“It’s more than that.” Rachael waved her hand over it again, concentrating on the torso and frowned. Her eyes widened and she stepped back. “I’m afraid to open my senses when I’m close to this statue. I haven’t dealt with this before but it feels like an ancient evil. Something horrible happened here. Something unjust.”
“I’m not being disrespectful about your gift because I’ve seen your predictions come true, but I don’t get how you can obsess about a bit of antique rock.” Whatever Rachael said, nothing would deter Phoebe from her urge to restore the piece she’d felt compelled to buy from an antiquities dealer. It was the only way to fill the emptiness inside her so that it didn’t open like a bottomless well in her chest.
Slowly, through the cool fall months and the icy winter, she’d carved a face, arms and legs. In spring, she’d meticulously inserted rods into the neck, shoulders and thighs of the marble torso and in summer, as the studio grew hot and her New Yorker friends left for vacation, she’d joined the pieces so that he was finally whole. She was proud of her statue, whose face haunted her dreams. His hair was shoulder length, his brow furrowed and his gaze piercing over his sharp nose and sensuous mouth. The torso of marble she’d bought had wide shoulders and the warrior wore a robe over his back, a breastplate and a tunic underneath. On his feet she had carved marble sandals. It had been tricky to get the dimensions of his head, arms and legs right so that all the pieces fitted together.
“When I look at him, I get that tight feeling in the pit of my stomach like something bad is going to happen.” Rachael clutched her stomach.
Phoebe bit her lip in irritation. Rachael could be so dramatic sometimes.
“It’s getting worse by the minute. The evil. I can’t bear it. I wish I hadn’t opened myself up to it. It’s coming at me like a roar.” Rachael ran over to Phoebe’s workbench, pulled off her bracelet made of black angular rocks and reached for a pair of scissors. Snipping the elastic string, she pulled ten rocks off the bracelet, raced back and placed them at even intervals around the statue.
The hairs on the back of Phoebe’s arms stood up when she saw the intense look on Rachael’s face. “What are you doing?”
“Protection. You need it. I’ll sacrifice my bracelet of Moses rocks. They come from around the tomb of Moses, from my last trip to the Middle East. They’re inscribed with protective talismans. Don’t move them.”
“Rachael, stop. You’re scaring me.”
“You have to get rid of this statue.” Dressed in her trademark black tee-shirt and jeans, with her wild, rusty curls, pallid face and slim body, Rachael seemed other-worldly. It didn’t help that a beam from the full moon was spotlighting her face. A deep moan left Rachael’s lips and she started to sway. Her eyes had widened as her hand raised and she pointed at the sculpture.
“Oh shit!” Phoebe had the impression that the studio’s walls were closing in on her. She’d seen this before. The last time Rachael had experienced a vision this intense, a friend had died.
“Stay away. Don’t take her.” Tears streamed down Rachael’s face as she stared up at the statue.
Phoebe looked at her sculpture. Did the eyelids just flicker? She blinked and looked again. They blinked. Fear exploded up Phoebe’s spine. She raced over and grabbed her friend. “Rachael, what’s going on?”
Rachael’s whole body jerked at her touch and she stared wildly at Phoebe. “Destroy it!” Rachael's face had blanched, so that the freckles on her nose and cheeks stood out. Even her lips had lost their luster.
“I can’t. I love the piece. It isn’t evil. I know it isn’t.”
Tears poured down Rachael’s cheeks and she clutched Phoebe by the shoulders. “You don’t understand, Phoebe, it’s Halloween! The time when the plane between life and death is thin. Anything can come in. This statue carries death energy.” Grabbing a hammer from Phoebe’s workbench, she pushed passed Phoebe and strode toward the statue. Bang! Down went the hammer, right into the side of the torso so that it left a raw gash and bits of marble scattered across the concrete floor.
Jesus, Rachael had lost it. All her work ruined. Phoebe lunged after her just as she raised the hammer again and grabbed the tool from her hand. “Rachael. No!”
Eyes wild, Rachael turned. “I have to destroy it before it comes to life.”
Surely she’d imagined the eyelid flicker before? “Are you nuts? He’s stone, just like the others,” Phoebe said, waving her hand at the gallery of carved figures of biblical princesses, demons, a hideous monkey-faced sculpture, and a beautiful, proud-faced angel.
Rachael shuddered. “I don’t know what he is. I’ve never experienced this energy before.”
Oh hell. Rachael had been right so many times before. Gripping the hammer, Phoebe realized the temperature in the room had plummeted. “Before, in your vision, you said, ‘don’t take her.’ Who’s he going to take?”
“You!”
A nauseating, twisting sensation gripped her stomach. “It’s stone, damn it.” Phoebe slapped her hand on the torso where the hammer had hit to reassure herself that the marble was nothing more than a cold piece of rock. Something wet and clammy made her draw back her hand and look at her palm. Blood!
“Phoebe. Get out of here. He’s coming to life,” Rachael screamed.
But she couldn’t move. The hammer dropped from her hand. Sheer, sharp disbelief clouded her thinking. Looking back at the statue, it seemed to be changing color in front of her eyes. The face, arms and legs had darkened and taken on a swarthy skin color. Thick, dark blood oozed from the hole Rachael had made.
A gleam of light from the moon hit the face of the sculpture and the Moses rocks burst into flames. The statue shuddered, heaved a sigh and his eyes scanned the room, coming to rest on her. “Princess.”
“No!” Phoebe said, backing away.
He jumped off his plinth, his sandals making a clacking noise as he hit the boards, but when he strode toward her and reached the Moses rocks, his body shuddered as if he had slammed against an invisible wall. “Princess, move the rocks.”
“Phoebe, run. When the rocks burn out, the protection stops,” Rachael cried.
The man’s dark eyes fixed on her. “Princess, it is I, Agrat. I have come for you.”
Chapter 4
Her whole body trembling, Phoebe stared, incredulous, at the sculpture’s handsome, merciless face. She gripped Rachael. “I’m seeing things. The statue…it’s alive. Tell me this isn’t happening.”
Rachael grabbed her too, her hold so tight her knuckles were white. “It’s happening,” she said, her voice so quiet, so fearful, it was almost a whisper.
“What’s going on, Rach? You’re the psychic.”
“I’ve never seen this before. That old bust you bought. It contained something evil. You’ve brought it back from the dead.”
A sickening sensation of dread made the tiny hairs on her arms and legs stand on end and yet, mixed with disbelief came recognition. He was just as she’d seen him in her dreams: his black hair gleamed, his skin was olive and his lips, full and sensuous. Even in this maze of surreal danger she could sense the sexual pull of his gaze as the statue became a full-blooded man; a man who stood tall and commanding with shoulders as big as a doorway and muscles that rippled. His breastplate was decorated with lapis lazuli and the robe over his shoulders flowed red. He was a great hulking warrior fresh from the pages of an ancient text.
He looked down at the burning ring of protection and back at her, his face imploring. “Hurry, Princess, release me or die.”
“Die? Who will die?” Phoebe asked, unable to take in what he was saying. Still holding on to Rachael, she stepped back until her body was pressed against the studio wall.
“You,” said the man who called himself Agrat.
“Why? Why will I die?” Every bit of saliva dried in her mouth so that her throat became thick.
“Because of the curse. Hurry, Princess. Release me,” he urged. He frowned and his eyes began to glow with red unea
rthly power.
“Your eyes. What are you?” Phoebe’s voice trembled.
“Phoebe,” Rachael cried, clutching her so hard her fingernails dug into her arms. “He’s a demon.”
The demon's gaze focused on Rachael. "Healer, you know it is not so. You are the one who told me so."
"What's he talking about, Rach?" Phoebe asked.
"I don't know," Rachael said.
One of the ten rocks spluttered out, quickly followed by another.
Phoebe froze, bewildered by the instinct that there was something more to him than the dangerous reality of what stood before her. Disbelief still punctuated her mind. Although he looked like a man, the flesh and blood being that stood in front of her could not possibly be human. He must be a demon. With her heart pulsing in her throat, she untangled herself from Rachael and took one step forward. “And why are you calling me, ‘princess’?”
Another rock died out.
“You were my princess in the last life you lived, before my brother, this traitor, the son of a fallen angel, Galaden, betrayed me.” The demon turned and his furious gaze fell on the carved angel statue standing next to him. He slammed the invisible barrier but failed to penetrate it before turning back to her, his eyes no longer glowing, his look beseeching. “Do it now! Remove the rocks. There’s no time.”
“Don’t do it, Phoebe. Get out of here. The rocks are made from shale. They only burn for minutes. There aren’t many left,” Rachael cried.
Fear, as sharp as a blade, stabbed Phoebe. She recognized the snapshot of her dream coming to light before her eyes. The demon and the angel were mortal enemies. She remembered the angel’s wing covering her and yet...trying to remember more was like catching clouds.
“Princess, do you desire to become Galaden’s concubine?” the demon asked.
“What do you mean?” Phoebe asked.
“The angel, Galaden, means to rape you before he kills you. We have but moments before he comes to life.”
Absurdity flooded her mind as she glanced over at the statue of the angel she’d carved. She blinked. The marble seemed to be changing color just like the demon had done, the stone becoming translucent. Oh good God, what was happening? Too many years of Baptist bible study permeated her senses. “I don’t believe you. Angels don’t kill.”
Two rocks flared and died.
“Believe me, they make the most deadly of enemies,” the demon said.
“Liar!” Rachael said.
A deep frown creased his brow as he stared down at Rachael. “Do you dream of your past life with Galaden? Do you remember the fate he delivered to your door? Even you were fooled by his evil. You loved him once.”
Rachael’s hand went to her throat and her back pressed hard against the studio wall. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do.”
His words chilled Phoebe’s soul. She saw Rachael’s eyes fill with tears and she began to tremble. From their childhood together, she knew that straight-shooting Rachael was a terrible liar.
Several more rocks flared and stuttered before turning to small piles of soot, leaving only two burning. The demon kicked at the pile of ash so that it scattered toward her.
Rachael moved forward and grabbed Phoebe by the arm. “The barrier is growing weaker. Get out of here.”
“Release me, Princess,” the demon urged her.
Rachael shoved Phoebe, pushing her toward the door, just as the statue of the angel shuddered. White and silver dust sprinkled the ground as Galaden sucked in a deep breath.
Her eyes shining with wonder, Rachael released Phoebe’s shoulder. “It can’t be. He is coming to life, too. He’ll save us.”
Phoebe felt her jaw drop as the angel spread his wings so that they spanned the room, the feathers turning from an alabaster color to glistening cream with silver tips. He moved slowly, his joints appearing stiff; he turned to look at the women and the crystal blue of his irises shone when his gaze settled on Rachael. His whole body began to pulse and glow. How could this be real?
“Beloved,” the angel said to Rachael.
“Help us,” Rachael cried.
Another of the rocks spluttered and died, leaving one.
The demon pushed at the invisible barrier, fury crossing his handsome face. He pointed at Phoebe. “This rock will not bind me much longer. Prepare to come to me.”
Red light from his hand zinged toward her, wrapping itself around her. Slowly, inexplicably, she could feel herself being pulled toward the demon as if he had bound her with invisible cords.
Rachael screamed. “Phoebe, don’t go near him.” She grabbed onto Phoebe’s shoulders.
“I can’t stop it. He’s pulling me,” Phoebe cried.
Galaden stretched and when his gaze settled on the demon, Agrat, his mouth formed a hard, tight line. “So, Agrat, you’ve come back to wreak havoc on the world.”
“I’m saving my vengeance for you,” the demon snarled.
“Your concubine doesn’t want you. I looked after her well. She was happy with me tending to her every need,” Galaden said, his voice melodic and calm.
"She was my wife!" The demon’s fist hit the invisible barrier so hard that Phoebe saw his knuckles split and spill blood, but the angel just shook his head, a grim smile on his lips.
“You always fought better than you thought, which made you treacherous,” Galaden said. He turned to Phoebe and beckoned. “Come to me, Princess. We have unfinished business. The demon stole you from my father, the king, in your past life and he needs to learn the punishment for theft.”
Agrat fixed Phoebe with a penetrating stare, his pupils pinpricks surrounded by glowing irises. “Don’t listen to him. He means to kill you.”
“I don’t believe you.” Fear skated along at the edges of her memory, the images of what had passed between them in her dreams too clouded with terror to bring to the fore, but she did remember the angel folding her under his wing.
Yet why did the thought of running to him, even if she could escape the demon’s pull, ignite panic in her heart?
“Dammit, Phoebe. Don’t listen to Galaden,” the demon urged.
As soon as the rock died, he lunged forward and grabbed her arm.
Rachael gasped.
Phoebe’s fear gave way to action as she fought for her very survival. “Get away from me.” Reaching down, she grabbed the hammer off the floor and slammed it on his outstretched arm that held her captive. She heard the crack of bone and the demon released her as a deep warning growl left his throat.
She fell backwards, hitting the studio floor hard and scrabbled to escape, her heart beating so fast it seemed like it was in her throat.
The demon stalked toward her, his face implacable, then bent and pulled her to her feet with one arm. A dark bruise was already forming where she’d hit him with the hammer. She tried to jerk her wrist from his grasp but even one-armed, he was too strong to fight.
“Help me,” she implored the angel, seeing no alternative.
Galaden reached to his scabbard, though his movements remained stiff, and pulled out his sword, which made a singing sound as he withdrew it. In his other hand, a white fireball glowed.
“Finally, I get to finish you,” Galaden said to Agrat.
“You never had the courage to initiate a damned thing,” the demon growled, releasing Phoebe and pushing her behind him. “Prepare to die, traitor.”
Phoebe glanced at the demon who stood between her and escape through the studio door. Just to the left of the angel she could see Rachael edging closer toward the door. She met Rachael’s eyes and mouthed, “Run.”
A white fireball came zinging at Agrat, who sidestepped it with surprising grace considering his size. It hit the beautiful female statue of an angel, taking off its head.
With the distraction, Rachael made a break for the door and was through it in an instant, her screams for the police echoing back into the studio.
While marble exploded around her, Phoebe flattened her
self against the wall only feet from the door. She glanced at the demon waiting for her break.
A mirthless laugh left the demon’s lips, his gaze intent on the angel. “You took off your mother’s head. How fitting. You would have done that if your father had ordered it.”
“King Sol loved my mother unlike the demon princess that bred you.”
The angel left trails of silver on the studio floor as he moved, but there was nothing lighthearted about his expression as his crystal-blue eyes narrowed. “I heard your mother begged to see you before she died but the king didn’t want you contaminated with her evil. It didn’t work anyway because you are demon spawn.”
Agrat’s eyes turned to fire.
Phoebe shuddered.
The men circled each other, their hatred palpable. The demon outweighed the angel who had a leaner, younger figure. Agrat was muscular and well built for fighting, but unlike the angel he wasn’t armed.
Until a red fireball that looked like it had been conjured from hell grew in his hand.
Phoebe edged toward the door.
The demon advanced on the angel, his back to Phoebe, throwing fireball after fireball, which Galaden deflected with his sword.
Statues exploded, their white marble shards piercing the walls and littering the floor.
The angel brought his sword down to take off the demon’s head in a grand sweeping motion but the demon leapt aside, his body fluid, his muscles contracting and bunching like an experienced street fighter’s. But these men were not mortal.
Their power was magnificent and deadly.
The demon punched Galaden sending him flying across the studio. He slammed into the wall. Before he recovered, Agrat leapt across the space, wrenched the sword from his hand and held it to his throat so that he was forced to kneel at the demon’s feet. “You’ll die before you touch my woman.”
“She doesn’t want you,” Galaden said. “I owned her far longer than you, and I have a mind to possess her again. She brings great fey power from the people of the North.” The angel’s beautiful cream and silver wings were spread wide in a magnificent fan, but Phoebe only had eyes for Agrat. Shameful lust flickered between her legs as she admired the powerful strength of him.
Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) Page 4
