It hadn't been difficult to track Galaden. His energy signal was full of flares as he stole life-force energy from passersby to hasten his gathering of strength. In this cool climate the sun was too feeble to charge him unlike the sun in his hot desert land.
Agrat watched as a flash of light left a human who passed the angel. The person staggered and put his hand on his friend's shoulder as if needing support. The angel stood proudly, stretched his wings and walked forward. Light flared like fireworks as Galaden stole precious life-force energy. Soon several exhausted-looking humans sat on the wooden benches with their heads in their hands.
Was there no end to this violation? Agrat strode forward, dagger drawn.
The angel turned, sighted Agrat and stopped in front of his next victim, a mother in her thirties with a young son.
The prince cursed.
"Look, Mom, an angel," cried a boy about six, pointing at Galaden.
"There's nothing there, sweetie. They live in heaven," the mother said.
"No. He's here. Standing in front of you," the boy insisted.
Galaden smiled at the child before turning to the mother, then raised his hand, palm out. Agrat saw the flash of white light leave the mother's body and enter the angel. He breathed in and stretched as he absorbed her energy. The woman's shoulders slumped until she became shrunken. She collapsed on the seat at the side of the pathway, her back curved, her head between her hands as if she could barely support it.
The boy's face crumpled. "Mom?"
"It's okay, darling. I'm just tired," the woman murmured.
Agrat knew the woman would recover if the angel hadn't taken too much of the mother's life-force, but his gut clenched. Theft was theft.
Galaden beckoned the boy.
Agrat gripped his dagger and moved swiftly behind the angel his dagger held just behind him in case the boy saw it.
"Mommy. Look! The angel wants me to go to him." The boy pulled at her jacket, trying to get her attention.
Agrat saw confusion cross the woman's face. "There's no one there. Just give me a minute to rest then we'll go get a hot drink." The mother yawned and her eyelids shuttered.
"I know you stand behind me, brother. I smell the stink of demon lust. Have you bedded my father's concubine yet?" Galaden reached over and picked a red berry from a bush from the garden, squatted and held out his hand to the child.
"You'll never get near her."
"Don't be so sure."
Agrat froze, every muscle in his body tensed for action. Children's energy was purest and easiest for the angel to absorb, but sucking life-force energy from a child could result in the little one developing a wasting disease, or worse, death.
"Let the boy go," Agrat said, trying to keep the malevolence out of his tone, in case he frightened the child.
The boy looked up at Agrat, his eyes enlarged with fear and he stepped back, just out of reach from his mother.
Agrat's heart constricted. He forced his tension down so that his eyes didn't glow, but it was like trying to stop a tide when he was in battle mode.
"You taught me children are sacred. Not to be touched even if they belonged to the enemy." Galaden stood and walked over to the child.
Agrat changed to the old language not wishing to frighten the boy further. "Nothing is sacred to you. Not brotherhood, not love. Nothing. Take the child's life-force and I'll slit your throat. You'll be so busy choking on your own blood you won't be able to defend yourself." He forced himself to keep his tone low and even.
"Mommy? I don't like that bad man," the boy cried pointing at Agrat.
The pain of a spear entered Agrat's heart at the child's words.
Galaden's lips curled, his gaze sardonic with amusement.
The child's mother opened her eyes. "Tommy, what are you looking at? There's no one there. Come here." Her voice was sharp but barely above a whisper. She tried to push herself off the wooden bench to get to the child but failed.
Galaden handed the boy the berry and turned to face Agrat. "You know you won't slit my throat in front of the boy," the angel replied in the old language. He held a nonchalant pose but Agrat wasn't fooled by his stance.
Agrat glanced at the boy. "Take your mother and go, child."
The boy let out a cry. He grabbed his mother by the hands and pulled her to her feet. "His eyes are red, Mom."
Damn! Agrat stamped down his hatred of the angel, hoping his eyes had ceased glowing.
The woman struggled to stand in response to her son's fear. On looking around, she shrugged. Further up, several people sat on the benches, but the High Line wasn't crowded. "Come on then," she said.
Agrat watched out of the corners of his eyes as the child drew his mother away from them toward the High Line stairs.
Galaden laughed. "You terrorized the young ones in the human nursery. That's why they moved you, left you all alone there. Just the sight of your snarling face and those hideous eyes. No human could bear to be near you."
The angel's words were like grinding a boot on the broken bone of his loneliness. He took a deep breath in, determined not to let the insanity of rage overwhelm him. "They put you with me. You learned not to fear me, but you should have."
Agrat charged at Galaden, dagger pointed.
Sword drawn, the angel parried. Blades clashed.
People sitting on the High Line benches raised their heads looking for the source of the noise.
Agrat leapt out of the sword's reach. He threw a fireball, which the angel batted into the garden causing it to burst into flames.
"Look, a fire." A man on the High Line pathway pointed to the burning bush, his voice high with panic. He took off his jacket, strode over to it and started batting the bush.
"I'll call the fire brigade," his friend said, reaching for his cell phone.
The angel circled the demon, his gait light, clearly waiting for an opportunity to strike. "I hope you enjoyed the princess as much as I did when I owned her. Such sweetness."
Agrat roared. Blood rushed before his eyes.
Galaden flew forward and slashed Agrat's wrist.
The dagger clattered to the pavers. Pain seared up his arm. The prince leapt back. He forced himself to subjugate the pain, though his right hand was useless. Focus or die!
Blood dripped off Galaden's sword as he circled Agrat. "Phoebe will be mine again to savor."
Agrat flicked his good arm down in an arcing motion so that the secreted dagger in the wristband slid into his hand. He closed his fist around it. The pavers sizzled with the prince's blood, but he didn't stop moving, careful to keep out of the sword's range, waiting for his chance to set Galaden's wings on fire. "I'll spend my life protecting her."
In the distance, a siren wailed. Time was short. There were too many people in this city. He had to kill the angel fast.
Galaden's wings flared. "You picked the gem of my father's women. An extraordinary beauty. No doubt you imagined yourself in love."
"What would you know about love?" Blood draining out of him, Agrat struggled to concentrate. He threw the fireball, bouncing it on the ground just under the angel's sword tip so that it rose up toward the angel's wings.
Galaden flew into the air so that the fireball hit a small tree behind him. It exploded into flames. Cinders hit the dry grass around it. The angel landed with poise, his sword raised for combat. "Phoebe is descended from the Norse gods. She is rich with energy."
"Hell, look at that? Spontaneous combustion," said the man with the cell phone, his voice sharp with panic.
"Something strange is happening. Let's get out of here," his friend replied.
"Fire!" a woman further down the High Line path screamed.
Concentrate. Kill the angel. Fast. Agrat could feel his movements slowing as he grew weak. He staggered. "You won't get near her, you leech."
Galaden raised his sword for a death stroke. "Such loyalty. You won't save her any more than you did last time." The angel spread his wings and flew at him like a bl
ade of light.
Agrat dematerialized.
Galaden landed and swirled around. "Show yourself, demon."
Agrat reappeared behind him, though he was careful to keep the non-corporeal form so adults couldn't see him. He drove his dagger down through the angel's shoulder blade to prevent him from flying. "I know loyalty. I don't leave the one I love to die, sucked dry like a husk of wheat."
Galaden cried out in agony as he dropped to his knees, his damaged wing flared and silver glitter sprayed across the pavement. "You lie. She lives."
Agrat twisted the blade. "Rachael knocks on death's door, too weak to call your name."
"No!" the angel groaned.
Agrat crunched Galaden's throat between his bicep and injured forearm so he could finish the angel with his dagger. Blood from the prince's forearm splashed the angel's hair and ran down his torso like red tears.
Shouts and laughter spilled out over the High Line from the street. A group of children gathered at the foot of the stairs. Agrat heard their teachers call to them to stand and wait. The children would be able to see them and there was nothing Agrat could do about it.
The angel's form became corporeal so that even the adults who followed the children would be able to see him, too.
"You seek to hide behind humans, you coward?"
"You will not take my head in front of young," Galaden gasped.
"Don't be so sure."
"I know you, brother."
From his position on the walkway he saw the children, not yet teenagers, jostle as their teachers caught up with them. Laughter and happiness filled the air. At ten years of age, Agrat's father had insisted he witness his first execution. When his father's soldier had cleaved the head from a fresh-faced soldier's body, the king had ordered Agrat to deliver the head to his enemy. On receiving the war token, the man had cradled the head and begged for the body. The prince had expected anger and threats of vengeance until the depths of his father's cruelty hit home. The head had belonged to the man's twelve-year-old son.
His stomach turned at the memory.
"You will not behead me in front of children," Galaden repeated with force. "You will not let children see violence. You refused to train me in battle when I was a child. You believed like all others that there was goodness in me, that I had a chance when you had none. You didn't want me raised as a soldier, in the cruelty of war, like you. You didn't want me to be like you. Without love. Without hope. You will not take my head."
"Cease gabbling, angel. It will not save you." Words. They were just words. He would not listen, yet pain struck him at their shared memories of a time when they'd loved another.
Just then a fire truck drew up. Firemen poured out of it.
The group of children squealed with delight at the sight of the firemen. Their teachers told them to stand to the side as the firemen dashed toward the High Line stairs.
The children turned and headed up the stairs after them, despite their teachers' protests to wait.
"Hey, there's someone hurt here. Get the paramedic," a fireman cried on reaching the top of the stairs, his gaze on Galaden.
Agrat cursed.
One deep slash and he would take the angel's head, but the young would see the horror; the dripping, bloody corpse and battered wing. Agrat would not let them witness it.
Not like he had.
His hand trembled so anxious was he to complete the kill and free Phoebe, but the prince looked about him. Already, people on the pathway further down the High Line had noticed the strange sight of the angel glowing on the walkway. Agrat could see them pointing. Others were distracted as the gardens burned. Women cried out, gathering their companions to them. Men tried to put out the blaze.
He only had moments to act. More firemen appeared at the top of the stairs. Soon children would follow. Damn Galaden.
Agrat cursed and vanished.
Chapter 10
Phoebe twisted the shower tap on hard, determined to let the teeming water ease her tension. It had come close with Agrat before in the kitchen. She wanted him with an intensity that left her edgy with need. She ran the soap over her nipples and they peaked at her touch. When she slipped her fingers between her legs, her inner lips were swollen with a desire so powerful she wanted to satisfy herself. An image of the prince with his swarthy face, intense expression and sensuous, kissable mouth came to mind. Get real, Phoebe. This was not a man she was falling for. This was a demon on a mission to kill an angel because of an ancient curse. No matter that, according to Agrat, Galaden was fallen; Phoebe believed in God, angels and an afterlife, and she still couldn't get her head around the concept that angels could be evil. There was no proof that Galaden was evil or that he wanted to kill her, and yet, something wasn't right about the situation. Phoebe put the soap in the soap holder and rinsed off thinking about Agrat.
The warrior's glowing eyes, his hulking, muscle-bound body and the way he threw a fireball told her killing wasn't new to him. He was a master of it. This was not someone she should fall for. So why was she?
A thump followed by a crash from the bedroom had her switching off the water and grabbing a towel. Frantically, she dried herself, stepped out of the shower stall and wrapped the towel around herself, tucking it under her arm. She glanced around the bathroom looking for something to defend herself with. Her clothes were on the bed, but the wrist guard was on the bathroom cabinet, within reach. Grabbing it, she pulled it over her wrist and flung her forearm in the downward motion as Agrat had shown her. The dagger slid into her hand. Even though she was armed, she was semi-naked, which did nothing for her confidence.
A deep groan met her ears.
Phoebe flung open the bathroom door to see Agrat lying wounded on the bed, his bloodied forearm resting on his chest.
His eyes opened and his gaze drank her in. Instead of the hard lines of anger his face usually carried, he managed a small smile, though his face seemed drawn with pain.
"You're hurt," she said.
"You're naked."
"I'm wearing a towel."
"Come closer and you won't be."
"I don't know how you can joke with a wound like that." Bone protruded above the wrist and raw flesh surrounded it. The whole of his forearm was discolored and swollen. Phoebe snatched up her underwear and pulled on her bra and panties.
"I'll heal fast. The energy is stronger here than in the city because I've called on my ancestors to guard this place. In an hour my arm will be whole again."
"It looks like you almost lost your hand." She bit her thumbnail with concern, wondering how he could bear it. Already, her stomach was churning. The pain must be hideous.
"Galaden's sword nearly took it clean off. Luckily he didn't. It takes days to grow back a limb."
Phoebe shuddered at the thought. "Did you kill him?"
"Wounded him, but he gave fair return. It will slow him down. The moment I am healed I will finish him. I cannot let him have you." There was real vulnerability in his eyes as he stared at her.
No one had ever looked at her like he did. Sure, she'd had boyfriends, but she'd always held back, putting her work first. Something deep inside her stirred, a primeval need to respond. She was kidding herself when she'd dismissed this relationship as sexual attraction.
"And Rachael?"
"I found her but Galaden had taken much of her life-force. She couldn't take sustenance. Without it, she will die. I called for a healing chariot."
"An ambulance?" She resisted a smile at his quaint term and her heart warmed with relief that he had looked after her best friend.
"They have taken her to a healing center."
"You mean a hospital," she said
"Yes. Do not fear, Galaden will not find her easily. He will try to locate her through her energy signals. I've put a protective shield around her. There are so many humans in this city with similar life-force levels; it will be difficult for him to trace her. She won't be able to withstand him if he extracts what is left."
"No. She sleeps a deep sleep, but she lives. I saw in the cop's memory that your hospital gives sustenance in a manner not used in my time."
"It's called a drip. Thank you for saving my friend."
"I was proud to serve her. Rachael gave me much a long time ago. A debt must be repaid."
"You recognized her in my studio," she said. "You called her 'Healer'."
"In my time, Rachael was a healer of great merit. Her gift was utilized in a way I had never seen until she served me. People came from many lands to see her. When Galaden was a young angel, he was wounded in battle. I took him to Rachael. She used my life-force to heal him."
"You shared your own life-force with your brother? You must have loved Galaden." The thought made her stop. She’d wondered if what Agrat felt for her was akin to possession not love, but he had loved Galaden, a member of his family.
"When he was younger there was still much goodness in him. He changed as he grew older into a cold-hearted creature who betrays without mercy." His face held a closed, pained expression. "I wanted to kill him on the High Line." He stopped and swallowed. "If I had been swifter in my attack, I would have. It is the only way to protect you."
"Why didn't you?"
"He is still my brother. We are bonded by nature of our human blood and I could not find it within myself to strike the final blow." He held her gaze for a long moment.
"He called you a demon." Phoebe rubbed her forehead trying to puzzle it out. "But you love like a human. What are you?" Surely the angel would know a demon when he saw one? When Agrat was in battle mode and his eyes glowed he was terrifying, and yet, his manner with her, despite his air of violence, was gentle and it was this side of him that made him so appealing.
"My father was human. My mother was a creature of the elements. I was told she could dematerialize to become wind, or summon fire and make it do her will. My nursemaid once recounted a tale that when my mother needed peace from my wails she would dissolve into a river or ground herself by disguising herself as earth. In fury, my mother could become a wall of fire, but I have never been able to summon such energy to do so. In truth Phoebe, I do not know what I am. After my mother's death, my father destroyed what was left of my kind. I am the last of them." There was something raw and vulnerable in his statement.
Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) Page 11
