Beyond the Veil (9 page)

Maybe I did, but it wasn
’
t as simple as that. Without Akil, I was nothing. I wouldn
’
t survive a night without him. The detective at the police department had proven that.
“
He keeps me safe.
”

Stefan smiled bitterly.
“
You kept yourself safe for five years.
”

“
It didn
’
t last. You turned up and ruined it all.
”

“
I was the reason you were standing on the street when the explosion destroyed your workshop, remember?
”
His smug grin was back.
“
Akil set you up. You pissed him off, Muse. You turned your back on him and walked away. Did you think he was going to let you get away with it?
”

“
Stop it. Just
—
stop. I don
’
t want to hear any more of your lies.
”

Finally, Stefan gave up trying to force me to believe his propaganda. He came and sat on the couch next to me, resting his boots on the coffee table and propped an elbow on the arm of couch beside him. He leaned away from me, shuffling down into the cushions and closing his eyes.

“
You
’
re going to sleep?
”

“
It
’
s that or listen to the Akil fangirl speech.
”

“
Asshole.
”

He snickered at my insult but kept his eyes closed; the conversation was over.

I watched his chest rise and fall, confident that he couldn
’
t see me doing so. Stefan
’
s lean body was built to kill, and evidently he had no qualms about doing so. He
’
d executed the demon in the stairwell without hesitation and on the run from the Hellhounds. He hadn
’
t once stopped to consider his actions. He took it all in his stride, like it was part of his day job. I sat there, in a room where the walls were covered in symbols I
’
d never even seen before and didn
’
t have a clue what they meant. But they
’
d worked. He was well trained, that much was obvious. Even the stunt with the superglue, which I was pretty sure he could have done himself, hinted at his no-nonsense get-the-job-done attitude. So he
’
d been trained, but I
’
d never heard of
‘
Enforcers
’
; shouldn
’
t I know about them? Were there more of them? Who trained them? It sounded like fantasy to me. Half-bloods didn
’
t have the power to go up against demons. It was impossible.

When he
’
d called his power, let it ride over him, I
’
d seen the demon that resided at his soul, and it had been astonishingly beautiful. There wasn
’
t a rule that said demons couldn
’
t be stunning. They came in all shapes and sizes, but I had never seen anything like him. The wings alone; jeez, you could understand where the angel-myth came from. I had wings, well, used to. Now only one remained, but they had never been as beautiful as his. My owner had sheared my missing wing off with a scimitar. When I went
‘
nuclear
’
as Stefan had called it, when the demon rides me so completely that you can
’
t tell us apart, my remaining wing appears, but it
’
s a sorry specimen, ripped and useless.

Stefan
’
s breathing had slowed. Asleep, with the Hellhounds at the proverbial door. Typical. I twisted side on to face him and blatantly let my gaze wander across his fine physique. Honed to the pinnacle of physical fitness with an athletic grace, he wasn
’
t all muscle, but might as well have been. I skipped my gaze down to the tattoo and had to stop myself from reaching out to touch it. That mark had to be significant. His branding, tattooed into his skin and on his gun.

I gave in to curiosity and reached out. My fingers hovered over the tattoo as it rose and fell with his breathing. Sliding my gaze higher, I deliberately let it linger on his body. A curious urge to touch was proving frustratingly difficult to ignore. Just a little touch. Would his skin be cold or warm? I
’
d never met an ice demon.

I rested the tips of my fingers lightly on his chest and found his skin to be warm. Settling my hand over the ripple of his abdominal muscles, I let the warmth of him soak into my touch. His breathing continued to slowly ebb and flow. He wouldn
’
t know how I
’
d admired him in more ways than one. He was a half-blood, just like me: human but for the demons slumbering at our cores. Ever since I could remember, I
’
d been deemed unworthy, a lesser being, a mistake, but Stefan oozed confidence. He carried himself as though he didn
’
t give a damn about what he was; almost as though he knew he was better in some way.

He had hinted that he knew about my past, that my owner had beaten me, but he didn
’
t know the half of it. It had been worse than that, night after night. Beaten, raped, cut, abused. I
’
d only survived because Damien wouldn
’
t allow me to die.

As the memories flowed unbidden, I pulled my hand back from Stefan
’
s alluring body and stood up, moving away to roam the apartment, my thoughts darkening. Finding a single bedroom, I opened the wardrobe door, looking for some clothes to change into but found only suits and shirts. Come to think of it, the apartment was lacking a woman
’
s touch. Perhaps the owner was a single guy, separated, who saw his kids on the weekends. I began to feel inexplicably sad for a man I didn
’
t even know before realizing the sadness I felt wasn
’
t for him; it was for me.

For as long as I could remember, I
’
d been in chains. Occasionally, Damien had released me, finding it amusing to let me go and then parade me in front of his peers. I spent so long with him that it became all I knew. It was life. It was normal. So I took the abuse, only summoning the demon inside me when Damien wanted it, so he could torture her too. She is me and I her, irrevocably connected and yet different entities occupying the same human body. And oh, how he despised my human body. I bore many scars, only a fraction of which were physical.

I
’
d met Akil through Damien. So proud of how he
’
d beaten his pitiful half-blood into submission and kept her like a pet, Damien had presented me to Akil one night, showing off his accomplishments to one of the Seven Princes of Hell. I
’
d looked at Akil, at the smartly dressed business man and saw only another anonymous face leering at my disgusting existence. But he hadn
’
t leered. He didn
’
t do anything at first. Then he asked Damien to
‘
lend me
’
to him. Damien couldn
’
t refuse one of the Seven Princes, so he handed me over to Akil.

I
’
d expected a whole new world of pain to begin, but Akil hadn
’
t touched me. All he did was look at me cowering on the floor. He didn
’
t speak, didn
’
t do anything, but he watched. In some ways, that had been more terrifying. I didn
’
t know his name, didn
’
t know who he was or what he was capable of, but I felt the elemental power radiating from him. I expected him to leap from the chair and kill me with one swift, decisive moment, but he didn
’
t move a muscle.

The second night, he crouched in front of me, holding out a hand. But I
’
d just peered up at him through the rats-tails of my hair, trembling and mute.

I began to look forward to our meetings. I was terrified of him, of the power coursing through him, but he hadn
’
t hurt me, and my time with Akil separated me from Damien. Eventually, Akil coaxed me into speaking. Damien didn
’
t like to hear me talk, but Akil did. He wanted to know my name.

He calls me Muse.
I was Damien
’
s muse, as though I inspired hatred and disgust in him. My existence gave him leave to hurt me in ways I didn
’
t even know he could. I was art to him, a bloody, damaged, and violated piece of fragile art. In some sick and twisted way, he thought he was liberating me, that I should be grateful for lashings that split my flesh.

The memories turned my stomach, and my reflection in mirror above the sink paled. I clasped my hands either side of the washbasin and peered at the woman looking back. The gash across my right eye had scabbed over, but the bloody mess down the side of my face was worse than I
’
d expected. I had glass in my hair and dozens of grazes across my arms. My dress was torn and bloody. Patches of oil or gasoline splattered across the once vibrant red fabric. No wonder Stefan had wanted to clean me up.

I scrubbed my hands with soap and tried to wash the blood off my face. I
’
d spent a great deal of time washing the filth from my own skin, imagined and real. My hands shook, perhaps from the late onset of shock, or from the assault of memories. Either way, I needed to get a grip of myself. This wasn
’
t over. I was safe for now, hidden behind Stefan
’
s clever graffiti, but as soon as I stepped outside that door, I was a target, and it was open season on me. By now, word would have reached the demons. Not only was I still alive, but I wasn
’
t with Akil. They wouldn
’
t care that he
’
d forbidden killing me. Look at the detective at the police department. He hadn
’
t cared. He
’
d just wanted me dead. They were all the same.

At least Stefan was different. He
’
d survived. He may or may not have been protected, but he could clearly look after himself. Nobody had bothered teaching me a damn thing. I only had a name because my owner found it amusing.

“
Damnit!
”
The blood wasn
’
t coming off. I fell against the sink, gripping the white porcelain so hard that my fingers blanched. My stomach churned as my body rebelled against my attempts to remain calm. What Stefan didn
’
t seem to realize was that without Akil, I was dead anyway, so what did it matter? What did any of this matter?

I stumbled from the bathroom and dropped my weary body on the edge of the bed. The apartment was alien, the man who
’
d brought me here had his own dubious motives, and I had nothing.

“
You okay?
”
Stefan
’
s voice held a softer tone than I
’
d heard from him.

I didn
’
t turn, couldn
’
t find it in me to look at him. He probably stood in the bedroom doorway and could stay there for all I cared. Head bowed, body trembling, I knew how I looked. He
’
d think me weak, just as he had earlier. Maybe he was right.

“
You
’
re not like me.
”
I flicked my head around to glare at him.
“
You don
’
t know me. You don
’
t know anything. I
’
m not helping you kill my brother, an impossible task by the way as he
’
s immortal. I don
’
t care what your issue is with him. I don
’
t even care that you think you have proof Val isn
’
t behind this. I don
’
t want to know.
”

He looked as though he might say something; clearly, he had some sort of witty retort on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back. Without another word, he left the bedroom. I was glad he
’
d gone. His presence only served to remind me how pathetic I was in comparison.

I growled and flung myself back on the bed, falling into a fitful sleep within minutes.

***

 
The quiet was complete beyond the veil, the netherworld air thick, like soup. I had to drag it through clenched teeth to breathe. Ripples of pain rode through my body. My fragile human skin glistened with perspiration beneath the touch of moonlight, but I had come to embrace the agony. It meant I was alive. I could see my owner
’
s silhouette only when I lifted my gaze through matted hair. He might have appeared human but for the huge bat-like wings that relaxed behind him.

 
A flash of pain darted down my back. The wounds he
’
d inflicted gaping like hungry mouths. The chain coiled around my owner
’
s right hand dripped with my blood. I couldn
’
t see him smile. His face was lost in shadow, but I knew it was there. Clouds broiled in the dark sky, briefly smothering the blue moon, snuffing out its waning light. My mortal eyes failed to pierce the complete darkness, but it didn
’
t matter. I knew what was coming.

 When the washed-out light from the moon flowed once more into the clearing, he towered over me. I reared up, baring blunt teeth in a snarl. He could beat me all he wanted. I was not giving up without a fight. He pulled the chain tight in front of him, links rattling. I had enough time to fill my lungs with the cloying air before he wrapped the chain around my neck and pulled it tight. My demon clawed within me, thrashing against my restraint in a bid to be free, but I held her back. I would not let him win. Her talons sunk into my resolve even as my chest burned for air. My head throbbed.