The Fallen 03 - Warrior (31 page)

“You forget,” he said in an almost dreamy voice as his eyes followed his hand, stroking, stroking. “My job
is
lost causes.”

“I thought that was Saint Jude.”

“Don’t be picky.” He slid his hand up to cup my chin, and I looked up into his dark, dark eyes as he slowly rubbed his thumb across my lips. “We need to go. We have to get back to Sheol. Theron may have been lying about the battle, but he’s right about one thing. We don’t know how much time has passed, and if Uriel has anything to say about it, our time is running out.”

I smiled at him, happy to do anything he wanted. It didn’t matter if some distant, critical self knew I was being an idiot. Nothing mattered
besides the fact that for now the euphoria was telling me that he loved me. I let him pull me to my feet, ignoring the weakness in my knees. “Can the magic here make you nice?” I said, allowing just a hint of worry in.

He smiled wryly. “It’s not magic. It’s the wrath of God. Besides, I’m nice. When I want to be.” He put his hand on mine, holding me beside him. “We have to keep moving.”

“I’m ready. If you’ll talk to me.”

I saw the battle raging in his eyes, a battle he’d already lost. “I’ll talk to you,” he said.

“Good.” I curved my body against his, savoring his warmth. “Then tell me what you’re hiding from me.”

T
HE
A
RCHANGEL
M
ICHAEL
looked down at the woman beside him, tucked so comfortably within his arm like she belonged there. The damnable thing was that she
did
belong there. She fit perfectly, and he wanted to pull her into his arms completely and sink down on the marshmallow grass. He started walking, pulling her with him, fighting the need to open himself to her, the terrible desire to expose his soul to whatever she wanted to know.

No matter what, he wouldn’t tell her she was going to die. Nothing could force him to do that. He had been tortured, he had gone through every kind of hell Uriel and mankind could come up with, and he hadn’t broken. He wouldn’t break for her.

He brushed a kiss against her lips, wishing to God
they were in any other of Uriel’s treacherous worlds. A world where he wasn’t overcome with the need to love her, a world where he could simply shove her against a wall and lose himself in her flesh while she shattered around him. But this was one of Uriel’s games, and he had to keep her moving. “No,” he said. “We don’t want to talk about the past, do we?”

“You’re right,” she said happily, and he would have reveled in her docile manner if he didn’t know it was not the real Victoria Bellona. Tory would argue about everything, drive him mad. It was one of the things he loved about her, even as he wanted to wring her neck. In all his existence he didn’t remember anyone able to break through his control. To infuriate him, to make him feel. He hated her for it. He loved her for it. And damn this world for making him love. “Do we have to leave?” she added.

“We can’t have sex while we’re here,” he reminded her.

She looked up at him, a mischievous expression on her face. “Let’s hurry.” Sudden worry flashed in her eyes. “You’ll still want me when we leave here, even if you won’t admit it?”

He fought the words, but he said them anyway. This was the one place he could, with the excuse of the euphoria ripping away his armor. He looked down at her. “I’ll always want you. Throughout time and space, I will love you.”

She grinned at him. “A good thing. It’s not wise to piss off the goddess of war.”

She was ridiculous, infuriating, adorable, and he leaned down to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. He was hard as a rock, and he was wondering whether Uriel’s edict against sex in this level of hell was simply another lie among so many lies, when he felt the sudden darkness. He lifted his head and swore.

Her eyes followed his as the shadows began to grow around them. “We need to hurry,” he said, taking her hand and starting to run.

“There’s a gingerbread cottage back down the path,” she said, but he shook his head.

“That’s a trap.” He could see the Wraiths starting to congregate at the muddy outlines of this fairy-tale world, shimmering like the phantoms they were.

How could he have been so stupid, wrapped up in the halcyon illusion Uriel had forced down his throat? If they didn’t make it through this world, it would be his fault.

But they would. He was determined. If Uriel wanted to play some kind of celestial game, then Michael would play, and triumph in the end. He was an expert at snatching victory out of the jaws of defeat. And he had Victoria Bellona by his side.

He glanced down at her, hoping she wouldn’t see the Wraiths. But the almost drunken happiness had faded from her face, and she was looking at the ghostly apparitions moving to block their way.

“We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?” she said in a conversational voice.

It made him laugh. That was Tory, unfazed by anything. She couldn’t fight these. Lightning bolts would pass through them; sheer strength would be useless. They were screwed, and it didn’t matter, because they were together.

“Yes,” he said. “We are.”

I
HAD NEVER LIKED HORROR MOVIES
. Now, suddenly I was faced with the physical incarnation of all the things that had secretly terrorized me, and it was all too real. Theron had been real, physical—something I could touch, something I could fight. These were different, eerie.

They shouldn’t have been so frightening, these gray, transparent figures who converged on the path in front of us. The brilliant color around them leached into gray as well, as if they sucked all life from everything they touched, and they would do it to us, leaving us empty husks.

“Get behind me,” Michael said in a rough voice as he drew the flaming sword he’d taken from Theron. It glowed in his hand, and it seemed to belong there.

“Hell, no,” I shot back, trying to fight the warmth that was still flowing through me. In this Candy Land world, nothing that bad could ever happen to
me, could it? Looking at the ghosts, I knew that it could. “That’s all right,” I added in a softer voice. “If I have to die, at least I get to die with you.”

He made an exasperated noise. “That’s the euphoria talking. Victoria Bellona isn’t going to accept death that easily.”

But I was Tory, and I didn’t want to fight anymore. I had spent my entire life fighting, and all I wanted to do was curl my body around Michael’s beautiful one and let go. I knew it was the effect of Uriel’s illusion, and I tried to fight it. With a sigh, I squared my shoulders and said, “If we’re fighting, then I’m fighting by your side.”

He snarled, and I wanted to laugh. Apparently Happyville couldn’t tame the grumpy archangel that much. “If you love me so damned much, you’d listen to me for a change.”

“That’s not love, that’s blind obedience,” I shot back. “No false euphoria works that well.” In fact, some of the warm, fuzzy feeling was fading. He was still as unrelentingly gorgeous, I was still as unrelentingly tied to him, but I was regaining some perspective. “We fight together.”

They were drawing closer, seeming to float just above the ground, and wherever they moved the landscape turned dead and blackened. I could see their ghostly faces now. I’d expected rage and evil, but the empty sorrow there was even more chilling.

“What are they?” I asked, horrified.

“They’re what’s left of the souls who were flung
into the Darkness. Uriel doesn’t believe in short-lived punishment—he likes it to be eternal. Those who are condemned to the Darkness live out eternity sucking the life out of everything that ventures near.”

“Great,” I muttered, my happy glow vanishing as they drew closer. “And how do we kill them?”

“They’re already dead.”

“Then how do we stop them?”

For a moment he said nothing. “I don’t know. Get the fuck behind me while I try to think of something.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I must have still been feeling the effects of this treacherously sweet world. He caught my arm and shoved me behind him, somehow managing to wrap my arms around his waist and hold me there.

It was an interesting position. To be plastered against him was undeniably wonderful—I could soak in his strength and power, wrap myself around his gorgeous body. On the other hand, he was holding me prisoner, which infuriated me; his grip was so tight I could barely move, and I couldn’t see a damned thing.

“I am the Archangel Michael. I have dominion over darkness and evil. Leave us alone.”

A thin, wispy voice came back, horrible in its raspiness, as if it were forced through shredded vocal cords. “Archangel Michael, you have dominion over nothing. You cast us into the Darkness, you doomed us to unending torment.”

I wanted to close my ears. The voice rose like a shriek on the wind, and I clung to him, shaking, no longer fighting to get free.

“Leave us,” Michael thundered again, for some reason not denying the creature’s horrible accusation. He should have told them it was Uriel who had thrown them here, doomed them here.

“We cannot.” It now seemed as if more than one voice scoured the wind that had picked up around us. They were in ragged unison, the sound as horrid as broken glass scraping against bone. “Give her to us.”

I felt Michael’s start of surprise. “And what do you want of me?”

“We cannot touch you. Leave the girl and you may return to Sheol.”

Oh, shit. Michael had a battle to fight—everything he had done, including coming to fetch me, had been in service to that ultimate demand. He would have no choice.

“It’s all right,” I said against his strong, unwavering back. “Let me go. You should never have left the Fallen.”

“Shut up.”

So much for loverlike appreciation of my grand sacrifice
, I thought. I tried to break free, then froze as the voices rose on the wind, an eerie chorus of ghostly shrieks: “Give her to us, give her to us,” and the sound grew close, closer, until they were almost upon us.

Being unable to see drove me crazy, and I tried to peer around his broad back, but it was impossible, even when a new voice rose above the others, stronger, but with the same shredded violence that told me he was one of them. “Enough!” that empty voice thundered, like a ghostly version of Michael himself.

The chorus stopped instantly, and I thought I could sense them retreating. I began to struggle in earnest when something was thrown over me, like a down blanket, soft but enveloping, shutting out light and life. I felt my heart rate slow, my breathing fade, and I wondered if I was dying. Were they leaching the light out of me? I didn’t want to let go, but the feather-soft darkness enveloped me, and the last thing I heard was that new, eerie voice.

“Hello, Michael.”

T
HE
A
RCHANGEL
M
ICHAEL
stood still, releasing Tory’s hands. She was wrapped in the cocoon of his wings, safe in a temporary stasis. The Wraiths had no reason to fear his flaming sword, but they had faded, leaving only one Wraith in their place. One shockingly familiar.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, sounding almost as raw as the apparition had.

“I am not here. The Ultimate Power has seen to that,” the flat voice came back as the impossible image floated too close. “I am trapped throughout eternity, remember? You helped see to it.”

He felt cold, so cold. “It was a fair fight.”

“Indeed. You were the Flaming Sword of Justice, following your path. Cutting down your brother on the word of God.”

“You had sinned—”

“I had questioned. But it seems you have gone the same way. Though you stayed far longer, following Uriel’s orders, no matter how cruel. That mighty sword of justice has killed a world of innocent people.”

At least Tory couldn’t hear. She wouldn’t know the terrible things he had done. Not until he told her.

He didn’t defend himself. “Yes,” he said. “My crimes were far worse than yours. There is no way I can atone.”

The Wraith’s smile was terrible. “And there is no way I can touch you. The only one who could have hurt you was Theron, and the two of you took care of him. I can’t come near you until I am released from my imprisonment.”

“Where are you? The Fallen search for you. It’s you they want to lead them, not me.”

“Jealous, Michael?” came the sinuous voice.

He steeled himself against reacting. The angel behind the Wraith had always been good at twisting words, at charm and manipulation. It had been those very traits that had sentenced him to eternal torment.

“I would happily give you charge of them.”

“Would you just as happily die at my hands?”

“If it would save the woman. Yes.”

The Wraith shook his head, his beautiful face unmarred by the pain the others used like a weapon. “I told you, I cannot harm you. You are impervious to the dangers of the Darkness. Impervious even to the sweet seduction of this world.”

Michael jerked, startled. “You’re wrong. I am undone by the euphoria like anyone else.”