The Bastard (30 page)

He closed his eyes in relief as Sela powered from her seat, hair fanning out like a cape.

“She is mortal. Each of you is threatened by her presence, by her existence within our ranks.” Sela coiled her whip into a looped circle and faced his team. “Each of you gave your opinions and so you must choose. If you wish to allow this woman to live, then you must acknowledge to her who you were in your first lives, no subterfuge, no hiding, no varnishing the truth. Will you lay bare your lives for his love?”

Every single man frowned at him and his gut quivered. History had damned them all. People sneered when their names were spoken, spat and cursed them. They’d been reduced to comic book villains and low-budget movie killers. No one cared about or respected them. How could Lacy be any different?

“I will,” Dray said loudly. His green eyes caught Vike’s with a twinkle. “She’s a great fucking cook. Plus she’s easy on the eyes.”

“I agree. I like having a clean place to crash.” Rex grinned. “And she laughs at my jokes.”

Nomad glared then shrugged. “Whatever. I’m used to her now, so might as well.”

“Yes.” Myth’s chest filled with a deep inhale. “She brings a bit of gentleness to our lives. I like that.”

Sela turned to Zale. “And you, my warrior? Will you welcome Lacy into your life?”

“No.”

His denial fell like a sonic boom, sucking all the air from Vike’s body. Teeth gritted in abhorrence, he silently vowed he’d not only dust the son of a bitch, he’d make it a game of ‘see how long Zale can bleed before he melts’.

Black silk swished as Sela walked back to the center of the circle. “That is regrettable however, in this, majority rules. Lacy will live…for now.”

Before Vike could smile in astonished gratitude, Sela’s gaze lasered into his.

“But I cannot have disobedience in my ranks. Vow to me, before all assembled and to spare Lacy’s life, that you will never again seek to send your brethren into
kareth
. Reaffirm your oath to guard this team with everything you are.”

In order to keep Lacy alive, he had to let his vengeance go, to work side by side with the man who’d betrayed him. His head hung back, his acceptance a given but a bitter drought to swallow. “I vow it.”

“I accept your vow and give you one of my own. Should you break your word, I will end your woman’s life in a painful agony and scatter her dust myself before I deal the same to you.”

He nodded, knowing in his marrow she meant every word. Sela snapped her whip. The leather was lined with razor thin but jagged wire. It flicked out, scoring the air with a sharp hiss.

“For raising your weapon and striking Zale in the back with the intent to kill, my sentence is four lashes. There will be an additional three lashes for each man here to remind you that you’re to guard them as they guard you, not endanger them with your temper. And for the vow to me you broke, I give you five lashes. Accept or deny?”

Twenty-four. His stomach quivered. Never before had he felt the bite of more than five of her whip. If he denied her, he’d be dust before his next breath and Lacy would follow him. If he accepted, the whip would split his skin twenty-four times. His back would heal with sleep but the lashes that fell on his Forsaken Mark would not. That burn was dead to any sensation except the touch of a Scion or Sela. She was going to make sure he remembered this punishment.

Resignation hung his head. Lacy was worth more than a little of his blood.

“I accept.”

She gave him one small nod then stepped behind him. Nothing she did was accidental. He would take his punishment staring at the men who he’d vowed to protect, that he relied on to protect him. Each lash would drive that reminder home.

He listened, trying to keep his muscles relaxed, to not tense in anticipation and harden the flesh for her blow. He never heard a thing. His back exploded in pain, his Mark screaming in agony. His fingers wrapped around the chains. Iron links dug onto his hands but all he could feel was fire slicing at him.

Her arm rose and fell, the whip eating into his Mark with a bite each time. Sela never missed. Blood dripped down his body, pooling on the floor under his toes. He slipped, jerking his wrists against each whip crack. As she intended, he focused on his teammates as misery careened through him. These were the men he’d pledged his life to, who in turn had pledged their lives to him. He found commiseration on some faces, encouragement on others. Only one held passive disdain.

Despite his strength, despite his muscles, despite his Awoken soul, his body was still only human. Pain rained down with every strike. It never ebbed, building, growing, until if consumed him. He lost count of the blows. His teeth ached from biting back his screams until he had no control and cried out with every lash. Had he been completely mortal, he’d have lost consciousness long ago, but here in the Hall of Infamy, not even the healing sleep would spare him.

“What the hell are you doing to him, you bitch?”

Chapter Sixteen

Lacy gaped in horror at a scene straight from the pages of a Clive Barker novel. Before the silver doors had slid open, she’d been consumed with anger at Erik. Now it shifted, from her kidnapper to his torturer. What the hell kind of kinky scene was this? All the guys wore black silk pajama pants and watched while Sela wielded a whip until Erik’s back was bloody. What was next, hot wax and nipple clamps with a saltwater bath?

Sela charged from behind Erik’s limp, hanging frame. “You are not permitted here.”

The metal rings around his wrists opened by an unseen hand and Erik crumpled to the floor into a puddle of his own blood. Lacy’s feet moved without thought. She’d been furious at him, plotted his torture, but that was hurt talking. Seeing him lifeless and wounded drained everything out of her except for a keening wail straight from her soul. Her heart broke seeing the man she loved in pain.

Her sneakers slid in the wet red and she crashed to her knees beside him. So much blood. The skin of his back was shredded, flapping open to expose the muscles beneath. The handprint between his shoulder blades looked like raw meat. He had blood in his hair, on his cheek, and she wanted to touch him but was afraid it would only bring him more pain.

“Oh my God, Erik.”

He pushed up to one elbow. “Get out of here, Lace!”

His strength faded, his arm giving way until his shoulder crashed down. She jumped to her feet and stalked to the bitch who’d hurt him, who stood even now with her whip tinged red. “How dare you!”

Sela didn’t flinch. “You are not welcome here.”

Whipping her finger to point at Erik, Lacy shrieked. “What did he do to deserve this? He cheated on me
with you
!”

When his boss said nothing, she whirled to his teammates. “He’s your friend. Why didn’t you stop her?”

Not a single man met her eye. Her cheeks trembled with the force of her barely held rage. Repulsion curled her lip. “You’re all cowards; sick, twisted, pathetic cowards.”

Erik struggled to all fours, his arms shaking. No one moved to help him. She whirled to go to him when Sela grabbed her arm. One powerful jerk spun Lacy to face her.

Something was wrong with her eyes. They weren’t normal. The gold swirled in them like a tornado. “Do you want to know what happened here tonight? Do you think you can handle the truth, you weak little girl?”

Every camel has a straw that breaks its back and, for Lacy, that was it. She drew her hand back and slapped Sela as hard as she could. The crack echoed in the vast room.

“Lacy, no!” Erik cried.

Sela merely smiled. “I’ll excuse that, for you have much to learn. Welcome to school.”

She waved her arm and air brushed along Lacy’s thighs. Lacy looked down with a gasp. Her clothes were gone. Now she wore a one-shouldered gown, a straight fall of black silk that skimmed the floor. Her fingers trembled over the material. It was so light, so cool, so glossy. Her brain spasmed.

What the hell?

Blinding bright light encased Sela. The whip disappeared. Her black hair shifted to a deep russet brown, her dress became a robe of shimmering gold. Pale brown wings stretched behind her as a radiant glow surrounded her entire frame. In her right hand, Sela gripped a sword of pure fire, the flames casting red and orange dancing shadows along her dress.

Lacy shrank back. Her knees gave way and she fell, scooting backward on her hands. Sela never blinked, her presence both beautiful and petrifying. Music chimed in Lacy’s ears, a chorus of multitudes and Sela was the soprano lead.

“Behold me, Lacy Nicole Cooper, as I was created at the dawn of time. I am Josiel, servant to the Creator of All, and these are my men who fight the usurpers of Paradise.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, wished the nightmare away, told herself she was having a severe hallucination. Nothing had changed when she peeled her eyes open.

“You’re an angel?”

“Men have named my kind as such, though we have many names. Some call us
djinn
or
malak
. Some say we are
bodhisattva
, still others claim we are
devas
. I am merely as He created me.”

I just slapped an angel? Holy shit
.

The light dimmed until Lacy could see her clearly without squinting. Sela glided to Erik, who was still on all fours, his muscles quivering with the effort. She knelt, one hand reaching to stroke his hair with a gentle reverence that belied her earlier actions.

“Vike has risked all that he is to preserve your life.”

“What?”

Those swirling, mesmerizing eyes touched on her for one moment. The sword vanished from her hand and she held the empty palm to Lacy. It took every ounce of her willpower to make her arm rise, to place her hand against the glowing skin. Sela was warm, her flesh normal in texture, but the power that crackled along her bones stung like a static shock.

Sela bestowed a benevolent smile that was strangely soothing. A golden chair appeared and Sela led her to it, easing her down until Lacy sat, surveying the room like a queen.

“History is merely a collection of stories recorded by man. The victor paints the picture and shapes the telling according to his whims. Much of what you know to be truth is but one version of thousands. Will you listen now and make a choice for yourself what to believe?”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

Sela’s fingers brushed her cheek, a maternal comforting gesture. “Then listen with your heart, Lacy.”

Erik had pushed himself to his knees, sweat dripping down his face. His gaze was trained on the black hand cut into the marble. Sela ignored him, strolling before the golden seat, separating Lacy from the men who stood like sentries, none looking at her but over her head.

“The Creator of All designed both Heaven and this world and all who inhabit them. One, the first of His creations, grew prideful and arrogant. He challenged the Creator and drew others to his cause. While the battle raged, he came to the Earth and established his own realm of power. When those who had battled for him were cast out of Paradise, their number was one third of all Heaven’s warriors and as such, we call them the Third. They now hunt for you.”

Lacy forced her mind to function, to think. “So the Third who wants me dead are… demons?”

Sela canted her head. “No. Demon is a human word. They are merely rebuked Vangelus, or Angels as you call me. They’ve been stripped of their wings and cast out, banished from His Grace until they beg for forgiveness. The High Prince commands them and tries even now to overtake Paradise.”

“The High Prince? You mean the devil?”

A laugh rang out, like the tinkling of bells on a winter morning. “Some humans call him that, yes.”

Lacy fought a wave of deeply instilled fear, old childhood stories and nightmares bursting into memory. “Lucifer is real?”

“Lucifer was a star, named for a Babylonian king. Pay attention, Lacy. The evil you speak of, whom you identify as the devil, is the
Ha-Satan
and has but one name, Samael. He was the brightest and most beloved of all creation. But I’m straying from my story.”

Her gown trailed the marble with no sound, her bare feet moving with a dancer’s grace.

“To combat the threat against our celestial home, the Creator chose two warriors to lead the battle, one in Heaven and one here, on Earth. I am one of the two. To me was granted the power to choose from among all humanity, to find those warriors with the skills to defeat the greatest foe ever known.”

A fervor shone from Sela’s face. She spread her hands wide, encompassing her team with an elegant sweeping movement.

“Intelligence, bravery, and physical strength were not enough. I needed more. I chose each with care, with a specific talent needed to gain victory. Make no mistake, Samael is ruthless, without mercy, and would see the planet a charred hunk of rock to ensure his ultimate goal. I chose my men in the same fashion.”

Lacy dug her nails into the chair arms. “What do you mean chose them?”

Sela faced her with calm poise. “They lived as men. Were human. Were known for their prowess and their ruthlessness. History — that fickle, inaccurate record keeper — deemed them evil. They have their sins, as all men do, but the traits that cursed them in life are vital in this Holy War. After their natural deaths, I Awoke their souls and offered them a chance to repent and strive for a more lenient judgment come the End of Days.”

“They’re dead?” Lacy blinked, studying the men behind Sela. They looked alive to her, all robust and healthy, powerful and fierce. Even Erik, who hadn’t moved from his knees, was carved from solid rock, his muscles bulging with strength.

A full grin bowed Sela’s mouth. “They were and now they are not. First Death is merely the body. The soul sleeps and awaits Awakening. For most, that will come at the End of Days. For my chosen few, they were given a chance to use what man deemed wicked for a greater good. I Awoke them at their prime, the peak of their age, their physical strength and their strategic best.”

Her smile faltered a bit, decreasing by half. “The number seventy-seven was given to me and I was so very selective, choosing only the best of the sinful. But the battle has raged for eons and many have fallen to Second Death at the hand of Samael’s followers. The six remaining are my finest, bravest and most beloved. Will you meet my warriors and judge them not as history has, on rumor and falsehood, but on what is in their hearts?”