Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Celeste stepped out of the taxi in front of the medium-sized, rundown ranch-style house that had been her whole existence for more than twenty years.

The cabbie rolled down his window. “Thirty-five fifty.”

She looked back at him. “Yeah… just let me go inside and grab it.”

He glared at her. “I’m gonna keep the meter running.”

She nodded and turned back to the house. It felt like years since she’d last seen it. A place once colorful and beautiful had turned to death and suffering after her father left. And now possibly his tomb.

The anger that had begun to burn back in the bar now lit into a signal fire. Looking at the place that had been her prison for so long was like throwing a Molotov cocktail on a haystack.

Celeste slammed open the broken wooden gate so hard it fell off its hinges and dropped onto the crunchy grass. She replayed the plan she’d come up with.

Her mother wouldn’t take the chance of hurting her father in the front room or kitchen, where anyone might peek in. And she wouldn’t have chosen their bedroom, either—too close to the neighbors. So that left only one room—the back room. Her room.

Her father had converted it from a porch early on so Celeste had a play area. After he’d left, her mother had moved Celeste into that room permanently. She put celestial wards on the walls and a lock from the outside. She’d told Celeste it was for her own protection in case they were ever found by fellow angels, but Celeste knew the truth. It was so Celeste couldn’t get out when her mother got drunk, high, or… entertained.

Celeste’s entire world had become the prison of that room. Not that it had been all bad. Her mother had at least given her a TV, a computer, and her own fridge. Celeste had gotten her education online. Scouring educational sites for free courses and lessons. Her father had taught her to read, write, and do basic math by the age of three, but everything after that she’d learned herself. It wasn’t like half-demon, half-angel sups just went to regular school with humans.

So she darted to the back of the house and down to the secret entrance her mother didn’t know about.

Celeste snuck up to the front of the house to the group of windows that overlooked the bright, sunny day. Through a crack in the curtain, she saw the TV was on, as were the lights in the front room and kitchen. She waited to see if her mother emerged, but she didn’t.

Celeste made her way around the side of the house to a tall bush and weeds that covered what she searched for.

She reached the door, double the size of a pet entrance, and pushed the dead brush off it. The hinges creaked as she pulled it open. The scent of dirt and damp cement met her nose. She peered into the darkness below and stepped down onto the extremely narrow first step, remembering every inch of the place.

Going slow, with one hand on the wall, Celeste made her way into the cramped room not much more than a crawlspace. A wave of nausea coursed through her as memories of sleeping in Anton’s closet, battered and bruised, came floating back. She leaned on the wall and sucked in deep breaths several times until the feeling passed, and she spit bitter saliva out.

She continued forward to where a crack of light filtered down from the ceiling. She walked under it. The hatch leading under her bed waited above her. She waited, listening, but still, nothing stirred.

She grabbed the little stool she’d used when she wanted to escape her room to enjoy the stars or breathe fresh air. It wobbled but held her weight.

Celeste ducked her head and pushed against the hatch, praying she hadn’t locked it the last time she’d used it. To her relief, the wood lifted easily.

She lifted it an inch before peering out from under her bed. The scent of her favorite candle still lingered in the air, and a strange sense of home rushed through her. She pushed aside a set of shoe boxes to get a better view of the room. She didn’t have to search far to spot a figure on the floor, hands tied behind them and bound to their feet.

Papa!

Celeste fought against her shaking hands as she lifted the hatch higher and located the hook she’d made when she was twelve to hold it open. She hooked the hatch to her bed and pulled herself up through the hole. She slung her leg up and kicked over a stack of books to the left. She held her breath as they hit the ground with a slap.

A minute passed. Then another. Nothing. No one entered the room, and her father didn’t stir.

When she pulled herself under her bed, she lay mere inches from where the light spilled onto the floor. She reached out and prodded her dad with her foot.

“Papa,” she whispered.

Nothing.

She reached out with her mind, trying to connect with him, but there was nothing but blackness.

She prodded him again, kicking his calf a bit harder. “Papa!” she whispered louder.

Again nothing.

She cursed herself and scanned the room for her phone. She should call Tyr. There was no way she’d be able to get her dad out by herself if he wasn’t conscious.

Dammit! She didn’t even have his number. Why hadn’t she thought things through better?

Papa had always told her to be wary of the rage that came with being a demon. Though, honestly, she was more worried about the rage that came with being half-angel. Why had she let her anger get the better of her? Why?—

She shook her head. It was too late for whys or should haves.

Celeste needed to get her father out of the house. As soon as he was outside of the wards, she would use her mind to call Tyr. She’d tell him where they were, and if he didn’t hate her, he’d come.

She shimmied out from under her bed and spotted a chair next to the door. She silently jumped up and tiptoed to it. Picking it up, she wedged it under the doorknob.

“I’m afraid that won’t keep me out,” said a voice behind her.

Celeste spun around. Her mother lounged on the bed. Celeste’s stomach flopped, and she had to look twice to be sure it really was her mother.

As a child, her mother’s eyes had shone like brilliant aquamarines flecked with golden starlight. But years of abuse and sin had diminished the golden flecks that belied her celestial heritage to nothing more than smoldering embers behind a starless night sky. Her cheeks, which once had been the perfect shade of peach, had sunken in and tinged a deep grayish color. Even her mother’s once shiny, thick hair hung limp and as dry as her mother’s cracked lips. As Celeste took in her mother’s frame, she wondered how long it had been since her mother had eaten or bathed.

“I’m taking Papa.”

Her mother laughed and motioned to the figure on the floor. “Him? He’s all yours.”

Celeste knelt next to her dad and pushed the hair from his face.

“Papa? I’m here.” She pressed her hand over his heart. It still beat.

She reached out with her mind to see if he was conscious.

For a second, nothing happened, and then the man’s eyes opened. A sick feeling dripped through Celeste, and she scrambled away.

“You aren’t my father.”

The man chuckled as he broke the ropes with ease and got to his feet.

Celeste touched the man’s mind. A cold wave washed over her. Demon.

She looked from him to her mother. “What is this?”

The man shook off her father’s facade to reveal Amezodile. Anton’s bodyguard.

“Where’s Papa?”

“You ran from Anton, and he wants you back. I knew you would only come if you thought your father was in danger. Amezodile’s a trickster demon.”

Celeste tried to grasp her mother’s words. “So… Papa isn’t in danger? He isn’t here?”

Her mother licked her lips. “I haven’t seen your father.”

Rage bloomed inside her again. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.” Her mother jumped to her feet. “You left me here to deal with the mess you created. You and your stupid father. Do you have any idea what I’ve been put through by Anton? I made a deal with him. You broke that deal. He almost killed me.”

Celeste couldn’t hold back the vitriol that she’d suppressed for too many years. “This wasn’t my mess. You sold me knowing what he was capable of. He broke almost every bone in my body because of you.”

“You should have just done what he asked, and you would have been showered with gold and jewels and everything you want.”

“No! Gold and jewelry, yes, but never what I wanted. I don’t give a crap about that stuff. I want love. I want a family. I want—” She stopped herself right before saying Tyr’s name.

“Just like your father. Stupid. Na?ve. Weak.”

Celeste clenched her fists to keep from smashing her mother in the face. “Where is my father,” she asked again through clenched teeth.

“I said I don’t know.”

“And I said I don’t believe you.”

“That’s not my concern. I gave birth to you. Took care of you. Fed you. Raised you. Kept you safe. You owe me.”

Celeste swallowed the boulder lodged in her throat. “You don’t love me at all, do you? You think I owe you because you pushed me out of your body? You should have given me to my dad and lived your own life.”

“You ruined my life!” she shouted. “You and your damn father. Filling my head with the idea we’d be a family. That he would make everything okay for us. But he didn’t! He ruined me. Tainted me. Made me into this.”

“No, Mother. You made you into that. Dad tried to do everything he promised. It was you who broke that. You who ruined him. Ruined me. You just couldn’t handle the fact that a demon was a better person than you were supposed to be.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched. “Take her.”

Amezodile stepped forward and clamped his hand on Celeste’s arm. She struggled against him and tried to pull away, but Amezodile’s grip was too strong. He dragged her toward the bedroom door. No. Not again. She refused to be weak and pushed around any longer.

Celeste dropped her shield and blasted him with a wave of mental energy. Amezodile dropped her arm like it was on fire. He grabbed his head and crumpled to the ground.

“Stop!” her mother commanded.

There was no stopping. Not this time. Not for Amezodile. And not for her mother.

Celeste blasted Amezodile again, and he wailed in agony, his form shifting into dozens of different people.

Her mother ran forward and grabbed Celeste, shaking her, but Celeste shoved her mother to the ground.

Over and over, Celeste let her rage pour out of her as she blasted Amezodile. The power and control intoxicated her. It lit inside like a tender flame growing with each cry, each physical shift, each plea for her to stop.

“I warned you, Amezodile,” she said softly. “I warned you last time that you would pay for not helping me.”

“Stop, or you’ll never see your father again!” her mother yelled.

Celeste’s gaze whipped to her mother. “You said you don’t know where he is.”

Terror flooded her mother’s eyes as she glanced at Amezodile, who still cried in agony a foot away.

“I lied, like you said.”

Celeste took a step forward. “Where is he?”

Her mother licked her lips, and Celeste attacked, blasting her mother with a wave of mental energy. Her mother screamed and curled into a ball. Celeste hit her again. She’d never attacked her mother, but as her anger boiled over, Celeste let all of her pain and rage flow into her mother, who screamed and writhed like the snake she was.

Her mother’s wings sprouted from her back, ragged and decrepit. She tried to shield herself, but there were no protections against what Celeste bombarded her with.

Power. Control. Pain.

“Where is he?” Celeste yelled.

Her mother screeched. “Anton’s!”

Celeste blinked rapidly and pulled back her ability. Her father was at Anton’s? Why was he there? What had Anton been doing to him?

Rage built inside her once more at the prospect of someone hurting her Papa.

Her gaze traveled back to Amezodile. “You should have told me that in the first place. It would have saved time. Let’s go.”

Amezodile tried to get to his feet, but his legs buckled, and he dropped again.

“Now!” Celeste ordered.

He tried again and managed to get to his feet shakily.

“Start the car. And pay the cabbie outside.”

Amezodile nodded, shuffled to the bedroom door, and stumbled out.

Celeste’s gaze slid to her mother’s prone form. “You too, Mother.”

Tyr took in the strip bar called Anton’s Dolls . “Is this a joke? You said we were going to Celeste.”

Heimdall held up his hand. “Give it a minute.”

A minute? What the hell did that mean? He’d given it a minute, a lot of minutes, and Celeste was nowhere to be seen.

Tyr growled and paced. He had so many things he was going to say to her. He’d practiced his words over and over. Heimdall had given him the basic rundown of what she was doing and why. As much as it relieved him to know she wasn’t running from him, he was equally as angry she’d thought she could rescue her father alone. She was still healing, and she had no fighting skills at all. If anything happened to her?—

A black SUV screeched to a halt at the curb, and the driver jumped out like he was being chased by hellhounds. He raced around the vehicle and yanked open the passenger side door, pulling someone out. The dark-haired woman clawed at the man, swearing and spitting. The man dragged her by the arm toward the bar, an expressionless mask on his face. He stared straight ahead and didn’t bother to glance Tyr’s way.

The back door to the vehicle opened, and Celeste slid out. Tyr strode forward, the words he’d practiced waiting on his lips. But the moment he opened his mouth, Celeste threw herself into his arms. She squeezed him tight, and the anger inside crumbled. He wrapped her in his arms and crushed her against him. She was okay. She was in his arms again. Safe. Safe but… furious. The anger wafting off her seeped into him, making his skin tingle and his view glow red. He wanted to feed on her anger, stoke it, see it play out.

No. Not her. Not Celeste . She didn’t deserve what would happen if he stoked that fire.

He pushed her away and peered into her tear-stained eyes.

“What the Hel were you thinking?”

She shook her head and wiped her face.

“Do you have any idea what I would have done if you’d been hurt? Or worse?”

“No,” she managed.

Anger bubbled inside him again at the thought. “I’m the God of War, Celeste. Give it a guess.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to get my dad.”

Tyr nodded to the car. “Is he in there?”

She shook her head and pointed at the bar. “Anton has him.”

Tyr turned to the bar, and his gut twisted. “Is that the guy who hurt you?”

“Yes,” she said, stronger. As if something washed over her, she stood straighter, and her expression hardened. “He has my dad.”

Again, her anger burst through him, fueling him, feeding him. His sword pressed against his ankle, wanting to be unleashed and used to slay every being in the bar.

Tyr nodded. “You stay here. Heimdall and I will handle this.”

“No. I need to do this.”

Tyr wanted to argue with her, but he, of anyone, understood how cathartic vengeance could be in healing a wounded soul. And from the anger wafting off her, she was beyond wounded. He realized she’d dropped her shields. She let him in. Fully in. It excited but also terrified him of what he might see. He delved into her memories from the last thirty minutes.

Power, anger and pleasure in causing pain flooded him. If they’d been at home, he would have taken her right in that moment. But he had to choose. If he fed that side of her, he didn’t know who she would turn into. Or how much she would hate him for letting her… Even so, she had to choose. He couldn’t choose for her.

He prayed he’d be able to hold himself back from ripping the guy and his men apart. Just thinking of what he’d done to Celeste, the man was lucky he’d not already started slaughtering everyone in the place.

“It’s your choice. But you stay by me.”

She nodded. “And you stay by me.”

He grabbed her hand, and together with Heimdall, they entered the building. A bouncer stopped them.

“Anton is expecting us,” said Celeste.

He took one look at her and nodded, opening a second door.

All around, women in various degrees of nudity writhed and ground their bodies against metal poles. The sensual music blared from speakers above, and the scent of fruit, sweat, and sex permeated the air, bringing back memories of the many after-battle celebrations he and his men had taken part in.

Tyr coughed and wiped his thoughts. He didn’t want Celeste to see any of it.

Dozens of men ogled the dancers, but at least a dozen more kept their eyes trained on Celeste and him.

“Where to?”

She pointed to a staircase hidden behind two gigantic men in the back corner. Tyr strode to the stairs, his hand gripping Celeste’s tighter with every human who gaped at her. His metal fist squeezed tight as he fought not to smash the lusty stares out of all their eyes, and he wished he’d grabbed his sword before entering.

They approached the stair guards. Their gazes lingered on Celeste, and then one nodded to her, and she started forward. Tyr followed her, but the man blocked the way.

“Only her.”

“Move,” Tyr commanded.

“Only. Her.”

The second man took a step forward and flashed a gun holster. The intimidation and posturing they displayed only further stoked his anger.

Tyr smiled, and his vision went blood red. “I won’t ask again.”

The men stared at Tyr and crossed their arms over their chests. Tyr stepped forward, and the second man reached for his gun. Tyr knocked it from his hand and grabbed the man’s throat in his metal grasp. The man clawed at Tyr’s hand, and he squeezed.

Gods above, he’d missed this part. The part where they realized they’d made a fatal miscalculation and weren’t leaving the confrontation unscathed.

A ripple coursed over Tyr’s skin, and he smiled.

The first man reached for Tyr but crumpled to his knees, grabbing his head.

“He’s with me,” said Celeste to the man on the floor.

“Why is it when someone who is clearly a human’s superior tells them to do something, they don’t realize said person is being kind by trying to save that human a lot of pain, and even their life?”

“Because they are arrogant toddlers,” said Heimdall.

Tyr dropped the purple-faced bodyguard to the ground, where he gulped down air like a dying fish. He stepped over the man and took Celeste’s hand again before ascending the steps.

A shot rang out, and fire burned across Tyr’s arm. He growled and whirled around.

The dancers stopped moving, and several of the patrons stood, confused.

The men he’d noticed upon arrival made their way toward the stairs, guns out and trained on Tyr.

Heimdall smiled. “Go. I’m going to hang down here.”

Tyr glanced at him. Damn. Heimdall had known what they’d walk into, and he’d chosen to come.

The man truly was full of surprises.

Tyr and Celeste hit the top of the stairs, and he retrieved his knife from inside his boot. Red still stained his gaze as he inspected every door they passed. Finally, they reached a sturdy wooden door at the end of the hall.

“This is it,” said Celeste.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Her steely gaze stared at him. “Absolutely.”

He didn’t like it, but if what he’d seen on the stairs was half the power she stored inside her, he had drastically underestimated her. She was half demon, half angel, and it was time to let her find the superior being she was inside. And damn if seeing her so strong didn’t turn him on.

Tyr breathed deep and planted his boot in the middle of the door. It burst from its hinges and exploded inward. A scream sounded, and several men swore. A gunshot rang out, and Tyr stepped through the doorway, covering Celeste.

Bullets ripped through his abdomen, shoulder, and leg. He let the pain wash over him and through him, spurring him on.

The man who’d fired his gun paled and dropped it when Tyr didn’t go down. He backed up several feet, bumped into a couch, and fell onto it.

Tyr took a step, but Celeste grabbed his hand. “Wait.”

Tyr nodded, and she stepped to his side and scanned the scene.

Five men stood inside a lush office. Two held the woman with black hair while a third punched her in the face. The man who had dragged the woman out of the car stood next to a shorter man who Tyr could only assume was the boss. The man from the car assessed Tyr, and his eyes widened in fear and turned pure black.

A demon.

The woman barely held up her bruised face as blood dripped down her chin.

“Who the F—” The man stopped short when he spotted Celeste.

The woman on the floor gasped for air. “Are you happy now,” she croaked. “Are you satisfied seeing what Anton will do to me?”

Celeste didn’t answer.

Tyr looked closer at the kneeling woman again. The high cheekbones. The swolle, pouty lips. The blue eyes. Celeste’s mother.

“Who the hell is this gorilla?” Anton spat.

Celeste stepped toward the man. “Give me my father.”

Tyr had never heard her voice so flat.

Anton chuckled and opened his arms wide. “Baby girl, I’ve missed you. I can’t tell you how heartbroken I’ve been since you ran away. Have you seen the error of your ways? Realized what I can give you? You healed amazingly, by the way. It makes me happy I didn’t do any permanent damage to your stunning face.”

Celeste’s fists clenched. “Give him to me.”

Anton’s eyes narrowed, and he thought for a minute. “And why would I do that?”

Celeste took another step forward, but Tyr held her back.

“Because I’m asking nicely. All I want is my father. Give him to me and I’ll let you live.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Anton retorted. “You come back, and I’ll forget you left. I’ll let your mother and your friend go.”

The arrogance. The utter arrogance of the man set Tyr’s battle rage close to exploding. This small, insignificant human had hurt his Celeste. Had beaten her. Chained her. And almost killed her.

“I have a third option,” Tyr growled. “I kill all your men and torture you until you tell me where Sylax is?”

Anton chuckled, pulled a gun from his waistband, and pointed it at Tyr. “You may be tough, Big Guy, but I’m sure even you can’t take a bullet to the brain. So, let’s all be civil. Celeste comes back. Her mother goes free. Everyone is happy.”

Tyr growled, and Celeste took a step forward, her gaze locked on Anton.

“Boss—” The man next to him tried to warn Anton, but it was too late.

Anton grabbed his head and bellowed.

“Tell me where my father is,” Celeste said.

Anton dropped to his knees and puked. He sucked in several breaths, and then his head whipped up.

“Kill them!” Anton shot wildly, missing and then ducking down again.

Tyr grabbed Celeste and wrapped himself around her as the first semi-automatic emerged, and bullets pierced his back.

They tore at his flesh like red-hot lava ripped through him. He gritted his teeth.

“Tyr!” Celeste screamed.

He hugged her tighter.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty.

The bullets stopped. Celeste clutched at him.

“Tyr. Tyr!”

He relaxed his hold, his crimson vision tainting her beautiful pale skin.

“Immortal, remember?” He kissed her forehead. “Don’t move.”

Tyr turned and flicked his wrist. His knife lengthened to its full size, and flames sprung from it, licking the blade.

“What the hell?” Anton said.

“Nope. She’s a different Norse God,” Tyr replied before the battle-rage took over.

He ran at the guy with the gun and decapitated him mid-ammo change. He rolled across the floor as another volley of shots rang out. Tyr swung at the second guy, but he doubled over, grabbing his head. He tripped backward over a chair and dropped to the ground. Tyr jumped the distance between them and plunged his sword through the man’s chest and straight into the floor, cracking the wood underneath.

Another shot rang out, and Tyr spun around. The man shot three more times. One ripped through Tyr’s wrist just above his metal hand, causing him to drop his sword. A second-round embedding in his rib, shattering it. Tyr roared. Blood. He wanted blood. Emotions burst from him like a shockwave through the building. The man fired again, missed twice, and then ran out of bullets. Tyr tackled him and bit into his throat.

The man screamed, and Tyr reared back, spraying himself and the entire area with the man’s blood. Blood. Slick. Wet. Warm. Blood.

Adrenaline and ecstasy flushed his body. He laughed as the rush of lust shot through him.

How long had it been since he’d killed someone with his hands? Felt their blood on his face. Tasted their sweat. Listen to their heartbeats slow. Watch as their mouths gaped open and closed as they pleaded with him to make it stop.

He smiled. Too long. Much, much too long.

Tyr roared again and jumped to his feet. Another pulse blasted from him, and he shuddered.

Anton backed away from Tyr, and the guy from the car made for the door.

Only two? Bummer. He was just getting started.