The Fallen 03 - Warrior (18 page)

Part of me was absolutely fascinated that anyone would actually use the word
hence
in conversation. The rest of me was looking at him with less than my initial approval.

“And would you like to explain why, Mr. . . . ?” I waited for him to fill in the name.

“Oh, excuse me, I’ve been terribly remiss. I am Beloch, ruler of the Dark City. And you are Victoria Bellona, are you not?”

I nodded cautiously.

“Well, then,” he said briskly, “why don’t you change your clothes and I’ll have someone bring you to my study where we can talk.”

“Is there any food around here?” I demanded, unable to bear my rumbling stomach any longer.

“Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins, my dear.”

“Is it? I’ve never been particularly big on the Bible.”

He looked as if he’d bitten into the sourest pickle on the face of this earth. “Indeed,” he said, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

No, that isn’t a figure of speech. Everything in the already chilly room got worse, and I could see my breath in front of me.

I needed to dig up the circumspection I’d used around my mother and Pedersen if I was going to get out of this alive. “But I am always interested in learning more,” I said brightly.

I had no idea whether I’d managed to fool the old man or not. He simply nodded. “I would be more than happy to instruct you. In the meantime, I suggest you return to your ‘prison cell’ and get out of those wet clothes.”

“There weren’t any dry ones to change into.”

He looked irritated. “There are now. Allow me to escort you.”

As if I had a choice. He held out his arm, very old-school, and I took it. He felt strangely insubstantial beneath the plain fabric of the robe, and I was tempted to push up the sleeve to see just how bony he was. I resisted—this was a creature of immense power, no matter how frail and colorless his body seemed to be. I let him lead me along the deserted
hallways till we returned to the now-familiar rectangle. The bed was freshly made, and there was a dull gray dress spread across the covers.

I looked up at the faux Dumbledore. “I do hope you don’t have any illusions that I’ll go to bed with you. I don’t care how you dress me up, I’ve had enough sex to last me for a decade.”

For a moment that avuncular smile faded, replaced by profound irritation. And then he was smiling again, the sweet expression that made me nervous. “I assure you, my child, that is the last thing I want from you.”

I believed him. I’d taken one look at the supposedly celibate Michael and seen the heat and desire seething beneath his controlled surface. There was nothing beneath this old man’s façade but ice.

He pushed me into my room gently enough. “Someone will bring you to me in half an hour, and we can talk over dinner. Will that suit you?”

He could have said we’d torture gerbils over dinner and I’d have agreed, I was so damned hungry, but I managed to gather my scattered dignity. I nodded.

“Good,” he murmured. “And when you come, you can tell me all about Michael.”

“What about Michael?” I said warily.

“Why, how to kill him, of course.”

M
ICHAEL DESCENDED SLOWLY
through the ink-dark sky. He didn’t need to see where he was going—he knew the Dark City far too well. He’d hoped,
foolishly, that he had turned his back on it forever. Then again, he had thought he’d turned his back on sentimental caring for foolish women who got themselves kidnapped.

He’d felt the net close over him as he slipped down, down, into the miasma that enveloped the cursed place. He knew without testing his theory that he wouldn’t be able to fly out. He was trapped, and there would be only one way out. And for the first time in his endless existence, he wondered if he could face it.

I
DO WISH TO ASSURE YOU THAT
I’
M FAR
more interested in Michael than in your charming self,” the man calling himself Beloch said affably over his cup of tea. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re simply collateral damage, something I can let go of quite easily. Once I dispense with Michael, you may feel free to go wherever you wish. You have my word on it.”

I sat in an elegant carved chair in the middle of what looked like a library, the formal dress draped around me. Once I’d put it on, it had become suffused with a rich garnet color, well suited to my pale skin and dark hair. Not that there was anyone around to notice. I’d tucked my makeshift knife into the deep pocket of the hem, though it was too small to be much more than an annoyance. Still, it made me feel better. I held a cup of tea in my hand, untouched. I despised tea—it reminded me of the
few forced gatherings with my mother, where I was put through my social paces. A nice sweet cup of black coffee would be lovely, but clear tea, stinking of bergamot, with a slice of lemon floating in it like a corpse, was my idea of hell. Particularly when I was this hungry.

I kept my knees together, doing my best to look demure, and listened attentively. I didn’t believe him for one minute, but I certainly wasn’t about to tell him that. He struck me as one of those old men who assumed people treated their word as golden, and I wasn’t going to enlighten him. I didn’t trust anybody. After the debacle of last night, spent melting and shattering beneath Michael’s tattooed body, I didn’t even trust myself.

“He kidnapped you, didn’t he?” Beloch continued. “Dragged you to that wretched little gathering in the mist when you yearned to be free. I’ve known Michael a long, long time—you must hate him very much.”

I said nothing, bringing my tea to my lips and pretending to sip.

“Unless, of course, I am wrong?” Beloch said shrewdly. “Perhaps Michael has more charm than I realized.”

“I wouldn’t put
charm
and
Michael
in the same sentence,” I said dryly. In my mind I could see Michael, feel him poised above me, his endless dark eyes staring down into mine as he filled me, thrust into me slowly, steadily, and a little shiver of delayed
reaction swept over me. How could I possibly have an orgasm twelve hours after I’d last touched him? Apparently anything was possible.

I could only hope the old man’s sharp eyes hadn’t noticed. “So I can assume it wasn’t Michael who sent me here. I’d wondered whether he was trying to get rid of me.”

Beloch smiled at me, but I could see the wheels turning in his head. He hadn’t considering spinning that particular lie, and lie it was, thank God. “You were presented to me by one of the Fallen. But you may trust me when I tell you that Michael would hand you over to me in a minute if it suited his purpose. He is dangerous, ruthless, and he means you nothing but ill.”

Just as Johann had handed me back to Pedersen. I shook away the memory.

“So you have a spy in Sheol? Who is it?” I didn’t particularly expect an answer, but I was curious.

He clearly didn’t like the question. “I don’t think we need to discuss that, do you?”

Yes, I did, but I politely mirrored his phony smile. “I was just curious.”

“Curiosity is a sin of idleness. It is of no concern to you. You have no wish to return to Sheol, do you?”

Of course I didn’t. I wanted away from fallen angels and strange places with no color and no life. I suspected he wasn’t going to give me any choice in the matter.

I was getting tired of this polite fencing. I set the wretched tea down on the small table beside me. “I don’t like being kidnapped, and as far as I can tell, your spy did the same thing Michael did.” Well, not quite the same thing, I thought, feeling a flash of heat wash through me. “So why don’t you tell me exactly what you want from me, and what I have to do to get out of here?”

He frowned. “Why, nothing at all, my child. It is Michael I want. He will come for you, and when he does, you may go.”

I laughed, and Beloch didn’t like that either. “I don’t think so,” I said. “He was ordered to bring me to Sheol, to bond with me, and he did. Then he was told to take me to bed and drink my blood. He did that. I think his responsibilities are at an end, and if I know Michael, he’ll be happy never to see me again.”

A flurry of emotions crossed Beloch’s seamed face: disgust, excitement, craftiness, triumph. “He took your blood? I am surprised.”

Not exactly, I thought, remembering the tiny pinprick. I had no idea whether that was enough to count, but I suspected it wasn’t. I shrugged. “I figured once that was taken care of, no one would care what happened to me. Michael could forget about me, the Fallen could ignore me, and I could leave.”

“Alas, I’m afraid that is not the case. By giving your body and your blood to Michael, you bound yourself to him irrevocably. It changes things.”

“It was just a drop of blood,” I said with belated honesty. “Barely a scratch.”

“It is enough. He will come for you. And when he does, he will be mine.”

I surveyed Beloch for a long moment and smirked. “I don’t think he swings that way.”

Beloch’s face turned dark with anger, though in this world that just meant a darker gray. I wondered if he would turn color if I touched him. I had no interest in getting close enough to try.

“You are unworthy,” he said stiffly.

“Look at it this way—you aren’t about to set me free and we both know it. This way you don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

“Guilt is a human emotion. I am not human.”

Oh, God, not another one
, I thought wearily, though I’d already guessed as much. “Then what are you?”

Nope, no answer this time either. “We can torture you,” he said softly, “but I tire of that. And it would be so much more effective if I have him here to watch.”

He wasn’t human, but neither was I. I was strong, and sneaky, and desperation did wonders for one’s fighting ability. “He won’t care,” I said in a bored voice. “How many times must I tell you? He’s done what he had to do, and now you’ve done him a great service by getting rid of me. He won’t come after me.”

He leaned forward to set his empty teacup on
the chair beside him, and I made my move. I’d already surreptitiously gathered my voluminous skirts in my hands, and it was a simple enough matter to leap up, aiming a kick directly at his jaw. If I was really lucky, it would snap his head back and break his neck. At the very least it would stun him.

He went down like a stone.

I was almost to the door when the shock hit me like a powerful electric current, slamming me against the wall and pinning me there, three feet off the floor. I couldn’t move, couldn’t kick or struggle or even turn my head—I was stuck like a butterfly pinned to some sadistic collector’s board. Pain coursed through my body in never-ending waves, and I couldn’t even cry out. All I could do was hang there as the old man made his way over to me, slowly, taking his time.

When he reached me I could just see him from the corner of my eye. I’d felt my foot connect with his face, yet there wasn’t a mark on him. It should have split his lip, caused a nosebleed—or at least a look of intense irritation. But he appeared untouched.

“Foolish child,” he murmured, and his dry, papery hand stroked my face, sending shivers down my spine. “You have no idea with whom you’re dealing. There is absolutely nothing you can do.”

I tried to say something scathing, but I was mute. I glared at him, and he smiled benevolently. “Ah, my
dear. You will be an entertaining guest for the short time I have you. I only wish it could be longer, but these things are written in stone. Literally. I could show you the tablets.”

What things? Why short time? But I couldn’t ask and he wasn’t about to offer, so I put the approximation of a snarl into my eyes. He smiled. “Don’t worry, my dear. The moment Michael sets foot in the Dark City, he’ll be dead. You won’t have to deal with him ever again.” His hand ran down my arm, then administered a vicious little pinch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me.”

He moved away, his long robes flowing behind him. “I believe I’ll leave you here for the time being while we come up with the perfect prison for you. Someplace not so hard to break into that he’ll give up, but not so easy that he recognizes the trap. This will require some careful planning, but I’m certain the Truth Breakers will be more than up to the task. They’ll come for you soon. In the meantime you’ll be fine here. There’s more tea, though I’m afraid it’s rather cold by now, and I did leave a few of the biscuits for you to nibble on. You must keep up your strength, after all.” He chucked me under the chin, and I would have given anything to be able to move my mouth and bite his fingers off.

But I was still frozen as he left the room, humming beneath his breath, closing the door behind him.

The hold released, and I collapsed on the floor in
a welter of skirts and pain, hugging myself, moaning. Everything hurt so badly, and I had learned early on to be impervious to pain. It took a lot to disable me—Pedersen had even used a Taser on me once, and I had managed just fine.

This felt like a Taser on steroids. Everything in my body was jangled and confused, my throat felt as if a hand had crushed it, and my heart slammed against my chest. I had underestimated Beloch. Clearly a big mistake.