The Bastard (39 page)

Zale paced, a surplus of adrenaline with no outlet itching on his skin. The Quad was full light, near afternoon, and not one man had moved. Vike sat silently, his back pressed against the huge boulder, his cheeks lined with dried tears. The others grumbled with worry and impotent energy.

Sela knew better. She shouldn’t have gone to Michael. He’d refuse her because he could. Zale kicked a small stone. What could he do? Nothing. He was trapped, as always, on this mortal plane with no way of reaching her, no way of freeing her from the monsters who’d rather feast on her flesh and laugh, knowing it would regenerate and feed them again. He’d seen firsthand the sadistic appetites of the Irin. His now-human stomach clenched in memory.

Omen surged to his feet, barking and snarling toward the boulder, his ears laid flat. Zale spun.

Standing atop the huge rock, a man in the white robes of a Watcher held a bloody Sela in his arms. Weapons appeared in every Forsaken hand, Vike surging to his feet with a curse. They couldn’t strike with Sela in his arms. Questions flew from every direction.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“What did you do to her?”

“How’d you find this place?”

“Put her down and fight, you son of a bitch.”

The man never moved. His scrutiny tripped over them all as he sized each one up. His gaze lit on Zale and he nodded. “You. Take her.”

Zale sent his sword to his tattoo and approached the rock, never moving his focus from the man in white. He cradled Sela as if she were made of glass, bounding to the ground but keeping his protective embrace around her to absorb the shock.

The stranger placed Sela in his arms with almost reverent care. For all Sela’s power, she weighed nothing. One wing dragged the ground, bone protruding from the silk. Zale did his best to shift her, to not press on points he knew would send pain charging down that limb. As the stranger’s arms left her, Sela unconsciously whimpered.

A tic of pride inched along the stranger’s mouth. “She fought like… I’ve never seen any warrior battle better. I did what I could to aid her from outside the walls.”

Confusion tightened Zale’s jaw. Who was this man and why had he helped her? He wasn’t Vangelus, though he was tall enough. Blood splattered his white robe in a macabre wet swirl, clinging to his skin and making the brown darker. Beneath the hooded robe, his head was shaved, his brow thick and his lips full. Gold cuffs surrounded his wrists, not slave bands but ancient vambraces, decorated with elaborate carvings of battle.

The stranger’s eyes lingered on Sela’s face as he stepped back…directly up against the point of Rex’s pugio. His spine went straight, his chin lifting.

“Who are you?” Rex asked.

“Not your enemy, Forsaken.”

“Rex.” Zale shook his head. Rex frowned but let his blade fall to his side. The stranger nodded to Zale then Leaped out.

Nomad tore for the medi-room and Zale followed as fast as he dared. On his heels, every Forsaken crowded into the tiled space. He laid Sela out on the pristine medical bed. The gurney’s clean sheet quickly turned to red as Nomad cut away her gown. Her nudity wasn’t alluring, but grotesque; bruised and raw, scored and bleeding.

The wounds on her calf and throat flowed quickly and Nomad cursed. Too fast for stitches. He grabbed a propane torch and a long knife. The men stepped back as blue flame spat from the nozzle. Zale stiffened his mouth and grabbed her leg, holding her while Nomad cauterized the bleeding. Sela never moved. The scent of burnt flesh gagged him but he remained, doing his duty as the wound on her throat was sealed with heat.

“Turn her over so I can get to her back.” Nomad’s voice was urgent.

Zale eased her onto her stomach and Dray moaned. “Oh sweet Jesus, what did they do to her?”

There was no time for words. Spreading her drooping wings, Nomad set to work on the gaping wounds. Only when those were seared shut and he clicked off the torch did he look to Zale. “I need to set the wing. Like a bird’s?”

Zale nodded. It wasn’t exactly the same but would allow the bone to heal straight. His hands trembled on the silk, memory blending with reality as he folded the limb close to her spine for Nomad to wrap. They worked in silence, each man’s breath echoing loud.

“What’s in her hand?”

Rex’s question dropped his eyes. Hanging along the gurney rails, Sela’s bloody hand fisted around a strip of paper. Zale pried it loose and handed it behind him to Myth without looking at it. He concentrated on aiding Nomad and ignoring the blood and stench.

“What is it?”

“I can’t read it, what’s it say?”

“It’s almost cuneiform but different. The Watchers don’t use modern maps. They refer to every place in ancient locations. Give me some time.”

Zale heard the words over his shoulder but his mind was frozen in relief and admiration. The Irin had evidently caught her but she’d escaped somehow and survived. The stranger popped back into his mind and he knew he owed the man a debt. Zale hated owing anyone.

“Aw, fuck it,” Myth snapped. “It’ll take me an hour to figure this out. Zale, what’s it say?”

Nomad waved him away, his focus on his suturing needle. Dray took Zale’s place as he stepped aside, wiping blood from his hands onto his shirt. He took the strip of parchment and laid it on the counter, afraid to blur the fragile writing anymore. It was torn and smudged, in a language he’d not seen since becoming human. He struggled.

The Watchers’ language had morphed over time and many of the symbols were unknown to him. He could make out the markings for Lacy’s name, however, and her resting spot.

“It’s from the
Eyts Vangelus
.”

“Lacy?” Vike’s whisper was thick with fear.

“Yes, but more than that. It’s a field of Scion, one of Samael’s hidden caches.” Cold duty steeled his stomach. Drawing a deep breath, he faced his men. “Let’s go.”

“You’re fucking waiting on me,” Nomad snarled still hunched over Sela’s back. “I need at least fifteen to finish here.”

“You’re staying.”

Nomad’s head snapped up. “Screw that. You need every warrior you’ve got.”

“We can’t leave Sela alone. H2Q has been compromised. We don’t know how that man found us or who he might bring back. We can’t risk her.”

“Draw straws.” Nomad growled. “Because I’m not babysitting while you’re all out kicking Leech ass again.”

“You play with straws, I’m going.” Vike drew himself to his full height.

“Someone we trust has to be with her,” Zale insisted.

Vike’s hard finger jabbed into his chest. “
You
stay.”

Not one man wanted to be left behind but they couldn’t leave Sela unguarded. Zale rubbed his temples then stopped as an idea sprouted. It was a risk, undoubtedly, but he might have found an answer. Thankfully, his black BDUs barely showed any blood. His shirt, however, was a crimson Rorschach test.

Stripping it off and tossing it aside, he turned the sink faucet to high. “Rex, give me your shirt.”

The Roman didn’t hesitate, tugging the pale green polo over his head and handing it over. Zale scrubbed the blood away from his arms as fast as he could. He tugged on the borrowed shirt as he headed for the patio door. “As soon as Mad’s done, we leave.”

“Where are you going?” Myth called.

“To get someone we can trust.”

Zale Leaped from the Quad without further explanation. Dray turned with a quizzical expression on his face. “What the hell did that mean?”

“Who knows?” Rex shrugged. “And who was that guy with Sela?”

“Not your enemy,” Dray mocked.

“Yeah, he’s a fucking riddle we don’t have time to figure out.” Nomad tossed a bloody sponge in a pan then jerked his head. “Guys, get out of here so I can work.”

They filed out of the medi-room in tense silence.

“Is this it?” Ominously soft, Dray’s voice raised the hair on the back of Vike’s neck. “Is this Armageddon starting?”

“No.” Clarity shone on Myth’s smooth cheeks. “Samael still needs one more Chief to equal seven. We won’t let him twist Lacy into becoming that one.”

The stillness that followed carried a loud question. What if they failed?

Vike was covered in Lacy’s blood, now dried and stiff. He Leaped upstairs and took a two-minute shower to scrub the hated red away. It was a reminder he not only allowed Lacy to die, he’d let her soul be stolen. By Galina.

A promise pumped through his marrow. He was going to track that Minion-bitch down if it took a thousand years and carve her into bite-sized pieces. Her ashes he wouldn’t scatter. She deserved every torment Samael could heap on her. Vike would even give him a few ideas.

Throwing on his blacks, he grabbed a bandana from the drawer. Paper spun to the carpet. He scooped it up and opened it.

Erik,

Think about me while you’re away and I’ll be waiting when you get back. ~Lacy

Pain stabbed into his belly. He fisted the bandana. “Hang in there, Lace. I’m coming to get you, babe.”

The black cotton covered his wet, gold hair, a practice he’d long ago learned helped him to hide in the dark. He had no idea where they were going but he wanted to be ready for anything. His injured Mark stung as he bent to lace his boots but he used that pain, internalized it and anticipated delivering more.

Sliding the tiny paper into his pocket, he Leaped back to the medi-room. Dray and Rex had both changed into blacks and paced like two toms stalking a cat in heat. Myth’s low voice carried from the recovery room and Vike strained but couldn’t hear Sela answering. Nomad entered from the bathroom smoothing a wrinkled tee over his stomach. His face boasted more lines of strain than the wordless black cotton.

There was nothing to do but wait. The wait was less than three minutes. Zale Leaped into the Quad holding the hand of dark-haired woman wearing a paramedic’s uniform. Dread mixed with guilt and lodged in Vike’s throat. Annie. How could Zale bring her here? Had he told her everything? Of course he had. He couldn’t tell a lie. Had he explained that Vike had lost her sister, let a Minion of Satan rip her open like a deer carcass over some battered fish and potatoes?

She swayed and he caught her. “You weren’t kidding about this stuff.”

Once she was steady on her feet, Zale released her hand and faced the men gawking at him. “Annie knows
what
we are.”

The emphasis Zale had placed on ‘what’ told a lot. Annie knew they were pariah guards of the Creator but their identities were safe. The amazed look she darted over all of them wasn’t colored by horror or disgust. Vike avoided looking at her face, not wanting to catch her eye.

Like her sister, Annie was hard to ignore. She stepped directly in front of him. “Find her, Erik. Bring her home safe.”

“I told her Lacy had been taken but we’ll get her back.”

Zale’s truth was shaded, not lying but also not mentioning that they weren’t retrieving Lacy’s body but her soul. Lacy’s butchered remains were below in the Hall of Infamy. The pleading in Annie’s eyes nearly buckled his knees. Vike couldn’t find the voice to answer so he merely nodded.

Nomad, a strangely pleasant smile on his face, held out his hand. “Annie? I’m Dr. Maddox. If you come through here, I’ll show you the patient.”

With a brisk handshake, she followed him into the recovery room. Vike turned his attention back to Zale. “Her? You really think she can guard Sela?”

“No.” Zale stripped off the borrowed shirt and caught the black one Myth tossed him. “I think she’s the best we have to stay with Sela while she heals and to alert us if anything trips the alarms. Can you name another person who has a vested interest in finding Lacy?”

“Lacy’s dead. Annie doesn’t know that.”

The general was still, not moving for a long moment. “We’ll tell her when Lacy’s soul is safe. It’s the only peace we can give her.”

“Since when do you give a shit if anyone finds peace or not?”

“What purpose does it serve alienating Lacy’s sister when we can use her to watch over Sela? I do what I have to do to win the war. Her peace is a by-product that suits our needs.”

There, in a nutshell, was the major difference between them. Vike reacted. Zale planned. It took both to win in battle but in the wrong order, they could be deadly. As much as it stung his pride, Vike forced himself to look directly into Zale’s face. “You’re right. I hadn’t looked at it that way.”

Zale just nodded and pulled the shirt over his head. He spent two minutes inside with Annie, instructing her on alarms, then he and Nomad joined the team in the Quad.

“No weapons until we clear the area of tourists.”

“Where’re we going?” Dray cracked his knuckles.

“The Mouth of Hell.”

Chapter Twenty-One

An angel. She was babysitting an injured angel. Annie pushed her amazement away and concentrated on her patient’s vitals. Dr. Maddox had said they were within normal range and there was no medical treatment required of her. Curiosity couldn’t be ignored though, and her eyes fell back to the woman sleeping on her stomach.

One large wing was wrapped in tape and gauze, holding it close to her body. The other hung to the floor. Pale brown, the color of a wren’s belly, it didn’t really have feathers. She stroked the fluffy covering and her mouth dropped open. Pure silk.

The wing twitched under her hand and she automatically murmured, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

How could anyone hurt something so beautiful? A nauseating burn had cauterized what looked like a huge bite mark but no human had a mouth that large or teeth that jagged, that long. Annie wasn’t sure what animal had a human-shaped mouth though. In addition to the bite, there were gashes and cuts along her back. Two large slashes had also been seared shut near those graceful wings’ beginnings.

Annie dug through the cabinets until she found a basin and filled it with water. Using a washcloth and the gentlest touch she could, Annie began to wipe the dried blood away. Smooth skin marked with bruises was unveiled with each stroke until the water was red. She refilled the basin and started over, stripping all blood from the angel’s back.