Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) (11 page)

"What do you desire me to
do?"

Rachael saw the desperation in
his eyes. "Place your hands on top of mine and focus on your feelings for
Galaden."

Light particles shone over the
wound, glowing and dancing. Rachael blinked, noticing
them
as they grew thicker. "Why do these shine like the sun?"

"Angels gather their
strength from light. Often it is enough to restore them, but he does not seem
to be healing."

"I feel Galaden does not
wish to." Rachael placed her hands around the spear and the prince
positioned his on top of hers. She closed her eyes and let the prince's essence
flow through her. War images bombarded her and she rocked on her feet under the
strain. Demons, their eyes glinting red, swam before her. Men screamed in agony
as swords cleaved their flesh. Her eyes snapped open and she shook his hands
from hers. "I cannot heal with images of death and evil."

"I am a soldier. That is
all I know," he said, his voice grim.

"You must call on love. Do
you have a wife? Children?" she asked.

"Those things are
forbidden me," he said, his voice curt.

“Do you not know love?"
she asked

The angel heaved in a deep
breath, but the time between each gasp for air became longer, signaling his
approaching death.

"I am a demon."

"No. You are something
more than that. I can sense it. There is virtue in you, too," she answered
with passion. "You must call on it to help heal your brother."

The prince's eyes opened wide
as if no one had ever held such a belief about him before. He stared down at
his brother and the expression in his face softened. "My father insisted
my mother was a demon, yet my nursemaid knew my mother. She told me that my
mother's magic did not stem from evil, but ancient energy."

"You love your
brother?"

"He is all I have,"
the prince said.

"Please, we have little
time and there is much work to be done. Call on your feelings for him. It is
our only hope." Rachel closed her eyes again. This time when the prince
put his hands on hers, she could feel enormous strength and courage emanating
through him…and something else. Love. She caught the sensation and focused on
it.

"Save him, Healer."

She glanced up at him. She
would not have thought that an emotion such as love was possible from this
demonic prince until she saw it on his face and felt it from his touch. All
that she had heard about him was that he was terrifying in battle, fearsome to
encounter. His opponents fled before him and yet, here stood a vulnerable man.
Gone was the prince's omnipotence, gone was his foreboding air and in his heart
she saw pure love for his young angel brother.

Bracing herself, she pulled
the spear and placed her hands on the wound, motioning with her chin for the
prince to hold his hands over hers.

Bright blood bubbled up
through the wound with each beat of the angel's heart, the feel of it hot and
sticky under her palms, but mentally she concentrated on knitting the wound.

"He does not breathe,"
the prince said.

"Focus on your feelings
for Galaden. See his heart mending in your mind," she said, taking his
energy for the angel into her own heart and sending it through her hands into
the wound of the angel.

The blood ceased to flow down
the angel's ribs as Rachael channeled the prince's powerful energy into the
wound. Her hands started to tremble from the strain, her whole body ached and
she thought her legs would crumble under her. Finally spent, Rachael removed
her hands. She staggered over to the ewer and washed them.

"The wound has
closed," the prince said, his eyes wide with surprise.

The angel's chest was streaked
with red and his face was the color of a bleached desert carcass. She took the
wads of linen, forced herself to cover the short distance from her healing
bench to the pallet and pressed down onto the wound to soak up the blood.
"You have deep, strong energy, different from anything I've experienced
before. Powerful.
Difficult for me to control.
I sense
it comes from the forces of nature."

The prince put his hand on his
brother's chest. "It has not served Galaden. His heart does not
beat." His voice was raw with pain.

Exhausted from dealing with
the prince's volcanic energy, she rested one hand on the pallet to support her
body weight and waved the other hand slowly over the angel's body. "His
spirit has not deserted him. We must convince it to stay. Hold your hands over
mine again and tell him why he must be at your side."

The prince stared at her as if
he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You must speak what is
in your heart. Your brother calls on death. He does not wish to stay."

"Speak my feelings,"
the prince repeated as if she were asking him to do something unfamiliar to
him.

Rachael looked over the
prince's warrior body, which bulged with muscle and noticed how his face was strained.
If she had asked him to kill, he could have done it with ease. She held her
hands over the chest wound. "If you wish him to remain by your side."

The prince put his hands over
hers and frowned with concentration. "Galaden. When you first came to the
nursery, I hated you."

A small cry left Rachael's
lips but when she glanced into the face of the prince his expression was
gentle, his eyes a soft brown.

"The wet nurse insisted I
look at you. I didn't want to, but she ordered me to do so and I was still
young enough to obey. You smiled at me. No one had ever smiled at me, a prince
with demon blood. Only you. No matter how angry, how fearsome I was
,
you were not afraid of me." The prince's voice
trembled and he took a deep breath. "I swore to protect you from that
first day. Do not leave me."

The angel took a long
shuddering breath.

"Please, Galaden. Come
back," the prince cried out. "You are all that I have. Your love is
the only love I have known. All fear me. You don't. I miss you, brother. I need
you by my side. Please stay."

Rachael focused on Galaden's
chest, concentrating on sending the energy of love, from the prince through her
hands into Galaden's heart. Thump. It started to beat. Thump, thump, thump.
"I can feel it," she said, her voice high with excitement."

His gaze met hers and his face
lit with hope.

When she removed her hands,
she saw that nothing remained of the wound. Sparkles of light carried on the
air hovered over the area.

"He will live?" the
prince asked.

"Yes, my lord. He is weak
but I believe he will live. You have healed your brother." She paused a
moment, knowing that what she was about to say would bring such change the
prince would never be the same again. "There is something important that
you should know about yourself. I could never have used the energy of evil to
heal your brother. Whatever you are…it is not as your father says. You are not
the spawn of evil."

Chapter 9

Agrat materialized at Phoebe's studio,
his whole body charged for destruction. He tensed as he surveyed the space,
bringing fiery energy to his hands, ready to send Galaden and the entities to
hell where they belonged. The studio was empty. Damn the angel to hell. Where
was he? Sensing an echo of the angel's energy, the prince stormed to the back
of the studio and entered the apartment at the rear.

"Show yourself,
Galaden," he cried. "Prepare to die."

A low groan met his words.

He strode into the bedroom.
"Healer?" he said, seeing Rachael lying uncovered on the bed.

Rachael's glazed eyes stared
into nothingness. Against her russet locks, her face was bleached and her
expression blank. Occasionally, her pale lips murmured as if having a
conversation. Agrat bent and pulled the comforter over her to keep her warm. He
touched her face. Ice. She was little more than a shell. Death stalked her and
she would die within days, unable to replenish the
life-force
that had been sucked from her core.

"No!" Agrat roared,
dropping to his knees beside her.

Why hadn't Rachael seen that
the angel was no more than an evil parasite sucking her
life-force
in the manner a leech sucked blood?

He stroked her cheek. The
healer saw
good
in everyone.

Even him.

Pushing himself to his feet,
his hands flexed and clenched as he thought of Phoebe and how she would suffer
when she learned Rachael was destined for a slow, sad death. "Bastard
angel, I will tear you from limb to limb when I find you."

Glancing outside the window,
he saw the sun was rising to its zenith. The angel would use human lives and
the sun to recharge and would become difficult to stop. He looked again at
Rachael. Damn! Furious, his muscles bunched aching for a fight, but he couldn't
leave the healer like this.

He strode from the bedroom
into the kitchen, turned on the tap and filled a glass with water. Returning,
he put his arm around Rachael's shoulder and raised her, although her head
lolled to the side. "Drink, Healer." On putting the glass to her
lips, the liquid ran down her chin and onto the bed sheets. She had not the
strength to swallow and he could do no more than wet her lips.

Agrat positioned a pillow
under her head, laid her back onto it and carefully covered her nakedness. He
ground his teeth, craving vengeance. With her pure healer vision, Rachael had
seen he had a soul.

One that glowed bright
like
a star.

She had shown him that it was
possible to love and he had found the courage to seek out Phoebe.

He owed the healer a debt of
gratitude and a debt must be repaid.

The prince's gaze moved over
her, knowing that Galaden would return to drain what remained of her life-force.
Her healing energy was sweet like honey and the dark angel would be unable to
resist it. Agrat couldn't let the healer die. Searching the cop's memory bank,
he saw victims of modern chariot accidents lying in restorative rooms attached
to machines and tubes. Perhaps this society's medicine could help Rachael.
Agrat strode out of the bedroom, into the living room, searching for the type
of device the cop had used to call for help for the chariot victims. On the
floor he located a cell phone, picked it up and dialed 911.

"This is the 911
emergency operator," the man said.

When the prince heard the
voice, he wasted no time. "A woman lies near death. An angel from hell has
sucked her
life-force
. Send a chariot
immediately."

"Sir, it is an offense to
make a prank call."

Agrat scowled and looked at
the phone. If the man were face to face with him, he would see that he was
serious.
Deadly serious.
He considered sending a
fireball down the line, but stopped knowing it wouldn't help Rachael. "I
have a sick healer who must be collected."

There was a pause on the line.
"
What's
your name, sir, and the woman's?"

"I am Prince Agrat of
Jerusalem and the woman is Rachael, the Healer."

"And I'm the
President."

Muscles bunched with fury, he
scanned the cop's memory bank to learn what he could about emergency services.
"All calls are taped. It is your duty to respond professionally."

"Are you on medication, sir?"
the operator queried.

"Do as you are ordered.
Send a chariot," Agrat snarled, sensing the man's hesitation.

"Relax, sir, and explain
exactly what is going on and where you are."

"In the bedroom of a
healer. She does not respond to my touch because an angel has taken her
life-force," Agrat said through clenched teeth, irritation prickling up
his spine. He had little patience for fools.

"Is that an angel with
feathers or without?" the operator quipped.

He thought about
dematerializing and materializing in front of the operator. The man would see
this was not a subject for mirth when he had him by the throat, but he couldn't
leave Rachael in case the angel returned. A deep growl left Agrat's throat.
"Fool, she will die without treatment."

A long sigh came through the
line reaching his ears. "Okay. Okay. I want you to concentrate. If you
don't know the address, what is your nearest landmark?" the operator said.

Agrat strode from the
apartment onto the street looking for a landmark. Across the road stood a group
of men drinking ale in front of a tavern. Above the doorway was a painted sign
of a bull. "The studio is opposite a tavern with a bull."

"Can you see a street
sign?"

Agrat went through the cop's
memory bank to understand the question. On finding a post with lettering on it,
he needed a moment to translate the rigid looking script. Frustration made him
grind his jaw at the time this was taking. He had an angel to kill. However, he
focused on the cop's memory so he could read and pronounce the sign name
properly. "West 13th Street. The healer lies in the sculptor's studio. I
command you to hurry. Her life-force energy is waning. You must collect her
before the angel returns."

"A car has been
dispatched, but I'm going to warn you that it is against the law to make prank
calls," the operator said.

"And I warn you, I will
search you out and tear you from limb to limb if a chariot does not collect
this woman."

"Sir, please do not
consume any more alcohol."

Agrat searched his mind for
the meaning of alcohol. The sides of his mouth turned up as the image of the
cop downing
goblet after goblet of ale after a bad day came
to mind. The cop grimaced as if in pain, clutched his stomach and burped.

While many things had changed
in this time three thousand years later, clearly the need to consume a mood-altering
beverage still remained. Although alcohol heightened the prince's humor it
never addled his senses, though, like the cop, his stomach burned with anger.
Agrat looked at the cell phone and his hand heated. The black plastic casing
started to melt.

Just then, a large, black
chariot drew over near him, the horn blew and a man stuck his head out of the
window. "Hey freak, Halloween was yesterday. Forget to change your
costume?"

Fury fueled Agrat's temper and
he could feel his eyeballs heating. Soon they would be glowing. He flung a
fireball at the car's back tire and it exploded. The chariot stopped, the
driver, a burly man with a
bald head
, opened the car
door, jumped out and waved his fist at Agrat. "My Hummer! What got up your
ass?"

Agrat glanced around and on
not seeing a donkey strode toward the human. "You will learn
respect!" Whether it was the growing fireball in his hand or his reddened
eyes that made the man back off, Agrat couldn't say. He wanted a fight. Craved
it.

"Fuck!" The man
froze then backed away stumbling over his feet, his face a deadly shade of
pale.

The only thing that stopped
him turning the disrespectful human to cinder was the thought that Phoebe
wouldn't be happy if he killed a human to ease his mood when what he really
wanted to do was to tear the angel to shreds.

Rachael. He had to stay. A
debt was a debt.

Desperate for action, the
burning pain in his stomach became searing, and for the first time he had
sympathy for the cop downing ale after ale after a bad day. Dealing with these
modern day humans who had no deference, and not killing them, was difficult. No
human from his time in the past would have dared to be disrespectful. He would
teach this human respect. This time he sent another fireball at the
undercarriage of the chariot. It exploded, sending debris into the air.

People came running from all
directions to put out the flames.

"What was that?" the
operator asked.

Agrat put the cell phone to
his ear. "Acid reflux."

After
the healing chariot collected Rachael, Agrat dematerialized and then
rematerialized on the High Line,
a park built on
top of an old elevated train track in the Meatpacking District. From this
position his gaze narrowed, the warrior in him taking in the inherent dangers
of attacking Galaden in such a public place. Hives of humans walked the streets
below. The buildings that ran along the side of the track contained more
people. Others strode along the pathway of the High Line admiring the gardens,
though they were few due to the icy weather. He cursed under his breath.

This city teemed with people. Worse, the populace of this time
rushed toward danger offering assistance. The chariot incident had taught him
that. Why did they not flee like people from his time?

A swift kill was necessary to not attract attention. That left
his dagger and limited fireballs. His hand tightened on the hilt.

In front of him, striding along the walkway was Galaden, a trail
of glitter dancing in the light particles around his body. No one except
children could see the angel. Itching to kill him, Agrat chose his
non-corporeal form, too. No one but Galaden and small children would be able to
see him, though in the case of the young, he wished it were otherwise.

It
hadn't been difficult to track Galaden. His energy signal was full of flares as
he stole life-force energy from passersby to hasten his gathering of strength.
In this cool climate the sun was too feeble to charge him unlike the sun in his
hot desert land.

Agrat
watched as a flash of light left a human who passed the angel. The person
staggered and put his hand on his friend's shoulder as if needing support. The
angel stood proudly, stretched his wings and walked forward. Light flared like
fireworks as Galaden stole precious life-force energy. Soon several
exhausted-looking humans sat on the wooden benches with their heads in their
hands.

Was
there no end to this violation? Agrat strode forward, dagger drawn.

The
angel turned, sighted Agrat and stopped in front of his next victim, a mother
in her thirties with a young son.

The
prince cursed.

"Look,
Mom, an angel," cried a boy about six, pointing at Galaden.

"There's
nothing there, sweetie. They live in heaven," the mother said.

"No.
He's here. Standing in front of you," the boy insisted.

Galaden
smiled at the child before turning to the mother, then raised his hand, palm
out. Agrat saw the flash of white light leave the mother's body and enter the
angel. He breathed in and stretched as he absorbed her energy. The woman's
shoulders slumped until she became shrunken. She collapsed on the seat at the
side of the pathway, her back curved, her head between her hands as if she
could barely support it.

The
boy's face crumpled. "Mom?"

"It's
okay, darling. I'm just tired," the woman murmured.

Agrat
knew the woman would recover if the angel hadn't taken too much of the mother's
life-force
, but his gut clenched. Theft was theft.

Galaden
beckoned the boy.

Agrat
gripped his dagger and moved swiftly behind the angel his dagger held just
behind him in case the boy saw it.

"Mommy.
Look! The angel wants me to go to him." The boy pulled at her jacket,
trying to get her attention.

Agrat
saw confusion cross the woman's face. "There's no one there. Just give me
a minute to rest then we'll go get a hot drink." The mother yawned and her
eyelids shuttered.

"I
know you stand behind me, brother. I smell the stink of demon lust. Have you bedded
my father's concubine yet?" Galaden reached over and picked a red berry
from a bush from the garden, squatted and held out his hand to the child.

"You'll
never get near her."

"Don't
be so sure."

Agrat
froze, every muscle in his body tensed for action. Children's energy was purest
and easiest for the angel to absorb, but sucking life-force energy from a child
could result in the little one developing a wasting disease, or worse, death.