Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4 (17 page)

“Sweetheart, you are a Spawnling.”

She hung her head, her shoulders drooped.

“Is that what they call it?” she whispered. She sounded…broken.

His heart twisted.

Determined, he strode forward and wrapped her in his arms. She was limp as a noodle at first. But then, by slow degrees, she found her spine. Her arms went around his waist, and she turned her face into his neck. And then she was holding him tight. So tight. As though he were the only thing stable in her world. He couldn’t even begin to describe the sensation it caused. It floored him and left him feeling invincible.

“I’m a monster,” she breathed, the confession torn from her like the blackest of sins admitted to a judge and jury.

“No,” Sebastian said against her hair, pulling her closer still. “No. You’re still you, sweetheart. Still Phoebe. This is just a part of you.”

She began to shake her head and draw away, but he captured her face in his hands, forced her to look at him.

“You
are
still you.” He peered hard into her eyes. “You. Are. Phoebe.
My
Phoebe.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips to silence her when she made to object. “You are
my
mate, just as I am yours. I will not let you deny it again. And I will not let you go through this alone. I can help you. You just have to let me.”

Chapter Fourteen

That evening, the moment they arrived back at the nearly deserted camp, Ricardo shot Sebastian the stink eye and pulled Phoebe aside. Sebastian waited by the campfire, watching as Phoebe engaged the old guide in a heated discussion. In the flickering golden light, she looked like a pagan goddess. She might still be unsure of herself, and of what she was—he’d barely been able to extract anything but the bare bones of information from her—but she stood her ground with the old guide, and Sebastian couldn’t be prouder of her. As she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose with one finger, his groin tightened painfully.

At last, Ricardo hugged Phoebe and patted her head. Just the way Sebastian imagined a father might do. With one last angry glance in Sebastian’s direction, Ricardo disappeared into the shadows at the edge of camp. Phoebe returned to Sebastian’s side.

“It was even worse than I feared. We haven’t lost half the workers. We lost all of them. Well, all of them except for Ricardo and Marco.”

Now Sebastian turned suspicious eyes to the lone man sitting beside an empty tent not far away.

“Why is he still here?” he asked Phoebe.

She glanced over. “Ricardo said Marco fears his wife—should he return empty handed—more than he fears some demon.”

Sebastian continued to watch Phoebe’s remaining crewman, until Phoebe elbowed him. “Knock it off, or you’ll scare him away too. Tomorrow we’ll go back to the dig site we worked at today. Dad’s journal indicated something of importance was concealed somewhere around there. I’m headed to bed. It’ll be an early start again tomorrow.”

She didn’t wait for him. Instead, she rose and crossed the small clearing, not bothering to look to see whether he followed or not. Phoebe disappeared inside the tent. Sebastian shot one last glance at the remaining crewman, who still idled outside his own tent before following her. Man, right about now he was wishing he could use a massive pile of ward stones to liberally pepper this campsite. He didn’t like the feeling that his mate was exposed and vulnerable.

Sebastian stepped inside the tent. She hadn’t lit any of the candles. It made no difference, his night vision was excellent. Judging by the pile of clothing folded neatly on the chair, she’d already changed at land speed record. He moved toward the bed, undressing as he went. And, as he climbed into bed, the small mound on the other side of the mattress shifted, moving closer to the edge. Any closer to the edge, in fact, and she ran the serious risk of falling out of bed.

Sebastian let out a long sigh.

“Phoebe?” He sank back into the thick mattress and was met with silence. But he knew she was still awake. No one could have fallen asleep that quickly. “I meant what I said earlier, in the meadow. I’ll help you anyway I can. I’ll even take you to meet the others, Gideon and Niklas and the rest. And their mates. We’ll teach you all about what you are, help you learn the scope of your abilities, if you have any.” He waited for a moment, and then rolled the dice. “We can help you learn to control them.”

Silence.

Frustrated, he pushed a hand through his hair. “I know you said you don’t want to learn, but you need to. Honey, don’t you see? You’re a demoness, a Spawnling, whether you like it or not. Whether you chose to acknowledge it or ignore it, facts are facts. Sooner or later, others are going to realize what you are too. And then you’re going to end up with a target on your back. You need to be able to defend yourself. In order to do that, you need to know what you are and are not capable of.”

And damn it, wasn’t that another kick in the balls? He’d finally come to the realization that he was far more like Xander than he cared to admit. The instinct to protect was strong in him. All along he’d been preaching feminist equality in battle—probably just to get Xander’s goat in all likelihood, when deep down his own nature demanded he shield his woman and keep her from harm at all cost.

He couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t promise to teach Phoebe what she needed to know to survive and then expect her to play the part of the good little woman who stayed out of harm’s way. Besides, his mate wasn’t the kind to play it safe, tending hearth and home, while he went on battling evil where he found it—hell, seeking it out—as though nothing had changed.

Instinct demanded he be the one to defend her. He should be the one stepping into the line of fire, not her. But that wasn’t fair to Phoebe. And yet, was encouraging her to fight the right path for them either? Was he using this knowledge as a carrot, knowing how independent she was? Was it a lure to get her to own who she was?

Because, if she accepted who she was, accepted what she was, then she’d also have to accept that he was her mate.

How messed up was that? Maybe that was why he felt such an obsessive need to pamper her, to provide for her in every other way imaginable. Because, realistically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep her out of the fray. And he wouldn’t be able to be her shield. Not all the time, at least. Not if she was a Guardian. Not if she was a demoness. Her very nature would insist that she be front and center in whatever battles they fought, whatever war they waged. Side by side.

He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.

Her continued silence almost pushed him to his breaking point. “Damn it, Phoebe. Talk to me.”

She was still. Too still. Was she even breathing? Why wouldn’t she talk to him?

He opened his mouth—he wasn’t sure what he’d been about to say—when she rolled to her back and huffed out a breath. But still she wouldn’t speak. Stubborn female.

Sebastian stared at the dome of the tent, watched the shadowed paddles of the ceiling fan slowly circle, and racked his brain for something, anything to say that might get through to her. Why was she being so resistant?

Fear of the unknown could often be a powerful emotion.

Perhaps…

Perhaps, if she knew more about their world?

“Xander and Niklas were once the right and left hands of Lucifer. Xander was the great Slayer, Lucifer’s personal assassin. He has the ability to tell if someone is lying. He told me once it feels as though a thousand spiders are crawling over his flesh when someone tells a lie near him. He also used to be able to form Hellfire, though he can’t do that anymore thanks to a little…ah, bargain he made.” He turned his head on the pillow, though Phoebe had made not a sound, moved not an inch, and he continued, “What’s Hellfire, you ask? Well, since you’re being so inquisitive, I’ll tell you. Hellfire is basically a superheated plasma ball that will burn through anything.”

Silence.

“What was that?” he asked again. “Oh, well, you see, plasma balls are a primary form of defense for a demon. Be sure to tell me if I repeat myself, or if you’ve already heard this before.” He lifted his hand, held it palm up in the dark above them. “How a demon forms a plasma ball is… Hmm, well, I’ve never really thought about it before. I guess, the best way to describe it, since you asked so nicely, is you focus inward. Call forth the heat that always seems to hover, just beneath the surface. Pull it in, focus it”—he set deed to word—“send it spinning outward, toward your palm.”

A second later, a seething mass of plasma spun itself into a ball. That ball, bright and hot, floated above his hand for a moment, just long enough for him to see she was watching his every move. With a snap of his wrist, a clench of his fist, he extinguished the ball.

“A few angels can do something remarkably similar, only they call it Angelfire. Instead of orange plasma, like ours, theirs are more of a pale blue. Almost, but not quite, white. Apparently Gideon’s mate Maggie—she’s a Halfling, by the way—can form Angelfire. You see, sometimes, abilities are hereditary, and her father is—catch this—none other than the legendary Archangel Michael, and Angelfire is one of his little tricks.”

He waited for a long moment, but she remained silent.

Where to go from here?

“So, back to Xander. He used to be a real badass,” Sebastian went on, warming to his subject. “And then he met his match. He mated a Guardian.”

Now he stopped, and he waited.

After a few minutes of weighted silence, Phoebe rolled to face him, though she still didn’t speak. Sweet progress. He savored it.

“Kyanna is the Guardian of the Arc Stone. She’s…
almost
as stubborn as you.”

Was that…? Could it be? Had she just snorted?

“She’s feisty and compassionate, smart, and very beautiful.”

No doubt about it. She’d just snapped her teeth at him. He grinned. “And she has Xander wrapped irrevocably around her little finger. You two are going to be like two peas in a pod, I can see it already.”

Still, she remained impassive.

Okay. What else?

“Niklas’s mate Carly is human. She’s a little spitfire. Fragile, but she has the heart of a lion, that one. You’ll like her too. And Gideon’s mate, as I mentioned earlier, is a Halfling.”

Finally—
finally
!—she made a tiny sound. Half a murmur, really. Nearly imperceptible. But a sound, nonetheless.

He rolled to face her, at least a foot of empty bed separating them. But the intimacy of the dark made if feel like they were the only two people in the world.

“A Halfling is someone of human and angelic descent.” Sebastian reached out cautiously, and brushed her hair over her shoulder, then slowly settled his hand flat on the bed between them. He didn’t get bitten, so he figured he was on the right track. “I haven’t met Maggie yet, but she must be very special if she managed to break Gideon’s curse. Gideon was the Demon of Temptation, in case I forgot to mention it.”

The shadows deepened between her eyebrows.

“Or maybe it was his curse you were wondering about.” Sebastian reached for her once more, this time sliding the back of his finger along her cheek. “Gideon was cursed to never know the touch of another. Long story, but in a nutshell it was a bad situation all around. Dangerous. That went on for nearly two hundred years. We all tried to help him find a way around the curse, but nothing worked.”

Sebastian’s focus drew inward for a moment as he remembered how close Gideon had been to plunging past the point of no return the last time Sebastian had seen him. “I must admit, I’m anxious to meet the Halfling.”

Another sound, maybe a growl?

Sebastian licked his lips. What now? He was running out of Fallen to tell her about. “I bet you’re wondering about War, right?”

Once more, the shadows between her brows deepened.

“Well, Mikhail—that’d be the Demon of War—is a difficult guy to know. Very antisocial. I’d like to say his bark is worse than his bite, but I’d be lying.”

Crickets in the peanut gallery. Sheesh. Tough audience.

“Mikhail has the gift of healing. I think I already told you that, yeah?”

Another murmur. This one more definite.

“What most people don’t know is that he used to be an Angel of Mercy, one of the first in fact. But humankind’s selfishness and greed thinned that flocks ranks. Now, there are but a few left. Anyway, Mikhail lost his faith. And when Mikhail fell, Lucifer was quick to pounce. He gifted Mikhail with his healing hands and—whenever Mikhail wasn’t out inciting war on Earth, decimating the human population—Lucifer forced him to use those hands to revive humans unlucky enough to be dragged or coerced into Hell, over and over and over. Or he’d use those healing hands on the battlefield, reviving those that fought with the least amount of honor, the hardened killer element if you will, after which he would send them back into the world to wreak more destruction.”

A small sound of distress escaped her. Sebastian reached for her before he stopped to think. The moment he slid her hand into his, he froze, cursing himself. Now she’d pull away. Now she’d sever the connection that had budded to life between them here in the dark.

But she wound her fingers through his instead and squeezed.

Breathing a little easier, Sebastian went on with his stories. “Niklas was the first to break with Lucifer’s rule. He’d had enough despotism and couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe it was his ability that drove him to break with the dark prince.”

Phoebe applied just the slightest bit of pressure. If he hadn’t been waiting for it, he might have mistaken it for a twitch of muscle.

“Niklas is known as the Seer. He sees emotion, like a rainbow of colors, surrounding a being. Sort of like their aura. But more shifting, more fleeting. Fear, anger, lust, hope…he can see it all. Maybe that was what caused the rift. He could still see the good in people, their love, their hope—pretty much any positive emotion, even through the fear, no matter how hard that being tried to suppress it—even when that being couldn’t decipher it for himself.

“Anyway, Xander and Niklas had forged a bond in Heaven, and that bond had only grown stronger in Hell as they both faced the same tyranny. Xander knew that Lucifer would send him after Niklas, and so, before the order could be issued, he found Niklas and together they approached a few others. Myself. Gideon and Mikhail.

“I guess you could say, we were all in the same boat. Or clinging to the sides of it anyway. So together, we escaped Hell. And since that day, we’ve worked to thwart any foothold Lucifer might be trying to gain here on Earth.” He drew a deep breath. “And now we fight against Stolas, too.”

He fell silent, trying to figure out where to go from here. It would be exceedingly helpful if she’d just tell him what she wanted to know. He frowned. Maybe she just didn’t know what to ask.

“Every demon has some kind of ability.” Was this the right path to take? He wasn’t certain. He didn’t want to scare her into shutting down on him again, but he also wanted her prepared. Wanted her to know that if she did have some kind of special gift, that she wasn’t alone.

“But it’s different in every case. There are many, many abilities. But not every demon can do all things. For instance…shimmering. For the most part, all demons can shimmer. However, not every demon can travel between Earth and Hell. And certain species, like Ralsha for example, can’t conjure. But some, like the Ralsha, can spit an acidic venom. Others, like some Animagi can emit poison from their horns. And Carpathï can secrete poison from their fangs during battle.”