Relief crossed his features. "Thank you, Healer."
His respectful manner surprised her. There was no doubt that here was the most dangerous man she had ever encountered, yet he seemed to have left the echo of violence he carried with him at her front door. Instead, all she sensed was his concern for his brother.
Rachael held her hands over the wound and closed her eyes, seeking with her gift to see whether the spear had penetrated the angel's heart. The energy from the angel pulsed below her hands. A myriad of sensations: misery, confusion and anxiety hit her like a blow as the life of the angel ebbed away. She staggered over the unexpectedness of it and put her hand to her mouth to stop the horror of what she had seen.
"What is it?"
She glanced up at the demon prince and saw that he was studying her intensely. There was so much more to this incident than the prince suspected. "Wounds mirror life. This young prince loves you but his mother does not and it tears this angel apart. That is why he took the spear," she said.
"Galaden did this on purpose?" His swarthy face blanched and he looked as if she'd punched him.
"This is what I have seen. The angel does not wish to stay on this earth. He admires you, but he cannot fight the will of his mother. It is written. He must do the will of his creators." She touched her brow, trying to make sense of the vision she had seen. "Beware of her. Prepare yourself. She intends to destroy you." That is the message I am given.
"I am under no illusions as to Galaden's mother. I am the firstborn prince, but his mother plots my downfall." His gaze moved to Galaden and his face softened. "We have been together since the nursery. Galaden is all I have," the prince said, his voice gravelly.
Perspiration beaded at her temple. Walking over to the table, which stood under the window, she picked up a water jug, poured water into a basin, added some distilled herbs and brought it over to the prince to wash his hands. When he was finished, she took wads of linen to staunch the wound. "If you will permit it, I could use your energy to heal this young prince."
"What do you desire me to do?"
Rachael saw the desperation in his eyes. "Place your hands on top of mine and focus on your feelings for Galaden."
Light particles shone over the wound, glowing and dancing. Rachael blinked, noticing them as they grew thicker. "Why do these shine like the sun?"
"Angels gather their strength from light. Often it is enough to restore them, but he does not seem to be healing."
"I feel Galaden does not wish to." Rachael placed her hands around the spear and the prince positioned his on top of hers. She closed her eyes and let the prince's essence flow through her. War images bombarded her and she rocked on her feet under the strain. Demons, their eyes glinting red, swam before her. Men screamed in agony as swords cleaved their flesh. Her eyes snapped open and she shook his hands from hers. "I cannot heal with images of death and evil."
"I am a soldier. That is all I know," he said, his voice grim.
"You must call on love. Do you have a wife? Children?" she asked.
"Those things are forbidden me," he said, his voice curt.
“Do you not know love?" she asked
The angel heaved in a deep breath, but the time between each gasp for air became longer, signaling his approaching death.
"I am a demon."
"No. You are something more than that. I can sense it. There is virtue in you, too," she answered with passion. "You must call on it to help heal your brother."
The prince's eyes opened wide as if no one had ever held such a belief about him before. He stared down at his brother and the expression in his face softened. "My father insisted my mother was a demon, yet my nursemaid knew my mother. She told me that my mother's magic did not stem from evil, but ancient energy."
"You love your brother?"
"He is all I have," the prince said.
"Please, we have little time and there is much work to be done. Call on your feelings for him. It is our only hope." Rachel closed her eyes again. This time when the prince put his hands on hers, she could feel enormous strength and courage emanating through him…and something else. Love. She caught the sensation and focused on it.
"Save him, Healer."
She glanced up at him. She would not have thought that an emotion such as love was possible from this demonic prince until she saw it on his face and felt it from his touch. All that she had heard about him was that he was terrifying in battle, fearsome to encounter. His opponents fled before him and yet, here stood a vulnerable man. Gone was the prince's omnipotence, gone was his foreboding air and in his heart she saw pure love for his young angel brother.
Bracing herself, she pulled the spear and placed her hands on the wound, motioning with her chin for the prince to hold his hands over hers.
Bright blood bubbled up through the wound with each beat of the angel's heart, the feel of it hot and sticky under her palms, but mentally she concentrated on knitting the wound.
"He does not breathe," the prince said.
"Focus on your feelings for Galaden. See his heart mending in your mind," she said, taking his energy for the angel into her own heart and sending it through her hands into the wound of the angel.
The blood ceased to flow down the angel's ribs as Rachael channeled the prince's powerful energy into the wound. Her hands started to tremble from the strain, her whole body ached and she thought her legs would crumble under her. Finally spent, Rachael removed her hands. She staggered over to the ewer and washed them.
"The wound has closed," the prince said, his eyes wide with surprise.
The angel's chest was streaked with red and his face was the color of a bleached desert carcass. She took the wads of linen, forced herself to cover the short distance from her healing bench to the pallet and pressed down onto the wound to soak up the blood. "You have deep, strong energy, different from anything I've experienced before. Powerful. Difficult for me to control. I sense it comes from the forces of nature."
The prince put his hand on his brother's chest. "It has not served Galaden. His heart does not beat." His voice was raw with pain.
Exhausted from dealing with the prince's volcanic energy, she rested one hand on the pallet to support her body weight and waved the other hand slowly over the angel's body. "His spirit has not deserted him. We must convince it to stay. Hold your hands over mine again and tell him why he must be at your side."
The prince stared at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You must speak what is in your heart. Your brother calls on death. He does not wish to stay."
"Speak my feelings," the prince repeated as if she were asking him to do something unfamiliar to him.
Rachael looked over the prince's warrior body, which bulged with muscle and noticed how his face was strained. If she had asked him to kill, he could have done it with ease. She held her hands over the chest wound. "If you wish him to remain by your side."
The prince put his hands over hers and frowned with concentration. "Galaden. When you first came to the nursery, I hated you."
A small cry left Rachael's lips but when she glanced into the face of the prince his expression was gentle, his eyes a soft brown.
"The wet nurse insisted I look at you. I didn't want to, but she ordered me to do so and I was still young enough to obey. You smiled at me. No one had ever smiled at me, a prince with demon blood. Only you. No matter how angry, how fearsome I was, you were not afraid of me." The prince's voice trembled and he took a deep breath. "I swore to protect you from that first day. Do not leave me."
The angel took a long shuddering breath.
"Please, Galaden. Come back," the prince cried out. "You are all that I have. Your love is the only love I have known. All fear me. You don't. I miss you, brother. I need you by my side. Please stay."
Rachael focused on Galaden's chest, concentrating on sending the energy of love, from the prince through her hands into Galaden's heart. Thump. It started to beat. Thump, thump, thum
p. "I can feel it," she said, her voice high with excitement."
His gaze met hers and his face lit with hope.
When she removed her hands, she saw that nothing remained of the wound. Sparkles of light carried on the air hovered over the area.
"He will live?" the prince asked.
"Yes, my lord. He is weak but I believe he will live. You have healed your brother." She paused a moment, knowing that what she was about to say would bring such change the prince would never be the same again. "There is something important that you should know about yourself. I could never have used the energy of evil to heal your brother. Whatever you are…it is not as your father says. You are not the spawn of evil."
Chapter 9
Agrat materialized at Phoebe's studio, his whole body charged for destruction. He tensed as he surveyed the space, bringing fiery energy to his hands, ready to send Galaden and the entities to hell where they belonged. The studio was empty. Damn the angel to hell. Where was he? Sensing an echo of the angel's energy, the prince stormed to the back of the studio and entered the apartment at the rear.
"Show yourself, Galaden," he cried. "Prepare to die."
A low groan met his words.
He strode into the bedroom. "Healer?" he said, seeing Rachael lying uncovered on the bed.
Rachael's glazed eyes stared into nothingness. Against her russet locks, her face was bleached and her expression blank. Occasionally, her pale lips murmured as if having a conversation. Agrat bent and pulled the comforter over her to keep her warm. He touched her face. Ice. She was little more than a shell. Death stalked her and she would die within days, unable to replenish the life-force that had been sucked from her core.
"No!" Agrat roared, dropping to his knees beside her.
Why hadn't Rachael seen that the angel was no more than an evil parasite sucking her life-force in the manner a leech sucked blood?
He stroked her cheek. The healer saw good in everyone.
Even him.
Pushing himself to his feet, his hands flexed and clenched as he thought of Phoebe and how she would suffer when she learned Rachael was destined for a slow, sad death. "Bastard angel, I will tear you from limb to limb when I find you."
Glancing outside the window, he saw the sun was rising to its zenith. The angel would use human lives and the sun to recharge and would become difficult to stop. He looked again at Rachael. Damn! Furious, his muscles bunched aching for a fight, but he couldn't leave the healer like this.
He strode from the bedroom into the kitchen, turned on the tap and filled a glass with water. Returning, he put his arm around Rachael's shoulder and raised her, although her head lolled to the side. "Drink, Healer." On putting the glass to her lips, the liquid ran down her chin and onto the bed sheets. She had not the strength to swallow and he could do no more than wet her lips.
Agrat positioned a pillow under her head, laid her back onto it and carefully covered her nakedness. He ground his teeth, craving vengeance. With her pure healer vision, Rachael had seen he had a soul.
One that glowed bright like a star.
She had shown him that it was possible to love and he had found the courage to seek out Phoebe.
He owed the healer a debt of gratitude and a debt must be repaid.
The prince's gaze moved over her, knowing that Galaden would return to drain what remained of her life-force. Her healing energy was sweet like honey and the dark angel would be unable to resist it. Agrat couldn't let the healer die. Searching the cop's memory bank, he saw victims of modern chariot accidents lying in restorative rooms attached to machines and tubes. Perhaps this society's medicine could help Rachael. Agrat strode out of the bedroom, into the living room, searching for the type of device the cop had used to call for help for the chariot victims. On the floor he located a cell phone, picked it up and dialed 911.
"This is the 911 emergency operator," the man said.
When the prince heard the voice, he wasted no time. "A woman lies near death. An angel from hell has sucked her life-force. Send a chariot immediately."
"Sir, it is an offense to make a prank call."
Agrat scowled and looked at the phone. If the man were face to face with him, he would see that he was serious. Deadly serious. He considered sending a fireball down the line, but stopped knowing it wouldn't help Rachael. "I have a sick healer who must be collected."
There was a pause on the line. "What's your name, sir, and the woman's?"
"I am Prince Agrat of Jerusalem and the woman is Rachael, the Healer."
"And I'm the President."
Muscles bunched with fury, he scanned the cop's memory bank to learn what he could about emergency services. "All calls are taped. It is your duty to respond professionally."
"Are you on medication, sir?" the operator queried.
"Do as you are ordered. Send a chariot," Agrat snarled, sensing the man's hesitation.
"Relax, sir, and explain exactly what is going on and where you are."
"In the bedroom of a healer. She does not respond to my touch because an angel has taken her life-force," Agrat said through clenched teeth, irritation prickling up his spine. He had little patience for fools.
"Is that an angel with feathers or without?" the operator quipped.
He thought about dematerializing and materializing in front of the operator. The man would see this was not a subject for mirth when he had him by the throat, but he couldn't leave Rachael in case the angel returned. A deep growl left Agrat's throat. "Fool, she will die without treatment."
A long sigh came through the line reaching his ears. "Okay. Okay. I want you to concentrate. If you don't know the address, what is your nearest landmark?" the operator said.
Agrat strode from the apartment onto the street looking for a landmark. Across the road stood a group of men drinking ale in front of a tavern. Above the doorway was a painted sign of a bull. "The studio is opposite a tavern with a bull."
"Can you see a street sign?"
Agrat went through the cop's memory bank to understand the question. On finding a post with lettering on it, he needed a moment to translate the rigid looking script. Frustration made him grind his jaw at the time this was taking. He had an angel to kill. However, he focused on the cop's memory so he could read and pronounce the sign name properly. "West 13th Street. The healer lies in the sculptor's studio. I command you to hurry. Her life-force energy is waning. You must collect her before the angel returns."
"A car has been dispatched, but I'm going to warn you that it is against the law to make prank calls," the operator said.
"And I warn you, I will search you out and tear you from limb to limb if a chariot does not collect this woman."
"Sir, please do not consume any more alcohol."
Agrat searched his mind for the meaning of alcohol. The sides of his mouth turned up as the image of the cop downing goblet after goblet of ale after a bad day came to mind. The cop grimaced as if in pain, clutched his stomach and burped.
While many things had changed in this time three thousand years later, clearly the need to consume a mood-altering beverage still remained. Although alcohol heightened the prince's humor it never addled his senses, though, like the cop, his stomach burned with anger. Agrat looked at the cell phone and his hand heated. The black plastic casing started to melt.
Just then, a large, black chariot drew over near him, the horn blew and a man stuck his head out of the window. "Hey freak, Halloween was yesterday. Forget to change your costume?"
Fury fueled Agrat's temper and he could feel his eyeballs heating. Soon they would be glowing. He flung a fireball at the car's back tire and it exploded. The chariot stopped, the driver, a burly man with a bald head, opened the car door, jumped out and waved his fist at Agrat. "My Hummer! What got up your ass?"
Agrat glanced around and on not seeing a donkey strode toward the human. "You will learn respect!" Whether it was the growing fireball in his hand or his reddened eyes that made the man back off, Agrat
couldn't say. He wanted a fight. Craved it.
"Fuck!" The man froze then backed away stumbling over his feet, his face a deadly shade of pale.
The only thing that stopped him turning the disrespectful human to cinder was the thought that Phoebe wouldn't be happy if he killed a human to ease his mood when what he really wanted to do was to tear the angel to shreds.
Rachael. He had to stay. A debt was a debt.
Desperate for action, the burning pain in his stomach became searing, and for the first time he had sympathy for the cop downing ale after ale after a bad day. Dealing with these modern day humans who had no deference, and not killing them, was difficult. No human from his time in the past would have dared to be disrespectful. He would teach this human respect. This time he sent another fireball at the undercarriage of the chariot. It exploded, sending debris into the air.
People came running from all directions to put out the flames.
"What was that?" the operator asked.
Agrat put the cell phone to his ear. "Acid reflux."
After the healing chariot collected Rachael, Agrat dematerialized and then rematerialized on the High Line, a park built on top of an old elevated train track in the Meatpacking District. From this position his gaze narrowed, the warrior in him taking in the inherent dangers of attacking Galaden in such a public place. Hives of humans walked the streets below. The buildings that ran along the side of the track contained more people. Others strode along the pathway of the High Line admiring the gardens, though they were few due to the icy weather. He cursed under his breath.
This city teemed with people. Worse, the populace of this time rushed toward danger offering assistance. The chariot incident had taught him that. Why did they not flee like people from his time?
A swift kill was necessary to not attract attention. That left his dagger and limited fireballs. His hand tightened on the hilt.
In front of him, striding along the walkway was Galaden, a trail of glitter dancing in the light particles around his body. No one except children could see the angel. Itching to kill him, Agrat chose his non-corporeal form, too. No one but Galaden and small children would be able to see him, though in the case of the young, he wished it were otherwise.
Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) Page 10
