by Kim Faulks
I had Heaven on one side, and Hell on the other, and neither would give in.
Just like I was with Alma.
The stubborn old woman refused to call…or come see me. It wasn’t her style…or mine. But one of us had to give in. One of us had to break…
“I’m outta here,” Gabriel murmured, and made for the door. “But I’ll be back later. Think about what we said, Lorn. This is your family…you need to see things from both sides.” He turned his head to glare at Rival. “And not just one.”
He tucked his wings in close as he neared the door and, just like every other time, he took a piece of my heart with him as he left.
I shook my head. “This shit has to stop.”
“I agree,” Titus snarled. “If I wanted to live with a couple of three-year-olds, then…well, I’d live with a couple of three-year-olds.”
I strained to listen to the heavy footsteps as Gabriel hit the landing and vaulted over the railing…the whoosh…whoosh…whoosh of his mammoth wings sounded a little too much like my past.
Was he right? I tried to search for the answers inside. Be selfish, don’t be selfish. Listen to Alma, don’t listen. Forgive. Hate. Boom…boom…boom…I flinched as the camera flashes lit sparks inside my mind.
My life was unraveling, slipping through my fingers, and the more I tried to hold on—the more I tried to fix the broken parts of my world…the more broken it became.
“Gabriel!” I roared and lunged for the doorway as fire lashed my throat. “Gabriel! Come back!”
The doorway was a blur…the heavy thud of my boots nothing more than the haunting echo of my loneliness. I gripped the bannister and stumbled, hitting the ground floor with a jolt.
Orange sky had turned red, leaving nothing but a bloody smear across the sky. I blinked into the glare and shoved through the doors. He was right. I knew he was right. I’d let pain dictate who I was. Tears blurred my sight as I scanned the street and then lifted my gaze. He was gone, leaving nothing but this damn ache behind.
I’d been lying to myself, pretending I was fine—pretending my life was coming together. But there was no together. There was just me…us, and all the questions left unanswered. All the questions…so many damn questions. They were a fist in the middle of my chest.
The murmur of voices invaded, drawing my gaze to the other side of the street.
“Lorn, come back inside,” Titus murmured behind me as the vultures lifted their cameras and took aim.
I gave a nod and turned toward him. Tonight, there’d be no laugher, no love. Tonight, there’d be darkness and pain and answers to the questions that haunted me.
Why keep Lucifer out of my life all these years?
And who really killed my mother?
“Lorn,” Titus murmured as the shouting started.
Lorn, can you give us an exclusive?
Mz. Payne, any truth to the rumors you’re sleeping with multiple men?
The word whore was thrown like a Molotov cocktail, and the effects were devastating. Rage brewed in their eyes. It wasn’t safe out here—not for Gabriel, or Titus, not even Rival...not anymore.
Something smacked my shoulder hard, and then Titus was striding forward, raising his hand to stab fingers in the air. “That’s out of fucking line. One more word like that and I’ll have the entire precinct on your ass.”
“It that a threat, Inspector?” one sonovabitch called out behind a blur of camera flashes. “And while you’re here, what do your superiors say about your relationship with Ms. Payne? Do they know she’s Lucifer’s daughter? Do they know you’re tarnishing the good name of all those in uniform by sharing Ms. Payne’s bed, along with numerous other male companions, including Archangel Gabriel?”
Titus stiffened. “It’s not like that!”
It’s not like that…it wasn’t a denial.
The paparazzi’s gaze swung toward me. He was like a hunter, searching for a trail of blood, and I was the one that was wounded, with four little words…it’s not like that—I glanced at Titus as he turned his head.
“She’s sleeping with her own blood, Archangel Michael is Lucifer’s brother, is he not? That’s called incest!” the media hound roared.
Rage bubbled up to the surface, sending a lick of fire along my skin. I could feel the darkness rising, pushing to the surface, whispering dark things inside my mind—terrible things I never wanted to do. Pain—I could unleash so much pain. No…no, don’t do this…
“Incest, Ms Payne!” the piece of shit screamed. “And that is against any goddamn law!”
Pain stung my cheek. I raised my hand to my face, touched my skin, and then pulled away—blood coated my fingers as something else flew through the air.
Glass smashed against the bricks at my right. I jerked my gaze toward the mob as someone lunged forward, lifted his hand…all I saw was the dark blur in his hand—and all I heard was gun.
I lifted my hand as the black flames rose like an inferno waiting under my skin, and the world screamed and trembled.
“Lorn, no!” Titus roared.
I could see the fear in his gaze as he swung his head toward the crowd, and then back to me. Then he was moving, charging like a damn locomotive to grasp me around my waist and heave me through the doors.
Incest…whore…incest…whore…
Power and rage swirled around me like a deadly undertow. I hate it…I hate what they say about us…Gabriel’s words rushed to the surface as we hit the foyer.
But I couldn’t tear my eyes from the vultures outside. Gabriel’s pain was a fist around my heart, clenching and squeezing until my power pulsed like a heartbeat in my palm. Black flames danced and lapped the air, growing stronger…and hungrier.
“This is what they want,” Titus growled in my ear as my feet hit the floor.
He slid his hands from my waist toward my shoulders, his grip cruel around my arms. But the pain was stealing me away, drawing me into just the two of us.
“They want you to lose control. They want us to unravel. Don’t play into their games, Lorn. Don’t let them win.”
He was right. I knew he was right. And those perfect brown eyes drew me in. His grip eased around my biceps, full lips parted as he searched my eyes. It was him…it was always him, pulling me back from the brink of disaster.
I sucked in a breath, as outside the cameras were blinding. Yet, all I saw was him…all I felt was him.
“Better?” he growled, and that husky tone rubbed me, stealing the heat from my palm to travel along my arm and nestle deep between my thighs.
I gave a nod as he drew in a breath, and that tiny pulse of energy called to him, flaring with the mark on his chest. Unlike the first time when my power claimed them in the heat of passion, there was no sting of pain…there was no call for blood.
His brown eyes widened and turned darker, blending to almost black, and I was falling into those unfathomable depths, consumed with something different from rage.
“You ready to go upstairs?” he murmured.
My heart gave a stutter and the flames in my hand died away. I forgot all about the vultures at my door…forgot about their hate and their ignorance.
Titus reached for my hand, fingers entwined, as he gave a gentle tug. But there was one last call…one last plea…one person I wanted to touch, to love, to feel. I gathered my strength and unleashed his name into the heavens, Gabriel!
There was a faint stirring…a flicker of something that felt like desperation, and then it was gone as though it never existed at all.
But Gabriel’s pain existed for me, cutting like a lance through the heat of desire. I let Titus lead me away from the spotlight and up the stairs, to where Rival waited on the landing. The hellhound turned to glance down to the foyer, and then found me.
I didn’t need to hear him say the words, I could see it in his eyes. He’d felt all my hate, all my pain, and the loneliness that came with Gabriel’s retreat.
“It’s my fault,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t push h
im.”
“Not your fault.” I reached for his hand as I neared. “He is who he is, same as you…same as all of us. But Gabriel’s right.” I glanced at my hands. “I can’t keep all this locked inside. It’s tearing me apart.”
“Then there’s only one thing to do.” Titus dug into his pocket, yanked out his keys, and tossed them through the air toward me. “Take my car, it’s parked out back. You need to see her…and you need to do it tonight.”
I caught them with one hand and stared at the keychain. I’d face a demon…hell, I’d face a swarm of them without breaking my damn stride—but the thought of one old woman…one woman who knew me better than anyone alive.
That just fucking terrified me.
And as I lifted my head to find Rival’s gaze, I saw the same fear burning brightly. Even if I stayed with them tonight, there’d be no rest, and no affection—not while one of them was hurting.
And why not banish one more ghost? Why not find the bottom of this damn well of pain and get it all out in the open?
I gripped Titus’ keys and glanced to the stairs. Redemption begged me to see my grandmother. Gabriel wanted the same. Maybe if I exorcised those demons I’d find a little peace…and my archangel would come home
Chapter Three
Lorn
Night had settled in as I took the I-56 north thirty miles and hit the arid plains of Hunter’s Valley. My headlights swung wide, cutting through the desert brush hunkered at the edge of the road and lit up the brown shale landscape.
There were no houses out here…nothing apart from one lonely gas station as far as the eye could see. But, like anything in this world, looks were deceiving.
This territory belonged to the animals…and those who didn’t want to be found—those like Alma Goodchild.
The old Seven-Eleven sign was riddled with fang marks and scratches—a warning, and not for the week old hotdogs the gas station sold with their overpriced fuel—but for the predators that watched from a distance.
Don’t stop. Don’t even slow down…we’ll be watching.
Territorial marking at its predatory finest.
And they were out there…shifters, demons, even a mothman or two. Anyone who wanted away from the prying eyes of The Circle came out here to hide amongst the arid landscape.
But those that hunted the hunters were never far. They watched the watchers—waiting to bring down supernatural law.
I hit my turning signal and slowed the car. Yellow light blinked, lighting up the interior as I stared into the dark.
The turn-off just past the station sign was barely a break in the brush, one blink and you’d miss it…but I knew—even without the sign, I knew.
There was a buzzing in my soul—an aching of apprehension and excitement as the car’s tires slid into the well-worn ruts.
The headlights bounced against the desert terrain, swinging wide as I crawled around the first bend. I gripped the steering wheel and tried not to fight, letting the car find its own way as I bounced and jolted.
Years of four-wheel-drive vehicles had worn this track into what it was, and, with the hard gnashing of my teeth, I was thrown back to the first day I travelled along this track…the day after my mother’s funeral.
Just gonna be you and me now, kid, Alma’s voice slipped through the cracks of the past. Other Grandmas will teach you how to bake a perfect apple pie, they’ll even teach you how to crochet—but not this one, Lorn. I’m gonna teach you everything I know…about hunting. Together, we’re gonna find them…gonna hunt the bastards who took my daughter—and we’re gonna make them pay. What do you say about that?
Seven years old…and I still remember the pain in my heart as I nodded.
You dry those eyes. Paynes don’t cry—not yet, not ever while those bastards are still alive. We’ll find her, and we’ll bring her home. But we stick together, through thick and thin, you got me? We stick together, Lorn…always together.
And those words stayed with me…so savage and cruel.
Oh, she was true to her word. Part of it, anyway, teaching me more than a lifetime’s knowledge of the best in the business, ’cause we were hunting with a purpose—a purpose unfulfilled.
But sticking together was negotiable as far as Alma was concerned, and the first chance she got, she packed her bags, left, and never came back.
Until now…now she was back.
The only question was…why?
I held my breath as the car crested the rise and came down the hill. By now, she’d know I was coming. I glanced out the window to the inky black night—she had spies everywhere.
Shifters, vamps. A lot of supes owed her a great deal; protection, safety…some of them owed their lives.
She might’ve been a hard-ass motherfucker to live with, but once in a while that icy streak in her warmed. But not for me…never for me. Not even when momma died.
Lights glinted through the spindled brush as I rounded the last bend. The sprawling house was old, half Texan ranch, half boho retreat. The headlights splashed against fallen down railings on the north side of the fence and I felt a faint stirring of regret. It’d been years since I’d been out here.
I’d waited for her to come home, driving out here every damn week to sit on the porch or go through the few things she left behind, until eventually I realized I’d been played.
All the lessons and the hunting trips came down to one thing—survival. That’s what Alma Goodchild taught, and she taught it better than most.
I braked and eased the car to a stop along the side of the house. The headlights caught fragments of newness, freshly turned soil and the tips of seedlings sprouted. I doubted she’d be here long enough to harvest what she’d sown. The past was too strong here, dominating the space with broken timber railings and an open barn door. This had been a bad idea, a really bad idea.
I glanced into the rearview mirror to the red haze of the car’s brake lights. It wasn’t too late. I could still throw the car into reverse and head on home. Even if she was in there, watching, she’d know why.
Too many secrets, too much past. Too many things left unsaid, and probably would still be left unsaid—but I’d come to speak my piece. I’d come because that’s what others wanted.
Hear her out.
Give her a chance.
She’s family.
I ground my jaw and stared into that red haze. I could still see the stunned expression on her face as I’d burst through the door at Wicked and found Redemption lying.
And for what? To keep my father away from me.
Did she hate him that much?
Plumes of white smoke drifted from the exhaust to disappear into the air. There was movement from the house, a shift against the curtains. I whipped my gaze left and scanned the windows.
She wouldn’t come out and see me, no matter how long I sat here and agued with myself. There was only one way this was going down…Alma’s way.
I leaned forward, killed the engine, and shoved open the driver’s door and stilled. The sweet smell of night desert flowers hit me like a love spell, urging me to inhale deep. And I did…falling in love with this place all over again.
Stars sparkled overhead like an obsidian blanket scattered with perfect diamonds. I’d forgotten these things, the smells, the sounds, and the sky.
I shoved the door closed and made for the rear of the house. Nostalgia haunted every damn step, tugging my heartstrings as I headed to the soft light that spilled from inside the house.
Things could’ve been different between us…if only…if only…mom had been alive.
Those words were the background track of my life—one that played over and over in my head long after the sound of her voice had faded.
I gripped the sliding door and yanked. The room was empty, but she was here. The heady scent of white sage and black peppercorns stole my breath.
She was preparing, setting out a feast—but it wasn’t food…oh no, nothing was quite that cute where Alma was concerned. I took a sl
ow step. “Alma, you here?”
There was no answer, not a scrape of a shoe, or the rush of a labored breath. I licked my lips…she wouldn’t hurt me…right? Not my own blood… “I see you’re getting ready to go out. If this is a bad time…”
“When is killing ever a good time?”
I flinched at the chill in her words and jerked my gaze toward the hallway.
She stood at the edge of the entrance, arms folded across her chest—soft green eyes watching my every move.
I scanned for a weapon and murmured, “And what are you killing on a night like this?”
There was a twitch at the corner of her mouth before she answered slowly, “Not a what, Lorn, but a who.”
Journals and books lay open in a jumbled mess on a small table in front of the sofa. I scanned the research, and then the room, lingering on a map stuck on the wall this side of the kitchen.
There was something about this room, and about her right at this moment.
Alma was never one to give away secrets or leave details like this out in the open. She was a closed book, a poker player of the finest caliber, with barely a tell.
And yet, here she was…showing her entire hand.
I dragged in a breath and glanced at the floor. The map was a burning ember right at the edge of my vision, calling me forward…begging me to unearth its secrets.
Nothing here made sense—not her, not even this room.
If I could get just a little closer. A shotgun lay across the back of the sofa, within Alma’s reach. I gave a nod toward the weapon and took a step further into the house. “Glad to see your choice in weapons hasn’t changed.”
“Oh, it has,” she muttered with a vicious sneer. “I’ve revised my arsenal a number of times. New and very much improved.”
“Really?” I found her gaze and took another step. “Anything I need to know about?”
She shoved off the wall and took a slow step toward me. “You, or The Circle?”
She moved a little more slowly nowadays and leaned a little harder to the right.
I searched her frail body, hidden under baggy clothes. It was always the same with her…always the hunter and the hunted. Can’t let the enemy know she was weaker. But when there was only the two of us standing here, I had to wonder—was I the enemy here?
