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  Benevolent Passion

  HEAVEN’S HEART, BOOK TWO

  AMANDA PILLAR

  About Benevolent Passion

  Peony has traded one Hell for another.

  As a qualified doctor who only ever dreamed of helping people, being kept as a slave and then sold as breeding stock for Mortus demons was never on the cards.

  Freed from imprisonment, Zadkiel is an angel on a mission: find Heaven’s stolen Heart and save the demon who helped him when he was a captive. But Z is suffering from a mystical illness no one can cure... Can he stay alive long enough to achieve his goals?

  Together, Peony and Z will need every ounce of their combined strength to survive the Mortus stronghold and find the key to Heaven’s Heart.

  Contents

  About Benevolent Passion

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  More by Amanda Pillar

  About Amanda

  Dedication

  To Tom—I love you.

  And look what we did!

  Chapter 1

  Six Months Earlier...

  Zadkiel hovered effortlessly over the Inner Sanctum, one of the most sacred areas within Heaven’s Celestial City. Angels with pure white wings milled around the hall, their hair a kaleidoscope of hues, whispering amongst themselves. For many angels, this was the finale of a religious pilgrimage: the Celestial City and its mysterious artifact, Heaven’s Heart, which was of such importance, it warranted twenty-four-hour protection.

  He began another circuit of the hall, keeping his movements erratic and unpredictable, so if they were ever watched, no pattern would be discovered. It had been his honor to guard this immense hall and its treasure for the past two centuries, and every day he served, it reminded him of the future he had carved out for himself within his world.

  Pride was meant to be a sin, but he wasn’t ashamed to feel it for his achievements.

  He had worked hard from the moment the threads of silver had formed in his wings, indicating he was warrior class. He’d been younger than most when it had happened, a bare fifty years old, but he’d always known he was destined for something important, and the metallic filaments had confirmed his suspicions.

  His parents had hoped he’d be a scholar or a muse, had given him a name meaning ‘benevolent’ in their hope that he would take after them. But God had different plans, and thankfully, they had matched Zadkiel’s own. He had so desperately wanted to be a member of Heaven’s army as a child, but unless your wings had silver markings, you couldn’t become a warrior. And there was nothing you could do to control the presence or absence of the silver. You either were warrior class or you weren’t.

  Completing his final circuit, and finding nothing amiss, he swooped down to land next to Dina, the captain of their elite squadron, the Darts.

  “Anything unusual?” she asked, her pale crystalline blue eyes scanning the crowd of pilgrims with fierce attention.

  “No, although there appear to be fewer pilgrims today than normal.”

  Her wings rustled slightly as she turned, taking in the visiting angels. “Did you count how many are here?”

  “Seventy-two.”

  “There are normally over one-hundred.”

  He nodded.

  Her power was a steady pulse against his skin—her wings had turned almost entirely silver before he’d been born, and her golden hair was the sheen of the metal itself. There had been rumors for centuries she might ascend to archangel status one day, although she generally laughed them away whenever anyone was brave enough to repeat them to her.

  But there was no denying she was commanding and beautiful, or the fact that he had once been a little bit in love with her.

  Then again, Zadkiel had a feeling half the warrior class would admit to the same affliction.

  “I am getting a bad feeling,” Dina said, moving up next to him with an easy familiarity.

  He re-examined the crowd, then walked around the squat mausoleum-like building in the middle of the hall. “I can see nothing amiss.”

  Dina was rubbing her chest now, a look of brutal concentration on her face. “Something is not right. I will call the others.”

  He stopped beside her, watching the crowd, feeling their curiosity toward the guards and their treasure, but still saw nothing wrong. However, as the youngest member of the Darts, he was nowhere near as powerful as his comrade, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

  Dina turned cold eyes on him. “I cannot reach them.”

  The muscles in his jaw clenched, and he tried to send out his own telepathic query. Nothing but a gray mist met his enquiry—they had been blocked off. “How could that happen?”

  “It shouldn’t.” Dina settled into a fighting stance, a blade of fire bursting into to life in her hand.

  Zadkiel drew his own weapon, a more traditional steel-and-leather sword, not crafted by magic. It would take centuries for him to learn her skill—and even then, he may not manage to conjure a blade of fire, but rather something more pedestrian.

  As long as I could summon a blade, rather than having to carry one at all times, I would be happy. Raziel could do it, as could Azrael on the odd occasion, but Seraphina and Yael, the other two members of the Darts, had yet to master the ability.

  A huge booming shook the hall, causing the cloud-colored pillars to tremble and the Inner Sanctum to groan in protest. The worshippers screamed as smoke billowed into the hall, the scent of rotting flesh a pungent undertone to the burning stench.

  This should not be happening.

  “Could this be a test?” he asked Dina quietly.

  She shook her head. “Doubtful. Even the archangels would not risk damaging Heaven’s Heart for the sake of testing our defenses.”

  A white-winged worshipper darted close to them, his brown gaze wild with panic. “What is going on?”

  Dina met his stare with a lethal one of her own. “We are under attack.”

  She shot into the air. “Everyone! LEAVE NOW!” Her voice echoed throughout the hall, reaching every corner.

  Angels ran in all directions, some taking to the skies to avoid the crush. Zadkiel tried to ignore the panic and focused on what was creating the smoke and noise.

  A second later, large powerful forms appeared in the air, their wings long and bat-like, their heads horned, and lightning billowing over their bodies.

  Demons.

  And not just any demons—these were Infernus, a species descended from both Satan and Lucifer. Horror surged through his entire body, but he didn’t pause, launching into the air, and meeting one of the winged demons head on.

  His sword clashed with the demon’s, the blow powerful, pain wrenching through his shoulder. He ducked and dove, weaving in and out of the beast’s clutches, then hacked, slicing through the tendo
ns in his attacker’s arm. Dark blood streamed from the wound, but the demon simply swapped his sword to his opposite hand, and slashed out again.

  Dina’s voice cut through the melee. “Watch out!”

  Too late. Pain, like his skull had been split in two, ricocheted through his head and down into every limb. He spun in the air to face this new threat; another demon grinned evilly at him from a mere arm’s length away.

  Another blow, this from his first opponent.

  Zadkiel dropped from the sky, wings barely creating enough resistance to impede his fall. He smashed into the marble floor with a brutal snapping of bones, the scent of blood and burning rising to choke him. He fought to retain his consciousness as two booted feet landed heavily next to his head.

  A gravelly voice ground through his pounding head. “Nighty night, angel-boy.”

  Then there was nothing but darkness.

  Chapter 2

  Zadkiel was slow to come around. His head beat with a heavy rhythm, his vision was blurred, and pain echoed steadily in every inch of his body. He shut his eyes, hoping that a few more seconds of rest would improve his vision, or the agony.

  It didn’t.

  Everything was still hazy beyond recognition, although he could make out light and dark, and that there were large shapes standing over him. Blurry, shadowy arches spread out from behind the figures’ backs.

  Was he surrounded by angels?

  What happened? Where am I?

  There was a strange antiseptic smell in the air that he associated with human medical clinics. Was he in a healer’s chamber in Heaven?

  Memories began to bombard him, the force of them causing his teeth to clench. There had been a problem in the hall...demons had descended on Heaven...Infernus...

  Dina!

  His telepathic shout hit a screen of gray mist and vanished. One by one, he called for the other member of the Darts: Raziel, Azrael, Seraphina and Yael, but no one replied. His telepathic communication with them was still blocked.

  Panic clawed at his mind; he told himself to calm down, to assess the situation. But for the first time in two centuries, he was isolated.

  Truly alone.

  I have to find the others. They will know what to do.

  First thing, though, he needed to heal—his limbs were nothing but heavy weights, his heart laboring in his chest. Hopefully the angels surrounding him would assist him in achieving that goal in record time.

  “He’s awake!”

  The shout made him twitch, the most movement that could be coaxed out of his slumped form.

  You’ve been drugged. Maybe they’d had to sedate him so he could heal properly.

  Or maybe your spine is broken.

  He remembered pain, then falling, landing, his bones breaking with excruciating agony. He could have a broken spine; it would explain his slow healing. He was barely four hundred years old; still considered a baby among many of his kind. Spines—and their complicated network of nerves—took time to mend, unlike simple limb breaks.

  A rough voice rumbled around the room, vaguely familiar, but not because it belonged to an angel he knew. “Give him more anesthetic.”

  Anesthetic?

  “Boss, he’s had the maximum dose.”

  Boss? No angel he knew was referred to as ‘boss’.

  “Well, he’s awake and we’re not done.”

  “He’s paralyzed still.”

  A pause. Then that deep voice again. “Fine. But be quick.”

  Footsteps echoed as one of the shadows walked away. Then the Boss spoke, but his voice was quieter. “I have to go meet the others. Finish the job.”

  Tiny aching bursts spread from Zadkiel’s wings, the discomfort sizzling along nerves that were fighting back to life.

  The realization was swift and brutal. They’re plucking my wings.

  Despair settled heavy on his body. He was not being tended to by angels.

  It’s the Infernus.

  They must have taken him.

  But what had happened to Dina? To the other Darts? Why weren’t they answering him?

  More starbursts of pain. Angel feathers sold for a small fortune on the black-market, as they were almost impossible to come by. It wasn’t like angels gave them up freely. Worse, demons especially loved them, because they could be used for forbidden spells.

  This isn’t happening.

  But it was.

  He’d been warned about torture—had trained for it—but he’d never imagined being paralyzed from the neck down yet still able to feel, to know he was being treated as nothing more than a deceased bird being readied for the roasting pan.

  A sharp slice of pain down his abdomen made him open his eyes, but he could still see nothing except blurred images. Blood drenched the air with the scent of iron.

  “What are you doing?” someone asked.

  “I’ve heard angel organs sell for a bomb.”

  “We’re just meant to be taking the feathers.” Sharp pricks of pain accompanied the words as yet more feathers were stolen. A shadowy limb held something out in front of them. “These are pretty.”

  “Pretty?”

  “What?” The question was defensive. “They have silver through them. My cub would love them.”

  “Ever since you spawned you haven’t been the same.”

  “Says a cub-less male.”

  “I have the right priorities.”

  “Like pissing off the boss?”

  “He won’t know.”

  “You’ve just sliced the damned angel from navel to sternum. You think he won’t notice that?”

  “It will heal.”

  “Since none of the feathers have grown back, I’m not sure about that.”

  His feathers weren’t growing back?

  Then a new, deeper pain erupted through his body, and he passed out with a groan.

  *

  “What in Satan’s holy balls did you do to the angel?” The deep-voiced shout snapped Zadkiel awake. His wings burned, and his abdomen felt like someone had rifled through his organs. The scent of blood was rich and pervasive.

  “Just took a bit of his liver.”

  “It looks like it’s dying.”

  “Maybe their wings have magic and we took too many feathers—”

  “Of course their wings have magic. That’s why you were harvesting them, you fucking idiot. A dead angel is no good to me.”

  “The liver will grow back. Does for demons all the time. I think it even does in humans.”

  There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and bone snapping. “I don’t pay you to fucking think. I give you a task, and you stick to it.”

  “Yes, Boss.” The words were mumbled, as if through a bruised mouth.

  Something touched his wings then. A scream built in his throat, but he locked his jaw; he would not let them know of his pain.

  “The feathers aren’t regenerating.”

  “The angel is weak. He might have suffered an injury when you captured him. It seems to be hindering his healing abilities.”

  “Hmm.”

  Shouts sounded somewhere distant.

  “Motherfucker. I had better go see what the fuss is about.”

  Another tug on his wing, this one forcing out the scream he’d kept bottled.

  “Keep the angel alive.”

  *

  Zadkiel woke with a start, his entire body throbbing in time to the blood pounding through his skull. No change in his condition, at least, none that he could detect. His limbs were still frozen and his wings felt raw. And he still couldn’t see.

  The others will come for me. They will.

  All he had to do was stay alive.

  “Those fucking assholes think they can play me?!”

  Re-opening his eyes, he tried to focus on something, anything, but it was just darkness and light.

  I think I have a brain injury. It would explain the loss of vision, and why his
body wasn’t healing his wings or half-destroyed liver—it was prioritizing the head injury.

  “Boss?”

  “I will not be played.”

  “No, Boss.”

  “Those fuckers are going to pay for trying to screw me over.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  Something bumped against Zadkiel’s side, and a finger ran down his stomach, over his stitched wound. “Angel-boy, your life has just become very important to me.”

  He tried to focus on the speaker, but all he could make out was a dark blob with large protuberances on his head.

  That was when the pain really began.

  Chapter 3

  Five months later...

  Peony Marshall sat in front of her computer with a sigh, her bones aching and her body sore. She’d been on her feet for the past twelve hours, trying to save the life of a gray-skinned Brevine demon that had been clawed up while trying to steal from a fellow assassin.

  Most members of the Halcyon Guild did not take kindly to theft from their comrades. Theft from their enemies? Well, the more brazen you were, the more kudos to you.

  Their boss—or slave master, depending on how you wanted to see it—had been furious. Trick had ordered Peony’s treatment to be more painful than necessary, a demand she had promptly ignored. She worked her slave-debt off by saving lives, not by making people hurt. That was her identical twin’s job.

  The Skype ringtone sounded from her computer, and she answered with a weary sigh. “Hi, Mom.”

  The video kicked in, and Peony stared at the face of her adopted mother, Selene. As ever, a mix of happiness-pain burned in her chest. She’d always known she was adopted—the fact that her mother was green-eyed and dark-haired in comparison to Peony’s white hair and golden skin was a bit of a giveaway. Oh, and they were totally different species.

  But Peony had been born free, whereas her sister had been sold into slavery as a newborn. That meant Peony’s reaction to her mother varied: gratitude that she’d had the life she had, sadness that her mother hadn’t stepped in to save Dru as well; remorse for the pain that Dru had brought into their lives, and guilt for having chosen to leave her mom to pick up the pieces on her own.