Seal of Surrender (5 page)

Her phone rang and she glanced at the clock. Four pm Texas time, ten pm Dubrovnik time. Right on time. Irena smiled as she answered.

“Halo, mama. Kako ste?”

“I'm fine, sweetie. How are you?” Her mother's heavily accented English washed over Irena like a spring rain. “How's your job going?”

Irena thought of the previous night's horrors and decided fiction was better than reality. “Great.”

“Don't lie to me. I can tell by your voice something's wrong.”

“No, mama. Really, I'm fine, just tired.” Irena's chest constricted. It took all the strength she had not to pour out her troubles. “How's papa?”

“He's good. Researching some new project for the university. The man never stops working. No wonder where you got your drive from.”

“I'm leaving in the morning for Africa.” Irena turned down the volume on the TV and snuggled back in the sofa cushions. “Not sure how long I'll be gone.”

“Africa? You be careful, sweetie. You should find a safer job.”

“I'll be fine mama, I promise.”

“When are you going to settle down and give me some grandchildren?”

There it was, the question she always waited for. She prepared to give her usual answer but stopped short as a picture skated through her thoughts — a brood of children, with her eyes and Chago's ebony curls. Irena dismissed the thought before it could take root. They'd shared one kiss, nothing more. Her damn hormones must be rampaging again. She wiped a hand across her mouth and laughed. “I'll get around to it one of these days.”

“Your father and I aren't getting any younger, you know.”

The gentle admonishment set Irena back on track again and for the next hour they discussed everything from the latest hairstyles to her father's newest toy, an ancient John Deere tractor he'd picked up at a flea market outside Dubrovnik. She kept the conversation going for as long as she could, missing her parents more than ever.

Her mother finally drew the visit to a close. “I've got to go, dragi.”

A pang of loneliness struck at her mother's endearment. It had been too long since someone had called her sweetheart. After this mission, Irena vowed to go home to visit. “Okay. Tell papa I said hello. Volim te.”

“We love you too, sweetie.”

Irena hung up and stared at the receiver, as if wishes would make her parents appear. Finally, she pushed off the couch and shuffled to her bedroom. Intent on staying busy, she grabbed her suitcase from the corner where she'd tossed it after her last job and unzipped the top. A single photo still stuck to the bottom of the case. The smiling face of her murdered Syrian interpreter beamed up at her. Irena pulled the picture out and buried the memento at the bottom of her dresser drawer, ignoring the sting of tears in her eyes. No time for sorrow now.

She finished packing her stuff and gathering her medical documents, then wandered into the kitchen. Dinner consisted of a bowl of boxed mac and cheese in front of the TV. The world news offered little hope for a bright future, rife with civil conflicts, mass shootings, and ineffective governments. Even the great religions seemed to be toppling into the abyss.

Maybe her mama was right. Maybe thirty was too old for this shit and she needed to settle down and start a family. Maybe she should consider a new career.

• • •

“I need you in Africa.” Divinity kept her tone level while Chago fussed with the hay on floor of his cattle barn. “We have a contract.”

She rarely made trips to the earthly realm anymore unless absolutely necessary. Losing a Seal wasn't an option, nor was having one of her carefully selected Scion go AWOL. Thus, she found herself ankle-deep in manure and who knew what else to ensure his compliance.

Chago continued to work, giving no evidence of having heard her command except for a small tightening of his lips. Never one for abundant conversation, his lack of response only entrenched her resolve.

“Need I remind you of what hangs in the balance?”

“Shit.” He tossed a bale across the stall and brushed the remnants from his gloves. “I knew this would happen.”

Divinity wasn't above a little manipulation if it meant a favorable outcome. “What difference will it make if you guard her here or in the Congo? You knew travel might be involved. Surely your cows can survive for a few weeks without you.”

“It's not the travel I'm concerned about,” he said, chucking another bale of hay.

The powerful stench of barnyard prevailed and Divinity wrinkled her nose. She loved all the souls in her creation, but some of their byproducts left much to be desired. She folded her hands and waited for her warrior's decision, confident in the final score.

Without preamble, Chago stalked past her and out into the nearby pen. Soon the low roar of moos grew louder and he peeked his head around the door. “Unless you want to get trampled, I suggest you move.”

Amused, Divinity walked to the opposite side of the enclosure to wait as the herd filled the stalls. One tiny calf trailed behind the rest, glued to Chago's side. She watched him scratch the small bovine behind the ears and feed him an apple before sending him into a pen with a larger female, presumably his mother. Her imposing combat warrior cooed and played with the animals like a dotting father. His gruff exterior hid a generous heart.

“In deference to your aversion with our normal modes of transport, I've booked you on a commercial flight later this morning.” She joined him at the enclosure and ignored his irritated glare. “Your target is on the same flight. How you get to the airport is your problem.”

A heifer nuzzled her elbow and Divinity reached through the bars to rub its velvet-soft nose, pensive as she closed in for victory. “Don't jeopardize this, Chago.”

“There were complications last night. Emotional complications.”

“Permanent retirement should be incentive enough to keep your distance.”

“And I punched her boss in the face. Laid him out cold.” His hands tightened on the rusted metal railing. “The bastard tried to rape her.”

“Then it's a good thing you were there to stop him then.” Her gaze fixed on the cattle, Divinity focused her thoughts on the future. “She'll need your protection now more than ever.”

Chago poked the hay near his feet with the toe of his boot. “Maybe I'm not the best person for this job. After all, I failed once before. People died.”

Pink hues of sunrise flooded the open doorway. Divinity smiled and slid the plane ticket into the pocket of his denim jacket. Things were progressing better than planned. “Don't fail again.”

• • •

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Archon pushed into the borderlands of Gehenna, driven by the incessant beat of drums calling him to liberation. Had it only been two days since his escape from the filthy prisons at Sheol? Time lost meaning in this desolate wilderness. Drained and exhausted, he pressed on toward his chance at vindication.

Thirteen-hundred-years he'd waited, suffered under Lucifer's brutal thumb for his opportunity. He refused to squander the chance now, no matter how much he longed for rest. Archon had inherited too much of his father's reckless ambition to succumb so easily.

His bleeding toe-claws scraped against the arid soil, leaving a dark green trail for anyone to follow. Archon didn't give a shit. He knew the border angels had tracked him from the start and reported his status to Divinity. Right now, freedom was all that mattered.

Wind gusted hot and sent a shower of sand into his eyes. He rubbed a mottled, purple hand beneath his nostrils and squinted ahead toward the horizon. One lone peak stood like a dark sentinel, his ticket out of this eternal abyss.

Archon sniffed and slogged ahead once more.

A glance at his hands revealed the evidence of his recent crimes. Minion blood stained his skin and caked beneath his razor-sharp nails. He'd taken many lives over the course of his existence, but none so sweet as those of his father's hired tormentors.

High-pitched sirens blared from somewhere behind him. Archon ducked his head lower and increased his stride. His muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn't afford to linger. Pain seared along the gash in his thigh where his thick hide had been shredded. Years of attacks had left him all but immune to his jailer's paralyzing attacks, but still his father persisted. According to Lucifer, agony built strength. If the words were true, Archon should be undefeatable.

Faint chanting joined his guiding chorus, more lyrical than the fervent drums. He'd not heard such music since before his mother had died. Beautiful Eloa, the angel of sorrow and Lucifer's fallen lover, had held Archon close and protected him from his father's jealous wrath. She'd made the ultimate sacrifice for her son. Now, he would make her proud.

He reached the base of the towering black monolith just as brimstone exploded from Sheol. His father must have discovered Archon's gruesome departing gift — the head of Molloch, his father's esteemed personal guard, wrapped in a nice package of the bastard's own entrails and jammed atop the pointed centerpiece of Lucifer's sacred alter. Nothing said ‘fuck-you' better than personalized desecration.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The drum cadence increased as the portal approached. Archon glanced toward the top of the bluff and the menacing swirl of clouds above the summit. Not long now.

Words of dark magic and voodoo joined the hypnotic rhythm and chants. Energy prickled his skin. An ear-splitting boom rent the air and the gates of the prison tore from their hinges as the demon guards emerged, headed in his direction at astonishing speed.

Before they could intervene, lightning bolted from the tempest above and tore through the top of Archon's skull, knocking him to his knees. Everything went black and still.

The next time he opened his eyes, Archon stared into the shocked face of a painted tribal shaman. His catalyst had worked. Spells had transported into the Earthly realm.

Irena uncrossed her legs and checked the time again.

She hated airport lounges. The chairs were always so damned uncomfortable. After a yawn and a stretch, Irena tucked a leg beneath her, flipped to the next page in her magazine, and took a sip of soda.

An ad for the latest adventure movie caught her eye, her attention snagging on the rugged face of the film's star. As she perused the man's chiseled jawline and sharp gaze, her thoughts drifted yet again to the man she'd met days before.

Chago seemed … different.

Her line of work presented an assortment of run-of-the-mill dictators or military strongmen, with the occasional businessman and corporate giant thrown in for flavor. Yet her new acquaintance seemed a separate species of animal altogether.

To say he'd been out of his element during the fundraiser — with his constant fidget and his overabundant bar visits — would be the understatement of the millennium. An underlying current of danger sizzled through his movements, like a trapped beast waiting to be freed. Chago reminded her of a sleek cat, with his penetrating gaze and the most impressive build she'd ever encountered.

Someone with a luggage cart moved past and bumped her bag on the floor. Irena bent to set it upright and glanced across the room toward the ticket counter. What she saw made her stop short. The world seemed to jerk to a stop then whirl into fast-forward chaos. Irena pried her damp fingers from the smudged pages of the magazine and took a deep, steadying breath.

Chago finished speaking with the clerk, stuffed his paperwork into the back pocket of his jeans and scanned the waiting area. Irena looked away quickly and focused on her soda cup, attempting to stop heat from flooding her cheeks at the thought of their previous night's brief interlude.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Damn. Her gaze flicked up to his smiling face and her cool reserve shattered. She gave a slow motion nod as he removed his jacket and flopped down into the seat beside her. “Small world, si?”

“Apparently.” Despite Irena's best efforts to restrain her nervous tension, her voice squeaked out a full octave higher than normal.

“Interesting read?” Chago leaned closer and peered at the magazine on her lap, his expression disparaging. “Those movies are ridiculous. Unrealistic crap. Besides, that guy's an ass.”

She gazed at the glossy advertisement then back at him. “Maybe. But he's an ass who's made a hell of a lot of money playing those roles.”

“No accounting for taste, I guess.”

“What exactly are you doing here? Other than stalking me.”

“Querida
,
if I did stalk you, you'd never see me coming.” Chago flashed her a self-satisfied smile and her breath hitched. His gaze dropped to her lips and her reality tilted on its axis. He met her agitated stare once more, this time holding a tad longer before looking away. “Same as you. Going to Kinshasa.”

“Why?” Irena demanded, supicious. “The Congo's not exactly a tourist hotspot.”

“I've got business there,” Chago said, diverting his attention toward a couple with a baby across the aisle. Irena took the opportunity to study the lines of his rugged profile. No two ways about it.
He was gorgeous. But gorgeous didn't guarantee safety.

“What kind of business are you in, specifically? You never did share any concrete details with me.”

He ignored her question.

After a childhood spent dealing with the Serbian army's barbaric manners, Irena detested any type of rudeness. She eyed the half-full soda in her hand and considered dumping the contents into his lap. Maybe that would get his attention. The cup teetered at the edge of her fingertips, ready to pour. At the last second, Chago shifted his laser-sharp focus back to her and ruined her plans. Damn. The idea of the man beside her soaked and stripped had been most appealing.

“If I remember right, there were many things I didn't get to share with you last night.” His voice dropped to a whisper and his glance held hers before traveling lower.