Soul Stealer (32 page)

“I thought you were dead. I signed the papers myself.”

Great. The doc remembered him. Swell.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you before now.” He didn’t have the energy to try and explain his existence away. Better to just deny.

“A lot happened that day, but that is one thing I distinctly remember. You were on the table, dead.”

Michael had always been a persistent prick of an angel. Voro was desperately wishing for a little of that old Sin Eater mind control, but it was all gone; gobbled up with his apparent “salvation.” It likely wouldn’t have worked on an angel anyway, come to think of it.

Then again, he’d been in Michael’s head once. Even though that was supposed to be impossible …

“Don’t think on it too much Doc,” Voro muttered, struggling to his feet. They had other pressing issues to deal with. Vinnie helped him up by the arm.

“I’m trying not to. I’ve been seeing far too much weird shit today.” The doc appraised him briefly before snapping, “So what the hell is happening?”

“Don’t know what you mean. I was just out for a jog.”

“With a crossbow? You look like a guerilla soldier for fuck’s sake.”

Hearing Michael swear was enough to sober Voro up completely. “Look, Doc, there are things you really, really don’t need to know. But those guys back there can absolutely, positively not get anywhere near you again. I need to make sure that they don’t. And I have to kill the leader – that guy that really gave you the shit-your-pants fear.”

“He didn’t have a face.”

“Not really, no.”

“Was that a … a demon?”

Voro ran a hand over his hair. “No. Not a demon, thank God.” He shuddered at the thought.

“Then what? What the hell is going on? And what are you?”

A good question that Voro had no real answer for. “Formerly known as Sin Eater now Angel Avenger” is kind of a mouthful. It also sounded fucking nuts.

“What are you?” Vinnie was raving, the panic starting to raise his tone to a comically-high tone. “I have an open mind for the most part but this is … this is something different.”

Voro chuckled. “Different? Yes, yes it is.”

Chapter Thirty

Claudia was aware of the wind hitting her skin, blowing her hair back over her shoulders, tingling where her skin was wet. She looked down, not recognizing this bizarre outfit of animal skins that left her arms and most of her legs bare. There was blood on her skin, red trails that crisscrossed her arms and legs, and she felt the same warm wetness on her face. When she licked her lips she tasted copper. A heavy iron broadsword was in her hand, but as she raised it to study the gorgeous and intricate carvings along its soiled blade it was not as heavy as she thought. Solid surely, but she was more than capable of swinging it.

Adrenaline sang in her blood. She was breathing, panting, not only from exhaustion but from the thrill of a fight. She had killed a lot of people. People that wanted to kill her so she couldn’t bring down their God.

Claudia frowned at the oddness of the thought, but she definitely had the feeling that she had helped take out an insanely dangerous religious order of some kind.

There was grass below her feet, darkening as the sky was fading in late twilight. The wind was cooler, but it smelled damp and like green, living things. She brought her face up, taking in a sweeping vista of a green slope moving down away from her, dropping abruptly, creating a harsh line between the grass and a churning sea.

The dying were screaming behind her, only wisps of their cries reaching her over the rushing water and her own heartbeat.  Jesus, this felt absolutely terrifying and fantastic.

She turned back to the battlefield, a gasp catching her off guard at the sight of human carcasses strewn across the gorgeous scenery like some kind of sick, abstract art project. Others dressed like her moved about the piles of bodies, running someone through here and there, ending the voices that cried for mercy one by one. They were all adorned in black robes, likely making it difficult to wield a broadsword.

The sight of all thos
e bodies calmed her. She’d won something. Peace. Salvation. Claudia was absolutely triumphant.

She wiped her forehead with her free hand and started up the slope to where her kin were showing battlefield mercy to their enemies. They were mostly women, she realized as she drew nearer. And the forms on the ground were mostly women as well. A cold prickle started up her back as she drew nearer, wondering where the men were.

People were speaking a strange language around her, somewhat English but not quite, with a very strong accent she couldn’t place but it didn’t seem odd to her. She understood them.

Her people, somehow. She knew her bloodline ran back as far as the bedrock jutting out from the grass here and there. But she didn’t know if it was really her or just the dream that had this kinship. All faces that turned to her were smiling, nearly looking mad with victory and bloodlust racing through them.

Claudia’s eyes scanned the group, finally finding the form she was looking for. He was already staring at her, and as their eyes met she felt her pulse thrill again, her body growing warm. He was dressed in finer materials. A shame since it was all spattered with blood and other gruesome matter. And his hair was not braided long as the other men in her clan, who had hair as shaggy and long as their beards. His long black hair was knotted on top of his head, his facial hair very dark but neatly trimmed. His skin was darker, too. And the long, curving saber in his belt didn’t match her broadsword any more than her leather matched the silk trimming his tunic. He was foreign to her, mysterious and beautiful.

The thrill of battle gave way to desire easily. He strode to her briskly, and she met him halfway. His hand was on the back of her neck, drawing her under his stooping shoulders to press against him as his mouth closed on hers, hot and wanting. His other hand tore at her primitive pants, pulling them from her easily. She was in turn already pulling the sash from his waist, his weapon hitting the ground just before he pulled her to the grass with him. There were shouts and appreciative whistles around them, but this couldn’t wait for a private place.

He entered her coarsely, before she was ready, but it didn’t matter. On the second thrust she was wet, crying out against his mouth. His hands held hers to the ground, wet with rain and blood. This wasn’t love, it wasn’t even for reproduction. This was wearing off a rough edge chipped into each of them from violence. She came screaming, back bowing up off the ground. He followed a second later, barking out words she didn’t know as he trembled with her through climax. Fast, rough, perfect.

She looked up at him, eyelids heavy. He was smiling at her, that satisfied and male look on his face that could sometimes make her shake with anger. But now she just smiled back, aware she used him as he used her. It didn’t matter. If she became pregnant it was for the good of the race.  They would need more.

She closed her eyes to catch her breath. When they opened again she was looking up into nothing but black. The ground was not cold beneath her, and her body was not quaking with divine pleasure. She was in bed, staring at a ceiling in a room too dark to see. A down comforter was covering her from the waist down. She had one leg kicked out and over the blanket to the side.

She was aroused, though. That part came with her back to the here and now. Her cheeks were likely flushed, her breasts aching for contact from someone else.

She closed her eyes again, and as her breathing leveled out she became aware of another rhythm in the room. Saleem had his back to her, and his breathing was deep, even. It calmed her immediately, her own respiration falling in line with his, the exact same pattern, lulling her back to a deep and dreamless sleep.

Essum was feeling Praesul’s fear as thoroughly as he’d felt his power, and he didn’t like it. The angels in the hallway were standing stock-still, weapons in hand, and even Essum knew that those weapons were stronger than anything Praesul could do with his mind.

The nurse that was proving to be a carnal distraction to him was stunned, on the ground, seconds from passing out. He wanted to take her where she was, even if she did fall unconscious. But the
frustro
trap had been sprung on him before and his logic overrode his dick for once.

He wanted to shout at Praesul to just take them out already. Six fucking angels at once? Man, Praesul would be more than complete with that kind of wattage, as long as he got to it before those weapons were put to use.

Praesul spoke in his head now. The dude wasn’t giving anything away outwardly, but Essum felt the slightest uncertainty in the voice.
This many against one is the same as a force field. I can only fight one at a time. The more complete I am, the easier it is for them to resist me. And this fucking praying -

What do we do?
Essum sent back.

Find the one that got away. He’ll be the last bit I need.

What do we do?

Stay here.

Essum was about to vocally tell him to fuck himself, but as quick as a wink Praesul was gone. Dissolved into mist.

“Shit.” He said it in unison with a tall black angel, and it brought the entire group’s attention back to him. They had barely been aware of Essum.

“Sin Eater,” the one in front said, a chrome-dome like him with a nasty scar across his eye a la villain by Disney. “Looks like you’ve been left behind for our amusement.”

Dammit.

There was only one way with the half-dozen heavenlies blocking the corridor. He turned and ran. The cooler air struck him like a slap, and it was somewhat revitalizing. Essum knew they wouldn’t try any of their angel-tricks on him while running the risk of a human seeing them. So all they did was chase. He checked over his shoulder as he hit the alleyway, cornering like a basketball player. They were gaining on him, but all he had to do was buy some time and get them somewhere quiet, unseen –

He ran into something. He was suddenly on his back staring up at the stars, blinking as the pain of what had happened flooding through his face.

He’d run straight in to a busted two-by-four. It
donked
as it was dropped to the concrete. Essum had double vision as Voro’s ugly mug swam in to sight over him. The bastard was laughing. “Don’t feel bad, man. He got me that way, too.”

“Voro -”

“Don’t move yet. You might have a concussion. Your head actually bounced on the concrete.”

“Jesus, I think I’m gonna be sick.” Sure enough, more than his cranium was wailing with agony. He could feel his wounds opening, both burning and damp.

“Yeah, you scrambled your brains.” This from a different voice. Essum blinked a few times as a white form loomed over him and a cool hand propped his eye open. “Slight concussion, probably. I bet it’s not comfortable, though.” Great, his damn doctor was here.

To Essum’s surprise Voro offered a hand to help him stand. Voro noted his hesitation. “Come on, Essum. We both know you’re not in league with that thing. He’s gonna kill you eventually.”

Essum took the offer of help, rising slowly, closing his eyes as the world lurched with his fucked-up equilibrium and the stitches somehow painfully holding tight. “I can’t believe how strong that prick is,” Essum said, carefully opening his eyes again. “It’s unbelievable.”

He shared a look with his former colleague then they both turned their attention back to the doctor. The poor bastard looked absolutely confused, wondering why the hell Voro was all buddy-buddy with one of the monsters. If he trusted his stomach he would have laughed.

“What the hell is going on here?” The doc finally quipped, crossing his arms and thrusting his chin at Essum. “Who’s your buddy? He killed a young woman early this morning. He’s supposed to be handcuffed to a hospital bed right now. And you?” Now it was to Voro. “What are we getting ourselves in to?”

“Can you erase his memory after this?” Voro asked, clearly ignoring the doc.

Essum scanned the doc, but of course got no reading on him. “Nah. He’s a closed door.”

“And that nurse back there?”

“Same thing. She’s another
frustro
trap.”

Voro looked shocked. “Really? Already?”

Essum shrugged. “Why not? Isn’t my life simple and perfect right now?”

“Do you know how close that thing is to being complete?”

Essum shrugged. “Very close. One angel and he would be done.”

Voro looked back the way they’d both come. “Shit. I just left six angels back there with him.”

“I don’t think he’s entirely untouchable,” Essum said carefully, aware that the doc was getting a bit paler the longer they spoke. It likely sounded beyond nuts to him. “Look, maybe we should get Doc here back to the hospital -”

“He can’t, Essum. You know why.”

Essum turned his attention back to the doc, a sense buzzing in the back of his head. “He’s not a
decipio
.”

“Nope, I don’t think so.”

The guy was so pure of heart and intention it was almost acidic to Essum’s nose. So close to baking bread. Angels. He remembered now. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Essum was frozen, staring and unblinking. A suspicion was one thing but finding out he was right was proving to be a real mind-fuck. “But – he’s human, right?”

“Yeah. Little
creation experiment. Shit timing, though.”

“He’d be enough,” Essum was nodding, re-evaluating loyalties. An angel in a human body and quick as a wink Praesul is a breathing, living, walking God. He felt that thrilling tingle again, and turned his head to see Voro studying him with way too much fucking understanding.

“He’ll kill you, Essum. You know this. You can’t help him complete the transformation. We have to stop Praesul, then you can get away from that
frustro
and live happily ever after and all that shit.”

It was logical and correct. Damn.

“So what do we do with him?” Essum gestured at the Doc who was still staring at them like he didn’t speak the language. And technically, he didn’t.

“Keep him safe and out of sight.”

“Why does what happens to him matter to you?”

Voro turned square to Essum, folding his arms across his substantial chest. “You know why.”

“Your
frustro
? The gash with the green eyes?”

Voro had him by the throat and against the wall, completely catching Essum off guard. The fucker was still plenty strong, even more so when provoked. Essum’s vision doubled, a headache roaring to life as he stomped down the urge to evacuate his gut right then and there.

“Don’t call her that. You know what the
frustro
means.”

Yeah, he did; created for the sole purpose of enrapturing a Sin Eater and making him no more use than a drooling idiot. But it was a love of a kind too, that kind of destiny and fate shit that romance novelists enjoy so much. No choice, you were meant to be with them and no one else. A crock of shit, but biologically speaking the Sin Eater-
frustro
connection was impossible to counteract. Unless you do something stupid like Voro and kill yourself to save one.  Then apparently they’d even take a devil like him and try to make him an angel.