Temptation, Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 3 (26 page)

Stolas glanced around the dank room, took in the broken chains on the walls, the splashes of blood and the headless body at his feet.

They were gone. The Halfling, the Slayer, his mate and Temptation. And Mortikaï was already dead, depriving him of even that small pleasure. This situation was fast spinning beyond his control.

Damn it. Damn it all.
He drew a deep breath. He had to keep his head. The Halfling may have eluded him. This time. But he wasn’t out of the game. Not yet. He still had one more ace up his sleeve.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Gideon used the toe of his boot to keep the log swing gently swaying. He couldn’t ask for a better, more relaxing evening. The soft shushing of the river and the occasional muted warble of birdsong lulled his senses. A whisper of a breeze rustled the leaves overhead. The sun was just setting, casting a warm golden hue over everything.

And Maggie was nestled in the protective circle of his arms, her head snuggled in the crook of his shoulder.

No, it didn’t get any better than this.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured against her hair.

“I’m fine, Gideon. Stop fussing.” She patted his chest.

He opened his mouth to argue that it was his right to fuss, when a shiver of awareness skated down his spine.
Angel.
His senses screamed the warning, even as he urged Maggie up, preparing himself to fight.

“What? What is it?” Maggie whispered, her gaze scanning the tree line and the grounds. Angelfire formed in the palm of her hand, and she moved into position at his side.

God, he was proud of his woman.

“Angel,” Gideon warned, hovering protectively near his mate.

“I mean no harm,” Samuel said, separating himself from the foliage across the way.

“Hell’s bells,” Gideon muttered beneath his breath, “what’d Asher do? List this place as a point of interest on Google Maps? Anybody else shows up here uninvited, and I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“May I come closer?” Samuel asked politely, his voice deep and gentle.

He could feel Maggie relaxing beside him, and made a mental note to speak to her later about caution around angels.

“Why are you here?”

“I have come to speak with you about the Prophesy,” he said. “I vow, by all that is holy, I will not harm your mate or your child.”

“Or Gideon,” Maggie quickly prompted, earning herself an approving smile from the angel.

“Or Gideon,” he amended.

Samuel was one of the few angels that still referred to the Fallen by their given names rather than traitor or another derogatory demon epithet. Eyeing him with suspicion, Gideon nodded his assent. Though he didn’t believe the angel would break his vow, and Samuel appeared relaxed, his wings tucked smoothly behind him, Gideon couldn’t help but maintain his battle ready wariness as the angel approached. He slipped a cautious arm around Maggie.

“I have consulted the ancient scrolls of our brethren,” Samuel began. “And what I have found is…disconcerting.”

Maggie’s hand tightened apprehensively on his arm. “How so?”

Samuel clasped his hands in front of his waist. His white shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders, and the sunlight glinted in his ginger hair. “The scrolls containing the Prophesy have been tampered with; some were blatantly damaged.”

Gideon’s eyebrows shot up at that. He remembered the massive marble building housing endless rows of scrolls and texts, tomes and charts. Each piece held with the highest, hushed reverence, catalogued, maintained and protected by the Custodian.

“How is that possible?”

“We do not know. But we did find an obscure reference to the Prophesy, and a name.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Gideon asked.

“I have tried, as I’m sure you are aware, to make contact with Xander and his mate. Unsuccessfully. I believe you might be more willing to listen.” Gideon caught his gaze straying to Maggie’s belly. “I think I begin to understand what the Fallen are trying to do.”

“And what is it that you think you understand?”

“You seek to recover the relics, not to use them, but to hide them away and keep them from the hands of those seeking to…upset the balance. I am not the only one puzzled by your behavior.”

Gideon tilted his head. Could this be the break they were looking for?

He knew he courted ridicule, or flat out confirmation they’d never gain forgiveness, but he lifted his chin and rolled the dice. If there was even the slightest possibility of gaining something—anything—that might aid them in their quest, then he’d throw his pride to the wolves if he had to.

“We know we were wrong,” Gideon said. “When we chose to follow Lucifer, we made a mistake. One we all regret. We seek to make amends for our actions. We know we cannot make right the wrongs we have inflicted, but we strive to earn forgiveness, all the same.”

Maggie squeezed his arm, and that small show of support buoyed him, insulating him from anything harsh Samuel might have to say.

“Your actions have not gone unnoticed,” Samuel remarked at last. “And you should not forget that you have allies.”

That took Gideon aback, and he nearly forgot to press for answers. “What is the name you spoke of earlier?”

“The scroll was damaged, but the last legible sentence read, ‘The balance of the worlds will be weighed in the hands of Rehsa’.”

Gideon had never heard the name before.

Samuel nodded. “I will continue to search for the name in the Library, and should I find more, I will be in contact.”

“Ah, thank you. We’d appreciate any help you are willing to give us.”

Samuel nodded his head. Then he stepped closer and held his hands out to Maggie, though his gaze included them both. “May I?”

Gideon kept his arm around Maggie, but he nodded. Gideon watched as Samuel’s long sun-bronzed hands enveloped Maggie’s. The angel closed his eyes for a moment, and then a radiant smile blossomed on his face.

The angel then made the sign of the cross over Maggie, and another over the child that grew within her womb, speaking low and soft as he blessed mother and child. That simple blessing lifted an oppressive weight from Gideon’s shoulders. One he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.

Samuel released Maggie and stepped back, clasping his hands before him once more.

“I will return when I have more information. Perhaps at that time we might discuss the sanctity of holy matrimony?” The angel turned to walk away, but then paused, shooting Gideon a grin over his shoulder as he added, “Your glow suits you nicely.”

Gideon’s eyes rounded, and his mouth fell open.

A glow? Did he mean…

Only a soul—a true soul—caused a being to glow.

Had he finally earned his back?

Chuckling, Samuel crossed the yard, and with every step slowly faded until he vanished.

“Wow,” Maggie whispered. “That was…surreal. Was I just blessed by an actual angel?”

“Yes, love, you were,” Gideon said, turning her into his arms. He’d wait till later to tell her his own good news, to explain the comment about his glow.

But then he caught the strange look on her face.

“What’s the matter?”

She frowned up at him, and shook her head. But he caught her chin on the crook of his finger when she made to look away.

“What?” he urged.

She drew a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Do you realize that’s the first time you’ve ever used an endearment when speaking to me and really meant it? I mean, aside from when we first met, you know, before we…” She arched her eyebrows suggestively.

He frowned down at her. What was she talking about?

“You just called me
love
,” she prompted. “You call Kyanna and Carly
sugar
or
darlin’
all the time. I mean, you’ve called me those things before too, but always…only when you were irritated with me. And that sounds really childish and jealous,” she added, shaking her head.

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, pinching her chin between his thumb and finger, forcing her to look up at him. “
Sugar
and
darlin’
, are just…well, they’re just things I say. They don’t mean anything at all.” He grinned down at her. “And you’re right. When I called you those names before, they were more of a… Well, let’s just say they weren’t exactly complimentary.”

She pursed her lips ruefully at him.

He took a moment to figure out exactly how to explain. “I don’t call you those things because you mean more to me than that, more than some easy nickname a guy might use so he doesn’t have to trouble himself with names. Names are important. And every time I say your name…” His voice trailed off, and he tilted his head. His eyes widened in sudden self-awareness. “Every time I say your name, it’s like me telling you I love you. Your name is the only endearment perfect enough for you.”

Tears overflowed and slipped down her cheeks.

Oh, crap, I screwed it up.

He opened his mouth to apologize. To tell her he was an idiot. To plead with her not to cry.

But she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him senseless. He couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say. Couldn’t remember what they’d even been talking about. Hell, he couldn’t even remember his own name.

And he sure as hell didn’t care that his place had become Grand Central Station for every angel and demon who felt like dropping by.

Gideon lowered his woman, his mate, his Maggie to the grassy riverbank. He took his time stripping her, one article of clothing at a time. And he sampled and savored every inch of precious skin that he bared. And when he finally moved over her, when he finally slid deep inside her and felt her welcoming silken flesh close around him, he realized this was what he’d been praying for all along.

He’d finally found his Heaven.

Epilogue

Sebastian stepped inside the quaint little coffee shop located in picturesque Port August, Michigan. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans mixed pleasantly with the aroma of cinnamon and spice. He paused just inside the door under the guise of letting his eyes adjust to the change in lighting. But he spent that moment scanning the plentiful crowd. Filling the long, narrow shop were dozens of small, bistro-style tables. There had to be at least thirty people in here, and he began to feel the first fragile flutters of hope.

She has to be here.

He was looking for a woman in her early thirties. Five nine, slim, almost boyish build. She had long, straight brown hair she habitually kept restrained in a tight bun, and she wore old lady, cat eye rimmed glasses. He’d been able to piece that much together over the course of too many stops to keep track of throughout this infernal town. Not to mention the other false leads he’d followed throughout Michigan.

And through his fruitless search, he’d swear he’d now made the acquaintance of nearly every bloody person in Port August. He’d met the dean of Redmond College where Professor Mackenzie lectured. He’d also met the post mistress, the clerk at a small fresh food market, the proprietor of the hardware store, the checker at the grocery store, the gas station attendant, the newspaper reporter and the professor’s next door neighbor Jill, all of whom seemed to know Professor Mackenzie on a first name basis.

Oh, yes, and a nice young bank teller who’d offered her own number should he decide to give up chasing after the good professor.

But he’d not managed to catch so much as a glimpse of the hard-to-pin-down professor herself.

He strode to the counter and pasted a charming smile on lips that had gone stiff with the repeated effort. He’d drained the well of his nearly legendary, endless supply of patience. If one more person—just one—told him he’d just missed the ever-elusive Professor Phoebe Mackenzie, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

A pretty young woman stepped up to the counter to greet him. “Welcome to Perk It Up! What can I get for you?”

“I was hoping you could help me find somebody.”

Her provocative gaze drifted over him, and a suggestive brow arched. “Anyone in particular, or are you taking applications?”

Somehow, he managed not to roll his eyes and groan aloud.
Not again!

Sebastian clenched his hands at his sides to stifle the burning sensation that signaled a plasma ball was about to form. He drew a deep breath and informed her, “Someone specific. I’m looking for Professor Mackenzie. Phoebe Mackenzie.”

“Oh, sure,” the woman chirped, bobbing her head hard enough to make her unruly curls dance. “She’s one of our best customers. Comes in every morning for her usual. And again in the afternoon. In fact, you just—”

“Missed her,” he finished. If he gritted his teeth any harder, he’d have a mouthful of coarsely ground powder. Oh dear saints, he didn’t want to ask. “Did she say where she might be headed next?”

“Oh, you bet she did. She’s off to the airport. I saw her ticket when she dug through her bag for change,” the girl added in a conspiratorial whisper. “Was in a rush too. Trying to get all her last minute errands done before taking off, I imagine.”

“What?” The burning sensation in his palms grew to near unbearable levels. Much more and he’d be throwing sparks.

“Well, sure. She’s headed to Mexico, Cam-something-or-other. Big archeological dig, I guess.”

Sebastian ground his teeth. Why in God’s name had the dean not mentioned this crucial little tidbit when Sebastian had spoken to him before?

“Did the professor mention
when
her plane was leaving?”

“No.” The clerk stared at the clock on the wall, as if it might answer. “Can’t say as she did, though she seemed in an all fired hurry, so I’d guess sooner rather than later. Oh! Oh! I don’t know if it’d help you or not. But I did happen to notice the flight number on her ticket. I have a head for that kind of thing, you know.” The woman rambled, beaming at him as she rearranged the small plastic bins holding silverware. “Numbers just stick with me.”

“That would be exceedingly helpful,” Sebastian prompted. He caught himself visualizing lighting a fire under the annoying clerk’s feet to get the information out of her a little faster, maybe even just burning the whole place down.

No! That’s not the way we operate, not anymore
, he reminded himself.

Sternly.

And he forced himself to wait patiently, breathe in, breathe out, while the woman recited the flight information like she was reading it off the ceiling.

The second he had the information he needed, Sebastian spun on his heel and rushed out the door without another word.

By now, he was pretty comfortable with the lay of the land, having gotten directions based on local landmarks at nearly every stop. He’d begun to doubt anyone even knew a street name here. Everything was either “turn left at the big oak at the end of old man Mosby’s lane”, or “hang a left at Beal’s Garage”, or “go on straight a few blocks past the fire station”. He’d not been to the airport just yet, so he had to rely on vehicular transportation rather than simply shimmering. He stomped on the accelerator and prayed he wouldn’t hear the phrase “you just missed her” ever again in his longer-than-your-average lifetime.

After screeching into the airport parking lot fast enough to summon Homeland Security, he erupted from the car. Sebastian didn’t bother to close the door behind him. He sprinted across the cracked pavement and burst into the small terminal.

The building appeared empty but for a lone man standing behind a long counter littered with brochures, pens, magazines and newspapers. Sebastian hurried to the counter and recited the flight information, asking which runway the professor’s flight was departing from.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—”

“Please, please, do not tell me I just missed her!”

The balding little man behind the counter looked at him oddly. “Well, I’m sorry, but you have.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the window behind him. A small plane was taxiing down the runway. Sebastian looked over just in time to see the front wheels leave the ground. “In fact, there she goes now.”

Sebastian watched as the plane soared into the air. He let out a really,
really
long breath. His palms sizzled. The little man behind the counter took a cautious step back, his eyes wide as saucers.

Keeping his temper in check took far more control than he was comfortable admitting. Sebastian turned and stalked from the building. Halfway across the parking lot, his phone began to ring. Frowning, he pulled the device from his pocket.

Xander?
He closed his eyes and groaned aloud.
Damn it.

Sebastian gritted his teeth, teetering on the edge of saying fuck it and smashing his phone rather than taking the call. But his conscience—or whatever meager shreds of decency he had left—got the better of him. Something had to have gone wrong in a big way if Mr. I’d-Rather-Be-Tortured-Than-Talk-On-These-Damned-Things was heating up the airwaves. He so didn’t have time to deal with any more shit today.

“Yo,” Sebastian barked into the phone. “Listen, man. Right now isn’t a good time to—”

“Stolas has Mikhail.”