Angel fought the unnatural weakness stealing over her and slowly straightened. She found her voice, soft and uncertain though it was. And she spoke his name as if it were a magic word at the ending of a very dark spell.
“Michael.”
He smiled warmly at her. “Damn, how I’ve missed you my love,” he told her, continuing to watch her with those starkly uncanny eyes. They were hungry eyes. She knew it instinctively. “You have no idea how much.”
Michael rose gracefully from the couch and came toward her. He was taller than she remembered him being too…. All Angel could do was straighten enough to sit up a little. The closer he got, the weaker she felt. She dropped her head, tearing her gaze from his. This is a bad dream, she thought. I learned how evil he was and now I’m working this shit out in my head. That’s why I can’t move.
But when he knelt before her and she felt his finger under her chin lifting her head, she knew at once that she was wide awake. Because his touch sent cold fire through her body; it was very real, and it was painful.
She flinched at the sensation, and would have pulled away but he grasped her chin and held her fast. His grip wasn’t hard, just firm, and the contact kept the cold fire coming. She felt like dry ice was filling her veins. Angel exhaled a shaking gasp and asked, “How?”
How are you here? How… and why….
Michael watched her in silence for a while, his expression giving nothing away but the hunger she’d already pegged. Finally, he said, “It’s complicated, sweetheart.” Then he released her and stood. He moved away from her, pacing toward the sliding glass doors that led out onto her tiny balcony. As he put distance between them, the cold fire stopped, and Angel felt strength returning to her limbs.
She straightened further, eventually sitting back on her heels. She tried to think as a warden would, tried to compartmentalize her severe shock and focus on survival.
She was in her apartment, and she knew her apartment. Normally, she would have access to weapons stored throughout the property: Under her couch cushions, inside the fake Bonsai tree on the side table by the love seat, in two of the kitchen cabinets, inside a cheese drawer in the fridge, in the tank behind the toilet, in a shallow alcove behind the above-bed painting in her room, in an unused pair of rain boots in her closet, and so forth.
But if the carpet had recently been replaced, and a clean-up job in general had been arranged by the sovereigns, then most likely all of her personal belongings had been removed and the place had been cleared of all evidence that a warden lived here.
A quick glance at the side table where the Bonsai tree had once been was proof enough of that. The tree was gone.
So she had no weapons.
Michael stopped pacing and slowly turned to face her. She immediately knew when his eyes landed on her; they had an uncomfortable weight to them now that they hadn’t possessed before.
If she wasn’t crazy and she wasn’t dreaming, then Michael Clemens was in her living room. That meant one of two things. He’d either never died and he’d changed. Or he’d died and come back – and he’d changed.
“I meant to do this fifteen years ago,” Michael told her, pulling her eyes to him. “But circumstances being what they were….”
Her heart felt so abused looking at him now. Gods, she had been so in love. His presence was powerful. Michael was a tall, handsome, charismatic man who dressed impeccably and always knew exactly what to do and say. And then there were his talents…. He had exquisite control over both man and machine. He could make them do anything he wanted.
But Angel’s friends back then had been right. She really had acted rashly, she really had fallen too hard and too fast. And as she gazed up at him, she had a feeling she might just know why.
Again, his expression was unreadable. He gave nothing away as he slid his hand into the pocket of his black leather sports coat and pulled something out. It glinted between his nimble fingers. Angel’s heart lurched.
“I remember the look on your face when you thought you’d lost this.” He held it up a little so the light caught the emerald set into it. It was the ring he’d meant to give her that night. The ring she’d worn for almost ten years afterward – and then lost one day when it had fallen off her finger at the department store.
“It never fell off your finger, Angel. You didn’t actually lose it. I took it from you.”
Chapter Sixty
Michael palmed the ring and came swiftly toward her again, eating the ground in long strides. At once, the debilitating weakness was back, and Angel swayed, ready to topple onto her side. But Michael took a knee before her and slipped an arm around her, holding her upright.
His touch was electric, but in the wrong way. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to meet his eyes. Be strong, Angel. Don’t let him win. Don’t give him control.
He smiled as if he was well aware of her struggle and it pleased him.
Good, she thought. It made her hate him even more. Asshole.
“You were in the entertainment aisle looking at DVD’s,” he told her, peering so easily into her eyes while she struggled under his influence. He’s a son of a bitch who stole fifteen years of your life, Angel. Remember that. “I was ten steps away the whole time. And even with all your training and all your wards, you had no idea.”
He leaned in, placing his face beside hers and inhaling slowly to smell her hair. “I needed the ring, Angel. I needed it because you wore it. It was the only way to complete my spell.”
I was right, she thought. It was magic all along.
Michael was a warlock.
He laughed softly. It was like listening to Lucifer laugh, heartless and coldblooded but strangely beguiling. “You’re figuring it out now, aren’t you? You’re brilliant, sweetheart. I wanted you the moment I set eyes on you.” He leaned in further, and she felt his breath ghost across her ear. “Do you remember that night? The night we met?”
He kissed her ear softly. The cold fire pain in her was back, easing into her from their single point of skin-on-skin contact. Angel gritted her teeth against it.
Yes, I remember. She’d gone to a club with her friends even though it really wasn’t her thing. But it was the anniversary of her parents’ death and her brother hadn’t returned any of her calls and she’d just failed one of her exams. Her roommate was worried about her. So they dragged her to a dance bar.
“You were so out of place,” he said softly, still speaking like a lover into her ear. “Sitting there alone while they danced without you.”
Angel closed her eyes in misery. Between the memory and the impossible pain of the present, she was once more in her own little Hell. She’d been there a lot lately. If she kept visiting this often, she would soon have to start paying the devil taxes.
In her mind, she was in the club. Fifteen years ago. Dressed in jeans and a white V-neck sweater because she owned no “sexy” clothing. She sat alone, just as he’d said, her small form perched on the edge of a red vinyl booth seat, her hands clasped between her knees.
She remembered being miserable. But then the club went dark and the music stopped, and her heart skipped a beat. From the darkness, a few beautiful notes played out clear and mesmerizing. Piano keys, brilliantly dreamed up, expertly manipulated. It was Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. The only song she knew how to play on the piano. Her second-favorite song in the world.
She closed her eyes and let the song wash over her. It rose in volume and escalated in rhythm, a rave version of the song that took Beethoven’s finest notes and gave them electric wings upon which to soar.
Angel had been thoroughly entranced. And when she opened her eyes, Michael was standing before her, his eyes like the storms from which Beethoven’s lightning emerged.
“I asked you to dance,” he said now, whispering into her ear. “And because I was already in your soul, already pulling your beautiful strings, you danced.”
It was true. She hadn’t even hesitated. Now she knew why. She’d been under his
spell.
“Do you have any idea how special you are, Angel?” he asked her now, his hand slipping under shirt to spread across her back and send more painful electricity through her. “That night, I’d lost a business deal that cost me thousands. I was pissed, and I cast a desperate spell. I made a desperate deal… and it led me to the club. It led me to you.”
“Michael,” she managed, the pain he let loose in her veins clearing a little of the fog of weakness that kept stealing over her. “Please… it hurts.”
Michael stayed where he was for a moment, holding her against him, his grip even tightening. But then he kissed her again, this time on her neck just below her ear, and he pulled back, letting her go.
When he stood up, Angel dropped forward, gasping for breath. She was shaking, and she was sick and tired of being in this position: She was sick and tired of being weak in front of men with all the control.
Dmitri, she thought in desperation. Where are you now, huh? I thought you wanted to make a deal! Well, I want to make a fucking deal too!
“I apologize for the discomfort,” Michael told her as he stepped back, giving her more space, and little by little strength returned to her limbs. “It’s one of the few caveats of my kind. When I’m hungry… those I desire most suffer the consequences.”
Angel digested his words. And then it hit her, and she looked up. It all made sense now. She was a warden so she’d heard of that particular effect before. She knew exactly what it meant.
“You’re Withered,” she said, mystified.
He smiled, slipping his hands into his pockets. His smile had fangs. It was all the confirmation she needed.
“That means… you really did die that night.”
“Oh yes,” he said. “Voronin was quite thorough. Little did he know the tattoo on my forearm actually hid a birthmark.” He pushed up his jacket sleeve, and Angel saw the Ouroboros. The one he’d made out of a perfect circle. “The mark would see that I returned to the world of the living shortly after Dmitri finished me off. And the magic in my veins would amplify twenty-fold.”
Angel reeled at the news. She couldn’t help but think of the only two Withered she personally knew. One was a very powerful and very shady warlock who’d become Withered by sheer force of the darkness of his magic. And the other was an innocent teenage boy who bore the scythe mark. The mark had seen him make the transformation after he’d died in an explosion.
It would appear Michael… possessed both.
The implications were mind-boggling. Exactly how powerful did that make him?
“I’ve learned the impact of my hunger is far more acute than it is for others of my kind, though I seldom run across anyone I desire badly enough to elicit the effect. I’m afraid you’re bearing the full brunt.”
Angel let that roll over her. It was unfortunate that she was the victim of it, true. But that he desired her was immaterial. Frankly, she didn’t give a shit. She hated this bastard. And she hated herself for not seeing what he was sooner.
As if he felt her hatred, Michael steeled his gaze. He said, “I’ve been planning this night for fifteen years, Angel. Every last detail of it. Because the blood in your veins is worth a goddamn fortune, sweetheart. You are the most valuable thing I have ever laid eyes on. And fifteen years ago, I swore to myself that you would be mine. My own personal fortune dispenser.” He laughed cruelly, and she flinched, but glared at him. “And I mean to keep my promise.”
Angel took the opening of his brief distance from her to search for her own magic. She sent feelers inward, testing the waters. Did she have anything worthwhile left? And what good would it do against a warlock of Michael’s caliber? A Withered warlock, no less?
“Don’t bother, Angel,” he said coldly. “I can feel you fumbling around in that pretty head of yours. Like a small child trying to reach the cookie jar. But there’s no escape for you tonight, my love. This is going to happen. You may as well accept it.”
Accept what? she thought defiantly. What exactly is it you’ve been planning for fifteen years?
“I was going to propose to you that night,” he told her calmly. “And in so doing, give you this ring. But I wasn’t going to stop there. I’ve never been a fan of long engagements.” He looked down at the ring between his fingers. “After the proposal, the wedding ceremony would have begun. And through that ceremony of dark magic, I would have bound you to me irrevocably.”
He fixed her with his gaze, and Angel froze like a deer in headlights. His eyes took on a determined look, making Angel recall every horrible thing she’d read about him in his file. “And then I could have taken what I wanted from you with impunity. Each ounce of your precious healer blood would have made me a small fortune. But more importantly, as the loved ones of powerful figures became sick or were injured, your talent to heal them would have tied them to me.”
Angel listened in ever-increasing horror because she knew Michael would have been the one to bring about that sickness and those injuries. He would have made the evil happen personally.
“Your healing touch would shove these desperate men and women so far down into my pockets, they never would have seen the light of day again.” He gave a small laugh. “Politicians. Priests. Police. You name it. Your very rare, very beautiful body,” he gave her an appreciative once-over, “would have promised me an eternity of wealth and power. And the cherry on top is that you’re stunning, Angel. I would have gone to bed every single night a thoroughly satisfied man.”
Angel felt that nausea from earlier come back. She heard it sniffing at her door and she stifled a moan against it.
“And no matter how I used you my love, you never would have denied me. Not ever. It wouldn’t have even crossed your mind. My control over you would have been absolute.”
Angel cried out with her mind again. She wasn’t picky. She shouted names and prayed like mad. Jake! Please hear me! Dmitri! I’m here! An idea came to her out of sheer desperation, and she grabbed hold of it. “Darius, help me!”
“Like I said, Angel. Fifteen years. This plan is a decade and a half in the making. So as you can imagine, I’ve planned for every eventuality. No one will hear you and no one will help you, not even your sentinel. Even now, your Monsters clan boyfriend searches for you in vain. But he won’t find you in time. I made sure of it.”
“Michael, I’ll cut my fingers off before I put that goddamn ring on,” she told him viciously. And she meant it.
“I’m sure you think you will, Angel.” His expression was hard, and a little sad. As if he was disappointed it had come to this. “But you honestly have no idea who you are dealing with.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Jake had known something was up with Angel. When those mental walls of hers stayed up even after he mentioned them, it was a signal to him that he had to be extra vigilant.
It was when he found her in Gabriel’s office with the file on Michael Clemens that puzzle pieces began to slide inexorably closer together in his head. Using vampire vision, he read the entire file as she held it up in her fury. He didn’t even have to directly see the next few pages to be able to “read” them all; he only had to peer at the first page and use his inherent Crow magic to absorb the information contained in the stack of documents.
There was a name in the file that he recognized, though he wouldn’t lock onto the name’s dark significance until later. It was a “business associate” that Michael Clemens had been seen meeting with. The problem was, that particular business associate was a colossally powerful warlock. And the only thing he ever traded in was magic.
But Jake pushed it aside. A lot of people who weren’t mages traded in magic these days. They bought and sold potions or enchanted items. They were middle-men for those who actually could use the items, or for those who wanted someone else to.
It wasn’t until Angel insisted she needed that White Russian that Jake’s mind kicked into overdrive, and in that mode, the puzzle pieces finally slid close enough to click. As if they were m
agnetized, they snapped together, and Jake began to figure it all out.
Angel appeared to sincerely want the coffee, so he let her out of the bed while his mind was spinning. There was something he wasn’t seeing, something he was missing, but it was right there. The puzzle was coming together, and he just had to pull back far enough to make out what it was.
Suddenly, it was done. The first half of the puzzle became clear.
Angel was going to try to leave. He just knew it. She was going to go to Dmitri and try to end all of this before anyone else was killed.
Angel hadn’t yet been made privy to the knowledge that every single one of Dmitri’s victims over the years had been a scumbag criminal. It was something Jake had barely learned of himself. Cain had filled him in while they were interrogating the Terror. Not a fun business, that. Cain had probably wanted to give Jake something else to think about, and it was information Jake needed anyway.
Angel didn’t know that Dmitri wouldn’t kill anyone innocent. She only knew he was a killer, and she was only interested in stopping the bloodshed once and for all. But worst of all, she was probably going to realize that this, right here, was her only chance at getting away from Jake or Gabriel long enough to call up a transport spell.
So the second Angel was in the hall and out of range, Jake leapt out of bed and pulled on his clothes. Then he crept into the hall and listened, preparing for things to go pear-shaped.
He was close enough to the kitchen to peer through it at an angle and see into the dining room. And that was when the second half of the puzzle snapped together, and it hit him. He looked at the map on the wall with its circles. He remembered the warlock name in Michael Clemens’ file.
That was when everything hit him.
The man Clemens had met with was Darryl Maelstrom. The first Withered.
Michael Clemens had most likely met with him because Clemens bore a scythe mark. The scythe mark was a birthmark shaped like a half-moon, or as some people preferred to think of it, a scythe.
Monsters, Book One: The Good, The Bad, The Cursed Page 33
