The Darkest Passion

“No, but Paris promised to continue looking for her. Once he regained his strength, of course. And speaking of lost strength, Paris mentioned that the angel is injured. Do you want me to have someone fetch a doctor?”

“Fetch” meant “abduct” in this household. “No. She’ll heal on her own.” They’d been on the lookout for a doctor to permanently employ for some time, but they’d had no luck. Now time was of the essence, since Ashlyn was pregnant. But no one knew if the baby would be mortal or demon, so they had to be careful whom they chose.

Hunters, as they’d recently learned, had been breeding immortals with mortals for years, spawning halfling children in the hopes of creating an unstoppable army. The demon of Violence’s baby would be a prize among prizes, someone every Hunter would love to use. And in the hands of the wrong doctor, the Lords’ secrets would be anything but safe.

Torin shook his head in sympathy, as if Aeron were too dim-witted to think things through properly. “You sure she’ll heal? She was kicked out of the heavens.”

“We were kicked out of the heavens, yet we heal as fast as ever. We even regenerate limbs.” Which Gideon, keeper of the demon of Lies, was now in the process of doing. The warrior had been captured during their last battle with Hunters and tortured for information—information he had not given. In retaliation, the Hunters had removed both of his hands.

Gideon was still bedbound and a major pain in everyone’s ass.

“Good point,” Torin said.

A woman’s scream suddenly burst from Aeron’s bedroom.

He stopped pacing, and Torin straightened. By the time the second scream sounded, both were running for the room, though Torin kept a good distance between them. Aeron threw open the door, the first inside.

Olivia was on the bed, still lying on her stomach but now thrashing. Her eyes were closed, and despite the shadows her lashes cast, he could see that bruises now branched under them. That dark hair was in tangles around her trembling shoulders.

Her robe had obviously cleaned itself, most of the blood gone. Yet there were two new stains where her wings should have already begun to grow back, both bright crimson and wet.

THE DEMONS were tugging on her.

Olivia could feel their claws digging into her skin, cutting, stinging. She could feel the sticky slime on their scales and the burn of their putrid breath. She could hear the glee in their laughter and wanted to vomit.

“Lookie what I found,” one of them cackled.

“A pretty angel, fallen right into our arms,” another chortled.

Plumes of sulfur and rot thickened the air, and the stench was sucked into her nostrils as she tried to catch her breath. She’d just fallen, the clouds opening up under her feet, sending her tumbling from the heavens, down…down, no end in sight, flailing for something, anything to catch and stop herself…and when the end had finally appeared, the ground had opened up, too, the flames of hell swallowing her whole.

“A warrior angel, at that. She has wings with gold.”

“Not anymore.”

The tugging became harder, more violent. She kicked and hit and bit, trying to fight her way free to run and hide, but there were too many demons around her, the jagged, rocky landscape behind them unfamiliar to her, so her efforts elicited no results. The tendons anchoring her wings in place began to tear; the scalding pain spread, consuming her until every thought in her head revolved around the easiest way to stop it: dying.

Please. Let me die.

Stars winked over her eyes, suddenly the only thing she could see. Everything else had gone black. But black was good, black was welcome. Still, on and on the laughter and tugging continued. Dizziness soon flooded her, and nausea began churning in her stomach.

Why wasn’t she dead? Then one of her wings ripped free completely and she screamed, that scalding pain morphing into what she now knew was true agony. Not even death could end this kind of suffering. No, this would follow her into the afterlife.

The other wing quickly followed, and she screamed again and again and again. Claws continued to scrape at her clothing, damaging more of her skin and sinking inside the fresh wounds on her back. Finally, she did vomit, emptying her stomach of the heavenly fruits she’d consumed just that morning.

“Not so pretty now, are you, warrior?”

Hands squeezed at her, touching her in places no one had ever touched her before. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she lay there, helpless. This was it. The end. Finally. Except, one thought glimmered in that sea of black: she’d given up her beautiful life, only to die in hell without ever knowing joy, without spending time with Aeron. No. No!

You are stronger than this. Fight! Yes, yes. She was stronger than this. She would fight. She would—

“Olivia.”

The hard, familiar voice swept through her mind, momentarily blocking the hated images, the pain and the sorrow. The determination.

“Olivia. Wake up.”

A nightmare, she thought, with a small hint of relief. Only a nightmare. Humans often had them. But she knew the assault had been much more to her. A memory, a replay of her time in hell.

She still thrashed atop the bed, she realized, her back even now aflame, the rest of her bruised and knotted. Forcing herself to cease, she pried her eyelids apart. She was panting, chest swiftly lifting and falling against the mattress, air burning her nose and throat as if she were inhaling acid. Sweat dripped from her, soaking her robe to her skin. That blessed numbness she’d experienced earlier was completely obliterated; she felt everything.

Death might have been preferable, after all.

Once more Aeron was crouched beside the bed and peering over at her. A male—the one named Torin, she recalled—stood beside him and watched her through haunted green eyes.

Demon, Olivia thought. Torin was a demon. Just like the others. The ones who had ripped out her wings. The ones who had touched her and taunted her.

A piercing scream coiled from her raw throat. She wanted Aeron, only Aeron; she didn’t trust anyone else. Didn’t want anyone else even looking at her right now. Especially a demon. That Aeron himself was possessed by Wrath had no bearing on the situation. To her, Aeron was simply Aeron. But all she could think about when she looked at Torin was how scaled hands had pinched her nipples and sunk between her legs. How those hands would have done far more if she hadn’t begun fighting.

Fight. Yes. She kicked out her leg, but the foolish limb flopped uselessly, the muscles too tense to work properly. Helpless. Again. A sob joined her scream, both choking from her as she then tried to scramble from the bed and throw herself into Aeron’s arms. But once more, her feeble body refused to cooperate.

“Make him leave, make him leave, make him leave,” she shouted, burying her face in the pillow. Even looking at the newcomer was painful to her. She might know Torin on sight, but she didn’t know him the way she knew Aeron. Didn’t crave him the way she craved Aeron.

Aeron, who could make everything better, as he did for his friend Paris every night. Aeron, who could protect her as he did his little Legion. Aeron, who was so fierce he had scared her nightmares away.

Strong hands settled on her shoulders and held her down to stop her renewed thrashing. “Shh. Shh now.You have to calm down before you injure yourself further.”

“What’s going on?” Torin asked. “What can I do to help?”

No. No, no, no. The demon was still here. “Make him leave! You have to make him leave. Now. Right now.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” Torin said gently. “I’m here to—”

Hysteria was bubbling up inside her, about to consume her and sweep her under. “Make him leave. Please, Aeron, make him leave. Please.”

Aeron growled low in his throat. “Torin, damn it. Get the hell out of here. She’s not going to calm down until you do.”

There was a heavy sigh, sadness in the undertones, then blessedly, footsteps sounded.

“Wait,” Aeron called, and Olivia wanted to scream. “Did Lucien flash to the States as planned the other day and purchase Tylenol for the women?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Torin replied.

They were conversing? Now? “Make him leave!” Olivia shouted.

“Bring me some,” Aeron said, talking over her.

The door creaked open. Finally, the demon was leaving—but he would return with human medicine. Olivia whimpered. She couldn’t go through this again. Would probably die from fear alone.

“Just throw it inside the room,” Aeron added, as though sensing her thoughts.

Thank you, sweet merciful Deity in heaven. As Olivia slumped onto the mattress, the door clicked shut.

“He’s gone,” Aeron said softly. “It’s just you and me now.”

She was trembling so violently, the entire bed shook. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.” The plea proved just how weak she currently was, but she didn’t care. She needed him.

Aeron smoothed the sweat-damp hair from her temples, his touch as soft as his voice. This couldn’t be her Aeron, speaking to her so sweetly, caressing her so tenderly. The change in him was almost too vast to be believed. Why had he changed? Why was he treating her, a virtual stranger, as he usually only treated his friends?

“You wanted me to hold you earlier,” he said. “Do you still wish it?”

“Yes.” Oh, yes. Whatever the reason for the change, it didn’t matter. He was here, and he was giving her what she’d desired for so long.

Very slowly, he eased beside her, careful not to jostle her. When he was stretched out, she inched forward until her head was resting in the groove of his strong, hot shoulder. The action lanced more of that debilitating pain through her, but being this close to him, finally touching him, was worth it. This was why she’d come here.

He wrapped one arm around her lower back, still so careful of her wounds, and his warm breath trekked down her forehead. “Why aren’t you healing, Olivia?”

She loved when he uttered her name. Like a prayer and a plea, wrapped in the same pretty package. “I told you. I fell. I’m fully human now.”

“Fully human,” he said, stiffening. “No, you didn’t tell me that. I could have brought you medicine sooner.”

There was guilt in his tone. Guilt and dread. The dread she didn’t understand, but was too wrung out to question. And then she forgot all about it. In the center of the room, an amber light sparked. That light grew…and grew…brightening so much she had to squint.

A body took shape. A big, muscled body draped in a white robe very similar to hers. Pale hair appeared next, waving to thick shoulders. She saw eyes like liquid onyx and pale skin with the slightest dusting of gilt. Last to fill her gaze were wings of pure, shimmering gold.

She wanted to wave but could only manage a faint grin. Sweet Lysander, here to comfort her at last, even as a figment of her imagination. “I’m dreaming again. Only, I like this one.”

“Shh, shh,” Aeron whispered to her. “I’m here.”

“As am I.” Lysander’s gaze swept his surroundings and his lips curled with distaste. “Unfortunately, this is no dream.” As always, he spoke true, his voice as filled with certainty as hers.

This was truly happening? “But I’m human now. I shouldn’t be able to see you.” Actually, seeing him was now against the rules. Unless her Deity thought to reward her? Given that she’d just turned her back on her heritage, that hardly seemed likely.

Now he peered straight into her eyes—straight, it seemed, into her soul. “I petitioned the Council on your behalf. They’ve agreed to give you one more chance. And so, right now, a part of you is still angelic and will remain so for the next fourteen days. Fourteen days in which you may change your mind and reclaim your rightful place.”

Like a bolt of lightning, shock lanced through her, burning and sizzling. “I don’t understand.” No fallen angel had ever been given a second chance before.

“Nothing to understand,” Aeron said, still trying to soothe her. “I’ve got you.”

“I am of the Seven, Olivia. I wanted fourteen days for you, and so you were given fourteen days. To live here, to…enjoy. And then, to return.” Lysander’s affronted tone proclaimed his status should explain everything.

It did not, but still the hope in his voice saddened her.The only thing she regretted about her choice was hurting this amazing warrior. He loved her, desired only the best for her.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t change my mind.”

He appeared thunderstruck. “Even when the immortal is taken from you?”

She barely managed to stop her horrified cry. I’m not ready to lose him. But weak as she was, there was nothing she could do to save him, and she knew it. “Is that why you’re—”

“No, no. Calm yourself. I’m not here to kill him.” The word yet was unsaid, but present all the same. “If you decide to stay, his new executioner will not be decided until your fourteen days have passed.”

So. She was guaranteed two weeks with Aeron. No more, no less. That would have to be enough. She would make so many memories, they would last a lifetime. If she could convince Aeron to let her stay here, that is. As stubborn as he was…

She sighed. “Thank you,” she told Lysander. “For everything. You didn’t have to do this for me.” And had probably had to fight the Council mercilessly for such a concession, one of the Seven or not. Yet he’d done so, without hesitation, just so she might experience the joy and passion she craved before reclaiming her place in heaven. She wouldn’t tell him that she could not go back. No matter what happened.

In fourteen days, if she did return, she would be expected to kill Aeron, she knew—and still she would not be able to do so. “I love you. I hope you know that. No matter what happens.”

“Olivia,” Aeron said, clearly confused.

“He cannot see, hear or even sense me,” Lysander explained. “He now realizes you are not talking to him and thinks you are hallucinating from the pain.” Her mentor stepped toward the bed. “I must remind you that the man is a demon, Liv. He is everything we fight against.”

“As is your female.”

He squared his wide shoulders, and his chin lifted. Ever the stubborn warrior, her Lysander. Just like Aeron. “Bianka broke none of our laws.”

“But even if she had, you would have wanted to be with her. You would have found a way.”

“Olivia?” Aeron repeated.

Lysander paid him no heed. “Why would you choose to live with him as a human, Olivia? Just for a few minutes in his arms? That can bring you nothing but heartache and disappointment.”

Once again, there was undiluted truth in his tone. Lies were not permitted in their—no, his, she thought sadly—world. Still, she refused to believe him. Here, she would do things she desperately wanted to do. Not only would she live as a human, but she would feel as one, too.

The bedroom door swung open, saving her from replying. A small plastic bottle was tossed inside. It landed on the floor a few inches from Lysander’s sandaled feet.

“Here are the meds,” Torin called. The door shut before Olivia could work up another scream.

Aeron made to rise, but Olivia settled her weight more firmly atop him. “No,” she said, grimacing as another of those burning bolts struck her. “Stay.”

He could have pushed her aside, but didn’t. “I need to get the pills. They’ll help ease your pain.”

“Later,” she said. Now that they were touching, now that she felt the warmth of his body, wrapping around her, soothing her, she didn’t want to lose it. Even for a moment.

At first, she thought he would disregard her plea, but then he relaxed and tightened his hold on her. Olivia sighed with contentment and met Lysander’s hard gaze once more. He was scowling.

“This is why,” she told him. Cuddling wasn’t something angels did. They could have, if they’d so wanted, she supposed, but none ever had. Why would they? They were like brothers and sisters to each other, physical desire not part of their makeup.

“Why what?” Aeron asked, confused all over again.

“Why I like you,” she answered honestly.

He stiffened, but didn’t reply.

Eyes narrowed, Lysander spread his wings in one smooth jerk, the gold glistening in the moonlight. A single feather drifted to the floor. “I’ll leave you to your recovery, pet, but I will return. You don’t belong here. As the days pass, I have a feeling you, too, will realize that.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THAT FIRST NIGHT, after Olivia finished her strange conversation with herself, she finally fell back asleep, once again moaning and groaning with her pain, thrashing and hurting herself further. The second night, the mutterings about demons began. Don’t touch me, you filthy wretch. Whimper, gag. Please, don’t touch me. The third night, a deathly stillness claimed her.

Aeron almost preferred the begging.

Through it all, he mopped her brow, kept her company—even reading one of Paris’s romance novels to her, though she remained unaware—and forced liquids and crushed pills down her throat. He would not have her death on his conscience.

More than that, he wanted her out of his life—no matter how strongly his body reacted when he neared her. Or thought of her. He hadn’t lied. Once she was healed, she was gone. Because of how his body reacted.

Worse, the way his demon reacted. Not to her, but for her.

Punish, the demon said for the…what? Hundredth time? Punish the ones who hurt her. During Aeron’s blood-curse, the demon had spoken to him—in one-word commands—in addition to flashing violent images through his mind. For the past three days, though, extended speech was Wrath’s preferred method of communicating, and Aeron wasn’t quite used to it. Where was the peace Olivia elicited?

Also, he wasn’t sure what Olivia had been through when she’d been kicked from her home, and he couldn’t allow himself to find out. He might not be able to stop his demon from acting. Could barely stop the demon now. And if he knew the truth, he might not want to stop his demon. If ever there was a time to enjoy what Wrath could do…

Don’t think like that. Aeron didn’t want to soften toward Olivia any more than he already had, and he didn’t want her sinking deeper into his thoughts and decisions. His life had enough complications. And already she’d added more.

She wanted to have fun. As he’d assured her, fun wasn’t a word he was acquainted with, nor did he have time to learn. And he wasn’t disappointed about that. Truly.

She wanted to love. In no way was he right for that task. Romantic love wasn’t something he would ever bring to the table. Especially with someone as fragile as Olivia. And he wasn’t disappointed about that, either. Truly.

She wanted freedom. That he could give her. In town. If she would just get better, damn her!

She would get better, or by the gods he would finally unleash his demon, willingly and without restraint.

Punish. Punish the ones who hurt her.

Why did the demon like her? And Wrath had to like her. Nothing else explained the urge to strike at beings they hadn’t personally encountered. He’d had time to think about this, way too much time, yet no answers had materialized.

Aeron scrubbed a hand down his face. Because he refused to leave Olivia’s side, Lucien had had to continue seeing to Paris’s care and ensuring the warrior fed his own demon properly. Torin, in turn, had had to see to Aeron’s meals, bringing him trays of food throughout the day, but never staying to talk with him. If Olivia were to awaken and see the male…He didn’t relish a repeat of her earlier terror.

Unfortunately, the women of the house had learned of the angel’s presence and had descended en masse to welcome her. Not that he’d let them past the door. No telling how Olivia would react to them. Besides, none of them had known how to help the angel. He’d asked. Fine. He’d snarled.

Although he might have endured fits of terror from Olivia if it meant seeing her conscious again. Why the hell would she not awaken? And now, as still as she was…He rolled to his side, careful not to jostle her, and stared down at her. For the first time, she didn’t curl into him but remained as she was. Her skin was ghostly pale, her veins visible and garish. Her hair was a matted nest around her head. Her cheeks were hollowed out and her lips scabbed from where she’d chewed them.

Yet she was still beyond beautiful. Exquisite, even, in a protect-me-forever kind of way. So much so, his chest constricted at the sight of her. Not in guilt, but in a possessive need to be the one doing the protecting. A need that ran bone-deep.

She had to heal, and he had to get rid of her. Soon.

“At this rate, she’s going to die,” he snarled to the ceiling. Whether he was speaking to her One Deity or to the gods he knew, he wasn’t sure. “Is that what you want? One of your own to suffer unimaginably before perishing? You can save her.”

Look at you, he thought, disgusted with himself. Pleading for a life as the humans never do.

That didn’t stop him. “Why won’t you?”

The barest hint of a…growl? hit his ears. Aeron tensed. As he palmed one of the daggers he’d placed on his nightstand, his gaze zoomed through his bedroom. He and Olivia were alone. No godly being had appeared to chastise him for his impudent tone.

Slowly he relaxed. Lack of sleep was finally catching up with him, he supposed.

Night had long since fallen, moonlight shimmering through the windowed doors leading to his balcony. So peaceful was the sight, so fatigued was his body, he should have finally drifted into slumber. He didn’t. Couldn’t.

What would he do if Olivia died? Would he mourn her as Paris mourned his Sienna? Surely not. He didn’t know her. Most likely, he would feel guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. She had saved him, yet he wouldn’t have done the same for her.

You don’t deserve her.

The thought whispered through his head, and he blinked. It hadn’t belonged to Wrath, the timbre too low, too gravelly—and yet, somehow familiar. Had Sabin, keeper of Doubt, returned from Rome, attacking his self-confidence as was the warrior’s unintentional habit?

“Sabin,” he spat, just in case.

No response.

She’s too good for you.

This time, Wrath rumbled inside his head, prowling through his skull, suddenly agitated.

Not Sabin, then. One, Aeron hadn’t heard Sabin return and, two, he knew the warrior wasn’t due to arrive for another few weeks. Plus, there was no gleeful undertone to these doubts, and Sabin’s demon found great joy in the spreading of its poison.

So, who did that leave? Who possessed the power to speak in his mind?

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

That does not matter. I am here to heal her.

Heal her? Aeron relaxed just a little. There was a ring of truth in the voice, just as there was in Olivia’s. Was this an angel? “Thank you.”

Save your thanks, demon.

Such anger from an angel? Probably not. Or was this a god, perhaps, answering his prayers? No, couldn’t be, Aeron decided. The gods enjoyed their fanfare and would have relished the opportunity to reveal themselves and demand gratitude. And if this were Olivia’s Deity, surely there would have been a hum of power in the air, at the very least. Instead, there was…nothing. Aeron sensed, smelled and felt nothing.

I have every faith that, when she awakens, she will begin to see you for what you really are.

Because of the being’s certainty that she would awaken, Aeron didn’t mind the implied insult. He was too relieved. “And what am I?” Not that he cared. But in the answer, he might learn who this speaker was.