MySoultoSave (13 page)

“Ah, Jaeryth.” Samael advanced with the dagger upraised.
“You will not be a demon for long.”

At once, the purpose of the enchanted blade became clear.
“Sire, please,” he rasped, even as Samael circled behind him and gripped his
tail with a hand like iron. “Don’t do this.”

The blade severed his tail in a single pass, and he knew
nothing but pain.

He could not even beg. The Prince sliced his wings from his
back, one by one. Hot blood sluiced over his flesh and blackness edged his
vision. Samael whispered something—and fire seared the wounds, sealed them
closed and left a deep-seated ache that would not ease.

If it weren’t for the spell that forced him to remain on his
feet, he’d have collapsed to the ground.

“You should be pleased, Jaeryth.” Samael came around him, wearing
an awful grin. “I’ve given you what you wanted. A mortal body to seduce your
precious Nabi. Now thank me.”

He pressed his lips together and glared. Even if he’d
possessed strength enough to speak, he would not thank the Prince for his
monstrous “gift.”

“How fortunate for you that you amuse me. It is the only
thing preventing me from sending you immediately to the depths of Tartarus.”
Samael leaned down and spoke in his ear. “Be assured, Jaeryth, that Tartarus
will be your ultimate destination should you disappoint me again. Succeed, and
I will restore you as a demon. Fail, and I will take great pleasure in
tormenting you for the rest of eternity.” He drew back. “And if this prophet of
yours should manifest on Heaven’s side, I will come for you personally. Just to
make sure you serve your sentence.”

Jaeryth closed his eyes. Something deep in his gut knotted
and churned, and the heat of Hell flared to an unbearable level. Just when he
believed his skin would boil from his bones, a cool breeze engulfed him and
drove away all sensation.

Sound returned first. A distant droning rose and fell,
followed by another. The gentle buzz of something electrical. He felt cold,
gritty stone beneath his shuddering body. A groan escaped him and he wrenched
his eyes open to dull sidewalk and darkened grass. The buzzing emanated from a
light somewhere above him.

And before him, a familiar structure. Logan’s home. There
were no humans in sight on the quiet street. Perhaps it was a kindness to
deliver him so close to his target, without witnesses.

Jaeryth pushed himself up to his knees. It took him another
moment to realize the Prince had not been so kind after all. He was powerless,
bruised from the fall, nearly crippled by the long imprisonment and the
transformation to this frail mortal body, without a single possession—and naked
as a newborn.

He glared at the ground as though he could see back into
Hell. “You bastard,” he said aloud. “At the least, you could have clothed me.”

He could almost hear Samael’s derisive laughter riding on a
hot, dry breeze.

Pushing aside a swell of hungry vengeance, he struggled to
his feet. He managed three steps before dropping to the ground. Even with every
drop of willpower he possessed, he could not stand again.

He crawled to the darkened porch, up the three steps. Though
he’d been stripped of his demonic abilities, he sensed she was not here. But
she would return. Until then, he would attempt to regain enough strength to
speak.

He dragged himself into a corner of the porch and succumbed
to oblivion.

Chapter Eleven

On the ride home with Tex, Logan had to consciously keep
from pinching herself. Her reality had never been this amazing—and she was
convinced any minute she was going to wake up back in rehab, drenched in cold
sweat and trying not to cry.

The show had been a huge success.

Record crowds, the manager of the Eight Spot told them
during the dizzying post-show celebration. Didn’t even pull in that many for
Pearl Jam, he said. He’d paid them double the promised rate and booked them for
the following weekend.

Tex had to tell her all of this after they left the club.
She’d been accosted by so many fans wanting to congratulate her, she hadn’t
known up from down.

Unfortunately, Sid Vicious hadn’t been among them. She
hadn’t expected to be so bummed about that—but the absence of the gorgeous
mystery man didn’t diminish the thrill. She’d done it. She’d actually performed
with a real band, in front of a live audience, and she hadn’t fainted or
vomited or run away screaming.

And the best part was, she’d get to do it again.

When they pulled off the highway and entered her
neighborhood, Tex flashed her a grin. “So. This is where I get to say I told
you so, right?”

She made a face. “Told me what?”

“That they’d love you.”

“Us,” she said. “They loved
us
.”

“No way, darlin’. Ruined Soul never pulled in a crowd that
big, or that loud. They were
on
…and it was you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Drop me off at the Wawa, will you? I
need smokes.”

“Sure.”

He didn’t say anything else, but he wore a knowing little
smile all the way to the convenience store. He pulled into a parking spot near
the doors, threw the car in park and shifted to face her. “You want me to wait
for you?”

“Nah. I’m only a few blocks away. I could use the fresh
air.”

“You sure? It could be dangerous out there.”

“I’m fine, counselor.”

“Okay.” He held up a hand in surrender. “Just promise you’ll
remember me when you’re rich and famous.”

“Come on, Tex—”

“I’m serious, Logan.” And at once, he did look serious—a
wild-eyed prophet illuminated by the glare of a sodium lot light, spouting
convenience store truths. A regular Wawa mystic. “You’ve got something special,
and it’s too big for a souped-up cover band. You’re not going to be grubbing
for bar gigs much longer.”

Logan stared at him. “You’re kinda scaring me, you know.”

“You shouldn’t be scared. You’re destined for greatness.”
For a moment he retained an aura of certainty, as if he’d been channeling
Nostradamus. Then he laughed and shifted back to perpetual Tex. “Stay sane,
Frost.”

“Grounded as a corpse.” She climbed out, shut the door and
watched Tex pull from the lot while she tried to banish the chill his little
fortune-telling episode had produced. Finally, she crossed her arms and headed
inside the store.

She was the only customer. She bought a pack of lights and
headed out, but decided not to smoke one just yet. She’d wait until she got
home.

The walk settled her nerves a little, but she wasn’t sure
she’d ever come down from the massive high of tonight. For the first time since
Gran died, she felt good. Alive. As if there might be something in her future
other than poverty, desperation and an early grave.

Just not what Tex thought. She definitely wasn’t destined
for greatness.

As she neared her place, a whisper of anxiety shaded her
fragile happiness. The feeling wasn’t anything specific—but it slowed her steps
and drew an involuntary frown. For some reason, she didn’t want to go inside.

She considered turning around and heading to the convenience
store again or calling Tex and asking him to come back. But that was
ridiculous. She’d finally learned to stand on her own and she wasn’t going back
on that now. Besides, this was her home. There was nothing scary waiting inside
for her, unless she counted the endearingly ugly stuffed cat.

Resolute, she squared her shoulders and marched up the walk
to the porch steps.

She’d forgotten to turn the outside light on again. A pale,
slanted square of light from the sidewalk street lamp formed a corridor to the
door, but didn’t reach the corners of the porch. With no idea why that worried
her, she went through her pockets for the door key, then took the steps fast
and fumbled with the lock.

Before she could get the door open, something shuffled and
scraped in the shadows to her left.

She jumped and tamped down a scream. It was probably
nothing. The wind, maybe, or old wood creaking in the cooling night air.
Finally, she managed to insert the key in the lock.

A brief moan rose from the darkness.

Logan stumbled back toward the steps. “Who’s there?” she
demanded, and then lied, “I have a gun. Stay put.”

“Victoria.”

Even at a whisper, the too-familiar voice send ripples
through her soul. She almost called him Fred, but managed to blurt, “Sid?”

He didn’t answer—if it was actually him, the mystery man
with the voice of her personal demon. Just when she decided to get her phone
out and call 911, the voice came again.

“Help me…”

Oh God. There was so much pain in that voice. Though her
instincts demanded that she call for the cops anyway, she decided to find out
what was wrong first. She moved cautiously for the door, where she’d left the
key dangling from the lock. “I’m just going to turn the light on out here,” she
said. “Don’t move.”

No response. If he’d passed out, she was definitely calling.

With shaking hands, she managed to get the door open, then
reached in and flipped the switch. Light flooded the porch, and the figure in
the far corner flinched away from it. It
was
him—scraped, battered and
bruised, huddled on the balls of his feet and hugging his knees.

And completely naked.

“Jesus. You’re tweaking, aren’t you?” She couldn’t imagine
someone as banged up as him running around naked for any reason other than
drugs. “I’ll get an ambulance here. You need to be in a hospital.”

“No! Please…no hospital.” He raised his head slowly and
focused those amazing green eyes on her. They were completely lucid—no trace of
clouding or bloodshot. “They’ll find me there.”

Her brow furrowed. “They?”

“They’ll kill me.”

Shit
. “Is this a gang thing?”

He shook his head.

“Well, what is it, then? Who’s they?”

“I need to…hide. And rest. Please.”

Dear Lord, she was actually considering bringing him inside.
The last thing she needed was to take in some strung-out junkie on a bender.
But he didn’t show any signs of using—and he was naked, so she would’ve seen
track marks. And if there really was some mysterious “they” after him, her
conscience wouldn’t let her turn him over to the authorities and maybe get him
killed. Obviously, someone had worked him over hard.

She let out a breath. “Don’t you have anybody you can go to?
Family, friends…”

“They are…far away.”

“How far?”

He made a sound that was almost a laugh. “Too far to walk.”

You’re out of your mind, Frost.
“Okay,” she heard
herself say, as though someone else had seized control of her vocal cords. “You
can crash on the couch. Just for tonight. In the morning, you’ll have to make
arrangements with your friends to come and get you.”

He shuddered. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” She frowned at the open door, then looked
back at him. “Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

She watched him struggle to his feet. When he moved his
arms, she averted her gaze from between his legs. He took three steps and then
dropped to his knees with a groan.

Damn. She was going to have to touch him. Still pointedly
not looking at what was hanging out, she moved to his side and crouched next to
him. “Come on,” she said, slipping an arm around his waist and trying to ignore
the sensation of all that hard muscle against her skin. “Up we go.”

He managed to rise with her help, and together they shuffled
through the door. Logan’s heart pounded like a jackhammer, and not just from
the effort.

She had a feeling she was going to regret this.

* * * * *

Jaeryth was not as helpless as he’d feigned to be—or so he
thought, until he tried to walk and the legs of this weak mortal body buckled
beneath its own weight. It was humiliating, having to rely on someone else
merely to move twenty feet. How could humans tolerate such frailty?

At least Logan had taken him in. While he’d lain on her
porch for hours, drifting in and out of consciousness, he had realized he
needed a story of some sort. He did not know enough to fabricate anything
detailed, so he’d decided on some nebulous group who intended him harm.

It was not that far from the truth, since there were a
number of demons trying to consign him to Hell.

She settled him on a couch, plucked up the blanket that
draped the back and covered him with it, and then stood back frowning. “How bad
is it?”

“It?” he echoed.

“You’re hurt. Is anything broken?”

“No.” Only his pride. “I will be fine.”

“Sure you will.” She offered a lopsided smile, but it faded
fast. “Well, if you’re going to stay the night, I guess we should exchange
names. Real ones this time. You first.”

He hesitated. If he were to accomplish his goal of
corrupting her, he would have to stay with her for as long as possible. Not
that the prospect displeased him. But it meant that, eventually, he would
“meet” the damned angel, who may have heard of him. Still, it would prove
nothing, and to hear Logan speak his name would thrill him. “I am Jaeryth,” he
finally said.

“Hm.” She cocked her head. “It’s better than Sid. I’m
Logan.”

He had not realized he’d been holding his breath in
anticipation of finally having her address him by name. He let it out now and
attempted to disguise his disappointment. “Logan,” he said. “I appreciate your
hospitality.”

“Let’s not go there just yet.” Her brow creased, and she
stared pointedly at the blanket covering him. “I don’t suppose whoever jumped
you left your clothes lying around somewhere.”

“Unfortunately, they did not.”

“Well, you can’t just sit around here…like that.” A blush
stained her cheeks and she looked away. “There’s no way I can get to a store
right now, either. I guess you can wear—”