by ML Guida
“Stab him anywhere and he’ll die.” He lifted the bag higher. “And all of this will be yours.”
Scythe’s cheek twitched and he narrowed his eyes at Blade. “Don’t do this, brother.”
The voice forgotten, she gripped the dagger tighter and jumped to her feet. “Forgive me, but I need it.”
Scythe looked at her with pity. “You can fight this. For us.”
“There is no us. Stop playing with my mind.” She couldn’t forget his kiss. The necklace and cross seemed to melt into her skin. A war went through her mind. A blinding headache gripped her. All she wanted was the pain to stop. She glared at Scythe. “If I kill you, the pain will go away.”
“Tsk. Tsk. Dear brother,” Blade said. “Have yourself a situation here with your angel-mate?”
“Angel-mate?” Heather lowered the knife.
“Remember,” the same voice urged, but it was softer, loving.
She stared at Scythe. She remembered kissing his lips, his calloused hands caressing her body, and his cock thrusting inside, giving her the most sinful orgasm she’d ever had. Her face reddened. But it wasn’t just the sex. He risked his life for her, saved her dog, rescued her.
Scythe lifted her chin, his fingers caressing her skin. “That’s it, fight it.”
Warmth spread through her, and she wanted him to hold her, to kiss her.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Blade shook the bag.
Heather studied Blade. With his sly grin, Blade reminded her of an addict about to kill for his next fix.
“Don’t you remember who this man is?” he asked.
“Blade,” Scythe warned.
Goose bumps broke out on Heather’s arms and her hands turned clammy. The rough handle slipped through her fingers and fell onto the ground.
“Don’t be an idiot, Heather,” Blade said. “He ruined your life.”
Rosemary. He was talking about Rosemary. Scythe had something to do with her death. She snatched the dagger off the ground and aimed it at Scythe. This sucked. All of her memories had been creamed into a blender.
“Still can’t remember, honey,” Blade sneered. “He’s the one who offed your precious sister. Feel like killing him now?”
The memory slammed into her. “You bastard.” Without hesitation, she rushed Scythe, the knife raised high.
“Shit.” Scythe grabbed her wrist and spun her around, slamming her back against his hard chest. He strapped his arm around her waist.
“Let go of me.” She pounded her heels into his shins and stomped on his feet.
“Ah, I don’t think you have enough to keep you busy, brother.” Blade tossed the plastic bag into the air and caught it. “Susan, this is the last bag of Xanadu.”
Blade stared at Heather, a dark shadow fell across his face, his hot coal eyes burned brighter. “If you kill the bitch, you can have it.”
“Bless it, Blade,” Scythe growled.
Heather clasped the handle tighter. She wanted the bag. The drug was hers, but his strong fingers pried the blade out of her hand, then tossed it behind them.
“You bastard! It’s mine.”
Scythe clutched her shoulders and shook her. “Listen to me. You’ve got to be strong.”
“Xanadu is mine, bitch.” Susan lifted her head high as if she’d already won the prize.
Susan’s high heels crunched the leaves and twigs. She snatched a fat aspen log off the ground and gripped it with both hands. The glow of the porch light hit her face, revealing a jack-o-lantern smile. “You’re dead, whore.”
Blade limped behind her, holding another dagger in his hand.
Heather fumbled on the ground for a rock—anything, but her fingers slipped through stabbing pine needles. Fuck, Susan! Xanadu belonged to her.
The cross burned her flesh and she grabbed it, but it was red hot. “Ow!”
Ignoring the agony, she gave into the lust. Xanadu was hers. She rushed toward the pile of wood stacked on the deck.
“Heather, no,” Scythe called. “Get your ass back here.”
Not listening to him, Heather ran a big circle around Susan who changed mid-stride and lurched after her. Heather darted onto the deck and rolled. A whisk of air flew over her head.
“It’s mine, slut,” Susan said.
Heather snagged a log off the pile.
Hard clicks across the wooden deck stalked her. “Die, bitch!”
Susan raised the log high over her head and swung. Heather blocked her thrust, but the log cracked. Pain rippled up her arm.
She scooted away. She couldn’t stand unless she wanted Susan to split her melon open.
Scythe hurried toward her. “Shit, I’m coming!”
Blade blocked his path and laughed. “Oh, I think you’re going to busy with me, dear brother.”
19
Uneasiness swept over Scythe. The darkness grew blacker as if someone in heaven had turned off the stars and the porch light dimmed, casting an eerie glow on Heather’s and Susan’s bodies, reminding him of the silhouetted naked woman on semi-trucks’ flanks. What did horny men call women fighting? Cat fight?
Blade wielded a knife, then lurched at him.
Scythe easily stepped out of his way. “Not feeling so hot, brother.”
Blade wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Shut up.”
The smell of roses and sulfur permeated the air—Heaven’s scent. Scythe relaxed. A slow smile spread across his face. The scent of roses grew stronger. Balthazar was losing. “Gee, what a shocker, Balthazar didn’t zap in here and heal your ass.”
“I said shut up.” Blade wheezed, then toppled onto his knees and hung his head. “He’ll be here.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Die, witch.” Susan swung at Heather, missing her by inches.
His heart panicked. She had to be careful, damn careful.
Heather’s foot caught on a chair and she sprawled out onto the deck. The pine log flew out of her hand and smacked into the porch light. Glass shattered. Scythe scanned the deck, but only ghostly moon rays shadowed the porch. Where the hell is she?
A hard thump hit wood. A woman cried out, but he couldn’t tell which. “Heather,” he yelled. “Answer me, for Heaven’s sake.”
Another loud wallop turned his stomach upside down. He clenched his fist tighter around the handle. A dark shape loomed over a crumpled shadow on the ground. “It’s mine.”
The voice was thick and it didn’t even sound human.
The shadow lunged and the other shape kicked, knocking the shadow to the ground. Two black silhouettes rolled. Clothing ripped. The sound of punches and grunts turned Scythe’s gut into a triple knot.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Heather panted.
“Take that, bitch,” Susan spat.
Heather groaned. Scythe sucked in his breathe. If Heather murdered her friend with her bare hands… No way. It wasn’t happening.
“Who will have the last laugh now, brother?” Blade chuckled. He lifted his head and pushed himself off the ground. He faced Scythe.
“Ladies, only the survivor gets the spoils.”
“It’s…mine,” Heather growled.
“Over…my…dead…body.”
Shrieks, clawing, tearing, and hitting and slapping of flesh was scraping Scythe’s nerves. Shit, it did sound like two cats fighting.
“Raphael!” he shouted. “I need you now.”
The dead light stars remained motionless, watching him. Black clouds hovered near the moon and slivered over it, then blanketed the light. A cold breeze rustled the trees. For Heaven’s sake, Raphael, where the heaven are you?
Blade snarled. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Time’s up, brother.”
He tilted his head. “Yes, your mate is getting ripped apart.”
The triumphant in his brother’s voice fired every urge in Scythe to cut out his black heart, but he took a deep breathe, keeping his feet planted. He refused to do it. Blade was his brother. Period.
<
br /> “Raphael, get your ass over here,” Scythe yelled again. What was he doing now? Going on a tour through Edinburgh Castle?
“What’s wrong? You piss off the Archangel. Think he’s your pet dog to control?”
“Something you don’t know, Blade. Michael plans to send the dogs out on you.”
“Like I give a shit. It’s not like I’m fighting alone.”
“Really?” He peered behind his brother’s back. “I don’t see anyone backing you.”
Heather cried.
Scythe’s world stopped. She was hurt. He lowered his knife.
Blade leaped for him, and sliced Scythe’s hand. Agony pierced Scythe again and he jerked his hand. He dropped his dagger. He clamped his mouth shut. Stupid mistake. What was he thinking? Even wounded, Blade was still lethal.
“Getting a little senile in your old age,” Blade said. “Sounds like your girl is losing.”
He charged and slashed Scythe’s shoulder. The dagger cut deep. Agony tore through Scythe. His arm hung useless at his side. Scythe clenched his fist and swung. He hit his brother square in the mouth, and Blade flung backward.
“Now, who’s old,” Scythe muttered. His hand shaking, he ripped the blade out of his shoulder and threw it onto the ground. Pain throbbed and he grimaced.
The clouds moved and a glowing light shone on Blade. He rubbed his jaw. “Should we try this the old fashioned way?”
Scythe braced himself. “Let’s do it.”
Blade circled him. “You don’t stand a chance.”
“Quit stalling,” Scythe heaved. Pain pulsed through him, but he wasn’t done yet.
Blade threw a punch and smacked him in the jaw. He staggered and blood flowed in his mouth. He righted himself then jabbed a right hitting his brother smack in the stomach. Blade bent over, holding his gut. Scythe knocked him flat on his back.
Covering his nose with his hand, Blade clamored to his feet. “You’re going to pay for that one.” Blade roared and charged. An angry bull elephant, he hit Scythe hard, flattening him to the ground. His shoulder slammed onto a jagged rock. Scythe lost his breath and bit back a groan.
Blade landed on top of him. He pounded his fists into his face. Blood seeped into Scythe’s mouth. His eyes swelled shut. He arched his back, but only lifted Blade into the air. Blade slammed back down on to his chest. Scythe sucked in his breath. Blade grabbed his hair and smashed the back of head onto the ground. “I’m going to bash your brains into angel gore.”
Somehow power surged through Scythe and he shoved his brother’s hands off his head. His head rang and his vision blurred, but he swore there was a dark silhouette of a man behind him. Michael or Raphael? Fear bore into him. “Who are you? Say something.”
“How about I’m killing you and then your mate?”
“Hello, Blade.”
The last voice Scythe wanted to hear. “Michael.”
Blade jumped off him and whirled around. He darted to his feet and put his hands up, his palms facing Michael. “Stay away from me.”
At least he had the good sense to fear Michael. No one, no one wanted to tangle with the Angel of Death.
Scythe struggled to sit, nearly passing out from the pain. “Where’s Raphael?”
“Momentarily detained.” Michael stepped closer toward Blade. “What’s wrong, Blade? Not big man on campus anymore. Where are your buddies?”
Blade backed away. “They’re-they’re coming.”
“Really? Doesn’t look like it. Your teammates left you holding the ball.”
More female shrieks echoed a few feet away.
“They’re getting on my nerves.” Michael snapped his fingers. The fighting ceased, but Scythe could sense Heather’s heartbeat. She was alive, but unconscious. He sighed. At least, Michael hadn’t killed her.
Scythe’s eyes were drawn to Michael’s hand. He clutched the sword Excalibur. It had once been King Author’s sword, but Michael only let him borrow it. Excalibur had always and would always be his. Blue rays gleamed from it, giving off an eerie light. Unlike human paintings, Michael had ebony hair not blond. Tonight, he wore no shirt and had on black leather pants.
He pointed Excalibur at Blade. “You’ve been a royal pain in the ass.”
“You locked up Raphael, didn’t you?” Scythe forced himself to stand. He swayed. “How could you?”
Not taking his eyes off Blade, Michael shrugged. “You had your chance and failed. Blade deserves to be punished.”
“You mean killed?” Scythe asked.
“It’s because of you, she’s dead,” Blade screamed.
Scythe winced. The pain in his brother’s voice hurt as bad as his shoulder. He had to make one more ploy to convince Michael not to kill his traitorous brother. “You’ve cheated.”
“Cheated?” Michael narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so. Time’s up.”
“But you locked up, Raphael,” Scythe said. “You can’t do this.”
“Ah, yeah I can. What can I say? You lost. I won.”
Michael approached Blade. His heavy footsteps stomped out Scythe’s hope.
“You’ll be sorry if you kill me,” Blade cried. “It will be all out war.”
Scythe glanced at his brother. Was he out of his mind? Michael loved nothing better than killing demons. His favorite past time.
“I’m already sorry I let you live this long.”
Scythe stumbled into his path.
Michael cocked his eyebrow. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The Archangel’s power electrified Scythe’s skin. He cringed, but forced himself to stand straight. This wasn’t good. Any minute, Michael could snap his fingers and he’d be dead. “Leave him alone.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
Scythe blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. You’re one of the Angels of Death.” He pointed his sword. “He’s a demon. Now answer the question.”
“He hasn’t completely turned.”
Michael flashed his gaze over Blade. He stepped around him. “This is no time for a bleeding heart.”
Scythe grabbed his arm. Radiant heat scalded his palm and he fell screaming to his knees. He knew he’d regret this, but he shouted. “Don’t be a righteous ass”
Michael grabbed Scythe’s hair. “Never call me that.”
“I’m sorry.” Time for another tact. “Michael, please, I’m begging you.”
“No.” The Archangel threw him onto the ground.
Scythe fell flat on his stomach and gasped for breath and sucked in pine needles and dirt.
“Don’t interfere, Scythe,” Michael ordered.
Yeah, like he’d play dead and watch Michael cut his brother into sushi. Not happening. He crawled back onto his knees. He spat out dirt and snapped his fingers. A log appeared in his hand.
Blade darted into the woods, but Michael sliced his hand through the air.
His eyes wide, Blade reappeared on his hands and knees.
“Going somewhere?”
“Let me go,” he said. “Shit. I-I-I can’t move.”
“I don’t think so.” Michael walked over to him. “Now, demon, you will pay for your sins.”
With angelic speed, Scythe stood in front of Blade. “No.”
“You’ve got a death wish, Angel?” Michael growled.
Scythe dropped his arms to his side. His innards turned to mush. He met Michael’s terrifying gaze. “Take me instead. I’ll pay for his sins.”
Michael flung his head back and laughed. The wind whistled and lightning flashed in the skies. “Fool. Do you think I would hesitate killing both of you? You’ve always walked too close to the edge for my taste anyway.”
Tiny electrodes pulsated over his skin. Scythe trembled. Heather lay motionless on the ground. Her hands were scratched and bleeding, but he couldn’t see her face due to the blanket of her brown hair covering her. He wished he could kiss her one more time before he met his fate.
“Scythe, you fool,�
� Blade said.
Michael stopped laughing. The lightning and wind ceased. “We’ll see who you care for more.” He gazed at Scythe. “But your name is written in the book, Blade. Your brother’s isn’t.” He waved his hand.
Scythe was shoved to the side. He tried to move, but his feet failed to respond.
Michael strutted passed Blade who had the good instinct to cringe. Scythe sucked in his breath. Now what was he doing?
Scythe’s heart stopped. “No, Michael, please don’t hurt her.” He was powerless. “I beg you. Kill me instead.”
“Kill her, Michael. Kill her,” Blade said. “It’s her fault this happened. She deserves to die.”
Scythe clenched his fists. “Blade, shut up. It wasn’t her fault and you know it.”
Michael glanced over his shoulder at Scythe, then Blade. “Scythe, still think your brother’s worth saving?”
“Please, no,” Scythe whispered.
Michael bent over and grabbed Heather’s arm, lifting her into his arms. She moaned and Scythe seethed. If he made one false move or did anything rash, she was dead.
“Now, you’re going to see how it feels, brother.” Blade actually laughed—a crazy laugh that chilled Scythe to the core.
Michael walked over to Blade. “Shut up, tainted one.” He kicked him in the chest. Blade yelped like a wounded coyote. His laughter ceased and only short gasps escaped his mouth. No doubt he had broken ribs or worse.
Scythe stood still as the Archangel approached him holding Heather in his arms as if she were a deflated Barbie doll. He laid her at Scythe’s feet and moved his hand over her face. Her hair parted. Scythe gasped. Both of her eyes were swollen, turning purple and black. Blood dripped from her mouth. She had long scratches down her right cheek and her left side had bulged into the size of a grapefruit. Her ripped shirt revealed deep ugly scratches and cuts. Crimson trickled from a slash on her side.
Michael examined her. “She has some broken ribs and deep cuts. Unfortunately from a hellish blade.”
Scythe shook his head. “But they didn’t have weapons. I saw them fighting fist-to-fist.”
“You really think a demon fights fair? Even a demon brother?”
Scythe refused to agree and stayed quiet.
