by Larissa Ione
“I mean that I’ve got shit coming at me from all sides… from my brother, from Heaven, from Sheoul. You’re the only thing that makes sense right now. I can’t get fucked over by you, too.”
How bizarre it was that they were both in very similar situations, and that only made her feel extra guilty for lying to him.
Maybe she should tell him the truth. Or at least tiptoe around the truth to see how he’d feel about… about what? Screwing a vyrm? Confessing his sins to someone who had been lying about who they were?
Even if he didn’t want to slaughter her for being a vyrm, he’d probably do it for lying to him.
Finally, she settled for a response that was one hundred percent truthful. “I would never intentionally hurt you. Please believe me when I say that.”
Revenant opened his mouth to say something, but a muffled buzz drew both of their focuses to her purse on the floor.
“I wouldn’t have thought I’d get cell service down here.”
He shrugged. “Demon technicians can do pretty much anything.” He gestured to the purse. “Go ahead and get it. We should get going anyway. Gethel’s waiting.”
The reminder made her groan. A groan that was cut short by the distinct buzz tone of her mother’s instant message handle.
She fished the phone out of her bag as Revenant left her alone in the bedroom. The screen blinked, and Deva’s kitten avatar popped up. Her mother loved cats. Practically lived for Cat Saturday on theCHIVE.
Honey, r u there?
Blaspheme typed out her response with one finger. I’m here, Mom. Where are you? Are you safe? How are you feeling?
I feel ok. I’m safe. R u?
Damn, Blas hated the shortcut crap. She made it a point to type out everything properly, even if it took a million times longer. I’m fine. Why did you run?
The male in the clinic. He’s the 1 I told u about.
Blaspheme frowned. What one you told me about?
There was a pause that took way too long. Long enough that Blas managed four laps around the bedroom before her phone finally vibrated in her hand. When she looked down, what she saw stopped her heart dead in her chest.
The male called The Destroyer. Blaspheme, the fallen angel in the clinic… he’s The Destroyer. He’s the bastard who killed your father.
Twenty-Three
Revenant waited for Blaspheme on his front porch, looking out into the bottomless chasm that circled his house and the ten acres of land surrounding it like a waterless moat. He’d lived in this impenetrable fortress for three decades, basking in the privacy that was broken only when he brought someone here or made the stone bridge visible to those he invited.
Like the food delivery dude.
He’d liked it here, he supposed, but now he wanted something different. Better. More befitting of someone like Blaspheme.
She didn’t belong in a place like this. Hell, she didn’t belong in Sheoul at all.
As he gazed across the dark depths of the canyon to the vast, craggy Mountains of Eternal Suffering, he felt shame that he’d brought her here. And how strange it was to feel shame when, for nearly five thousand years he’d felt nothing of the sort.
But Blaspheme had left him off balance, awash in unexpected new feelings and dusting off emotions he hadn’t used since his mother died.
I’m here for you, she’d said. I’m here for you.
Warmth blanketed his heart, replacing the frost that had deadened the muscle. It felt as if the organ was truly beating for the first time, and the lightness, the energy he felt, was amazing.
Overcome with an urge to kiss the ever-living hell out of her, he went back inside, found her sitting stiffly on his couch, her purse over her shoulder, her hands folded in her lap.
Something wasn’t right.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She stood, but she avoided his gaze. “We should go. We can stop by UG so I can pick up an obstetrics bag and the portable ultrasound machine.”
Maybe she’d gotten some bad news while she’d been in the bedroom. He wanted to ask, and yesterday he would have. But something had changed between them since then, and he’d entered into a strange dynamic he wasn’t familiar with.
He wasn’t exactly the most patient person on the planet, but he’d give it a shot for once. Maybe she’d tell him on her own when she was ready.
He just hoped she was ready soon. His newfound interest in trying to be more patient probably wouldn’t last.
Her hand felt stiff and cold in his as he grasped it and flashed them directly to her office.
“Wait here,” she said, still not meeting his gaze.
She took off, and he wasted time by checking out all the knickknacks on her desk and on her shelves. She seemed to be a fan of butterflies. Little crystal figurines in bright, cheery colors decorated the office, and on her walls, two huge watercolor paintings of blue and yellow butterflies bracketed her medical degrees and award certificates.
All he had on his walls were racks of weapons and a couple of enemy skulls.
Blaspheme returned, two large bags slung over her shoulders. To be gentlemanly, something completely new, he took both bags.
“You like butterflies,” he said, stating the freaking obvious. “Why?” To him, they were nothing but winged worms.
“Because,” she said, snaring her purse. “They spend the first part of their lives in disguise, ugly, not knowing their full potential. But when they can finally be themselves, they can fly and be the beautiful creatures they were born to be.” A thread of sadness infused her voice. Guess she really had a thing for winged worms.
And she still wouldn’t look at him.
“Blaspheme?”
“What?” she snapped.
Whoa. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
The thick blond lashes that framed her intense blue eyes flipped up. “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I just have a lot on my mind, and frankly, I’m not looking forward to treating that evil skank.”
He sensed there was more to it than that, and while he might be dense about female moods, he had a feeling she would only get angrier if he pushed more.
“We won’t be there for long,” he said. “And if you’re worried about your safety, know that I will kill anyone who tries to harm you.”
“Yes,” she said in a nasty tone, “because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You kill. How easy is it for you? How many butterflies have you crushed under your boots, Revenant?”
Taken aback by her sudden anger, he fought to stay calm when he really wanted to lash out. Which was a first.
“I am, for all intents and purposes, a fallen angel,” he said flatly. “Killing is in my nature. Enjoying it is in my nature. You knew this when you fucked me the first time. And the second. And now you’re taking issue with it? That’s like being angry at a shark for killing a seal. It’s in his nature.”
“And that’s the problem,” she whispered. “That’s the problem in a nutshell.”
Revenant flashed Blaspheme to Gethel’s residence without another word. The moment they materialized, Gethel lit into Revenant with ear-shattering shrieks about taking his damned time bringing a doctor.
“Chill out,” he said as he sank into a chair near one of the hearths. “It’s not like you’re going to die from a little bleeding.”
Blaspheme held up a hand. “Enough. Gethel, I need you to lie down on the sofa. I’m going to perform an ultrasound and get a sample of amniotic fluid.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Yes.”
Gethel grinned. “Good.”
Blaspheme just shook her head as she squatted down on the floor and rummaged through the duffel for the supplies needed for the amniocentesis. Her fingers closed around something strange… Frowning, she drew out a small, filled syringe with a piece of paper secured around it with a rubber band.
As Gethel positioned herself on the sofa and lifted her tattered maternity blouse to expose her
belly, Blaspheme checked out the paper.
One word, written in Eidolon’s neat script: AMNIOINFUSION.
She stared at the letters, trying to make sense of them. Then it hit her. The syringe was filled with the solarum Eidolon had mentioned. Instead of injecting saline into the amniotic sac during a normal amnioinfusion treatment, she was supposed to inject the solarum —
She jerked, nearly dropping the syringe. Poison. The pale yellow liquid inside the syringe’s barrel was poison to evil beings, and the more evil, the more poisonous it was. And Lucifer, being the son of Satan…
Oh, damn.
She looked over at Revenant, who had just shoved to his feet to pace back and forth between pillars. He didn’t seem to be interested in what was going on, but Gethel huffed.
“Are you just going to sit there, you stupid cow?”
“No,” Blas said absently. “Of course not.” It was a measure of how flustered she was that she didn’t snap back at the evil mother-to-be, and when Revenant shot a look in their direction, she knew she had to get her shit together.
First things first, she needed to gather amniotic fluid. It only took a few minutes to set up the ultrasound machine, which she’d use to determine the position of the fetus and the best location to insert the needle. As the unit warmed up, she made an attempt to engage her False Angel X-Ray vision… and was shocked when it flickered to life.
Warmth infused her body as the gift took hold with an almost orgasmic sensation. It was as if the False Angel enchantment were taking its last dying breath, and she intended to use it for all it was worth.
Quickly, she focused on Gethel’s swollen belly, and instantly, the form inside took shape. She expected to see the outline of a monster, but instead, she saw what appeared to be a run-of-the-mill baby, no different from what she’d see in a human hospital.
It’s not a baby. It’s not human. It’s not even a demon. It’s Satan’s son. Evil incarnate.
Keeping that thought firmly in mind, she chose a spot to place the needle she’d use to withdraw amniotic fluid.
“You’re going to feel a pinch…” She inserted the needle, using her special vision to ensure that she hit a pocket of fluid and not the infant. A moment later, she withdrew the full syringe, capped it, and tucked it into the duffel. Stem cell collection successful.
The solarum-filled syringe sat next to the ultrasound machine, its contents glinting in the chamber’s smoky light.
Do it.
Blas closed her eyes. She’d taken on the mission to do this, to destroy Lucifer in the womb. She’d done it to keep Eidolon out of harm’s way. She could go through with it. She had to.
Taking a deep, bracing breath, she palmed the syringe and oriented the needle so she could jab it straight down, into the back of Lucifer’s skull.
Her False Angel vision snuffed out, but it didn’t matter. The needle was positioned, and even if she somehow missed, just injecting the stuff into the amniotic fluid should do the trick.
It would destroy Lucifer.
Do it.
But she was a doctor. How could she take a life, even if that life was evil? It was still a life, and she was born to heal, not destroy.
Do it!
Her hand shook and her eyes stung, and in the pit of her stomach, the food she’d eaten with Revenant churned. Why was this happening to her? If Lucifer were to strike out at her, she could fight back. She could kill. But this was different. This would sit on her soul like a bruise for the rest of her life.
But by killing him, you’ll be saving thousands of lives.
Hundreds of thousands. Millions, maybe. Come time for the biblical Apocalypse, Lucifer would fight at Satan’s side, orchestrating the suffering of every living thing on the planet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Gethel snapped. “I don’t have all day. I have a basketful of kittens to eat.”
Blaspheme’s hand jerked. “Kittens? I told you, leafy greens.”
“You said not to eat infants.”
“No meat. At all. Doctor’s orders.”
Gethel hissed. “I don’t believe you.” She pointed at the syringe poised over her belly. “And what is that?”
“Contrast solution,” Blas lied. “It’ll help with the ultrasound.”
The sound of Rev’s heavy boots striking the floor came close, and Blaspheme’s pulse spiked. Had he seen through the lie?
“Hurry.” Gethel dropped her head back against the sofa armrest. “When you’re done I’m going to eat the kittens and have someone rustle me up a human infant or two.”
Rev was almost on top of her. Blaspheme gripped the syringe tight. No more waffling. This bitch and her monster child were going down. If guilt plagued Blas for the rest of her life, so be it.
Her hand shook even harder and nausea bubbled up, but she ignored both and started to shove the needle home.
Suddenly, something crashed into her, knocking her over and sending the syringe flying out of her grip. Revenant tumbled to the ground, and as he shoved to his feet, his boot came down on the syringe, smashing it and splattering its contents all over the floor.
“Oh, hey, sorry.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I tripped over the ultrasound machine. Hope I didn’t mess anything up.”
He’d tripped? Mr. Uber-agile had tripped?
“Fool!” Gethel barked. “Lucifer is going to skin you alive the moment he learns to wield a blade.”
“He’s welcome to try.” Revenant kicked aside the bits of syringe. “But until then, you need to keep him healthy, so listen to the doctor and eat your damned green shit.” He glanced at Blas. “Finish up. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.”
Twenty-Four
Revenant strode away from Blaspheme, cursing himself over and over as he walked. Contrast solution. She’d claimed the syringe had contained contrast solution.
He might have believed her had he not watched the drama playing out in her expression as she positioned the needle over Gethel’s belly. Whatever substance she’d been about to inject into Gethel had been poisonous, and Blaspheme had been tormented by the murder she’d been about to commit.
At first, Revenant had mentally cheered her on. Do it! Destroy the bastard! But when Blaspheme’s hand began to shake and her eyes became haunted, his enthusiasm had taken a hard hit. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the idea that the female who had dedicated her life to saving others was going to stain her soul with murder.
Granted, he didn’t consider killing Lucifer to be murder, and he figured that ninety-nine percent of the population of Heaven, Earth, and Sheoul wouldn’t, either. But Blas was the one percent, and she’d never recover.
He couldn’t put her through that, and like the self-destructive fool that he was, he’d pretended to be a clumsy oaf so he could sabotage her attempt.
And the worst part of it was that he’d done it even after Blaspheme had insulted him.
How dare she judge him for what he was? Had he judged her for being a False Angel? Okay, maybe. But he’d gotten past that. He’d seen beyond what she was to who she was. At least, he liked to think so.
No, he knew so. He’d seen her own up to her mistakes. He’d seen bravery when she’d stood up to him. When she’d called him out on his arrogance. He’d been on the receiving end of her generosity and caring. And he’d felt her vulnerability when she believed her world was crumbling down around her.
So why couldn’t she see him? Was all of that I’m here for you bullshit just that? Bullshit?
Dammit! Without thinking, he slammed his fist into one of the support pillars in Gethel’s massive great hall, putting a new framework of cracks from floor to ceiling.
Gethel and Blaspheme both glared at him, but he didn’t give a shit.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Blaspheme packed up her gear and came over to him.
“She’s fine for the time being,” she said in a low voice. “I need to have an obstetrics specialist look over the ultrasound, but I’ll tell you right now, I
doubt she’ll survive the birth.”
He shrugged. “Satan doesn’t care about her. He’s concerned about Lucifer.”
Blaspheme’s expression was sour. “The little abomination looks healthy.”
Healthy. Something that could be laid at Revenant’s feet. Thanks to his impulsive act of compassion for Blaspheme, Rev was going to lose his status as the second-most-powerful being in Sheoul. Rev could not lose that status, not now that he’d given up on his pathetic dream of being welcomed in Heaven. Once he killed his first angel, he’d burn all those bridges but good.
So, no, he wasn’t going to give up his position at Satan’s side, especially not to Lucifer, who had spent his fair share of his first incarnation making Revenant’s life miserable. Yes, if Revenant could, he’d destroy the motherfucker in the womb right now. But with no place to hide from Satan, doing so would be a death sentence.
“Can we go now?” Blaspheme asked.
Revenant started to say yes, but a door on the far end of the hall opened up, and two Ramreel guards dragged a beaten, bloody vampire inside.
Gethel gestured to the rack across from the chaise where she was lounging. “Put Thanatos’s minion there. I want to watch him die slowly.”
Fuck. As the Horseman’s Watcher, he couldn’t let this go.
“Come on,” he said as he took Blaspheme’s hand. “Let’s get you back to the clinic.” He’d deal with Gethel and her bloodsucker toy once Blaspheme was safely back at Underworld General.
He flashed them to UG’s parking lot, and the second they materialized, Blaspheme yanked away from him. “You’re just going to let that vampire die? Take me back. Let me help him.”
“You’re not going back. The vampire is none of your concern.”
“He was injured,” she said, incredulous. “Of course he’s my concern!”
Sudden anger rolled him like a rogue wave. Why couldn’t she be selfish, petty, and immoral like a proper False Angel should be?
“Toughen up,” he snapped. “You can’t save all the kittens, vampires, and butterflies. And sometimes you have to crush something under your boot to get what you want. Deal with it.”