Ecstasy Unveiled

teacher in all things holy, he’d been a strict taskmaster. Which, she thought, as she palmed a candy, was all the more reason to indulge now and then. She actually looked forward to his giving her a stern lecture when she finally saw him again.

A faint twinge streaked across her right wrist. Odd. She twisted her arm to view the two quarter-sized Primori marks on the underside. Chase’s heraldi had been there for eight years, was the same color as her skin, the thin lines raised like a brand or the outline of a fresh tattoo. But Kynan’s was new, only three weeks old, and she still hadn’t gotten used to seeing it. Frowning, she looked closer. The edges were pink… swelling rapidly… it began to burn, glow, and she dropped the candy with a gasp.

Kynan, one of the few untouchable people on the planet, was in danger.

* * *

Lore stood at the entrance to an upstate New York mansion, fists clenched and watching Kynan search the huge-ass sitting room, S-shaped stang in one hand and holy water in the other. Apparently, Croucher demons had set up shop in the dwelling, and Kynan intended to take them out before the wealthy family who lived there got too talky about what was going on. And before someone got hurt.

The Aegis to the rescue.

Bunch of do-gooder, holier-than-thou hypocrites. Lore had never liked Guardians all that much, but the dislike had turned to downright hatred two decades ago, when one of his contracted hits had been a Guardian who’d pissed off the wrong demon. The Guardian had been good enough at his job that he’d nearly taken Lore out.

Almost getting whacked wasn’t what had annoyed Lore—he’d deserved it for letting his guard down. What had gotten Lore all worked up was the fact that the Guardian had used some seriously underhanded, sleazy methods for catching and killing demons, including keeping cages full of baby demons to torture until adults came to save the little ones.

Lore didn’t harbor a whole lot of love for demons, but there were some things you just didn’t do. Er… yeah. Lore’s hypocrite switch flipped at that, because some of those things you just didn’t do had been done by him during his hell years as an assassin. He shot Kynan a glance, and okay, Lore had no qualms about putting that guy down. They’d been enemies since they first identified each other as competition for the same woman. Back then, Lore had hoped for an opportunity to take the guy’s head off, which made the fact that Lore had brought Kynan back to life after he’d been bled out so ironic. Then again, he’d only resurrected Kynan because he’d hated seeing Gem in pain.

This time, he wouldn’t have to see it.

The slave-bond on Lore’s chest pulsed, marking time in the countdown to his deadline, and there was no sense in waiting. Lore strode inside, his boots striking the black-veined red marble and announcing his presence with no subtlety whatsoever. Lore never had been subtle.

Instantly, Kynan swung around. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was a knot of suspicion and snarl, and yeah, there was no love lost between them.

Lore didn’t remove his glove; too obvious. He’d power-punch his death special through the leather. “I want to call a truce.”

Kynan snorted. “I hadn’t heard that hell froze over.”

Funny guy. Lore almost regretted having to kill him. Almost. “True story. I figure the more I get to know my brothers, the more you and I will have to see each other, and I’m thinking brawls at family picnics are frowned upon.”

“Clearly you don’t know your brothers,” Kynan said wryly, and Lore experienced a weird sensation… as if maybe he could like the human under the right circumstances.

Ruthlessly, he shoved aside the candy-ass sentiments and grew a set. His sister’s life was at stake, here. “Well, that’s sort of the point of hanging around with them.” Not that that was going to happen. He’d made Sin a promise, and this time, he wouldn’t fail her. “So what do you say?”

Skepticism put shadows in Kynan’s denim-blue eyes, and Lore’s palms dampened with sweat. “I haven’t thanked you for saving my life.”

“No need.” Actually, some serious sucking up would be cool, considering how much pain Deth had put Lore through for using his power of resurrection.

“Bullshit.” Kynan jammed his stang into the weapons harness criss-crossing his chest, the sound of metal sliding home into its leather housing ringing out in the cavernous space. “No way am I letting you hold that over my head for eternity. I’ll thank you, and somehow, I’ll make us even.”

They’d be even when Kynan was the guest of honor at his own wake. And wait… eternity? What the hell did he mean by eternity? Lore eyed the gold chain hanging around Kynan’s neck, the one Lore was supposed to grab after killing him. Wraith had given him the crystal amulet… did it bestow magical protection or longevity?

Well, there was only one way to find out. “Fine. I accept your thanks. Truce?” Lore offered his hand, let his gift fire up with so much power that his arm burned from the top symbol at the crook of his neck to his fingertips. If he took off his jacket, he knew every glyph would be glowing like a brand.

For a long time, Kynan just stood there. Take it, take it… Lore made a come-on gesture with his fingers, hoping the guy would get with the program. Finally, Kynan nodded.

And held out his hand. “Truce.”

* * *

Idess materialized inside a house—an expensive one, judging by the decor. Instantly, an intense itch flared up between her shoulder blades along the twin marks where her wings would someday sprout. They were like twin demon sensors, and right now, they were screaming warnings.

In the center of a richly decorated but spacious room, Kynan was facing off with a huge male clad in black leather. The male must be a demon, and somehow the source of the danger vibes that buzzed through her as though she was gripping an electric wire. But how could he be a threat to Kynan? The male wasn’t a fallen angel; she’d sense that.

Still, Kynan’s heraldi was searing her arm, so the impossibility of the situation didn’t matter. She flashed between the two men, using the element of surprise and her superior strength to slam her palms into the stranger’s massive chest and heave him across the room.

“What the—” He hit the wall with a resounding crack, the impact so forceful that plaster and dust came down around him. He shook his head, flinging white wall particles from his short, nearly black hair.

Idess summoned a scythe, the Memitim’s signature weapon and very handy for separating a head from a body. She hated to kill—as the daughter of an angel, she was a giver and protector of life, by nature—but she would do anything to ensure the safety of her Primori. Anything, thanks to the more violent genes passed down by her father.

She swung the weapon in a graceful arc—Kynan hit her from behind, and her aim went awry as he slammed her to the floor.

“Idiot!” she spat. Kynan clearly didn’t realize that she was there to protect him, and didn’t it just figure that he’d come to the aid of the very man who was there to kill him. She rolled, saw the flash of a stang as it plunged down-ward, felt the whisper of metal as it grazed her shoulder.

Then the demon was there, his gloved fist coming at her so fast she barely had time to twist away. Blocking his next punch, she leaped to her feet and swept her leg out, catching him in the shin, and though he grunted, he didn’t go down.

Kynan attacked from her flank, landing what would, on a human, have been a knee-breaking strike, and darn it, she didn’t need to be fighting both of these guys. Spinning, she nailed Kynan in the jaw with a powerful, but measured punch. Shock flickered in his eyes before they rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the ground.

Pivoting, she faced the remaining male. He swung at her. She blocked. Slashed with the scythe. Caught him with an ax kick that knocked him backward, but only for a moment. He was big, but he moved like a panther, dancing lightly on his feet, every blow controlled and more often than not landing on her body.

Surprised by his skill, she lost momentum, and in a series of impressive moves, he made her spine intimate with the wall and was on her, his forearm jammed into her throat and his six-foot-six body pinning her. His fingers circled her wrist and held it at her hip, rendering the weapon useless. For the moment.

“Who the fuck are you?” The male’s ebony eyes, framed by long, lush lashes any female would kill for, glittered with anger and little gold flecks.

“Seeing as how you’re a murderer, I’d say you don’t have the right to be indignant.”

“Seeing as how I could kill you with one more pound of pressure on your larynx, I’d say that your being a smart-ass is pretty damned stupid.” He leaned into her a little more, so they were chest to chest and his lips were brushing her cheek. “But you’re hot, and I’ll bet you fuck like you fight, so I can forgive your lack of brains.”

This cretin was—what was the popular saying in this decade—toast? Yes, this cretin was toast. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

He tightened his grip on her wrist. “Who sent you?”

“God.” She jerked up her knee. He shifted, and she struck only a glancing blow to his groin. Still, he sucked air. Nice.

“Bad girl,” he snarled, taking her to the floor with a hook to the back of her leg and a firm shove to her neck.

He dropped, coming down on top of her. With a quick thought and a flick of her hand, the scythe morphed into a dagger. She struck out, catching him in the shoulder. He hissed and yanked sideways as the blade cut through his leather jacket and into his flesh.

Score one for the bad girl. She rolled out from under him, stabbing him in the thigh on her way. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils, a tantalizing scent for the part of her that must feed once a month, but more important, it told her that this male was of both human and demon descent.

The species of demon was still unknown, but given how impossibly handsome he was, she’d guess he was a breed of incubus.

Lunging, she sliced at him again, but in a cat-quick move, he flattened himself on the ground. He’d saved himself from a nasty cut, but his position gave her the opportunity to leap to her feet and smash one heel into his rib cage. Bone gave way beneath her boot, and he grunted as he grabbed her ankle with both hands.

“What is it with females trying to kill me lately?”

“Says a lot about you, don’t you think?” Feeling a twinge of regret for having to destroy such a fine male specimen, she thrust the dagger down.

A sense of foreboding prickled her skin a split second before the distinct click of a firing crossbow pierced the air. Idess jerked under the force of what felt like a cannonball punching into her spine. Blood exploded in a puff of fine mist from her chest, and steam hissed from the hole just below her breastbone where the bolt had gone through.

Agony lanced her, rending and unique in its intensity. She tasted bile. Blood. What could have done this? Gasping for breath, Idess staggered around to the female holding the crossbow. Dressed in blood-red leather that clashed with her merlot hair, she stood protectively over Kynan’s prone form. Another Guardian.

Realization and horror cut through the fog of pain. The bolt had been coated in qeres, an ancient Egyptian mummification perfume used by The Aegis to combat fallen angels. It wouldn’t kill them, but the poison could cripple and incapacitate for years.

It could, however, kill pre-Ascension Memitim.

The demon male rolled away from Idess and crawled toward Kynan.

Idess’s muscles turned rubbery, but spurred by a desperate need to keep the demon away from Kynan, she gathered the last of her strength and yanked the male to his feet. She flashed them to the most remote place she could think of—a forest deep in the Ukraine. A lot of demons died in the cold. She hoped he’d be one of them.

As they materialized in two feet of snow, it became obvious that he wasn’t one of them, and if he was surprised by their sudden wilderness adventure, he didn’t show it. But then, her vision had begun to blur, and even the pristine white landscape took on a fuzzy, gray cast. Her fingers went numb, and the dagger disappeared as her ability to maintain the conjured weapon failed. A tremor of dread ran through her soul. This was it. The end. She’d survived the fall of Rome. The Inquisition. World War II. And some little slayer who played for the same side, Team Good and Holy, had just killed her.

Blackness swirled in her vision, overtaking her senses, and she went down. A voice rang in her ears, muted and distant, and then she was being lifted, yet somehow she doubted that the arms around her were those of a savior.