Benevolent Passion Read online

  He couldn’t stop the question from emerging. “How do you know what happens to a human?”

  Had she gone around poisoning humans before coming to work for the guild? It would make sense.

  She rocked back, her mouth pinching. “I was a doctor.”

  Was.

  She’d been a healer before coming to an assassin guild? There was a mystery there, one he decided he didn’t want to solve. He was better off knowing nothing about her, because when the Darts came for him, she’d die along with everyone else.

  Heaven’s army had no compassion for demons.

  “A demon doctor,” he muttered, deliberately trying to cause distance between them. To destroy this sense of her decency. “Try a different lie next time.”

  Her expression grew shuttered and she stood.

  He wanted to warn her, to make her fear him, even though he was weak and prone. “When my friends come for me—and they will—you will die along with the rest of them. Demons don’t help people. And angels kill demons.”

  She ignored his warning, her bearing calm and purposeful. “Hopefully the saline will flush some of the toxin from your system.” Then she took the drip and inserted a new one.

  It hurt.

  And from the look on her face, it had been meant to.

  Chapter 8

  The angel had barely spoken to her in three weeks.

  Peony shouldn’t have been annoyed by his silence—it sure was better than the eternal complaining some of her human patients had enjoyed—but he wouldn’t even answer questions that would help her treat him. It was as if he honestly believed she was trying to harm him more.

  I am a doctor, damnit.

  Not that he believed her.

  No, she was a demon who couldn’t possibly be a healer, and his friends would kill her. That was about the sum of their conversation to date, and it infuriated her that he thought so little of her.

  It shouldn’t matter.

  No, it really shouldn’t.

  Then why do you keep dreaming about him?

  That, she’d prefer not to think about.

  Developing a crush on a patient was disgusting, and she preferred not to think of herself in those terms.

  Frowning, she typed her latest observations and notes into the computer she’d forced Trick to buy for the clinic. The single-room space was a bit cluttered, but she liked it. She’d managed to cram a gurney, desk and supplies cabinet into the room, and even had a small defibrillator mounted on a wall. Not that she was sure she could use it on most demons, since they seemed to all have different heartrates, but she was in the process of convincing one of the more IT-savvy assassins to help her try and re-program the thing. She should follow up with Merrick later.

  She finished her notes and then signed out of the medical program. Peony shared the MacBook Air with Sylvester, her reluctant conscripted nurse, and she couldn’t risk him seeing the client record, although, this particular file was password-protected: he’d never see its contents. Sylvester, however, was one of their best thieves—the man defined sneaky.

  Trick still wanted the angel kept a secret, at least the angel’s skull was healed.

  Three weeks, and it was no longer the spongy mess she’d first felt. Solid bone under warm skin had greeted her today, and she’d done a little happy dance when she’d gotten back to her clinic. It meant that whatever poison had been given to the angel—and was still affecting him—was no longer hampering his healing ability.

  Hopefully that meant his wings would grow back soon, but he had a long way to go to heal fully. He was still emaciated, and she wasn’t certain his organs had entirely re-formed, since the whites of his eyes were stained a faint yellow. She’d overheard Metcalf saying a week ago that angel liver was considered a delicacy, along with human toes, Envio horns and other things she’d prefer to forget.

  Human toes, though?

  Lucky for her he’d decided she was inedible, otherwise she’d have to invest in steel-capped shoes.

  She checked her inbox, sent a short reply to an email from her mother, then closed the laptop. Selene liked to check in on Peony daily, and while it was a little overbearing, she understood her mother’s fears. Peony had practically been raised as a human, and it was only when she’d hit puberty that things had gone...badly. When she’d realized that her dreams were just that: dreams.

  She’d gone from being a normal kid to covering almost every inch of bare skin overnight and cowering away from people. It was amazing how lonely you could be, surrounded by smiling and laughing faces, but when your skin was toxic to the touch, you didn’t have room for mistakes. And being friends with a human was just that: a mistake.

  So she’d cut her friends from her life. The other girls had been hurt—and had turned cruel, as a result—but they wouldn’t have been able to understand that Peony wasn’t like them, that she couldn’t even risk an accidental touch. There were no potential make-up trials or hair-dying shenanigans, no hugs or cheek-kisses in her future.

  Instead she’d focused on her studies. She hadn’t been willing to give up on becoming a doctor, too.

  The door to the room burst open, startling her.

  “Trick.”

  Her boss stood on the threshold, his eyes narrowed and his expression thunderous. She had no idea what had caused his irritation, but she hoped he wouldn’t take it out on her.

  He shut the door behind him, then flicked his fingers. The room popped with electricity: he’d established a ward or anti-listening spell of some kind. She didn’t bother standing.

  “How is the angel?”

  “He’s responding well to treatment,” Peony replied. Physically, at least.

  Trick stared at her, his brown eyes hard. “Cut his wings off.”

  Peony flinched. “I don’t think that’s necessary—”

  “They will be hindering his recovery. He is no good to me weak and injured.”

  “But he’s starting to heal.”

  “His wings are no better.”

  “No, but his skull fracture has healed completely, at least, as far as I can tell. I think that his body is now repairing the most vital injuries first.”

  He stared at her.

  She placed her hands on her knees. “I think whatever poison they gave him, it hindered his healing abilities.” Trick opened his mouth, but she rushed to keep talking. “I don’t know of a substance that could do that to angels, but whatever it is, the angel seems to be recovering from it. And he’s starting to heal on his own.”

  Please don’t take his wings.

  Images swamped her, of the angel being strapped down while a scalpel, followed by a bone saw, brutally cut his wings away. Horror seized her, her heartbeat accelerating. She didn’t know where the thought came from, but she knew that taking his wings would break this injured angel, maybe irreparably, and she couldn’t be part of that. Didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to allow it.

  Trick sighed. “We can’t afford to keep him locked in that cell indefinitely. It will be bad for his psychological health, and I need him able to function.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you cut his wings off, it will cause more damage than keeping him in that room.”

  “They’ll grow back.” He shrugged. “Eventually.”

  “Can you be sure? He isn’t recovering normally.”

  He took a while to reply. “No, I can’t be sure.”

  “He won’t be any good without his wings.” They were part of who he was. Just like her damned skin had become an essential part of her.

  He didn’t look convinced. “Angels can survive without wings.”

  She’d heard the rumors. “Fallen ones.”

  Trick opened his mouth, but shut it with a snap when the door slammed into his back. He pivoted on the balls of his feet and called out to whoever was trying to come in. “What?”

  “We need the doctor, sir,” a voice squeaked from
behind the door. “Opal is hurt bad.”

  Peony stood. “What happened? Where is she?”

  “Here!”

  She shoved her chair back to the desk and then got her supplies ready. “Trick, move out of the way.”

  He sidled from the door, and two demons pushed through, dragging a limp form between them. They hauled Opal onto the gurney, and then backed away. “She’s heavier than she looks.”

  Peony flicked them a glance, then hurried to Opal’s side. The Radiato demon’s clothing was stiff, and hard to work around.

  “She’s heavy,” Trick said, “because her clothing is lead-lined.”

  Opal’s beige skin was ashen, and she was mumbling under her breath. Purple blood was oozing from the seams of her clothing. Peony peeled back the cloth, but a firm grip on her fabric-covered wrist made her pause.

  Trick spoke in a low, intense tone. “Be careful how much clothing you remove.”

  “I need to assess her wounds.”

  “She’s out of her mind and she’s a Radiato. She could fry everyone with radiation.”

  “They mostly use X-rays—”

  “Which are deadly in high doses.”

  “I know that, but the amount of exposure—”

  “Radiato are deadly. There’s a reason you don’t see them much. And when they are in distress they can produce gamma and neutron radiation as well.”

  She stared at him for a moment.

  Damnit.

  She turned back to her patient, but struggled to find where the blood was coming from. She peeled back more and more layers of lead-lined cloth, finally finding a knife wound on her ribs. Air bubbled at the site, blood pouring out.

  She grabbed her stethoscope and listened intently to Opal’s lungs.

  Traumatic pneumothorax.

  Chest tube insertion was the best option.

  She got to work, pulling the clothing away and getting her supplies ready.

  “Everyone, leave the room,” Trick ordered. To Peony, he said, “I’m not putting the others at risk.”

  She flicked him a glance. Oh, so it’s okay if I die.

  But he remained.

  Tuning the demon out, she carefully inserted some plastic tubing though a small incision she’d made. A wave of energy burst from Opal, searing the side of Peony’s face and hands. She gasped as her latex gloves melted, and her cheek burned red hot. Nausea and dizziness hit her hard, and she gagged, hunching over. Wrenching away, she tore off the gloves, peeling skin in the process. She clenched her teeth against the pain.

  “What the Hell—?”

  She ignored Trick’s surprise. Instead, with hands that shook and oozed, she pulled as much of Opal’s clothing back over her as she could, using extreme care so that her skin did not come into contact with any of the Radiato’s exposed flesh.

  “I need you to pack the wound.”

  She spun away, somehow managing to find a seat. She wheeled the desk chair over to the pharmaceutical cabinet and sink, pausing as the room careened around her. Once she could think past the dizziness, she washed her hands in cold water, hissing at the pain. She flinched as the skin sloughed off her hands, but it didn’t leave exposed tissue; instead pink, raw new skin was apparent.

  Thank the gods for my healing abilities.

  Even though Peony and Dru were identical twins, Peony’s ability to heal surpassed her sister’s, and pretty much every other demon she knew.

  Wondering how she was going to get her face under the tap, she grabbed some paper towel, soaked it, and then dabbed it against her burned cheek. Skin came away with the towel, but she chose not to worry about it. After all, if her hands were healing already, her face would be too.

  What next?

  She turned to make sure Trick had packed the wound, and saw he was placing gauze over the cut and tubing. It would have to do for now. Opal moaned, her head thrashing. Trick quickly shoved the lead-lined clothing back in place and jumped away. Another burst of energy shot through the room, although neither one of them was in the line of fire this time.

  “I’m going to have to check everyone for radiation poisoning, aren’t I?” she asked.

  Trick nodded.

  Then, for the first time, his brown eyes looked at her with something almost like...concern. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Probably.”

  She seriously doubted he cared about her; he was no doubt concerned about Dru’s reaction. If Peony died and Trick had been around to prevent it...

  Antibiotics, she thought. Even though she was healing quickly, she couldn’t see what internal damage had been done. Bone marrow was often compromised in acute cases, and since her burns had come up almost instantaneously, she assumed that would be the case for her. If she was purely human, she’d be dead within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

  Thanks, Dad.

  For once, her Mortus genes weren’t a hindrance.

  “What about you?” she asked, after swallowing a horse-sized tablet antibiotic.

  “I will be fine.”

  She had no idea what kind of demon he was, but she assumed he knew his species’ limits.

  “Don’t want me to check you out, just in case?”

  “I’d prefer not.”

  She shrugged, then grimaced; that had not helped her nausea. Then again, the giant pill probably hadn’t, either. She should have taken it with food.

  “I really need to check her for more injuries,” Peony said. But she didn’t want to put new gloves on, and she was suddenly so tired, holding her head up was an effort.

  “I’ll get Sylvester,” Trick said. “He can check you out and give you some extra juice if you need it.”

  “Okay.”

  She didn’t like relying on Sylvester’s healing ability, because it felt like cheating. All it took was a single touch, and he knew what was wrong with someone and how to heal them. It didn’t mean he could heal them every time; some things were beyond magic. But it gave him an unfair advantage, and one he didn’t particularly like.

  He was a thief, not a doctor, so he liked to tell her.

  She would have given her left arm to have his powers. Then again, she probably wouldn’t have been able to use them.

  Her touch, after all, was deadly.

  Chapter 9

  Z was screaming, yet no one heard him.

  Not that he was screaming aloud, but telepathically, and only at the other Darts. Still there was no reply, nothing but a gray mist that absorbed the sound of his cries.

  Is it a result of the brain injury?

  It was possible, he supposed.

  Dina or Raziel would know, but they weren’t answering.

  He shut his eyes, pressing his face down on his forearms as he tried to remember more details about the attack on Heaven. There was little left in his memory: patrolling as normal, then being attacked by the Infernus and his falling to the ground. Dina’s unknown fate gnawed at him. Was she captured, too? Had she escaped?

  He would have thought that the other Darts would have come for him by now, and that they hadn’t worried him. Perhaps they had given up on him for being the utter failure that he was. Or had they been captured, too, when they had come to assist in the fight?

  And what happened to Heaven’s Heart?

  Surely it hadn’t been taken. God wouldn’t have allowed it, no matter that he only spoke through the archangels. His will was law.

  Raising a hand, he touched the back of his skull. Firm bone and the rough stubble of new hair met his questing fingers. He’d been skeptical about the female demon’s assistance, but there was no denying his headaches had eased, and he wasn’t feeling like death hovered on the horizon. He still didn’t feel well, though. Pain was a constant companion, and his wings were a shredded mess of bone and tissue. At least he was no longer paralyzed, just weak.

  Very weak.

  He was more comfortable lying on the stone floor of his cell than the bed, a
nd crawled there at the first opportunity he had. It meant he could also spread his wings out a little, easing the ache that resulted from keeping them confined. Whenever the healer found him though, she would pick him up and place him back on the bed. He hadn’t told her it hurt more to lie there, mostly because he’d been trying to avoid speaking to her at all.

  He didn’t want to see her empathy, didn’t want to feel her pity. And he didn’t want to hear her voice.

  She still spoke to him, though.

  Asking him questions about how his wounded body felt, wanting to know about this, prodding that. He’d never really had much to do with healers, and had to wonder if his treatment was typical.

  He’d probably never find out.

  He was an angel in a demon den. If he made it out of here alive, it was unlikely he’d need such medical intervention again. Because once he was gone, he’d kill Trick, go after the Infernus, and if he survived all that, then he’d fight his way back into Heaven. If they wouldn’t have him, well, he’d be better off dead.

  The metallic screech of the door opening dragged him away from his degenerating thoughts. The healer backed into the room, her long white hair tied back in its normal braid.

  “I’m fine,” she grumbled at someone outside.

  “Trick wants me to assist.”

  “Just...don’t hover over me.”

  An affronted snort. “I don’t hover. I loom menacingly.”

  The supply trolley rattled inside the cell and a man followed. It wasn’t Trick.

  Another demon.

  Z shouldn’t have been surprised. He was in a demon assassin guild, after all.

  This one looked human, with brown hair and a fighter’s physique. Z wouldn’t be surprised if he was handy with knives and smiled while using them on someone.

  A low whistle pierced the air. “Is that what I think it is?”