Vengeance: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 3 (32 page)

The laugh that escaped me was so bitter it left an aftertaste. “You think? Agares will kill Hellion just to spite me. I have to drop you off and get home before this shit gets any worse.”

“Too late.”

I whipped around to find Hellion standing behind us, his anger whipping up a fierce wind around him.

Definitely too late.

Chapter Eighteen

I had to hand it to Father O’Cleary. He didn’t faint when Hellion demanded the parish name and then, announcing he’d meet us there, disappeared. Sure, the priest had faltered, his mouth working soundlessly, but he hadn’t lost his shit. If I was taking bets, though, I was going to say the chances of him losing it before this was over were running a good 3-to-1 odds, and not in his favor.
 

“H-how d-did he…” O’Cleary stuttered.

“You just saw a demon decimate a Nephilim, take multiple shots to the head, cross planes back to Hell, and you’re worried about how Hellion gets around?” I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at one corner of my mouth.

The priest nodded rapidly. “Fair.”

We slid into the car and silently headed back to the church. About halfway there, I couldn’t take it anymore. There was too much going on in my head, and I couldn’t keep my sanity if I thought about Gagiel’s death. My burden of guilt had never been heavier. I touched the priest’s arm and he jerked away hard enough to rattle the seat harness.
 

“Sorry.” I moved my hand back to the gearshift, moving through the gears like an automaton as we wound through traffic.
 

“Did you want something?” His soft words were hardly a breath above the rumble of the engine.

“I just… Are you okay?”
What an inane question.

“I’m ashamed of myself.”

I glanced at him, surprised to find he’d folded his hands in his lap and now stared at them as if they held the answers he needed clutched tightly inside. “You couldn’t have known, Father.”

“You told me rather explicitly what we’d face. The moment I should have called on the Divine, I crumbled.” Self-hatred wafted out of him like an apple pie that had bubbled over and burned on the bottom of the oven—smoky, acrid, sour. “I wasn’t the tool I was honed to be.”

“Hey. You did what you could, Father.”

“Do not patronize me!” His shout startled me so badly I swerved and nearly sideswiped a row of parked cars.
 

I whipped the car into the first car park I came to and shut it down. Turning on the priest, I leaned over and got in his face. “Don’t you dare assume that this’s about you and your ‘performance,’ O’Cleary. This is bigger than you or me or Hellion. I’m doing the best I can to get through this. You need to decide right now if you want to be part of the solution or part of a singularly bad memory.”

He gaped at me, clearly unused to people—women?—being so direct. Well, screw subservient. I wasn’t going to show my belly in the face of his anger.
 

“Which is it?” I waited, watching a variety of emotions chase each other across his face. With intentionally slow movements, I lifted my wrist and glanced down at my watch. “Tonight, O’Cleary.”

“You’re a hard woman, Ms. Niteclif.” He tugged at his Roman collar again, only to immediately work to straighten it. Then he turned to face me. “I’m part of the solution.”

“Then call me Maddy. And stop pulling at your collar. It advertises your hesitation.” I started the car and pulled back into traffic.
 

“What else do I need to know?” he asked as he nervously fanned the pages of his Bible.

“Straighten up whatever you need to straighten up.” I think I stopped breathing for a second. “Sorry. What I meant was—”

“Exactly what you said.” He cleared his throat. “I appreciate that. My affairs are in order and my relationship with my Father is in good standing, though I’ll be serving penance for failing Him tonight.”
 

The rest of the ride was silent as we prepared to face down one very pissed off magus.

Hellion was waiting at the foot of the parish steps. I didn’t ask how he’d known where, exactly, the church was, seeing as he could only materialize places he’d been before. It was irrelevant. He looked at me with a cool black stare that told me how angry he really was. There was a chasm of difference between us, one I was scared we couldn’t bridge. Bahlin had taught me that happily-ever-after was a fight more often lost than won. I was ashamed to realize I didn’t trust Hellion enough to love me through the hard times, through our differences, through the now.
 

I closed my eyes. Fighting to find the center of me that no one could touch, the part of me that said this was the right thing to do, I breathed. When I finally found it, it was a much smaller kernel of conviction than it had been before Gagiel’s death. Still, I clung to it. I knew what I’d done was right, even if I’d failed.
 

I also knew I had to find the other Nephilim. Agares would hunt twice as hard for him now. I finally had an advantage. I knew the fallen angel was in the city. Agares could only presume there was another Nephilim hanging around due to my continued presence.
Pretty good presumption.
I was either going to save a fallen angel or lead Agares right to him.
Shit.
Sighing, I opened my eyes.
 

“Let’s, ah, all go inside?” Father O’Cleary tugged at his Roman collar and I glared. He quit.

“Let’s.” Hellion started up the stairs beside the priest.
 

I trailed behind, the little pariah who’d broken the rules. Well, screw that. I moved to the other side of the priest. The men allowed me to go first through the doors out of long-ingrained habit. Score one for manners. I led the way to the priest’s office and went straight to the sideboard to generously pour three highball glasses deep with whiskey. Handing them out without comment, I sat in the same chair I’d occupied earlier.
 

Hellion moved to the drafting table, leaning one hip against it, standing. His throat worked as he swallowed. His gaze never left me.
 

I wanted to explain, to squirm, to plead for him to understand. When he spoke, I couldn’t stop my jaw from dropping.

“How did the Vitesse handle?”

“It was amazing.” I glanced at the priest.
 

He’d paused, glass halfway to his lips.
 

I wasn’t the only one surprised.

“Care to tell me why you took it? I’d have gladly given it to you had you but asked.” Hellion took a generous swallow of his drink then let the glass dangle between thumb and middle finger.

“The car?” I asked stupidly. “You’re upset about the car?”

“No, Maddy, I’m not. But you took it, left in a rush without telling anyone where you were going—”

“Because I wanted to do this, explore this option, alone.” I set my glass down hard enough the expensive whiskey sloshed over the rim. Standing, I turned to face him. “I needed to do this myself, Hellion. Why? Because I didn’t want Agares anywhere near you. I love you, and I wanted to spare you what I could.”

“And ye doona think slaying my own dragons would be better for me?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“It’s not a matter of ‘think’ anymore. I know—” I put a fist to my heart “—I
know
you’re ready to cross a line you may not come back from. Am I ready to lose you to this? To any threat? No. I’m not.” I nearly choked on the sob lodged in my throat. “I’m not.”

He set his glass down with great care. “And you think dark magic will be my downfall?”

“I don’t know. You said it would change you, and I don’t want that. I want you, Hellion.
You.
Can you not see why I’d be so terrified of losing you?” An angry tear traced down my cheek, its trail a cold, miserable thing.

Hellion slowly closed his eyes. “I’ll not cross so far I canna come back. That I promise.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

His eyes opened, his focus sharpening on me. “Lie?”

“You know the pull is there. You said so yourself. This is about more than what you can manage, Hellion. This is about
us
. Are you willing to risk us on the chance you can’t find your way back to me?”

“I’d never risk you, Maddy.”

My heart ached. “But you are, Hellion. When you risk
us
, you risk everything good that I am.” A second tear followed the first. “Is it worth that?”

“Never.”

“Then promise me. Promise me you aren’t going to cross that line.”

“I can’t. If it means saving your life, defeating Connell, sending Agares to Hell… I can’t.”

The chasm between us grew.

“But I promise you,
I promise you
, that if I begin to fall too far, I’ll find my way back. To you. Always to you.” He took the first step of faith and I began to believe the chasm might be bridgeable.
 

I nodded. “To me.”
 

“I love you, Madeline Dylis Niteclif.”

“And I you, Hellion, Son of Markalon.” Then I took my first step of faith toward him.

We met in the middle of the room, standing on a rope bridge braided from faith in one another. Hellion cupped my face in his large, capable hands and lowered his lips to mine. The kiss was tender, cautious, questioning.
 

I answered with a surety I’d finally found in him, with a faith I’d been lacking. Otherwise I never would have set off on my own. I would have trusted him to trust me. Or I’d have trusted myself to handle it. Something. Whatever.
 

He traced the seam of my lips and I opened to him, sighing as he delved into my mouth, coaxing me to respond in kind. My hands went to the nape of his neck and wound through his thick hair.
 

Father O’Cleary coughed softly.

We broke apart, both slightly breathless. I glanced back at the priest and couldn’t help the bashful smile. “Sorry.”

“No apologies necessary. I would that all couples worked their differences out so.” He ran a hand over his hair.

“That’s as bad as tugging the collar, Father.” I did grin this time. “You need to learn to curb your tells if you’re going to end up part of the solution.”

This time his was the bashful smile. “I suppose I need to get up to speed quickly.”

Hellion’s hand twitched. “Maddy?”

“We’re going to exorcise Agares, send him back to the Underworld without a hall pass.” The look on Hellion’s face almost made the whole evening worth it, but Gagiel’s death was still too fresh a memory, the violence still staining me.
 

I stepped into Hellion and whispered, “Hold me for a second.” Far from the bravado of moments before. Yet his arms came around me and sheltered me from everything. Even myself.

“I suppose we should bring your man up to speed, and then I’ve some questions myself.”

Stepping back, I lifted my face to Hellion. He met the move with a tender kiss. “I suppose so, since you’re clearly in our world now, Father.”

I traced the planes of Hellion’s face. “And we’ve got to find another Nephilim, Hellion. As soon as possible.”

“Not another bloody fallen angel,” he muttered.

“One and the same, child.” Father O’Cleary came around his desk and sat near the cold hearth.

“Mind a wee bit of warmth?” Hellion tilted his head toward the fireplace.

“Not at all.” The priest leaned forward, but the flames were already lit. He jerked backward so fast he missed his chair and landed on his ass.

“Might as well get used to it.” I spoke through a wide smile. “That’s the least of what you’re going to see.”

“Right.” The priest dusted himself off and took his seat, high color riding his cheeks.

Hellion and I pulled up chairs, linked hands and then I told him the horrors of the night.

We were talking about ways we might prepare for Agares’s return when a soft knock sounded on the office door. Father O’Cleary rose to answer, then hesitated.

“Go on,” Hellion said. “We look normal, don’t we?” His eyes were a light brown.

“I’ll likely never get used to this, will I?”
 

I shrugged. “Grab the door and don’t touch your collar.”

He shook his head in apparent wonder and went to the door. Another priest pulled him into the hallway and the door swung closed behind him. It didn’t latch, though, and we could hear the frantic, hushed conversation. Words ran together, nothing clear, until I heard “angel.”
 

I stood slowly and on shaky legs. “It’s him.”

“Who?” Hellion stood beside me.

“Zerachiel. Who else would it be?” Ideas of Micah showing up here made me borderline crazy. Instead of focusing on the Nephilim I
wanted
to kill, I went to the door. “Pardon me.” I moved past the two priests and headed down the hall. Turning the corner, I stopped. “Stunned” didn’t even begin to describe my reaction to this angel.
 

He was nearly seven feet tall with thick, black hair that fell in loose, unruly waves past wide, muscled shoulders. Hands that belonged to an artist pushed that hair back. Then he looked up and his gaze met mine. His eyes were the most amazing blue, so crystalline that light seemed to fracture within the irises. His face, though. God save me, I wanted to go to my knees and weep. He was beautiful. Not in the way of a GQ model. No, his was the kind of beauty you see in the Sistine Chapel that makes you want to trace the curves and contours of the faces painted by the greatest Renaissance Masters. Zerachiel was beyond perfect, beyond beautiful, untouchable even.