MySoultoSave (18 page)

Jaeryth tried to concentrate on the undulating shadows of
the audience before him while Logan’s voice penetrated his blood. With such
power, he could understand why those at the bar worried about an attack. The
beauty of her voice could drive a mortal to bliss, or to madness.
Unfortunately, he could discern little in the shifting, darkened mass.

A figure near the back of the room suddenly caught his
attention, one slightly taller and somehow more visible than the rest—perhaps
because of the way the mob parted as he moved closer. Even from this distance,
the figure was plainly male, though it shouldn’t have been possible to tell.

While the silhouette drew nearer, the music became slightly
distorted. Perhaps they were having trouble with the equipment. Concerned,
Jaeryth glanced over his shoulder.

As he watched, Logan and the others froze in place—and
everything went utterly silent.

Jaeryth swallowed hard, suddenly consumed with dread. He
turned back slowly to find the crowd in the same immobile state, save for the
distinctive figure navigating through the mortals toward him. Though the lights
were still off, he had no trouble seeing the male’s face. Strikingly handsome
with dark hair and a goatee, and dusky golden skin. His perfect lips held a
grin colder than the ages, but the flames of Hell danced behind his penetrating
blue eyes.

Though Jaeryth had never seen this human form, he knew of
only one demon that possessed the power to stop time itself.

Samael.

Chapter Fifteen

The Prince of Hell wore blood-red leather. Not a common
choice of apparel for the Otherworld, though Jaeryth knew that some of the
higher-level demons enjoyed wearing garments of human skin. And he doubted that
Samael’s clothing had once been a cow.

Samael emerged through the front lines of the crowd and
stopped before him. “Jaeryth.” Even in human form, chilling authority filled
his voice. “What in the name of my father are you doing?”

He tamped down rising fury. “I’m working, sire.”

“Are you?” The Prince cocked his head. “I only ask, Jaeryth,
because I have grave concerns regarding your well-being.”

“If that’s the case, then perhaps you should have left me
with some of my abilities. Or my clothing.”

Samael laughed. The sound did little to put him at ease.
“Jaeryth, you do amuse me so. That must be why I haven’t yet struck you down.”
The Prince sent a leisurely glance around the room. “Are you enjoying yourself
with these meat-sacks? They can be such unpleasant company, you know. Always
scheming and lying and abusing each other. Good times.” He winked.

“Indeed.”

“You disagree?” Samael shook his head, offered a mock sigh
and turned to the closest time-stopped human, a female with dark, heavy makeup
and unnaturally black hair. “Let’s show him a good time, dear one. Shall we
dance?”

Before Jaeryth could react, Samael grabbed the motionless
mortal and pulled her from the crowd.

“Strike up the band!” Laughter rolling like thunder, the
Prince executed a graceful, demented waltz through the cleared space between
stage and crowd, with the female flopping about in his arms like a fresh
corpse. He hummed under his breath as he trotted her across the floor and then
stopped to dip her.

The human gasped, opened her eyes—and began to shriek.

“Oh, for the love of Hell.” Samael dropped her. When she hit
the floor, still screaming, he gestured and froze her mid-shriek. “Females,” he
said with a merciless chuckle. “They’re never happy. And speaking of females,
let’s have a look at your prophet.”

Jaeryth had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. He did
not want the Prince anywhere near his Logan—but there was little he could do
about it. If he protested, Samael would probably do worse than whatever he
already had in mind.

Samael leapt easily onto the stage. But instead of
inspecting Logan, he headed for the drum set and Tex. “Brother!” He stopped
before the angel, cupped the immobile face in both hands and bent to kiss his
forehead. Quick sizzling sounds rose with the contact, and when Samael drew
back, a lip-shaped mark blackened Tex’s skin. The smudged lines blazed orange
and evaporated in curls of smoke, leaving only a faint shadow. Shrugging, the
Prince turned and hooked a thumb toward the angel. “This one is defective.”

“Is he?” Jaeryth said weakly, wishing with all of what
passed as his heart that Samael would leave.

Having apparently lost interest in Tex, the Prince pranced
across the stage. He stopped to grab handfuls of Blue’s long, thick hair, bring
it to his nose and inhale deeply, and then to snatch the guitar pick from
Reid’s frozen fingers and throw it into the crowd. Finally, he came to Logan.
She’d paused in time with her head thrown back and eyes half-closed, the
microphone in one hand nearly touching her curved lips while her other hand
stretched toward the crowd, beseeching. Beautiful.

After subjecting her to a long, rapacious stare, Samael
looked to Jaeryth and grinned. “All right, I’m convinced. She is Nabi,” he
said. “Do you know why I believe this?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess, sire.”

Samael jumped from the stage and landed in front of him with
a thud that shook the building. He was no longer grinning. “Because this place
burns with the light of Citadel,” he snarled. “It
reeks
of good
feelings. Every one of these putrid heaps of miserable flesh is
happy.
And
she
is the cause of this!”

Jaeryth didn’t even see the Prince move. One moment he was
standing—and the next, he was flat on his back with the breath driven from him
and Samael’s foot crushing his ribs.

“You are failing me, Jaeryth.” Samael stepped off, reached
down and hauled Jaeryth to his feet with one hand. “I do not tolerate failure.
Is that understood?”

He gasped for enough air to speak. “Yes, sire.”

“Ronwe is aware of this problem.” Samael shook him hard
enough to jar his bones together. “I do not care which one of you solves it, in
what way, but it
will
be solved. And if Ronwe is the one to rid me of
this blight…well, you know what will happen to you.”

“Yes…”

“Say it.”

He hesitated. “Tartarus.”

Samael backhanded him. Pain drilled through his head and the
taste of blood filled his mouth. “And worse,” the Prince said. “Your suffering
will make the trials of Prometheus seem like a picnic.” He let go and Jaeryth
dropped to his knees. “If I were you, Jaeryth, I would simply kill her now.
Before Ronwe finds a way to accomplish it.”

With that, Samael strode past the stage, hauled the back
door open and vanished into the night.

Shivering, Jaeryth forced himself to his feet and tried to
ignore his aching body—which, unlike Samael’s mortal form, was not infused with
demonic strength. And he’d just barely begun to recover from the first
thrashing at the Prince’s hands. This would not help him accomplish his goals.

But then, it was obvious Samael had no intention of helping
him.

As quickly as it had stopped, the flow of time rushed back
into place. Motion and noise flooded the room and the music faltered only
briefly. Particularly the guitar.

And the screams of the crowd swallowed the continued shrieks
of the female Samael had assaulted.

Disconcerted as he was, Jaeryth moved to help the screaming
woman. He told himself that it was part of the duties he’d been assigned, his
efforts to appear one of them. Certainly not because he’d been stirred to
sympathy. He bent toward the sprawling, wild-eyed female, offering a hand. And
for his trouble, she reared back and punched him in the face.

Well. At least that would explain the damage to his mouth.

Her gaze cleared and then settled on him in shock. “Oh,
shit!” she said, her voice barely audible above the wailing music and the
roaring mob. “I don’t…I mean, I didn’t mean that. Um. You okay?”

“Fine.” Jaeryth held out a hand again, aware that one of the
other bodyguards had taken notice and did not look pleased. This time, the
female accepted it, and he helped her stand. “The crowd pushed you out,” he
half-shouted. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and flashed a smile. “Thanks.”

Nodding, he guided her back into the mob and returned to his
post. Other than a thumbs-up from the other guard, no one took notice of the
brief scuffle. The mortals carried on, oblivious to the fact that the Prince of
Hell had been among them only moments before.

But Jaeryth had his pain and Samael’s threat to remind him.
And if he continued to fail, he would suffer far more than a few bruises.

* * * * *

Logan poured everything she had into the performance. By the
time they finished the third encore—and they’d only planned on doing one—her
throat ached like a sore tooth and she figured she’d sweated away a good five
pounds. She’d also been ready to clock Reid if he’d so much as thought about running
another song.

But it had been worth the effort. Being up there in front of
the crowd, having a few hundred voices echoing her words back to her, was
indescribably amazing. Orgasms had nothing on that feeling.

The bouncers had cleared most of the room, and Jaeryth
worked right along with them as if he’d done it a hundred times before. She
definitely owed him something for this. Maybe she could let him sleep in the
bed tonight and she’d take the couch. At least he’d be able to stretch out. He
was probably still hurting, and she didn’t doubt working the room had made it
worse.

As the lights came up, she sat on the edge of the stage,
drenched in sweat and more exhausted than she’d ever been—and ridiculously
happy. Maybe she wasn’t doomed to die in a gutter after all.

“Thirsty?”

She twisted her head up to see Tex offering a bottle of
water. “You read my mind,” she said, and winced at the plodding rasp that was
her voice.

“Don’t worry. This’ll help, and you’ll sound way better
tomorrow.” Tex hunkered down next to her and passed the bottle. “You really
banged it out tonight, Frost. I had chills.”

She rolled her eyes in response, then twisted the cap off
and drank. The water wasn’t particularly cold, but it felt like ice sliding
down her burning throat. “I don’t see how you could’ve been chilled.” She did
sound a little better after the drink. Almost human. “It was like a billion
degrees up here.”

“A billion and one. I checked.” Blue thunked down next to
her, grinning. “Holy shit. That was awesome.”

She smiled back. “Yeah. I guess it was.”

“You
guess
?” Blue nudged her with a shoulder-bump.
“You shouldn’t be so modest. You’re a rock star now. People expect a certain
level of smarmy.”

“What, like Reid?”

“Exactly.” Blue swiveled her head to look behind them.
“Where’d he go, anyway?”

Tex smirked. “Bathroom. He must’ve downed a case by himself
during the show, not counting the shots. And I think he had company.”

“Ugh,” Blue said. “Somebody should really neuter that boy.”

The last of the crowd had been ushered out and only Jaeryth
and one other bouncer remained. The two of them were headed back across the
room toward the stage, deep in conversation—well, the bouncer was conversing,
anyway. Jaeryth looked as wiped out as Logan felt. When they’d almost closed
the distance, he looked at her and gave a tired smile.

And she saw the nasty bruise that darkened the corner of his
mouth.

“Oh God.” She slipped off the stage and headed toward him.
“What happened?” As soon as she asked, it occurred to her that maybe he’d had
another run-in with those black-eyed things. The idea sickened her.

“All in the line of duty,” the bouncer said before Jaeryth
could respond. “Some crazy Goth chick broke the line, popped him when he was
trying to get her back. Took it like a champ too. Didn’t even blink.” He
clapped Jaeryth’s shoulder. “Pretty good for a rookie. I’d let him watch my
back.” With a half-wave, he turned and started away.

“Like your back needs watching, Stone.” Logan hadn’t even
noticed Blue approaching them until she called after the retreating bouncer.
Then she looked Jaeryth over and said, “Okay, I’m impressed. You’re hired.”

Jaeryth raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall applying.”

Laughter burst the bubble of tension that had been building
in Logan’s chest. She reached out and grabbed Jaeryth’s hand. “Thank you for
protecting us,” she said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Will you, now.”

He moved closer and the hungry look in his eyes made her
knees weak. She forgot they were standing in the back room of a bar with a
bunch of people watching. And then she forgot how to breathe.

“You don’t look so good, friend. Maybe you should sit out
the celebration.”

Logan barely recognized Tex in that cold comment. She turned
and sent him a deep frown. “Come on, Tex. You have to admit, it’s a good thing
he was here tonight.”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s about time, Rivers,” Blue called out louder than
necessary, shooting Tex a narrow-eyed glare that Logan could’ve kissed her for.
She nodded toward Reid, who was coming across the room from the direction of
the bar. “I hope you washed your hands. You don’t know where she’s been.”

“Good thing she wasn’t you, then. There ain’t enough soap in
the world.”

Some of the coldness melted from Tex’s expression. “Hey,
let’s not ruin things now,” he said. “We had a great night. Like I said, we
should celebrate.” He gestured toward the bar. “Drinks are on me.”

The offer sent a quick burst of anger through Logan, but she
held it back. He probably didn’t mean anything by it. He’d just gotten caught
up in the moment. “I’ll pass,” she said.

“Lighten up, Frost. It’s just a drink. What Miss Turner
doesn’t know won’t hurt you.”

At first she was too shocked to respond. Damn it, Tex was a
substance abuse counselor. He
knew
how fragile recovering addicts were
and exactly what could happen if she slipped, even a little. Any kind of high
could push her back.