The Unforgiven (36 page)

“Cade?”

He lay on his stomach, his head cradled in her lap. His breathing was very shallow. She stroked his hair and forced
herself to inspect the gaping wound in his back. It turned her stomach.

“Can you hear me?”

His eyes opened a fraction. “I can,
caraid
. Not . . . dead yet.” Her heart clenched. “You’re not going to die.”

The sound he made might have been a laugh. “I am. And I . . . I don’t think I’ll be much longer about it.”

“No.”

“Promise me . . .”

“No,” she said again. “I won’t listen. There’s nothing to promise, because you won’t be leaving me—”

“
Promise me.
” He lifted his head, the effort making him grimace. He was so pale. Deathly white. His aura was no more than the barest sparkle.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “Anything. Just . . . just rest. Don’t tire yourself.”

“My warrior queen,” he said, mouth quirking. “Beautiful and passionate to the bitter end.” He tried to smile, then winced and compressed his lips. “After I’m . . . after this is over, go to London.” He spoke a street name and flat number that meant nothing to her. “Ask for Cybele. Tell her . . .” His breath caught and his body went rigid. Several seconds passed before the spasm was spent. “Tell Cybele everything. Tell her I . . . I loved you. Tell her I want you to take my place in the clan. She’ll think it won’t work. She’ll think the clan can’t accept you. Tell her they must. For me. She’ll smooth the way with Artur. She’s the only one who can.” He reached out a hand and she gripped it.

She pressed her lips to his ear. “Of course I’ll go,” she murmured. “If you want me to.”

“Good.” He closed his eyes. His grip on her hand slackened.

“No!” Tears stung her eyes. “No. Don’t leave me.” She shifted, bending over him, searching frantically for evidence of breath. Was it done, then? Over? She couldn’t believe it.

She
wouldn’t
. She hadn’t survived this far, through her transition and her encounter with Azazel, only to let Cade slip away now. She had one last, desperate hope. She dreaded putting the power to the test; the very thought was awful. It was impossible to predict what the consequences would be. But the alternative was losing Cade, and she refused to admit defeat until he was dead and cold.

Slipping her hand into the pocket of her skirt, she drew out the Seed of Life. The relic, restored to its original perfection, had been in Azazel’s possession when he’d clashed with Raphael in the cathedral. The battle had burst through the roof, raining fire and rubble down into the park where she and Cade had taken refuge. Cade, despite his wounds, had protected her. He’d gathered her into his arms and shielded her with his damaged body. But not before a flash of fire had shot through the sky and landed almost in her hand.

Mere chance, that Lilith’s amulet had fallen so close? Or had the relic actually found her?

Her human mind would once have scoffed at the suggestion of such a thing. Her newly acquired Watcher perception accepted the truth of it without a qualm. Maddie had only to recall her dreams—her ancestral memories—to know what was possible. White light sparkled across the gold, and a red glow suffused the bloodstone. The metal was scorched and bent where Raphael’s sword had struck so long ago, but the bloodstone, for the first time in five millennia, was whole. Lilith’s power pulsed within. Did Maddie dare claim it?

The talisman had brought pain and death to Lilith. She had created it with love for her father, but Azazel had used it for his own selfish purpose. The nature of the amulet was by no means clearly on the side of good or evil. Even so, Maddie had only begun to understand its power. She was not at all sure she could control it. But to save Cade, Maddie would dare anything.

She traced the seven circles with her finger. The Seed of Life. The talisman could create life or destroy it. Which would it do for Cade? There was only one way to find out.

She wasn’t sure exactly how to begin. With a hesitant hand, she laid the relic atop Cade’s gaping wound. He was so far gone into unconsciousness that he didn’t flinch. Nothing happened, either.

Reaching out, she covered the sparkling disc with her palm. The metal was cool. Inhaling a centering breath, she closed her eyes and entered a world of darkness. For several long heartbeats, the only sensation she experienced was that of Cade’s life essence fading toward Oblivion. Soon he’d be beyond reach.

Panic spurred her after him. She moved through a developing and shadowy landscape until she came up against a gap in the terrain. Something like a wide river. Except, the channel ran not with water but death and despair. She looked past the turbulence, to a figure standing on the opposite bank.

Cade.

There was no bridge. She called out to him, but he made no reply. Her heart contracted. Was she too late? Was he gone?

He turned away.

No!

She threw herself forward and plunged into a void of bitter hopelessness. Light and sound fled. Emotion like oil clogged her lungs. Despair clawed at her feet and legs.

Frantic to free herself, she reversed course. Instantly the restraints released her and the water turned clear. She understood then that she had only to turn back to make her escape. Alone. It would be so easy. Far easier than struggling onward. She was not even sure she could reach Cade without casting herself into Oblivion with him. But she had to try. Cade had risked his life for her. He could have escaped the cathedral without her, but he’d stayed to see her safe. At this
moment, he could have been in London with his clan, while she lived as Azazel’s slave. Instead, he was here with her, dying because of her. She owed him her freedom. Selfishly, she didn’t want it without him by her side.

She swam on through despair and panic. She fought off the clutching claws. At last her feet struck something solid. A shore? She couldn’t see to be certain.

She tested the ground, stepping forward cautiously. It held. But her surroundings were still pitch-black. Was she dead? Was this Oblivion? No. There would be no consciousness in Oblivion.

“Cade?”

Her call was weak. She inhaled deeply, intending a louder cry, but something foul clogged her lungs. Her breath ended in a painful spell of coughing.

A hand touched her arm. “Maddie.”

“Cade!” She tried to throw herself into his embrace, but he held her at arm’s length.

“What are you doing here?”

He sounded angry. She strained her vision, trying to see him. His life aura was a mere handful of dying sparks. She could make out nothing more distinct than a faint outline.

“I came for you,” she said.

“This is no place for you. You have to go back. It’s not your time.”

“It’s not yours, either!”

“It is.”

“I won’t accept that. You’re standing here with me, aren’t you?” Wherever here was. “You haven’t been lost to Oblivion. You can still turn back.”

“There’s too little of me left. I’ll be completely gone soon enough.”

“No. I won’t believe it. There’s a way. There must be. I have Lilith’s magic. I have the Seed of Life. I’ve faced the certainty
of death, Cade, as a human. I’m not going to let you face Oblivion now. No matter what I have to do to save you from it, I’ll do it.”

A pause. Then, wearily, “Even that won’t be enough. And in the end, what does it matter? Every warrior dies eventually. In the end, Oblivion takes all of us.” Breath hissed from his lungs. “Just go, Maddie. Leave me to my fate.”

“Go where? To your clan? They’ll never accept me. To my own tribe? To Dusek? He murdered your people! His ancestor tried to rape mine! I’ll never go to him. I couldn’t. But how can I live on my own? I’d come to hate myself and what I am because you won’t be there to show me how to make it better. I don’t want to make it better. Not without you. I want you. I
love
you.”

“Ah, Maddie.
Caraid.
You are so bloody stubborn. I love . . . I love that about you.”

The word sighed from his lips, the last breath of his life. He was giving up.

“No!”

She made a desperate grab for him, body and mind and life essence, and landed in a violent maelstrom. Eternal forces threatened to tip her asunder. But she wasn’t alone in the storm; Cade was there, still alive, still with her. It was all she wanted.

You shouldn’t be here. This is
my
death
. My
end. Not yours. Let me have that, at least.

It doesn’t have to be your end, Cade! It can be a new beginning. For both of us. Together.

A new beginning, not for each of them alone, but for both as one. Was it possible?

Lilith had created the Seed of Life in love, hoping to bind her existence to Azazel’s for all time. She had created it out of pure love for her father. Azazel had twisted Lilith’s love into something sordid and evil. He had seduced and corrupted his daughter, and used her love and her magic to cheat death.
But those crimes did not negate the essential nature of Lilith’s magic. What had prevented the magic from doing good was the hatred Lilith had clung to after her betrayal. Forgiveness, Maddie now realized, was the true source of immortality. Forgiveness, which the Nephilim had been denied. Forgiveness, which Cade had denied to himself.

She called on all the love for Cade that was in her heart. “Your son and the others who died wouldn’t want you to follow them into Oblivion,” she whispered. “Not when you can celebrate their lives by living. They forgive you, Cade. I forgive you. For everything. Now, forgive yourself and come back to me. Back to life.” She blinked back tears. “We’ll face it together. Always.”

She reached out a hand. The tip of her finger glowed, and by instinct she traced seven circles. Pure white sparks hung suspended in darkness. In the center she placed her love.

Cade placed himself beside her.

The garden shed was dark, muddy, and uncomfortable. Rain hammered the roof; cold drops of water found their way through the rusted metal. Maddie was half-naked, cold, and dirty.

Cade lay on his stomach, his head in her lap, too weak to move. But the gaping wound on his back was now nothing more than a fading welt on unbroken, healthy skin. His breath was steady.

His eyes were open and locked with hers. The crimson glow of his life aura was strong.

“We’re alive,” he said.

“And together,” she whispered.

They shared a smile.

The furious lightning almost looked like fireworks, except that it wasn’t July yet, and the display was taking place over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Brandon Schumaker, pilot of Atlantic Air Flight 1323, midnight departure from JFK to Heathrow, called the phenomenon to the attention of his copilot.

“What do you think, Greg? UFO?”

Schumaker was a science-fiction buff from way back, but Greg Marshall, sipping his coffee with a contemplative air, had a different take. “Hellfiends, more like. The things are freaking everywhere these days.” He glanced at the navigation console. “We should alter our course. Keep out of their way. Just in case.”

Schumaker couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding me, right? You can’t really believe all that crap on the Internet about a demon invasion.”

“As if an alien invasion is any more likely,” Marshall retorted.

Schumaker snorted. “You went to one of those demon annihilator rallies during our layover, didn’t you? What happened? A little brainwashing?”

“Demon Annihilators Mutual Network isn’t a cult. It’s a respected international organization. And yes, I’m a member. I joined, during that telethon they had.”

Gold and crimson exploded in the clouds to the right of the aircraft.

“Damn,” Schumaker said. “Whatever it is, hellfiend or alien, it’s real.”

“About a mile off,” Marshall remarked, sitting up, “and closing in.”

Schumaker digested that fact, then, frowning, keyed a southern directional change into flight management. A few moments later the lightning disappeared behind the aircraft as the autopilot executed the turn. Ten minutes after that, everything appeared normal. Marshall returned to his coffee, Schumaker to his airline paperwork.

Without warning, the aircraft shuddered.

“What the—?”

The instruments went wild. The plane pitched, acting for all the world as if a giant hand had punched its underside. Coffee splattered the windshield like dirty rain, and Schumaker’s flight case and paperwork went flying.

“Holy shit!” he cried.

Screams rang out from the cabin. Schumaker made a desperate grab for the control column, too late. By the time he got his hands on it, the craft had flipped more than ninety degrees and they were just about on their back. There was no way to maneuver out of this.

Schumaker’s stomach went into freefall. His body slammed against the restraint belt. The craft rolled to starboard; then, with a sickening lurch, it plummeted toward the sea. At a speed well in excess of four hundred knots, impact was seconds away. They were dead. Carrie’s face flashed through his brain. She’d have the baby without him. Was it a son or a daughter? Schumaker wished now they’d let the doctor tell them.

The plane lurched again and entered a slow, controlled rotation. What the hell? It felt as if the craft was righting itself. Impossible.

“What just happened?” Marshall croaked from across the cockpit.

Schumaker had no idea. But they were still alive, and they were flying upright. Muffled screams from the cabin penetrated the cockpit door. Better than dead silence, anyway. Shaking off his nausea, he scanned the gauges. The autopilot was correcting its course. Altitude was low but climbing. All the rest—heading, speed, attitude—was as it should be.

“Cabin pressure normal.” Marshall’s calm voice showcased his military training. “Tachometer reading steady. Hydraulics online. What the
fuck
do you think that was?”

“I have no idea,” Schumaker muttered. “But there’s bound to be injuries in the back. We’ve got to put down ASAP. What’s closer? JFK or Glasgow?”