Ascending Passion

by Amanda Pillar

  “Yes,” Lucifer said. “Her skin tone did give away the fact she wasn’t pure-blooded. And cambion’s powers are often unpredictable.” Then the Hell-lord sighed. “This was Satan’s work, no doubt. He arrived unannounced in the Tower of Tortures to distract me, just as you were attacked.”

  The steaming mess of body parts and visceral spray vanished.

  “Now that’s what I call cleanup,” Yael muttered.

  Lucifer showed his teeth in a pseudo-smile. “I just sent all of that to Satan’s office. I expect to hear from him in three, two, one…gotta go!”

  He disappeared.

  “I wished he’d removed the stuff from us, too,” Kayla said, wincing at the dark blood on her arms.

  Murdoch just shrugged. “I don’t mind a bit every now and then. Different species’ blood tends to have a different flavor.”

  Yael grimaced. Gross.

  But what else did he expect from demons?

  Murdoch patted the car with a sad sigh. “Well, the van is ruined.”

  Its white panels were scratched and clawed, while the roof had completely caved in. It wasn’t going anywhere fast, that was for sure.

  “Let’s get back to the compound,” Yael said. “We should make sure Dru and Rowan made it there.”

  “You think they were coming for her?” Azrael asked quietly.

  Yael fished out a bag of Devilsgate powder from one of his pockets. Luckily, he’d stored it in plastic, or it would be a blood-sodden mess in the bottom of his pants by now. “They went straight for her at the start.”

  And they had. One second they’d been on their own, the next, three Envios had been coming for them, making a beeline for Rowan.

  Satan must want to know why Lucifer is interested in a human.

  At least, he hoped that was the case, otherwise some other faction was after her and they were in a lot more trouble.

  Throwing a pinch of dust in the air, Yael muttered the compound’s address and stepped through, Azrael and the others hot on his heels.

  The parking lot of the compound was empty, and the area quiet. In fact, everything was as peaceful as always.

  “Doesn’t look like they tried to break in here,” Azrael commented.

  “No.” It made him appreciate the power used to create the wards.

  Kayla approached them. “I’m going to have a shower. Let me know if you need any help.”

  “We’re good.”

  She turned to walk away.

  “Kayla,” Yael asked, “what kind of demon are you?”

  Her bright-green eyes glowed. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a girl what her species is?” Then she sauntered off, hips swinging in a sultry rhythm, despite being covered in gore.

  Demons.

  Murdoch and Campbell nodded at them before hurrying off to their respective rooms, leaving Azrael and Yael alone. Azrael hurried to Rowan’s cabin, beating Yael to knock on the door. It was jerked open, and Dru peered at them from the other side.

  “You’re back!” She flung herself at Azrael but stopped at the last second, like a puppet being jerked backwards by its strings. “What the Hell happened?”

  “Lucifer,” Yael ground out.

  “That doesn’t clarify things.”

  Azrael made an exploding noise, throwing his hands out at the same time.

  Dru’s eyes went wide. “Oh, really? Tell me all about it.” She stepped out onto the porch, turned her attention to Yael. “Rowan’s inside and okay. She fainted, but I’ve never teleported a human before, so I didn’t know that was a potential side-effect. I gave her some wine, it calmed her down.”

  Azrael eyed Dru up and down. “We’re going to steal your room and shower,” he told Yael.

  Then they were gone.

  He didn’t have time to tell them he had to share the bathroom.

  Yael clenched his fist. I conjured a sword. He hadn’t been able to do that as an angel—Azrael, Dina and Raze could—but it seemed that he could now he was fallen. Go figure.

  Gingerly, Yael stepped inside Rowan’s room, only to find it empty. He shut the door behind him. “Rowan?”

  The bathroom door swung open, and she tumbled out, stumbling to sit on her bed. Her little black dress had been replaced with a nightgown that had somehow ridden up to show far more of her thigh than he was comfortable with.

  She stared at him. “You’re dirty.”

  “Uh—” Was it that obvious he was checking out her legs?

  “Use my shower.”

  “Right. Yes, thanks.” His backpack was in the corner where he’d left it earlier, so he retrieved it and headed for the bathroom. He paused in the threshold, looked her over. Her eyes were still a little wild and she was pale and drawn. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, a little too enthusiastically, so that she wobbled on the bed. “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be quick.”

  And he was. Well, as fast as he could be considering he had to wash his hair twice, and scrub blood out from places it shouldn’t have been able to get. By the time he was done, Rowan was lying on her side on top of the bed, her damp hair spread out like spilled wine.

  She rolled over to face him as he placed his backpack next to the door. “Can you come here?”

  “Why?”

  “Can you?”

  Sighing, he complied. It wasn’t like she was asking him to go over there and jump her bones. He just really didn’t like having the image of her loose-limbed and relaxed, ready to welcome him with open arms.

  Whoa. Get your head out of your pants.

  He sat on the edge of her bed, as far away from her as possible. “What do you need?”

  “Can you, I dunno...” She ran a hand through her hair. “This is so awkward.”

  Oh Hell no. She is not hitting on me, she is not—

  “Give me a hug?”

  Chapter 28

  Rowan felt sick to her stomach, and dirty. And hollow. And just…gross.

  Her head throbbed, and she was tipsy as hell, courtesy of Dru shoving a glass of wine at her to ‘calm her nerves’. And she felt like she’d been to the worst immersive theater production ever. Plus, she’d lost time. Had she suffered a head injury? She felt her skull. No, there were no wounds. But she didn’t even remember the drive back to the compound.

  I just saw a man get his arm cut off.

  Cut.

  Off.

  Yael—her Yael—had done it without even blinking. She’d known he had military experience, but she hadn’t expected him to be so calm about slicing off someone’s limb. And that was only the bits she’d seen. Dru had tried to tell her more, but Rowan hadn’t been in the frame of mind to listen. She didn’t want to know about all the needless death or mutilation.

  Or how awesome Dru’s knife-throwing skills were.

  And the man that had tried to harm her, he had to have been in some sort of cult or something; it was the only thing that could explain the odd markings on his skin. The poor guy had probably been brainwashed into believing he needed to attack them.

  No way am I telling Gran about this.

  At least everyone is okay.

  Not that she’d been told that, but she just knew everyone had survived. She’d check with Yael once he got out of the shower. Her head swam suddenly, and she lay back on the bed, curling in on herself. She had no idea what kind of wine she’d drunk—Dru hadn’t been all that forthcoming when she’d asked.

  It was white. And it had bubbles. That was about all she knew.

  But she definitely felt drunker than she should after one glass.

  And I fainted earlier.

  For someone who’d never passed out in their life, it had been embarrassing to wake up in her room, a concerned Dru by her side. The white-haired woman had even been on the phone talking to someone called Peony, asking for medical advice.

  Maybe that’s why I have some memory loss? Fainting had caused her to lose some time?
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  The sound of the shower stopped, and Yael emerged a few minutes later from the bathroom, his hair wet and T-shirt sticking to his barely dry abs. For a moment, the drunken part of her roared to the surface, demanding she strip that T-shirt off and lick her way down his stomach to his waistband.

  She clenched her teeth and rolled over to face him as he dropped his bag by the door. She was not going to do anything to his stomach, no matter that she could see he had an eight-pack.

  Memories of the severed arm reached her again and she shivered. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see it, feel the blood spraying against her face. “Can you come here?”

  He narrowed his eyes, like she was laying a trap for him. “Why?”

  “Can you?”

  With a loud sigh, he sat on the edge of her bed. “What do you need?”

  “Can you, I dunno....” God, this was even more embarrassing than she’d thought it would be. “This is so awkward.”

  He looked like a deer in headlights.

  “Give me a hug?” she blurted.

  He scowled. “A hug?”

  She looked at him darkly. “I’m not asking you to strip naked and dance for me. Just a hug.”

  “But—”

  “I need one, okay. I don’t feel good.”

  With a few cuss words, Yael lay on the bed next to her, his feet dangling over the end. He wasn’t exactly welcoming, but she didn’t care. Snuggling up to his side, she grabbed his arm and pulled it down so she could use it as a pillow, and then draped her forearm over his chest.

  Mmmm.

  He was so warm.

  And he smelled of soap and clean things, not blood and horror.

  She lay there for a few minutes in silence, taking solace in the presence of another person; just listening to him breathe. She’d never had this before, this silent communion between individuals, where she could take comfort without anything else being expected of her.

  Eric had always wanted something.

  Sex, someone to talk to, entertainment…he hadn’t really been good at listening. Or at just being quiet.

  She bit the inside of her cheek.

  I am such an asshole.

  But it didn’t change the fact that she and Eric hadn’t been the perfect couple she’d imagined. The perfect couple she’d wanted them to be.

  Tears burned her eyes, so she shut them, not wanting to cry, not wanting to give in to her weakness. But the tears, they weren’t for Eric, or for his loss. They were for her. For her loss: for her loss of innocence, for her learning about death firsthand, for her witnessing the end of something precious and precarious.

  And for not missing Eric like she should. For not wishing he was here right now to comfort her, but for being glad that it was Yael instead. Because he didn’t try and talk to her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay, that she would be strong and survive. For making her pain an inconvenience—like Eric would have.

  He just let her be.

  And for that, for those few minutes of silence and acceptance, she would be forever grateful.

  Yael’s hand came up and he stroked her hair. It calmed her, his touch, despite the tingles it spread over her scalp. It reminded her she was alive, that she was here, and that she was damaged but okay.

  Eventually, the tightness in her throat eased enough for her to speak. “Was everyone unhurt?”

  His hand stilled. “Yes, we all made it out.”

  So, her instincts had been correct.

  “Did Luke come back?”

  “Just at the end. He was fine.”

  “Who were those men?” she asked, but she didn’t really want to know. Knowing would mean learning of their lives, their cause, what they had thought to gain by attacking them.

  Yael rested his chin on her head. “No one good.”

  “It will be all over the news…”

  He snorted, the sound making his chest move, pressing his side against her more firmly. “I doubt it.”

  “But there were bodies, and blood…”

  “Trust me, you won’t be seeing this on T.V. or the Internet or anywhere.”

  She wanted to argue that he was wrong, but she knew he wasn’t. In this part of the world—hell, anywhere—they wouldn’t want to publicize that a strange cult was attacking foreigners. It wouldn’t look good. It would all be handled quietly.

  She just wished she hadn’t had to see it.

  “Tell me a story.” She clenched her hand into a fist, so her wayward fingers wouldn’t start rubbing circles on his chest.

  “What kind of a story?”

  She liked the feel of his voice. “I don’t know. Something entertaining.” She paused. “And not violent.”

  “Well, that limits my repertoire.” He chuckled, and she could feel it in her bones. “I could tell you an erotic tale—”

  “No sexy stuff.” She had enough dreams of that kind of thing.

  “Maybe you should tell the story, since you’re the one with the rules.”

  She jabbed him.

  “Okay, okay. Miss-I-Don’t-Want-A-Violent-Story-But-Will-Harm-You-When-I-Don’t-Get-What-I-Want.”

  “Did you even breathe through that?”

  “No, I have excellent lung capacity. Now, once upon a time, there was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” She propped her head up, narrowing her eyes at him. “This had better not be a boring story.”

  “Hush.” He had an amused expression. “You wanted a story, so you’re getting one. Too many smartass comments from you and I’ll stop.”

  Grumbling, she laid her head back on his chest.

  “So, there was nothing. Until suddenly, the universe burst into life.”

  “That’s called the Big Bang. Are you telling me a story about physics?”

  “What did I say about interrupting?”

  She sniffed. “Fine.”

  “At the time of creation, the primordial gods were born. They were raw power, without thought or reason. They journeyed through the universe for millennia upon millennia, some causing destruction, others creation.”

  “You’re saying there was balance.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “There must always be balance. Eventually, a handful of primordial deities banded together to create something unique, something special. Earth. With it, they crafted Heaven and Hell, and they left the world to evolve, watched over by guardians of good and evil.

  “Eventually, humans evolved, and the primordial gods’ ultimate creation was achieved. But with humanity came another host of problems. They were complex—and they were neither good nor evil, but a combination of both. They could be swayed to one extreme or another.”

  It was a creation story. One she’d never heard before; and she’d studied enough ancient cultures to know that it was unique. “You’re talking about the development of free will.”

  “Yes. Heaven and Hell—no one is truly destined for one or the other. It is the choices that are made throughout life that lead you to your doom—or your reward.”

  “So, you’re saying fate isn’t predetermined.”

  He tightened his arm around her briefly. “I sure as Hell hope not.”

  She pursed her lips. “When you say Heaven, do you mean angels and God?”

  “Yep.”

  “And Hell…fire and brimstone and Satan?”

  “Satan only rules one circle of Hell.”

  “One circle?”

  “Yeah, the three circles of Hell: Inferno, Sheol, and Tartarus.”

  She frowned. “You’re mixing up your mythologies.” Jewish, Canaanite, and Greek mythologies to be exact, with a little of Dante Alighieri's poetry thrown in.

  “Or maybe mythology got it wrong.”

  “So, which one does Satan rule, then? In this story you are telling me.” Although, she was feeling it was more than just a story—like maybe Yael actually believed it.

  He doesn’t strike me as religious. A
lthough Azrael said their parents were, so who knows?

  “Inferno,” Yael replied. “Lucifer rules Sheol and Hades rules Tartarus.”

  At the mention of Hades, an image of a muscular man with a partially shaved head and piercing yellow eyes filled her vision. She blinked and it vanished.

  What was that?

  She shook her head a little. “That’s not the story I was expecting, but thank you.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. He stiffened. But when she didn’t try anything more, his muscles slowly relaxed.

  She closed her eyes, but this time, she didn’t see the severed arm or the blood, she saw the wonder of creation, and had the knowledge that every individual could create their own destiny, and that some paths were redeemable.

  And some weren’t.

  Chapter 29

  A week had passed since the attack, and everyone had fallen back into their normal holding pattern. Dru and Azrael had stayed on, though, to give Yael a break from time to time. He hadn’t taken one. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Rowan, but he knew that it was the smart thing to do. At some point.

  Currently, Rowan was on the opposite side of the pathway to the tomb, staring into the cliff wall like it could explain the meaning of life. She’d been distracted ever since it had been opened and was convinced they should excavate elsewhere, even though the radar-thingy had said there was nothing where she was proposing to dig.

  For someone who is so logical, she has great lapses of it.

  Like coming to him for comfort after the attack.

  Yael didn’t know why he’d told her the true story of creation, but he’d wanted to let her know that life was what she’d make it; that she had a choice. And not working for Lucifer would be a good start, although he couldn’t say that part out loud.

  Not when somehow, she still didn’t believe in magic.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out and answered without checking the screen. “Yo.”

  “Yael, it’s Raze.”

  Like he wouldn’t be able to recognize the deep voice. “What’s up?”

  “I found the reference.”

  His mind went blank. “What reference?”

  “To Twosret.”