Revelation (9 page)

And don’t I feel like an asshole right now.
Inwardly, Lune swore. She was smart. Driven. Too damn persuasive for his good.

She swallowed, and sighed. “Look, I know you probably don’t care. But we’re hunting the same prize here. We can help each other, whether you want to call it searching for this Quuzaat, or finding a cure for Manhattan. Different words, same ending. Everyone wins.”

“I get that.” He tried to keep his voice gentle. “I really do. But I still can’t take you out there, Morgan. These demons are dangerous. It’s not safe.”

“Monsters? Are you trying to scare me?” She laughed harshly. “The city’s dying, angel. Is that really the best you can do?”

In the distance, glass shattered. Lune’s ears pricked, and he lifted his finger for silence. He sniffed the air, rot and ashes. Cocked his head. Looked up.

And the ceiling broke open, and a pile of screeching imps
poured down on them in a hail of ash. Talons slashing, spiked leathery wings flapping like manic-ass bats.

Morgan stumbled backwards, trying to shield her face with her hands. Lune dived for her, wings streaked back, and rolled with her under the trolley.

Bat wings slapped the metal, a cloud of sulfury stink. He covered her with his body, his feathers a protective shield, and hissed a sparking blue resistance charm that made the filthy critters screech and howl.

Her heartbeat raced against his chest, her warm body so sweet under his. He gathered her up, ready to leap, and flicked his gaze upwards. “You believe me now?”

“Right this instant? I’m prepared to give you a chance.” Morgan gazed up at him, her eyes wide but her chin firm, and Lune’s heart did a besotted backflip.

Keep her. Protect her. Make her his own.

Oh, heaven. Here we go again.

Luniel whirled them both out from under the trolley, and dived through the window.

Broken glass exploded. Morgan screamed. The angel’s arms tightened around her, and they crashed through the metal security mesh, hit the sticky alley pavement behind the CME building and rolled as one. Streetlights glared, the stink of hot asphalt and cigarettes. The smelly bat-things flapped and clawed at her hair, but couldn’t reach her.

Not bats. Demons. And they’ve come for us. For me.

Luniel leapt to his feet, and pushed her behind him with a sleek black wing. “Stay back,” he ordered her. Blinding blue light flashed, and a fiery sword the color of midday sky flared to life in his grip.

Morgan staggered, falling into broken glass that stung her palms. Her thoughts tumbled in free fall.
Fiery sword. Demons. O-kaay.

The bat-things sniggered and flapped in a swirling mass, sharp teeth bared. The size of large cats, covered in ragged fur and scales. Their rotting-meat stench made her retch.

Luniel crouched, sword balanced lightly in his right hand. Blue flame dripped, liquid light. “Come get it, chuckles,” he snarled, and dived in headlong.

Morgan stared, openmouthed. His flight was a thing of beauty. Surely such a heavy, muscle-bound creature couldn’t swoop and dive so effortlessly. How did he even get off the ground? Let alone fight airborne with such sharp, deadly grace?

He angled his wings, driving the air to breeze as he flipped and rolled. Blue light flashed. Blood splashed, black and fetid, and decapitated bat bodies flew, heads splattering the pavement.

The creatures screeched, and speared for him, teeth gnashing, their leathery wings a blur.

One flew for Morgan’s face, cackling, wicked talons outstretched. She shrieked and swatted at it, shielding her eyes.

A neon-blue bolt seared her cheek, and the bat-thing dropped in two halves at her feet with a stinking squelch.

“I said stay back, not jump in.” Luniel’s gaze drilled her, blazing with the heat of the fight. His sooty hair knotted wild. Clawmarks slashed his cheekbone crimson, but as Morgan stared, the skin sizzled and healed over, perfect. “I can take a scratch from this filth. You can’t.”

“But—”

His left hand flashed out, and he crushed a bat in his fist, inches from her ear. He threw the smoldering carcass away. “Just do as I say, Morgan. Fight me later.” And he whirled, and pushed her behind him again, and spun his blade in challenge.

The remaining bats coalesced and dived as one, and he leapt over them and slashed, backhanded. Bodies flopped dead. And he grabbed the last one by the throat and slammed it against the wall.

The contact sizzled, burning his hand. He paid no notice. “Who sent you, hellshit?”

The bat-thing cackled, and spat green vitriol.

Luniel ducked, and the acid hit the sidewalk and burned a smoking hole. He squeezed harder, biceps bulging. “Tell me and I’ll make this quick.”

“Your ass on a pitchfork,” it growled, and laughed.

“Have it your way.” Luniel clunked his sword down, grabbed the thing’s rubbery black wing and ripped it off.

Bone crunched, a splash of blood. The bat shrieked and writhed, and started sobbing.

Morgan’s guts twisted. She wanted to cover her ears. The thing had tried to kill her. But such cruelty…

“Dry your eyes, shitball.” Remorseless, Luniel twisted the other wing, threatening. “You’ve still got two arms and two legs once I’ve finished with this. Then I’ll start in on your balls. Who sent you?”

“Luniel, stop it. Let it go.” Morgan grabbed his arm, trying to drag him away.

Luniel shook her off. “Morgan, get b—motherfucker!”

His grip slipped, and abruptly, the cunning bat stopped wailing, and launched itself at Morgan’s face.

Its neck elongated like a serpent’s. Sharp teeth connected, ripping her cheek. Pain seared.

Luniel yanked the thing off her and punched it, hard, twice. Its nose splurted black, but it cackled in glee. “Screw you, angel,” it crowed, and with a final triumphant screech dived for its own chest and chewed its own heart out.

Steaming blood gushed down Luniel’s arm. The thing stopped thrashing, and Luniel cursed and tossed the mangled carcass away.

Morgan’s cheek burned, sharp like a wasp sting. Her tongue ballooned. She couldn’t move her jaw. Her throat was swelling closed. She gulped for air, fumbling in her pocket for her asthma inhaler. “Ugh. Mmm.”

Luniel jumped for her, cradling her in his arms. “Shit. Morgan, stay with me.” His voice strained raw. “I’ve got you. Just keep your eyes open.” He murmured a charm, some bizarre hissing language she didn’t understand, and pressed his palm to her cheek.

White light seared, dazzling her. Pain sizzled like fire. Her eyes burned, and she choked, the swelling receding enough to let her gulp a breath. The stink of singed hair stung her nose. She panted, aching, relief washing her lungs fresh. Air never tasted so good.

Luniel stroked her hair back. “Shh. S’okay, darling. Breathe.”

Her resolve weakened, dizzy. His embrace felt good. Safe. She wanted to stay there.

But she pushed away, and sucked down two deep puffs from her inhaler. The taste embittered her tongue. Her throat muscles relaxed, but her pulse still raced. He’d saved her life, maybe. But to what end? And at what cost?

She touched her cheek. The wound was gone. Like it never
was. “What was that?” she managed, hoarse. “Did you cast a spell on me?”

He stared, his mouth tightening. The demon’s teeth marks had been transferred to his own cheek, and this time they bled freely down his face instead of healing. “Sure,” he retorted. “It’s called ‘how’d you like breathing?’ Working well for you?”

She coughed, her throat raw. “I’ve got medicine for that.”

“Your human drugs won’t work on demon poison.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No?” He strode up to her, his eyes glinting golden. “Here’s one for you, then: never trust a demon. No matter how it cries its lying eyes out.”

“But—”

“They play for your sympathy, Morgan. Your trust. Your compassion.” His hard gaze didn’t drop. “Every. Little. Weakness. Don’t listen to them. Never trust them. Ever.”

She folded her arms, defensive. He’d just described himself perfectly, hadn’t he? “Right. I should trust you, though?”

“Have I lied to you yet?” A challenge, magnetic.

She couldn’t look away. “I don’t know,” she admitted, after far too long a moment. Of course he’d lied. Everything about him was a lie.

No matter that he looked directly at her, and his face held no deceit, and his eyes burned always with the steady fire of truth.

He gave a humorless laugh, and turned away, but not before she saw his jaw clench in disappointment. “Clue for you, Dr. Sterling,” he said harshly, ruffling his feathers in tight. “Be nice to me. Or next time a demon chews your face off? I might just let you choke.”

Lune retrieved his sword, avoiding her gaze. He’d shown her too much. And now she feared him. But seeing her strangling to death because he hadn’t kept her safe…His fingers clenched around the bloodstained grip. Curse her.

She watched him, wary. “So what now?”

“Now, we get the fuck out of here before more of them show up,” he replied shortly. His wounded cheek stung and swelled, and he wiped it roughly with his wrist. And then he realized what he’d said.

We
. Jesus.

Taking her with him was stupid. Trying to protect her was even stupider. But the most thickheaded stupidity of all was that he hadn’t thought. Hadn’t considered his options when those imps crashed through the ceiling.

He’d just grabbed her and fled.

Like protecting her came naturally. Like he hadn’t spent the last eight hundred years beating that protective impulse out of himself with slaughter and fury and lithe, pretty angel girls he didn’t really care for.

So just fuck her.
Dashiel’s imagined voice sounded in his head.
Screw your no-human-women thing. Take her to your bed and show her a good time. Your smart-ass attitude will scare her away soon enough afterwards. Don’t sweat it.

But he couldn’t. Not him.

Even though he refused to take human women, abstinence wasn’t an option. Heaven, he was male, and unlike Japheth, he wasn’t a saint. But sex had always meant something, even with the angel girls, who sometimes got besotted and had to be avoided. Some just giggled and called him
cute
or
old-fashioned
. He preferred to think of it as
steadfast
.

Making love to a girl didn’t mean he wanted her more than once. But his lovers became part of him, in some tiny way. He was there for them, even if it just meant a shoulder to cry on, or doing the menacing friend thing to chase away amorous morons in bars.
Everyone’s bloody big brother,
Dash would scoff, and he was right. For better or worse, Lune was one of those rare guys who said
call me if you ever need anything
and actually meant it.

For all the fucking good it had done him. Taking Morgan Sterling anywhere near his bed—or anywhere else he could lay her down and strip her naked with his teeth—was out of the question. He was already too fascinated with her for his own good. If demons got a whiff of it, she’d be helltoast before he could blink.

Just like Eleanor.

And just like with Eleanor, the guilt would tear him apart.

“Hold on just one second, okay?” Morgan said. “Can we get a few things straight first?”

He clenched frustrated teeth. “Sure. Why not. Can we make it quick?”

“We sure can.” She lifted her pretty chin, defiant. “I don’t appreciate being violated. I said I wanted to come with you. That doesn’t mean you can do whatever you like to me.” She dusted her hands down her white coat, an unconscious move. Like she was trying to return to normality. But her breath rasped too fast, her face too pale. Lune could hear her heartbeat, racing, like he’d felt it against his chest when he thrust his hands into her hair and opened her mouth under his and…

Fever washed him, dizzying. He swiped his stinging cheekbone. Blood dripped, discolored dark with demon venom.
Poisoned. Great. Good thinking, Lune. You know what you’ll have to do to get rid of that.

He concentrated on cleaning his hands, deliberate. “Violated, huh? I’m sorry, did I save your life? My mistake.”

She flushed, but kept her gaze steady. “I appreciate your concern. But I don’t remember saying that it was okay for you to…flash your mojo on me, or whatever that was. In the future, I’ll thank you to discuss it with me beforehand.”

“Give me a break. It was for your own good!”

Her eyes flashed, furious. “Yeah. It’s always ‘for their own good’ with people like you. You lie and seduce and take everything, and it’s always ‘for their own good.’ Well, not me, angel. The only one who takes care of my ‘good’ is me. You got that?”

Luniel gritted his teeth, and vanished his sword in a flash of blue. “Sure. Whatever. You coming or not?”

“And where exactly would we be going?”

To hunt Quuzaat, of course.
But he hesitated. His fingers itched where grabbing that hellspawn had scorched him. Already his wing muscles burned with venom.

He coughed, and spat stained phlegm. Awesome. He’d done more than he’d shown Morgan when he’d charmed that demon slash from her face. Healing humans was…well, it was kind of forbidden, unless you were Jesus Christ, which Lune most certainly wasn’t.

Not that he gave a spit about the rules these days, but it meant the spell didn’t work all that well, at least not for him. He’d had to take the damage himself, and because she was human, he was healing like a human. Which was to say, slowly and painfully.

His blood scorched, sick. The venom hissed and ate away
inside him. He couldn’t fight like this. He needed to take care of himself or they’d both be demon fodder.

“My place,” he replied shortly.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Yeah, I’m a real funny guy. Just do as you’re told for once, human. I haven’t forgotten about that spanking.”

She folded her arms defiantly, tossing her hair over her shoulder, but her mouth quirked in tempting curiosity. “You’ve got a place? In Babylon?”

Blood stained her chin. He wanted to kiss it off. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, sweating. “I need to get a few things. Is there a subway near here?”