat steadily, and only Belial’s brilliance shone brighter than her eyes.

  “My demon kin!”

  Anaria’s joyous call for attention took long seconds to reach them. As soon as it did, Irena and Alice looked up, their psychic songs responding with hope—then resentment as they recognized Anaria’s influence. At his side, Andromeda’s fingers tightened on his, her eyes narrowing as she peered across the distance.

  Anaria’s next words reached them. “How many thousands of years have passed while you have been waiting for your return home? My kin, you are already bound to Heaven! All you require is faith. If you are a demon, strike yourself down, or help those who are too afraid—”

  “Holy shit,” Andromeda whispered.

  They saw the effect before the sound reached them. Pandemonium erupted as millions of demons turned their weapons on themselves—and on each other. Anaria’s mouth continued moving, but her voice was lost in the clash of steel and screams. The tower collapsed outward like the wave of a tsunami, demons living and dead tumbling down the sides in an expanding rush. Though invulnerable, humans and halflings turned to flee, trampling over each other in their desperation to escape the madness descending upon them.

  With Khavi in the center of it.

  He searched for her through the chaos on the ground and in the air. Had she teleported? With her mind shielded, he couldn’t anchor to her.

  Within the swarm of flying demons abandoning the tower, an arc of flame stopped his heart.

  His sword. In Belial’s hand. Swinging through his sister’s neck.

  Anaria’s eyes went dark.

  Khavi’s psychic scream of grief and rage slammed against Michael’s mind, joined the roar of denial ripped from his throat. Khavi appeared in the sky beside Belial, a steel sword in hand.

  She would die fighting him with that.

  The spear flared to life in Michael’s grip. “Irena! The knife for Khavi!”

  The Guardian was already flinging the dragon knife toward him. He caught it—and only hesitated another moment before her promise of “I’ll protect Taylor” allowed him to go.

  The whole exchange had taken less than a second. Over the battlefield, Belial’s flaming sword sliced through Khavi’s blade.

  Michael jumped in between them.

  * * *

  “No!”

  Michael’s roar was still reverberating in Taylor’s ears when he vanished. Something had happened. Too fast for her to track. Confusion swimming through her mind, she tried to understand why Michael had—

  In the distance, Anaria’s body fell, white wings trailing behind her headless form.

  Oh, God.

  Horror clutched her stomach. Her gaze rose to the burning point in the sky. Belial. Squinting, she tried to make out the dark form in front of the demon. Two dark forms. Flaming weapons.

  Frantically, she turned to Alice. “Can you see?”

  A thud through her chest almost knocked Taylor off her feet. Her boots slipped on gleaming scales.

  Light streaked across the crimson sky. Belial.

  Alice’s fingers snapped out, caught Taylor’s wrist. The other Guardian stared toward the light, eyes watering, her face pinched and pale.

  Heart racing, Taylor turned to look again. “What was that?”

  Another resounding thud seemed to shake the entire realm. Belial blasted across the sky again. Demons spun out of the air. Near Anaria’s camp, warriors stumbled to their knees in the sand. The dragon’s body rocked beneath her. Better prepared, Taylor swayed with it.

  Her gaze fixed on Belial’s brilliant light, and tears streaming down her cheeks, Irena said, “It is the sword slamming against the spear.”

  Belial and Michael were hitting each other that hard?

  “Irena,” Alice said quietly, a note of warning in her voice.

  “Oh, gods,” Irena swore. “Taylor!”

  Alarmed by the urgency in the other Guardian’s shout, Taylor tore her gaze from the shining light. Nearer to them, hellhounds had begun fleeing the battlefield—toward the shelter of the dragon’s huge mass. Overhead, the nychiptera formed a small dark cloud, diving between the spider’s legs and skimming below its abdomen, their screeches piercing Taylor’s ears.

  Thud.

  Her boots almost slipped again. She vanished them, found a better grip on the hot scales with her bare toes. The creepy fingers of Alice’s Gift skittered up her spine. Above them, the chitinous abdomen flicked off long hairs, spearing a giant bat through its wing. The creature plummeted to the dragon’s back, shrieking. As big as a large man, it flopped and scrabbled against the scaly hide with long talons, its squashed snout dripping blood.

  Like a nosferatu. Kind of. Taylor called in her crossbow.

  Eyeing the weapon with approval, Irena gestured her forward. “Come on.”

  They raced across the dragon’s back, heading toward the tail. Another thud threatened to knock her down. Ahead of her, Alice leapt into the air, the staff of her long-bladed naginata in her hands. Another nychiptera fell. Head gone. No shrieking.

  Thud.

  Eyes on the cloud of nychiptera above, Taylor didn’t dare look back. “What about Michael?”

  “He’ll win!” Irena spun, firing her crossbow. “We’re only feeling the worst of the blows! Each one throws them apart—but Michael and Khavi can teleport and attack again before Belial recovers.”

  Double-teaming the demon. Thank God.

  “Here.” Irena stopped above the dragon’s hind leg. “Slide down. Quickly.”

  Taylor did, the scales smooth and warm under her ass. Slipping down the dragon’s side, she landed on the red sand. Impenetrable blue-green scales rose on two sides, giving Taylor the strangest sensation of standing at the bottom of an impossibly deep swimming pool emptied of water. She glanced up and realized why Irena had chosen this spot. The dragon’s hind leg had crooked against its belly, forming a triangle that was only open to one side and from above. Their backs were protected by the dragon’s stomach and enormous leg.

  Irena gestured for Taylor to take position in the deepest point, with only a yard between her back and the dragon’s leg. With a wave of her ax, the Guardian indicated the open air over their heads and forward ten yards, to where Alice hovered a few feet above the sand.

  “Shoot anything that comes into this area. Watch the top of the leg. The hellhounds might climb over.”

  “So I’m watching your backs.”

  With a sweep of her wings, Irena took to the air. “Yes. Scream if you need help.”

  She might scream now. But she only nodded. “All right.”

  Thud.

  The sand shivered under her feet. Taylor dropped to one knee, steadying her elbow against her thigh. Accuracy would be hard enough. No need to throw off her aim with an unstable standing position.

  Or with her heart pounding so hard that her hands shook. A low growl rumbled through
the air—followed by two more.

  Near the dragon’s foreleg, a hellhound stalked closer. Not even a big one. Still terrifying.

  Taylor hated hellhounds.

  Thud. Not Michael and Belial this time. Irena dropped a huge block of steel to the ground and landed on top of it. Taylor didn’t need to see her face to know Irena was grinning at the beast, baring her teeth in a challenge.

  Taylor couldn’t see Irena’s face . . . and she needed to be watching her back.

  Palms sweating, she scanned the top of the dragon’s leg. More nychiptera glided overhead—either not noticing the Guardians and hellhound below or not caring.

  Thud.

  In the distance, a brilliant glow streaked across the sky and out of sight above the dragon’s side. Belial was getting his ass handed to him.

  Irena’s power suddenly flared. Steel spikes shot from the block—into five of the hellhound’s six eyes. It fell over, legs twitching. Not dead yet. Just the brain ripped apart.

  Thud.

  Sand shifted under Taylor’s knee. Around her, the dragon’s body seemed to shiver. God. She could just imagine one of those shock waves rolling the dragon over and crushing her beneath it.

  Uneasy, Taylor searched the top of the leg, over their heads. Nothing. Just the spider. She wanted to be up off the ground. But she’d wobble and miss every single shot.

  The sand under her knee shifted again. No thud.

  Sudden heat warmed her back.

  Oh, Jesus.

  Taylor spun around, screaming, “Irena—!”

  An enormous head with glowing eyes erupted out of the sand. The hellhound’s giant maw opened wide and snapped closed around her.

  The hot odor of peaches and rotting flesh filled the end of her scream. Clamped between the thick tongue and the roof of the hellhound’s mouth, Taylor tried to shout but the drool slid past her lips and made her gag instead.

  Gag, not scream in pain.

  It wasn’t chewing, tearing.

  It wasn’t eating her.

  Oh, God. She knew this hellhound. The only hellhound smart enough to dig under a dragon’s leg. The only hellhound that took captives to Lucifer’s tower to be tortured.

  Cerberus.

  Fuck this. She slammed her foot against the cage of its enormous teeth—hard enough that pain shot through her heel, hard enough to crack her own bones. The jaws didn’t budge. Motherfucker.

  She called in a knife and stabbed the tongue. Boiling blood spurted around her hand, into her face. Triumph shot through her as the thick muscle beneath her shifted, and the tongue rolled her body forward as if to spit her out. Jaws opened—then clamped shut again.

  Agony sheared through her lower leg.

  Stunned, Taylor yanked her knee up. Horror punched her gut.

  Cerberus had bit off her foot.

  Vomit burned her throat. Head swimming, she tried to keep herself from panicking, from puking, from completely losing it.

  The foot would grow back.

  Her breath coming in sobs, Taylor squirmed higher, toward the hellhound’s throat. Higher, the abrasive surface of its tongue scraping the skin from her cheek and palms. More space here, in the pocket at the back of its mouth.

  She called in her short sword. It wouldn’t stab through a hellhound’s hide from the outside, but the flesh inside was fair game. Gripping the handle, she thrust down as hard as she could and ripped the blade around in a circle inside its throat.

  Blood gushed. The pressure clamping her legs between the hellhound’s tongue and hard palate eased, and then she was sliding out through giant teeth in a rush of crimson.

  Pain stabbed up her leg as she hit the sand. Desperately, Taylor formed her wings and scrambled to her foot.

  One of Cerberus’s heads hung limp. But the hellhound had two more, the right and left.

  Flapping wildly, she hopped and hopped, tried to leap. Cerberus snapped at her left wing. Shredding pain tore through her shoulder as the hellhound slammed her to the ground. Screaming with rage, Taylor rolled onto her back. Her gun popped into her grip.

  She fired.

  Cerberus’s heads dropped to the sand, severed at the neck.

  Taylor stared over the barrel of her gun. No blood. The stumps had been cauterized.

  That had been one hell of a bullet.

  Then Michael was at her side, his flaming sword in one hand . . . her foot in the other. Warmth slipped over her skin.

  His healing Gift.

  A second later she was wiggling her toes and laughing like a madwoman. It was the only thing to do. She’d almost been kidnapped by a hellhound.

  Sputtering, she caught his hand. “Forget everything I ever said about not wanting a hero to sweep in and save me.”

  His obsidian gaze rose to meet hers.

  Taylor stopped laughing, stopped breathing. She recognized the agony in his eyes, knew the grief. All mirrors of her own. The rage, the pain . . . and the need.

  “Andromeda Taylor.” The dark harmony of his voice deepened, carried the echo from the abyss. “I cannot hold back with you again.”

  Good. Cupping his hard jaw in her palm, she said simply, “I am yours.”

  His mouth covered hers and the world spun, his fierce kiss the center of the universe. Then the hard marble at her back. A broken column beyond his shoulder.

  His temple in Caelum.

  Strong fingers tore her pants away and stroked over her clit, and before she could moan, Michael pushed her thighs wide and surged deep.

  Body arching in shock and pleasure, she cried out into his mouth. Her eyes flared against the darkness of his.

  His big hands pinned her hips to the shattered wall. His gaze locked on hers. Holding her still, he pumped his thick shaft into her, each deep and primal thrust issuing an unmistakable claim that he repeated against her lips.

  “You are mine, Andromeda.”

  * * *

  His.

  Her pleasure was his. The sensation of Andromeda around him, against him. All of it physical bliss but her ecstasy gave him more pleasure—the cries from her throat, the shiver of her skin, the tightening of her thighs at his waist. The clench of her sheath as he pushed deep, as deep as he could, desperate to feel every slick inch.

  Ravenous, he bent his head to her breast. He loved her nipples, the sweetness of her skin, but he loved her response more, the flesh pebbled and hot, the pounding of her heart against his tongue. And when he suckled, he loved the jerk of her hips, the rush of wet. He loved her moan, a hum with no melody but her pleasure. He loved the flutter of her wings, her fingernails digging into his shoulders—even that pain was sheer ecstasy to his senses, knowing that arousal drove her to uncontrollable need.

  And that he was joining her there.

  Not like before. Never like before, when an orgasm had been a spasm of muscle, a sizzle through the mind. It could never be only that with her. To let go even that much was to let go of all, to fall into the abyss.

  It should have been a terrifying leap, but there was only joy when he jumped.

  “You are mine,” he said, and her sobbing breaths shuddered past his lips, her body surging against his.

  You are my heart. You are my life.

  “You are mine,” he said, and she took all of him, her heart pounding in the same rhythm.

  You are my hope. You are my love.

  She was his everything. Everything that he was, everything that he would be—then he hit the end and he was nothing, nothing, nothing but what she had made him, releasing and crashing and leaving nothing but what she would hold on to, what she would claim for her own.

  Utterly destroyed in Andromeda Taylor’s arms.

  * * *

  And created again with the next beat of his heart. Reborn with her voice crying his name, her body clenching around his shaft thrusting into her wet heat. Even wetter now, with his seed between them. It wouldn’t endure.

  But this would. Her slow kiss. Her taste, the slide of their skin. This was ecstasy, t
oo, a few minutes that were worth a lifetime, worth ten lifetimes.

  Her arms wound around his neck. He felt the reluctance steal over her—knowing they should end this, knowing there was so much to do, but not wanting to let go of him yet.

  Michael would not be the one to do it. He couldn’t let go. She was his strength. He could not leave her, abandon her taste. Only she could make him.

  Her lips lingered softly on his before she finally drew back. The soft blue glow in her eyes met his. Between her thighs, he was still hard, still deep inside her. One day, she might believe him when he told her the pleasure of that was no greater than the pleasure he felt when she cupped his face in her palms.

  “Anaria,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

  His chest constricted. Andromeda knew this pain, knew how unbearable it was. Yet made more bearable simply because she was here.

  Voice thick, he said, “We have lost too much this day.”

  A friend. A sister. His best chance of finding a cure.

  But he would not give up.

  “Yes.” Tears glistened in her glowing eyes. Her fingers shook against his cheeks. “How much longer until I lose you?”

  Never.

  That was what he wanted. What he could accept.

  But he could not give her false hope. When he defeated this, when he found a cure, his answer would change. “A day or two.”

  “A . . . day or—or—?” Her voice broke and she crumpled against him, shuddering hot sobs into his neck. “Oh, God. Oh, my God.”

  And as her pleasure was his, so was her pain, and every sobbing breath shredded his heart. His back to the wall, Michael slid down to the broken marble tiles, cradling her against him.

  When she quieted, he said hoarsely, “I’m sorry. When you woke up, I should have left you alone.”

  “I don’t know if it would have mattered.” With that wry statement, she lifted her head from his shoulder. “But why did you?”

  “I wanted to take you with me—memories of you. I don’t know if there will be anything left, but you helped me endure once.”

  Sudden determination drew her brows together. She caught his face between her hands, as if to hold him steady to meet her eyes. But Michael wouldn’t have looked away.