by Larissa Ione
“The damage… it can’t be repaired.”
“I know, but you can survive it.”
“I’ll be weak.” Deva coughed again. “A shell of myself.”
“You could never be weak,” Blaspheme murmured.
Damn, but Blas wished she could use her angelic or fallen angelic abilities to at least attempt to heal her mother, but the spell that disguised her as a False Angel was still blocking her powers even as the FA ones failed. Why her mother had chosen a False Angel as her cover, Blaspheme didn’t know, but as far as wimpy demons went, False Angels were at the top of the list.
For the millionth time today, she glanced down at the barely visible scar on her wrist, the one she’d gotten just moments after her birth, when her mother performed the ceremony to conceal Blaspheme’s vyrm identity within a False Angel aura. Practically speaking, she had been a False Angel, with all of the strengths and weaknesses inherent to the species.
But now, two hundred years later, the aura was wearing off, and when the scar was gone, so would be Blaspheme’s cover. Oh, as a vyrm she’d be far more powerful than a False Angel, with the ability to flash wherever she wanted, summon fiery weapons, heal almost anyone of thousands of afflictions… but she’d also be hunted into the ground.
“Daughter,” Deva rasped. “You need to perform the ritual. Before I die, I need to know you’re safe.” She sighed. “And I was so looking forward to Sanguinalia.”
Blas patted her mom’s hand and stood. “Stop being dramatic,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel. “You aren’t going to die. And we already discussed this. I’m not going to sacrifice a False Angel so I can maintain my disguise. I’ll find another way. Another way to save both of us.”
Before her mother could argue, Blas kissed her on the forehead and got the hell out of there. She had work to do and frankly, she didn’t want to dwell on the fact that between Deva’s injuries and Blas’s rapidly fading disguise, they could both be dead by the end of the week.
Blaspheme got a fitful night’s sleep in an on-call suite close to her mother’s room. After a groggy breakfast, a pot of coffee, and a quick check to verify that her sleeping mother was doing fine, she got to work.
Now she was just trying not to dwell on things out of her control as she put a series of stitches in a Huldrefox’s lacerated scalp. The furry female had gotten into it with a werewolf, and from the number and severity of her wounds, it looked like the Huldrefox had been less of a worthy opponent and more of a chew toy.
“Doctor?”
Blaspheme yelped, startled by a dark-skinned lion-shifter nurse named Mbali as she pulled back the cubicle’s fabric curtain just enough to poke her head inside. “My, you’re jumpy today,” Mbali said. “You okay, imayama?”
Blas had no idea what language imayama represented, but she knew it meant healer in Mbali’s native tongue. She wondered how Mbali’s native tongue would translate No, I’m not okay. I think there’s an Eradicator around every corner.
“I’m fine, Mbali,” Blas said, concentrating on leveling out her breathing and heart rate, something she’d had to learn to control during emergencies and surgery. “What do you need?”
“Dr. Morgan sent me to tell you that the staff meeting is being postponed until tomorrow. She didn’t say why.”
Blaspheme had a feeling she knew why. As the busy co-director of Underworld General Clinic with Blas, Gemella Morgan valued her time with her husband, Kynan, and daughter, Dawn. Her dedication to her family and to the hospital and clinic made her a hell of a doctor as well as a devoted wife and mother.
It wasn’t often that Blaspheme experienced jealousy; she was thrilled to dedicate her life to medicine. But every once in a while she couldn’t help but envy Gem’s family life… something Blas couldn’t have as long as she was forced to pretend she was something she wasn’t.
“Thank you, Mbali.” She snipped the suture thread and swabbed the surgical area behind the Huldrefox’s ear. “Can you finish this up for me? I need to check on our fallen angel patient.”
With the exception of Eidolon, Luc, and Raze, no one knew that Deva was Blaspheme’s mother, or even her adoptive mother, and she planned to keep it that way. There was no sense in giving anyone the tools to put two and two together to equal vyrm.
Mbali happily took over while Blaspheme headed down the hall to one of Underworld General Clinic’s recovery rooms, where her mother had been brought to keep her close to Blaspheme. Deva was still asleep, her short blond hair a messy mop sticking out from covers she’d pulled up to her eyeballs. Blas checked her vitals, adjusted her saline drip, and finished with a light kiss on her mom’s cheek. Her mother was evil in ways Blaspheme couldn’t understand, but she didn’t doubt how much her mother loved her.
A three-toned beep indicated that someone had arrived through one of the two entrances to UGC, but unless her pager went off, she didn’t have to —
Her pager went crazy in her pocket, bouncing around in the fabric of her lab coat. Wondering what was up, she stepped into the hall… and ran right into Revenant’s rock-hard chest.
She leaped back with humiliating squeak number two for the day. Damn him! Did he enjoy scaring the crap out of her? She supposed she’d rather run into him than an Eradicator, but geez, he’d just taken a hundred years off her life. And was it necessary to wear all that leather and metal like some sort of armor? Inappropriately sexy armor?
“Are you a professional lurker, or what?” She casually but quickly closed the door behind her.
Revenant ignored her, craning his head to get a peek as the door shut. “You’re treating a fallen angel?” he asked. “Must have been one hell of an injury to require medical attention.”
“I can’t discuss patients with you,” she said, summoning her don’t-screw-with-me doctor voice. “And how do you know she’s a fallen angel?”
He cocked an ebony eyebrow. “I can smell fallen angel blood.”
Oh, crap. She broke out in a cold sweat. Hopefully he couldn’t smell that. Time to get rid of this too-handsome bloodhound before he caught a whiff of her fallen angel – or angel – blood through her fading disguise.
Clearing her throat, she queued up her doctor voice again. “What do you want?”
She scrounged her pager out of her pocket, and, somehow, the words that flashed on the screen didn’t surprise her.
That big asshole fallen angel is here to see you. And then, Is he single?
“What do I want?” He shrugged. “I want you.”
She groaned even as her body sparked to life. Her False Angel enchantment might be wearing off, but the False Angel sex drive was as fully engaged as ever. Funny how she was losing the other FA powers, but she was still horny as hell, and self-gratification was becoming less and less satisfying.
“Not this again.” What was his fascination with her, anyway? Shoving him aside, she started down the hall. “I said no.”
He caught up with her, matching her gait as he walked beside her. “Let me put it another way. I have a medical case for you.”
Halting, she eyed him suspiciously. Damn, he was tall. He put her five feet eleven inches to shame. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a female fallen angel. She’s pregnant, and she could use a checkup.”
She snorted. “You knock her up?”
He recoiled so fast she considered grabbing a cervical collar in case he’d given himself whiplash. “The very idea is repulsive.”
“What, the idea of being a father or screwing a fallen angel?”
“I have no problem screwing angels of any kind,” he said, his voice a low purr, and she knew he was hinting at the fact that she was, at least to outside eyes, a False Angel. “But this particular one has been… damaged.”
“Is that why she needs medical help?”
“It’s why she needs psychological help, but no.” He waited for a male nurse pushing a cart of supplies to go past before saying, “She needs a medical doctor becau
se her pregnancy isn’t exactly routine.” He cocked his head, his thick mane of blue-black hair brushing his shoulders. “May I touch you?”
Whoa. Talk about whiplash. Before she could protest, he reached out, brushing a knuckle over her cheek. Every nerve ending in her body sizzled with awareness. How did he do that so easily?
She stepped away, awkwardly enough that he had to know he’d affected her. “Why did you do that?”
“I’ve been told I have no impulse control or sense of social boundaries.” He casually rolled one big shoulder. “At least I asked first.”
“Gee, give the guy a medal.” Gods, she loved the way he smelled, like musk and leather and a sinful hint of brimstone. “Tell your fallen angel friend to come by. We’re open twenty-four seven.” Her fingers cramped, and she realized she’d been holding her pager in a death grip. Tucking it back into her pocket, she gave him a see-ya smile. “I have work. Thanks for stopping by.”
She started for the front office, but he snared her arm and swung her back around. “She can’t come here. I need to take you to her.”
“Sorry,” she said, jerking out of his grip, “but I don’t make house calls. I can recommend someone who does —”
“I need you.”
Okay, now she was nearing the end of her patience. “Did you hear what I just said? I don’t make house calls. No exceptions.”
“You will make an exception for this patient.”
Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him, dumbfounded. Who did he think he was to come barging into her place of work and demand she drop everything just because he said to? “I will do no such thing.”
“I would consider this a personal favor. Which means I would owe you.”
Hmm. Now that was something to think about. She didn’t want to be indebted to anyone, let alone a fallen angel like Revenant, but to have him owe her… that was worth considering. She didn’t know much about him, but she did know he was the evil Watcher for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, which meant he was a fallen angel of high standing – and power. And with the craziness that was going on with her mother right now, Blas never knew when she’d need a favor.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because I want you,” he said simply. “And you want me.”
Good Lord, he was delusional. “I don’t want you.”
He smiled tightly. “You will.”
“You know,” she sighed, “the more you say shit like that, the less likely it is that I would ever want you.”
“You don’t appreciate confidence?”
“I don’t appreciate arrogance. There’s a difference.”
“And what is the difference?”
“Confidence is arrogance without an asshole.”
He laughed, and holy hell, he was stunning when he did that. “Sounds uncomfortable. I’ll keep my arrogance, thank you very much.”
Jamming her hands on her hips, she glared. “You still haven’t said why you want me to treat your friend.”
“She’s not my friend. And it has to be you because you’re the only doctor I know.”
“If knowing a doctor was the only criteria people used for choosing one, very few people would get medical care.”
He bared his teeth. “I don’t give a shit about other people. I’m choosing you because I don’t know anyone else.”
He barely knew her. But she sensed… she wasn’t sure. Maybe he was one of those people who bonded quickly with others. Or maybe he didn’t trust easily, and she’d given him enough straightforward attitude that he thought he could put some confidence in her abilities. The latter sounded most likely.
And why was she diagnosing his mental instability, anyway? She was done arguing with him. But… something he’d said intrigued her. “Did you say the patient is a fallen angel? Is the child’s father a fallen angel as well?”
“You could say that.”
Since all fallen angels had once been Heavenly angels, the offspring of two fallen angels would be emim, neither angel nor fallen angel, wingless, but possessing a number of fallen angel powers. During her research into ways to repair the damage caused by grimlight, she’d found a necromancer’s scribblings theorizing that emim stem cells could possibly deliver a punch of extra healing power to otherwise untreatable conditions in fallen angels like her mother.
Revenant might just have delivered the answer to Blaspheme’s prayers.
“Fine,” she muttered, telling herself this would all be worth it when either he repaid the favor or she healed her mother. “Give me a minute to grab an obstetrics jump bag.”
“Excellent.” Triumph lit his expression. “I’ll meet you at the main entrance.”
He took off, and as she watched his fine, leather-clad backside disappear down the corridor, she wondered about the mistake she’d just made. Because it wasn’t a question of if she’d made a mistake. She’d crossed that particular bridge a mile back.
No, the question now was how big of a mistake it would prove to be.
Four
Blaspheme showed up at the clinic’s main entrance five minutes later, still wearing bright purple scrubs and a pristine white lab coat with the Underworld General caduceus embroidered on the chest pocket. A teal stethoscope hung around her neck, and Revenant wondered how his heart would sound if she listened.
He figured it would either stop completely, or it would do a hummingbird on the back of his rib cage. That was assuming it had fully grown back after Satan made a meal of it.
No, wait… it had definitely regenerated, because as Blaspheme sauntered through the waiting room toward him, an orange duffel slung over her shoulder and her slender fingers toying with the stethoscope, he felt his pulse hammer faster with every step. Her blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and it swung wildly, the tip playing peek-a-boo with him from behind her waist. Damn, he’d love to bend her over, wrap that thing around his fist, and —
“You ready to go?” she asked, getting right down to business.
He answered by shoving open the steel door. He’d discovered that there were only two ways into the clinic; via the Harrowgate from the hospital in New York, or through the door from an abandoned London tube platform. A spell prevented anyone from flashing directly into and out of the clinic, but as a Shadow Angel, he could pop in or out anytime he pleased. For now, however, he wanted to keep his status a secret. One thing he’d learned about power was that the more of it you had, the fewer people you wanted to know about it.
Some asshole out there always wanted to either take it or exploit it, as Satan had proven today when he announced his plan to use Rev as an angel exterminator.
They stepped out onto the platform and into the stale underground air. Behind them, the clinic door closed and melted into the background, concealing itself from human eyes. A few feet away, the shimmering curtain of light from the Harrowgate built into the tunnel wall ahead solidified, and a moment later, a white-skinned blanchier demon stumbled out, cradling his clearly dislocated arm.
Blas rushed to hold the clinic door open for him. “See Liz at the front desk. She’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
The demon muttered his thanks and disappeared through the doorway.
“You really do like this job, don’t you?” Revenant asked, baffled by the desire to help people. Most people were assholes. They were much more likable when they were dead.
“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he studied her, which, really, was no hardship. “So, when you were a baby False Angel, this was what you dreamed of doing when you grew up?”
“When you were a baby angel, did you dream of committing an offense so heinous it would get you kicked out of Heaven to become a fallen angel?” she shot back.
“Ouch,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize False Angels were venomous.”
She rubbed her eyes, and he suddenly felt like a shit, even if he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t used to having regrets.
; “Sorry,” she said. “I’m dealing with some family issues that are making me grumpy.”
“Must be something in the air,” he muttered.
“Like a virus? That I could deal with,” she said, and he liked that she would rather deal with viral infections than people. Very cool. But odd for a False Angel. “Where are we going?”
“Can’t tell you.” He held out his hand, but she eyed it like what he’d offered her was a croix viper. “You need to take it. I’m going to flash us there.”
Hefting the bag more securely on her shoulder, she glared. “If you get me killed…”
“Trust me,” he said. “Nothing can harm you while you’re with me. And if anyone tries, I will make them scream until their skulls explode, Humpty Dumpty style. Not even your great Eidolon and all the king’s horses will be able to fix that.”
“That’s so… touching,” she said flatly. “And graphic.”
“I have mad skills when it comes to touching females.” She didn’t seem to appreciate his double entendre, but then, she seemed pretty annoyed. Maybe he could get her a deadly virus to play with. With his new Shadow Angel powers, creating a plague should be a snap. “Give me your hand.”
She did so, reluctantly, but he still felt a sizzling tremor of awareness shoot up his arm. Savoring the sensation, he flashed them to a region adjacent to Satan’s, a region defined by its lava flows and acid lakes, an inhospitable environment in which few could survive. It was also one of the regions that was impossible for any Heavenly angel to get inside. The manor Satan had built here as his “vacation home” was so tightly guarded that only Revenant and a handful of his most trusted cronies could enter.
They materialized in the grand living room, which was little more than a giant fireplace. Four lit hearths took up four walls, and in the middle, a chaise lounge faced a torture rack.
A torture rack from which some poor shapeshifter hung, his lifeless, broken body dangling loosely from the wooden slats.