Benevolent Passion Page 7

  “You could find the angel on your own? Then say something about your discovery.”

  Dru gave her a skeptical glance. “And how easy would that be?”

  Peony thought about the secret corridor in Trick’s office. “Not easy.”

  “I’ll see what I can do without risking your life.”

  Peony reached out a gloved hand, let it hover over Dru’s shoulder but not touching, knowing her sister preferred it that way. “Thank you.”

  There, she’d done it. At least she could tell Sylvester that Dru was onto it.

  But her sister shook her head. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  Great.

  Chapter 11

  The demon healer looked better today. Her hands were no longer bandaged but gloved, like normal, and the skin on her face was fresh and shiny and glowing with health. Z wanted to feel if it was as soft as it looked.

  You only want to touch her because she said you couldn’t.

  Yes, that was it.

  It wasn’t that she was quite pretty, or that he had grown to love watching the emotions that flickered behind her steady gray gaze. No, it wasn’t that, because he wasn’t attracted to her. He was just suffering from Stockholm Syndrome or something like it. She was his captor as much as Trick was. He was just susceptible to her kindness, because he’d been denied it for so long.

  But something about their encounter yesterday had changed the way he thought about her, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Self-hatred soon followed—he had begun to long for the company of a creature he had once been sworn to kill on sight.

  Was still probably sworn to kill.

  “It’s that time already?” he asked, then cursed himself.

  “Will you help me lift you up?” Peony asked. He grunted a reply, not trusting himself to speak.

  She took great care as she lifted him onto the pallet, gently folding his wings away to avoid any additional jostling. It still hurt, but he wasn’t going to show her his pain, even though he could feel new bruises forming under his skin. He was beginning to crave her touch, just to feel another’s warmth, to know he wasn’t so alone.

  She bit her lip as she stared at his marred skin.

  “They’re fine,” he said, willing her to believe him. “The bruises. Don’t worry about them.”

  “I’m your doctor, I have to worry about them.”

  “And whoever heard of a demon doctor before?” There I go again with the rudeness. Something within Z protested at their burgeoning closeness, and it instinctively struck out.

  “I’ve been tending to you for weeks; I’m not going anywhere until you’re well.”

  Truth.

  “How did an angel get sold into demon slavery, anyway?” she asked. No sooner had she spoken than her eyes widened, like she was mortified.

  Had she surprised herself with the question?

  He snorted. “We weren’t prepared and we got raided. I was taken. My friends will come get me. I’ve told you that.”

  That was the simple version. The only problem? The complicated version wasn’t much longer, courtesy of his head wound and memory loss.

  He knew beyond a doubt now, however, that he wouldn’t leave her to die with Trick when the Darts came for him. No, he’d keep her safe.

  Somehow.

  “You told me the latter.” She shrugged. “Everyone can have daydreams, I guess. But just remember, they’re dreams. You’re deep in Hell now.” She wrapped a cuff around his arm and concentrated as she inflated it. Z had no idea what it was, but the information it provided seemed to mean a great deal to her.

  She thinks my chances of freedom are a fantasy. Maybe she was right.

  “What are your daydreams?” he asked, suddenly desperate to know the answer. To know more about her.

  She paused. “I don’t have any. Not anymore. There’s no point.”

  Truth. Laced with sadness.

  “I thought demons always wanted what they can’t have,” he murmured, trying to wipe the melancholy from her expression. You could have been nicer in your attempt, his conscience snapped.

  No, I couldn’t have.

  “And I thought angels were smarmy jerks who thought they were better than everyone else.”

  Surprised, he chuckled at her tone. “Touché.”

  She put the stethoscope down and ripped the Velcro open on the cuff. As she rummaged around on her torture cart for something, she asked, “What’s your name?”

  He looked at the wall. “I don’t have one anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “When I was taken, I lost my right to my wings.”

  “Is that why they’re...dying?”

  It was a valid theory, he supposed, but unlikely. He’d never heard of an angel—even a young one—losing their wings through such circumstances.

  “No.”

  Silence descended on the cell while she waited for him to say more. When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “You’ll live for another day.”

  She cleaned up her equipment, then pushed the cart toward the door.

  Ask. Just ask.

  He hadn’t wanted to reveal any more than he already had, but he needed to know. “Was there...another angel brought here with me?” He half-raised himself up on an elbow, watching her face intently. He would hear the lie, but he wanted—no, needed—to see her face as she replied.

  Her mouth dropped open before she blurted, “Another angel?”

  He nodded.

  “No.”

  Truth.

  Disappointment slammed through him.

  Dina wasn’t here. At least, not as far as the demon healer was aware. Trick could have bought Dina as well, but she would have to have been in far worse condition than Z to be held here with no one else the wiser. And the healer would have been involved, then.

  He lay back down.

  He was on his own.

  Dina was out there, maybe captured, maybe free.

  The Darts hadn’t come looking for him.

  Had they given up? Or had the Infernus covered their tracks too well?

  The healer opened the door, the clanging jarring him from his thoughts.

  “Z,” he muttered, just before she stepped outside the cell.

  “What?” She looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Call me Z.”

  Chapter 12

  “You’re not healing as fast as I would like, but the tissue is starting to mend.” Peony gently placed a clean gauze strip over Opal’s wound, and then used waterproof tape to secure it.

  The Radiato demon looked down at the bandage, then back up at Peony. “Thanks, Doc. And I really am sorry.” The beige-skinned demon winced as she looked at Peony’s healed cheek.

  Peony ducked her head and spun her chair to face the desk, quickly typing some notes into her computer. “It’s no problem.”

  Opal had been nothing but remorseful since she’d come to a couple days ago. It was embarrassing.

  A thin arm entered her line of vision as Opal gripped her sleeve. She turned to face the Radiato demon, shocked that the other woman had initiated physical contact.

  Opal’s eyes were wide in her face, their irises a kaleidoscope of green and brown hues. “No, Doc, I mean it. Most healers wouldn’t have come near a Radiato who was in my state. They would have left me to die. We were lucky you survived my emissions, sure. But you didn’t know you would. So, I owe you one. For real.”

  There was nothing but sincerity in the demon’s expression and voice.

  Peony nodded. “I was just doing my job—what was right.”

  She wasn’t doing it to earn favors.

  Earn her freedom—sure, but not anything else. Hell, she would have done it regardless of whether or not it paid off her debt.

  Something like sadness crossed Opal’s face and she let go of Peony’s arm. “It’s why you don’t belong here, not really. You’re too good for us.”

  “
No—”

  Opal shook her head. “Not like that. As in, too nice. But we know you’ll do anything to help us—that’s what won us over. The fact you still helped Metcalf after he tried to kill you, it shows you’re a better demon than most of us, and we respect that. Although,” now Opal’s gaze turned wicked, “don’t repeat that. Because I don’t need to get in trouble for it.”

  “Trouble?”

  “We’re assassins, we don’t like anyone. Especially not do-gooder demons.” The Radiato laughed, the sound scraping in Peony’s eardrums.

  She gave a strained smile in reply.

  “So, when can I go back to work?” Opal asked.

  “Not until I say so.”

  Another chuckle, and then Opal let herself out the clinic. The door had almost shut when Sylvester entered. “Nurse Sylvester, reporting for duty.” He even saluted her.

  Peony smiled and turned to finish typing up Opal’s notes. “You’re on time for once.”

  She hit save, then shut the laptop.

  Sylvester put a hand over his heart, and a stricken expression on his face. “Me? I’m never late.”

  She rolled her eyes. If there was one thing she could set her clock by, it was that Sylvester would always be fifteen minutes late. That was his ‘on time’. “You just have a different definition of ‘late’.”

  “Such doubt,” he said sadly.

  Peony stood and headed to the door. Before she got there, he asked, “Did you talk to Dru?”

  She was surprised he’d waited this long to question her. Aware there were listening spells—no such thing as patient confidentiality in her clinic—she said, “Yeah, she said she’d look into it.”

  The cambion nodded, but didn’t look pleased. “Did she say when? She’s not been around.”

  “She’s on a mission. Trick says she’ll be back any day now.”

  Peony had no idea what Dru was working on, and she would prefer to stay ignorant. The less she knew about the killing and pillaging, the better.

  “I need to go check on my other patient,” she said as Sylvester walked by her to the Mac.

  He nodded as he typed in his login details.

  I need to see how the pin feathers are progressing, she thought as she left the clinic.

  She’d been so pleased yesterday when she’d realized that Z’s wings had started to grow back. The pin feathers were tiny, and might still fall out, but it was progress, more than she’d seen in the weeks she’d been tending him.

  And the look of surprise on his face...his huge emerald eyes had turned almost black with emotion, his full lips spreading open in wonder. He’d been arresting in his relief.

  She’d almost bragged to her mother about his progress when Selene had called last night, but she’d caught herself in time. Aside from the fact that Peony would be courting death by spilling the beans, her mom wouldn’t have been happy with the news anyway. Angels killed demons—as Z liked to point out on a regular basis—and Peony was a freak, even when it came to that.

  Cambions would surely be even more of a target.

  *

  The feathers were still there!

  Excitement bubbled through her as she wandered down the corridor toward the mess. Sure, Z had been acting a little strange, more aloof than normal, but she hadn’t let that bother her. Maybe whatever magic-mojo Sylvester had done had helped—along with her treatments. Even the scar on Z’s belly had faded a little.

  She cut through the stone-walled hall, taking the shorter route. Large wooden tables dominated the expanse, with sofas and chairs set in a semi-circle near one of the massive hearths, which blazed with a fire. But the seats were largely empty—instead, a group of people hovered at the upper end of the hall, where Trick had his gaudy throne.

  Not my business.

  Her stomach gave a loud groan. She was starving, and she’d heard that Monica was on cooking duty, which meant there would be some kind of dessert on offer. The Foraci demon didn’t cook often, but when she did...

  “Quick!” Sylvester grabbed Peony’s arm and dragged her into the shadows.

  “What are you—?”

  He held up a hand, careful not to touch her skin. “Ssshh.”

  She blinked.

  Sylvester never touched her, let alone ssshhed her.

  He nudged her shoulder with his own. “Look.”

  Trick sat on his throne, one leg thrown over the armrest, his arms crossed over his chest. The figures clustered in front of him were tall, humanoid and cloaked, and with their raised hoods, Peony couldn’t see much more of them. They were ringed by a group of guild assassins, with more demons entering the hall, warily watching the newcomers. Peony could see many of their hands hovering near weapons.

  What is going on?

  It was rare for the Halcyon Guild to have guests—rarer still to see the banked look of aggression on Trick’s face.

  “We would like to purchase one of your assassins from you.” The cold, cold voice swept through the hall, sending shivers down Peony’s spine.

  Evil.

  The voice was pure evil.

  Her hands trembled.

  This has nothing to do with me, she told herself.

  Trick uncrossed his arms. “Show me your face.”

  A tense silence descended on the hall, and then the speaker lowered his hood, revealing a handsome profile, with pale green skin the color of unripe olives. His long black hair was tied in a man-bun.

  Dread settled into the pit of her stomach.

  Her mother had shown her photos of a pure-blooded Mortus demon—and this man could be their poster child.

  He wants to buy an assassin...

  Dru.

  The man was after Dru.

  He had to be.

  Mortus demons were largely insular, and they didn’t buy blood slaves. They didn’t need to. With their touch deadly to everyone but themselves or their mates, they had no need to hire killers. They could do the job well enough themselves.

  A barely audible whistle sounded next to her ear. “Is that what I think it is?” Sylvester asked.

  Peony swallowed, her throat dry. “Yes.”

  “Never thought I’d see a Mortus demon in my life,” the cambion muttered.

  She flashed him a glance.

  “Well, a full-blooded one,” he amended.

  “You want to buy an assassin.” Trick lowered his leg to the floor. “Which one? I have many.”

  Whispers flowed through the crowd of gathered mercenaries.

  The one thing we can count on, Peony thought, is that it’s unlikely Trick will sell one of his killers. While money was his main motivator, he also understood that loyalty was important in a place like the Halcyon Guild. If the assassins thought he’d sell them at the drop of a hat, then they wouldn’t hesitate in arranging his death.

  Sure, they had their blood slave bond, but he owed them his prosperity.

  “She has golden skin and white hair,” the Mortus said. “And she’s a cambion.”

  “That isn’t a very concise description,” Trick replied.

  But it was enough.

  Everyone in the guild knew who the demon was referring to.

  The Mortus had somehow found out about Dru, and they wanted her.

  Sylvester gripped Peony’s upper arm. “This is bad.”

  No shit, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t force the words past her lips.

  Trick gave the room a chilly smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t have an assassin here that fits the profile.”

  No.

  He wouldn’t, Peony thought. I still have decades left on my contract, and I provide an important service to the guild...

  “But I do have a healer.”

  Chapter 13

  Trick had a decision to make, and fast.

  Five Mortus demons stood in his hall, and he had no doubt that there were more waiting outside the guild’s boundary line. They are meant to be recluses
. It’s what he had relied on for the last several decades to ensure Dru stayed off their radar. Female Mortus were rare, so he’d heard, and he hadn’t wanted to lose one of his best assassins to their disgusting breeding programs.

  The fact that they were here? Mortus demons did nothing without a purpose and, as direct descendants of the Hell-lord, they had the ear of Satan himself. Sure, the Halcyon Guild was in Tartarus—which meant Satan technically couldn’t do anything directly to the guild, or Trick—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drop by Hades’ fortress and ask for a favor: like Hades coming by and telling Trick he had to deliver.

  It had happened before.

  Assholes.

  From the Mortus’ description, they clearly wanted Dru, but he couldn’t let her go. She’d be used as a broodmare for those fuckers, and if that didn’t work out, they’d kill her. Or try to, anyway. He didn’t want her death on his conscience—not that he had much of one anymore, but still.

  He didn’t have many friends and he counted Dru among them.

  He had to give the Mortus something; he was not going to go to war with them, and he couldn’t risk them running off to Satan to get his help. Not when he had a damned angel in his cells.

  Think quickly, you’re running out of time.

  They obviously knew he had a Mortus-cambion in his ranks. What they didn’t know, clearly, was that he had two, or they’d be asking for the second as well.

  His eyes skimmed over the crowd of gathered assassins, and he spotted Peony, hidden away in the shadows with Sylvester.

  To the untrained eye, she was identical to Dru.

  Dru will kill you for this.

  Well, she’d try. Since Trick was technically her slave master, she wouldn’t succeed—the blood bond would magically protect him.

  I can explain it to her. She’ll understand.

  Hopefully.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have an assassin here that fits the profile.” Trick met the cool gaze of the lead demon and gave him a flippant smile, lying through his shiny white teeth.

  He ignored the whispers that sprang to life in the crowd.

  They all knew Man-bun was after Dru—and they all thought Trick was obsessed with her. Sure, he wanted to fuck her, but who didn’t, if they were really honest with themselves?