Imp Forsaken (Imp Book 5) (8 page)

Finally, I saw the light go out from behind his eyes, felt the relaxing of his body under mine. Feille lifted a hand to his head. The guards threw themselves against the melted dungeon door, trying with magic and might to create an opening. I grabbed the largest rock I could find from the partially collapsed ceiling and brought it down over and over on the sorcerer’s head, hearing the sickening crunch of bone and feeling the soft give of the tissue beneath.

I heard a scream of fury beside me. I didn’t stop. I pounded the rock into what no longer resembled a human head until the whack of a staff against my side threw me off the sorcerer and against the wall.

Feille stood before me, wielding the staff like a golf club. My side throbbed from the impact, and a deep breath sent a sharp pain through me—at least one rib broken. With a snarl that would have done a demon proud, Feille reversed his grip on the staff and beat me with it. Blows rained down on my head and body as I frantically tried to grab the weapon.

“You spawn of Satan, you lowly piece of offal. I’ll drag you behind me in chains for centuries, impale you in the square for everyone to beat. I’ll kill everyone you know while you watch.”

“You’re next, Feille,” I promised, rolling about as I tried to evade his blows and snatch something I could use as a weapon. The only thing handy was the staff smacking me on my back and head. I managed to roll onto my knees and get to my feet, all the while trying to grab the staff as I deflected it with my arms.

We danced in time to the clanging noise of the guards trying to gain entrance to the dungeon. My hands and arms were numb from the blows, and I was pretty sure I had a few fractures in addition to the broken rib or two. Trying to ignore the pain-induced nausea, I narrowed the distance between the high lord and me, causing him to back up in order to get the best impact out of each swing. If I didn’t get that staff from him soon, he was going to tire of beating me and employ whatever magic he’d used to explode the guard’s head on me. While he screamed in rage, I left myself open to a particularly hard smack to my left side, rolling along the length of the staff to bring Feille’s arm around my body with his momentum.

I might not be able to fix myself, but I still could tolerate pain better than any human. Disregarding the broken bones and bleeding, I finally managed to wrap my arms around the staff and Feille’s arm. He yanked the staff backward, punching me in the lower back with his other hand. My grasp slid, hands slick with blood.

Feille spun about with typical elven agility, and my hands slipped along the length of the staff until I stood two feet from him, each of us holding an end of the staff. The elf spun about again, and I flew, like in a game of crack-the-whip, to smack against the dungeon wall. My hands slid further and I would have lost my hold on the staff if my grip hadn’t caught the round crystal mounted into the end. I braced myself against the dungeon wall and yanked back, twisting as I pulled. The staff flew from Feille’s grasp. Instinctively he covered his head as a protective light burst like a bubble around him. I swung the staff past him, tossing it to the side, and dived at the elf lord. Fuck the staff, I wanted to feel my hands wrapping around his neck.

The dungeon door fell to the floor with an almighty clang. Six inches from Feille, the bubble around him sparked with an arc of electricity and I flew back, convulsing from the shock and hitting the stone hard enough to knock the wind from me.

I heard the guards, and saw Feille put out his hand to halt them. “Hold back. I’ll take care of her myself.”

Like hell he would. I staggered to my feet, taking tiny breaths in an attempt to get my diaphragm back in action. The bubble around Feille faded, and he taunted me, waving a finger to motion me forward.

I rushed him. Well, staggered toward him, actually. He let me get within five feet, then raised his hands with a shimmer of green. I dove, trying to reach him before whatever spell he’d cast activated. Just as I touched his robes, I felt vines wrap around my legs, yanking me backward and to the ground. They grew from the stone floor; gray and hard at the base, gradually becoming a tough, woody green that bound around my body like iron. I struggled, gasping in pain as the rope-like strands tightened against my broken ribs and cracked bones.

“My Lord, where shall we put her? Half the dungeon has been destroyed, the spells securing it compromised.”

Feille’s voice was calm, as if he’d been taking tea in the garden and not fighting for his life. “One of the end cells. Pick whichever one is least damaged. I’ll personally repair any breached areas.”

He walked toward me as I struggled in the viney embrace, sparking little bits of demon energy in an attempt to burn through the restraints. Reaching inside a hidden pocket of his robe, he pulled forth a silver circle—one that I recognized with dread. With a smile, he closed it around my neck, the vines parting for him as he secured it.

“I’d like you to stay this way, Az, in this soft vulnerable human form. I’d also like you to enjoy your injuries a bit longer. You’ll assume the shape I want you to. You’ll only heal when I allow it. From this moment on, you will have less power than the lowliest of my human slaves. How does that feel, Az?”

“Won’t stop me from killing you.” I spat at him, my only remaining way to show defiance. “It may be a week, it may be two, but eventually you’ll slip up, and I’ll be waiting. You’re a world-class fuck-up, Feille. You won’t live to see the year’s end; this I promise.”

A flicker of uncertainty flashed in his eyes, quickly hidden as he motioned the guards forward. They exploded into action, kicking and hitting me as I lay bound and defenseless. I hovered in a delirium of pain, trying to keep from passing out as they dragged me and heaved me into another cell. Feille examined the protection around the bars and walls with a glowing hand, while I tried to look menacing with my swollen eyes and puffed lips. Finally, he smiled at me and closed the door with a clang.

“Sleep well, Az. You’ve forced me into a difficult choice with your actions tonight. Unfortunate for me, deadly for you. Too bad.”

He and the guards left the dungeon, and the vines binding me crumbled into dust. I breathed deep and tried to settle into a comfortable position. Whatever Feille had planned for me wasn’t worrying me at the moment. I’d bought myself the time I needed by killing his sorcerer; now I needed to figure out how to get out of here—which wasn’t going to be easy broken, injured, and with this damned collar around my neck keeping me from using even the small amount of demon skills I’d managed to recover. But as that ballsy southern woman had once said; tomorrow was another day.

8

G
abriel nudged an old banana peel with his toe. This kind of back alley thing was far beyond what any angel should have to experience. He hated being this close to the humans, so near their areas of commerce. He’d thought about rejecting the odd invitation, debated whether accepting showed an unseemly desperation, or revealed his willingness to move beyond his comfort zone to entertain the interesting proposal. Was this something he wanted to consider personally? Not that it mattered. He still had a duty to make sure nothing about this secretive enterprise violated angelic law or jeopardized their vibration levels.

He’d been running in circles, trying to get to the bottom of the two deaths, all for nothing. Ruling Council meetings had been suspended indefinitely; the reports from his eldest brother were far overdue. For an immortal, two months should be a wisp of time, but patience never came easy to Gabriel. Especially this past year, when it seemed every second dragged on like eternity. He was at a frustratingly dead end with the matter of the deceased angels, but this was something he could turn his attention to.

“Exalted one.”

The voice came from behind him, down the alley, to the left. Gabriel didn’t turn around. An angel of his status didn’t greet others this far down the hierarchy.

“I regret that a lowly being such as I has been sent to speak with you, but you must understand that in matters as sensitive as this, discretion and secrecy are necessary.”

Gabriel gave a sharp nod, refusing to face or speak to the angel.

“We have heard that you may share longings in common with some of us. Longings that we are hoping to alleviate.”

Gabriel hesitated, finally turning around. In order to find out if these angels were behaving lawfully, it might be best to pose as a potential client. But a conversation about his having a burning desire to create wouldn’t be suitable with such a lowly angel as this. Why had they sent him? Was this an insult, or were they just being cautious, as he claimed?

“Speak plainly,” Gabriel barked out, deciding to go for ‘insulted’. “I have no time for double talk.”

A figure emerged from the shadows. Gabriel didn’t recognize him, and there was nothing to indicate which choir he belonged to—just a low-level angel, nervously shuffling his feet as he approached.

“There are some who have taken on a project that will result in angels being able to procreate.”

“If you’re trying to sway my vote on the issues of Nephilim, you’re wasting your time,” Gabriel warned.

“No, no,” the angel waved his hands. “My superiors would never condone breeding with human females. They seek to find a way to increase the angelic ranks.”

“That’s impossible. We’ve had a complete separation of our kind. Breeding would violate our treaty. Such contact with demons is not allowed.”

“We would never promote such a thing.” The angel waved his hand as if clearing the air of such thoughts. “This would not involve any relations that would compromise your vow following the war. There need be no contact with them at all.”

Gabriel pondered his words, glancing out of the filthy alley into the sunlit street beyond. “An immaculate conception,” he mused.

“Yes, yes! There is a way to separate demon essence outside of their physical shape and to combine it with the requisite amount of angel to create a new life.”

The elder angel shook his head. “We don’t form. It’s not just a matter of providing essence, it’s the problem of what happens next that is insurmountable.”

“Nothing is insurmountable. That hurdle has been overcome. All of Aaru will be invigorated by new life.”

“And there’s some swampland in Mesopotamia you’d like to sell me.” Gabriel drawled. “First there’s the issue of
getting
the demon essence. Then being able to store it properly so it doesn’t degrade. Then the insurmountable obstacle of forming. That doesn’t even get into the issues of the end result. What happens if the child is an Angel of Chaos?”

His heart skipped a beat at the thought. What a moral dilemma. Would they drop the newly formed angel off in Hel, like an unwanted pup? Would they find a way around the treaty and be able to keep it in Aaru? His mind wandered to memories of his youth, of his youngest brother shocking him with a bolt of lightning and flying gleefully away.
Catch me, catch me
. And catch him he always did. No matter how agile Samael had been, Gabriel was always faster. But none of this mattered. His brother was lost to him forever, and there would be no more Angels of Chaos.

“We have done it,” the angel insisted. “A few tweaks to perfect the process, then we’ll need assistance and support to get the approval of the Ruling Council before we begin to offer the service to a select population.”

“I need to know the details of the project, the exact process. I can hardly support something without ensuring it truly is in keeping with our laws and ethical standards.”

Gabriel heard the other angel shifting nervously from side to side. “I’m afraid I am not privy to the details, Exalted One. You must understand that there are also concerns regarding confidentiality and patent. Those involved have invested significantly and would not want others to set up their own operations.”

Gabriel understood the concerns and need for confidentiality, and he too would not want the process to be easily duplicated, even if it were a lawful one. There would need to be a suitable application process, to ensure only the most holy of angels were allowed permission to proceed. Of course, it wasn’t just the general angelic population these individuals should be worried about. There was a good chance the Ruling Council would seize their invention and regulate all phases of creation as a matter of public good. They must have thought long and hard about whether to legitimize their enterprise and risk the heavy hand of the Ruling Council in their business, or run it illegally without approval and risk terrible punishment. Still, he couldn’t support anything so blindly.

“I’m not lending assistance and support to an unsubstantiated pipe-dream.” Gabriel stepped forward to meet the angel’s eyes for the first time—pale, pale grey eyes in a golden face surrounded by a halo of white hair. “Bring me some proof that any of this is possible, that it won’t either violate the treaty or negatively impact our positive evolution, and I’ll consider it. Until then, this is all wasteful gossip in a back alley.”

The angel nodded, bowing as he stepped backward to vanish from the dark passage. Gabriel gazed around at the line of trashcans overflowing with fragrant plastic bags. He hated it down here. He should just go back to Aaru where he could shed this painfully sensitive corporeal form and relax in seclusion. It had been centuries since he’d wandered the streets and observed humans. He’d become increasingly disillusioned with reports of their impulsive, selfish, un-orderly behavior. When the post for head Grigori came up ten thousand years ago, Gabriel gladly passed, knowing even then he’d not be able to stand close contact with the humans for any extended period of time. It wasn’t just the terrible temptation of a physical form, it was how he had begun to see Samael in the eyes of each one he met. Odd how his youngest brother and the other Angels of Chaos had vehemently opposed giving the gifts of Aaru to the humans, and yet the species was becoming just like their detractors. Here, on earth, it seemed chaos was winning out over order. No wonder the demons loved to come here.