by Susan Illene
“No, it doesn’t,” Caius agreed. “But first we must escape this place before we can do anything to help him.”
Bartol hated knowing his charge was out there, having who knew what done to him. And to what end? He recalled the demon’s timeline, no longer certain where they might be along it. “Germany was only days away from the attack deadline when we reached Prague.”
Caius cursed. “If I had to guess, it might have already occurred—or else we wouldn’t have woken up.”
“There’s a strong possibility the demon could return at any time to either use us again or kill us.” They could not allow that to continue. “We must remove these marks.”
“It’s going to be painful,” Caius warned.
Excruciating, in fact. They’d have to peel multiple layers of skin to get rid of the symbol.
“Do it for me first,” Bartol ordered. “We can use some loose rocks by the entrance that have sharp edges.”
“Are you certain?” Caius asked. “You’re going to be in a lot of pain when it’s your turn to remove mine.”
“You can thank Kerbasi later for flaying my skin countless times over nearly a century. I assure you, this is something I can handle better than anyone,” Bartol said, yanking his shirt off in one determined stroke.
He would have thought going through something painful again would bring on the nightmares from Purgatory, but it didn’t. Instead, all he could think of was getting out of the cave. Haagenti had Tormod. They needed to escape and find the nerou before it was too late—if it wasn’t already.
“Very well,” Caius said, shuffling away to search for a rock shard.
None would be as perfect as a blade, but some were thin and sharp enough to be the next best thing under the circumstances. Bartol waited, preparing himself by searching for the secret place inside where pain had little effect. Only someone who had suffered physical abuse many times learned to find it. For him, it was a happy place where he could relive his time with his mother before she passed away. He’d only been six years old, but he’d never allowed her beautiful face to fade from his mind. To this day, he could recall her holding him and singing sweet songs. He’d had it better than most nephilim during his early years. Bartol had been loved, and he’d never forgotten it.
Caius began cutting into his skin. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even as he fought his way back to his happy place. For a moment, his mother’s visage shimmered in his mind, but then Cori’s took her place. Bartol didn’t mean for it to happen. Yet he sunk into the vision happily as his mate moved about his kitchen, merrily cooking something for them to eat. In all his life, he’d never seen a woman who enjoyed preparing meals as much as his mate. It never ceased to amaze him, considering she didn’t fit the stereotype for a cook at all. She wasn’t soft or delicate, didn’t wear dresses, and she worked a job dominated by men. Despite her tough exterior, she didn’t balk at cooking or baking at all. Thoughts of Cori kept the pain at bay so well that Bartol was surprised when Caius stopped stripping away his skin.
“I’m done.”
He shuddered. The pain returned in full force as soon as Cori’s face faded from his mind. He gasped in a breath, let it out, and took in another. This was the hardest part, shifting between his safe harbor and the real world. After a minute or two, Bartol managed to push the agony down to a more bearable level. Blood still ran down his back, and he’d yet to begin healing, but at least he could handle what pain was left.
“How long did it take?” he asked.
Caius grunted. “Longer than I would have liked without any light to guide me. Did you feel any of it?”
“Not until you finished, but I have learned how to separate my mind and body when necessary.” He took the jagged rock piece Caius handed him. “Are you ready?”
“I don’t have your mental resources, but I will endure.” Caius pulled his shirt off and scooted around. “I can only hope you work faster than I did.”
Bartol rose onto his knees and took hold of the nephilim’s shoulder. “Concentrate on your breathing—in through your nose and out through your mouth—and think of a time in your life when you were happiest. You must push back the pain and live in that pleasant moment.”
Caius took in a deep breath and let it out. “Easier said than done.”
Bartol wouldn’t tell his old friend how it had taken months of torture before he began to find that place. Eventually, though, the mind learns how as a means of survival—or it breaks.
Ignoring the agony still raging along his own back, he began cutting into the nephilim’s skin. The other man gasped, but otherwise, let out no signs of pain. Bartol recalled from personal experience how to remove layers deep enough that it would rid his friend of the mark. He cut carefully and cleanly. Caius groaned and grunted, his muscles tightening.
“It hurts more when you fight it,” Bartol said, pausing his work. “You must loosen up as much as possible.”
The nephilim growled. “Go to Hell.”
“I’ve been close enough, my friend.”
Bartol waited until Caius finished cursing, understanding it was best to let him vent for a moment before continuing. The rock shard wasn’t as sharp as he would have liked, but he managed to remove one strip at a time until there was nothing left of the jagged skin along his upper back. The symbol was gone, and to his surprise, he sensed the power tether breaking off. He must have missed it happening to himself since he’d been too focused on Cori.
Bartol set down the rock, noting his hands were covered in blood. “I’m finished.”
“Took long enough.” Caius collapsed, lying sideways on the ground. “I’m just going to rest here for a while.”
Bartol scooted away, avoiding the mess they’d created, and found his own resting spot. Already, he could feel a hint of his strength returning. The demon couldn’t draw power from him anymore, but it would be a while yet before he’d fully heal or be able to flash.
Knowing sleep was the only thing that might speed up the process, and the clock was ticking before Haagenti might return, he allowed himself to rest. Bartol’s eyes closed, and he thought of Cori. She would be worried sick about him by now. The thought of having someone who missed him—unlike all those years in Purgatory when few even cared what was happening to him—it gave him some comfort to think he had a woman these days who did. She might not be perfect, and their relationship was still not on firm footing, but in the darkness she gave him a lifeline and hope.
Bartol couldn’t say how much time passed as he lay there sleeping fitfully. More than once he accidentally turned onto his back and shot upward in agony. It took several minutes of breathing and thinking calming thoughts before he could close his eyes again.
Around the fourth or fifth time, he inadvertently woke himself, a brilliant flash of light appeared in the cavern. After so much time of living in complete darkness, he could not hope to handle the sheer brightness of it. He covered his face with his hands and decided this must be a horrible dream.
“I’ve come to rescue you,” Remiel said, irony in his tone.
Bartol peeked between his fingers, relieved that the archangel had turned his brilliant light down to a soft glow. “It took you long enough.”
“You’ve been missing for nearly a week. You were hidden from me for all of that time until now.” He moved toward Bartol and took his arm to help him up. “I assure you this is the soonest I could have found you.”
“The demon marked us to drain our powers.” He went on to explain to the archangel what they’d had to do to rid themselves of the symbol. “We are only beginning to heal.”
“There is a spell over this place as well. I could not locate your signatures until you regained enough strength,” Remiel said, gazing around the cave in annoyance.
Bartol nodded. “I suspected as much.”
“Brace yourself, and I will heal you,” the archangel commanded.
He waited for Bartol to turn and press his hands against the wall. Then he
pushed his healing power into him without even touching him. Remiel’s warm glow ran over Bartol’s body in gentle waves. It wasn’t every day one got healed by an archangel—or ever that he knew of—and it was far less uncomfortable than any other way he’d experienced. In a matter of moments, his back was fully restored and whole. Bartol still didn’t have all his powers back, but at least he wasn’t in pain anymore.
“Thank you,” he said, turning back around. It was the first time he’d ever said such words to any angel, but he meant them. He and Caius might have waited days to regain enough strength to escape on their own.
Remiel’s voice came out gruff, “It is the least I can do.”
“Have you found Tormod yet?” Bartol asked.
The archangel shook his head. “I’m afraid not, but we can discuss what happened to the three of you later. For now, we must hurry.”
He turned toward Caius, who still lay on the stone floor, and healed him next. The nephilim was up on his feet moments after it was done, stretching and testing his body. There was something to be said for an angel healing.
Caius grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, reminding Bartol he should do the same. “I’m ready when you are. We suspect the demon will be back for us soon, and I don’t want to be here when he does.”
“Agreed.” Remiel glanced between them. “Since the demon orchestrated a massive attack in Germany two days ago, he’s been in hiding, but he could surface again at any time.”
“What happened?” Bartol asked.
“I will explain everything soon enough.” The archangel took hold of both nephilim, careful with Bartol since he was aware of his sensitivity to touch. “Let us leave this place first.”
Speaking of which. “Where are we now?”
“Deep in the Scandinavian Mountains of Norway.”
Chapter 22
Bartol
Remiel deposited Bartol and Caius at a hotel in Frankfurt, Germany, promising he’d return in a couple of hours. He didn’t say what he’d be doing while he was gone or answer any of their questions. The archangel simply insisted they get cleaned up because they smelled terrible, and that they should eat something.
But it wasn’t that simple. Their team wasn’t whole anymore. Bartol was deeply worried about Tormod and what might have become of the nerou. Why had Haagenti separated them? Was it because the young man had demon blood and could be of some use? None of the possibilities he considered amounted to anything good other than the fact that Tormod was most likely still alive, somewhere. The archangels would have noted it if the nerou’s body turned up someplace. But what condition might Tormod be in once they found him, and would he be the same young man as before?
With those dark thoughts on his mind, Bartol took his time in the shower, scrubbing away the dirt, blood, and grime coating his skin. He’d lost some weight in the last week so that his muscles weren’t as defined as before, but that was no surprise. It didn’t take too long for starvation to affect a nephilim. As soon as he got out, he called room service and ordered enough food to feed an army. Bartol had nothing clean to put on and settled for wearing a hotel robe until he could muster up a change of clothes.
Caius knocked on the door right after the feast arrived, also wearing a white robe. “Wonderful. I was hoping you’d already gotten the food.”
They’d agreed to meet after cleaning up so they could eat and talk.
“We need clothes.” Bartol gestured at the other nephilim to take a seat at the table. “Any ideas that won’t require us breaking human laws?”
With their wallets and bags gone, they’d lost all the resources they had on hand. At this juncture, they could hardly return to their respective homes. The demon was escalating his attacks, and they had to find Tormod as soon as possible.
Caius sat, pulling one of the meals before him. “I’ve already taken care of that.”
“How so?”
“Luckily for us, Germany is a place where I’ve got quite a few friends. I called someone already. We should have a new set of clothes within the hour, as well as funds to spend for anything else we might need,” he replied, then took a bite of his food before continuing. “I know I’m going to need a new laptop, and we’ll both need cell phones.”
“Agreed.” Bartol worked on his meal for the next few minutes, ravenous after too many days without eating. But one thing plagued his mind. “I wonder if the demon remains in town, or if he’s moved on.”
Caius broke apart a piece of bread. “It’s possible, but if it’s been two days since his last attack, he may have left already—perhaps to London.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t come back for us before we woke.”
“There may be a reason for that.” The nephilim paused to eat a few more bites. “I talked to our contact in Prague, and apparently a lot of supernaturals went missing just before us. More than likely, we were one of many he used to fuel his powers, so it could be that we weren’t his top priority after he finished in Germany.”
Caius had certainly been busy over the last hour, while Bartol had yet to contact Cori. The thought made him feel guilty. It was just that he knew they’d be talking for quite a while, and he didn’t want to rush their conversation—not with Remiel due back anytime and the updates he’d have for them. When Bartol did finally call his mate, he wanted to give her his full attention without any potential interruptions. Cori might not love him yet, but he knew she cared enough that she’d be upset at his disappearance. Speaking with her would help bring peace to both of them. He needed to hear her voice more than anything and remind himself the world wasn’t entirely bad.
“So the demon kidnapped supernaturals in Prague, but he didn’t do anything else?” Bartol asked.
Caius shook his head. “Nothing else worth noting. He was building up his power base in Germany, though I still haven’t checked to find out what happened here yet.”
Bartol had resisted turning on the television, preferring to hear Remiel’s account. The newscasters wouldn’t have the full story, and half of what they did report would probably not be accurate. He’d found the media had a way of skewing the news in the wrong direction more often than not, especially when the supernatural were involved.
A bright flash of light lit up the room, and Remiel appeared near the door. Bartol and Caius started to get up from their seats, but the archangel waved them off.
“Continue eating,” he said, pulling out a chair at the table to join them. “I will be doing most of the talking anyway.”
Bartol gave the archangel a quizzical look. He’d never seen Remiel behave in anything other than a formal fashion before. It was quite shocking to see him sitting at their table and even eyeing their food with mild curiosity.
“Where did you go?” Bartol asked.
“First, I went to inform your mate and the others in Alaska that I found the two of you. They are relieved to hear both of you are safe and recovering, but they’re quite upset about Tormod, especially Emily.” Remiel worked his jaw, a hint of remorse there in his eyes. “That young lady has been through a lot this year, but I promised her we will not stop our search for the nerou until he is found. In addition to that, I assured Cori you would call her once you were able. She understands you need a little time to recuperate first.”
Bartol almost didn’t know what to say. “That was…very considerate of you.”
“Yes, well, you may very well change your opinion of me later in this conversation, but I did not want your mate or friends worrying any longer than necessary. They were quite insistent I track you down.” The archangel rubbed at his neck. “I’ve never seen a group of supernaturals more close-knit than the ones in Alaska.”
Neither had Bartol, but he found it interesting to see how that affected Remiel. He seemed more than a little perplexed by it. “Tell us about what happened here.”
“Unfortunately, I fell behind on current events while searching for you,” he explained. “But when I returned to Archangel Headquarters a short whil
e ago, the others brought me up to date.”
“There’s a headquarters for archangels?” Caius lifted a brow. “I’ve never heard that before.”
“It is not something we usually mention in front of your kind.”
Bartol supposed it said something they were hearing about it now. “What did we miss over the last week?”
“The attack here in Frankfurt was against Muslims this time.” Remiel’s lips thinned. “During Friday prayers, half a dozen mosques were filled with men, women, and children. They set their buildings on fire and stayed inside with none attempting to escape.”
“The demon must have used considerable power to keep that many people from saving themselves,” Caius said, shaking his head.
Bartol set his fork down, unable to eat more. “This is true, which is why he must have needed to siphon ours and other supernaturals’ strength.” He directed his attention to Remiel. “How many died in the fires?”
“Nearly one thousand.”
Bartol sat back in his chair, stunned. Zoe had warned the attack in Germany would be considerable if the demon wasn’t stopped in time, but he still hadn’t calculated that kind of loss, especially compared to the previous ones. “How are the authorities handling it?”
“Not well. All of their evidence points toward the victims not being trapped, but rather lighting the fire themselves and willingly staying inside, which is what is getting reported in the human media. But of course, there are those who refuse to believe such a story, especially with the tragedies happening at six mosques simultaneously. Tensions are running high, and authorities fear there may be retaliation.”
The Islamic world would be in an uproar. “Extremist groups will attempt retribution.”
“Indeed.” Remiel sighed, his features showing exhaustion he rarely exhibited. “This could result in thousands more dying without the demon having to do anything else, and it could assist him in generating more power.”
“Zoe said he’d attack again in London,” Caius pointed out.
