Her Wicked Angel (Her Angel Romance Series Book 6) (38 page)

“Demon filth.” Apollyon swept into the building, his eyes quickly adjusting to the low light.

“I heard that,” Veiron muttered from the shadows. “Play nice. The boss has a temper too, and she’ll rip you a new one if you misbehave.”

Apollyon scanned the club. This was pointless. It was dark, no one manned the bar, and the sign was off. It was evidently closed. Veiron was wasting his time.

Apollyon opened his mouth to demand they leave and search for Nevar elsewhere.

A feral growl came from the darkness ahead and vivid glowing purple eyes shone like jewels embraced in velvet.

Light streamed in from outside, chasing back the gloom a few metres into the expansive room, but beyond that was pitch black. Whatever the darkness concealed, it was angry, dangerous and wanted blood.

Apollyon could sense its evil slithering over him, power that challenged his own, bringing it to the surface to protect him from this creature’s wrath and fury.

Black booted feet appeared from the gloom, pale light chasing up them as the male approached, revealing something that made Apollyon take a step back.

Armour.

Black greaves edged with violet.

No angels wore armour like that.

The male stalked forwards, the light racing up his bare thighs. His skin faded to black from just above his kneecaps down to his feet. A demonic angel like Veiron, in the midst of transformation?

Or something worse?

Hip armour was followed by a flash of bare stomach and black clawed fingers clutching a curved black and violet blade. The purple-edged black vambraces protecting his forearms bore a rampant violet dragon on each one.

What had Asmodeus done to him?

Nevar halted, his feet at the edge of the light, as if he didn’t dare step into the sun’s rays. The shadows barely touched his face, revealing it. He looked as Apollyon remembered, but in place of his normal jade eyes were fierce purple ones filled with twisted desires and vicious hungers, and his white hair looked as if he had cut it himself with a dull blade, hacking at the sides until they were tufted and messy but leaving it longer on top.

Nevar’s top lip peeled back off his fangs and he narrowed his gaze on Apollyon.

“Die.” He lifted his blade and Veiron was right in front of him, pressing his hands against his black breastplate and holding him back. Nevar snarled over Veiron’s shoulder at Apollyon, his eyes flashing dangerously. “He must die.”

“Not the right twin,” Veiron said in a soft voice and held him firm. “See. Blue eyes. Long hair. Tendency to fall on the side of good over evil.”

Nevar growled and breathed hard, lowering his blade with effort but not taking his eyes from Apollyon.

Veiron had been right.

Nevar was very screwed up indeed.

“Hungry,” Nevar husked, bared his fangs and struck at Veiron’s neck. Veiron braced his forearm against Nevar’s throat, keeping him away, and growled at him.

“Not for eating, remember?” Veiron managed to shove him back and Nevar snarled, his face dark and filled with the hunger he had spoken of, thirst for blood.

“Veiron?” Erin whispered and Nevar’s gaze fell on her, cleared and he shifted back into the shadows, sinking into them.

“Do not see… ward. Help me.” He reached for her and Veiron swatted his clawed hand away, growling at him. He darkened again and snarled, baring his fangs at the Hell’s angel, and then turned softer eyes on Erin, his pale silvery eyebrows furrowing as he gazed at her. His fingers flexed and voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Help me.”

Erin held her stomach and her own black eyebrows met in a look filled with pity. “I don’t know how to help you. I wish I did.”

Nevar growled and turned his back on them, heaving with each ragged breath he sucked down. His arms tensed, body going rigid, and he clenched his black fists. Blood dripped from between his tight fingers, evidence that he was harming himself with his claws.

“Leave,” he snarled over his shoulder.

“We need you to tell us where to find Asmodeus.” Apollyon stepped forwards before the angel could retreat into the darkness. Nevar’s shoulders tensed further and a feral growl escaped him, rumbling through the pitch black room. His power rose, becoming stronger, laced with fury and entwined with rage. “Asmodeus has taken Serenity. You will help me find him. You will help me find her.”

“And what is in it for me?” Nevar glared over his shoulder at Apollyon, the dark desires in his eyes informing Apollyon of exactly what he wanted in return for his assistance.

“I will let you deal with Asmodeus.” He wouldn’t let Nevar kill him but he would let the poisoned angel deal out some punishment for what Asmodeus had done to him.

Nevar grinned, blood staining his fangs and his lower lip. Had he been sucking on it? Was he so ravenous for blood that he would take his own to sustain him and satisfy his thirst?

“I do not feel like helping you.” Nevar turned towards the bar and Apollyon realised that he was more than hungry as he stumbled towards it, one clawed hand out in front of him, reaching and stretching.

He was drunk.

The angel didn’t stop when he reached the black bar. He hoisted himself up and leaned over it, fumbled around on the other side, and then straightened, holding a bottle of something. His boots hit the floor, he flicked the cap off with his thumb and chugged half of the colourful green bottle.

“You will help us,” Apollyon said and braved a step closer.

“Will not.” Nevar shook his head, causing the longer lengths of his white hair to fall down over his brow on one side.

He shoved it back out of his face, set the bottle down on the shiny black bar top and leaned heavily on it. He glared at each of them in turn, except Erin. To her, he gave another pained and longing look, and then bared his fangs and hissed, turning vicious again.

Veiron growled. “I warned you. I won’t warn you again.”

The big Hell’s angel moved between Erin and Nevar, shielding her from the view of her former guardian. Losing sight of her seemed to pain Nevar and he quieted, staring at Veiron’s chest, as if trying to see through the male to his ward.

“Help us,” Erin said and touched Veiron’s back, right between his large crimson-feathered wings, as she rounded him. The caress didn’t soothe him as intended, at least not to the degree she was evidently expecting, because he moved with her, keeping one thickly muscled bare arm in front of her, holding her back and blocking her way to Nevar.

A wise move.

Nevar was unpredictable in his current state. There was every chance that he would attack Erin if she drew too close.

Nevar swigged from the bottle and Apollyon caught a flash of the label. Absinthe. A very potent alcoholic drink. Angels had incredible recuperative abilities though. Nevar would have to keep drinking to maintain even a tipsy state. The angel was beyond tipsy and deep into drunk and unruly territory, and something told Apollyon that it wasn’t only alcohol this angel had been imbibing.

“Veiron, a word.” Apollyon caught him by his left arm and pulled him towards the front of the club, feeling Nevar’s gaze tracking him. Veiron pulled Erin with them, and Amelia and Marcus formed a defensive line.

Apollyon doubted it would stop Nevar if he wanted to get to him.

Nevar muttered black things beneath his breath, dark words that backed up the mixed and dangerous feelings that Apollyon could feel affecting his power. He wanted blood and sometimes he was finding it impossible to distinguish between Apollyon and the man he wanted to murder.

Apollyon pulled Veiron around to face him, keeping Nevar in view, and dropped his voice. “You may have warned me that Nevar’s state was in part due to addiction.”

“Addiction?” Erin whispered and edged closer, flicking a glance at Nevar. “To booze?”

“To Euphoria.” Apollyon glared at Veiron and waited for him to deny ever knowing that fact. The Hell’s angel didn’t. He stared right back at him with jet black eyes that showed no glimmer of surprise or flicker of regret over not having informed him.

“He wasn’t this far gone last time I saw him, alright?” Veiron hissed and slid his gaze towards his shoulder, towards Nevar where he propped up the bar behind him, drinking himself into oblivion. “Villandry has been trying to help him kick it.”

Erin looked sceptical. “He’s probably worsening things. That vampire is always mixed up in some bad shit.”

Veiron shrugged. “He was the only one who wanted to do something about it… although I think that might be because he probably had something to do with it in the first place. Look, Nevar is still our only shot at finding out where Asmodeus—”

Nevar launched himself across the room and shoved Veiron to one side, pushing him into Erin and causing the Hell’s angel to growl viciously as he quickly grabbed her to stop her from falling and harming her baby. Apollyon reacted immediately, drawing one blade and bringing it up in a fast arc, blocking the black sword coming straight for his throat.

“Die!” Nevar spun low and swiped at his legs and Apollyon beat his black wings, shot up and backwards, narrowly avoiding banging his head on the low ceiling. He unleashed more of his power, calling on it to give him strength and to issue a warning to Nevar too.

Even in this wretched state, the angel would be able to sense that he was up against a deadly foe, and liable to lose this fight as much as he was to win it.

Nevar flashed fangs and launched another attack, kicking off the tacky club floor and springing at him.

Apollyon dodged the weak attempt, twisted to let Nevar past, and brought the pommel of his sword down hard in the centre of Nevar’s back plate, sending him stumbling forwards towards the open door.

Nevar turned wild purple eyes on him and the skin around them burned to ashes, the darkness curled up his arms to his elbows, and his claws lengthened.

“Evil.” His voice thickened to a deep snarl and he breathed hard, chest heaving with each one, and flexed black claws around his sword hilt. “Put. This. In. Me… You. Pay.”

“Not me.” Apollyon drew his other sword and faced him, holding his ground and refusing to give in to the demented angel’s threats. “Asmodeus did this to you. Recall the day he did… recall that I was fighting him, Nevar. You remember.”

Nevar’s face twisted and he slammed one hand against his mouth, his eyes widening. He growled into his palm and pressed his claws into his cheeks. The hand he held his sword with trembled and he stumbled backwards, towards the light.

The moment the full force of it hit him, he turned on it and snarled, slashing with his blade and rushing back into the shadows.

Apollyon had finally seen everything.

Nevar had horns.

They were small, but unmistakable, hidden beneath tufts of his white hair on the sides of his head.

The poisoned angel dropped his weapon and sank to his knees on the dirty floor of the club.

“I. Remember.” He lowered his head, his air defeated, and held on to his knees. The longer lengths of his hair fell down and obscured his face. His shoulders shook and his knuckles blazed white from the force of his grip. He lifted his head and his gaze sought Erin through the pointed strands of his hair, and then roamed back to Apollyon. “You swear… swear I can make him pay.”

Apollyon nodded without hesitation, his heart filled with pity for the male before him, unable to imagine what he had been through these past few months because of what Asmodeus had done to him.

But what had his twin done to Nevar?

Apollyon stared at Nevar as Veiron helped him onto his feet.

Was it possible these changes in the guardian angel were the result of a contract?

Nevar would never willingly go into a contract with the man who had tortured him and driven him to despair though. A contract was the only method of altering an angel’s appearance that Apollyon knew of though, and the only answer that made any sense.

Asmodeus had the Devil’s blood in him too. The Devil could contract with angels, turning them into his Hell’s angels. He had passed that ability on to Erin. Was it possible that the Devil had unwittingly given Asmodeus that ability too and that the male was a true King of Demons, able to become a master to angels and turn them like him?

If it were possible, then this form that Nevar now had was one he shared with Asmodeus.

And Asmodeus would be able to command Nevar to do his bidding.

Nevar wouldn’t be able to make Asmodeus pay because Asmodeus could order him to lay down his weapon.

Apollyon felt he should mention that but held his tongue. Nevar was his only lead and he needed him. If he revealed that he didn’t believe Nevar would have the revenge he wanted if he could find Asmodeus, then the angel would revert to denying their request, leaving them without a guide and without a hope of finding Serenity.

“I swear, Nevar. You may make him pay for what he did to you.” May, because he wasn’t sure that he could or would have the vengeance he sought.

Nevar huffed and sheathed his sword, and the black around his eyes faded, the darkness retreating so it only covered his hands and from below his knees. His purple gaze slowly transformed, becoming frosty green again.

“What did Asmodeus do to you?” Erin whispered and he turned sorrowful eyes on her for a brief second before walking unsteadily back to the bar where he had left his bottle of absinthe.

Nevar raised it, eyed the scant remains, and then knocked it back. He tossed the bottle behind him and it smashed in the darkness.

“I would like to know the answer to that question myself… and I intend to ask Asmodeus when we reach the bastard’s shitty castle.” Nevar clawed back his silver-white hair.

“You know where this castle is?” Apollyon was more than intrigued as to how Nevar had come to know the location of Asmodeus’s fortress but the steely look entering the angel’s green eyes said he wouldn’t tell him.

This man had secrets, dangerous ones, terrible ones.

“I have seen it with my own eyes… it lays in ruins.” Nevar grinned wickedly. “I will take you there.”

S
erenity was not pleased. The petite Parisian witch had sworn at him most shockingly in French, calling him a barrage of names he did understand and many he did not.