“Why aren’t they coming closer? Why don’t they just attack?”
He taps the hilt of the blade across his back. “Because they know if they do I’ll cut them down. It’s kind of what I’m known for.”
“Fine. Lead the way,” I mutter, gathering Max in my arms once again and follow Andras.
I don’t trust him. I probably won’t ever trust a man who could leave Max behind – a man who could treat her like nothing. But I don’t have to. All I need is for her to be healed, and she can drive this train when she wakes up.
If she wakes up.
I feel the burn of it when we cross the ward, and stutter to a stop when I see a woman on the porch who wasn’t there before. She looks eerily familiar.
“For Fates sake, Andras. You bring her back to me like this?” The woman reaches for Max, but I pull her away.
“I’m her mother, Wraith. Give her to me.”
I know all about Teresa Alcado, and I’d trust the Demon with Max over this woman.
“Never,” I growl with as much menace as I can muster, flashing my fangs. “Not you. Never you. She’d rather die and come back than have you touch her.”
I only know this because she told me as much. Max had said those words in the middle of a session. I’d tried to piss her off, not realizing her mother was the ultimate trigger. She almost took my head off that day, and I never brought her up again.
Her mother will never touch Max on my watch. Not as long as I’m breathing. Teresa looks like I’ve slapped her, but I don’t give a flying monkey fuck.
Andras steps in between me and Teresa, tucking her hands behind his body. “She needs my blood. We can do this inside where she’ll wake up comfortable or out here, but either way she doesn’t have time. She’s fading.”
Following him inside, I settle on a deep-seated couch with her on my lap, the blood staining the light fabric. I’m not letting her go and no one says a word to me telling me I can’t.
Not that I’d listen.
Andras holds his hand out for a blade, and Teresa passes one over. Immediately, he slices his wrist lengthwise, pouring blood on Max’s stomach. Andras even presses his fingers into the wound at his wrist and wipes some of his blood over the blackened burn on her cheek.
I watch as the wound on her face lightens, turning the pink of scar tissue before evening out to the deep tan of Max’s skin. Her stomach is a whole other story. There was organ damage, tissue damage. Andras has to slice the skin of his wrist several times, draining himself to save his daughter’s life.
Maybe he doesn’t know how many times Max has died and come back. Maybe he doesn’t think she’ll come back this time. Maybe he’s just trying to gain her favor.
Either way, I still don’t trust the man. I’m just glad he wasn’t lying about healing her.
The rest we’ll deal with when she wakes up.
MAX
Rolling over in the arms of a man you have no idea you fell asleep on is hella awkward. Eyelids flashing open, I take stock. I’m looking at a throat. A very handsome throat, but a throat nonetheless. Said throat is attached to a bearded chin. Then I lose sight of the chin because arms tighten, legs pin, and I’m stuck, plastered to a considerable man chest. I resist the urge to fondle said man chest, but the urge is strong.
Wriggling, I free a hand, pushing it between us so I can use it as a fulcrum to lever off Aidan’s pecs. Sweet Fates, please don’t let me start perving on Ian’s brother. I seriously don’t have time to deal with the drama that would come from me having a crush on my pseudo-ex’s family members. No one has time for that.
Aidan’s eyes flash open and I’m crushed against said chest. Again.
“Freedom!” I yell, muffled by Aidan’s shirt. Then I’m snapping my fingers and he’s on the floor.
“The fuck?” he grumbles from the hardwood floors… that I’ve never seen before. This whole place is unfamiliar.
Peeling myself from the couch cushions, I clap eyes on my parents sitting side by side on the opposite love seat, their hands entwined.
Together.
I’m dreaming. I have to be. I’ve never seen my parents in the same room. Ever. I’ve never even met my dad, and except for a Manifestation Light I wouldn’t even know what the man looks like. My mother said she hated him, but she doesn’t seem to mind him now.
Confused, I meet my mother’s eyes. “Explain.”
Before my mother can open her mouth, Andras starts laughing. “Fates, Essa, she’s just like you.”
While I’m sure he’s having a good old time with his ‘bonding moment’, comparing me to my mother is a sure-fire way to get on my bad side.
“Take that back right now.” Somehow one of my green sparking fingers finds its way pointed at Andras as he keeps laughing – harder now that my ire has surfaced.
“I’m sure this whole family reunion shit is long overdue, but we have bigger problems than who resembles who. Mass of souls. Right outside the door.” I lean over the side of the couch and give Aidan a grateful look, throwing a hand out to help him up since I was the one to toss him off in the first place.
“What the fuck happened and why are we in the same room with the man who tried to have me killed?” I mutter under my breath as Aidan takes his seat next to me.
“He didn’t. He saved your life. Let him talk and then we’re out of here. Deal?”
Meeting his eyes, I see the honesty in them, and I can’t help but give him a nod.
“A hoard of spirits attacked. You were injured, Andras saved your life.” Teresa’s words are succinct, but they paint a good picture of what happened.
“Thank you? But why? I’m immortal. I die, I come back, rinse, repeat. Unless someone decides to kill me with one of those bone blades, I’m unkillable. Why save me? Unless you want something.”
“While I confess I do want a favor, saving you seemed like the honorable thing to do. Your mate had no qualms about it.”
“He isn’t my mate,” I contest, and then Andras’ eyes take on a weird sort of glow, bumping them up from just yellow to a luminescent golden, and I remember where I’d seen those eyes before.
The man at the ward in 1642.
“You,” I accuse, my voice a low growl of indignation. “You got me burned at the stake. You were the man trapped at the ward. You made me save you.”
At least he has the good sense to look ashamed. “I never meant for that to happen. Fates, this is such a mess. Can we start over? Hi, I’m Andras, your dad. I’m known in most circles as a gigantic ass, but I’m a delightful person once you get to know me.”
I play along. “Nice to meet you. I’m Max, your daughter. I’m a Rogue because you forced me to take down a ward that protected my entire coven which got me burned at the stake. Great. We’ve done the introductions. What’s it going to take to get my mother out of your clutches?”
“I was looking for you,” he lies.
“You were looking for the bone blade you had my mother hide. Try again.”
Andras explodes, standing from the couch as if he has the right to be angry with me. “She wasn’t hiding you well enough! My family was coming to look for you. So…”
Realization dawns and I find my feet. “So, you worked together to tank my life. You two set me up. How did you even know I would survive? Huh? Did that even cross your minds? Did you even care?”
“We knew you would survive,” Teresa whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. “You died once, on the crossing from Spain. I held you in my arms for two days, hoping you would come back to me. On the second day you drew breath again as if you were never sick, and I knew you were more like your father than like me. It was the last time you were ever ill.”
That only takes away a minor facet of the pain. All this trouble to get me out of the family line, but who in the family is left?
“Your father is dead. Your brother is dead. Your mother has been relatively decent to me. Who are you keeping me from that you haven’t already killed?”
�
��You speak of what you can’t possibly know. I didn’t kill Samael.”
“Then who did?”
“No one. He isn’t dead.”
Chapter Twenty
MAX
No one. He isn’t dead.
Then what the hell am I doing here? Why would the Council order Andras’ death if he hadn’t just killed his brother? Why would they send me to kill him if he’d done nothing wrong?
“Then why does the Council want you dead?” Aidan asks the question that has been brewing inside my head for the last few minutes.
Andras looks as if he is being overly taxed by having to explain the current mess we’re all in. “He faked his death with the help of one of the Council’s minions. They believe he is dead. He’s trying to pin the murder on me to keep me out of the Council seat.”
“And how is that going to work? He pins the murder on you, you get killed, and then he what? Just shows back up with a ‘Just kidding!’ act and no one’s the wiser? I smell bullshit.”
Andras chuckles as if I’ve said something cute. “He doesn’t plan for there to be a Council at all. He wants me out of the way so he can murder them one by one and start the bloody war. You know, the one that will happen when a Demon kills an Angel?”
“Then why pin it on you at all?”
“Payback for killing our father, most likely. It’s a way to drive me out of hiding so he can keep me out of the way. He plans to kill our mother and every other Council member and their second. I’m the diversion.”
And I thought my drama with Teresa was bad. I can thoroughly attest that as bad as it got with us, at least I never plotted her murder.
“So, was it you who burned down my tattoo shop or your brother?”
“Samael. He knew you had the blade,” he says nodding at the bone knife in its sheath, “He needed it out in the open.”
“I kinda wish he would have tried to open that safe. It would have saved us all a lot of time. Let me guess, you need it to kill him. Why this blade? Isn’t there another weapon to kill a Demon? Didn’t I see you slaughtering souls with one?”
“I was the chief torturer in Hell once upon a time. My blades only harm the dead. There are a few weapons to kill a Demon, but the one at your hip is the only one on this plane, making it the only one I can get to.”
“But why—”
Andras stands again, his power and rage growing, filling the room. This isn’t the genial man I met just a few minutes ago, the one ready to tell his side. This is the man I expected him to be. “I’ve answered enough of your questions. Samael has already attacked me more than once. I need that blade. Give me what I asked for.”
But he never asked, not really. He swindled, tricked, and threatened. He never asked me for help, only demanded. That’s all he’s ever done.
“No. And fun fact, that’s the same answer I gave the Council when they asked me to kill you. Having this blade out in the open is just going to get people killed. You said it’s the only one on this plane that can kill a Demon, meaning he plans to steal it from you once you have it. I should lock this thing back up in the safe and drop it in the fucking ocean.”
It’s meant as a threat, and he takes it as such. His eyes glow bright, showing that underneath the man before me, he isn’t much more than the devil I always assumed he was. Then I’m talking to no one, Andras disappears, reappearing behind Aidan, one hand on Aidan’s chin, the other on the top of his head, ready to snap Aidan’s neck. Aidan’s a big man, but my father is bigger.
“No! Andras, what are you doing?” Teresa screams, disbelief in her every move. She didn’t think he was capable if this.
Honestly? I hadn’t either. I also never expected the ripping to my heart when I see Aidan in danger, never thought I’d feel this weight of helplessness and dread. I’ve never had to protect him before, and I find the need of it more than I can bear.
“I will snap his neck like a twig, Maxima. You don’t know me, but I know you. Being Rogue, you have so few friends, and this man is one of the only ones left standing. It won’t hurt me to kill him. But it will hurt you. Give me the blade, and I’ll let him go.”
Aidan tries to wriggle in Andras’ hold, but Andras only tightens his grip, hard enough for his talons to break skin on Aidan’s neck, making him wince.
“Don’t do it, Max. Don’t you give him shit!” Aidan commands, and I want to do what he says.
I really want to, but I can’t. My eyes trail over the blood dripping down his neck back up to Aidan’s pale green eyes. He’s always been the brave one. The stoic one. The one to show no fear.
But there’s fear there now.
Andras tightens his grip again, and a pained gasp escapes Aidan’s mouth. I don’t expect the wet to hit my eyes, the fear dragging the tears from me against my will.
I pull the blade from the sheath Barrett spelled so only I could remove it, balancing the knife in my palm and hand it over. I don’t spare Andras a glance. I’m still staring at Aidan as Andras lets his hold go lax to grab the blade. When the heat of Andras’ gaze leaves my face, I do the only thing I can, I wink at Aidan. As luck would have it, he catches my hint, smoking out from Andras’ grip, traveling out of danger and giving me just the diversion I need.
Reaching behind my back I rip the athame from its sheath, slicing his arm just as his fingers close around the bone blade. What I’m not prepared for is the backhand that comes afterward. Andras has enough power in that single strike to knock me across the room and into a wall.
And then it’s lights out.
My mother’s concerned face is the absolute last one I thought I’d see.
“Maxima, honey, I need you to get up!” she yells, shaking my shoulders, her hands hard on what is likely a monster of a bruise.
“I’m up, I’m up,” I groan, pushing myself up from my crumpled heap behind the love seat.
The room sways a bit and I blink once, hard, trying to reorder what I see now to the room it used to be. Honestly, it looks like a bomb hit it. The couch is a smoking ruin, the walls half charred and still smoking. Aidan’s nursing a bloody nose and a gash in his upper arm. Teresa’s cheek is slightly burned, and she’s holding her body just so, meaning her ribs are either bruised or broken.
“What the hell happened?” I ask – more to myself than anyone else because I can tell what happened. Andras kicked our ass, that’s what happened.
“After Andras hit you, well… I got a little upset.” There’s the mother I know. Teresa Alcado has never been one to answer a direct question. “I might have set him on fire a little bit.”
“I’ll say. He got away, or am I going to find him vaporized under the couch?”
“He got away,” Aidan answers from across the room. Oh, he’s pissed, and I really hope it’s not at me.
“Shit. What are the odds of him winning against Samael? Ball park?” I ask my mother, who probably knows what we’re going up against better than either of us do.
Her wince is all the answer I need. Aces.
At just that second, someone pounds at the front door, and I’ve never prayed so hard that someone called the cops in my life, and I start to wonder where the hell my life went wrong that I’d hope it was a cop instead of another Ethereal. I stagger, pulling myself the rest of the way up, ready to fight if I need to. But when no one answers the door, a voice calls that I never expected to hear.
“Max, open the damn door!”
Striker. Then, I’m jumping over the tattered remnants of furniture and yanking open the door so fast, it bangs against the wall and bounces back to knock me in the shoulder. Which hurts like a bitch.
Striker looks scruffy and worn, tired in a way only grief can accomplish. His blond mop of curls never looked so good, though, and soon I’m wrapped in the biggest bear hug ever. I didn’t realize how much I missed the big lug.
“You sure know how to cause a ruckus, Maxie. I heard from a little bird you needed help.”
“Gramma?” I ask, wondering if his little bird
is my grandmother.
“No, Maria. But I was already on the case. I’ve been tracking the situation for some time – since a little after I left actually. Your family tree is a little fucked up, princess.”
Ugh. I hate that word. I’m a Rogue. I’m not princess of shit.
“Well, you’re not wrong. Striker, you know Aidan, and this is my mother, Teresa.”
Striker eyes her up and down like a snake about to strike, and my mother does the same only one better.
“Which one of these men are you with Maxima? Or are you creating a harem of men at your disposal?”
If only she knew my sex life has been as dry as the Sahara for what seems like years.
“Not to be a bitch or anything, but fuck you very much, Mother. Just because covens are usually all female doesn’t mean I have to surround myself with a bunch of women. Just because that’s how it’s always been done doesn’t mean that is the only way it can be done. I have friends who I don’t sleep with who also come equipped with penises.”
I turn to Striker, “Is it penises or penni?”
Striker chuckles, “Penises, sweet cheeks.”
My mother looks like I just hit her in the face with a baseball bat. That’ll teach her.
“You said you’ve been tracking the situation. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” I ask Striker, because honestly, I have absolutely no idea who to trust. Do I trust Andras who has shown he would rather hurt me and mine to get what he needs?
“I’ve been tracking Samael. He is alive. Caim and a few of the others never believed he was really killed but needed to keep their reservations quiet. I’ve been following him for weeks. We’re going to need that bone blade of yours if we want to stop him.”
I huff out a sigh, perching on what’s left of the couch. “That’ll be a problem. Andras has the blade. Maybe we can go to Bernadette, see if maybe she can track it since she made the damn thing.”
Striker shifts his feet, adjusting the collar of his shirt like he doesn’t want to say what he’s about to, but in true Striker fashion has to say the thing even if the thing is going to start some shit. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Daughter of Souls & Silence Page 13
