Redemption (A NOVEL OF THE SEVEN SIGNS) (25 page)

He sighed, defeated. “I guess I am.”

“Then I have four words for you.” She rested elbows on slim knees, all her amusement fled. Just heartfelt truth.
“Love isn’t a sin
.”

Bloody horror clotted in his throat.

Yeah, he wanted Rose. Thought about her. Couldn’t carve her from his mind. That didn’t mean he had
affection
for her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said tightly. “This woman, she’s…she’s just screwing with my mind. That’s all it is.”

“Then why are we even having this conversation?”

He shrugged, jerky, but he couldn’t meet her eyes.

Iria touched his knee, just an affectionate flutter of fingers. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do. No one can. But take a long stroll in the hall of mirrors, my friend, because if you ask me, something’s rotten in the state of Frosty-ass. Last week, you would’ve shaken this off without a second thought. What’s changed?”

He didn’t know what to say. Because nothing had changed.

Nothing. Except redemption was truly within his reach. And he’d throw it away, for… What? A kiss that lasted a few seconds? The dark delight of illicit fire in his blood?

Jesus fucking Christ, he
seriously
needed his head examined. “I don’t know,” he admitted, past teeth clenched cold. “She’s different. That’s it. I don’t get it.”

“Then it’s time you found out, instead of running in the other direction.” Iria’s gaze spiked him, deadlier than her crossbow bolts. “I don’t pretend to understand what goes on in that messed-up head of yours, but I do know you can’t fight your feelings by pretending them away.”

Sweat popped hot bubbles on his skin. He’d rather fork his own eyeballs out. At least physical pain was simple.

Then do it.
Temptation licked his bones.
Take the easy way. Kill the bloodsucking bitch, and you’ll never have to deal with the mess. She’ll be gone. Finished. An ugly memory.

But poisonous roots of doubt wriggled into his heart, and he couldn’t yank them free.

Iria sighed. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Mike called, apparently there are some asses in Bhutan that need kicking. Are you—?”

“Can I ask you something?” It came out in a rush, before he knew what he wanted.

A shrug. “Fire away.”

“Do you believe in redemption?”

She laughed, her beautiful chin lifting. “Do I seem like I want back into Club Holy?”

“No, I mean…when you were Tainted, did they…” He tried to swallow, but his chest felt stuffed with bricks. “Did you understand?”

Iria tossed shimmering black hair. “I should hope so. It was right after I told Michael to go fuck himself.”

“Oh. I, uh…guess that’ll do it.” But his stomach sank. He hadn’t said anything, that chilly day. They’d fought a battle, won a victory. He’d done his job. That was all.

I know what you are, Japheth. Think you can hide from me? Think again.

A shadow flitted demon wings across Iria’s face. “Yeah. Wasn’t funny at the time, let me tell you. I guess you missed the Crusades, huh?”

“Mongolia,” he admitted. “Michael still had the shits.”

“Know how you feel. Anyway. Holy Land, twelfth century. Real barrel of laughs. We were all set up to rape Jerusalem, on the Pope’s side this time—shit, I don’t even remember what year this was, we’d climbed that fucking tree so many times—and Michael and his host had it all figured out. I was there in King Richard’s tent, Japheth. I heard Michael tell that bunch of prayer-mad knights and lords exactly how they’d take the city. When we got there, the hellshits slaughtered us.”

Japheth shrugged tightly. “It happens.”

“Not like this.” She gave a helpless little laugh. “They knew we were coming. Envywraiths had possessed Saladin’s army, you see, and Michael had done a deal with them. The city, in return for ratting out their demon prince. The scaly mothers sliced and diced every one of those God-fearing knights and lords until the sand was drenched in scarlet. Angels, too. His own heavenly host, Jae. All to get a piece of this one demon prince who’d pissed him off.”

Iria recrossed her legs. “So when the blood dried? I told him what I thought of him. Next thing, I had dirt smashing into my teeth.” She mimicked Michael’s cruel diamond-cutting tones. “‘Word of advice, Iria of the Tainted. Know your place. And it’s wherever the fuck I say it is.’”

For a moment, Japheth closed stinging eyes, a silent prayer for the lost. But rebellion was a sin, and Michael was the boss. You didn’t ask questions. The heavenly host had a simple
chain of command, archangel to officer to common soldier. You obeyed, or you were punished. And he’d always obeyed. Right until the end. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you? I wasn’t. If Michael’s shitty honor makes me a sinner? Sign me up, brother.” Iria folded dark wings against the ochre cushions. “I did wonder, though, why they put up with him. Gabriel and the rest, I mean.”

“That’s one of those questions you don’t ask. It’s just because.”

“No,” said Iria simply. “It’s because they need him, to do the jobs they can’t. Jobs like hunting out this Azaroth and his Dark Apocalypse while thousands of humans die horribly. The same reason Michael needs
you
.”

Japheth’s skull clanged, a newly resonant chord. He knew that, of course. Dirty jobs were what the Tainted Host were for. But…

Iria smiled softly. “Their precious rules cripple them, don’t you see? Without us, they can’t win. Well, I say screw their rules. It doesn’t make ’em better than us. Think about that, next time you’re flagellating your sorry ass over your girl.”

She’s not my girl,
he almost snapped. But futility glued his tongue still. While Rose Harley languished in his apartment, with his mark burned into her forehead? Most definitely
his girl
.

But he shivered. He’d already debased himself for her. She’d already crawled under his skin. Cutting her out was gonna hurt. Blood would drench the floor before he was through, and it wouldn’t all be hers.

Iria was right. Time he stopped pretending he hadn’t screwed up. He had to deal with this crazy emotional shit, before he daydreamed his way into a demon ambush and got his sentimental ass killed.

Before his treacherous heart landed him in hell.

But what did that even mean? What he felt was…admiration. Protectiveness. Tenderness, even. How could he fight that? Why should he have to? Weren’t they good things?

“Ooh, I see cogs turning in there.” Iria’s eyes twinkled, rain-sparkled forest leaves. “See? Auntie Iria’s not such a bitch on wheels after all.”

He flushed. “I never said—”

“No, you never said. Full points for keeping your mouth shut all these years, sweetie. But
hiding
your feelings was never your problem, was it? Maybe you should try letting them out for a change.”

Inwardly, he shuddered. Last time he’d let his feelings show, a building caught fire. Things were gonna get broken.

But it was better than the alternative. Better than losing himself in the dark sultry splendor that was Rose Harley, and ending up howling in hell.

Iria stood, and retrieved her breastplate, dusting it off with one glossy black wing. “Now I’ve
really
gotta go. You’re not invited to this Bhutan shindig, eh? Mike got you washing his underwear, or something?”

“Or something.” He caught her wingtip as she passed. Her dark feathers were smooth and cool in his palm, her perfumed scent a revelation. “Iria?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.” It burned his throat, unaccustomed softness. But it felt good.

A dark-lashed wink. “You’re welcome, you frosty-assed son of a bitch.”

CHAPTER 22

Japheth flashed out of Iria’s dressing room—he’d taken a small pile of her clothes, jeans and a few shirts or something—and she gazed after him, absorbed.

For a legendary two-thousand-year-old demon slayer? The guy had no fucking clue.

She snorted, and buckled on her breastplate, tugging her undershirt straight. Seriously? He was like a little boy, asking his mom if it was okay to play in the mud. The kind of wild, rage-filled kid who got upset and broke things, because he didn’t know how to cry.

A handsome, muscled-up kid, mind you, with crushable golden hair and wild eyes, who smelled like caramel latte and sex. Hoo boy. She didn’t envy him, trying to fend off the ladies while he walked around Babylon in that panty-wetting package. But a kid nonetheless.

And it turned out the kid had a heart.

Who knew? She’d always thought Japheth as chilly inside as he pretended on the outside. And now he was dating—ahem—what prim and proper matrons used to call
an unsuitable woman
. Better than a soap opera.

Not a human, or an angel.
Worse
, he’d said. Iria frowned.
Holy crapola, Goldilocks better not be banging a demon. She’d have to tell Dashiel, and shit would surely fly…

Linen rustled, and a man leaned in her bedroom doorway on one forearm. Her bed sheet was wrapped around his hips. He messed his strawberry-blond hair, muscles fighting in his bare chest. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Uh-huh.” Iria eyed him critically. Long legs, slim waist, abs of steel. Not bad. Prettier than the usual tourist trash who frequented this island. She did like that hair. And a sexy Norwegian accent. He’d felt good, trembling between her thighs. “More like afternoon.”

“Yeah. I guess I slept in.” A sheepish smile, timid little brother to last night’s cocky grin.

Iria’s nose tweaked. They were so cute, when they met their match. She’d pulled him from the dance floor in some neon-lit nightclub, the playboy all the girls swooned over and all the guys secretly wanted to beat the shit out of. So confident, in his black leather coat and perfectly fitting jeans. He’d thought he could tease her, play her, make her beg for him.

Her smile darkened, sultry. They all thought they could play her. But who always ended up doing the begging? Not this little black-winged angel. “Yeah, I guess you did, uh…?”

“Thor.”

Like the god of thunder. Right. “Yeah. Of course. Thor. Look, Thor, I’ve gotta go. You can show yourself out, right?” She buttoned her smooth leather pants and bent to pull on her boots, flashing him a sweet view of her snugly clad rear.

He slipped a warm hand over her ass, easing between her thighs. “Where you off to so fast? I thought we might stay in. Play a few more games.” He nuzzled warm breath into her wings. “That thing you do with your feathers on my cock? When you tie me up? That is
so
hot.”

Yeah, right.
She wriggled her toes into her boot and snapped the clips tight.
Hot
was the tone of his voice as he’d pleaded with her to have mercy on him, fuck him, let him come.
Been there, done that, this one’s broken. Bored now.
“Gotta work. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“So be late.” He kissed the back of her neck. “You’re so fucking sexy in silver.”

She smacked the last clip to tighten it, and shoved him away. “Save it, kid. Momma’s busy.”

She strode into the sunlit dayroom and plucked her silver crossbow from the kitchenette bench. Already polished, the wicked bolts fresh and sharp. She flexed her muscle groups experimentally. All fluent, nothing twingeing. She was a professional. She took care of her weapons.

Citrus excitement sparkled in her mouth. Michael had mentioned something about fearwraiths in Bhutan. She liked shooting fearwraiths. Their spells shivered every nerve alive, every muscle aquiver with sweet terror. The danger turned her on. Anything she’d done with baby Thor last night was insipid by comparison. Cutting arrogant men down to size was fun, sure. She liked dominating them. But the fight…

Iria slung her crossbow over her shoulder and tied back her hair. Just her and the boys, on the hunt. Trillium, by choice. The others were more conventional, if no less deadly. But Trill was all cunning and craft, a dirty fighter, fiercely competitive, matching her kill for kill. It was a heady rush, better than drugs or booze or lazy power games with strangers.

So much better than anything she could get around here.

She sighed as she strapped her forearms with leather bracers, ready for battle. Jesus. She really needed to find a decent man. A real man, who could give her as good as she gave.