Revelation (21 page)

“I…” She bit her lip. Wasn’t that what this was all about? To think that the two of them—or even the Tainted Host, with all their power and glory—could somehow stave off the end of the world…She hugged herself, chilled despite the heat. Lune’s warm embrace seemed a lifetime ago, but she’d be glad of it now. “I’d like to think I’d fight on. Would you?”

He shrugged, feathers twitching. “You can’t change fate,” he stated flatly, and nodded at the bonecrushers, who were groaning in the gutter clutching their swollen bellies. “Looks like the three stooges have finished their supper. Let’s go.” He adjusted his sword grip, and ghosted into the street.

Morgan sighed, checking her knife. He hadn’t answered her question. Still holding back from her. Seemed she wasn’t the only one with trust issues. And his fatalism chilled her blood. If they couldn’t alter their fate, then why bother fighting at all? Why not just ride the wave to its inevitable end?

But Luniel halted, looking back. His hair sifted over his armor, black and crisp like raw silk on silver, and his eyes shone, so deep a blue, it hurt to look at them. “For what it’s worth, Dr. Sterling: yeah, I do believe in fate. But the answer to your question is still hell, yes. I can’t sit and watch the world crumble. I’ll fight until the last star burns out. It’s what I was made for.”

“And what about your precious obedience?”

His gaze shadowed dark with some unknowable pain. “Fuck obedience. It isn’t over till it’s over.”

And he slipped from the shadows into the streetlight’s flickering glare, and as three ugly black bonecrushers shrieked and died in slashes of holy blue flame, unwilled warmth stole into Morgan’s heart like a thief.

The bonecrushers died too easily.

Their shiny black flesh sliced under Lune’s sword like slime. The stink of their guts sickened him, ripe with sour human fear. Shaking gore from his sword, Luniel stole a glance at Morgan from a shaft of moonlit shadow, and his heart skipped.

She looked so alive. Her honeyed eyes shone, her chin set strong, her rosy lips gleaming. Her muscles trembled taut with adrenaline and fear, and her breasts looked so beautiful in that tight t-shirt, the fabric stuck to her skin with sweat and blood
and spilled water. Her fingers curled around the skill-spelled knife, determined. If he listened, he could hear her heartbeat, swift and light, her elevated blood pressure spilling her delicious woman scent like a tempting aura.

She was wonderful.

Together, they crept down the dark alley between buildings to the next corner, beside a rust-stained brick wall. She stepped carefully, her boot soles scraping softly on the concrete. His own step was almost silent, but he had the benefit of wings and a few thousand years of practice. She had only guts and self-preservation.

Overhead, a security light buzzed, and she jumped, tense. A few seconds later he heard her breathe, and laugh softly at herself, and he couldn’t help a secret smile of his own.

She was afraid, yes, bewildered, overcome with strangeness and wonder. But she wasn’t broken. Not his brave doctor, whose vitality stung the air electric in his magical senses, tingling his feathers taut. Who walked like a goddess, statuesque and precious, but smelled like a woman, warm rose petals and spice and sultry feminine skin.

And he was leading her ever closer to a malevolent demon prince, who’d flay her soul alive if he ever found out that Lune…

His wings sparked hot. That he thought about her. Couldn’t get her out of his mind. Stole glances at her, over and over, when he thought she wouldn’t see, admiring the moonlight dancing over her hair. Imagined her firm skin shivering under his kiss, her soft gasp as he caressed those amazing breasts. He got hard just thinking about how she’d shuddered and sighed when he touched her oh-so-responsive nipples. She’d nearly come from that alone, and her climax was something he definitely longed to taste again. Next time, he’d tease those little buds until she lost it, flicking them with his tongue, pulling them into his mouth and suckling their ripe sweetness…

Lune gritted his teeth, flexing tight fingers around his sword’s grip.
Mind on the job, dickhead.
Lucky some stupid hellspawn hadn’t jumped his distracted ass a dozen times already.

Hell, the prince would flay her soul anyway. That’s what demons did.

But that didn’t make it okay to put her in danger. No matter how luscious she was.

A wet rustle around the corner made him halt, and Morgan touched his arm, her thigh brushing his. “What?” she whispered.

Lune liked how she stayed close. Almost as if she trusted him to protect her. It was a heady feeling. He’d missed it.

He sniffed the air for ashen hellspawn, and the curse’s noisome stench slimed his nose. He was more careful now, after the last one. “Zombie,” he whispered back. “Fresh. Not that far gone.”

“How many?”

“Just the one.”

Her eyes shone. “I want to try something. Give me one of those bombs.”

He frowned. “But the water doesn’t work for you.”

“They don’t know that, do they? Just give it to me. And don’t kill the zombie, okay? Not until I say.”

He shrugged, and handed over a jar.

She flashed him a smile, maddeningly alluring. “Ever see
The Exorcist
?”

“No.” He wanted to taste that smile. Kiss it. Teach her what else she could do with those ripe red lips.

“You’re about to become one. Just shut up and play along, angel,” she whispered, and winked, and he wanted her so hard, his vision flashed red.

Desire forged his conviction bright like spelled steel.
Sweet sin, woman. In another lifetime, I would own you.

She licked her bottom lip, staring as if she’d heard him. He swallowed, and vanished his sword with a soft word. And together, they leapt around the corner.

The zombie shambled right into them, muttering, and Lune couldn’t help sweeping Morgan behind him. The guy wore a cheap dark suit, maybe a young accountant or a stockbroker’s minion, and his cinnamon-brown hair curled tight on his scalp. Not a mutie. Perhaps he’d come here for drugs, fights, illicit thrills. But now the demon’s curse fouled his breath, and spun his eyes like pinwheels with crazy delight. He wasn’t rotting, not yet.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled, stumbling over his own feet. “White people. Shit. Knew this neighborhood was going to hell.”

“Not yet.” Lune grabbed his shoulder, immovable. Evil heat seared his palm through the suit. Together, he and Morgan forced the zombie up against the rust-stained wall.

The guy struggled, sweating. “Hey. Cut it out. I’ve got nothing you want…fuck me, man, you’ve got wings—ugh!”

Lune kneed him in the guts to shut him up. He glanced down at Morgan while holding the wriggling zombie against the wall one-handed. “Your turn.”

Morgan flipped the top off her water jar and thrust it before the zombie’s eyes. “Know what this is, freak?”

Her face was cold, her voice hard. The zombie shook his head, bewildered. “It’s just water, lady. What the h—aargh!”

She thrust it closer, and fear lit his diseased eyes scarlet. He jerked backwards, thrashing, his skull cracking the wall hard enough to bleed. “Get it away from me. Get it away! Ahh!” He flailed in panic, sick and bewildered. He was terrified, and he didn’t know why.

The poor bastard was still lucid. Still human. For a few minutes more, maybe.

Lune bit back foolish sympathy, and forced the guy still, slamming him harder into the wall. Once they were damned, they were damned. They couldn’t be saved. Eleanor taught him that.

Morgan dipped her fingers in the holy water and shook them in the guy’s face. “You like that, huh? Want some?”

His voice trembled. “No! Please. I don’t know what that shit is, lady, but I’ll do anything. Take my wallet, I’ve got cash—”

“I don’t want your money,” Morgan snapped. “Where’s your master?” She sounded tough, no-nonsense, Lune thought. Willing to do whatever it took. Did that make him the good cop?

“Master? What master?” His young face paled. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Morgan jerked her chin at Luniel. “Hurt him, baby. I don’t have time for this.”

In a flash, Lune saw where she was headed. His heart swelled with pride.
She’s clever, my lady.
He dipped a fingertip in the holy water and flicked a few sizzling drops onto the zombie’s face.

The zombie howled, and his eyes sprang scarlet, the curse provoked alight. His teeth gnashed wet. “Get away from me, angel, before I munch your bitch to meat.”

“That’s more like it,” said Morgan smoothly, though her face paled a little. “You hungry? Huh? Who feeds you? Where’s your master?”

The zombie just screamed, throwing his head back and shaking it like a howling wolf.

The curse made the little shit strong. Lune murmured a swift appeal to glory and raised his palm, the Tainted’s lightning sigil glowing blue. “Show me, hellspawn.”

The zombie thrashed, blue flames licking his skin, but the sigil burn spell shuddered and drifted loose. The curse was still in its infancy, and the demon’s sigil wouldn’t show. Frustrated, Lune jammed the heel of his hand into the thing’s forehead.
Flesh sizzled. It screeched foul words, the demon’s curse retreating inside him, and the holy flames snapped out.

The zombie panted, sweating. Its pupils shone black with shock. Terrified. Only a faint twirl of scarlet, the curse licking its wounds deep inside.

Morgan gasped. “He’s cured!”

But the zombie wasn’t cured, Lune knew. Just lucid, for the moment, the curse not yet rooted deeply enough to brush off Lune’s spell immediately. And the abject horror in the guy’s eyes as he gasped for air said it all. He remembered. Knew what he was, what he would become.

Morgan gripped Lune’s arm, tense. “Do that again! It’s working!”

“No, it isn’t.” He cracked a fist across the guy’s jaw. The head flung to the side, mouth bleeding.

“Lune! Jeez.” Morgan glared at him, fiery. “Chill out, will you?”

“Watch,” said Lune coldly. “You started this. Just watch.”

Helplessly, the guy licked his bleeding lips. Sucked them. Swallowed the blood. Groaned in disgust, but in desperate hunger, too. “Oh, God. No. Please. Help me. I can’t—”

“You like that? Huh?” Lune pressed his palm over the guy’s lips, forcing more blood into his mouth. Sympathy was pointless. Only killing the demon prince could stop the curse. And soon this guy would be rabid and useless. Lune didn’t have time for niceties. “Eating your own blood? You want to go there? Just keep on lying to us.”

The zombie spluttered red. “I’m not lying to you, man! I don’t know what the fuck you’re—”

“Yes, you do. Think. What happened after they bit you? Who cursed you?”

The guy’s eyes widened. His bleeding lips quivered. “I…I thought I was having a nightmare. Zombies everywhere, all the screaming and shit…Some thin white dude with white hair. The Prince of Poison, they called him. He laughed at me, and this…thing…crawled down my throat. Like a…a hot worm, or something. I choked, I couldn’t stop it. And then…”

“Where, kid? Tell me where.”

Tears streaked his cheeks. “Oh, God. I’ve got it. I’ve got the virus, haven’t I?”

“Where?” Lune and Morgan demanded at the same time.

The zombie waved his arm, at first in some general direction, and then his mouth tightened and he pointed, unwavering. “That way. By the river, where the housing project’s all burned up. Not far. That’s where they all are. That white-haired motherfucker and his crazy-ass gang.” Sobs broke his voice. “I can feel him, laughing at me! I’m a dead man, aren’t I?”

Lune gulped. Memories of Eleanor swamped him. Laughing at him as she made love to her demon master. Taunting him…

“No.” He cut off Morgan’s reluctant affirmation. “No, you’re not. You’ll live forever.”
Probably in hell,
he added silently. But he didn’t have the heart to say it. “You just have to believe.”

The zombie nodded, trembling. “God is great, man. I believe in his prophet. You’re an angel, right? A holy guy? Pray for me.”

Lune swallowed. Like that’d do any good. “Close your eyes, kid,” he said softly, and the shivering zombie obeyed.

Morgan tugged Lune’s arm, eyes flashing.
Don’t,
she mouthed, frowning.

I have to,
he replied, and before she could say more, he called down his flaming blue sword and slit the zombie’s throat.

The zombie gurgled, and fell, dead.

Morgan whirled, flinging the holy water away in fury. “You killed him! With the curse still inside!”

“Better than letting him live through it.” Lune shrugged, tight. “You think I did it for fun?”

“But it was working! We could’ve cured him!”

“Jesus, you’re not on about cures again? What part of it don’t you get?” He swiped his fingers through the zombie gore on his sword, and it sizzled dry on contact. He held up his crusted fingers for her to see. “He was hell-cursed! I can’t cure that! All the holy water does is react to the evil.”

She stared, plucking frantically at the hem of her t-shirt. “But…but you cured yourself. I saw you. In your apartment. Why can’t you do the same for him?”

Luniel flushed. Even after so many years, shame still burned like hellfire. “That wasn’t me, Morgan,” he admitted softly. “I have to call down glory for that.”

“So? Why don’t you?”

“Do you know how much that bloodspell hurts?” The evasion stung his tongue like a lie. “Every time I do it, I wipe
myself out. I can’t risk that on the battlefield. And even if it worked, who’s going to decide which two or three we pick before I can’t do it anymore? You?”

She shook her head, frustrated. “That’s no excuse. Surely you can take a little pain to save a life!”

His stomach folded, sick. She knew he was avoiding the real answer. She deserved the truth, even if it made her despise him. “Because heaven’ll say no, okay? Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?”

She stared, and shrank back. “But—”

“Believe me. I’ve tried. I have to beg them on my fucking knees and they don’t give me much. They keep me alive, but that’s all they care about.”

Morgan swallowed, but her eyes blazed. “So you’re more important to them than some poor human, are you?”