Benevolent Passion Page 6

  The female healer spun around and spotted Z lying on the floor. Her expression turned pinched. “Yes. And you should say ‘he’ not ‘it’.”

  She was offended on his behalf.

  Z’s eyes locked on the bandages on her hands and the ruined skin on one side of her face. What happened? The words almost burst from him without his consent. Her normally healthy golden skin was wan, and she looked like she’d been tortured. He had to know who had hurt her. He would make whoever did it pay.

  No, you won’t. You are going to kill her boss and let her live. That will be your thanks for her care.

  But right now, the slight flicker of pain in her gaze had all his protective instincts raging. And here he was, prone on the stone floor in a cell and practically useless. He shook his head. He was an idiot.

  “Doc, that’s an angel. They may have the right kind of tackle, but they don’t use it. Angels aren’t men. Or women, for that matter. They just are. Using the right pronoun isn’t a big deal.”

  “Tackle?” She turned to look at the demon and winced at the movement. He didn’t like to see her in discomfort, and that worried him. Why should he even care? She was a demon.

  But she’s unlike any demon you’ve met before.

  “You know, genitalia.”

  Z blinked. They were talking about his...private parts?

  She flushed a little. “Sylvester—”

  “Incubus,” Z said suddenly.

  Both demons turned to stare at him.

  “If you’re thinking of my...penis in preference to anything else, you must be some kind of Incubus.” Most other demons would view him as a threat first, something worth eating or something worth selling, second. Not whether or not he could reproduce.

  A dark eyebrow arched. “Distantly related.”

  The healer licked her cracked lower lip. “I thought the Pollus were part Incubus.”

  The demon waved a hand. “Cousins. Of a sort.”

  Z could tell the demon was telling the truth, although it wasn’t the entire truth.

  This was all lovely, but it didn’t explain why the healer’s hands were bandaged and her face looked like she’d been burned.

  He didn’t ask.

  That would display his interest, and he’d spent the past few weeks clearly indicating that he didn’t care about anything other than his upcoming rescue.

  The healer seemed to have decided that line of conversation was at an end. “Can you do the checkup today?”

  “Sure thing, Doc.” Sylvester directed a careless smile at her. Z clenched his jaw.

  The male demon approached him and squatted down. “You try anything aggressive, angel-boy, and I won’t play nice.”

  Truth.

  “Sylvester!”

  Z met the demon’s blue stare. “I am in no condition to do you harm. Otherwise, I already would have.”

  The healer turned shocked eyes on him.

  Z would have shrugged, but he was lying flat on his stomach and his back was a mess of pain.

  “You would have tried to harm me. You wouldn’t have succeeded,” the Pollus demon said.

  That was absurd. Z was a fully-fledged angel—most demons wouldn’t stand a chance against him, not if he was at full strength, anyway. The man didn’t seem entirely purebred, however. Maybe it gave him an edge.

  “Want my stethoscope?” the healer asked.

  “Don’t need it.” The demon then clasped Z’s wrist in a strong grip, and a strange magic raced through his limbs. He tried to pull away, but the demon was sturdy and held on.

  Demon magic is in me.

  Panic swirled through his mind, and his heart rate increased. Then, suddenly, the demon let go. Z pulled his arm back, staring at his wrist as if it had betrayed him.

  “He’s stable. I gave him some extra juice to help him heal, so you might see an improvement in a day or two.”

  Excitement lit the female’s eyes. “We could—”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and no. He fought me. And he probably will again. Plus, demon energy may not be good long-term for an angel. Short-term, it will help him heal the main injuries, like the half-missing liver.”

  The assassin demon was a natural born healer?

  Z’s mind spun. There weren’t many angel healers, and they were highly prized. With red-gold filaments in their wings, they were trained from the moment they showed their first metallic thread.

  Now, he’d met two demons who both could heal. One through magic and one through learning.

  What else don’t I know?

  A low buzzing sound filled the room. “Shit.” The Pollus demon fished a phone from his back pocket. “I need to take this.” He disappeared through the door.

  The healer squatted next to Z. “You should be on the bed.”

  He shook his head.

  “I can’t check your vitals today, but I assume Sylvester is happy. I should be able to, tomorrow.” Her gaze turned vacant. “I wish he’d take blood pressure, at least. Ah well.”

  “What happened?” By the skies, he hadn’t meant to ask, but without intending to, Z’s hand rose to touch her uninjured cheek. He was a bare inch away when, whip-fast, she knocked his limb away.

  Her voice was low, earnest, and stern. “Don’t ever touch me.”

  “I—”

  “Never touch my skin.”

  Sylvester called through the doorway. “Yo, Doc, I gotta go. Let’s wrap this up.”

  Without looking at Z, she rose to her feet and then pushed the trolley out the room with her forearms. She didn’t look back.

  Z found himself wishing she had.

  Chapter 10

  Peony frowned at the knock on her bedroom door. It was past midnight and she should be asleep, what with the radiation burns and her body working overtime to repair the damage, but she couldn’t stop picturing the angel’s face when she’d knocked his hand away.

  Confusion. Hurt. Shock.

  It was the first time he’d tried to touch her—to reach out in any way to her—and she’d rebuffed him. How was she going to gain his trust if he thought that she was rejecting him at the first chance she got?

  The knocking continued.

  Sighing, she got up, headed to the door and opened it a crack. Sylvester stood on the other side, his black jeans and leather jacket speckled with raindrops.

  “Can I come in?”

  He’d never come to her room before—she hadn’t even known he knew where it was.

  “Sure.” She stepped back.

  He strode inside and gave the chamber a very quick, but no doubt thorough, assessment. His gaze settled on the book left on her wrinkled bedspread.

  “Harry Potter?” His chestnut eyebrow rose.

  “What? It’s a classic.”

  “When people say classic, I think of The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Odyssey, A Christmas Carol, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Pride and Prejudice.”

  Peony chuckled. “How old are you, exactly?”

  “None of your damned business.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and leaned against a wall. He smelled of pine trees and fresh rain.

  She sat on the end of her bed. “To what do I owe this visit?”

  Even though the cambion might flirt with her over meals, she knew his coming here wasn’t about sex. Not only was she totally off limits—all the demons here knew that—he had never shown any real interest in her.

  Maybe he’s checking up on me?

  The skin on her hands was still a raw pink, but she could move them without pain, and her cheek was in much the same condition. Slightly better, really, since she hadn’t ripped off bits of her flesh from her face, as she had when she’d pulled away the melted gloves.

  Sylvester grabbed something from his pocket and then walked to each corner of her room, sprinkling what looked like glitter into the four corners. Great. That’s going to never go away. She’d be finding glitter on her stuff for months, ye
ars, even.

  He then barked a word under his breath, and the room sizzled briefly with magic.

  Anti-listening spell.

  She met his gaze. “That serious, huh?”

  “Peony, this is some bad shit.” He pulled up a chair and sat.

  “The burns? They’re healing.”

  “Don’t play dumb. The angel.”

  “He’s injured, he can’t do anything to hurt me.”

  Sylvester shook his head. “I know Trick reckons he’s made a good deal, but that’s a real live fucking angel in our building. If he has buddies who are going to come for him, we’re all screwed.”

  “He keeps saying they will, but no one has shown up yet.”

  “I assume that’s cos Trick has warded the shit out of the room. It doesn’t mean they won’t come, especially after the angel gets his strength back.”

  “And what am I meant to do about it?” she asked.

  Something hard gleamed in Sylvester’s normally amused gaze. “Kill the angel and be done with it.”

  She rocked back with shock. “What? No.”

  “Angels and demons don’t mix. Even if Trick manages to keep this guy as a slave, the instant he’s free, he will come back for us. You and Trick especially.”

  Something like despair swirled through her. “But I’ve been helping him.”

  “He may not see it that way.”

  She jutted her chin out. “I’ll make him see reason.”

  “Even if he spares you, what about the others?”

  “He’ll get to know us—”

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice in this. Trick wants me to heal, I heal. If you have an issue, take it up with Trick.”

  “Oh, I did. All he sees is the potential paycheck in his future.”

  “I’m not going to kill my patient.” Every instinct in her rejected the idea, not withstanding her own promise.

  “Fine. Tell Dru.”

  She frowned. “Tell Dru what?”

  “Tell her about the angel. See what she can do.”

  “I don’t see what she could do that we can’t. And I’m not going to stand by and watch her kill him, either.”

  Sylvester stood. “Trick really wants to try and get into your sister’s pants, even though everyone knows that’s signing his own death warrant. His lust might make him listen to her.”

  “I’m not allowed to tell anyone, or I’m dead.”

  “He didn’t tell me that rule.” A casual shrug. “So she might have heard it from me.”

  “I see.”

  “You tell her, or I will. And you can imagine the decision she’ll make if I am the one who passes the info on.”

  Dru would find the angel and kill him. She’d apologize to Trick after, deepen her debt, but she’d do it. Dru’s self-focus would work against Peony here: her twin knew that if the guild failed, she’d go down with it. And having an angel prisoner...

  “I’ll talk to her,” Peony said.

  Sylvester strode to the door. “Good. Do it soon. I will talk to Trick again tomorrow.”

  Then he was gone, and the angel’s life hung in the balance.

  Again.

  *

  Dru stumbled to a halt in her room, failing to notice Peony waiting. Her sister was wearing a form-fitting black dress, and her white hair was out and spilled over her shoulders. She was on a job, Peony realized. Dru didn’t dress like that normally—she was a loose jeans, T-shirt and weapons kind of woman. Anything that allowed her free movement was a good choice, and anything that hid weapons was an ever better one.

  Peony had let herself into Dru’s room, using the spare key her sister had given her as a sort of peace offering. She’d never used it before, preferring to visit when something had been prearranged, but she didn’t trust that Sylvester wouldn’t corner Dru the first chance he had, and so she’d taken advantage of the small piece of trust Dru had given her.

  Her twin sister’s room was one of the biggest in the guild, and it was fitted out nicely, with a large bed, walk-in-robe and its own private bathroom. Dru had good taste in furniture, and everything was elegant and streamlined.

  Must be nice to have the boss pine after you.

  It was funny, while Dru and Peony shared the same face, Trick had never once looked at her with anything approaching attraction. Dru didn’t seem to care that Trick had a crush on her; she acted like his infatuation didn’t even exist.

  She still hadn’t noticed Peony’s presence.

  “Dru!”

  No reply, just a wild-eyed stare. Had something happened to her? Where had she been? Maybe I should have brought my gear...

  Peony carefully rubbed her palms together. She was wearing gloves to hide her hands, and her cheek just looked like she’d had some really hardcore exfoliation on one side, but she hoped her sister didn’t notice she’d been injured. Dru’s brand of concern often left someone dead, and poor Opal hadn’t hurt her deliberately.

  Still no acknowledgement from her sister.

  “Dru, you’re back.”

  Her twin strode further into the room and sat on the edge of her bed. She kicked off her high heels, a loud sigh bursting forth as she wriggled her toes. “What’s wrong?”

  No ‘hello’, no ‘how are you?’, just a ‘what’s wrong?’. It was so utterly Dru. She was a problem solver, and to her, there was always a problem.

  Peony bit her lip. “I don’t like my latest assignment.”

  Wow, that had come out more whiny that she’d anticipated.

  “Peony—” There was a warning in her sister’s voice, like her patience was limited and she did not have time for Peony’s antics.

  The thing was, Peony didn’t have antics. And she wasn’t trying to back out of the job because it was too hard. Sure, she’d failed her first few assignments, when Trick had wanted to her to thieve or kill, but since she’d been given her clinic, she’d done almost everything he’d asked.

  But she knew Dru, and she knew what her sister was thinking.

  “No, it’s not that I’m too soft.” She slashed a trembling hand through the air. Shit. Her body was still suffering from Opal’s radiation. She’d have to make this quick, before she passed out and Dru realized something was really wrong. “Dru, this is dangerous. And wrong.”

  “All right.” Dru frowned. “Why is it wrong?”

  How to phrase this? Peony glanced around the room, hoping for some inspiration. She knew Dru would have warded this space against listening spells, so it was safe to talk...but it was her life on the line. Hers and the angel’s. She couldn’t stuff this up.

  “Peony?”

  Peony stepped forward, until she was so close to Dru that she caught the scent of sandalwood.

  Why did her sister smell like a man’s cologne?

  “He has an angel here,” she whispered.

  “What?” Dru jumped to her feet so fast Peony didn’t have a chance to dodge out of the way. She lost her balance—damn radiation sickness—and toppled to the floor. The tie on her hair gave way, and loose strands flew out over her face. Her palms stung as they hit the ground and her butt protested.

  “Thanks,” Peony muttered.

  Just what she’d needed.

  “Ooops.” Dru reached out a hand and hauled Peony to her feet, careful to grip her sleeve. Even though they were twins, Dru didn’t take the risk of skin-to-skin contact, and she avoided Peony’s hands, as if they were more toxic than the rest of her.

  “He has a...a....” Dru couldn’t even say the word.

  Peony brushed herself off, but kept her gaze locked on the ground. She didn’t want to see Dru’s expression. Things were bad if she couldn’t even say ‘angel’. “It’s not right,” she murmured.

  “No, it’s not.” Dru balled her hand into a fist. “It’s too dangerous.” There was an ominous pause. “How did Trick get an angel?”

  Peony flinched at the
anger simmering in her sister’s words, but she had to keep her oath to Trick—to keep the deal with the Infernus secret. No matter what, though, she couldn’t let Dru hurt the angel. “He’s sick.”

  “Trick? You got that right.”

  Wait, what?

  “Not Trick. The angel.”

  “I’m not following,” Dru said. “Start at the beginning.”

  Peony swallowed. “About a month ago,”— three weeks, but she didn’t need to be that specific—”Trick showed me his new...recruit. The angel. And he was sick, like really sick. Poisoned with something, I don’t know what. But it seems magical in origin, maybe demonic, I don’t know. I’ve been looking after him as my latest ‘assignment’.” She made finger quotes around the last word.

  “Is it dying?” Dru asked. “Does it still have...wings?”

  Peony grimaced. “Yes to the wings, and probably to the dying.”

  He seemed to have improved, but he was still suffering from the poison. If his body never learned to fight it off, he’d die eventually. She would have to find a cure, not that she had the resources to do it.

  “Has it tried to attack you?”

  Peony shook her head. She had to be honest. “No. But he says his friends will come for him. And I believe him. They will kill whoever they can to get to him, that I don’t doubt.”

  Why did everyone refer to the angel as ‘it’? He was a living being, and he seemed so very male, even in his current state. When he was well, she knew he’d be overpoweringly masculine.

  I didn’t just think that.

  “Those wings must be worth a fortune,” Dru muttered.

  Peony recalled the angel as she’d first seen him and rage poured through her. “No feathers are left. They’re all but destroyed from whatever poison he was given.”

  Dru shut her eyes for a few seconds, thinking. “So, what do you want me to do about it?”

  “Help me?” She hadn’t meant for it to sound so pathetic. And she hadn’t mentioned Sylvester’s threat at all, yet. But she didn’t want to give Dru the idea that killing the angel was their best option—not if that idea hadn’t already occurred to her.

  Death didn’t mean much to an assassin.

  “This kind of job would be top secret. How am I going to approach Trick about it? It could mean you get hurt.”