Surrender to Darkness Page 25

Except that it was trembling.

  In fact, his whole body was shuddering.

  “Hold still,” she said with a grin. “I’ll be very gentle, I promise.”

  “I don’t give a damn if you’re gentle,” he said hoarsely. “Just be quick.”

  She bent over his hand. “Got it.” She held up the tweezers for verification, then released his arm. “I’d kiss the wound better, but …”

  “No kissing,” he finished for her, on a ragged sigh.

  She scooted back to the window seat and lifted her gaze to meet his. “No kissing,” she confirmed.

  He scowled and jabbed his thumb in his mouth.

  “Are you done for the evening?” she asked. “Or do you have more work with the trainees?”

  “I need to track down some extra practice weapons,” he mumbled. “Why?”

  “I wanted to discuss tomorrow.”

  A wary look replaced the disgruntled expression on his face. “What about tomorrow?”

  “I’m going to attempt the transcendence.”

  He shot out of the chair, his wounded thumb forgotten. “No, you’re not. We discussed this. I am going to work on Stefan, and you’re going to be patient. We have a month.”

  Kiyoko studied her hands. A more ruthless person would have kept silent, seduced the man, and accomplished her goal. But she was done with lying and hiding. She needed Murdoch to understand, and to willingly offer his help.

  “Azazel knew about the Veil.”

  “You told him?”

  Her head popped up at Murdoch’s angry accusation. “No, of course not. Watanabe was there the night my father died, and now that I know he was a demon, I can’t believe it was a coincidence.”

  He paced the room, from the foot of the bed to the fireplace, his hands fisted at his sides. “That’s still no reason to go off half-cocked. I killed the filthy bugger.”

  “You can’t really believe that’s the end of it.”

  “As long as you remain on the ranch, everything will be fine,” he insisted. “We can keep the Veil hidden.”

  “Murdoch,” she said softly, “I’ve corrupted you.”

  He halted and stared at her. “What?”

  “When we first met, your commitment to keeping the Veil out of Satan’s hands was vocal and passionate. Today you’re willing to invite unmitigated disaster to minimize the risk to a single woman. All because I’ve personified the consequences.”

  “That’s quite a turnabout. From devoted demon slayer to weak-willed herald of the apocalypse in less than a month,” he said drily.

  Kiyoko flushed. She hadn’t meant to insult him. “You know the only way to ensure the Veil’s safety is to hide it away, buried beneath layers of magic and protected for eternity by immortal warriors.”

  “I don’t deny that.”

  “Then don’t deny my opportunity to do what’s right, either. Once I transcend, I’ll be able to give up the Veil. If you fear harming me, perhaps we can restrain you for the duration of the ritual.”

  He snorted. “You think I haven’t tried crating the beast in the past? I can tell you, a locked door is pointless. Chains won’t hold me. Hell, I’ve even broken out of a jail cell.”

  Not terribly surprising. She’d witnessed the enhancement of the muscles in his back and felt the post-berserker weight of his body. “Sora-sensei says a binding spell won’t work, either. Any magic I cast to hold you in will also serve to keep me out.” She sighed. “The best hope still lies with you.”

  “No,” he said, turning his back on the plea in her eyes. “The best hope lies with Stefan Wahlberg. And by God, I’m going to make the man see reason.”

  He yanked open the bedroom door and stalked out.

  Kiyoko listened to his footsteps pound down the stairs and the front door creak open and slam shut. A moment later, his large and very determined body appeared around the corner of the house and strode down the gravel path. Murdoch was a force to be reckoned with. He might yet succeed in browbeating Stefan and ending this painful trial.

  But what if he failed?

  Could she do what needed to be done?

  Could she go ahead with her plan anyway?

  Murdoch hammered the trailer door with his fist. “Open the blasted door, Dika, or I swear I’ll rip it clear off its hinges.”

  The door opened.

  Dika stood in the entrance, her arms folded over her chest. Feet planted and brow furrowed, she presented a remarkably formidable barrier for someone so small. “How many times must I tell you to go away?”

  He wrapped an arm about her waist, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and stepped into the trailer. “I’m done with talking. And I’m not going away. Where is the little maggot?”

  Setting her down in the kitchen, he scanned the living room. Empty. He flung open the etched-glass door leading to the bedroom. “Is he hiding?”

  The bedroom was empty, too. As was the bathroom.

  Murdoch returned to the kitchen.

  Dika still resembled a feather-ruffled hen. A slender, pixielike hen.

  “Where is he?” he asked softly.

  She said nothing. But a hint of triumph crooked her lips.

  His gaze swung to the far end of the trailer, which was draped ceiling to floor with heavy purple velvet. Ah, shit. He crossed to the curtain and swept it aside. A wall of massive gray bricks, darkened with mildew stains and spotted with lichen, greeted him. No archway. No door. Just the solid, impassable three-foot-thick stone of Castle Rakimczyk.

  “Call him out.”

  “I can’t.”

  He spun to face her. “Bollocks, Dika. I know you can reach him. It’s your bloody castle.”

  “I never disturb him while he’s working.”

  Working? With the new grimoire? “What’s he working on?”

  “I didn’t ask.” She shrugged. “It’s not my business.”

  Murdoch shook his head. “You may fool others with that docile, dim-witted charade, Dika, but you don’t fool me. I’ve seen the way he looks at you whenever he’s about to make an important decision. He values your opinion, and that tells me all I need to know.”

  She smiled, but said nothing. Just turned to the stove and stirred a big pot of something that smelled heavenly.

  “How long has he been in there?” Murdoch asked.

  “Since dawn.”

  “Well, then,” he said, grabbing a leather armchair and pulling it forward. He flopped onto the seat. “He’s got to come out to eat eventually. I’ll just wait.”

  “He hasn’t been very hungry lately.”

  Kicking off his boots, Murdoch reclined the La-Z-Boy. “Have no fear. He’ll never resist the smell of your spaghetti sauce. No man can.”

  “Hmmm.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose—”

  She handed him a bowl of pasta and a fork.

  “God love ya, Dika. You’re a saint.”

  18

  When the slithering hisses and moaning voices woke her for the second night in a row, Emily knew she had to call Uriel.

  She threw back the covers, slid her feet into a pair of leather-soled slippers, and crammed her Horde ball cap on her head. As she tiptoed down the hall past the baby’s room, she heard her mom crooning to Katie in sync with the slow, rhythmic rumble of the rocking chair.

  Man, that baby could drink.

  Every two hours. Nonstop.

  Emily hugged the railing to avoid the creaky spot on the seventh stair and silently made her way to the front door. Why worry the folks? She grasped the brass door latch and pulled.

  But it didn’t open.

  She glanced up. A big male hand held it shut. Lachlan. He was pretty damned good at the stealth moves. She should have used her senses.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded quietly.

  “Up to the tennis courts. I need to talk to Uriel.”

  He frowned at her, then glanced up the stairs. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m not sure. T
he creepy voices in the between are back.”

  “The ones that told you about Azazel?”

  She nodded.

  “You shouldn’t go alone. I’ll come with you.”

  Emily peeled his hand away from the door. “Uh, immortal girl, remember? I think you should stay here with Mom and the baby.”

  He stiffened.

  “Not that there’s anything to worry about,” she added hastily. She did a quick check of the ranch grounds. “No alarm bells are ringing, honest. I just want to figure out what the noises mean.”

  “Okay.” His eyes met hers in the gloom. “But if you’re no’ back in a half hour, I’m coming after you.”

  “Deal.” She opened the door, stepped onto the porch, then paused. “Don’t tell Mom. She’s a worrywart, and she’ll wait up instead of getting some sleep.”

  “Deal.” He closed the door behind her.

  The night air was quite cold, and Emily wished she’d brought a sweater. Her cotton pajama set didn’t really cut it. Jogging up the path as fast as her slippers would allow, she pretended the goose bumps on her arms weren’t there. The lights were still on in Stefan’s trailer, which made her curious. But not curious enough to stop.

  When she reached the crater at the top of the hill, Uriel was waiting for her. As hotly serene as ever.

  “Don’t you have bad guys to catch?” she asked, huffing. No point in even asking how he knew she wanted to talk. Angels made a habit of eavesdropping.

  “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

  “Yeah,” she acknowledged, still breathless. Man, she was out of shape. Time to take up track and field. “But you’re very conveniently around whenever I need you.”

  He smiled. “Michael made you my ward.”

  “Your what?”

  “I’m tasked with looking after you.”

  “Great,” she said. “I’m your job. How cozy.”

  He tossed her an arch glance.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m being too sensitive. Story of my life.” She rubbed her bare arms. “Speaking of being sensitive, I’m hearing those voices again. From the between. And I gotta say, they’re more freaked-out than ever.”

  Uriel peeled off his zippered hoodie and handed it to her. “What are they saying?”

  Emily wrapped herself in the loose, warm fabric, breathing in the light smell of lemons. “The same. Azazel.”

  Uriel was silent, so Emily peeked from the depths of the fleecy cotton. His beautiful face was marred by a frown.

  “Is that bad?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps how?”

  He glanced at her. “Are the voice still fearful?”

  “Yeah. Totally wetting their pants.”

  “What have they to fear if Murdoch killed Azazel?”

  Emily stared at him. “You’re saying he’s still alive? That he survived a sword through the heart?”

  Grimacing, Uriel shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “I would survive. Any archangel would. Azazel is a fallen angel; therefore it’s possible he did, too.”

  “How?”

  “I have no true corporeal form. The image I present to you is merely an illusion to make communication more comfortable.”

  She scrubbed her face. “So, you can’t die?”

  “Oh, yes, I can die,” he said ruefully. “God could smite me. Satan, too. And a demon lord at full strength could take me down.”

  “But us puny humans? We can’t harm you?”

  “It would be very difficult.”

  Emily whipped off the hoodie and flung it at Uriel. “Maybe you should have mentioned that? It would have been nice to know we were facing impossible odds.”

  The archangel caught the jacket. “I did warn you not to engage him. And frankly, I had hoped Azazel was lessened by the Great Flood. That he wasn’t himself.”

  A memory stirred in Emily’s mind. “What about the Shattered Halo? It leveled you. Could it defeat Azazel?”

  “It would definitely weaken him,” Uriel said. “But the spell to leverage the halo is arcane and extremely difficult to wield.”

  “You’ve got a piece, though, right? Of Lucifer’s halo? I want it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard. Hand it over.”

  “Emily—”

  She tipped the bill of her cap up so she could look him squarely in the eye. “Here’s the way I see things. The guy is obviously after Kiyoko’s Veil, which despite the lack of rotting-algae sensation must be capable of crushing mankind into dust. To my way of thinking, if he’s alive, there’s an awfully good chance he’ll take another stab at it. Do you want me to save the world or don’t you? Hand it over.”

  Uriel returned her stare, steady. “Do you really think you’re ready to face Azazel?”

  “No,” she admitted. “But I’ve got friends.”

  He pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened his fingers. In the middle of his palm lay the gleaming fragment of shiny disk that Emily recognized from the battle they’d fought in the Egyptian desert seven months ago. It looked so ordinary, so harmless, so man-made. But she knew what it was capable of. And she knew what an act of faith it was that Uriel was offering it to her.

  She took the shard from his hand. It was cool to the touch.

  “Godspeed,” the archangel said quietly.

  Then he vanished in a blink of light.

  Murdoch lost the last of his patience at seven in the morning. Swearing a blue streak, he gave the castle wall a spirited kick that shook some mortar loose but otherwise did no damage. He declined Dika’s very generous offer of fresh-baked bannock bread, but snatched a mug of coffee from her hand with a mutter of thanks as he departed the trailer. It wasn’t her fault Stefan was a bloody git.

  When and if the wretched mage finally put in an appearance, he was going to strangle him.

  Avoiding his fellow Gatherers and the inevitable morning small talk, Murdoch instead opted for a few peaceful hours with his Triumph Thunderbird. This early, the four-car garage was as quiet as a pub on Monday.

  After filling a bucket with warm, soapy water and locating a soft chamois cloth, he set about clearing three weeks of accumulated dust off the motorbike. Something about sluicing away the grime, wiping down the steel with measured strokes, and revealing the beauty beneath was soothing. An hour later, the black body gleamed and the chrome handlebars, fork legs, and flared exhaust silencers sparkled.

  “So, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

  He glanced up.

  Kiyoko leaned on the hood of MacGregor’s Audi. For once, she was not wearing a gi. Instead, she had poured herself into a pair of stovepipe navy jeans and a pink short-sleeved tee bearing the words Pink This! in white. The black belt was slung saucily around her hips and her dark hair hung loose down her back.

  He swallowed.

  She looked positively edible.

  “I’m not hiding,” he said, dropping his eyes to the bike and struggling with all his might to stop the rush of blood to his groin. “I’m having a caveman moment.”

  She crossed the cement floor until he could see the toes of her ballet flats. “A caveman moment?”

  “I’ve withdrawn into my cave to pound a few rocks with my club. It’s how men do their most important thinking.”

  “I see. Should I leave you alone?”

  “No, I’m about done with the pounding.”

  “Good. I’ve missed you.” She crouched and ran a slim hand over the chrome Triumph badge on the tank. “What a beautiful machine.”

  Murdoch wasn’t sure which comment warmed him the most. But she earned a special place in his heart for admiring the bike. “Aye,” he said proudly. “Did you want to take a ride?”

  A look of alarm flashed on her face. “It’s rather large.”

  “Not alone. With me.”

  “I’d love to. But we agreed that it would be unwise for me to leave the ranch.”

  He tossed the chamois into the bucket
. “So we did.”

  “Would you feel silly taking me down to the gate and back?”

  “No.” Getting all suited up for such a short ride might be tiresome, though. But he’d do it for Kiyoko. “Do you feel the need to don the full leather kit, or can we stick with boots and helmets?”

  “I doubt we’ll be traveling at a speed that requires leather.” She glanced down at her flimsy shoes. “But I’m afraid I don’t own any appropriate boots.”

  “Lena has a pair that ought to fit you.”

  “You’ve taken Lena for a ride?”

  “Once or twice.” There was an edge to her voice that made Murdoch smile. “She makes a point of confronting her fears. Anything that feels fast and mechanical scares the crap out of her. So, she rides.”

  “Lena is a very beautiful woman.”

  He nodded. “I’ve noticed.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye,” he responded easily. “Rather hard to miss those long limbs and large breasts.”

  Kiyoko stiffened.

  “But I’ll let you in on a secret, lass,” he said, opening the locker next to him and pulling out his helmet and a smaller red one. “My berserker takes no interest in her at all. Barely blinked when she undid the top button of her blouse.”

  “When she what?”

  “It was last summer,” he said hastily, handing her the helmet. “She was trying to distract me so she could escape.”

  “The woman has no honor.”

  Murdoch dug in the locker again. “She was willing to risk everything to protect the people she loves. I cannot fault her aim, even if her methods left something to be desired. Here we are.” He peered at the sole of the ladies’ boots. “Size eight. Will that fit?”

  “Yes.”

  He watched her bend to swap footwear.

  The waistband of her jeans dipped, exposing a strip of creamy flesh and, for a moment, the notion of kissing the two dimples there occupied his every working brain cell.

  No, Lena had never come close to stirring him the way Kiyoko did. As exotic as the half-Egyptian woman was, she had a cool, withdrawn air that did not encourage a man to get closer. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how Webster had seen past the thorns to the rose.

  Kiyoko, on the other hand, made no apologies for her femininity. Nor did she use it to advantage. Some days she wore pink lipstick, pearl earrings, and floral dresses, and on others she wore stark black and white, no makeup, and a ponytail. There was no attempt to disguise or enhance. Being a woman was simply a facet of her physical being.