Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES) (57 page)

THE END

He was dying.

Still holding his final breath, Michael stared out over the moonlit ocean. Waves rushed up onto the shore, drowning his feet before sliding away.

He’d had an hour with her here. Heaven in her arms in Caelum. It would never have been enough time, but it might have been enough to take him through eternity.

None of that was left now. Nothing but the pain remained, and he’d carry this with him to Chaos.

But he was already in a hell of his own making.

He should have left her alone. Everything she’d said was true. He’d only wanted to earn her forgiveness, to rebuild Caelum, to give her pleasure instead of pain—and to spend time with her. But he should have left her alone.

Because he was dying.

And his inability to accept that had hurt her more than he could bear. His absolute certainty that he would protect her had blinded him to the possibility that he might be the one to cause her the most pain. But he should have known. He should have seen.

He’d been so thoughtless. Careless. And because of his blindness, he could only see her anger now. Her heartbreak.

And his every thought was of trying to ease both.

But he couldn’t. Going to her now would not change the past, in which he should have stayed away. It would not change the fact that, in his blindness, he had broken every promise he’d made to her. It wouldn’t keep him from dying.

She’d made her leap of faith. He’d promised to catch her. He’d promised not to hurt her. He’d promised to protect her.

Now he was helpless to save her. He could not heal this. He could only hurt her more.

A pair of heartbeats sounded behind him. Jacob and Alice. Michael pivoted in the sand.

The young Guardian said, “Hey, uh—it’s been a few hours, and Selah’s covering headquarters, so I thought it would be okay if I popped in now.”

Michael nodded.

At his side, Alice curled her fingers into Jacob’s shirt, as if holding herself upright.

Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, Alice and I were talking earlier, and we already cleared this with Irena, but . . . Ah,
Jesus
.”

Tears stood in Alice’s eyes. Her breath hitched before she spoke. “We want to help Khavi and Anaria in Hell. Help them try to stop Lucifer.”

And they were seeking his approval. He nodded again and used the Guardians’ sign language to answer.
You are both fine warriors. Khavi could not ask for better at her side.

“God.” Jacob bent over, teeth clenched. “You’re killing me, Michael. I can’t be all manly with Alice if I’m bawling into her skirts.”

Because he’d been singing Andromeda’s song. Though he did not wish to, Michael eased up on the hum in his throat.

“You’re bleeding.” Breathing deep, Alice came closer, following the scent around his side. She fell silent for a long moment when she spotted his back. “You can’t heal this?”

He shook his head.

“Were these symbols made from the dragon weapon?”

Yes,
he signed.

When Andromeda had told him to fuck off, Khavi’s spell had ripped apart. Only his determination to finish Lucifer held Michael together now. But though he still lived, his body was no longer healing itself.

Dying.

“Shall I bandage it for you?”

Yes,
he signed.
Thank you.

With gentle fingers, she began smoothing gossamer sheets over the symbols. “These are woven from my black widows’ silk. You’ll find that this adhesive is very strong. You should not have to replace it.” He heard the smile in her voice. “And if folk tales about placing spiderwebs on injuries are to be believed, this might help you heal.”

This would not heal. The dissonance was tearing his body apart. He had two days. Perhaps three. And though his Gift could heal any injuries he received in battle, it would not heal this.

I am grateful,
he signed when she finished. Her long dress whispering across the sand, she came to stand in front of him, worry pinching her face.

They both glanced down when his phone buzzed.

Carolyn Taylor’s alert. He looked at Jacob.

“Emergency?” the young Guardian asked.

I will take care of this,
he signed in the space of a second.
Be safe in Hell.

He anchored to Carolyn Taylor and jumped into her kitchen. No one else in the room. Jason was the only other being in the apartment.

Worry sang through her psychic melody, then sharp surprise when she saw him. “Oh!” Her hand flew to her chest. “I thought Andy would be with you.”

He could not hold his breath now, but the new one he took held the faint trace of Andromeda’s scent. “No.”

“I don’t mean to bother you. But I didn’t know the new number for her phone, and Joe was supposed to meet me for breakfast ten minutes ago.” Uncertainty trembled across her mouth. “I talked to him only a half hour before that. He would have called me again if he was going to be any later.”

Michael tried to anchor to him. Nothing, but he might have been shielded.

But he might not be.

Andromeda’s mother touched his arm. The faith in her eyes made the weight of her hand almost unbearable. “Just . . . will you go get Andy?”

With dread taking a tight hold of his neck, Michael nodded.

And returned to Andromeda’s side.

*   *   *

Her storm of weeping had waged a path of destruction through Caelum. She’d thought the realm couldn’t be any more ruined, but her crying had left it almost completely flattened.

Like she’d been.

Now the numbness was setting in. Her brain refused to work. She just wanted to lie here on this bed, but she made herself sit up.

She wouldn’t
be
this person. She might cry. She might scream. She might be broken.

But she would not give in. Too many people depended on her. The alarm she’d set on her phone was beeping, telling her that she was supposed to be back at headquarters, and the sound was the kick in the ass she needed to remember why she had to get up. There was the job. There were people to save. And if that was the only reason she made it through the next few days, then it was a good enough reason. Eventually, she’d find her footing again. But for now, there were sentinels that needed to be slain and a portal that should never be made.

Then Michael appeared beside her, and the numbness burst into pain again. Tears burned in her eyes. With a cry, she backed away from him, turning her head. “You can’t do this. You have to leave me alone.”

Sheer agony lined his features. “I wouldn’t have come. But Joseph Preston is missing.”

Sluggish, her mind struggled to switch gears. “What?”

“He spoke to your mother on the phone forty minutes ago. He was supposed to meet with her, but he hasn’t, and I can’t anchor to him.” His gaze searched hers. “It might be nothing. But we need to find him.”

All at once, what he was telling her finally penetrated the numbness. Joe was missing.

“Oh, my God.” Taylor surged to her feet, forming clothes in the same instant, reaching for Michael’s hand. “Go to his house.”

He jumped into Joe’s living room. Though spinning, she felt Michael inhale—then stiffen against her. She fought past the disorientation.

“What is it?”

“Patricia Johnson and Dennis Parkins were here.”

Two of the missing humans. Fear rolled up into a sick ball inside her. “Can you follow the scent?”

He vanished.

And returned less than a second later with Sir Pup. The hellhound raised his heads, eyes glowing with hellfire.

“Find him,” Michael said.

Sir Pup crashed through the front door, ripping wood from the hinges and shape-shifting to full size as he ran into the street. Michael’s arm came around her. His wings snapped wide and he launched them into the air like he’d been shot from a rifle.

So fast. The streets passed below them in a dizzying blur, Sir Pup’s glowing eyes a guiding light through the traffic. Though she could barely follow the turns he made, she knew this city. She knew the direction they were heading.

“We’re going to Hunters Point!” she shouted over the rush of air and the torrent of his wings. And Lucifer would choose a location that rubbed their noses in it. “Check the old headquarters!”

They spun into the empty building. No one. Then Michael jumped again, and even before she opened her eyes she knew where he’d gone next—the warehouse in the old naval shipyards where it had all begun. Where Lucifer had lost his wager and cut off Sir Pup’s heads and Taylor had told Lucifer to fuck off and Joe had laughed.

Oh, God.

Taylor fell to her knees. Michael had vanished. Then the spinning stopped and she looked through the open warehouse door.

Inside, a woman kneeling beside Joe’s naked form plunged a knife into his already-bloodied chest.

“No!” Taylor flung herself forward and slammed into a wall of air as strong as steel. The shielding spell. Screaming, she battered her fists against it but no one inside could hear and no one turned to look.

Four humans . . . and four beings with white wings and bright, bright threads.

Demons.

Michael appeared, Rosalia and Deacon at his side. He vanished again. Deacon flinched away from the sun and Rosalia’s dark Gift snapped open, her grief and horror swirling through her dizzy psychic scent.

Hysterical sobs tearing at her throat, Taylor concentrated on her own Gift, on Joe’s threads. Almost all bright. She followed one, her focus tight as the thread extended toward the door, through the shield. Then she had it, joy bursting through her as she gripped the glowing strand in her fist.

The knife plunged again.

Then Drifter and Charlie were there, and Michael stood at her side, icy rage like a glacial blade against her shields. Sir Pup arrived and crowded in beside him, a chorus of terrifying growls rumbling from the hellhound’s heads.

Drifter pushed past Taylor, Charlie’s fangs in his arm and the vampire’s mind blaring a demon’s psychic scent as they began to unlock the shield.

“Hurry! Oh, my God! No, no,
nonono
!” Terror rushed her words into a single cry as Joe’s threads pulled tight—

Then were sucked away.

Taylor screamed, though there was still joy in her hand, and she was holding on to his thread, to his soul, and would never let go.

She could bring him back. Like she had the demon. Bring him back and—

The shield went down and she was running, faster than she’d ever run, in a line straight to Joe, aware of the bright demons streaking toward her and the glint of their steel, then the dragon’s roar behind her and the explosion of blood and flesh when Michael and Sir Pup intercepted them.

Taylor dropped to her knees in a pool of Joe’s blood, reaching for his wrist. On the other side of his body, Patricia Johnson shrieked and Deacon dragged the woman away. Other humans cried out in fear and scrambled toward the door, then scrambled back as Sir Pup blocked the entrance. Drifter tossed pairs of handcuffs to Deacon and the vampire had them all bound within seconds.

Their horror was sharp and the Guardians’ grief strong, but Taylor only felt joy and warmth and hope as she knotted the thread around Joe’s wrist.

As soon as she let go, the glowing strand slipped through flesh and bones like air.

Panic jolted through her, and she leapt after the thread as it was sucked away, feet slipping on blood but her fingers catching the very end of the strand. Joy burst through her again, but she was crying, crying as she turned to Michael, who was bending over Joe’s still form. His healing Gift stroked warm hands over her psychic shields.

“Heal him.” On her knees, she lifted Joe’s head into her lap. Tears burned down her cheeks. “Please bring him back.”

He lifted a stricken gaze to hers. “I can’t.”

Because humans had stabbed him, and his Gift couldn’t heal those injuries. “Then transform him into a Guardian. Please.”

Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “I would if I could. But I can’t.”

Only if Joe had sacrificed himself. But he hadn’t. He’d simply been sacrificed.

Desperately, she looked for Charlie, but the vampire was already there, ripping her wrist open with her teeth and pouring her blood over the eight puncture wounds on Joe’s chest.

Charlie’s hoarse voice shook with tears. “It’s not healing.”

“Into his mouth. He wanted to be a vampire.”

Nodding, Charlie opened her wrist again, then Michael was beside her and the blood he used to fill Joe’s mouth was richer, stronger. Nosferatu blood.

“Come on, Joe. Please.” Taylor stroked his throat, but he couldn’t swallow, so she bent over and pressed her lips to his and exhaled, trying to force the blood down into him, and when his chest suddenly expanded, hope rose and was destroyed in the same instant that bubbles formed at the edges of one of the wounds. He hadn’t taken a breath. That was
her
air filling his lungs.

Her tears streaming, she shook her head. Rubbed his throat again. “You can’t do this, Joe. Come on. I came back when you asked me to. Now I’m begging you.
Please
. Please, God. Please.”

Nothing.

Utter despair pushed another sob from her. She tried to tie the thread and caught the strand before it slipped away again.