Her Demon Prince (Forbidden Fantasy) (12 page)

"Let
the boy go," Agrat said, trying to keep the malevolence out of his tone,
in case he frightened the child.

The
boy looked up at Agrat, his eyes enlarged with fear and he stepped back, just
out of reach from his mother.

Agrat's
heart constricted. He forced his tension down so that his eyes didn't glow, but
it was like trying to stop a tide when he was in battle mode.

"You
taught me children are sacred. Not to be touched even if they belonged to the
enemy." Galaden stood and walked over to the child.

Agrat
changed to the old language not wishing to frighten the boy further.
"Nothing is sacred to you. Not brotherhood, not love. Nothing. Take the
child's
life-force
and I'll slit your throat. You'll
be so busy choking on your own blood you won't be able to defend
yourself." He forced himself to keep his tone low and even.

"Mommy?
I don't like that bad man," the boy cried pointing at Agrat.

The
pain of a spear entered Agrat's heart at the child's words.

Galaden's
lips curled, his gaze sardonic with amusement.

The
child's mother opened her eyes. "Tommy, what are you looking at? There's
no one there. Come here." Her voice was sharp but barely above a whisper.
She tried to push herself off the wooden bench to get to the child but failed.

Galaden
handed the boy the berry and turned to face Agrat. "You know you won't
slit my throat in front of the boy," the angel replied in the old
language. He held a nonchalant pose but Agrat wasn't fooled by his stance.

Agrat
glanced at the boy. "Take your mother and go, child."

The
boy let out a cry. He grabbed his mother by the hands and pulled her to her
feet. "His eyes are red, Mom."

Damn!
Agrat stamped down his hatred of the angel, hoping his eyes had ceased glowing.

The
woman struggled to stand in response to her son's fear. On looking around, she
shrugged. Further up, several people sat on the benches, but the High Line
wasn't crowded. "Come on then," she said.

Agrat
watched out of the corners of his eyes as the child drew his mother away from
them toward the High Line stairs.

Galaden
laughed. "You terrorized the young ones in the human nursery. That's why
they moved you, left you all alone there.
Just the sight of
your snarling face and those hideous eyes.
No human could bear to be
near you."

The
angel's words were like grinding a boot on the broken bone of his loneliness.
He took a deep breath in, determined not to let the insanity of rage overwhelm
him. "They put you with me. You learned not to fear me, but you should
have."

Agrat
charged at Galaden, dagger pointed.

Sword
drawn, the angel parried. Blades clashed.

People
sitting on the High Line benches raised their heads looking for the source of
the noise.

Agrat
leapt out of the sword's reach. He threw a fireball, which the angel batted
into the garden causing it to burst into flames.

"Look,
a fire." A man on the High Line pathway pointed to the burning bush, his
voice high with panic. He took off his jacket, strode over to it and started
batting the bush.

"I'll
call the fire brigade," his friend said, reaching for his cell phone.

The
angel circled the demon, his gait light, clearly waiting for an opportunity to
strike. "I hope you enjoyed the princess as much as I did when I owned
her. Such sweetness."

Agrat
roared. Blood rushed before his eyes.

Galaden
flew forward and slashed Agrat's wrist.

The
dagger clattered to the pavers. Pain seared up his arm. The prince leapt back.
He forced himself to subjugate the pain, though his right hand was useless.
Focus or die!

Blood
dripped off Galaden's sword as he circled Agrat. "Phoebe will be mine
again to savor."

Agrat
flicked his good arm down in an arcing motion so that the secreted dagger in
the wristband slid into his hand. He closed his fist around it. The pavers
sizzled with the prince's blood, but he didn't stop moving, careful to keep out
of the sword's range, waiting for his chance to set Galaden's wings on fire.
"I'll spend my life protecting her."

In
the distance, a siren wailed. Time was short. There were too many people in
this city. He had to kill the angel fast.

Galaden's
wings flared. "You picked the gem of my father's women.
An
extraordinary beauty.
No doubt you imagined yourself in love."

"What
would you know about love?" Blood draining out of him, Agrat struggled to
concentrate. He threw the fireball, bouncing it on the ground just under the
angel's sword tip so that it rose up toward the angel's wings.

Galaden
flew into the air so that the fireball hit a small tree behind him. It exploded
into flames. Cinders hit the dry grass around it. The angel landed with poise,
his sword raised for combat. "Phoebe is descended from the Norse gods. She
is rich with energy."

"Hell,
look at that? Spontaneous combustion," said the man with the cell phone,
his voice sharp with panic.

"Something
strange is happening. Let's get out of here," his friend replied.

"Fire!"
a woman further down the High Line path screamed.

Concentrate.
Kill the angel. Fast. Agrat could feel his movements slowing as he grew weak.
He staggered. "You won't get near her, you leech."

Galaden
raised his sword for a death stroke. "Such loyalty. You won't save her any
more than you did last time." The angel spread his wings and flew at him
like a blade of light.

Agrat
dematerialized.

Galaden
landed and swirled around. "Show yourself, demon."

Agrat
reappeared behind him, though he was careful to keep the non-corporeal form so
adults couldn't see him. He drove his dagger down through the angel's shoulder
blade to prevent him from flying. "I know loyalty. I don't leave the one I
love to die, sucked dry like a husk of wheat."

Galaden
cried out in agony as he dropped to his knees, his damaged wing flared and
silver glitter sprayed across the pavement. "You lie. She lives."

Agrat
twisted the blade. "Rachael knocks on death's door, too weak to call your
name."

"No!"
the angel groaned.

Agrat
crunched Galaden's throat between his bicep and injured forearm so he could
finish the angel with his dagger. Blood from the prince's forearm splashed the
angel's hair and ran down his torso like red tears.

Shouts
and laughter spilled out over the High Line from the street. A group of
children gathered at the foot of the stairs. Agrat heard their teachers call to
them to stand and wait. The children would be able to see them and there was
nothing Agrat could do about it.

The
angel's form became corporeal so that even the adults who followed the children
would be able to see him, too.

"You
seek to hide behind humans, you coward?"

"You
will not take my head in front of young," Galaden gasped.

"Don't
be so sure."

"I
know you, brother."

From
his position on the walkway he saw the children, not yet teenagers, jostle as
their teachers caught up with them. Laughter and happiness filled the air. At
ten years of age, Agrat's father had insisted he witness his first execution.
When his father's soldier had cleaved the head from a fresh-faced soldier's
body, the king had ordered Agrat to deliver the head to his enemy. On receiving
the war token, the man had cradled the head and begged for the body. The prince
had expected anger and threats of vengeance until the depths of his father's
cruelty hit home. The head had belonged to the man's twelve-year-old son.

His
stomach turned at the memory.

"You
will not behead me in front of children," Galaden repeated with force.
"You will not let children see violence. You refused to train me in battle
when I was a child. You believed like all others that there was goodness in me,
that I had a chance when you had none. You didn't want me raised as a soldier,
in the cruelty of war, like you. You didn't want me to be like you.
Without love.
Without hope.
You
will not take my head."

"Cease
gabbling, angel. It will not save you." Words. They were just words. He
would not listen, yet pain struck him at their shared memories of a time when
they'd loved another.

Just
then a fire truck drew up. Firemen poured out of it.

The
group of children squealed with delight at the sight of the firemen. Their
teachers told them to stand to the side as the firemen dashed toward the High
Line stairs.

The
children turned and headed up the stairs after them, despite their teachers'
protests to wait.

"Hey,
there's someone hurt here. Get the paramedic," a fireman cried on reaching
the top of the stairs, his gaze on Galaden.

Agrat
cursed.

One
deep slash and he would take the angel's head, but the young would see the
horror; the dripping, bloody corpse and battered wing. Agrat would not let them
witness it.

Not
like he had.

His
hand trembled so anxious was he to complete the kill and free Phoebe, but the
prince looked about him. Already, people on the pathway further down the High
Line had noticed the strange sight of the angel glowing on the walkway. Agrat
could see them pointing. Others were distracted as the gardens burned. Women
cried out, gathering their companions to them. Men tried to put out the blaze.

He
only had moments to act. More firemen appeared at the top of the stairs. Soon
children would follow.
Damn Galaden
.

Agrat cursed and vanished.

Chapter 10

Phoebe twisted the shower
tap on hard, determined to let the teeming water ease her tension. It had come
close with Agrat before in the kitchen.
She
wanted
him with an intensity that left her edgy with
need. She
ran the soap over her nipples and they peaked at her
touch. When she slipped her fingers between her legs, her inner lips were
swollen with a
desire
so powerful she wanted to satisfy
herself
.
An image of the prince with his swarthy face, intense expression and sensuous,
kissable mouth came to mind. Get real, Phoebe. This was not a man she was
falling for. This was a demon on a mission to kill an angel because of an
ancient curse. No matter that, according to Agrat, Galaden was fallen; Phoebe
believed in God, angels and an afterlife, and she still couldn't get her head
around the concept that angels could be evil. There was no proof that Galaden
was evil or that he wanted to kill her, and yet, something wasn't right about
the situation. Phoebe put the soap in the soap holder and rinsed off thinking
about Agrat.

The warrior's
glowing eyes, his hulking, muscle-bound body and the way he threw a fireball
told her killing wasn't new to him. He was a master of it. This was not someone
she should fall for. So why was she?

A thump followed
by a crash from the bedroom had her switching off the water and grabbing a
towel. Frantically, she dried herself, stepped out of the shower stall and
wrapped the towel around herself, tucking it under her arm. She glanced around
the bathroom looking for something to defend herself with. Her clothes were on
the bed, but the wrist guard was on the bathroom cabinet, within reach.
Grabbing it, she pulled it over her wrist and flung her forearm in the downward
motion as Agrat had shown her. The dagger slid into her hand. Even though she
was armed, she was semi-naked, which did nothing for her confidence.

A deep groan met
her ears.

Phoebe flung
open the bathroom door to see Agrat lying wounded on the bed, his bloodied
forearm resting on his chest.

His eyes opened
and his gaze drank her in. Instead of the hard lines of anger his face usually
carried, he managed a small smile, though his face seemed drawn with pain.

"You're
hurt," she said.

"You're
naked."

"I'm
wearing a towel."

"Come
closer and you won't be."

"I don't
know how you can joke with a wound like that." Bone protruded above the
wrist and raw flesh surrounded it. The whole of his forearm was discolored and
swollen. Phoebe snatched up her underwear and pulled on her bra and panties.

"I'll heal
fast. The energy is stronger here than in the city because I've called on my
ancestors to guard this place. In an hour my arm will be whole again."

"It looks
like you almost lost your hand." She bit her thumbnail with concern,
wondering how he could bear it. Already, her stomach was churning. The pain
must be hideous.

"Galaden's
sword nearly took it clean off. Luckily he didn't. It takes days to grow back a
limb."

Phoebe shuddered
at the thought. "Did you kill him?"

"Wounded
him, but he gave fair return. It will slow him down. The moment I am healed I
will finish him. I cannot let him have you." There was real vulnerability
in his eyes as he stared at her.

No one had ever
looked at her like he did. Sure, she'd had boyfriends, but she'd always held
back, putting her work first. Something deep inside her stirred, a primeval
need to respond. She was kidding herself when she'd dismissed this relationship
as sexual attraction.

"And
Rachael?"

"I found
her but Galaden had taken much of her life-force. She couldn't take sustenance.
Without it, she will die. I called for a healing chariot."

"An
ambulance?" She resisted a smile at his quaint term and her heart warmed
with relief that he had looked after her best friend.

"They have
taken her to a healing center."

"You mean a
hospital," she said

"Yes. Do
not fear
,
Galaden will not find her easily. He will
try to locate her through her energy signals. I've put a protective shield
around her. There are so many humans in this city with similar life-force
levels; it will be difficult for him to trace her. She won't be able to
withstand him if he extracts what is left."

"Did she
speak to you?"

"No. She
sleeps a deep sleep, but she lives. I saw in the cop's memory that your
hospital gives sustenance in a manner not used in my time."

"It's
called a drip. Thank you for saving my friend."

"I was
proud to serve her. Rachael gave me much a long time ago. A debt must be
repaid."

"You
recognized her in my studio," she said. "You called her
'Healer'."

"In my
time, Rachael was a healer of great merit. Her gift was utilized in a way I had
never seen until she served me. People came from many lands to see her. When
Galaden was a young angel, he was wounded in battle. I took him to Rachael. She
used my life-force to heal him."

"You shared
your own life-force with your brother? You must have loved Galaden." The
thought made her stop. She’d wondered if what Agrat felt for her was akin to
possession not love, but he had loved Galaden, a member of his family.

"When he
was younger there was still much goodness in him. He changed as he grew older
into a cold-hearted creature who betrays without mercy." His face held a
closed, pained expression. "I wanted to kill him on the High Line."
He stopped and swallowed. "If I had been swifter in my attack, I would
have. It is the only way to protect you."

"Why didn't
you?"

"He is
still my brother. We are bonded by nature of our human blood and I could not
find it within myself to strike the final blow." He held her gaze for a
long moment.

"He called
you a demon." Phoebe rubbed her forehead trying to puzzle it out.
"But you love like a human. What are you?" Surely the angel would
know a demon when he saw one? When Agrat was in battle mode and his eyes glowed
he was terrifying, and yet, his manner with her, despite his air of violence,
was gentle and it was this side of him that made him so appealing.

"My father
was human. My mother was a creature of the elements. I was told she could
dematerialize to become wind, or summon fire and make it do her will. My
nursemaid once recounted a tale that when my mother needed peace from my wails
she would dissolve into a river or ground herself by disguising herself as
earth. In fury, my mother could become a wall of fire, but I have never been
able to summon such energy to do so. In truth Phoebe, I do not know what I am.
After my mother's death, my father destroyed what was left of my kind. I am the
last of them." There was something raw and vulnerable in his statement.

"You have
powers, but you are not evil."

"Rachael,
in her past life, believed I was not a demon, not the type that serves Lucifer,
or so she told me," he agreed. "Come." His gaze moved from her
face to focus on where the towel rested just above her breasts. He patted the
bed beside him.

Phoebe longed to
go to him, to put her arms around him, but she didn't want to fool herself.
Agrat was in love with her and if she allowed him to make love to her, how
would she survive it? She'd had one long-term relationship, ending it when her
suitor had not supported her career in art. Still, she wasn't naive; sex for
her was about commitment. The way her heart hammered when she was with him was
more than simple sexual attraction. Some part of her knew this warrior, but her
mind had been infiltrated by dreams and she wasn't sure what was real and what only
fantasy. A small kernel of logic insisted that she should keep him at bay;
unfortunately, it was hard to keep her head clear when her body was behaving
like a teenager's.

He raised his
eyebrows. "The Healer gave me hope when I had none. She realized I could
love."

Phoebe tilted
her head and backed her body against the cool wall to steady
herself
.
"I don't understand. You're a prince. Your father was a king. You must
have had everything you could ever have wanted. Wealth. Power. Women."

"My father
raised me to conquer and subdue all opposition. Battle was all I knew. Although
I never hurt a woman or child, I had a fearsome reputation. No woman wished to
mate with a demon and I would never use force. It was Rachael who showed me
that there was good in me. That was worth more to me than wealth or power.
After that, I met you. Because of Rachael I believed that I could be good to a
woman."

He stared at
her, his expression smitten and it stirred something deep inside her, a hunger
to touch him and to be touched by him. Phoebe shook herself. Rachael had seen
past the demon exterior, the huge, hulking warrior whose eyes glow a fearsome
red. "She was right. There is good in you."

"I love
you." Agrat tried to sit and his arm started to bleed with the movement.

She couldn't say
the words back. "Stay there. I saw a first aid box. I'm going to get
it," she said, running to the kitchen, glad of the distraction. She
grabbed the red kit with the white cross, snapped the lid open to check it
contained a bandage. It did. She opened the freezer and on seeing an icepack,
pulled it out. Agrat might be used to savage injuries but she wasn't, although,
after years of working with tools she could deal with some on a smaller scale.
That arm needed bandaging. On returning to the bedroom, she put the kit on the
bed, picked up her towel, wet it and sponged dried blood off his torso.

"You care
for me," he said, his voice warm.

"Don't.
I've had time to think. I'm not here because I want to be. Once you defeat
Galaden, if he's the danger you say he is, you set me free." Standing by
the side of the bed, she sponged soot from around his eyes and grit from his
face, then finished by wiping over his chest.
When her fingers touched his skin, heat
built between her legs sending messages along to every part of her body as she
tended him.

"As you wish,
Princess."

She glanced at
him, immediately suspicious of his complacency. If she were smart, she'd
maintain a hard line and stop whatever it was developing between them.

“You are staring
at me. Care to join me on the bed?” He grinned again, a smile wider this time,
confident in his attraction. He knew exactly what he was doing to her.

“You lay one
hand on me and I’ll slap this ice pack between your legs.” She opened the first
aid kit, extracted a bandage and pulled off the plastic wrapping.

“Now that would
be a waste,” he said, shifting over.

Phoebe climbed
on the bed, sat next to him examining his wrist. "I can't believe it. The
bone is already knitting. I can't see it anymore. Flesh and skin have grown
over it. It's barely bleeding now." She took the bandage and began
wrapping it around his wrist.

"I come
from a great line of warriors on my mother's side. The only way to kill my kind
is to strike the head from our bodies when we are in human form. All other
parts grow back, better and stronger than before, even if frozen." He gave
her a grin.

"Very
funny." She finished bandaging the arm and snapped the butterfly clip into
place so that the bandage held. Picking up the ice pack, she pressed it to his
forearm where the discoloration and swelling on the skin remained, conscious of
his closeness and just how much she wanted to peel off her underwear and wrap
herself around him.

She glanced at
him, aware of the look of pleasure on his face from being attended to.

He lifted his
eyebrows and his lips raised in a half-smile that made him look kissable. He
reached over and tried to pull her to him.

Phoebe slipped
out of his grasp and moved away from the bed. "This thing between us. It
has to stop."

"As you
wish." Agrat stood, peeled off his wristband, followed by his breastplate
and the rest of his clothes so that he was bare-skinned and proud before her.

She forced
herself to avert her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Getting
naked."

"I can see
that." He was thick and semi-hard.
A treat for female
eyes.
Be honest about it, Phoebe, she told herself. A sensation.

"So are
you." He raised his eyebrows. "That fine webbing you wear is alluring.
I've never seen anything like it in my time."

"It's
called a brassiere or bra and these are panties. Some say lingerie. I'm hardly
naked."

"Cock tease."

"Pardon?"
She put her hand to her mouth. How on earth had he come up with that filthy expression?

"Sorry. I
shocked you. The cop calls them that," he said.

"Figures.
Couldn't you have sucked a gentleman's brain?" She put her hands on her
hips. "For your information, nearly all women wear bras and underwear
these days. It's not for a man's benefit. We wear bras to support breast
tissue. That cop needs a psychiatrist if he thinks it's for his sexual
pleasure."