Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES) (60 page)

“Do you see Michael?”

“There.” Alice pointed to the base on the tower’s left side—the side that had collapsed, the side from which the dragon had come.

A spear of flame appeared through the swirling demons. Taylor’s heart jumped into her throat.
Michael.
She couldn’t see him within the surging crimson mob, only follow his progress by the glow of his weapon and the demons falling in his wake—hundreds of them slain in the few seconds that she watched, an army unto himself.

But he hadn’t gone in alone. “Where are Khavi and Anaria?”

“Repairing the tear between the realms, most likely. That is what they planned—if Lucifer broke through, Michael would protect them while they cast the spell to close the rift he made.”

Close it?
“Can they do the same on Earth?”

“I asked that, as well.” Her Gift flared again. Near the tower, demons and humans fled as the spider began dragging the dragon’s corpse toward the hovering Guardians, its weight digging a trench across the battlefield. “What Lucifer created is like a rip in the fabric between Chaos and Hell. It can be repaired—as if the spell were sewing it up. But the portal between Chaos and Earth is like a door. The frame becomes part of the structure, even if the doorway is bricked up.”

“But we
can
shut it?”

“That depends upon the spell Lucifer uses. Khavi believes that he will use his own blood. If he does, the door will only close when Lucifer is dead.”

That made it simple, then. They would have to slay him.

Simple, but far from easy.

Knots twisted in her stomach. How many more of their friends would die?

Michael teleported in front of her.

Her heart leaping from dread to joy, she stared at him. The flames of his spear glinted in his obsidian eyes. Crimson soaked his tunic and covered every inch of his armor and skin, but even as she looked at him, he vanished the demon blood, revealing bronze and steel and the feathered darkness of his wings.

“Andromeda Taylor.” Her name emerged as a broken song. “Are you well?”

Tears rushed into her eyes and filled her throat. “I’m not well at all, Michael,” she whispered hoarsely. “But I’m better now.”

A wild flap of her wings carried her across the distance between them. A thousand emotions passed over his features before she careened into his chest. Worry, disbelief, fear, joy, hope.

His lips met hers on the last. A soft kiss, so sweet—not good-bye, this time, but a welcome.

Her heart full, Taylor drew back and captured his face between her palms. “You should have told me about the symbols. About the resonance.”

His eyes closed. “I could not.”

The agony in his voice scraped her raw. The same pain that he’d been living with for . . . God, how long? How many times had she failed to see what was right in front of her?

“I should have seen it. Nothing fit.” But now wasn’t the time to discuss this. She stroked her fingers along his strong jaw, her thumbs meeting at his chin before sliding up to skim over his firm bottom lip. “We’ll talk later. Okay?”

Throat working, Michael nodded.

Then Jake was beside them, roughly scrubbing his palms over his shaved head in a gesture of frustration and worry. “There’s just one thing to say now: Fuckity-fuck fuck
fuck
.”

“Yes,” Michael agreed, cinching his arm around Taylor’s waist and drawing her against his side when he spoke, as if he had no intention of letting her go. “Return to headquarters. Colin and Savi need to begin monitoring Chaos in the mirrors. Lucifer won’t immediately form the new portal—he’ll need to find an advantageous location first, and attempt to gather the wyrmwolves and dragons.”

Nodding, Jake gave him a salute and disappeared.

Michael looked to Alice. “Keep the spiders nearby. We might need them again. I’ll take the dragon’s body into my cache later, if you will allow it.”

“I will.” She glanced toward the crimson tower. “How many demons went into Chaos with him?”

“Not as many as could have,” Michael said. “Only fifty or sixty thousand. We have the dragon to thank for that.”

Fifty thousand?
Taylor’s stomach seemed to hollow out. “We have only fifty Guardians.”

His dark gaze met hers. “More than enough. They cannot come through the portal all at once.”

God. Taylor wished she had half his confidence. But she wouldn’t be a Debbie Downer here. If he thought fifty Guardians could save the world, then she’d damn well bust her ass helping them do it.

His face hardening again, Michael swept around to face the crimson tower, carrying her with him. In the distance, a bright light rose through the pandemonium like a star.

Belial.

“My kin! Your lord has abandoned you!” His harmonious voice swelled across the battlefield, demons and humans and halflings falling silent in its wake. “I will never do the same. If you follow me, all past transgressions against me and my warriors will be forgiven, and I will lead you back to Grace. We will have peace!”

Breathing hard, Taylor closed her eyes. The demon’s voice seemed to reverberate through her, echoing his warm message. She struggled against it, forcing herself to focus on a detail that didn’t seem to fit.

“Is he really speaking in English?”

“It’s Arabic to me,” Alice said.

“Belial can speak in all languages at once,” Michael said. “Anaria can as well. His words are in the Old Language, but what you hear is closest to your understanding and to his meaning. And there is more that is unsaid.”

Taylor frowned. “Unsaid?”

“An echo beneath. Belial said that if the demons continue to fight, he will show them no mercy. And that he will be their savior.”

“They hear that?” Because she hadn’t.

“I do. The demons don’t—Lucifer took the ability from them. But the meaning is still understood.”

“It’s subliminal?”

Michael shook his head. “It’s overt, if you can hear it. Though the effect can be similar.”

His words must have had
some
effect. The demons had turned toward Belial’s shining light, lifting their weapons and chanting.

She didn’t recognize the language. “What are they saying?”

“They’re shouting for peace.”

“Do they really want it?”

“No.” With a wry smile, Michael met her eyes again. “If Lucifer returns, most of these demons will betray Belial. And others are plotting now to ingratiate themselves, so that they will attain more power in Hell—and, if necessary, use that position to ingratiate themselves with Lucifer again.”

“I guess demons aren’t big on trust.”

A short laugh escaped him. “No, they aren’t.” His gaze darkened as he searched her face. “We must return to Earth and prepare, but I need to see if Khavi and Anaria will join our fight when the portal opens. Come with me?”

Taylor couldn’t believe he had to ask. She might lose him. But he was here now—and she wouldn’t waste a second.

“Always,” she said.

Michael was dying—and he would
never
accept it. He would fight it until the last beat of his heart.

Renewed purpose pulsed through his veins. Fierce, hot. Not just his determination to stay alive long enough to destroy Lucifer and to see Andromeda safe. That wasn’t enough. He would defeat the dissonance killing him, too. He’d live long enough to love her as she deserved and as he wanted. No matter what he had to do. He would consume an entire dragon. He would crawl across the burning Pit. He would embark on a quest to another planet or an undiscovered realm and return with the cure in his hand. If it could be done, he’d find a way.

The only thing he couldn’t do was to ask Lucifer for help. Michael
would
have. He’d have prostrated himself before the demon lord if Lucifer knew of a way to save him. But anything he’d require from Michael in return would hurt someone else, forcing him to become a man that Andromeda couldn’t love.

That end would be the same as death.

A death that Michael already knew. No torture could compare to the agony of seeing Andromeda hurt and knowing he was the cause. No emptiness could compare to losing her. In the past few hours, he’d slain over a hundred thousand demons, but he’d felt nothing but the pain tearing at his heart and the purpose driving him forward. No rage. No hope.

Until she had returned to him.

And
this
was life. Andromeda at his side. Her fingers entwined with his. Knowing that she’d taken a step back, looked at him, saw the truth he’d tried to conceal—and even though she had every reason to lose faith in him and leave him to die, she was in his arms again.

Because she was his. Desperate not to hurt her, he’d been blind to it. But now he saw.

Andromeda was
his
. As certainly as Michael was hers.

But the dissonance threatened to tear them apart. At the thought of it, all of the heavens couldn’t contain his rage. She was his. How dare
anything
ever take her away?

Michael would never allow it.

And the heavens could never contain the joy he felt now, for every new second with her that Michael had never dared hope to have.

So he
would
defeat this. He couldn’t go to Lucifer. But his sister had learned to use the symbols and spells at the demon’s side. Anaria could help him. Neither she nor Khavi knew of any spell that could save him. But humans had been creating their own miracles through medicine and technology for thousands of years. Surely a grigori could think of
something
. He would bear any pain, endure any experiment she could conceive of, simply to have a chance.

Holding Andromeda close, he anchored to Khavi and teleported into the middle of Anaria’s army.

Surrounded by soldiers. Khavi at his right side. He shifted a dizzy Andromeda between them; Khavi would protect his love with her own life. No threat from the humans and halflings. Anaria hovered above, and they watched her with adoring faces—many of their minds singing guilt and shame, because they’d failed her.

They had failed to stop Lucifer. All of them had. But that only meant they’d been beaten. They weren’t defeated.

Michael would never accept defeat.

Neither would Anaria. Her compelling voice swelled across the ranks of men and women, humans and halflings, telling them the same. In Michael’s experience, after a difficult battle it usually took more than a few words to persuade a warrior to believe that. Beaten, not defeated.

Anaria only had to say it once.

He looked to Khavi, who was regarding Andromeda with a smile.

“I see that he finally told you,” she said.

“No.” Throwing off the last of the dizziness, Andromeda shook her head. “I figured it out.”

“As you do,” Khavi replied, and her sigh whispered more.
I am happy for you, my friend. And my heart breaks for you.

“No,” Michael said.
There will be no more broken hearts.
“Are you coming with us?”
I need your help to defeat Lucifer.

“Of course.”
Anaria, too?

“Yes. I need her help as well.”
To heal me.

Khavi gave him a look and said nothing. She focused on Andromeda instead. Eyes wide, her gaze swept across the multitude of soldiers surrounding them. Her fingers tightened on Michael’s.

“You need not worry,” Khavi said. “Anaria has her army well in hand.”

And between her voice and her appearance, she wraps their hands in chains.

Andromeda couldn’t hear the echo, but she didn’t miss the tone. Frowning, she glanced at Khavi. “Why do you say it like that?”

With her chin, Khavi gestured sharply to Michael. “They are twins, and they are both in their natural forms. Did you never wonder why Michael is so big and Anaria so small?”

Andromeda’s back stiffened slightly, and Michael grinned. She wasn’t any taller than Anaria. She wouldn’t like to think of herself as small.

“You are, too,” she pointed out.

“Yes,” Khavi agreed. “We look as Lucifer intended us to. And despite the differences in our size, we are equally strong. So why not make us all big? He wanted us to crush the world. That was our purpose.”

“Why make you big
or
small? Appearance doesn’t matter, right?”

“Not to us. Not to a Guardian. But to a demon?” Khavi answered her own question with a nod. “It matters, because it affects how humans perceive us. When we were born—and even now—many humans believed that men and women could fill only specific roles, and Lucifer intended to exploit that to the worst degree. So of the grigori, the males were supposed to crush people through physical intimidation. Whereas the females were supposed to take advantage of human weakness, to deceive with our slight figures and soft hands—so that we could lure men in before we destroyed them.”

Andromeda glanced up at Anaria again. “So you think that matters now? I thought it was her voice that affected everyone.”

“That’s part of it. But it is not the full explanation, because her voice
can
be resisted. As you have done—and as you do now. You also know not to trust appearances.” Eyes darkening, Khavi’s gaze swept over the army. “But many of her soldiers only see the softness and the beauty. They do not follow her because she is a great warrior—though she is. They do not trust her judgment because I am calculating strategy at her side and have done so for thousands of years. They trust her because she is small and soft and beautiful, and they believe in her for that reason. They want to protect and serve her for that reason.”

“But . . . you’re petite and gorgeous, too.”

“I am also hard and dark where she is soft and light.” Khavi gestured to her black wings, her obsidian eyes. “So her appearance fits the role they want to put her in, and they adore her for it. I do not fit so easily, and I make them uncomfortable, instead.”

Michael nodded when Andromeda looked to him for confirmation. Khavi’s words were both sharp and bitter, but not from jealousy—only frustration. And she was right. Whether male or female, some of the soldiers recognized Anaria’s skill and strength. But most simply adored her . . . and adoration was not respect.

“That sucks,” Andromeda said.

“Yes.” Khavi’s jaw hardened. “I cannot tell you how many men have challenged me for position as her general, and how many I have been forced to put in their place. Now, because of one battle, they will blame our loss on my gender and
my
size and my pretty little head, and I will have to start over again.”

“But they won’t blame her?”

“Of course not. They want to serve her. And my position is the closest they can come to her.”

Nodding, Andromeda glanced at Khavi again. “They challenge you—do you kill them?”

“I take some to the molten rivers.” Khavi shrugged. “But most men only need to be reeducated with a good thrashing.”

“No women?”

“A few. Usually, however, the women who come to me do not look for a challenge. They wish to learn from me, instead. They are not as stupid. Except . . .”

“Except for when they are just as susceptible to Anaria,” Andromeda guessed. “And just as obedient to her commands.”

“Yes.” Khavi grinned before looking to Michael. “Belial will demand our obedience, too. That is a certainty. He will call the combination of our armies an alliance for a short time. But he will not be able to tolerate their worship of Anaria—particularly after some of his demons will join us.”

Michael nodded. He did not need her Gift of foresight to know that Belial wouldn’t accept Anaria’s presence for long—especially if she began to tread on his toes.

And neither Belial nor Anaria would be able to stop themselves. He would want her army’s adoration; she would try to save his demons from their evil natures.

Andromeda’s brow creased. “Khavi, didn’t you have a prophecy where Belial takes the throne? Because Lucifer’s gone and Belial has won over all the demons. So that’s what he’s done, isn’t it?”

“Not yet. No one can take the throne while Lucifer is still alive.” Khavi shook her head. “What I saw before is all uncertain now. I saw Michael in the frozen field, I saw Anaria’s return from her sarcophagus beneath the sea, I saw the destruction of Michael’s heart—Anaria—when Belial destroyed her. But much has changed, and I cannot see some paths at all now. They contain too much that I do not know, or that I cannot conceive.”

Khavi could not see everything, but she was not wrong, either. His heart
had
been destroyed—though not by Anaria. Andromeda had done it with a single “fuck off.”

And with a single kiss, she’d healed it again.

In the sky, Anaria had finished her speech. Cheers rose around them, deafening chants of her name—and of declarations that they were not defeated. Michael tugged Andromeda closer to his side. She looked up at him, her gaze studying his face.

“Does it ever bother you that Belial is your father?”

She automatically lifted her voice over the din, but he would have heard her even at a whisper.

“No. Because Belial is not my father. The seed was his, but the demon is not the man who raised me. He is not the man who loved my mother and my sister and me.”

So Michael’s feelings toward Belial were uncomplicated. Nothing at all like his love for Anaria.

“Then why haven’t you slain him?”

“Because while he and Lucifer wage their war, they destroy each other’s demons. It also distracts their attention from Earth.”

Not fully. But every bit helped.

Andromeda’s nod stiffened when Anaria descended, landing silently on the red sand in her bare feet.

His sister’s gaze fell to their linked hands. Disappointment filled her sigh. “You were always thoughtless, Michael.”

Sometimes. But he suspected Anaria’s definition was different from his. “How am I thoughtless now?”

“The manner in which you use humans. How many did you take for your pleasure, without a thought to their feelings?”

Michael hadn’t counted. When he was young, he’d voraciously consumed food and sex in equal measures, and he’d accepted them from anyone who’d offered. Age, gender, appearance—none of it mattered, and he’d taken many different forms as well. But Michael couldn’t deny how thoughtless he’d been at times. He’d never deliberately hurt his lovers, yet he
had
hurt some of them—either by failing to return their feelings or when they’d expected more from him than he’d given.

If Anaria referred to Andromeda Taylor, however, there was no similarity. He had been thoughtless with her, too. But it was not the same, and the pleasures of the past were shallow compared to what he’d found with her. Of all the men and women he’d been with, nothing he’d experienced stirred his emotions as deeply as watching Andromeda take a single breath.

Michael didn’t expect Anaria to believe that. “That was many thousands of years ago,” he simply said.

“Yet you are obviously using this one now, making her fall in love with you and holding her at your side because her psychic song will keep you alive longer.”

Michael should have torn out her spine. He watched his sister’s compelling words stab Andromeda’s heart like a knife. He saw her believe them, heard the scream of pain rip through her psychic shields. Reeling from the swiftness of it, feeling as if an ax were embedded in his chest, Michael caught Andromeda’s face in his hands, desperately seeking the words that might convince her . . . but she had already closed her eyes.

Her psychic shields softened as she pushed the poison of Anaria’s voice away. “I can keep him alive longer?”

“If you open your mind,” his sister said.

“Is that true?” Andromeda glanced up at him.

Not a hint of distrust in her eyes, despite his sister’s words. Only warmth, hope.

Relief thickened his voice. “Yes. But not long. A day at most.”

“That is true, too,” Khavi said.

Without hesitation, Andromeda’s shields opened fully and her song poured beneath his skin, a soothing balm for the ever-present pain.

He preferred the pain. “I would rather your mind was protected.”

“And I’d rather you live longer.”

He did, too. But protecting her came first. “I don’t like the risk.”