Redemption (A NOVEL OF THE SEVEN SIGNS) (30 page)

Already, sweat soaked him. Heat haze shimmered like ghostly laughter, mocking him with the empty echoes of twenty thousand lost souls and grim memories of death.

The Demon King had devoured the souls. But Dash had done the killing. And the time for reckoning was way overdue.

Azaroth, you ugly son of hell. I’m coming for you.

Wearily, Dash cracked his aching neck, and walked.

CHAPTER 26

Rose watched Japheth disappear in a stormy blue flash of light, and banged her fists against the cracked window.

He’d left her here. He’d actually gone to hunt Fluvium without her.
How the hell am I supposed to trap him now?

But chill spiked her blood like wire. Fluvium was strong. Crafty. Ruthless, armed with lies and clever tricks. And Japheth was…

She swallowed. Japheth was too damned honorable for his own good. His compassion was frighteningly real. What if…?

What if Fluvium kills him?

The skin on her arms crawled cold, like corpse-munching worms wriggled under there. No. She couldn’t let that happen. For a terrifying moment, the promise of redemption had flashed in his eyes. And it wasn’t just angel’s lies.

For one shocking, magical instant, Japheth had
believed
in her.

Empty, Rose stared out over the neon-lit city. Her vampire vision glittered bright, a loving caress in the darkness. Yells and screeching traffic echoed. Muzzle flash scintillated, a burst of automatic gunfire. Searchlights razored the sky, and
whipping helicopter blades kept pace with her frightened heart…and cold common sense slashed her warm dreams to bleeding ribbons.

If Fluvium killed him, she’d have failed. And Fluvium never rewarded failure. When the demon moon waxed, he’d shove her screaming into hell.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Never mind that she couldn’t stop thinking about that lost expression in Japheth’s eyes. That she wanted him naked, hot and breathless beneath her, those lush feathers wrapping her thighs, his mouth tugging on her breasts. That she wanted to kiss him, swallow him, drag him into her. Make his quest for redemption her own…

“Fuck.” Rose yanked her hair, itching. Damn his false compassion. If she wanted to live, she needed to kill this magnificent liar herself. Tempt his soul to the dark side, push his trembling body down beneath her and take everything he had.

And she couldn’t do it standing about in his apartment, feeling sorry for herself.

Determined, she strode to the door. The locks—three of them, stainless steel deadlocks polished bright—glared menacingly at her. She shook the door. Solid as granite. She fashioned shadows and let them crawl, fingering the locks, slipping inside…and stinging angelfire zapped, a vicious electric shock.

“Ow! Shit!” Her muscles spasmed, an agonizing fit. Smoke hissed, and all the hair on her body stood on end. She recoiled, reeling her shadows back in. Cramp still clawed her arm. She flexed it, working the shock out. Damn, that hurt.

She strode to the kitchen, and rifled through the drawers. No keys. Maybe the bedroom.

Only the bathroom lights on in there, the way she’d left them, and the bedroom was dim. His latte scent still sweetened the air. “Lights up,” she ordered. The bedroom lights didn’t obey. Probably only responded to his voice.

Damn, this angel was paranoid. Hardly likely to lock her in and leave the keys behind. If there even were any keys. The locks were probably magical…

Still, she hunted through his spotless wooden bureau, pushing aside his clothes. Neatly folded to the point of obsession,
of course. Practical, good quality but not too nice. Like he didn’t want to indulge himself.

Her fingertips lingered over a soft dark shirt. The kind he wore under his armor, sleeveless, the smooth fabric absorbent to soak up sweat and blood. The midnight color would look good against his clear skin, his rich golden hair. He chose dark jeans, too, neat, not torn or worn thin as per the fashion these days. And as for his other fighting gear… She brushed the back of her hand over a pair of leather trousers. The roughness tingled her skin. That sweet coffee scent, but this time darker, hair and male skin, the musk of secret sweat…

She pulled away, uncomfortably warm. For a guy who didn’t care what he looked like, he looked damn fine.

Either that, or he was just as vain as the rest of them, and lied about it.

Whatever.
She slammed the drawer shut, and walked away. No keys. She couldn’t break the locks. And this was Babylon. No one took chances on security, especially not Captain Paranoia here. The door and frame were steel cored. Even with her nimble limbs and enhanced vampire strength, she couldn’t kick it down.

Only one other way out.

She strode into the living room. Mirrors whispered shadows at her, rustling. The windows were locked, of course, the edges of the folding glass doors sparkling with the same angelspells that nearly blew her goddamn arm off…

By the piano’s hulking silhouette, broken glass flashed.

She bent, her heart thumping. A few shards sparkled gemlike on the floorboards, next to a long crack that split the window from floor to ceiling. She fingered it cautiously. No spells. Nothing to burn her. And the two thick glass slabs weren’t flush. A quarter-inch sharp edge glittered like a blade in the down lights.

Her pulse quickened. Japheth had broken the window. Just a few minutes ago, when he did that scary lightning thing. He’d broken it with anger, disgust, explosive emotion that clanged in her ears like bells. And he’d left her a way out.

She peeked over the edge, dizzy. God, she’d always loathed heights. He had a narrow balcony, just enough to stand or sit.
Beyond, twenty floors of nothing plummeted to the street. She peered sideways, cheek pressing the glass. His was the corner apartment. To one side, a sharp edge and howling nothing. To the other…well, the next balcony was a long way away. But maybe—just maybe—not too far to climb.

She swallowed, sick. He’d left her a way out, all right. If she dared. But risking certain death was better than doing nothing. At least her fate would rest in her own hands. And if she fell…

Rose tightened her trembling mouth. Her palms were clammy, and she wiped them on her jeans. If she fell, she’d just go to hell a few hours sooner.

She grabbed a stainless steel barstool, and hurled it with all her vampire strength at the cracked window.

*   *   *

Wreathed in as much shadow as he could muster—which was to say, he’d vanished his wings lest their fire betray him, and damn it if Rose’s can’t-see-me spell wouldn’t come in handy right now—Japheth crouched in an elm tree, perched on his toes, and gazed down on the blood-soaked horror of Bethesda Terrace.

A huge bonfire roared on the terrace’s roof. Black smoke billowed, a fetid cloud that stung and poisoned. Corpses littered the tiles. They clogged the steps, piled two and three deep, slumping across the cloistered railing. Throats torn out, crimson flesh open and bleeding. A few had broken ribs, their chests torn asunder, hearts missing.

Some weren’t dead, and tried to crawl away. But they didn’t have the strength. Their naked bodies shone sickly blue, drained beyond survival, and their weakened limbs just slipped in the rivers of blood.

It clotted the ground, inches deep, soaking off the terrace’s edge into the grass. The meaty stench made him retch. But worse, the reek of hellcurse. Vampires leapt and capered. Dozens of them, charging about like mad insects, red eyes gleaming. Most of them were naked. All were covered in gore.

Some clambered over the corpses on all fours, licking and sniffing for live ones. Others danced, and howled, or rolled and gurgled in the sea of blood, or balanced on the railing,
tilting their outflung arms like trapeze artists and shrieking in delight. A few groped each other among the corpses, fucked, savaged each other’s bodies with hungry teeth. One ripped strips of flesh from a corpse and ate them, feeding the strands into his mouth like crimson-dripping spaghetti.

Japheth fought crawling nausea. How had they lured these humans here? Did they have a stash of them, like Caliban, locked in cages awaiting their screwed-up pleasure? Or was some viler magic at work? He sniffed, sorting through the scents, rolling back the thickening bloodstink in search of demon magic…

There
. His senses yanked taut, like hooks ripping through his skin.

A summoning spell. The demon prince was luring his prey. Wafting his foul allure on the smoke, tempting humans to horrible death and even more horrid damnation.

Clever
. Japheth sniffed the evil scent again, memorizing it. Random infections were unreliable. Luring humans en masse was a quicker, surer way to make vampires. The demons were ramping up their plague-spreading mojo.

His feathers sprang, sharp hackles of threat, and he jumped, wafting to the ground. He ghosted towards the forest’s edge. Shadows muttered and nipped at his ankles. He kicked them away, his warrior’s instincts automatically calculating his chances, the best approach, the enemy’s likely strengths and weaknesses.

They were eating, glutting themselves. Likely they’d be in a stupor, their reaction time dulled. And threatening storm clouds obscured the moon. This was good. Moonlight increased the demons’ power, and the shadows would hide him a few moments longer.

Sure, hiding was dishonorable. It lent his craven enemies dignity they didn’t deserve. But if he happened to move quietly, and Fluvium’s horde were too wrapped up in their ghastly slaughter games to smell him coming?

Japheth allowed a hungry grin. That was their problem.

And Fluvium was here, all right. The toxic strength of those hellspells promised that. By dawn, his evil gibbous moon would be full.

Dark desire flashed in Japheth’s veins, indistinguishable from glory. These ravenous hellshits were evil. Weak. Slaves to their selfish desires. You didn’t see them fighting the curse, trying to hold themselves back. They deserved nothing less than swift damnation.

But Rose Harley was strong. She’d rejected Fluvium’s sick murder games. Defied Caliban. Refused to kill even one man to sate her hunger…

He bit back a caustic curse. Wasn’t it enough that his mind was awash with her, his blood still burning for her kiss? Did he have to
like
her as well?

And why not? She’s strong. Resourceful. Determined, makes the most of her strengths. The way a fighter should be. She’s a top chick. If she was an angel, you’d admire her, like you admire Jadzia and Iria and the others. What’s wrong with that?

Yet Rose was still—wasn’t she?—irrevocably bound for hell.

It doesn’t seem fair.

The word clanged in his skull like demonbells.
Unfair
was dangerous ground, especially when you were Tainted. Rules were rules. Fairness didn’t come into it. Raging at the injustice didn’t change the truth.

And the truth was that sins—whatever their genesis—had to be paid for.

Like he was paying for his.

Michael made the rules. Kill Fluvium—just one more dead demon, after so many dark centuries filled with dead demons—and Japheth’s payment would be done.

He hopped a few feet into the air, and drifted from the shadowy forest onto the terrace.

The bonfire leapt higher, roaring in indignation at his intrusion. The heat scorched his face, seeped under his skin, and like an angry hawk, the hellish light struck for his glory-drenched feathers.

Instinctively, they flashed blue.

And a dozen pairs of insane vampire eyes swiveled like searchlights, and fixed on him.