Chapter 5

CHAPTERFIVE

For a male passing out, he’d delivered that last order with a pretty forceful look. He’d also been courteous enough to collapse on the cot.

After she wove shielding around herself, the storeroom and him, in case anything else unexpected tried to spout from that disturbing curse he carried, she made him as comfortable as she could.

When he started to shiver and mutter, she tucked more of her blankets around him. Then she fetched one of her essential oils and touched it to his forehead, palms and heart, a calming concoction that fortunately helped him subside into restfulness again. There was no room on the cot to lie alongside him, though the thought occurred to her.

She pulled out a selection of arcane titles from her library, but soon confirmed what she’d feared. She needed access to materials that pertained to his world uniquely. Souls, the afterlife, threats to that crossing. Dark Soul magic, Underworld doings.

She needed a Guardian. She hoped Mikhael hadn’t run into that shitshow, or that Derek had come home earlier than expected. She didn’t know much about Silas’s kind, but everything she’d learned thus far said an attack on a Reaper wasn’t a random thing. The mark’s leap to suck in her magic was a hunger for an intent that required limitless fuel.

Setting her books to the side, she leaned back in her chair, studying him. She had her bare feet propped on the edge of the cot, her toes tucked under his thigh. His flesh was warm, and the contact told her how easily he was resting, giving her information on his heartbeat, the flow of blood and energy through him.

While doing the healing on him, she’d felt the shocking depth of the trauma he’d endured. She thought of what he’d said to her earlier. There is more than one way a Reaper can restore his energy.

When she’d attempted the more intimate touch of his shoulders, his nape, the sudden seizure of her hands, his forehead pressed to them, had been a supplication, but pure demand and need had been in his unshakable grip.

He’d told her he wouldn’t take that route, not when things were not balanced between them. Very considerate, but some primal part of her had thought, Yes. That’s exactly what he needs. There were few magics as potent for cleansing the psyche as a good, thorough coupling, leaving the mind empty and the body completely spent.

But he was protecting her, and she needed that protection. That he was honorable enough to offer it to her made her perversely want to offer that solution to him anyway.

She was a strong witch who could be extremely fragile—and destructive—when it came to sex. Which was also why she craved the surrender of submission so much.

She put her hand on his foot. He had a beautifully shaped sole, the arch coaxing the trail of her fingertips up to his ankle, his calf where the ragged trousers revealed them.

When he was ready for that shower, she’d offer to help him with the hard-to-reach places. Even Reapers probably needed that. She shook her head at herself, but it was as she’d said. The body didn’t care that the fate of the world was at stake. All hers knew was the male it had desired for sixteen months was within reach of her fingertips, her mouth and her whole throbbing body.

It was also a coping mechanism, because she was worried as hell about him and that damn mark.

Thank Goddess, she got a ping on that Link she shared with Ruby and Raina. Raina, sending her a formless “push” that Mikhael was on his way.

When she heard the knock on the store’s back entrance minutes later, it told her he had portaled to get to her, rather than using the Ferrari. That worried her more. An attack on a Reaper had implications grave enough to provoke a 911 response from a Dark Guardian.

When she let him in, the look on his face, even more intent and serious than usual, confirmed it.

Mikhael Roman was not a warm and cuddly male. If Hell put out brochures recruiting Dark Guardians, he’d be their top poster boy.

Raina’s droll observation, and Ramona didn’t disagree with it. As a sorcerer serving Lucifer and the Underworld’s needs for over thirteen hundred years, Mikhael looked the part. Intimidating, powerful, with eyes of dark hellfire. He was also a sharp dresser, preferring bespoke suits that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. He chose colors drawn from the shadows of cemeteries, blacks and grays. With a single glance, he reminded anyone of all the powers and pleasures of darkness. And the consequences of getting on the wrong side of it.

The hotness must be a Guardian thing, because Derek had his own unique brand of it. The Light Guardian preferred jeans that he filled out just right, worn with his favorite pair of dragonskin boots. Outdoors, he usually wore a cowboy hat pulled low over his serious brow and get-lost-in-the-depths blue eyes. He and Mikhael had a friendship that wasn’t always easy, as they represented opposite sides of the spectrum.

As a witch, Ramona understood the interdependent and mirrored relationship between light and dark. Light could burn away flesh, or heat it against the cold. Darkness could cocoon and comfort with its cloak, or take away a compass, plunging the heart into a void of despair.

While she took him to her weaving area, she gave Mikhael the latest details. “He’s been unconscious for a while now. I know nothing of Reapers, but I sense his body has put him in the optimal state for healing.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you.” His penetrating gaze usually flustered her, since he radiated to the tenth power what the sexual Dominants who came to Raina’s establishment did. Once, when he’d looked in her direction, she’d conjured a riding crop in his grasp.

In all fairness, the sex demons had been having an animated discussion in Raina’s parlor about pony play. Smoothly, so no one else had noticed, he’d laid the crop on a side table without reaction. It reduced her mortification, though Raina had tossed Ramona an amused comment.

“If a woman doesn’t think about whips, chains and being naughty enough to earn a spanking around Mikhael, she’s beyond dead.”

With her mind on Silas, Ramona had far greater worries than her magic generating inappropriate reactions to Mikhael. “The mark is like a curse, but with a broader purpose. He tried to extract it, but it appears effectively weaponized to resist those attempts. When dormant, it’s mostly undetectable, though I had a sense something was off when I first discovered it.”

Mikhael reached out to brush his fingers along the cut on her neck, his sharpened eyes demanding an explanation.

“When I was tending him, I didn’t shield myself as I should have. He’s recuperating from a terrible trauma, and thought he was under attack,” she said. “My injury was unintentional.”

“I’ll give her the opportunity to pay me back when she doesn’t feel like she’s kicking a puppy,” said a weary voice.

They’d rounded the corner. Silas was sitting up on the cot, blinking sleepily, the blanket loosely held around his waist. The curve of his back showed the protrusions of his spine against smooth, muscled flesh.

Though he appeared stronger, his gaze composed, more like the male she remembered from months ago, he didn’t rise at Mikhael’s approach. He nodded in a formal manner. “Guardian. Thank you for coming.”

“You do me honor,” Mikhael returned. He pulled an extra chair closer to the cot and sat down, his gaze sweeping over Silas. “Do you know how or when the mark was inflicted? Or who did it?”

“That would certainly make things easier.” Silas shook his head. “I expect it happened during my imprisonment in the demon realm. There were ample opportunities to insert it, since torture can be distracting.”

He had the British gift for understatement. Come to think of it, the preciseness of his language sometimes reminded her of Colin Firth’s character in Kingsman. An observation she thought might make him smile, in other circumstances.

“Can you attempt to determine its nature?” Silas was asking Mikhael. “As she indicated, it has reacted badly when poked, so I’d advise you protect yourself and her.”

Mikhael’s dark eyes glinted with his version of humor. “No one can shield her but her. Her magic disrupts regular spellwork, unless it’s in the mood to be cooperative.”

“I’ll take care of my own protection.” Ramona shot Silas a look. “Before you say it, I’m not leaving. Mikhael can provide backup so your scythe doesn’t end up at my throat again.”

Mikhael’s gaze flickered. “She owes you more than one kick.”

“No disagreement.” Silas grimaced. “I shouldn’t have come here and put her in the middle of this.”

“The 17th century wants its stupid ideas about women’s ability to speak for themselves back,” she informed them. “For those of you who want to stay in this century, ‘her’ has the ability to level this building with you in it.”

She didn’t restrain the strength of the emotions she felt. “I missed you, for sixteen long months. Thought about you.” She lifted her wrists. “Obviously. But all that aside, I think there’s a reason you brought yourself back to the door of three powerful witches and two Guardians, don’t you?”

Silas’s eyes held that quality that made her want to look away, offer an apology for her tone, but she resisted it. She wasn’t going to be cut out of helping him.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Show me your shielding capabilities. If I’m satisfied, you may remain.”

“I’m going to kick you now,” she grated, but she cast the shield.

Silas raised a hand to Mikhael, a mute request to wait on the examination. The Reaper’s eyes followed the shape of the shield she’d conjured. The pressure of his energy leaned against it, testing. It held, though Ramona did have to augment the barrier to do it. Just as she grew concerned he would push through, he apparently satisfied himself that it would hold against whatever might happen in this controlled environment. He nodded to Mikhael. “Whenever you’re ready. Thank you for your patience.”

Mikhael’s brow quirked. “I’m familiar with the challenge of matching wills with a determined woman.”

The Dark Guardian stood and slid out of his jacket. Ramona took it to her coat rack to hang it up. Mikhael’s nod might have been simple thanks for the courtesy, but she thought she caught a reassurance as well. Probably because her response to Silas showed she wasn’t as calm as she wanted to appear about this.

Mikhael resettled in the chair, legs braced as he leaned forward. When he reached toward Silas’s chest, he had his long fingers splayed out and crooked to pull what information they could from the symbol.

Ramona had spent her life learning about the many ways that energy could be channeled, woven, and bound to other energies. While she knew how extensive Guardian training was, Mikhael had over a millennium of experience on top of it. He didn’t appear to be using complicated spellcraft. He worked with only the amount of energy needed, wielding it with a precision so fine he could paint masterpieces with it.

Watching a Guardian do their shared craft was a rare and coveted privilege. But then her gaze shifted to Silas, and concern eclipsed her admiration.

The Reaper was still, but the effort was costing him. His fingers were clamped on the edge of the cot, a sign of pain or stress. But as he bore down, she held her tongue, because sometimes pain was preferable to uncertainty, doubt. Fear of the unknown.

Unexpectedly, his gaze shifted to her. “I was brought to your door,” he managed. “That is what I like to consider fated. The other witches and their Guardians are just happy coincidence.”

She swallowed. “Nice charm, but I’m not forgiving you yet. You still could have called. Cell phones are weapons of total evil, so they would have had baskets of them lying around the demon world.”

He tried to smile, didn’t manage it, but his eyes warmed on her. A man who could make her toes curl while he was in acute distress was definitely trouble. To her heart and sanity.

Despite their banter, she stayed watchful, ready to counter if the mark reacted against Mikhael or Silas. She kept her shielding shifting, a moving target. Trying to anchor it could irritate her magic, make it react in the wrong way.

Mikhael’s face remained a passive mask, but tension grew across the broad line of his shoulders. The thigh of one braced leg bunched, the buttock against the seat of the chair flexed. Slowly, as if dealing with a complicated incendiary device, he drew his hand away from Silas.

He hadn’t touched him, only hovered over the mark, but the symbol was fully visible, the ash color gone to dull silver. The quivering of Silas’s shoulder muscles and biceps confirmed it was punishing its host for the exploration. Fortunately, as Mikhael withdrew, the mark faded, returning to its hidden state. Silas’s body eased, even if his expression didn’t.

“I believe it is a possession mark,” Mikhael said. “Though it’s a make I’ve never seen before. Put there to call you to its service when its owner is ready, for a purpose too deeply embedded to identify. It will only be removed when it is served, or you are dead. Even then, I expect the magic will implode, evading close inspection.”

Silas’s gaze flashed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Ramona shifted uneasily. What vibrated from him suggested a storm. But when Silas spoke, his voice was controlled.

“Why a make you’ve never seen before?”

“It is as if she created it,” the Dark Guardian said, dipping his head toward Ramona, “The Chaos element, that is. But her craft is graceful, skilled, imbued with her understanding of the power, what creates it, how it connects and binds itself to other strands. This is garbage magic. Someone with tremendous skill threw it into a pot and kept adding ingredients until it worked.”

Mikhael paused. “They are a magic user, but not a crafter. I felt no desire or patience for that. There is no pride of making in this. Getting it to work, no matter the cost, was everything. Unfortunately, their determination was enough to achieve something astoundingly effective for the destructive purpose I suspect is its ultimate end.”

“They were lucky, rather than good,” Silas said grimly. “And destruction is far easier than creation.”

Mikhael pushed the chair back so he could put an ankle on his opposite knee. “Yes and no. This is the luck that evil seeks, so I believe it was reinforced by someone closely watching the conjurer’s work.”

“A magic user tapping into Dark Soul magic, his purpose getting co-opted by demons he was sure he could control.” Silas shook his head. “Like that happens.”

“Only every single fucking time,” Mikhael agreed. “If you can give me the details of everything, before, during and since this happened, then I will do all I can to track and find more information.”

Silas pressed his lips together. “Good. I’ll also need your assistance reaching my Wake. I believe the mark is preventing my communication with them.”

“I’ll get the message to the Reaper Cast leadership so your Wake commander will be aware of your situation. Where can they find you?”

“Here,” Ramona said. “With me.”

She flushed at Silas’s sharp look. It was getting harder to pit her will against his. Even in tattered trousers and at less than his full strength, he was a being who gave orders, versus taking them. “You need a place to recuperate,” she hedged. “You said so yourself. You’ll have additional shielding and a second set of eyes on the mark.”

“It’s a sound decision,” Mikhael noted.

Silas’s steady look stayed on her. She would not squirm.

“As long as I am not putting her…you at an unacceptable level of risk, I will be here.” He glanced at Mikhael. “Unless I earn her ire and she kicks me out.”

“Pissing women off is what men do,” Mikhael said. “My mate says as long as I provide sufficient compensation to balance it, I am welcome in her home, and her bed.”

Since Silas had returned his attention to Ramona, the glint in his eyes deepened her flush. “Good point,” she managed, salvaging her dignity. “I have some new inventory to unpack. Lots of shelves to dust.”

That trace of a smile, but then Silas focused on Mikhael again. “I’ll tell you all I remember.”

The moment of sexual promise was the last levity the next half hour offered. Ramona adjusted her chair so she was still near, but took herself out of direct line of sight. She wanted the clarity being a silent observer afforded her, so she could absorb information while gauging reactions. Monitor with a healer’s eye how Silas was doing.

As he excavated everything that had happened since she saw him last, he recited it dispassionately, like a police or military report. Mikhael listened with the same neutrality. Yet the more she heard about what he’d endured, the harder self-condemnation pummeled her.

She’d decided not to ask Mikhael or Derek to dig deeper. Told herself whatever his reasons for not coming back, she needed to respect them. What total bullshit. She’d been protecting herself, not wanting to be hurt with what she’d imagined the truth to be, bogged down in a history based on males who had nothing to do with this one.

Was there anything more pointless than one’s baggage? Never had she seen a single case where the energy spent on it couldn’t be put to far greater use. Like saving one’s insta-crush from an interdimensional hell pit.

Yet guilt over it was an equally selfish act, unless she transformed it into a resolve to take him on his own merit going forward. Banish the cauldron of hurts, past history and painful memories that had made the destructive and distracting toxic brew in the first place.

“So that’s it,” Silas concluded. “From what we know about the mark now, I suspect I was allowed to ‘escape,’ though only when they realized I wouldn’t abandon the soul. If I had let them have Cal, I expect they would have conducted that farce much sooner.”

“It also supports our theory that there are two forces at work. This mark is far beyond a Soul Collector’s skill, but perhaps the soul was intended as payment for trapping you where it could be inflicted. Yet you said no Reaper would have followed the soul into The Pit, so they could not have anticipated that. Or that you would be late. Which suggests putting the mark on you in The Pit was simply an opportunity they took advantage of.”

A shadow crossed Silas’s face. “While that made my act all the more foolish, I can’t say I would have done differently.”

“I’m not in a position to pass judgment on you, Reaper.” Mikhael rose as Ramona brought him his jacket. As he shrugged into it, his gaze traveled to Ramona’s Navajo loom. He cocked his head at Silas. “Being faithful to our priorities is the fabric we weave. Evil takes advantage of our decisions when they see that chance, but they can only stain that fabric. Our choices alone break the threads of who we are.”

* * *

She pointed Silas to her full bathroom, because he expressed his desire for a shower. When he disappeared in that direction, his expression pensive, she walked Mikhael to the back door. “Is there anything I should do for him that I might be missing?”

Mikhael also appeared preoccupied, but his answer told her he’d given her question the proper weight. “Reapers are a critical part of the cycles of life and death. They execute the will of the Fates’ Loom. If one has been compromised, that is a sobering thing.” He offered her a serious look. “Silas belongs to the most experienced Wake of the Reaper Cast, so that makes the situation even graver. If he thinks of anything else, let Raina know. Until then, do what you can to encourage him to rest and fully recuperate. I see you watching him with a healer’s eye, so I know you sense what I do, that he needs more time.”

At her faintly irritated look, he shook his head. “I am not keeping you from the thick of things. Helping him find the best response to what was done to him is more important than you realize. Reapers are the only ones who do what they do. A death angel may be called in to help with a particularly troubled soul, but only a Reaper can connect with and deliver a soul to The Gate. Imagine if the millions of souls that die every day in the universe had no way to pass through it? If something has a plan to fuck with that, it can cause unimaginable chaos. Not the right kind.”

He touched her face. The light caress stilled her, his dark eyes holding her. It was the touch of a Master to a sub. Not his own, but conveying a guidance she understood on levels as deep as the currents where her magic ran.

“You know what you are and what he is,” Mikhael said quietly. “He needs that. I am not telling you to do anything you do not wish for yourself, but I am saying your instincts are correct. The pull between you is strong and can be useful. Good night. Call Raina if you need anything.” A tip of his head. “And tell that Reaper he will not like what will happen if he puts his blade to your throat again. There are two witches who will make what he endured seem trivial.”

She managed a smile. “You and Derek will just stand back and watch?”

“As dutiful and devoted mates, our task will be disposing of the body.”

She let him out the back, but before she closed the door fully, she re-opened it, just a tiny crack, hoping it might go unnoticed. And that he’d depart the way he’d arrived, rather than calling his car to him.

The Dark Guardian moved into the center of the alleyway. A wash of cold air, and his wings emerged, making her draw in a delighted breath. They were shaped like a bat’s wings, with wicked talons at the joints and a leathery look that moved the wind over them in a substantial rush as he used them to take flight, so swiftly he was gone in a blink.

He’d likely known she was watching, but she was glad Mikhael had indulged her wish. It left her with a nice adrenaline rush, since those he wasn’t hunting rarely saw a Dark Guardian’s wings.

The hunted ones didn’t live to savor or share the experience.

Enjoying the little things was important. Particularly when there might be a demon slash sorcerer plot afoot to disrupt the order of life and death.

Returning to the weaving area, she was surprised to see Silas had already finished his shower. If she’d been him, she would have stood under the cleansing spray for a month. But his sense of duty apparently wouldn’t allow him that indulgence. So much for her offer to scrub his back.

She should find him something in her clothing inventory, but she had no objection to the towel, tucked low around his waist. He leaned back in Mikhael’s vacated chair, one leg bent so his heel was braced against a chair leg, the other leg extended. The towel parted to show a length of thigh. Not a deliberate tease. He was lost in thought, unaware he was displaying a lot of appealing firm male flesh. The charnel house smell was gone. Her soap fragrance mixed with the vividly remembered scent of him in her shop months ago. As she inhaled it, she sat down on the cot.

“The Reaping schedule has not reappeared in my mind,” he told her. “Which means the Fates are being blocked from awareness of my return as well. Or this filth inside me has made me unfit to shepherd souls.”

When Mikhael was here, he’d presented a calm, disciplined demeanor. Hearing the roiling emotions told her how much was going on below the surface. “I hope he’s able to get the message to Honora quickly,” he added. “My Wake commander.”

“Too bad she’s not in the phone book. Or accessible by carrier pigeon.”

That dry smile, tinged with regret. “Yes. Though when she comes, I will have to summon extra courage to face her.”

“After hearing what happened to you, I think you used up your reserves.” Stabbed, boiled, the skin peeled from his flesh, his hand crushed, all to keep a soul’s precious spark protected. She leaned forward to rest her hand on his tense one on his thigh. “Seriously, Silas. Courage is the one thing you don’t lack.”

“If I hadn’t been late that day…” He shook his head.

She studied him. “You know, I’ve been flagellating myself for acting like a girl, thinking your absence had something to do with me. But it hasn’t stopped my brain, and I don’t think your guilt has yours, either. Whatever chain of events resulted in this, that mark took a lot of time to create. Random opportunity or not, this is a plan that has been in the works for a while.”

He straightened, though he didn’t remove his hand from her touch. “Which means it may not have been specific at all. I may not be the only Reaper targeted.” Frustration. “Damn it, I wish there was a way to contact her directly. The Guardian has enough responsibilities of his own to pursue, without adding mine to them.”

“Can you do it the old school way? Use a protected circle with a strong enough energy raising to send out a broadcast, without anyone else intercepting?”

Thoughtful, he gazed at her hand, the exposed wrist and lettering there. For only she that has my soul... His attention moved to her other hand, gripping her knee. Can engage my sword. Fitting, since she saw the warrior in his face.

“If needed, we could call Ruby and Raina,” she added. “As a trinity, we can channel enough energy to reach Mars.”

The green eyes twinkled. One moment a warrior, the next a sexy librarian. She really needed to get him some metal spectacles. “It’s worth a try,” he acknowledged. “I’m accomplished at channeling and focusing energy flow. For a message, just the two of us might be sufficient. If our intent isn’t directed toward the mark, it should remain dormant, but that’s not a certainty.”

“I can cast a containment around it that will flag us if it wakes up,” she said. “You really do need rest before you do anything else, though. You’re continuing to squeeze a mustard bottle that’s almost empty.”

“I won’t delay if others might be at risk.”

“Thought you might say that.” She summoned her own courage. If self-protection only meant she was denying herself, well, she’d been denied sixteen months already. She met his gaze.

“Nothing better than a Great Rite for a strong energy raising. And you said it yourself. Sex is one of the ways you could restore yourself. Two birds, one net.”