Demon Forged (57 page)

Of course, in her line of work, no news usually just meant the body hadn’t been found yet.

She looked up at the ceiling, said quietly, “Michael, if you’re here, Joe and I are ready to go.”

But Joe wasn’t, actually. He was staring wide-eyed at his computer screen, leaning forward in his desk chair like the Giants were one pitch away from winning the World Series. “Andy, you’ve got to look at this.”

She came around the desk. A live newsfeed ran in a small window; she couldn’t hear the blond anchorwoman, but the inset showed a spotlight shining down on a cluster of boats tied together with gossamer strings. Taylor tilted her head, looked at the rings the boats made and the shimmering threads connecting them—the whole effect was almost like a spiderweb.

The headline stated that it had been an airline crash with no fatalities—and a freak electrical storm reported in the area was the probable cause. Great, that everyone survived, but she couldn’t quite see what Joe was so worked up about. “Are we surprised it’s not a goose this time?”

Joe shook his head, turned up the volume.
“—witnesses on a ferry are calling it a miracle. ‘It just floated down into the water,’ said one witness. Others are more skeptical, however.”

They switched to video of a lanky, twenty-something kid with a backpack and an American accent, laughing and shaking his head.
“I saw a splash, that’s what I saw. We saw it start to come down, but then the moon went behind a cloud or something. You couldn’t see anything after that. Here—”
He held up a digital video camera, showed a dark screen.
“My dad paid fifteen hundred bucks for this before I came here, and I’ve got nothing. I should have been taking pictures of the naked blue lady who was strutting around the boat, instead.”

At the mention of a naked lady, heads turned at the other desks. Joe turned the volume back down.

The anchorwoman appeared again.
“Reports indicate that fifty percent of the cameras on board recorded the same images.”
She tried to appear coyly amused.
“The other fifty show a nude blue woman—who, at this time, has not yet been identified.”

“You see, Andy—our guys did that,” Joe said.

She let the
our guys
slide without comment. A strange giddiness wouldn’t stop shaking in her belly. Could they really have saved an
airplane
?

The camera panned over the crowd again. Taylor found her finger shooting out, pressing against the screen below the face of a woman wearing a black cloak, the hood thrown back to show her dark hair.

“That one! I saw her at Polidori’s a couple of nights ago.”

“I saw her at SI, but she had on this red dress . . .” He trailed off with a whistle and leaned even closer, his tongue almost hanging out. “God, it’s a crime for a woman built like that to cover up her—”

“You said you were ready, detective.”

Taylor straightened. The voice was as harmonious as Michael’s, but definitely was not his.

Taylor turned to Khavi and gestured at the computer. “I guess he’s a little busy?”

“Yes. I volunteered to come in his place while he got rid of the dragon.”

A dragon?
Speechless, she looked over at Joe, who’d gotten to his feet.

“You are going to Rael’s house,” Khavi said.

It wasn’t a question—because, Taylor realized, the woman already knew. “We are unless you can see any reason why we shouldn’t.”

“No. We must.”

“Well, let’s head out then.”

Taylor grabbed her coat, aware that half the bullpen was watching Khavi as if a pint-sized can of gorgeous had suddenly appeared in their midst, and she might start sharing it with all of them.

They weren’t getting lucky today.

Joe opened both the stair door and the vehicle’s rear passenger door for Khavi. Taylor rolled her eyes and shook her head as she slid into the driver’s seat.

“Buckle up,” Taylor told her when Khavi scooted to the middle and leaned forward, her elbows on the back of the front seat. Her braided hair was blocking the image in the rearview mirror.

“No, thank you. I have seen you arrive at Rael’s house. The vehicle is not damaged, so we do not crash.”

Taylor counted to ten, reminding herself they were planning to kill a congressman, so seat belts were officially low on the list. When she got to ten, she started the car.

“So were you there?” Joe turned to ask Khavi. “With the plane and the dragon?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you do it? The plane, first.”

“Michael carried the front, I carried the back, and Mariko supported the middle and made sure it would not break apart. Alice tied the boats together and readied them, and Radha took her clothes off and made humans imagine things.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Taylor said, giving Joe a pointed look. He raised his left hand, wagged his ringless finger. “And the dragon?”

“Irena tore its chest open and shoved her spear through its heart.”

Taylor’s brows rose. “Not Michael?”

“No. But he has the blood now, and that is what matters.”

“Why?”

Khavi didn’t answer. God, she hated this shit.

The grigori rested her chin on her arms. “I have told him that you will never love him.”

Told who what? Taylor frowned and glanced at Joe. He shrugged.

“You lost us, lady,” he said.

“Michael,” Khavi said with the inflection of someone talking to a slow child. “I have told Michael that
she
”—Taylor felt a poke on her shoulder—“will never love
him
.”

“Love
Michael
?” Could Khavi be serious? “As in,
love
love? Why would you tell him that? Why would it even cross your mind?”

It sure as hell had never crossed hers. For god’s sake, she hadn’t even gotten beyond thinking about rolling around on a bed with him—and when she did she pushed the image away as quickly as possible. He was the Doyen. It felt wrong, somehow, to think of rolling around on a bed with him, no matter how freaking gorgeous he was. Sure, he gave her a shiver now and then—but he wasn’t exactly human.

And he wasn’t in her league, anyway. When it came to romance, Taylor preferred reality.

Still, her stomach did a crazy little flip when Khavi said, “Because I saw that he will love you. But you will not love him, even though you will know him better than anyone—perhaps it is
because
you will know him. I do not know
why
you do not, only that you never return his feelings. So I told him, that he might guard his heart. And a door has shut. He will not love you now.”

Taylor’s throat tightened. Jesus, how fucking stupid was it that she felt as if she’d lost something that she never wanted or even thought about having? Something that, according to Khavi, she never
would
want.

But now he wouldn’t.

“Do not feel sad,” Khavi said, patting her shoulder. “You will no longer take his heart, but he will still take you to his bed. Many times.”

“Wha—?” The word came up at the same time her breath went down the wrong way. She coughed and tried to convince herself that she hadn’t heard that.

Joe made a choking noise. “Jesus, lady! That’s just too far!” he exploded. “Where do you get off?”

Khavi frowned and looked out the window. “Here, I suppose. Continue on, detective. I will watch you.”

She vanished.

Taylor couldn’t stop coughing. Fuck vampires—the goddamn cigarettes and crazy Guardians were going to end up killing her. Joe offered her a bottled water. She took it, drank.

She’d bet he had a great big bed, covered in white linen. Not too soft, but the kind that was firm—so that when he got going, she wouldn’t sink into the mattress beneath his heavy weight but feel the full force of every deep . . .

Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Lifting the bottle again, she gulped more water. She was
not
going there.

But the image got into her head.

It didn’t go away.

Irena woke up on the sofa in her forge. She sat up. Her heart filled.

Alejandro watched her from the bath, his eyes dark. She must have been unconscious for some time; his hair and eyebrows had already grown in, the beautiful structure of his face had reformed, and his flesh had healed. His fingers no longer resembled flippers. And though his skin was still shiny and pink, at least he
had
skin again.

She walked to him. Ice floated in the bathwater. She realized the shine of his skin came from some kind of gel, not the burn. Or not
all
from the burn.

She kneeled beside the tub. “You frightened me.”

“If we are to compare levels of terror, I warn you now that you will not win. Nothing you have will trump watching you fight that dragon.” He studied her for a long moment. “If you fear that a kiss will hurt me, please choose this time to remember that I enjoy the pain.”

She’d never needed anything as much as she needed that kiss. With a shuddering laugh, she surged forward. She held her hands back, gripping the edge of the tub, but her mouth found his and explored, reclaimed.
Olek, my Olek.
He lifted his arms from the water, thrust his fingers into her hair to pull her closer. Icy water dripped down her nape.

A sigh came from behind her.

As Irena looked around, she contained her snarl—barely.

Michael stood in his linen tunic and pants, holding her spear and her kukri knife. The blades flamed with magical fire before he extinguished them. “You will want these.”

She
did
want them. Everything in her leapt toward them, but she remained kneeling beside Alejandro. “Will they not be most useful in your hands?”

He shook his head. “No. They will be more useful in yours— and if you should ever face another dragon, it will not be so difficult to defeat.”

Yes. His sword could slice through stone like it was water. The dragon’s scales would part beneath these blades, too.

She rose to her feet. “Will you show me how to make them burn?”

“I cannot. Unless you wish to drink the dragon blood first.” A smile played around his mouth when she shook her head. “I thought not.”

He passed them to her. Irena’s fingers wrapped around the weapons; they looked no different than before, but she felt the heat within. She vanished them, and felt their presence in her cache like a gentle burn against her tongue.

When she returned to Olek’s side, he sat up, as if he intended to stand. She placed her hand on his shoulder and held him there.

His gaze warred with hers. Finally, he relented and sat back into the water. “What of Anaria? When do we plan to return to Chaos?”

“Anaria has already left the realm.”

Irena wondered if she only imagined that resigned tone in Michael’s voice. But if so, she wasn’t alone. Olek’s face tightened.

“What has she done?” he asked.

“She killed a small dragon. Its blood, its heart—they are hers. I
have
closed the portal beneath the sea . . . but it does not matter so much now.”

Irena’s blood ran as cold as the bathwater. “What does that mean?”

“It means she used the dragon’s blood to weave a spell that weakens the barrier between Chaos and Hell. She will return to Chaos and smash through it, and take her nephilim army into Hell—or Lucifer will see its weakness and break through to Chaos . . . and then to Earth, bringing with him more dragons.”

Olek’s hand gripped hers. “So either Anaria will take the throne, and the nephilim will gain the power to enslave human will—or Hell will soon find its way to Earth, with Chaos behind it.”

“Yes.”

Irena tasted the heat of her blade and spear. “How do we stop it?”

“Khavi has seen a way. Dragon blood can weaken the barrier—but it can also make the barrier as unbreakable as the will of the person who casts the spell.”

Relief lightened Olek’s grip. “You have dragon blood now.”

“Yes.” Michael’s psychic scent darkened. Irena’s hand began to shake in Olek’s. “And I was born of it, when my father drank the blood so that I could be conceived.”

And so was Khavi. Together, could they stop Anaria? “Is she preparing the spell?”

“We cannot prepare. It can only be done when it is to be done.”

Irena’s hands did not stop shaking. His every word had increased her dread.

Olek said, “Where is Khavi now?”

“With Detective Taylor.” Michael paused. He bowed his head before looking up at them again. His eyes were obsidian. “You have done well, the both of you. And I—”

His head snapped back as if he’d been struck. “Irena,” he said without emotion. “I need use of your knife.”

She called in the kukri knife and threw it to him.

He caught the blade and vanished.