Revenant (4 page)

That big asshole fallen angel is here to see you.
And then,
Is he single?

“What do I want?” He shrugged. “I want you.”

She groaned even as her body sparked to life. Her False Angel enchantment might be wearing off, but the False Angel sex drive was as fully engaged as ever. Funny how she was losing the other FA powers, but she was still horny as hell, and self-gratification was becoming less and less satisfying.

“Not this again.” What was his fascination with her, anyway? Shoving him aside, she started down the hall. “I said no.”

He caught up with her, matching her gait as he walked beside her. “Let me put it another way. I have a medical case for you.”

Halting, she eyed him suspiciously. Damn, he was tall. He put her five feet eleven inches to shame. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a female fallen angel. She’s pregnant, and she could use a checkup.”

She snorted. “You knock her up?”

He recoiled so fast she considered grabbing a cervical collar in case he’d given himself whiplash. “The very idea is repulsive.”

“What, the idea of being a father or screwing a fallen angel?”

“I have no problem screwing angels of any kind,” he said, his voice a low purr, and she knew he was hinting at the fact that she was, at least to outside eyes, a False Angel. “But this particular one has been… damaged.”

“Is that why she needs medical help?”

“It’s why she needs psychological help, but no.” He waited for a male nurse pushing a cart of supplies to go past before saying, “She needs a medical doctor because her pregnancy isn’t exactly routine.” He cocked his head, his thick mane of blue-black hair brushing his shoulders. “May I touch you?”

Whoa. Talk about whiplash. Before she could protest, he reached out, brushing a knuckle over her cheek. Every nerve ending in her body sizzled with awareness. How did he do that so easily?

She stepped away, awkwardly enough that he had to know he’d affected her. “Why did you do that?”

“I’ve been told I have no impulse control or sense of social boundaries.” He casually rolled one big shoulder. “At least I asked first.”

“Gee, give the guy a medal.” Gods, she loved the way he smelled, like musk and leather and a sinful hint of brimstone. “Tell your fallen angel friend to come by. We’re open twenty-four seven.” Her fingers cramped, and she realized she’d been holding her pager in a death grip. Tucking it back into her pocket, she gave him a see-ya smile. “I have work. Thanks for stopping by.”

She started for the front office, but he snared her arm and swung her back around. “She can’t come here. I need to take you to her.”

“Sorry,” she said, jerking out of his grip, “but I don’t make house calls. I can recommend someone who does —”

“I need you.”

Okay, now she was nearing the end of her patience. “Did you hear what I just said? I don’t make house calls. No exceptions.”

“You will make an exception for this patient.”

Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him, dumbfounded. Who did he think he was to come barging into her place of work and demand she drop everything just because he said to? “I will do no such thing.”

“I would consider this a personal favor. Which means I would owe you.”

Hmm. Now that was something to think about. She didn’t want to be indebted to anyone, let alone a fallen angel like Revenant, but to have
him
owe
her
… that was worth considering. She didn’t know much about him, but she did know he was the evil Watcher for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, which meant he was a fallen angel of high standing – and power. And with the craziness that was going on with her mother right now, Blas never knew when she’d need a favor.

“Why me?” she asked.

“Because I want you,” he said simply. “And you want me.”

Good Lord, he was delusional. “I don’t want you.”

He smiled tightly. “You will.”

“You know,” she sighed, “the more you say shit like that, the less likely it is that I would ever want you.”

“You don’t appreciate confidence?”

“I don’t appreciate arrogance. There’s a difference.”

“And what is the difference?”

“Confidence is arrogance without an asshole.”

He laughed, and holy hell, he was stunning when he did that. “Sounds uncomfortable. I’ll keep my arrogance, thank you very much.”

Jamming her hands on her hips, she glared. “You still haven’t said why you want me to treat your friend.”

“She’s not my friend. And it has to be you because you’re the only doctor I know.”

“If knowing a doctor was the only criteria people used for choosing one, very few people would get medical care.”

He bared his teeth. “I don’t give a shit about other people. I’m choosing you because I don’t know anyone else.”

He barely knew
her
. But she sensed… she wasn’t sure. Maybe he was one of those people who bonded quickly with others. Or maybe he didn’t trust easily, and she’d given him enough straightforward attitude that he thought he could put some confidence in her abilities. The latter sounded most likely.

And why was she diagnosing his mental instability, anyway? She was done arguing with him. But… something he’d said intrigued her. “Did you say the patient is a fallen angel? Is the child’s father a fallen angel as well?”

“You could say that.”

Since all fallen angels had once been Heavenly angels, the offspring of two fallen angels would be
emim
, neither angel nor fallen angel, wingless, but possessing a number of fallen angel powers. During her research into ways to repair the damage caused by grimlight, she’d found a necromancer’s scribblings theorizing that
emim
stem cells could possibly deliver a punch of extra healing power to otherwise untreatable conditions in fallen angels like her mother.

Revenant might just have delivered the answer to Blaspheme’s prayers.

“Fine,” she muttered, telling herself this would all be worth it when either he repaid the favor or she healed her mother. “Give me a minute to grab an obstetrics jump bag.”

“Excellent.” Triumph lit his expression. “I’ll meet you at the main entrance.”

He took off, and as she watched his fine, leather-clad backside disappear down the corridor, she wondered about the mistake she’d just made. Because it wasn’t a question of
if
she’d made a mistake. She’d crossed that particular bridge a mile back.

No, the question now was how big of a mistake it would prove to be.

Blaspheme showed up at the clinic’s main entrance five minutes later, still wearing bright purple scrubs and a pristine white lab coat with the Underworld General caduceus embroidered on the chest pocket. A teal stethoscope hung around her neck, and Revenant wondered how his heart would sound if she listened.

He figured it would either stop completely, or it would do a hummingbird on the back of his rib cage. That was assuming it had fully grown back after Satan made a meal of it.

No, wait… it had definitely regenerated, because as Blaspheme sauntered through the waiting room toward him, an orange duffel slung over her shoulder and her slender fingers toying with the stethoscope, he felt his pulse hammer faster with every step. Her blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and it swung wildly, the tip playing peek-a-boo with him from behind her waist. Damn, he’d love to bend her over, wrap that thing around his fist, and —

“You ready to go?” she asked, getting right down to business.

He answered by shoving open the steel door. He’d discovered that there were only two ways into the clinic; via the Harrowgate from the hospital in New York, or through the door from an abandoned London tube platform. A spell prevented anyone from flashing directly into and out of the clinic, but as a Shadow Angel, he could pop in or out anytime he pleased. For now, however, he wanted to keep his status a secret. One thing he’d learned about power was that the more of it you had, the fewer people you wanted to know about it.

Some asshole out there always wanted to either take it or exploit it, as Satan had proven today when he announced his plan to use Rev as an angel exterminator.

They stepped out onto the platform and into the stale underground air. Behind them, the clinic door closed and melted into the background, concealing itself from human eyes. A few feet away, the shimmering curtain of light from the Harrowgate built into the tunnel wall ahead solidified, and a moment later, a white-skinned
blanchier
demon stumbled out, cradling his clearly dislocated arm.

Blas rushed to hold the clinic door open for him. “See Liz at the front desk. She’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

The demon muttered his thanks and disappeared through the doorway.

“You really do like this job, don’t you?” Revenant asked, baffled by the desire to help people. Most people were assholes. They were much more likable when they were dead.

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it.”

Folding his arms over his chest, he studied her, which, really, was no hardship. “So, when you were a baby False Angel, this was what you dreamed of doing when you grew up?”

“When you were a baby angel, did you dream of committing an offense so heinous it would get you kicked out of Heaven to become a fallen angel?” she shot back.

“Ouch,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize False Angels were venomous.”

She rubbed her eyes, and he suddenly felt like a shit, even if he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t used to having regrets.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m dealing with some family issues that are making me grumpy.”

“Must be something in the air,” he muttered.

“Like a virus?
That
I could deal with,” she said, and he liked that she would rather deal with viral infections than people. Very cool. But odd for a False Angel. “Where are we going?”

“Can’t tell you.” He held out his hand, but she eyed it like what he’d offered her was a
croix viper
. “You need to take it. I’m going to flash us there.”

Hefting the bag more securely on her shoulder, she glared. “If you get me killed…”

“Trust me,” he said. “Nothing can harm you while you’re with me. And if anyone tries, I will make them scream until their skulls explode, Humpty Dumpty style. Not even your great Eidolon and all the king’s horses will be able to fix that.”

“That’s so… touching,” she said flatly. “And graphic.”

“I have mad skills when it comes to touching females.” She didn’t seem to appreciate his double entendre, but then, she seemed pretty annoyed. Maybe he could get her a deadly virus to play with. With his new Shadow Angel powers, creating a plague should be a snap. “Give me your hand.”

She did so, reluctantly, but he still felt a sizzling tremor of awareness shoot up his arm. Savoring the sensation, he flashed them to a region adjacent to Satan’s, a region defined by its lava flows and acid lakes, an inhospitable environment in which few could survive. It was also one of the regions that was impossible for any Heavenly angel to get inside. The manor Satan had built here as his “vacation home” was so tightly guarded that only Revenant and a handful of his most trusted cronies could enter.

They materialized in the grand living room, which was little more than a giant fireplace. Four lit hearths took up four walls, and in the middle, a chaise lounge faced a torture rack.

A torture rack from which some poor shapeshifter hung, his lifeless, broken body dangling loosely from the wooden slats.

“What the hell.” Blaspheme jerked her hand out of his, her horrified gaze glued to the dead guy. “Where are we?”

“Squeamish? I wouldn’t have expected that of you.”

She rounded on him with a snarl, and bless her little False Angel heart, she was pissed. “I’m a doctor for a reason.” She threw her arm out in the dead male’s direction. “That is not cool.”

She started toward the stiff, no doubt to check his vitals, but Rev stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me, he’s long dead.”

He released her before she shrugged away from his touch; for some reason, the thought of her rejecting him again made his chest ache.

Idiot.
 

“Take me back to the clinic,” she snapped, but that wasn’t going to happen. He needed Lucifer to die, and he couldn’t do it himself.

He was spared the ugliness of having to refuse her request when a solid gold door at the other end of the room opened with an ominous creak, and a very pregnant female entered, her tattered white gown stained with blood and who-knew-what-else. Her stringy hair fell in matted clumps around her thin shoulders, and the dark circles raccooning her eyes made her pale face appear almost ghostlike.

“Oh, my,” Blaspheme whispered.

“I’m assuming this is my new obstetrician?” Gethel smiled, but even though he suspected her smile was genuine, her thin, chapped lips and sharp, blackened teeth only made it come off as creepy.

And Revenant had an extremely high threshold for what he considered to be creepy.

“I’m not an obstetrician,” Blaspheme said, sounding impressively authoritative and shit, “but I’ll do what I can to help you.” She started toward Gethel. “What’s your name?”

Gethel sank down on the chaise. “Revenant didn’t tell you?” She gave him a look of mild consternation, which he blew off. “I’m Gethel. And you are?”

“I’m Blaspheme.” She slowed as she approached the chaise. “Gethel… that sounds familiar.”

Crap. This wasn’t going to be good. Revenant helped Gethel ease back on the pillows, not because he gave a crap about her comfort, but because he needed Blas to not feel threatened. And if she realized who Gethel was and who the baby she was carrying would grow up to be… yeah, he needed to play this off as no big deal for a while.

“Of course it sounds familiar, you pathetic fool,” Gethel snapped. She glared at Revenant. “You brought me a quack with no understanding of the earth-shattering momentousness of this situation?”

Blaspheme dropped the duffel with a thud. “Quack? I’ll have you know that I’ve been working at Underworld General Hospital for over five decades now, and I’ve worked my way up from paramedic to medical doctor in charge of UG’s new London clinic. As far as the rest, I’m sure the
earth-shattering momentousness
of your pregnancy is important to you, just as it is with every mother, and I’ll treat you and your child with equal care.”

“Bitch,” Gethel hissed. “You will treat me —” Revenant clamped his hand around her throat and cut her off cold.

“You will speak to Blaspheme with respect,” he growled.

“Revenant!” Blaspheme grabbed his wrist and yanked it away. “How about we set some ground rules.” She jammed a finger at Gethel. “You. Call me a bitch again, and you can find a doctor elsewhere. And you” – she stabbed Rev in the chest with the same finger – “try to strangle a pregnant female again, and I’ll take a scalpel to your balls. Got it?”

He grinned. Damn, her fire was awesome. Usually False Angels were more timid. He wondered if she’d be less aggressive outside of work. More pliable. Easier to get naked.

Gethel jackknifed into a sit. “You still have no idea to whom you’re speaking, do you?”

“No,” Blas said, “and I don’t give a hellrat’s ass. I’m here to do a job, so why don’t you quit being a diva and tell me what’s going on with this pregnancy.”

Revenant really, really needed to get Blaspheme into bed.

Gethel looked to him for help, but he just shrugged. Satan had given him orders to bring a doctor to Gethel, and he’d done that. If Gethel screwed things up, he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

With a snarl, Gethel flopped back down on the chaise and placed her hand on her belly. “Everything was proceeding normally,” she said. “I was feeding off infants to nourish the spawn, and his power grew within me every day.”

There was a heartbeat of dead silence. “You were eating
babies
?”

Gethel sneered. “Of course. My son is a reincarnated fallen angel. It’s required.”

Blaspheme gave Rev a you-are-so-going-to-pay-for-this look. Excellent. He’d happily take anything she wanted to dish out.

Hopefully she wanted to dish out sex. False Angels were notorious for getting revenge through drawn-out, torturous sex.

Imagining the possibilities, he propped himself against a pillar and watched Blaspheme unhook her stethoscope from around her neck.

“I’m going to check your heartbeats, but first, finish telling me what’s going on. How many months along are you?”

Gethel rubbed her belly almost affectionately, but Rev had a hard time believing she actually cared about the hellspawn inside her. “Approximately six months.”

Blaspheme’s eyes shot wide. “You’re, ah… very large for only being six months along. Have you confirmed that there’s only one fetus?”

“The Dark Lord confirmed it. You can talk to him if you doubt me.”

“The… Dark Lord?” Blaspheme paled. “I’ll take your word for it.” She shot Revenant another angry glance before looking over at the dead shifter and shuddering.

Revenant did a mental flick of the wrist, and the poor dead dude disappeared, leaving the rack as clean as if it were brand-new.

“You owe me another plaything,” Gethel said, sounding genuinely sad. “That was one of Limos’s servants. I could have enjoyed looking at him for a few more weeks.”

Blaspheme froze with her hand on the stethoscope’s bell. “Limos? As in, third Horseman of the Apocalypse, Limos?”

“Who else?” Gethel waved her hand dismissively. “Next I want one of Thanatos’s vampire servants.”

For a long moment, Blaspheme stood there, her face going paler by the second. “You’re…
Gethel
.” She took a step backward. “You… you tried to usher in the Apocalypse by killing Thanatos’s newborn son.”

“Duh.”

Blaspheme looked over at Revenant, and he knew she was having second thoughts. Not acceptable. He had a plan, and he needed Team Good, or, at least, Team Neutral, to pull it off.

“I can’t do this,” she said. “The Horsemen are tight with Underworld General’s staff. They’re friends. I can’t be treating the fallen angel who betrayed them and tried to slaughter an innocent baby —”

Gethel’s barking laugh made Blaspheme back up even more, but Rev kept access to his power dancing at his fingertips, ready to blast the shit out of Gethel if she so much as thought about harming Blaspheme.

“No baby is innocent, you fool. They’re reincarnated souls, all of them. They could have been serial killers in their past lives.” She patted her belly. “Do you really think
this
child is in any way pure?”

Blaspheme swallowed. “The child is
emim
, yes? The offspring of two fallen angels. It doesn’t have to be evil if —”

“Oh, it’s evil,” Rev drawled. “You kind of can’t get more evil.”

And technically, since Gethel had been a fully haloed angel at the time she conceived, he didn’t think Lucifer would be considered
emim
, either. He’d be…
vyrm
. The only one under Satan’s protection.

“I don’t understand. I mean, unless the child is the spawn of Satan…” She trailed off as realization dawned. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gethel said, her voice as dark and smoky as the Mephisto char pits. “But it gets even better. The beast growing in me is the reincarnated soul of Lucifer himself.” She grinned. “And the day he’s born is the day Heaven and all of those asshole angels get what’s coming to them.”