My Avenging Angel (7 page)

Michael rolled his eyes. While he had been a bit busy at the time, he was still pretty sure he would have realized if either of the spirits had been in the room when he and Tory had been making love.

His mate, on the other hand, obviously believed the two—what had she called them—stooges. “You watched?” she squealed, lurching from his arms and jumping to her feet, confronting the two male spirits floating inches off the floor.

Michael sighed. While he was thankful for the distraction, the last thing he wanted was Tory upset by their presence.

“Well, of course we didn’t watch,” Sam reply indignantly. “Well…maybe some of it.”

“Why you no good…” Tory snapped, taking a threatening step toward the spirits.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Michael halted her progress, not at all certain exactly what she thought she was going to do. They were dead after all and impervious to most forms of torture. Except…

Michael’s grip around Tory tightened, securing her to his side. With a few softly spoken words, his mighty sword appeared in his right hand. Pointing the fiery tip at the two ghosts, he watched in amusement as the mist danced about in a blatant attempt to avoid getting sucked into the flame.

“If neither of you would care to share Ariadne’s fate, I suggest you stop annoying my mate.”

Sam humphed loudly. “We were trying to help you out. Won’t make that mistake again.”

Michael grunted and the mist evaporated as if it had never been. Helping him, his ass. Those two were going to be trouble. He could feel it clear to the bone.

“Helping you? What was Sam talking about?”

Great. Trouble with a capital T.

“How the hell should I know, Tory? I do not think either of them is very stable. They should go to the light.”

The last, which was spoken loudly just in case the two were still lingering about, caused a giggle to bubble from his mate’s luscious lips, and Michael couldn’t stop himself from sampling another taste.

“Well, shit. There is really something wrong with this sight. I think my retinas are fried,” Zadkiel’s amused drawl intruded.

Michael sighed as Tory jumped away from him. Turning to Zadkiel, he reminded himself taking off his second-in-command’s head really wouldn’t appease his annoyance. It would only reattach itself. And while it would hurt like a bitch, it would be far too temporary. No, instead he would give the other male courier duty. Let him spend a century ferrying messages from the lesser factions, like the Fates. For a warrior like Zadkiel that would be hell.

Zadkiel must have gleamed from Michael’s face the train of his thoughts because he quickly added, “Sorry to disturb you. But I have news. There has been another attack.”

Tory’s gasp covered up Michael’s violent curse. “Where?” he snapped.

“Chicago. But this witch has survived, and I thought you might want to question her.”

Michael sensed the tension drain from Tory’s limbs. This was good news indeed. But speaking with this witch would require he leave Tory alone. He couldn’t teleport with her and a lot could happen in the amount of time it would take him to travel by human means. What if this was Asmodeus’s plan, leaving the witch alive to draw him away from Tory?

“You must go,” Tory said, as if sensing his hesitation. And it was very likely she could. They were bound, after all.

He reached up, gently palming her cheek. “Only if you promise to cast yourself inside the circle upstairs.”

At her vigorous nod, Michael grasped the back of her neck, drawing her lips back to his, taking gentle command of her mouth. If there was one thing he could be thankful for, it was sharing his immortality. And since they were bound, if Asmodeus did make an appearance while he was gone he would know it almost instantly. Tory would be damn near impossible to kill now.

Pulling back, he gave her a gentle nudge toward the staircase, lightly swatting her ass when she frowned over her shoulder. Michael watched until she disappeared from view then turned to find Zadkiel studying him.

He arched a sardonic brow and Zadkiel grinned. “I see the deed has been done.”

Michael growled. “Which deed? The one getting me eternal hellfire? Or the one that will draw torment and ridicule from everyone we know?”

If Zadkiel’s grin had grown any bigger, Michael would have hit him. “One? Both? Take your pick.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Michael muttered.

Zadkiel’s only reply was laughter.
Make that two centuries of courier duty
.

Motioning with his hand, he invited Zadkiel to lead the way. Once the other male had teleported from the room, Michael closed his eyes, let his molecules divide until he was nothing but air and followed.

Chapter Seven

Tory paused at the top of the stairs, Michael’s belligerent tone catching her attention. She wasn’t eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help that their voices carried up the stairs. Hellfire? Ridicule? What was he talking about? What deed had been done?

God, if they were discussing what she thought they were discussing she would be eternally mortified.

After waiting a few more seconds, she heard nothing else of interest, only silence. Tory contemplated sneaking back downstairs. That was when a weird sensation hit her, slamming into her chest and sucking the air from her lungs. In a panic, she tripped, bumping into the wall, her nails scraping at the surface as she tried to catch her balance.

The moment passed as quickly as it had occurred, leaving her breathless and disoriented. Stumbling down the stairs, her only intent to reach Michael, Tory found the living room empty, all trace of Michael gone.

Sweet Jesus, what had just happened?

Then she felt him, like a phantom caress in her chest, Michael surrounding her, stilling her fear. Faint whispers in her mind reassured her all was well, she was loved, protected. It was the strangest feeling sensing him in the deepest recesses of her psyche when he wasn’t really there. But it also quenched the uncertainty and terror.

Tory took the stairs two at a time, the murmurs in her head egging her on, reminding her of her promise. By the time she reached the attic she was trembling from the rush of adrenaline.

Damn Michael. He had her in a mild state of panic when there was absolutely no need. Asmodeus had last been spotted in Chicago. He was still a long way from Boston. And anyway, there was no reason to assume he was any closer to finding her than he had been twenty-four hours ago.

After stepping into the middle of the pentagram, Tory went through the ritual of quickly reconnecting the white line she’d broken to release Michael. She recited the spell, enclosing herself within the safety of the circle.

As the minutes ticked by, Tory began to wish she’d brought a book, something, anything to pass the time. Food would have been good too, since she was getting hungry. And she had to pee.

A quick glance at her watch showed only fifteen minutes had gone by, damn it. She was never going to make it. If Michael didn’t return soon, she was going to lose her freaking mind.

Another ten minutes and Tory couldn’t wait any longer. It was her own fault for thinking about it. Now she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. If she didn’t go to the bathroom soon she was going to pee her pants.

And she was still hungry.

It would serve Michael right if she ended up dead. How long did it take to ask some chick a couple of questions? It wasn’t exactly like he had to factor in travel time or anything.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tory knew she wasn’t being fair. Recanting the spell, she reminded herself the poor woman had been attacked, could still be hanging on death’s door right now and certainly deserved a little bit of Michael’s time.

Though she would seriously prefer the witch find her own angel.

That consideration stopped Tory in her tracks. The thoughts swirling around in her mind were really uncharacteristically nasty, especially the ones involving Michael anywhere near the witch in Chicago. She wasn’t normally the jealous type, or at least she didn’t think she was. Truthfully, she’d never had anything to be jealous about before Michael but still…

Tory shrugged as she descended the staircase, heading toward the bathroom. Maybe she was the jealous type. So shoot her.

After hitting the bathroom, Tory grabbed a spoon and bowl, a box of Captain Crunch and half a gallon of milk before heading slowly back up the stairs. She didn’t want to get back into the circle but she knew if she wasn’t there when Michael returned he would be plenty mad. He’d be sure to go all ballistic on her and Tory would find herself a virtual prisoner in her own home.

That would suck.

With her hands full, Tory tried juggling the door and her goodies before finally discovering she had to back her way into the attic to get through the doorway. When she swung back face forward, she found standing between her and the circle a man. Evil emanated from him in waves, totally contradicting his beautiful appearance. The need to vomit damn near brought her to her knees, and her box of Captain Crunch ended up on the floor, the first casualty of the evening.

Over six-and-a-half feet of ripped blond maleness rushing toward her might not have sent her into a panic, but the blood-curdling growl and the long steel blade aimed directly at her certainly did. Tory spun to the right, using the only weapons at her disposal, the half-gallon of milk and ceramic bowl to beat the intruder back. Hardly effective, neither did enough damage to help her get away. The milk bounced off his chest and he used his sword to bat the bowl away, sending it careening into the wall.

The only chance Tory saw of escaping the demon was the stairs, but she hated the thought of turning her back on him. As if she really had any chance of getting away. It was so unfair—just when she finally had something to live for.

She’d barely moved in that direction when she felt the first sting of his blade piercing her back. With a startled cry, Tory lunged forward, fire burning through her veins. She stumbled, her knees buckling, and she crashed to the floor, a sob ripping from her chest as the blade pierced her again, deeper this time. Gasping for breath, she tried to crawl away, but the floor under her was too slick and she collapsed in a heap on the wood.

“Die, bitch. Die,” the inhuman voice snarled and Tory was pretty certain the bastard was going to get his wish. Death’s icy grip was descending over her, and within its cold embrace the pain and fear began to slide away. As peace replaced horror, she finally embraced the darkness.

Chapter Eight

It turned out the witch lived in one of those chic condos in downtown Chicago overlooking Lake Michigan. Unlike Tory’s home, where her nearest neighbor was miles from her, Evie Stanton’s was only a wall away, and Michael couldn’t fathom how no one had heard her screams.

As he approached the woman her eyes grew larger with each step. By the time he’d come to a halt right in front of her they were the size of saucers. At one time this would have pleased Michael greatly. He would have viewed it as a sign of respect. But that would have been LBT or Life Before Tory. Now it just annoyed the shit out of him.

“What did the demon want from you?” he demanded. His voice was a little harsh and Evie flinched. Michael knew he was frightening her, and he probably should have felt bad. But damn it, Evie Stanton was hardly on death’s door. Hell, she’d only been kicked around a little bit. Michael figured there was a reason for that. Asmodeus had gotten what he’d come looking for.

“Michael, Ms. Stanton has been through a difficult time.” Skath, the angel whose soul purpose was to govern the spell casters, approached. His tone was a gentle reprimand, and Michael watched Evie’s gaze swivel to Skath, her look changing from one of a frightened rabbit to blatant hero worship.

He growled. “I am aware Ms. Stanton has been through a difficult couple of hours, but even as we speak there is a demon hunting witches, and I’ll be damned if I let him succeed in killing his target.”

His snarl must have been more brutal than intended because it drew a whimper from Evie, and the woman leaned closer to Skath, who patted her back softly. “Just tell Michael what you can, dear, so he can be on his way. You want him to make the demon pay for his treatment of you, don’t you, Evie?”

Evie nodded, tears welling in her eyes before slowly spilling over her lashes. “He had this little brown teddy bear and demanded I scry for the owner, a little girl, he claimed. But I kept seeing a woman, blonde hair, about five-three, and that angered him.”

Michael tried to tell himself it could have been anyone Evie Stanton had seen. Five-three blonde-haired women were not uncommon, especially not with the invention of in-home dye kits. It didn’t mean she had actually seen Tory.

“He kept insisting I was wrong. I was weak. Then he hit me. Kept hitting me…” Evie left off on a sob, burying her face in Skath’s chest. Her slender shoulders shook and Skath grimaced over the top of her head.

Michael nodded for him to continue prodding her. The woman hadn’t said anything telling him whether or not Asmodeus had discovered information concerning Tory, but Skath grimaced and swiftly shook his head. Michael could feel a headache beginning to form, an insistent pounding right behind his eyes. Jesus, he really hated dealing with humans.

“What else did you see?” he finally demanded because it was apparent Skath wasn’t going to.