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

Chapter Three

About the seventh or eighth hop, Sebastian figured they were safe. The professor hung limp in his arms, conscious but barely holding on. For a moment, he thought she might have passed out. But then she moaned, and buried her face closer to the side of his neck. And once more, he felt as if he’d been hooked up to a mega-watt power station, his pulse jumping around erratically.

Time to go home. He focused on his farmhouse, on the kitchen. She was a mess. How much blood had she lost? He needed to get her cleaned up, patched up. Then he’d have to sit her down and get her to start talking. He needed as much info out of her in the shortest amount of time possible. He needed to find some way to steal the sword back from Stolas. And he needed to go after Mikhail.

Even now the others might be embarking on a suicide mission to free the Demon of War. His brothers needed him.

Sebastian glanced around him in confusion as soon as they solidified. Fury settled in shortly thereafter. He stood at one end of the kitchen near the table, the professor cradled in his arms, and he turned in a slow circle. Had his place been hit by a tornado? Cupboard doors and cabinet drawers hung open, though the walls and ceiling were still intact. Chairs were overturned. Pots and pans, cooking utensils, and canned goods were…
everywhere
.

Small appliances, broken and mangled, littered the countertops, tabletop, and floor. Shards of broken dishes, shattered glass, and busted stoneware crunched beneath his feet among swathes of spilled flour, sugar, and coffee beans. His disbelieving stare skimmed over and then shot back to a butcher knife embedded in a cupboard door.

What. The. Hell!

And then he remembered the call he’d gotten from Gideon a while back—something about the Halfling remodeling his kitchen—and he cursed. Oh, yeah, his place had been hit by a tornado all right. At least an EF-3 by the looks of it. And that storm had a name. Maggie.

That rotten bastard had let his mate decimate Sebastian’s kitchen. The least Gideon could have done was clean up the damned mess.

I’ll have his head for a Christmas tree topper.

Clenching his teeth, Sebastian carried the professor from the kitchen into the living room. Only then did he let out the pent up breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The destruction had been limited to the kitchen.

Lucky bastard.

Handling her like the most precious of porcelain, Sebastian lowered the professor’s feet to the floor. It took everything in him to let her go and step back. Tearing off his own skin would have been more comfortable.

His breath left him in a stunned whoosh. He was acting like—

He staggered back a step, feeling like someone had just belted him in the gut…with a railroad tie.

He was acting like Xander acted around Kyanna.

Like Niklas behaved with Carly.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Oh, God,” she gasped. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Faster than she could draw her next breath, Sebastian conjured a trash can and thrust it into her hands. And then he stood there, watching helplessly, as the professor sagged to her knees on his living room rug and proceeded to toss her cookies.

Confused by his reactions to her, he waited till she looked like she was done. He then conjured a wet washcloth, a bottle of mouthwash, and a glass of 7-Up, handing each to her in turn. He vanished everything as soon as she set it all aside and leaned back on her heels.

The moment the items in question disappeared, she squeaked, losing what little color she’d regained. He cringed. Yeah, should have probably warned her about that. Well, there was no help for it now. He helped her to the sofa.

“Better?” he asked, taking the seat beside her. He couldn’t stop staring.

And the fact that he couldn’t stop staring made him feel like a fool.

“Not so much.” She peered at him as if she expected him to sprout a second head. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sebastian.”

His mind had somehow kicked from neutral into high gear.

Why was she affecting him this way?

The question whirled around in his mind, though he was careful not to voice his quandary aloud. He studied her in the bright shaft of sunlight pouring through the window. Her pictures hadn’t done her justice. She was…stunning. So much so that it took his breath away. Another surge of desire swam through his blood, and his body reacted as though he’d been given a shot of undiluted adrenaline…adrenaline and a concentrated version of Viagra. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Tall as she was, the top of her head had barely reached Sebastian’s chin. And she was slim, almost boyishly so. Exactly as she’d been described to him by the oh-so-helpful residents of Port August, otherwise known as hell on Earth.

But her skin was porcelain with a faint dusting of freckles. Like cream and cinnamon. Nobody had mentioned that.

He caught himself wondering how all that cinnamon and cream skin might taste.

Her features were sharp, her chin pointed, her cheekbones pronounced. The angle of that chin bespoke a stubbornness he’d already witnessed. But there was a softness about her too. She was…feminine. And she was so pale right now he feared she might pass out after all. Dark shadows smudged her remarkable eyes, and her lips were almost blue.

The curve of those lips made him want to sample them.

“I’m Phoebe,” she introduced herself, holding out a hand that was still trembling. “I guess I should be thanking you?”

He took her hand in his. And he held on long after she tried to release him, marveling at how fragile her bones seemed and the softness of her skin. Which wasn’t like him at all. Nor was he the type to sit and stare in mute, starry-eyed fascination. And yet, that was precisely what he was doing. His mind raced, and yet he was tongue tied.

Googly-eyed and all but drooling.

She frowned, squinching her eyes closed as she pressed the heel of her free hand to her temple.

“Are you going to be sick again?”

Maybe all the shimmering had been too much for her. Was she in shock from her earlier trauma at the hands of Sin and his minions? Had she been injured when the car had collided with the house? Did she, even now, have internal injuries, putting her at risk?

Realizing he was on the verge of hyperventilating, he forced himself to breathe. God, he’d never tease Niklas and Xander again. Or Gideon. Gideon had a mate now too, didn’t he?

Scowling, Sebastian drew back all of a sudden, though he didn’t release her hand just yet. Why was he even thinking about mates? He blinked at the professor. Sure, she was attractive…hell, she was downright alluring in an exotic sort of way, if he were being honest. But it wasn’t as if he was desperate with burgeoning, unspent lust. He hadn’t exactly been celibate all these years, not like the others, and that had been his cross to bear. So why was he acting like a crack addict and she the fix he’d been craving?

“I don’t think so, just a little dizzy,” she said.

He waited while she struggled to gain her bearings, still gripping her hand in his. Just the thought of releasing her was abhorrent. Why?

Why did he feel like he was having some screwed up kind of clouds-part-sun-comes-out-heavenly-angels-singing-ah-ha moment?

Even as the thought crossed his mind, one cold certainty settled inside him. He’d never experienced this before. This fierce need to possess. To protect and to provide for. Or this sense of bone-deep attraction.

The certainty of that knowledge floored him.

Her free hand reached up to press against the blood soaked tatters of her shirt over her shoulder.

Damn, that’s a lot of blood. Maybe I should—

“You’re a demon? Like them?”

That took him aback, her calm analysis. But then it shouldn’t. She was a Guardian, after all. As such, she should know all about them. Not all of it might be correct, but she’d have the basic grasp of things, he was sure.

“Demon, yes. Like them, no.”

She seemed to weigh his words. A tiny frown knitted her brow. She looked as if she wanted to argue, but then thought better of it. “Where am I?”

“I brought you home. Ahh…to my farm. You’re safe now.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “This has all just happened so fast. I’ve been on one airplane after another for hours and hours, and then I thought Ricardo had sent…” Her voice trailed away for a moment. She frowned, and then her lovely emerald eyes shot wide. “Ricardo! Oh, he must be so worried.”

“Let’s just take this one step at a time, yeah?”

She licked her lips and nodded. “That…that demon, he said his name was Sin or something. He was waiting at the airport for me. Like he knew just where to find me. I don’t know how he—”

“He—or one of his minions—probably slipped into your place and checked out your itinerary.” Sebastian shrugged. “It’s how I found you.”

“So that’s where I left it,” she muttered. She shook her head again, her lips compressed and she sighed.

But then her attention flew back to his face. “Wait…
you
broke into my house?” She scooted back on the sofa, still clutching at her shoulder as she inched away from him. He still held her free hand, so she didn’t get far.

“It wasn’t like the door was locked.” Great, now he sounded defensive.

“It wasn’t?”

“No.”

She frowned, her focus turning inward. Heaving a sigh, she pushed her glassed up the bridge of her nose with the tip of her index finger. “I probably forgot to lock it.”

Hearing that did not make him happy. Rather than scold her as he wanted to do, though, he changed the subject. Time was, after all, of the essence. And it wouldn’t matter anymore anyway. From now on, she’d be under his care, his to protect…at least until he got his hands on that sword. And once he got the sword…

Sebastian frowned. Then what? Would this odd connection he felt to her be gone by then?

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

Her expression became downright alarmed, and she tugged at her hand with renewed force. “Why?”

“I need you to listen to me, to everything I have to say, before you freak out, yeah?”

She didn’t look like she was going to believe anything he had to say. In fact, the freak out portion of this evening’s entertainment looked like it was already well underway.

“Look, I saved you back there in that cave. You owe me. The least you can do is hear me out,” he said. Her reticence struck a nerve he hadn’t known he even had. Where was his vaunted patience now?

Her brow puckered, but Phoebe nodded after a very, very long moment. Still, she tried once more to pull her hand from his. And that irritated him too. So he held on, and ignored her bid for freedom.

“I know about the sword,” he began.

At that, panic flooded her expression, and she began jerking at her hand, half rising from the couch. She glanced around the room, searching for an exit.

“Be still, and listen,” he ordered as he yanked her back down beside him, closer this time. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wasn’t ready to sever contact just yet either.

She quieted, but her hand, her whole body, was rigid now. A fine sheen of perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip. Sebastian readjusted his grip on her. Her skin was so warm.

He frowned.

Her skin was
too
warm.

He peered hard at her. Her eyes were glassy. Her breathing was shallow and rapid.

“Are you okay?” Damn it, he was starting to sound like a broken record.

Phoebe shook her head, then moaned. “I can’t…I can’t breathe.”

She pushed her hair back and fanned her face. The tattered shreds of her shirt parted. It was then that he got his first good look at her shoulder. He’d known she’d been injured, but then she’d gotten sick, and he’d realized he wanted her for his own, and—

Damn it, that wound is bad.

Sebastian blinked, his body vibrating with the need to destroy something. He should have noticed sooner, paid better attention.

He conjured bandages, thick pads of gauze. Beside him, she jolted, let out a soft cry, and tried to scoot away again.

Her shoulders rose and fell on shaky breaths. The vicious scar that ran down the side of her throat did nothing to calm him. Someone had done their damnedest to take her head off. It didn’t matter that she’d survived. That wound could have easily ended her.

Ended her before he’d ever found her.

How had he missed the scar or the wounds before? Granted the cave had been dark, and her long hair had been down, torn from the bun she’d worn earlier, tangling around her neck and shoulders in wild disarray. But he could see it now. And the sight of it was doing some freaky stuff to his insides.

“It’s so hot in here,” she slurred.

Sebastian’s attention shot to her face. Alarm flooded him. Hot? It couldn’t be more than sixty-five degrees in the house. He always kept his place cool. Maybe cooler than most. Kyanna and Carly were always complaining, accusing him of deliberately trying to freeze them out. But having spent a good deal of time roasting in the fires of Hell, AC was a luxury he refused to skimp on. No, the room wasn’t hot. Not by any means.

Phoebe swiped the back of her free hand across her damp forehead. Sebastian frowned and grabbed her arm. He turned it over with great care and examined the small red puncture wounds surrounded by angry purple bruises on her wrist.

Shit!

She’d been bitten. Not that the huge gashes in her shoulder couldn’t already be contaminated with venom, but the puncture wounds on her wrist and the angry coloration confirmed it. What kind of venom was the question. There’d been more than one species of demon in that cave. Best case scenario, it’d been a Charocté Demon. Worst case scenario, a Carpathï.

Not such a huge issue either way…if she were a demon. An angel stood a fighting chance. Slim, but a chance all the same. Even a Halfling with diluted blood might survive. Maybe.

But a human?

Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

His blood ran cold.

Now that he knew to look for it, he was beginning to scent the sticky sweet smell of venom taking hold in the blood seeping from her wounds. And he panicked. Not Carpathï venom, but something nearly as bad. Diffenidus venom. Beyond a doubt. He could tell by the distinctive scent, very similar to that of roses.