Surrender to Darkness Read online

  If he could fight to his last breath, so could she.

  She was an onmyōji.

  Not just any onmyōji—a master. The direct descendant of the great Abe no Seimei. Stabbing the tip of her katana deep into the wooden floor, she dragged herself to her feet. She still had one option left.

  Transcend.

  Murdoch felt Kiyoko approach him from behind.

  He knew immediately what she was about to do, but he was powerless to stop her. His berserker was in control, operating almost entirely on instinct and battle rage. Focused, as he should be, on doing everything in his power to defeat Azazel. The bastard was putting up one hell of a fight.

  Murdoch cringed. Kiyoko was already weak and limping. If she came too close—if he struck her by accident—it could very well finish her. And yet she continued to advance.

  All he managed was a verbal protest.

  “No,” he growled.

  But it was too little, too late. She already had her hand on his back.

  The touch did nothing to him—he was already seeing little more than the red mist of his berserker’s fury—but Kiyoko jerked violently. Repeatedly. Like she was having some kind of seizure, or had her hand on a transformer capable of lighting a whole city.

  Just as he had predicted, he was killing her.

  He howled at the injustice of it, fought for control of the beast in his chest, and willed the energy flowing from his body into hers to cease.

  And then, miraculously, the jerking paused.

  Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough to prove that some measure of control was possible. Just long enough to convince him he could save her. If he owned the beast inside him. If he accepted that his two halves were one whole. If he allowed himself to acknowledge that the berserker never truly retreated, that it was part of him every waking moment, that it was simply the blood that flowed in his veins.

  As he continued to slice and parry and thrust his sword, Murdoch located and found that calm, tranquil spot where his thoughts went when he meditated. He became aware of every muscle in his body, every pump of his heart, every firing of his synapses. He felt every inch of his skin, even the parts that were battered and bloodied, and he found the conduit that was blasting his energy into Kiyoko’s body. The small spot where her hand touched his back. Then he turned down the tap and slowed the flow to a steady gurgle.

  She stopped jerking.

  And for the first time in seven hundred and twenty-seven years, Jamie Murdoch felt whole.

  Kiyoko blinked back tears.

  Murdoch had gated the flow of energy from his body, but left the conduit open. Not only could she access the berserker power that surged through him with every heartbeat, she could share his feelings. But she had no time to dwell on what she discovered.

  Azazel was still wreaking havoc.

  She recited the words of the ritual she had memorized as a child and felt the energy swirl inside her, building momentum. The small bead of energy in her gut strengthened and grew. Her ki brightened and her heart pumped stronger and steadier. A soft golden warmth suffused her from head to toe, flushing her skin. The bead of energy rose up outside her body and as it ascended, she felt her earthly bonds release. It was an experience like no other. One she would be hard-pressed to describe. But as her bead of energy rose ever higher, into the mists, she became aware of another bead of energy floating at her side. She turned her head and saw Sora. Or rather, Sora’s bead of energy. It was similarly golden.

  And she knew, almost as if she’d always known, that Sora was in fact Abe no Seimei, her ancient ancestor and the spiritual leader of the onmyōji.

  “You have transcended,” he said, smiling.

  She smiled in return. “So it would seem.”

  “Now we must put you to work,” he said. “In this form, you have all your usual spells at your disposal, plus an ever-regenerating energy. You no longer have to worry about draining your ki. You can call upon bigger and more powerful shikigami, and you can infuse more power into your offensive spells. Are you ready to fight?”

  She nodded.

  “Then focus your attention on the battle below and stay true to your training. The rest will take care of itself.”

  The tide of the battle turned in an instant. One second Murdoch was fighting Azazel alone, and the next, he felt Kiyoko at his side, strong and healthy and incredibly lethal. The fallen angel sensed the change immediately.

  He pitched a collection of energy bolts at them, then ducked under Murdoch’s arm and darted toward Stefan, opening a portal as he ran.

  Stefan stood exactly where he’d been the entire time, still chanting, still clutching a black silk bag to his chest. But as Azazel leapt at the mage, something unexpected happened. Stefan vanished. No puff of smoke, no flash of electricity. Just empty space where his body used to be.

  Azazel halted in midair, hovering with rapid, small beats of his wings. Realizing his quarry had vanished, he screamed with rage and pivoted, flying toward the portal.

  Which abruptly disappeared in a wink of red light.

  “Ha!” crowed Emily. “I did it.”

  Azazel opened another portal and Emily snuffed that one, too. The fallen angel was trapped. And Murdoch, Kiyoko, Emily, and Sora all took advantage, blasting him with everything they had.

  The battle might have gone differently if the bone-sappers and gradiors hadn’t ceased to fight. But with Azazel under siege, they withdrew with a few quiet hisses and grunts, slithering away into the dark.

  After that, it was only a matter of time before the accumulated mystical hits weakened the fallen angel beyond recuperation. Sensing victory, Murdoch swung his sword one last time, and took Azazel’s head clear off his neck. No point taking any chances.

  “Is he in his trailer?” Webster asked, as Murdoch entered the ranch house with Kiyoko.

  Murdoch shook his head. They had searched Stefan’s trailer and the surrounding grounds with diligence. No sign of him. “Dika’s not there, either.”

  “Fuck.” The other Soul Gatherer raked his hand through his hair and paced in front of the fireplace. “How are we supposed to explain to the Protectorate—or Uriel, for that matter—that our mage disappeared with a powerful mystical weapon?”

  “Where did you get the idea the Veil is a weapon?” Sora asked, from his perch on the edge of the sofa.

  “You mean it’s not?”

  The old man shook his head. “No. But it presents a great threat to the world just the same.”

  Murdoch tugged Kiyoko against his chest, thrilling to the idea of being able to touch her at will, with no effect other than a racing pulse. “Enough with the riddles, old man. Spit out the truth.”

  “It’s a gateway.” When all he got were blank stares, he added, “It effectively neutralizes the barrier between the planes, allowing unfettered travel.”

  “So, if Azazel had stolen it like he planned, he could’ve brought a thousand demons up from hell in one go?” asked Emily.

  “Yes,” Sora said. “And then he could take those same thousand demons to the upper plane, with no one able to stop him.”

  “Yikes.”

  The old man nodded. “We were lucky this time. Those gray feathers in Azazel’s wings suggest he was not yet at full strength. Had he been Lucifer’s equal, we might not have fared so well. As it is, we are still no further in our quest to curtail the miseries Satan is inflicting on the world—the demon infestations continue to spread.”

  Webster grimaced. “Yeah. We’ll have to come up with another attack plan. In the meantime, I don’t want to lose any ground. Keeping the Veil safe is an absolute necessity.”

  “Which brings us back to Stefan.”

  “We have to find him,” Murdoch said.

  “That won’t be easy,” said MacGregor. The Gatherer trainer had claimed the leather armchair next to the fireplace the moment he and Rachel had returned. “He’s the most gifted mage I’ve ever met.”

  Murdoch grimaced. And the most stubborn.
As he’d already proven with his refusal to heal Kiyoko, the man was near impossible to sway once he set his mind to something.

  “Sora’s pretty rockin’ sockin’,” Emily said.

  The sensei smiled. “Thank you for the compliment. But I am most assuredly not your mage’s equal when it comes to magic. His repertoire far exceeds my own.”

  “That settles it,” said Webster. “I’m with Murdoch. I say we track the little prick down and relieve him of the Veil. He may have taken the damned thing with the best of intentions, but there’s no way I’m leaving something that dangerous in the hands of one guy.”

  “Especially when that one guy is a mage who occasionally reeks of dark magic,” Lena murmured.

  “Lena,” MacGregor said softly.

  “What? I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

  To which no one had a rebuttal.

  When the others had wandered off, either to help with the cleanup or to rest, Emily sidled up to Brian.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  He nodded. “What’s up?”

  She struggled to put her feelings into words. “We just won this huge battle, totally trashed the bad guy, and saved the Temple Veil. Sort of. I did good. I know I did. Not perfect, but pretty damned good.”

  He smiled. “Damn straight.”

  “So why do I feel so bad?”

  Gathering her close, he gave her a hug. “Because we lost good people, sweetheart. Twenty-two of ’em. And that hurts. When we lose people, the win never feels great. At least, not initially. Later, after the pain recedes a bit, we can take pride in what we did. But right now, all we want to do is mourn the ones who didn’t make it.”

  “Like Carter.”

  “Yeah, like Carter.”

  She pushed her face against his chest, so he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. Babies cried, not adults. And definitely not Trinity Souls. “I’m going to miss him.”

  “We all are.”

  “Oh, dear,” said a sharp female voice. “Why do I always arrive in the middle of these horribly maudlin moments?”

  Emily felt Brian stiffen.

  “Hey, boss,” he said. “I’d say nice to see you, but I’d be lying.”

  Emily reluctantly turned around. Death was not her favorite person. Something to do with that whole plot to kill her last fall, most likely. Hard to like a person who sics a lure demon on you in hopes of eating your soul.

  The goddess lay on the sofa looking remarkably like Cruella De Vil. Her white hair was fluffed and puffed, her gown was black and slinky, and her nails matched her lipstick—crimson red. Her posture was all blond bombshell, but someone needed to tell her that Death was never sexy.

  “Did I hear you correctly?” the goddess asked. “Did you say you lost twenty-two of my Gatherers?”

  “Yes.”

  She rose to her feet and sauntered across the room. “You owe me, Gatherer.”

  Brian shifted to put himself between Death and Emily. “I don’t owe you. You agreed to help us protect the relics, and unfortunately tonight there were some casualties.”

  Death offered Emily a cold stare, then smiled at Brian. “While I am annoyed at your cavalier dismissal of my losses, I’m not talking about tonight’s fiasco. I’m talking about our deal, Webster. I believe you have something you want to give me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  She laughed. “Are you reneging? Do you recall what you bargained for? The soul of one Lena Sharpe? Did you want me to take it back?”

  Emily was amazed. She could feel the rage inside Brian’s body—the stiff, tight muscles, the heavy pound of his heart—but on the outside, he looked relaxed and comfortable.

  “I did not make a deal for Lena’s soul,” he argued. “I made a deal for her whereabouts. And the price of forfeiture is spelled out in our contract. You can claim another five hundred years of service. That’s it.”

  Death grimaced. “Oh, don’t be so difficult. Just give me the shard and we’re done. You don’t need to forfeit.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  Her gaze returned to Emily. One hundred percent cool nastiness. “But the brat does. Tell her to give it to me.”

  Emily squeezed Brian’s arm to stop him from answering. He could not afford to piss off Death—he worked for her. She, on the other hand, had no such problem.

  “Sorry,” she said sarcastically. “Not going to happen. This brat has a mind of her own, and she’s not interested in doing any favors for an egotistical, power-hungry biotch like you. Take a hike.”

  “Give it to me, or I’ll punish Webster for your insolence.”

  Worry knotted Em’s stomach, but she plowed on. “Whatever deal you made with Brian is between you and him. I’m not part of it. The shard is mine, and I’m keeping it. Simple as that.”

  Death’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing is that simple. Believe me. And you’re going to regret this decision, Emily Lewis. Count on that.”

  Something dark burned in the depths of the goddess’s eyes—something that made Em shiver. But handing Death a weapon like the Shattered Halo would be a mistake, no doubt about it. She wouldn’t hesitate to step on Uriel and Michael to get what she wanted.

  Shoving her hand into the pocket of her khakis, Em gripped the shard tight. “Hurt my friends and the regret will be yours, not mine.”

  Death smiled. Then she lifted her hand, and without fanfare, vanished.

  Kiyoko tugged Murdoch into his bedroom and shut the door.

  “Is this really the best place to spend the night?” he asked, looking around.

  There were scorch marks on the floor, walls, and ceiling. The armchair still lay on its side under the window. A number of unidentifiable globs had landed on the floor and the Southwestern watercolor print over the fireplace. The mattress lay half on and half off the bed frame.

  “We can sleep in the bunkhouse.”

  He sighed. “Perhaps not. Lafleur and Jensen are still tending to the dead.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. Something she’d previously been able to do only in their dreams. The muscles of his back were as warm and firm as she’d imagined. “I liked Brian’s suggestion of an honor ceremony to commemorate their sacrifice. Very appropriate.”

  “Aye, he has the occasional good idea.”

  Tipping her head back, she looked in his eyes. “Brian seems to be a good leader, and he’s clearly an excellent warrior. He killed two gradiors. Why do you hate the man?”

  “I don’t hate him.”

  “You constantly challenge and insult him.”

  He smiled wryly. “It’s what the two strongest wolves in every pack do. Challenge each other. He’s the leader, and his job is to take care of the pack. My job is to test him at every opportunity, try to take him down, and press him constantly to prove his worth. If he fails, I take the lead. If he succeeds, he eventually tires of my irritating presence and kicks me out.”

  Her fingers played with the hem of his T-shirt. “And is he winning or losing?”

  “He’s winning.”

  Giving in to an urge that had been hounding her for weeks, she slid her hands under his shirt and up the ropy terrain of his back. “Does that mean you’ll have to leave?”

  His eyes drifted shut. “Aye, someday.”

  “Where will you go?” She gently traced the scar on his left shoulder blade. She’d spied it there, exactly where she’d known it would be, when he was battling Azazel.

  He drew in a short breath, then grabbed her hips and pulled her tight against his groin. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Could you envision living in Japan?”

  One eye opened and he peered down at her. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Do you need one?”

  He smiled. “No.”

  “Good. It would be terribly tiresome if you always waited for me to speak my mind. I don’t always say what I’m think—” Her sentence ended on a shriek as he yanked her off her feet, strode to the bed
, and dropped her on the mattress.

  “I have a good idea what you’re thinking,” he said gruffly, as he buried his face between her breasts. “Because I’m thinking the same damned thing.”

  His lips found her throat, and she arched her neck to give him better access. As good as her dreams had been, they couldn’t compare to the heavenly feel of his hard body pressed against hers or the sultry warmth of his breath on her skin.

  “You’ll have to prove that,” she said huskily. “I have some very creative thoughts.”

  “I’ll explore every one of them, I promise,” he said, nuzzling the tender skin beneath her ear. “But don’t expect gymnastics in the beginning, lass. Give me a chance to show you how well I know the basics. I’ve had four bloody weeks of foreplay, and I’m strung tight as a bow.”

  “The basics?” His tongue drew a circle on her skin, and she sucked in a ragged breath. The thrill began there, but quickly rippled out over every inch of her body. Goose bumps rose on her arms.

  “Aye.” He tore off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. His jeans followed, revealing a truly magnificent body. Not an inch of spare flesh to be seen. “Me, worshiping you in the traditional face-to-face way so I can savor every ripple of arousal on your face. Me, driving you delirious with delight and myself absolutely mad with need. Me, taking you hard and fast and so completely that you scream your release to the heavens. Those are the basics.”

  “I can live with that.”

  He pressed her back against the bedclothes with a hard kiss, his hand kneading her breast. There was a little of the berserker in the demand of his lips, in the hungry insistence that she open her mouth to him. And she reveled in it. She loved every part of this man, from his courage and honor to his fervent need to dominate and win. She would forever be grateful that he had claimed both sides of his powerful personality.