Redemption (A NOVEL OF THE SEVEN SIGNS) (24 page)

Esther backed off, sword ready. “Belay that, soldier,” she snapped, but her voice shook.

He closed the distance, trapping her against a charcoaled brick wall. “Yeah, it’s an ugly sight, isn’t it? A filthy Tainted angel. Feel superior now?”

Her gaze darted, hunting for escape. “Japheth, listen—”

“No, you listen.” He flashed out his dagger, and thunder boomed in his ears, deafening. She’d bleed the same as him. Die the same. What the hell made her so much better than he? Shaking, he leveled the tip an inch from her eyes. “Tell Michael whatever the hell you want, Esther, I don’t care. But you don’t spy on me anymore. This is my life and I’ll go to hell my way. Get me?”

Her eyes narrowed, dark. “And if I don’t? What will you do, kill me?”

He wanted to. God help him, he burned to carve that smug superiority from her brain.

He shuddered in denial. Just revenge. A petty indulgence.
It’d prove nothing. It wasn’t Esther’s fault he was Tainted. Her kind would still sneer at him. He’d still be banished from heaven.

And few greater sins could stain his soul than killing one of heaven’s angels.

Japheth gritted his teeth, and vanished his dagger. “Just don’t ever spy on me again.” And before she could taunt him into falling, he flashed out.

CHAPTER 21

Rose slammed her fist into the dribbling tiles.

Crunch!
Pain lanced. She didn’t care. It felt better than the acid shame scorching holes in her heart. She punched the wall again. Blood oozed, and the shock jolted up her arm.
Damn that angel to the filthiest pit of hell.

She raked wet tangles from her face, and shivered. She wanted another shower. The soft warm water had soothed her sharp-cut nerves. She wanted to strip off her filthy clothes and rinse clean, for the first time in what seemed like weeks.

But the water just reminded her of
him
. The whole place stank of him. Damn if she’d accept one scrap of comfort he offered.

Urgency gripped her. She had to get out before he returned. She’d break the locks, climb out the damn window if she had to, but she wasn’t staying here one moment longer than necessary.

Her clothes dripped watery blood onto the tiles. She yanked a towel from the stack and wrapped herself. The towel was clean but thin, not soft and scrunchy. Heaven forbid he might actually enjoy himself.

Ha ha. That was a good one. Heaven probably
had
forbidden it. More fool him for obeying their stupid rules.

She squeezed her hair, releasing a rush of wet warmth. The mirrors showed her reflection in the dim light. Her eyes were bruised with fatigue, her cheek still reddened where she’d taunted him into hitting her. Her lips were drawn back, sharp fangs edging out. Ugly. Good. She hoped he’d seen it.

She blotted her wet clothes. Pink stains spread on the white towel. That’d have to do. She had to get the hell out of here…

With a hissing crack, the lights extinguished.

Evil smoky blackness crawled down her throat. She choked, and struggled, but poisoned shadows trapped her. The darkness was impenetrable. She couldn’t see a damn thing. Even her vampire sight was blocked. She was utterly blinded, helpless. No escape.

Invisible hands slammed her head into the glass wall, an unseen voice gloating with triumph. “Hello, Rose. Did you miss me?”

Her skull clanged. She gulped, dizzy, but couldn’t suck in any air. Her lungs convulsed, deflated like sealed plastic bags, but somehow that awful scent of storms and ash invaded her throat. Hot wires of panic threaded her veins. Her demon prince had come for her. And he didn’t sound happy.

Fluvium smacked her head into the glass again, harder. His hellfire breath stung her cheek like crawling ants. “What, no answer? Tell me you’re not two-timing me with an
angel
, Rose. You’re breaking my fetid little heart. Perhaps you’ve changed your mind about that visit to hell, hmm?”

The old terror tore her guts apart. Just his hands on her brought back revolting memories. She wanted to fight him, claw his face, say
get the hell off me, you lunatic
, but images of the torments he’d promised her blazed into her mind like a hell-charged inferno, and her defiance singed to ash. She coughed up black grit, sick. “Please, master, it’s not like that…”

“It looked like that, Rose. It looked a whole fucking lot
like that.
” Fluvium’s steely fingers plucked at her fangs from the blackness. The roots crunched painfully in her gums, and blood leaked over her parched tongue. “Perhaps I’ll yank these
out. I don’t think you need them anymore. Seems to me you’d rather suck his cock than his blood.”

“I’m trying!” She spluttered, flailing in a fruitless effort to escape. Like a paper cut, the small pain was unbearable. “You have to believe m—”

“But I don’t, see?” Invisible fingers forced her jaw wide, and his rough fist shoved down her throat. Tears poured from her eyes. God, it hurt, stretching flesh that was never meant to stretch, knuckles forcing in, down… “I think you’re a lying whore, Rose. I think I was stupid to want you for my consort. Shall I take back what I gave you, hmm? Would you like that? I can rip your power from you as easily as I put it there, you ungrateful little tart.”

She couldn’t breathe. Her ribs stretched, agonizing. She dry retched. Nothing. Just Fluvium, raping her, his cruel fingers scraping her insides. The devilcreature lurking in her belly writhed, eager, its fangs snapping for Fluvium’s fingertips. It wanted to go home. To leave her helpless, at her angel’s mercy…

“No!” The scream burst from her lips, shocking. Abruptly, her throat was clear.

The lights flashed on, dazzling. She whirled, scrabbling blindly for her lost weapon. Fluvium was gone.

But his threat lingered, a leering ghost that taunted her to black desperation.

She crumpled, panting. Her belly ached with suppressed sobs. This would never end. She was Fluvium’s slave, and his bidding was law. No way out.

And to please him, she’d make Japheth’s soul her prey. Doom him to eternal darkness. In a black, dirty world teeming with monsters, he was the only monster who’d shown her a glimmer of compassion. And she’d betray him.

A midnight wave of despair swamped her, dragging her down into darkness. Her heart wailed, drowning, but the weight was too great. No escape. She was an evil, cursed creature, doomed forever to treachery and lies.

So she’d better start acting like it.

She blinked back savage tears. Japheth despised her. Yet for a few moments, he’d tricked her with his talk of redemption.
He’d softened her brittle heart, weaseled into her consciousness as something other than a loathsome enemy. It was time to cut him out.

Time to kill.

And when her icy golden-feathered tormentor returned, she’d show him no mercy.

*   *   *

Japheth flashed into bright Mediterranean sunshine. Heat wicked his feathers dry, pleasant after sultry Babylon. He landed on the blinding white patio. Brilliant blue ocean stretched to a sharp horizon. The swimming pool glittered, dazzling, and below him, the cliff side fell sharply away to a rocky beach.

Uneasy, he hopped up the steps to the white stucco villa, its broad glass doors laid open wide to the sun.

Inside, cool sand-white tiles drifted towards a marble breakfast bar. Beside the wicker sofa lay a daybed, and on the soft ochre cushions sat the woman he’d come to see.

Lovely oval face, keen eyes, the smoothest skin on earth. She wore a single-piece chocolate-brown swimsuit that showed off her curving hips, generous breasts, taut fighting muscles, and her long olive-skinned legs glistened in the heat. Sunlight teased her glossy black hair, flashing it with pink and green like a mermaid’s tail. Her sleek black wings shone with the same iridescent fire.

Even Japheth’s well-trained pulse jumped a beat. Iria of the Tainted was gorgeous. Like, supermodel status. And she wore it casually, comfortable in her skin. Didn’t care that people figured she must be dumb as a dead fish and just used her gob-smacking beauty to get whatever she wanted. No, Iria didn’t give a fling of demonshit what people thought. Women all over the world probably loathed her.

Japheth just envied her indifference. “Hey.”

She glanced up, and frowned. “What the hell do you want?”

Okay, so they weren’t friends, not really. The words
ice-hearted
and
monster
had passed her lips on more than one occasion. But she was cynical, worldly wise, didn’t give a rat’s
ass for authority. The only person he could think of who might get it.

He forced a weak smile. “Okay. Straight to the point. Can I, uh…borrow some of your clothes?”

Iria tossed aside the silver breastplate she’d been tinkering with, and stood, stretching. She noted his drying hair, his bloody feathers, and amusement sparkled in her dark green eyes. “Always figured you for a bit strange, dude, but seriously? I don’t think you’re my size.”

Walked right into that one.
His skin heated, and he couldn’t help averting his face. Blushing like a girl. Classy. Iria ate hard, arrogant men for breakfast. She wouldn’t even taste the blood if she swallowed him. “It’s for a friend, okay?”

“
You’ve
got a friend who needs
my
clothes.” Iria’s eyes crinkled. “As in, a
woman
? Christ on the bleeding cross. Someone page the hellbeast’s PA, there’s a snowstorm coming his way.”

“Tee hee,” he remarked acidly. “My sides are splitting. I asked for clothes, not comedy.”

She grinned, naughty. “After fourteen hundred years without a shag? You can suck it right up with your soda, my friend.”

“I didn’t say I was sh—”

“Right. Whatever. Obviously you can’t see the look on your face, or you wouldn’t even bother to lie.” A teasing grin. “Now tell me. This
friend
of yours, she can’t buy her own clothes, because…?”

“It’s complicated.” He could’ve bought some clothes. He lived on Madison Avenue, boutiques and label stores wherever you tripped. But the choice confused him—he didn’t know dick about women’s fashion, but Rose didn’t seem like a designer-label girl—and thinking about her body made him sweat. Besides, talking to Iria had seemed like a good idea at the time…

“I’m sure it is.” Iria stretched her wings, and sighed. “Don’t say I never do anything for you. Closet’s that way, take whatever you want. Time I culled last season anyhow.”

“Thanks.” He dipped a swift bow, and turned. Bad idea to come here. He’d just grab some clothes and take off…

“Not so fast.” She laid a cool hand on his arm. “Answer me one question first.”

“It’s really not im—”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

Her gaze skewered him, unrelenting…but the concern filtering deep in her eyes undid his silence.

She knew what he was like. Knew when he acted strangely. She might think his self-denial ridiculous—she’d scoffed at it often enough—but she knew it mattered to him. And the Tainted looked after their own…

“No.” It was as if a wall of steel melted around him, exposing his raw-burned flesh to the world. “I have no idea, Iria, and it’s scaring the shit out of me.”

His voice broke on the final syllable, and what spilled through the cracks wasn’t embarrassment or self-disgust but hot-sweet relief.

He shuddered, terrified. God, he was falling apart.

“Christ on a cracker,” said Iria, breathless. “The end of the world really is nigh. Sit down, Goldilocks—no, don’t think you’re getting away. Sit the fuck down.” She planted her hand on his shoulder and shoved, and his butt thumped into the cushions. She arranged herself opposite, crossing endless brown legs, eyes gleaming in anticipation. A manic beauty-queen therapist. “Now fess up. Is it a human?”

“Worse,” he admitted.

“Ooh. An angel from upstairs, then? One of Mike’s holy babes, right?”

“Worse.”

She blinked. “Holy motherfucker. What is this, demon-freak week?”

He flushed fire warm. “She’s not a demon—”

“Look, you can spare me the juicy details of your sex life, okay?” Iria warded him off with upheld palms and a theatrical shudder. “Are you asking for my advice?”