Betrayal

by ML Guida

  “Where have you been? I’ve been here all night. Did you save Susan?”

  He winced. “Not exactly.”

  Her brows furrowed. “Not exactly meaning?”

  He snatched her hand that sent waves of desire through him. “We’re out of here.”

  A light flashed. Heather fell into him, and he slammed into a green trash bin. Pain hit his shoulder.

  Heather wiped her hand across her sweating forehead. “Wh-where are we?”

  The smell of coffee mixed with a foul stench drifted around them. Scythe took a big whiff. “Right behind the coffee shop.”

  “Why are we here? What time is it?”

  “Eight o’clock in the morning.”

  Her brows wrinkled, but then her face brightened. “Susan’s inside, isn’t she? Come on, let’s go.” She darted around the building. “Susan, thank God.”

  “Shit,” Scythe mumbled.

  He ran, but Blade materialized in front of him, blocking his way. “Hello, dear brother,” Blade said. “Going somewhere?”

  Scythe stepped closer. “Get out of my way.”

  “I don’t think so. We have unfinished business.” Blade yanked out a hellish blade.

  Scythe glared at the sword. Zeus, he hated those damn things. He opened his palm and his heaven blade appeared in his hand. “Now, we’re even.”

  “Come with me. We’ve got to get out of here before he comes back,” a female voice said.

  “But wait, I’ve got to get Scythe,” Heather said.

  Scythe tensed. From the hesitation in her voice, something was wrong. What the hell happened?

  He swiped his dagger. “Out of my way, Blade.”

  “You’ll never get to her in time, brother.” Blade gave him a deadly smile. “Susan knows what to do.”

  Scythe sucked in his gut and warning tingles swished all over him. Shit, why did Heather refuse to stay with him? “You don’t understand, brother. You only have until midnight until Michael declares all-out war on you.”

  “You think I give a shit?” A look of pure hatred passed over Blade’s face. “I’ve switched teams. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  “Susan, what are you doing?” Heather cried pure terror hit her voice.

  Over his shoulder, Blade yelled, “Now.”

  A red light flashed. Blade vanished. Scythe sprinted around the building. He skidded in front of the glass windows and peered inside the shop. Men and women sat at table drinking coffee and chatting, or stood in line waiting to order their favorite concoctions. His heart twisted and he clutched the knife tighter. Dread hit him. Heather had vanished.

  Slow steady footsteps came up behind him. With a smug look on his face, Blade twirled the knife in his hand. “You’ll never find her.”

  For the first time, Scythe wanted to kill his brother. “Where the hell is she?”

  Blade shrugged. “Where I want her.”

  “Tell me, or I’ll cut out your black heart.”

  Blade laughed. “Ah, yes. Such brotherly concern. Where’s that determination of yours trying to save me? Gone. Right out the window.”

  Scythe winced. He was letting his emotions control him, runaway emotions that could get him and Heather killed. He drew on his reserves like Michael taught him. “Don’t do this.”

  “Why?” Blade glared. “Will my soul be eternally damned? Little late for that, don’t you think.” He walked closer. “I’ll tell you what, you defeat me, and I’ll tell you where she is.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You can visit her in hell.”

  Scythe’s blood dropped to ice age cold. His brother’s cool manner and deadly voice left little doubt he meant what he said. “Is that where she is? In hell?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? You can flash out brother, but I’ve covered my tracks. You of all people should know that. You were a great teacher.”

  “You made your point.”

  “Thought you would see it my way.”

  “Oh my God,” a woman screamed.

  Scythe glanced over his shoulder.

  A teenage girl dropped her frozen chocolate drink on the pavement. “They’ve got swords.”

  “Not here,” Blade said.

  A swish whirled around Scythe, and he found himself standing in a meadow somewhere in the mountains.

  Blade was a few feet from him. “Like you, I don’t want any more interruptions.”

  Scythe stood with his legs shoulder width apart, his weight on his back leg. “Then let’s do it.” He gripped the handle between his thumb and forefinger while his other fingers loosely held the handle. He pointed the tip at Blade. Not waiting for him to answer, he lunged and jabbed his sword, narrowly missing Blade’s knife wielding hand.

  Blade dodged right. The blade pointing up, he gripped the handle as if he were holding a hammer. He swiped his blade at Scythe’s upper thigh.

  Scythe scooted left. The swish of the blade made his stomach tighten. “Getting serious, brother.”

  “I want you dead.”

  Scythe circled him, holding his free hand in close to his midsection. “I can see that.”

  Blade did the same.

  Loss engulfed Scythe. Like Cain, his brother wanted to cut out his liver. How the hell did this happen? He and Blade had been a team—fighting demons side by side, playing tricks on each other, jumping into missions together—but now... “This doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “You had the chance to save Samantha and did nothing.” Blade thrust the knife and nicked his jacket, the blade slicing his arm. “Michael’s right hand man.”

  Pain seared into Scythe skin, but he wasn’t done yet. “Thanks to you, Saber’s got the job.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Blade’s sarcasm hurt more than the damn blade. Scythe didn’t even know him anymore. Minutes ticked away. Michael would rip him apart, and no help from heaven or hell would be able to resurrect Blade again. Twinges of pain ran up his arm like thousands of biting tiny insects. Shit, hellish poison.

  A triumphant look crossed over Blade’s face. “Growing weaker, brother.”

  Scythe lowered his blade. He saw his opening. He swung his blade and this time, he struck gold, slashing Blade’s hand.

  His brother staggered and screamed. Blood gushed, staining the pine needles and purple columbines. Panting, Blade clutched his shaking hand. “You’re dead.”

  Regret beat into Scythe’s soul. Zeus, he hadn’t wanted to wound his brother. The last time someone hurt him, he cleaved the demon’s head off his shoulders. In a low voice, he whispered, “Brother, I’m sorry.”

  The ground rumbled and dirt, pine needles, and trees sank into a massive hole. Fire erupted. Balthazar flew out of the breach, wielding a sword in his hand. As his feet touched the terrain, the hole filled up, but the columbine flowers withered, the pine needles blackened, and the long grass turned brown and died.

  Scythe gripped his handle tighter. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Balthazar glanced at Blade’s bleeding hand. “I don’t like to lose. I protect what’s mine.” He waved his hand. A red flash hit Blade, and he faded.

  16

  Heather lifted her head and cringed. Her eyes blurred, her head throbbed and her stomach was seriously trying out for the football spiral somersault. God, had she slammed down a half dozen shots of gin? Where the hell was she? Did she smell pine?

  She moved her wrists, but something bounded them. Metal? What handcuffs? “What the…”

  “Good, you’re awake.”

  She recognized the familiar voice. “Susan?”

  “In the flesh.” Susan sat in a brown leather chair across from her with her right leg crossed over her left. She twirled her right foot. Wearing her power red suit, she looked perfect as always with her long blond hair, big brown eyes and manicured red nails, but something changed. Red glints flickered in her eyes. Shivers ran through Heather. Susan’s aura no longer shimmered with red and yellow that marked her passion with
law. Now, it was solid black. Shit, not good.

  Swallowing her panic, Heather scanned her surroundings. The setting sun shined through the windows and cast shadows on the knotted light-stained pine walls. A coffee table housed discarded magazines and candles on it. Two red lamps sat on matching end tables. Behind the leather couch, there was a dining room set with white cushioned chairs. One chair was missing. She looked at Susan. “We’re at your cabin.”

  “That’s right, genius.”

  Heather stared out the large picturesque window and wished she was walking among the trail winding around the pine and aspen trees and purple and white columbines and blue bells. She and Susan had hiked the mountain many times and returned to barbecue. Hamburgers or chicken grilling on the gas barbecue mixed with fresh clean mountain smells. On the deck, they had sat in the white painted cottage wooden chairs and sipped wine. She knew this wasn’t happening.

  Heather wiggled but her wrists were bound behind her and her ankles were tied to a chair. “Why am I tied up?”

  “Because he didn’t want you to escape this time.”

  “He? You mean Blade.” Heather’s racing heart slammed around her ribs like a ping-pong ball. “Where is he?”

  “Killing your lover.”

  Anger chased away her fear. “What?”

  Susan gave her a surly smile. “I don’t think I stuttered, did I? Or are you plain dumb?”

  “No!” Sweat dripped down Heather’s face. She wrenched against the rope binding her ankles and wrists. It cut into her flesh, but she didn’t care. She had to escape. She couldn’t lose him. Not like Rosemary.

  Susan laughed manically.

  Heather’s bones rattled. Trying to contain her growing terror, Heather studied her. “He gave you the drug, didn’t he?”

  Susan shrugged. “At first, I didn’t want to take it, but he, uh, persuaded me.” A lustful look came over her. “I couldn’t say no.”

  Heather hoped to find one sliver of her old friend, but Susan’s beautiful hazel eyes burned red. Susan stared at her with pure hatred. “But this isn’t like you.”

  Susan walked across the floor, her heels clicking on the hardwood. She pinched Heather’s cheek hard. “Get used to the new me.”

  Heather jerked her head away. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Nothing.” She walked to the counter and leaned over a dish. She put a finger to her nostril and inhaled a black powder dust.

  “Susan, no!”

  Susan snorted again. Heather’s heart broke, and she blinked back tears. A well of hatred rose in her. Damn Blade! This had to stop. She pulled and yanked on her wrists, but the rope cut deeper. Pain sliced into her flesh and her hands tingled. Great, now what?

  Susan flung her head back and stretched her arms wide. “You have no idea the power within me. I could fly.”

  A wild crazed look flashed in her burning red eyes. “I think I’ll pour myself a glass of wine. I’d offer you one, but…” She half smiled. “You know.”

  Susan sauntered over to her maple wine butler and took out a crystal stemmed wine glass and pulled out a bottle of Chianti. She popped open the bottle and poured the red liquid into her glass.

  Heather inhaled the fruity sent of cherry and nuts.

  Mallets of pain walloped each side of Heather’s temple. Her mouth watered as her stomach revolted at the smell. What was wrong with her? Chianti was her favorite wine.

  Susan laughed. “Sit tight, girl.”

  Ignoring her fear, Heather whispered, “What’s he going to do?”

  Susan took a sip and walked over to the patio door. “Watch.”

  Chills slid over Heather’s sweating body. “Watch what?”

  Susan turned and flashed her eyes over her, studying her. A predatory grin spread across her lips. “Watch me kill you, of course.”

  Heather gasped. “The bastard! Doesn’t he even have the guts to kill me himself?”

  Susan slammed her glass on the table, splashing red splatters onto the wood. She stormed over and slapped her.

  Heather’s head swung to the right and wrenched her neck. Her cheek and neck throbbed. Blood swirled in her mouth.

  Susan grabbed her hair and yanked. “Don’t you ever talk about him like that again! Got it!”

  Heather spit out blood. “You know where they are, don’t you? Tell me now.”

  “Or what?” She tightened her grip.

  Susan tore strands of Heather’s hair out by the root. Heather bit back a yell.

  “As if you can do anything. Scythe is going to die and you’ll soon follow.”

  “Blade can’t kill him. Scythe’s the angel of death.”

  Susan whispered in her ear. “Oh, believe me, he can.” She released her.

  Heather panted hard. “You can’t kill me now, can you?”

  Susan dragged her long nails down Heather’s arm. “No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t toy with you.”

  Heather winced.

  Susan stormed into the kitchen and whipped opened a kitchen drawer. She pulled out a big, scary kitchen knife. Shit, shit, shit.

  “Now, how about I cut off all that beautiful mane of yours?” She meandered. “I’ve always been jealous. It’s so thick, long.”

  Heather trembled.

  Susan pressed the level blade underneath her chin. “You say another smart word and I swear to God, I’ll saw it off. Do you understand me, bitch?”

  “Yes,” Heather murmured.

  “Good.” Susan lowered the blade. “Now, I’m going outside and drink my wine that you made me spill on my table.” Susan laid the knife on the coffee table and walked away like she didn’t have a care in the world. She was no longer the friend Heather loved and trusted.

  She picked up her glass of wine, swirled the red contents, and opened the patio door. “I better not hear another word from you.”

  Eyeing the knife on the coffee table, Heather bit her lip. She had to escape and find Scythe.

  Susan lounged on a chair looking at the forest. Was she waiting for someone? Blade? Great.

  With all of her force, Heather moved her body. The chair skidded an inch across the floor. At the loud screech, she cringed. Grasping short breaths, she glanced at Susan, but she remained cemented to the chair.

  Heather flung her weight again. This time, the chair veered to the right. Susan still hadn’t moved. Heather skirted her butt and edged closer. Another scratch screamed in her ear. “God, Bruce Willis makes this look so damn easy,” she grumbled.

  Perspiration stung her eyes. Panting, she skewed the chair again and again. Time slowed. God, what if Susan finished her wine and wanted a refill?

  The chair slammed into the coffee table. The knife slid. Heather bit her lip. “Shit.”

  Heather leaned forward, the rope tightening. Ignoring the binding pain, she managed to inch the chair inches from the coffee table. Her fingers brushed over the knife. “Thank God.”

  She wiggled and stretched. One finger slid on the blade. With sheer determination, her finger flicked the blade, but the knife twirled. “Come on.”

  A red flash blazed through the room. Heat rushed over her. A loud snap behind her shattered her nerves.

  Strong fingers gripped her hair, twisting her head to the side. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Hot breath rushed onto her neck.

  Sheer terror shot through her—Blade.

  “Susan, get your ass in here.”

  Susan jumped off her chair and ran inside. “Oh my God, Blade.”

  “Help me.” Blade loosened his grip and his fingers slipped through Heather’s hair. He plopped onto his knees.

  Heather frowned. One of Blade’s hands dripped with blood.

  Susan rushed over. “What happened?”

  “The bastard,” he gasped. “… stabbed me with a Heaven dagger. Help me.”

  Hope bloomed inside Heather. Scythe? He was alive? She could almost smell his masculine scent. Had he wounded Blade?

  “Are you okay
?”

  Susan’s voice was filled with concern.

  Blade groaned.

  Susan put Blade’s arm around her shoulder and took a step.

  Heather heard a loud smack hit the floor. Heather frowned, trying to strain to look over her shoulder.

  “You bitch,” Blade said.

  “I’m sorry,” Susan said. “But you’re so heavy.”

  “Shut up and get me to the couch, before you really piss me off.”

  His snarling voice sent terror through Heather. What if he hurt Susan? Heather struggled with her bounds. Misery tightened around her wrists and her fingers grew numb.

  Susan tossed her red pumps onto the floor. “I-I-I have to take off my shoes.”

  “Then do it, you dumb bitch.”

  A mop of blond hair hanging in front of her face, Susan draped Blade’s arm over her shoulder, and he leaned against her small frame. Her stocking feet slipped and skidded on the hardwood floor. Any minute she’d collapse underneath his weight. God knows what the bastard would due to Susan. Heather’s stomach hurt. Where was Scythe?

  “We’re almost there.” Susan slumped lower as Blade leaned into her. He edged around the coffee table and fell onto the couch with her on top of him.

  He shoved her. “Get off me, stupid girl.”

  Susan landed on the floor. She untangled her legs and stood. “How is your hand?”

  His face was ashen. “Bad.” Blood drenched his hand as if he had dipped into a can of red paint. Splats of crimson marred the couch, hardwood floor, and coffee table.

  Heather remembered how pale Scythe’s face had been when Blade had stabbed him with the Hell blade. So, it worked both ways. Tit for tat. Good for Scythe.

  Heather smirked. “You’re kidding? Your hand?”

  Blade peered at her with half hooded eyes. “Wipe the look from your face or I’ll do it for you.” He maneuvered both of his legs to the floor.

  Heather sucked in her breath. Maybe the Heaven dagger didn’t have the same affects as they did on Earth. But wasn’t good stronger than evil? Every book or movie she’d ever seen preached this theme. Was it all a lie?

  He glared at Susan. “Get me a towel.”

  “Okay, I’m so--”

  “Move!”

  Susan darted past Heather.