Benevolent Passion Page 9

  Chapter 16

  The Mortus were waiting for her near the guild’s stone-lined entry, a group of tan-cloaked individuals who stood eerily quiet and motionless. Only the leader with the man-bun had his hood down.

  Peony fought the fear that threatened to swamp her. Change is as good as a holiday, they say.

  ‘They’ are idiots.

  There was no false cheer for her.

  She could remember the first day she’d stepped through the metal doors to the guild—clutching a suitcase in one hand, much as she was doing now, her contract tightly held in the other. She’d been in shock at discovering she had a twin, and the fact that Dru had almost killed her mother.

  It was only through signing her life away as a slave to Trick that Peony had been able to save her mom. I should probably hate Dru for that. But she couldn’t. Dru had come after a woman who she’d thought had killed their birth mother, only to discover that Peony was alive and loved. Raised with care. And that Selene had tried to salvage a situation gone bad.

  Peony had been too late to stop Dru poisoning Selene with bloomshade, a rare poison from Sheol, but she’d given her the key to the antidote: Trick. He had had the cure in his ‘special collection’ and had refused to give it away for anything other than Peony’s soul.

  It was the least she could do for the mother who had saved her life.

  And, well, part of her thought it might result in her and Dru growing closer. That hadn’t quite gone according to plan. Oh, they weren’t strangers anymore, but they still weren’t...friends. Peony wasn’t sure that Dru even had any friends.

  But on that long-ago day, when Peony had stood in the entryway, fresh out of the Human Realm, she hadn’t known what to expect, or how to act in an assassins guild. She’d never even been to Hell before.

  Here I go, starting over again.

  Except this time, it would be worse.

  Much worse.

  She’d avoided attracting the Mortus’ attention for a reason. Sure, most of the information about the demon race had come from her mother, but Selene didn’t lie. Not often, anyway. Dru had been just as adamant that they stay away from their father’s race, and well, there wasn’t much out there that frightened her sister.

  ‘The Mortus are direct descendants of Satan. They only do what is in their best interest, and they keep their women like slaves.’ Dru’s voice rang through her head as the Mortus demons turned to face her.

  “We are ready.” The cold voice belonged to the Mortus demon with the man-bun, his gaze sweeping over Peony’s body from head to toe. His eyes lingered on her gloved hands for a few seconds; a flicker of confusion passed over his face then disappeared.

  She took a deep breath, then exhaled it quietly. She fought the shiver that proximity to the Mortus gave her—she could feel their evil, just like she could sense Z’s inherent goodness.

  Do it. Take a step forward. Now or never.

  Peony would have preferred never, but she wasn’t a coward. She had to do this, for Dru, for the guild. There was a reason the Mortus demons were some of the most feared in the underworld—they would try to destroy everyone at the Halcyon Guild if she refused to leave now.

  Trick wouldn’t let her out of the deal he’d made, anyway.

  Five million dollars was nothing to sneeze at.

  “It’s time,” Trick said quietly next to her.

  She refused to look at him. Just because she understood what he’d done, it didn’t mean she liked it—or him.

  Peony lifted her chin. “Fine.”

  One of the Mortus approached to take her suitcase. She pulled her hand away. “I can carry it.”

  Man-bun shook his head. “Hand it over.”

  Wanting to argue, but knowing it was likely futile, she reluctantly passed over all her worldly possessions.

  Quicker than she could follow, she was spun around and her arms grabbed and wrenched behind her back. Her wrists were tied together before she could even manage a startled “What?”

  “We don’t want to take any unnecessary chances,” the lead demon said when she turned back to face him. One of the cloaked figures moved away from her.

  Her arms hurt in their new position, the ache twinging in her shoulders and wrists.

  Man-bun reached into his cloak and then flung out a hand of glittery dust. Before it settled to the ground, he drew a small circle in the air and muttered a few words in a language she didn’t understand. A Devilsgate sprung to life in the middle of the foyer, the circular portal bordered by a glimmering red light.

  Wow.

  This Mortus demon had serious money, to be able to call up a Devilsgate like that, or he had serious magic himself. Either option was worrying. Peony didn’t have any magic at all and she had a total of fifty dollars to her name. How would she manage to get away—if she ever needed to—when they could do that?

  “Vin,” the Mortus directed, “you go through first.”

  One of the cloaked demons nodded and stepped through the gate. The lead demon then waved at the others. Peony watched as her suitcase disappeared through the magical portal, a small lump forming in the back of her throat. This was it. She was leaving her home of the last ten years.

  Leaving Sylvester and Metcalf...and Dru.

  Leaving Z.

  Shutting her eyes, she told herself that the last part didn’t matter. He was an angel and he was finally healing on his own. He’d recover, and then he’d forget about her entirely. It was just her stupid fault for being too...attached to her patient.

  The lead Mortus strode forward and took hold of one of Peony’s trapped arms. “It’s our turn now.”

  Something feral slid across his face when she turned to meet his gaze, and she barely repressed a shudder. Where his hand touched her arm, she could feel the evil in him. His grip tightened briefly, and then he guided her toward the portal.

  She didn’t look back as they stepped through. Not when it was only Trick to see her off.

  Her skin tingled as the magical portal deposited them somewhere dark. It took a few moments for her eyesight to adjust to the dim lighting.

  I’m in a cave.

  The walkway beneath their feet was slightly undulating, and the walls were carved into what appeared to be basalt.

  She’d entered the Mortus’ den.

  Mom is going to kill me.

  Well, Selene would probably kill Trick first.

  I don’t think I’d be too unhappy about that.

  And for once, the idea of someone dying didn’t bother her. Not after Trick had thrown her under a bus. It’d be what he deserved.

  How many other members of the guild had he screwed over?

  Not your business anymore.

  No.

  “Come along.” The Mortus pulled her down the hall to a T-intersection. Strange writing was carved into the wall before her, and if she squinted just right, it was almost like she could read it. Which was strange. She’d never seen its kind before.

  The hand tightened on her bicep, but the lead demon’s voice didn’t sound annoyed. “Stop delaying.”

  She shot him a look, surprised to see his face wore a blank expression, almost like he was bored by the whole buying-a-cambion-and-taking-her-back-to-his lair business.

  “What kind of writing is that?” she asked.

  He tilted his head slightly. “It’s an ancient angelic dialect.”

  “Why do you have angelic script here?” She asked, then bit her lip. That sounded almost rude, but it was a valid question.

  She stared at the carved writing. The symbols reminded her a little of ancient Greek and Latin, but they were unique all the same. A few words filtered through her mind: ‘scion of Heaven’, ‘depths of Hell’.

  She blinked and they vanished.

  How had—?

  A gentle push against her arm, the movement surprising her. “Come, you may stare at this script later on if you so desire.”

 
Something had changed in the demon’s face, and she didn’t know what had caused it.

  He led Peony down a series of tunnels, some with the angelic letters carved into the walls, some without. They soon arrived in a small white-painted chamber with an art-deco hearth and a series of Edwardian drawing-room chairs lined up around its perimeter. It was...cozy.

  They stopped near the hearth. Behind her, one of the guards set her suitcase down near the entry, while another demon came in through a side door. He was dressed in a Victorian-era suit, complete with lace adornments, cravat, waistcoat and jacket. He wore a silver circlet like a crown and his long black hair was threaded with gray. She could clearly see the similarity between his features and the Mortus standing next to her.

  He wore no gloves, but she didn’t doubt he was deadly.

  The royal Mortus stopped abruptly when he spotted her, jabbing out a finger.

  “You!” His face turned a mottled purple.

  “Me?” She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so timid.

  Quicker than she could track, he was before her. Rage made his gray eyes glitter, and his hand was swinging toward her face in a backhanded slap. Faster than she believed possible, she pulled back before his bare skin touched her cheek, her neck protesting the sudden movement.

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” she said. Not unless you want to die, she added in her head. It sounded over dramatic, even then.

  “Bitch, you will take whatever punishment I deem worthy.” Spittle flew from his mouth, and the atmosphere of the room pulsed with his rage.

  Peony frowned, not understanding. “Punishment for what?”

  What did Dru do?

  Chapter 17

  You need to make a plan, Z thought.

  Now he was finally healing, he would be let out of his cell. Once free, he’d try to make a break for it. Not that he knew which part of Hell he was being held in, but he’d work it out. He’d been in worse situations before—he just couldn’t remember one right now. Training to qualify as a member of the Darts had been tough; being dropped naked in a human forest filled with guerrilla fighters and with his wings bound hadn’t been a walk in the park.

  At least you have clothes now.

  If you could call the light-blue trousers clothes. He had no shirt, since his wings were in the way, no socks and no underwear.

  Try and do a push up.

  Yes, he’d need to get some physical conditioning back to make his escape.

  Planting his hands on the stone floor and balancing his weight on his tiptoes, he gave a heave up, and grinned. Yes!

  A moment later, his arms wobbled and he dropped back to the floor with a dull thud.

  He lay there panting, frustration zinging through his blood.

  The door opened slowly.

  Z glowered at the stone floor against his face. It wasn’t time for Trick’s regular gloat, and Sylvester had just left. He lifted his head and froze in surprise.

  The healer. She was back!

  The shock of white hair and golden skin made his heart gallop in his chest, and his eyes roved hungrily over her from head to toe.

  But something wasn’t...right.

  Gone were her customary blue shirt and trousers; instead she wore black pants and a tank top that hugged her figure. Her hands were glove-free, something he had never seen before, and her gray eyes were cold, calculating, her mouth pressed in a flat line.

  She looked hard. Nothing like the demon he was used to dealing with.

  Realization hit him. “You aren’t...her.”

  She couldn’t be, even though they looked near identical. No one changed that much in a day or two.

  Unless she was always like that and had been pretending.

  Normally he would have considered that an option, but not his healer. She was utterly genuine.

  “No, I’m her sister.”

  His head dropped back to the floor. “She’s gone.”

  “Want to help me get her back?” The healer’s sister leaned against the door frame like she had all the time in the world.

  A bitter chuckle rose inside. Him? Help? He couldn’t even do one push up! No matter that he’d been planning his escape and her rescue not long ago.

  “What am I going to be able to do?” Z asked.

  “Well, you are an angel. And you aren’t fallen.”

  “I may as well be.”

  “You have wings.”

  He snorted and moved the partially ruined flesh.

  “They look like they’re growing back. And I might know a guy who can help you.”

  He fought the feeling of hope that slammed into him. Her sister was a healer...it was true they may know someone.... “What are you saying?”

  “Come with me,” the woman said.

  “And go where?” If he was a blood-bound slave, it wasn’t like he could just head out the front door.

  “To a friend’s.”

  “I’m not really in any condition to walk.” Or even crawl, if truth were told.

  She waved a hand, dismissing his concern, and stepped further into the room. “First, we make a deal.”

  A deal. Of course. Nothing was free with a demon.

  “Like what?” he asked. She may be his healer’s sister, but they were nothing alike, he could sense that now.

  “That you have to help me find Peony when you’re well.”

  Peony.

  It suited her. Soft, beautiful and honorable, as with the Chinese translation.

  Funny how he’d never known her name, and yet he could picture the exact shade of her eyes, the color of her skin...

  He nodded. “Deal.”

  A tingle spread out along his spine as the magic of the promise took hold.

  The demon gave him a brief, fierce grin. “Let’s go.”

  *

  He thought he was going to vomit.

  Breathe in, breathe out. That’s it.

  Swallow.

  Z dropped to his knees on a blanket of bright-green grass, breathing air that smelled of flowers and hydrocarbons.

  They were no longer in Hell.

  Maybe I should lie down. His body collapsed onto his stomach before he’d finished the thought.

  “That was not fun,” he muttered against the astringent grass.

  A low chuckle sounded, and then Peony’s sister gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “If you’re going to puke, try not to do it on my shoes.”

  He turned his face to the side and glared at her. “A little warning would have been useful.”

  His body had not been up to the rigors of teleportation. And that hadn’t felt like any teleportation he’d ever experienced before. It certainly hadn’t been a Devilsgate, either.

  Can Peony do that, too?

  She gave a negligent shrug, but her eyes were wary. “It wasn’t like I was going to walk you out the front door,” she said, her statement echoing his earlier thought. “Trick would have had us killed on the spot.”

  Z sighed. “You, maybe. Me, he wants.”

  A twisted smile graced her face. “Oh, little do you know.” She chuckled, but it sounded off. “Now, you need to lie here like a good little angel and wait for me to come and get you.”

  He rose up on his elbows. All he could see was garden—grass edged with gravel-lined paths and a hedge. “What if we’re in danger?”

  She raised a shoulder and held out her hands, palm up. “You could poke them?”

  He blew out a steady stream of air and counted to five silently. Surely she could see that leaving him flat out in someone’s garden was not the best idea? Especially if they were in the Human Realm.

  Angels were meant to be secret, after all. Except in a religious context.

  “That is not an adequate plan,” he finally replied.

  “Don’t stress. Even if something happens to me, they’ll come get you.”

  Truth, at least as far as she believed it.
<
br />   Who was this ‘friend’?

  Anyway, he wasn’t stressed, he was concerned for their safety. They were two totally different things.

  Z frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “What’s your name?” he blurted.

  She pursed her lips. “Oh yeah. That might help. I’m Dru.”

  “Call me Z,” he replied.

  She nodded. “Just hang tight.”

  Hang-what?

  But she was gone, her step confident as she disappeared around a hedge.

  How can she and Peony be so different?

  A few minutes later he heard her shout, “Touch me and I’ll cut you a new fucking smile!”

  He struggled to rise to his hands and knees. He would help, she was clearly in trouble.

  Then heard a growled, “Motherfucker!”

  That voice sounded eerily familiar, but the profanity was so out of context he struggled to reconcile the new information.

  A new speaker entered the fray, this one also blessedly familiar. “Yael!”

  “Shit!”

  The sounds of scuffling and grunting came over the hedge, but he was too weak to even make it to his knees, never mind peer over the top.

  Useless, you’re useless.

  He hung his head in shame. Low murmurs of a conversation were taking place some distance away. He couldn’t make out the words, but the anger seemed to have fled the situation. He hoped Dru was okay, or he was going to spend a cold night in the garden. Plus Peony would be upset to learn he’d done nothing while her twin was injured.

  His arms shook from holding himself up and he dropped to his side, spreading a wing out on the springy grass.

  So weak.

  A few minutes later, Dru appeared, her shirt torn and dirt smeared across one cheek.

  “What happened?”

  “Eh, my friend’s housemate is an asshole.”

  That didn’t answer the question. At least, not clearly.

  Dru grabbed one of his arms and slung it over her shoulder. The contact was shocking to him, like being near Peony, but not. His heartbeat stayed regular and he wasn’t curious about her softness, even though she looked identical to his healer.

  “Ready? I’m gonna haul you up. I’ll need your help—you’re heavy for someone who is skinny enough to make Opal horny.”