Demon of Vengeance: Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 4 (19 page)

Not good, dude. N. O. T. Good.

He made to follow her, but Ricardo stepped into his path. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the man.

Ricardo didn’t back down. A part of Sebastian admired the way the smaller man lifted his chin and demanded, “I want to know what your intentions are toward Phoebe.”

That gave Sebastian pause. He felt like a potential date being drilled by a girl’s father. All that was missing was the double barrel shotgun. Sebastian eyed Ricardo.

“I have only honorable intentions.” He refused to elaborate, regardless of whatever admiration he may or may not feel. What was happening between Phoebe and him was their business.

“I know you are not engaged,” the guide replied, his bushy brows drawn tight. “I know Phoebe. She would have told me before she just showed up with you.”

Now they were getting into sticky territory. Sebastian debated how much to tell the old man. He knew Phoebe held Ricardo in high regard. Had seen the way the old man behaved with her. They were as close as family. As such, he didn’t want to completely alienate the man either.

Ricardo solved the problem for him. “I know what you are.”

What
, not
who
.

Sebastian went very still. And he waited.

“You think me foolish? You think I’m some superstitious old man, like the rest? But I know the truth.” Ricardo stood firm, showing no fear. “You
are
a demon. A
real
demon.”

Sebastian tensed, his mind racing.

“But you are not like the others, the demons that came after her before. The ones that cut her throat,” Ricardo said. That pronouncement drew Sebastian up short.

The man had looked after Phoebe, taken care of her, saved her life. Sebastian was grateful. He owed this man much. And so he repaid that gratitude with honesty.

“I am demon. But I am penitent,” he said at last. “I have broken with Lucifer and his ways. I seek redemption by sending others of my kind, those that would harm the innocent to Oblivion. I seek forgiveness.”

Ricardo regarded him in solemn silence. At length, he nodded, apparently satisfied. “You are like her.”

Now Sebastian frowned, all his protective instincts firing. “Like her?”

How much did Ricardo know? Could what he knew put Phoebe at risk? The thought of eliminating the old man didn’t sit well. Sebastian hadn’t taken an innocent life in nearly two hundred years, and Phoebe would suffer guilt and grief at his loss. But Sebastian would do it. To protect Phoebe, he’d do it.

“I knew her father.” Ricardo paused, giving Sebastian a pointed look. “And I knew her mother, knew
what
her mother was. Your heart is good, like Phoebe’s. Like her mother’s.”

Sebastian reeled at this new information. Not once had he ever considered Ricardo might have knowledge of Phoebe’s mother.

Something of his surprise must have shown on his face, because Ricardo went on, explaining, “My people believe in your kind. In demons and in angels. We know evil roams the Earth. Just as good does. But you…you are different. As was Danika. As is Phoebe.”

“So you know what she is?” he asked cautiously.

Ricardo looked puzzled. “Yes.”

“But you still treat her like a daughter?”

“Of course.” Ricardo nodded. “Because she
is
like a daughter to me.”

“Did her father know what she was, what her mother was?”

“Yes.” Sadness crossed those wrinkled features. “He knew. And he figured out that I knew…and he swore me to secrecy.” He shrugged.

Ricardo turned to watch Phoebe. Her back was turned to them. She was on her knees industriously clearing away vegetation near the base of what appeared to be a short monument.

“I met Danika, Phoebe’s mother, many years before Phoebe was born. She was already married to Raymond Mackenzie. I thought she was human. Years later, when Phoebe was a small child, there was an accident at one of the sites. Danika revealed herself to save Phoebe’s life, and in doing so, she unintentionally revealed the truth of who she was. She also weakened the spell she’d used to dampen her abilities. Some kind of magic to mask her from others of her kind, she claimed. She swore me to silence, and told me the spell was to hide her and Phoebe from other demons that might be looking for her. She said she would die if she were ever found, that she’d be forced to go back to Hell, and so would Phoebe. That they’d be forced to go back as prisoners. As slaves.”

Sebastian frowned. He’d never heard of such a spell before, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible.

Now that name on the other hand,
Danika
…

And the circumstances the woman had related. An unshakable chill skated down Sebastian’s back. He felt sick to his stomach. Was it possible? He prayed not. Oh, how he prayed not.

“They left to go back to the states soon after. I never saw Danika again after that summer. And Raymond refused to speak of her. Phoebe was so young the first time Raymond brought her back, after her mother had gone. Too young to be out here in the jungle, but there was no one left to care for her.” Ricardo stopped then, his expression sorrowful. He took his hat off, swiped a forearm across his brow and resettled the hat.

“Danika was a kind woman. And she loved that child something fierce. But Phoebe still blames her mother for leaving. Raymond Mackenzie is the only parent she remembers. Danika leaving like that left a hole in Phoebe’s world. She’s careful not to talk about it, but the girl’s never recovered from it. And she worked so hard to fashion herself into what she believed Raymond would approve of.”

“Phoebe loves you too,” Sebastian said, dead certain.

A tender smile eased the old man’s frown. “I know.” But then that smile fell away. “If you are her mate, as I suspect, then you have to watch over her.”

“What do you know of demon mates?” Sebastian watched the old man, suspicious now.

“I know only what Danika told me. That last summer, after I learned what she was, Danika confided in me, telling me about her world. I don’t know why for sure. Perhaps it was because she knew Raymond would never pass the information on to Phoebe should something happen to Danika? Who is to say?”

The old man paused a moment, stroking his hand along the gray whiskers covering his jaw. Sensing there was more, Sebastian waited in silence.

“I believe maybe it was because she was lonely. She loved her husband, and Raymond loved her. But, for some reason, he could never talk to her about what she was. She understood his fear, and his mistrust of her species. It hurt her, but she understood. I never did though. If a man loves his wife, he ought to love all of her. And, despite the fact that she was what she was, she was still a good woman, a loving wife and mother,” Ricardo grumbled, clearly perplexed.

So Raymond had loved her, loved her but couldn’t forgive her for being what she was? But he’d also been a Guardian, taught from birth to hate demons. Ricardo wouldn’t have known that. Sebastian didn’t even want to speculate over the fine moral line that Phoebe’s father must have walked daily. To provide safe haven for the enemy. To never fully trust the woman you loved. To cherish and raise a child of that union. To raise a Spawnling to be the future Guardian.

Sebastian looked at the older man, letting him see the truth of his words. “Phoebe is my mate,” he confirmed. “And I will guard her with my life.”

A look of profound relief crossed the old guide’s face. “Protect her from herself. She would die for those she loves. She nearly died to save me—that’s how she got the scar on her neck. She would have given herself up to spare me.”

“No one’s ever going to hurt her again,” Sebastian vowed.

Chapter Sixteen

Sïnsobar eased right up to the edge of the clearing. He peered through the foliage at the trio, the two males standing off in the distance talking, the female—his target—on her knees by the statue. So close he could snatch her away before Vengeance even knew he was there.

Phoebe carefully cleared debris from the base of the statue. He could sense the energy sizzling all around her now, and it gave him pause.

How was this possible? He’d not felt this from her when he’d taken her from the airport. Had she been under a masking spell of some kind? Had her abilities been bound?

He’d been told before that she was a Guardian right before his first attempted kidnapping. Not even when he’d touched her before had he felt anything. Not until Sïnsobar had replaced the camp cook yesterday.

Now?

Well, he’d have to be blind, deaf, and dead not to sense the power coming from her.

Stolas hadn’t been happy to learn she was still out here, still digging away. Happy? Hell, he’d been furious. Sïnsobar had barely managed to talk him into one more chance.

And so Stolas had sent Sïnsobar after her one last time, to either capture her or kill her. He hadn’t been specific on the why, just demanded she be taken out of the picture, one way or another. “Get her away from those damned ruins,” had been his orders. And that was awfully curious, considering the demon prince usually preferred to add to his collection of female prisoners every chance he got. Yet Stolas seemed bent on this one’s death. Sïnsobar’s eyes narrowed, considering.

Why?

He felt the punch in the gut as a fresh wave of energy rolled from her without warning, and his focus shot back to her. What had caused this change in her? It was as if a veil had been lifted. A shield burned away. Nothing one moment, and then in-your-face power the next. If she’d been merely bound before, he should still have been able to sense
something
in her, no matter how miniscule. Bound, she just wouldn’t have been able to use whatever that something was. It had to have been a masking spell. Or a powerful combination of the two.

He watched as she moved a small wooden box out of her way with a great deal of care. Then, after a moment more of study, she began tracing intricate symbols with her fingertips. Her lips were moving, as if she were reading to herself. He cocked his head, studying her a bit closer. There was just something about her…something
familiar
.

The energy buzzing from her steadily built. Pulsing and throbbing. He eased forward, drawn like a magnet, pulled by something else, something that grew by the moment deep in his gut. Something that had nothing to do with her power, but something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Yet.

Excitement bubbled up inside him. There was nothing he liked better than a good puzzle. And Phoebe was fast proving to be a wonderful riddle. The more he was around her, the stronger the pull. Unable to help himself, he crept closer, careful to shield his own abilities. It wouldn’t do to be discovered, not just yet. Too many interesting things going on around here to put everyone’s guard up. Starting with the question that begged nearly as much attention as Phoebe herself. Why was Stolas so concerned about her digging around in some old rocks?

What’s he so worried she might find?

Sïnsobar’s brows drew together. He watched as she sat back on her heels, reached her arm straight out, and laid her palm flat upon the ancient, crumbling statue. He glanced over to see if Vengeance and the human had noticed. They were still deep in conversation, so Sïnsobar turned back to her.

She tipped her head forward and squinted at the writing on the stone monolith. And then she began to speak. Urgent words, her tone soft and low. If he hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have been able to hear her at all. As it was, he could only make out a few words here and there. And the hair on the back of his neck lifted. Chills skittered down his spine, and his skin began to itch.

Sïnsobar’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a sharp breath. She was speaking Angelic. How—
where
—had she learned to read Angelic? But what truly shocked him was the fact that her short, buffed nails had just morphed into small black claws. Her fingertips had turned red…and not a flushed, human red. This was a deep crimson pigmentation—strikingly similar to his own natural color. The change had already overtaken her whole hand and was, even now, slowly working its way up her forearm. A defensive reaction common for a Carpathï.

Her eyes flew open, and for one startling moment, he thought she’d seen him. He stood there, poised on the verge of shimmering away, when he realized she wasn’t actually
looking
at him. She appeared to be in some kind of trance. And her eyes were completely engulfed in black. She continued to speak and, as her lips moved, he caught a peek at tiny fangs.

Was it possible? Was she Carpathï, like him?

A Carpathï demoness.

Holy hell!

There hadn’t been one of those since—

He sucked in a sharp breath and staggered back a step.

Danika.

His head swam. Before he could react, stone scraped stone, and something fell from a hidden compartment in the statue. Phoebe blinked as the item hit her lap, as if woken from a deep slumber. Frowning, she reached to scoop up the oddly shaped stone, only to drop it with a sharp cry.

Phoebe thrust her hand up before her and peered in wide-eyed shock at her appendage. She turned it over and gaped first at the back of her hand, then at her palm. At the sound, Vengeance and the human came rushing over. Sïnsobar melted back into the jungle, but he stayed close enough to keep an eye on the female. And he frowned. She’d looked…he wasn’t sure. Stunned? Surprised? Maybe horrified? As if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

But the moment the two males got close, Phoebe bounced to her feet and spun to face then, thrusting her morphed hand behind her. Right where he could see it, clear as day.

He swallowed, shook his head. Could it be possible? The odds were astronomical. And yet—

“What happened?” Vengeance demanded.

The male reached up and cupped her cheek, scanning her pale features. Protective instincts stabbed at Sïnsobar. He just barely managed to bite back the growl. He didn’t know why, he certainly felt no physical attraction for her—which, given his own reputation was a puzzle, but he did know he didn’t like seeing Vengeance touch her with such easy familiarity. Because of this startling discovery, he melted further back and gave himself a moment to regroup.

He’d just been surprised to learn she was Carpathï, that was probably all it was. She should be with her own kind. Not with one of the Fallen.

Feeling his system leveling out, Sïnsobar began slinking toward their camp. He sent wisps of energy to his bones, his muscles, his skin, his hair—not so much so fast that it might alert Phoebe or Vengeance to his presence, but enough to get the job done—morphing as he moved through the jungle. Within the space of a few more steps, he’d taken on the appearance of a human. One familiar to Phoebe. One she wouldn’t think twice about getting close to. Marco, the camp cook.

And here he’d thought he’d be bored with his latest assignment. A demoness? A
Carpathï
demoness.

His grin grew.

Well how about that?

* * * * *

Sebastian stared at Phoebe, eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. She was pale, white as a sheet. And her gaze kept darting around, like a cornered rabbit. Perspiration beaded on her forehead.

“What did you find?” Ricardo asked, frowning.

“This,” she blurted, thrusting a strange looking rock up in the space separating them with her left hand. “The inscription on that monolith was in Dad’s code. I read it aloud, and a hidden compartment opened and this fell out.”

Sebastian scowled, thinking the heat, the lack of food, and the stress had finally gotten to her. “Sweetheart, it’s just a rock.”

“No,” Ricardo said, taking the stone from her. “Look at the tool marks. It’s been shaped.”

Sebastian peered closer at the rock. He didn’t see it. The damned thing was just a rock. What were they playing at? And why was she being so careful to keep her right hand tucked behind her back?

“Turn it over,” Phoebe said.

Ricardo did as she asked, and made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. The surface of the stone was studded with tiny bits of jewels. Chips of red and green and clear stones. They formed a pattern. And below the pattern, a strange groove was dug in deep. The whole thing was shaped like…like an arrowhead. A fist sized arrowhead.

Frowning, Sebastian held his hand out. Ricardo shot a glance at Phoebe. When she nodded, he passed the stone to Sebastian. The moment the old rock came in contact with his skin, Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath. Unpleasant jolts of power zapped him, shooting up his arm, vibrating with a shocking intensity, reminding him of how it felt when he’d tried to cross one of Kyanna’s enchantments. It stood to reason that Phoebe’s father, as another Guardian, would also be in possession of powerful angelic enchantments and have knowledge of protective stones, just as Xander’s wife did.

“Look at the design, and the pattern. That was carved. The stones were arranged and set with some kind of adhesive. It was deliberately shaped that way.”

Sebastian glanced from the rock in his hand to Phoebe. “What does it mean?”

She caught her lip. “I’m not sure.”

Well, Sebastian was sure of something. She still hadn’t brought that hand out from behind her back. What was she hiding?

“Here,” she said, holding her left hand out. Yet another oddity, since he knew she was right-handed. “I’m going to take it back to camp. I want to examine it, compare these stones with my reference guide.”

Sebastian handed back the stone, frowning. It couldn’t be much past four in the afternoon. She’d never wanted to leave the excavation site so early before, regardless of what relic they’d found.

She cradled the stone against her stomach and scurried off. Sebastian looked to Ricardo. He seemed just as puzzled by Phoebe’s behavior. And then Sebastian noticed the box near the foot of the statue.

For her to leave this behind? Now he
knew
something was going on.

He scooped the box up and shot another glance to Ricardo. Phoebe had already disappeared into the verdant undergrowth.

“Go after her,” Ricardo instructed with a frown. “I’ll gather the rest and follow behind.”

Sebastian didn’t need any further encouragement. He shot down the path after her. Panic hit him like a wrecking ball. He should have found her by now. He raced on, leaves and vines whizzing by, roots tripping him.

Around a bend in the path, he almost crashed into her. She stood in the middle of the trail, shoulders hunched, head tipped down, her back to him.

“Phoebe.” He panted, more winded by worry and fear than by his mad, headlong dash. “What’s wrong?”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her around. She held the ancient stone in one hand and in the other…nothing. She held her hand, fingers splayed, at eye level.

Phoebe blinked up at him as if in a daze. And then she seemed to recall herself. A swift smile flashed at him. One so fake he couldn’t believe she’d even think for a minute he’d fall for it.

“Wrong?” She shook her head and shrugged. Phoebe looked to her hand, and her smile slipped, just for a split second, as if she’d never seen that hand before. But then she held it up, wiggled her fingers for his perusal. “Nothing’s wrong. See? I, ah, I just thought I’d chipped a nail. But nope. It’s fine. My hand is just fine.”

Sebastian frowned at her. He hadn’t seen so much as a scratch on her. Yet he got the very real impression something had shaken her.

“Uh-huh.” She was a piss poor liar.
Something
was wrong. And he would figure it out. “You left this behind,” he said, holding the box up.

Her eyes flared wide, and her mouth fell open. “Oh my goodness!” She snatched the box from him. “I can’t believe I just… How could I have—”

She cut herself off, shook her head. Phoebe clutched the box to her chest and visibly forced herself to calm down.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “Would you mind letting Ricardo know we’re done for the day? I know the way back.”

Without another word, she spun back to the trail and bolted before he could ask her any questions. Frowning, Sebastian stared after her for a moment, his eyes narrowed.

If she thought that was the end of this discussion, she was sorely mistaken. He followed her back to camp.

Once there, he reclined quietly on the couch, biding his time, watching as she poured over the journal she’d pried from the box, another book her father had encoded.

Raymond Mackenzie. The man was a puzzle. Ricardo’s candid conversation sat heavy on his shoulders, shredding his conscience.

Tell her?

Don’t tell her?

Sebastian conjured a bag of Doritos and a bottle of beer. The first crunch of a chip drew an irritated glance from her, but she made no comment.

What was the right thing to do? He worked his way through the bag as he tried to reason it out.

She deserved to know the truth. That her father had known what she was. Known and sought to cover it up, even from her. In all honesty, as her mate, didn’t he owe it to her? The unvarnished truth? No matter what it was?

But, as her mate, wasn’t it also his job to protect her? To see that she was happy?

And wouldn’t the truth make her miserable? Knowing that her father knew what she was and yet hid it from her? But would
not
knowing the truth make her happy either? Always fighting her very nature because she didn’t truly believe?

This mating business was more difficult that it should be.

Phoebe caught her lower lip between her teeth, and her brow drew together. She bent closer to the book, tracing the symbols over and over with her fingertip. She sat back and blinked, as if she thought maybe she hadn’t read something correctly, or the passage didn’t make sense.