Devil Take Me (12 page)

She ran through the parking lot, not even bothering to turn toward the parked car. She didn’t have the keys, and even if she did, she couldn’t stay in that vehicle. If she did, they would find her—Roger, the police, or Namtar. All of them seemed terrifying at this point, but her new lover the most terrible of all. The police might want to lock her away and Roger might have hired someone to kill her, but at least they were human.

Her mind would survive a stint in jail or facing down the barrel of a gun. It wouldn’t survive witnessing more of Namtar’s power. It was too horrible, the reality of the wasting death he caused more dreadful than anything she had read on the internet.

“Please, please, please.” The panicked words drifted to her ears, making her wonder how long she’d been chanting them, begging someone, anyone, to banish the vision of the rotting man from her mind.

She pressed her lips together and turned down a side street, heading away from the sounds of the highway and the lights of the fast food restaurants and hotels. The concrete was strong and solid, gritty and real beneath her bare feet. It still held the warmth of the day before, which was also strangely comforting.

After a few blocks, she came back to herself enough to notice the names of the various shops and strip malls she passed. After a few more blocks she became aware of how fast she was passing them. She was breaking the speed limit if she wasn’t mistaken.

And she wasn’t driving a car.

The realization was shocking enough to cause her to stumble. She went flying, reaching out her hands, praying they would break her fall.

“Ahh!” She winced as the rough concrete tore through the skin of her palms and knees, bringing blood stinging to the surface. Finally she ground to a stop and rolled over to survey the damage.

“Shit, dammit…shit,” Annie cursed as she sat in the middle of the sidewalk examining the ravaged flesh.

She willed herself not to cry, no matter what she’d just seen, no matter how strange her own behavior had become. No matter that she’d fled her hotel room without her purse, a pair of shoes, or underpants and was now sitting in the neon yellow glow of a pawn shop named J.J.’s Sloppy Seconds.

Obviously she’d strayed into the wrong side of town.

Still…that name… Sloppy Seconds. The phrase brought a memory rushing to the surface, one she’d done her best to bury. Her first college boyfriend, her first real boyfriend period, had cheated on her with her roommate, Katy. When Katy’s boyfriend had found out about his girlfriend’s infidelity, he’d tried to rape Annie, saying that if Blake was going to steal his girl he was entitled to Blake’s “sloppy seconds”.

Annie had fought him off, managed to kick a nearly three-hundred-pound college football player across her dorm room and run out into the hall. And that wasn’t the first or the last time she’d demonstrated extraordinary physical strength or speed.

What about the time the girls at church camp had tried to give her a forced makeover? She’d run from them and their scissors, run so far and so fast the counselors sent to look for her hadn’t found her until it was nearly dark. And what about the time one of her students had choked on a piece of McDonald’s burger on a field trip? She’d broken two of the girl’s ribs performing the Heimlich maneuver.

Annie had apologized to Cynthia’s parents, insisting she simply hadn’t known her own strength. Despite her training in the proper way to perform the maneuver, she’d hurt the girl she was trying to help. She’d been too upset, thinking one of her kids was going to die.

Cynthia had been nothing but grateful. Her parents had still sued.

But that was the story of Annie’s life—no good deed left unpunished.

“Not the whole story,” she mumbled into the warm wind sweeping down the street, scooting trash along the gutters in its wake.

It wasn’t the whole story. Her misfortune was only a part of what made her life story an odd one. The other things—the random bursts of speed or strength, the times when she’d known something would happen before it did—they were easier to ignore. Or had been easier to ignore. She’d never run as fast as a moving vehicle, or known with complete certainty that she was going to die if she stayed where she was for even a minute longer.

There was something coming for her, something far worse than the enemies or the lover she feared. This something wanted more than her blood or her freedom or her soul, it wanted her pain, her unending pain. It wanted to make her suffer, to teach her the meaning of true agony. To teach her a lesson she would never forget for daring to claim magic never meant for human hands.

Annie didn’t stop to wonder where her last thought had come from, only scrambled to her feet, not even wincing as she forced her torn and bleeding knees to bend and move. If whatever was sweeping down the street found her, it would make a pair of savaged knees seem a positively orgasmic experience. She knew that, deep in the very marrow of her bones.

She dashed into the darkness behind the dumpster of the pawnshop, refusing to acknowledge the rodents that scurried away as she invaded their feeding grounds. She had to keep her eyes on the road, had to be ready to run if her hiding place were discovered. If the monster laid eyes on her, it wouldn’t stop until it had drawn her blood, again and again and again. She had to be ready to escape, to flee the scourge of her kind, to flee the—

“Annunaki,” Annie whispered, the foreign name spilling from her lips as the creature touched down on the sidewalk where she had sat a few moments before, folding its enormous wings snugly against its back.

The face that scanned the darkened street was a study in masculine beauty, the body revealed by his loincloth pure art, and the wings that ruffled in the breeze made of the softest looking white feathers. The being she feared was gorgeous—and looked a hell of a lot like an angel, but that wasn’t enough to tempt Annie from her hiding place. Something deep within her screamed this angel would have no mercy, at least not for her.

“Reveal yourself, abomination.” His voice was as beautiful as the rest of him, a deep, velvety sound that pulsed through the air like a song. The angel was truly a thing of perfection—too bad his words left so very much to be desired.

She was the abomination he searched for. She was as sure of it as she was her own name. It was as if a door inside her had been flung open, and all manner of secrets and memories spilled into her conscious mind. She knew the creature’s name, knew she was the prey he sought, and realized at that moment, squatted behind the rank dumpster, that it hadn’t been a clown car that killed her parents.

“I can smell your half-breed blood. Come to me,” he ordered, and for a split second Annie wanted to obey. If it hadn’t been for the sudden memory of white wings spread wide, blocking out the multi-colored tent of the circus big-top, she just might have gone to him, delivered herself into the hands of evil.

“You are strong willed.” He sounded amused, but the hands he fisted at his sides told a different story. “Still, it is only a matter of time until I sniff you out.”

He lifted his perfectly shaped nose into the air and inhaled, then slowly turned to face her. The darkness of her hiding place hadn’t been dark enough. He’d seen her, she knew it the second he smiled and his eyes began to glow, as bright and yellow as the eyes of the devil she had fled not more than a half hour past.

“Namtar.” Annie whispered his name, wishing with every cell in her body that he would hear, that he would find her before it was too late.

She let the power—the magic, whatever it was he had helped her to wind away inside her—free, sending it reaching through the night, to the only being who might be willing to help her, a creature made of the same darkness as she herself.

“Damnation!” He howled the word into night air, ignoring the squalling of the cars that ground to a halt as he crossed the center of a busy street.

A few humans leaned their heads out of their windows to shout obscenities of their own. Namtar ignored them. Let them shout, let them exit their vehicles and approach him in their anger. He was ready to take more lives if necessary. It would make little difference at this point. He had already lost Annie—horrified her so thoroughly she might never regain her mind let alone any shred of respect or affection for his own monstrous self.

He also had little doubt he had alerted Ereshkigal’s minions of his location. Death magic called to demons as surely as any summoning spell. The queen would have secured demon aid by now. Lesser or greater demon was the only question that remained. If it were lesser he might still have a chance to defeat them and stay here among the humans, searching for a soul sacrifice. But if she’d convinced the demon generals their personal intervention was needed…

“Go to hell, asshole!” Another horn blared just behind him. “Get the fuck out of the street!”

“No sir, you may go to hell! I can arrange it for you immediately if you so desire!” As Namtar shouted, the man who had stopped his car departed in a squeal of the vehicle’s tires.

A pity, Namtar thought as he walked away from the street, toward a group of lighted storefronts. The man’s aura had been black with wickedness. He would have enjoyed sending the villain to hell, just as he should have destroyed Roger when he had first laid eyes on the scoundrel’s black soul. Then, if he was pulled back to the depths of the Underworld this night, he would at least take some small satisfaction in leaving the mortal world a little better than when he found it.

In leaving Annie better off than when he had found her.

Annie…great Goddess where had she gone? Why had he let her go? He should have clung to her arm, forced her to stay with him until the haunted light left her eyes. He should have kept her safe, he should have—

Namtar…please…Na…

Annie’s voice, her presence, broke into his mind, as if summoned by his thoughts. He felt her need, her fear, and knew that, whatever it was that threatened her, it was no human. She hadn’t been this terrified by the man with the gun. Even the manifestation of his death magic hadn’t chilled her this deeply. Whatever threat she faced, it was something extraordinary, something she knew would kill her without his aid.

“The demons.” Namtar cursed himself for not having anticipated Ereshkigal’s minions might be drawn to Annie’s magic as much as his own. Whatever the precise nature of her power, it was of the darker variety; there was no other way to explain how it perfectly complimented his own.

The demons must have sensed it. They must have followed the thread of magic and trailed her as she ran. Even now, the lesser demons might be feeding upon her delicate skin. Or, if the greater demons had come, Azrael might be taking his pleasure between her legs before he allowed his comrades to do the same, savaging her to sate his lust for human flesh before he turned his attention to his true business here above the surface of the Earth.

The thought made Namtar furious. Enough to kill. Enough to torture and brutalize before killing. When he was finished with the demons, none among the Underworld would dare harm Annie, no matter what goddess or queen issued the order.

A battle cry burst from his chest, so deep and fierce the window on the store nearest him shattered, collapsing in on itself with a great crash. Alarm bells howled through the night, covering the sound of Namtar’s voice speaking the journeying spell.

His body dissolved into the black mist of his traveler form, reconstituting seconds later in a deserted parking lot. For a moment he feared he had failed Annie when she needed him most. He’d done his best to follow the thread of energy she had sent surging toward him, but his best had evidently not been good enough. There was no demon battle here, no supernatural villain, and no Annie.

He spun in a circle, searching every dark corner, but seeing nothing, hearing nothing. It was as if his heightened senses had suddenly abandoned him, left him alone and feeling nearly…mortal. It was a phenomenon that had only ever occurred in the presence of another of the ancient Sumerians, one whose power was crafted from the light rather than the dark, and one who owned far many more years than Namtar himself.

“Goddess no,” he whispered, praying his instincts were wrong. He wasn’t ready to face one of the ancients, not now, not when the only weapon at his disposal would be the power that had nearly stolen Annie’s sanity once this night.

“Namtar! Over here!” Annie’s scream pierced straight to his heart, that organ he had often doubted he possessed.

The terror in her voice made his blood race and his death magic thirst for the taste of flesh. He would invade the very marrow of the monster who sought to do her harm, torture the flesh from the creature until it begged for mercy and then torture it some more, no matter how Annie loathed the manifestation of his dark power. The winged devil had to pay for daring to threaten his woman.

If forced to decide between Annie’s sanity and her life, he knew which he would choose. Minds could be restored, coaxed back to a place of health and order. Once her body was gone, there would be no chance, no hope for him to ever hold her again, make love to her again, look deep into her dark eyes and see hope for the future, hope for his own sorry soul.

Dear Goddess, man, you’re in love with her.

Namtar turned to face the winged man emerging from the shadows, pushing the shocking thought to the furthest corner of his mind. He couldn’t think of love now, not when looking upon one of the most hated men in his people’s history.

The Grigori pulled Annie behind him on a leash made of his golden power. Her hands were bound in front of her with the same yellow light, as if he feared what spells she might cast if they were free. He did not realize she was still largely ignorant of the ways in which she could wield her power. Namtar stored the bit of information away, hoping to use it to their advantage.

They would need every advantage they could claim if they were to escape this man, the most ancient Grigori still inhabiting the Earth.

“Namtar, I thought I smelled the stink of your rot on the wind.” He smiled, a grimace that did not reach his glowing eyes. “It certainly clings to the skin of the half-breed you bedded this night.”

“Release the woman, Samyaza, and I may spare your pretty face.” Namtar returned the smile, easily disguising the brief surprise caused by the Grigori’s words.

Half-breed. Of course, it was the only explanation for Annie’s power and immunity to his death touch. Namtar had known the truth on some level, suspected Annie was more than a cursling. Though, for her sake, he wished she were merely blighted by Olympian magic.

To be what she was, to be one of the cursed sons and daughters the ancients had sought to destroy for more centuries than even he himself had been alive, was by far the more dire state of being. Samyaza wouldn’t merely kill her, he would destroy her body and reap her soul, stealing it away to torture in front of the fallen ones.

Somewhere, banished deep in the Earth in the utter blackness of the hell Tartarus, there lived an ancient ancestor of Annie’s, a man who had dared to love a mortal, to bed down with a human female and create a child. Samyaza would find him and force him to watch as Annie’s soul was tormented.

The Grigori enjoyed nothing more than punishing their brothers, those who had dared to soil their line by inbreeding with humans. The creation of the nephilim was their greatest source of shame. The creatures the Earthlings had long mistaken for angels would not rest until every last mortal carrier of the Grigori magic was dead.

But Samyaza would not have Annie, not if any sacrifice of Namtar’s could save her. For this woman he would gladly be pulled through the fires of the hottest hell. He had finally found his ninani, a mate worth fighting for, and fight he would.

“Release her!”

“Your eyes are glowing, Namtar. Fascinating.” Samyaza tugged on the chain of light, pulling Annie to her knees beside him. She cried out as her already bleeding flesh made contact with the ground. Namtar gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to show how deeply her pain affected him. If Samyaza knew he craved more than her mortal body or her immortal soul, if he knew how deeply Namtar cared for this human, he would be even more driven to take her away, to pull her down to his torture chambers beneath the Earth.

“You’ve seen my eyes before, Samyaza. I believe they once forced you from my queen’s forest, weeping into your pretty little wings.” Namtar smiled again, pleased to see a tightening in Samyaza’s jaw. The memory still caused him shame. Excellent. Another advantage to be exploited.

“Little? Nothing on my person is little,” he said, stretching his wings wide. “Your woman can attest to that.”

“If I remember, you prefer rooster to hen, Samyaza.”

“I have been known to make an exception when it comes to the nephilim. Mortals tear and bleed so easily, I find unwanted penetration an excellent form of punishment.”

“If you have dared touch her, I will—”

“You will do nothing!” His voice echoed through the night, thick with rage. “You’re power is but a shadow of what it was. Now you are merely a specter, a bottom dweller feeding on the remnants of your queen’s dark magic.”

“Perhaps you are right, Samyaza,” Namtar said, gaining control, grateful the Grigori hadn’t guessed his tenderness for Annie from his outburst. “Perhaps you would like to shake my hand and settle the matter for certain?”

“I’m terrified, Namtar, truly terrified.” He smiled, though Namtar noticed he did not step a single inch closer. “Your touch could never infect an ancient, not now. You are not as you were, back when you knew a regular infusion of real Annunaki power.”

Namtar laughed, a genuine sound that rumbled from his core, bringing rage into the eyes of the man in front of him. Good, let him anger. Angry men were impulsive men and impulsive men were easier to destroy. “I have had the great honor of bearing Annunaki power for centuries, Grigori. The same blood runs through both of our veins.”

“I am no Grigori. And you are no Annunaki, not any longer.” He spat the words, his soothing voice edged with a serpent’s hiss.

Several of the Grigori had forked tongues. Namtar wondered if Samyaza was one of their number. He’d never drawn near enough to the man to find out. Perhaps, as he was wasting his wretched body, he would force Samyaza’s tongue from his mouth, simply to satisfy his curiosity.

The thought brought another smile to his lips.

“Perhaps you have been flying too high, Watcher,” Namtar said, his tone calm and measured, as if he were instructing a difficult child. “The thin air seems to have affected your mind. You forget the history of our people.”

“I forget nothing, bottom dweller. Come visit your human in Tartarus and you will see how very little I forget. Or forgive.” His spread wings began to churn, stirring filth from the street.

“You shall not have her!” Namtar lunged forward, nearly reaching the Grigori before Samyaza lifted his hand, sending a wall of golden light surging between them.

Namtar groaned as his body was repelled back to the hard ground, but immediately rolled to his feet. There was no time to waste, the creature would take to the sky and then there would be no way to stop him, no chance to free Annie. The words of the journeying spell rushed from his lips. Seconds later, he rematerialized at Samyaza’s back.

Namtar seized the monster’s wings, determined to pull him down to the ground, to disable him long enough to place his hands upon Samyaza’s flesh. Skin to skin contact was the only way for him to penetrate the body of an ancient…if it were still possible. Samyaza might very well be correct. Namtar’s power might no longer be strong enough to bring about the wasting of one of his own kind.

He’d feared a battle with Ereshkigal without the added strength of a mortal soul sacrifice. Now he was attempting to destroy a being just as ancient, who was her equal in every way, except one—Ereshkigal would have to labor many moons to ensure his destruction, but for Samyaza it would be a much simpler task. It was the nature of light and dark. Each had the power to easily consume the other. Or so it had once been, before the Annunaki of the dark arts had lost their worshippers and been forced beneath the Earth’s surface in order to survive.

But for some reason, the thought of death didn’t frighten him. If he was defeated, if Annie were lost to him forever, he would just as soon perish. The battle for his people, for the future, would mean nothing without her.

“Release me, rotted one!” Samyaza’s great wings surged up and down, hurling Namtar into the air above him before the Grigori caught him in a noose very similar to the one around Annie’s neck.

Namtar roared, tightening every muscle in his body, fighting the force of the magic line that threatened to snap his head from his body. Around and around, Samyaza swung him, like a child’s puppet on a string, until finally Samyaza released his end of the line, sending Namtar hurtling through the air. He crashed into the sign topping the human store, shattering glass before his momentum carried him away from the building, dropping him once more to the hard ground below.