The Bastard (42 page)

A love that he realized too late was different from anything he’d ever experienced. Hildy had used him, his temper, his strength, his thirst for blood. Lacy had seen only the good in him. Somehow, she’d cut through all the dark and found that small glimmer of light that even he wasn’t sure existed. She’d found the real man beneath the twisted history.

To her, he’d been a hero. For a few short weeks, he’d felt like one. It was a gift he wasn’t worthy of but that he treasured. Lacy’s love made him a better man, irrevocably changing who he was. Not even the Creator of All could give him that.

He brought the soft-wrapped pouch to his lips. “Sleep well, my
valkyrja
.”

Galina trembled, terror thick in her mouth. Not even the taste of her own blood was as sour. Lacy Cooper had been more than Scion, she had been Scionim. Galina knew now why Samael had wanted her so desperately. If she had only known… She couldn’t have changed a thing. She’d done her best and still failed him.

Samael’s eyes blazed and unholy anger seethed from his body like the steaming crater at Nindiri. Smoke curled around his legs and a shiver racked her spine. This was an artist’s paradise — Satan at the Mouth of Hell, soul-dust scattered around him like pollen, the stench of brimstone and sulfur coiling on the smoldering air.

No words were spoken as he waited. She wasn’t sure what he waited for, didn’t dare ask. She offered no excuses, knew none would be heard. The fractured bits of blood-red glass in his hand shone with an eerie beauty. He fisted them until crimson blood dripped to the ground.

“I warned you, Minion, and still you failed me. Lacy Cooper’s soul was worth ten thousand of you.”

Ramiel and Ashmedai Leaped in behind him, their weight cracking the brittle rocks. Samael’s mouth split into a sadist smile. “I want to hear her screams echo off the North Pole for the next millennium.”

Galina’s pleas for mercy faded like the smoke into the wind as his Chiefs whisked her pathetic ass out of his sight. Samael barely held his temper as another Minion carried the last Scion soul out of the cave. Those precious few the Forsaken had left behind would be well-hidden, well-tormented and well-molded into his unholy army. One day he’d see those testosterone-drunk alphaholes broken like cheap toys while their beloved leader knelt before him.

His fury cracked. Throwing his head back, he roared. Wrath surged with malevolent power until the bowels of the Earth spewed orange and glowing. It arched into the sky and scorched the air with his lethal vow. This wasn’t over. He was going to fuck their world without lube.

Only one low torch cast a living glow on Lacy’s body laid out on the altar. The gaping wounds were covered, a black coroner’s bag unzipped only enough to show her face. Sela watched from the darkness, unwilling to let Vike know she was here. He’d been here for hours, just staring at the lifeless remains. He should be sleeping but his spirit ached far more than his body. Her own body thumped in a matching staccato of his rubber-tipped crutches on the Hall of Infamy’s marble floors.

He reached out, stroking her hair tenderly. Sela tilted her head. This was something she would never understand about humankind. Lacy’s soul was safe, at peace and awaiting final reward at the End of Days. This shell wasn’t her. Her soul rested not ten feet from her empty husk but Vike never looked toward it. His gentle touch caressed the curve of that cold form’s cheek as if she could feel it.

“I love you, Lace. That didn’t die.”

This too she would never grasp. Lacy couldn’t hear his whisper. She was in
Barzakh.
Sela understood the living’s need for peace, for absolution, but Vike knew better. Sorrow bowed her head. He knew in his mind but his heart needed more. His heart needed Lacy.

His final goodbye spoken, Vike turned and hobbled toward the elevator. His gaze lingered on the silent altar until the doors slid shut. Sela limped from the shadows. When her men ached, she ached, but there was nothing she could do to ease this pain.

Her throne was chilled but the coolness felt good on her tender skin. She laid her head back with a sigh and sent a silent thank you upward that all had turned out well. Though Lacy had succumbed to First Death, she was free of Samael’s torture. Her men were injured but alive. She herself was battered but had been rescued.

The dark-eyed man. She needed to discover who he was. One of Michael’s Righteous, she knew that, but who had he been in life? Such calm power sparkled in his eyes, as if he knew the secrets of the universe and watched things unfold with amusement. Why had she noticed him in Michael’s Hall of Glory when the others were a mere blur in her memory? How had he known to follow her? Why had he followed her? Why had he aided her? Why had he called her
hebi
, my love?

Too many questions made her temples throb. She needed more rest to heal but could not force herself to remain immobile while sleeping souls writhed in inflicted torment in her Hall. With her men all suffering from wounds, she’d enchanted Annie Cooper into a light sleep in the medi-room, then dragged her bruised body from the bed and came to the Hall of Infamy.

Counting Lacy, her men had rescued eighty lives held prisoner, in torture, in agony. The cries only she could hear twisted her heart. So much pain, so much fear. She’d held each bag, cradling them in her palms and breaking Samael’s evil hold. She’d not stopped until every last Scion slept in silenced relief.

Her men were resting as well. Vike was injured the most, but his zealousness made that often true. Even icy Zale had sought his bed for a few hours. She too should seek more rest but her heart was too troubled to sleep.

Sela rubbed her brow. Once her men had time to mend, she would let Annie have the remains to bury or mourn as she saw fit. A small smile lifted her lips. Annie was a tigress, a warrior in a sadly malfunctioning body. But that malfunction insulated her from Samael’s hunger.

The smile faded away. The tide had changed. She now had control of all the Awoken, the Forsaken and the Righteous. She would train the Righteous to assume her warriors’ previous duties, ridding the world of the bottom-feeding Soul-Leeches. The Forsaken would forge ahead, find the living Scions and the dead, protecting them from Samael’s evil.

Retrieving Lacy no doubt infuriated Samael and Sela sucked in a breath of dread of the vengeance he would unleash on humanity. Holy War was still a pressing threat but a definitive blow had been struck with Lacy’s death and rescue. She could no longer be Awoken by malice and turned into one of his Chiefs. In days, soul Immunity would protect her. It continued to grow even though her body would decay.

Sela’s head lifted sharply.
Awoken by malice
.

Samael wasn’t bound by the Creator of All’s restrictions and could Awaken unlimited numbers of Soul-Leeches. Both Michael and she had been restricted to seventy-seven warrior souls and they’d each reached that number. But she had vowed on her knees before her Creator to provide all her warriors needed to succeed.

Vike needed Lacy.

It was a fine line, but excitement brewed in her breast. She pulled herself from her throne and crossed to the black bandana tied in knots. She carried the precious bundle to a low table near the back wall. Sure fingers pried the cotton open and smoothed the wrinkled edges flat. Lacy was Scionim. If Awoken, she would have near full Vangeli powers in time, but she was not a warrior. The trade off was steep. Eternal life sounded wonderful but her men had learned bitterly that it came with its own problems.

Still, the choice must be Lacy’s. Free will was the Creator of All’s most precious gift.

With Sela’s injuries, this Awaking would be a taxing chore. Calling the force from her deepest core, Sela let the majesty of the Creator flow through her. Life sizzled along her fingertips. They sank into the pale gray dust. Creation crackled.

Swirls of silt-like dust rose, fashioned a shape, then took solid form. The clay-like mass sculpted beneath invisible fingers until a still-life model of Lacy lay on a low table. From the raggedness of her wounds, down to each eyelash, tiny freckle, and the crook of her toes, this lifeless copy waited. Sela closed the ragged hole in the chest with a wave of her hand, smoothing the flesh back to perfection.

Her knees shook with expended power as Sela leaned close and brushed her mouth to the copy’s. She gave it the Breath of Life, enlivening the clay. A blush of health filled those still cheeks, her hair grew vibrant and blood began to flow in hidden veins. Life was born.

As her strength faded, Sela slid to her knees, pressing her sweaty brow to the hard wooden edge of the table. She wasn’t done yet. There was more she needed to do. The body was animated but it had no soul. It could neither think nor feel. Only the hope she could help Vike’s heart to mend gave Sela the might to pull herself to a stand.

The elevator doors slid open. Since she had not summoned him, Zale’s normal clothing remained as he entered. Plain cotton sweat pants and loose fitting tee hid what she knew had to be still sore bruises and cuts, but he barely limped. An angry mark discolored the right side of his face. He’d not slept long enough to be completely healed.

His gaze fell on the living clay figure and his features grew hard.

“You disagree?” His jaw clenched at her question, a sure sign he bit back angry words. Sela was too sore and too tired to deal with his attitude. “Speak, Zale, or I’ll remove your tongue for good.”

“She needs to stay dead.”

“That is not your choice to make. It’s Lacy’s.”

Zale’s jaw wedged tight. “We don’t need her. She isn’t a fighter.”

“No, she’s not. And Vike needs her.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“Really? It’s been thousands of years. Have you gotten over your wife?”

His anger surged to borderline hatred that enflamed his silvery eyes. This time, his silence was probably wise so she allowed it. “Why are you here?”

“Annie’s waking up.”

Sela cocked one eyebrow. Zale had checked on Lacy’s sister? Interesting. Without reason, her mind conjured the nameless Righteous with his compassionate touch. Such tenderness made Zale’s concern all the more painful. Suddenly, Sela was very tired of the pretenses.

“Has Rex woken yet?”

Zale nodded.

“Have him inform Annie and tell her that Lacy’s remains will be returned to her. Arrange to pay for the burial expenses. There will be police questions, but Rex actually enjoys all that red-tape bullshit.”

Zale gave her a slight bow and turned.

“Wait.” She leaned on the table to hide her trembling knees. Annie knew so much about them now. She posed a risk, a risk that Sela would not let become a threat. “Can she be trusted to stay silent or should we send her to dust as a precaution?”

He hesitated. It was just a slight shifting of his feet, a minute stiffening of his spine, but Sela noted the reluctance with interest.

“I believe she will hold her tongue.”

A noncommittal sound rumbled in her throat. Zale was incapable of lying but something lay hidden in his words. This situation bore watching. “Go get Rex and deal with Annie. Leave me to my creation.”

Fist clenched at his side, he whipped on his heel. She watched his back until the doors shut, wondering what it would be like to have one man’s complete devotion for all eternity.

That was where Vike had been blessed more than Sela ever had been. A strange blurry wetness crossed her eyes. Wiping it away, Sela calmed her swirling emotions. Her hands did not even shake as they touched the cool, living clay. Her voice rang with authority.

“With the power and love of the Creator of All, I call you, Lacy Nicole Cooper. Awaken.”

Air sailed into her lungs and Lacy’s eyes flew open with the gasp. Memory assaulted her. The woman on the boat. The knife cutting deep. The angel coming from the light. The maggots writhing into every body crevice. Annie’s screams. Her new heart thumped and never used muscles tightened, jerking her upright.

“Welcome back, Lacy.” Sela’s smile was soothing, warm, serene.

Panting in barely remembered fear, Lacy’s mind scrambled. She wasn’t dead. She was in the basement of H2Q, the weird room with the black handprint on the floor. She wore nothing but Erik’s tee shirt. Her legs were cold. Sela wore an open-back hospital gown, ass exposed to the air. One wing was bound tight to her shoulder and she had bruises and injuries all over her.

“What happened to you?”

Sela blinked. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You look dead on your feet.” Lacy slid off the table and reached for her. “You need to sit down. Better yet, lie down. Let me help you.”

A laugh started soft but gathered force as Sela’s eyes sparkled. “I don’t need a keeper, Lacy, but your heart shines through in that you worry about me, a woman you aren’t sure you even like, rather than ask about yourself and how you came to be here.”

Lacy let her hand fall to her side. “I figured you’d tell me why.”

There was no telling. Sela motioned with her hand and Lacy turned. Her body lay on a polished stone altar in a neatly zipped body bag. The pale skin and shadowed, hollowed eyes could be nothing but death. Without looking, she knew what wounds that black bag hid, had felt the slice and twist of the blade. Her stomach dropped.

“So I am dead.”

“You were. Now you are not.”

“What about Annie? When I… I heard her screaming.”

Sela shook her head. “Annie is safe. Samael is a cruel tormentor. He knew her pain would cause you grief.”

Warmth encased her hand as Sela led her to a throne. A second golden chair appeared and she nodded toward it, dropping into her own seat with a bitten back grimace.

“At the dawn of humankind, I was given the power to Awaken seventy-seven warriors, and I have. However, I also pledged to provide anything they needed to ensure their comforts. You don’t have the soul of a warrior, but you’ve talents of a different nature. You nurture, and this gentleness is what led Vike to you. I offer you a choice.”

Lacy’s lips quivered. “I can stay Awoken and be with Erik, or I can go back to sleep and await the End of Days, right?”