Seal of Surrender (22 page)

“What bargain?” Xander swiveled to pin him with a questioning stare.

“No.” Divinity focused solely on Chago, her expression as hard as granite. “You didn't. Archon is still alive. I offered you retirement only if he was eliminated. The Seal is still vulnerable.”

The disappointment and betrayal he expected never came. Instead, his thoughts were filled with Irena. She was all that mattered now. He smiled with a mixture of dumbstruck love and admiration, knowing he would make any sacrifice to protect her forever. Chago glanced back at Divinity and gave her a brief, decisive nod. “Fine.”

Divinity dismissed her duet of Angel guards with a flick of her wrist. The large glowing beings hovered above the summit before disappearing into the shimmer of clouds above. “Come by later, Xander. I have new developments to share with you.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Divinity nodded and dissolved into a cloud of incandescent light.

“How are you doing?” His commander crouched once more by his side.

“I'd be a hell of a lot better on my ranch,” Chago said, leaning back on one arm.

“The Range Rover is parked near the bottom of the mountain.” Xander smiled and handed Irena a set of keys. “Take him back to the hotel.”

She turned as he rose and moved to stand nearby. “What about you? How will you get back?”

“Don't worry about me. We Scion always find our way home.” He shot her a wink and disappeared into a whirling maelstrom of prismatic color.

“What the hell was that?” Irena turned shocked eyes to him.

Chago smiled. His hotheaded Croatian had a lot to learn about Scion ways. Warmth flooded his chest. He'd enjoy teaching her all of them. “It's called flashing, carina. For most of our travel purposes, it's the most efficient mode of getting from here to there.” She eyed him with suspicion and he placed a hand over his heart. “Truth, I swear. You haven't experienced it yet because I prefer more sedate forms of transport.”

She opened her mouth, closed it then opened it again.

Had he finally rendered his Irena speechless? The thought made him smile. He couldn't wait to get her back to his ranch and show her the herd. He took her chilled hand in his and squeezed. “Irena, my love, will you come home with me?”

Irena didn't hesitate. Only flashed him a gorgeous smile brimming with emotion. His heart hammered against his ribs. “Yes. I would love to see your ranch.”

“Only my ranch?” He cupped her face and drew her close. “I love you, mi vida.”

“I love you too, Chago.” Irena's response stole his breath.

Any further conversation was ended by his fervent kiss.

• • •

The cell door slammed with a resounding thwack.

“You will be punished accordingly.” Lucifer ordered two demons to stand guard over the enclosure and walked a few steps away. “I'll return shortly to resume your torture regime.”

His father's sinister cackle carried along the bedrock walls of the corridor. The two guards chortled along with their master.

Archon swallowed hard. Invisible needles prickled his skin as feeling returned to his limbs. His plan had failed, but he'd gained invaluable experience. Next time, he wouldn't rely on humans to handle the important things. Next time, he'd do his own summoning.

With effort, he pushed into a sitting position and surveyed his surroundings. They'd placed him deeper in Sheol this time, making escape more difficult.

No matter. Tonight, he would accept his punishment. Tomorrow, he would scheme anew. His father might have won the battle, but Archon was determined to win the war.

The wedding would have made John Wayne proud.

After they'd tied up their loose ends in the Congo, Irena had accompanied him to Rancho Segrado. She'd stayed for one blissful month before flying home to Dallas to pack up her things and put her apartment on the market. She returned two weeks later and settled in to life on the farm.

He'd never dared to imagine someone to share his life the way Irena did. She embraced all aspects of ranching, from animal care to crops to running his home and business. His ranch foreman, Hank, thought the sun rose and set with Irena. Chago felt the same way.

Now, as he fidgeted at the front of the small hillside chapel near his property, true joy filled his heart. Never in his long millennia had he dared to believe he'd meet someone like her, let alone marry her. Her gentle ways touched a wild place inside his heart no one had ever tamed. Her loyalty and devotion meant more to him than any amount of wealth or prestige and he loved her more than he'd ever thought possible.

During her brief stint in Dallas, he'd flashed home to the Basque countryside to place fresh flowers on Yana's grave. He said a silent prayer of thanks and asked her blessing on his new union. He'd left with a newfound sense of serenity.

“She's lovely, my friend.” Xander nudged him in the side, nodded toward Irena's arrival at the doorway, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Gracias, Xan.” Chago glanced at his best man and smiled. “Your blessing means a lot.”

At the end of the aisle, Hank met Irena at the entrance and helped her to dismount the pony she'd ridden the short distance to the chapel. The horse was one of his many gifts to her. She'd named the mare Tišina, Croatian for tranquility.

Her bridesmaids, fellow Seal Mira and her friend Zoe, helped Irena arrange her veil and handed her a bouquet of white lilies. The girls had become close friends over the past few weeks as they planned the wedding together and shared their bonds of Seal angst and Scion woes.

The music began and the crowd hushed. A very pregnant Mira moved to stand before the altar and assume her position as maid-of-honor opposite Xander. Kagan, her husband and fellow Scion warrior, kept a watchful eye on his wife from his place in the front row.

Zoe moved to stand beside Mira and Chago felt Xander fidget behind him. It was obvious whenever the girl was around that his commander was more than intrigued and he'd long suspected Xander's interest in Zoe ran deeper than the professional. Still, he had bigger things to concentrate on at the moment. He nudged Xander and forced the man to drag his eyes from Zoe and attend to his best man duties.

A low moo sent a ripple of laughter through the crowd as Hank led their ring bearer up the aisle. Ernie trotted forward, his bowtie lopsided from the exaggerated sway of his backside, a small pillow bearing two rings nestled atop his back. Chago offered him an apple and swore if cows could smile, Ernie sported a humongous bovine grin.

Xander stepped down from his spot and yanked on the calf's harness to direct him to his station near the side of the chapel.

At last the organist began the familiar strains of the wedding march.

As a special surprise, he'd flown Irena's parents in from Croatia for the ceremony. Turns out the special assignment Luther had been working on in Dallas had been the location and subsequent rescue of Irena's parents from the hell Drake had put them through. Chago had fallen in love with their old world charm and planned to offer them a permanent homestead on the ranch, if Irena agreed.

Now they escorted their daughter down the aisle.

His heart leapt at Irena's beauty. Awash in creamy satin and sparkling lace, she was every fantasy he'd ever had brought to Technicolor life. He couldn't wait to begin their life together. Any thoughts of a solitary life had long since departed. His new dreams included Irena.

She reached his side. Through the gauze of her veil, he caught her smile and flashed her one in return. Her father transferred Irena's hand to his waiting palm and her small fingers trembled in his larger grasp. Protectiveness and love charged through him. She belonged to him now and he vowed to honor and keep her all the days of his long life.

• • •

Much later, Irena sipped her champagne and leaned back in her chair. The reception cranked on as the DJ provided by Mira and Kagan kept the dance floor rocking. Even her rhythm-challenged new husband had been bamboozled into dancing with a tipsy handmaiden.

Chago shot her a pained look over the top of his partner's head. Irena waved and smiled, ignoring her spouse's obvious discomfort. She was sure he would get his revenge later, in the secluded privacy of their bedroom. A shiver ran up her spine. She couldn't wait.

Across the room she spied Innocent and Celina enjoying the music. She'd been thrilled when Chago had flown them all the way from Africa. She couldn't imagine this day without them.

A waiter interrupted her reverie to drop off a fresh glass of champagne. The music ended briefly and the crowd dispersed. She spotted her husband near the buffet table now, deep in conversation with several of his Scion brethren. Irena finally understood his comments about blended family. The Scion were a unique band of brothers and she felt lucky to be part of their extended family.

Her husband had proven true to his spicy Basque ancestry. Since her permanent move to the ranch, they'd laughed and cried and fought like cats and dogs, only to make up with equally passionate abandon. True partners, they shared everything together.

“Are you ready to leave, mi corazon?” Chago's breath tickled her ear as snuck up behind her and kissed her neck. He pulled her to her feet and slipped his arm around her waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles over her satin-clad abdomen. His tone was low and full of sinful promise. “I can't stand another moment without being inside you.”

Irena reached up to stroke his cheek. “You just want to get out of your tuxedo.”

Chago's wicked chuckle made her heart flutter as he nuzzled her ear. “You have no idea, mi vida. No idea.”

Traci is the author of paranormal/urban fantasy and contemporary romances featuring a sly, urban edge, including her current Seven Seals series. Her stories feature sizzling alpha-male heroes full of dark humor, quick wits, and major attitudes; smart, independent heroines who always give as good as they get; and scrumptiously evil villains who are — more often than not — bent on world destruction. She enjoys weaving ancient curses and mythology, modern science and old religion, and great dialogue together to build red-hot, sizzling chemistry between her main characters.

Traci is an active member of Romance Writers of America (RWA); Indiana Romance Writers of America (IRWA); and Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal Writers (FF&P) and is pursing a Masters of Fine Arts degree in Writing Popular Fiction through Seton Hill University. Her stories have made the final rounds in several RWA chapter contests, including the 2012 Duel on the Delta, the 2012 Molly Awards, and the 2012 Catherine Awards. An earlier draft of her debut novel,
Seal of Destiny
, won the paranormal category of the 2012 Marlene Awards sponsored by the Washington Romance Writers.

Other current projects include upcoming books in the Seven Seals series and a new futuristic suspense series with hints of the paranormal and plenty of romance.

She loves hearing from readers!

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It always started with the stench.

Mira Herald strapped on her extra-small, hot pink sparring gloves and prepared to assault the heavy bag, replaying the horrors of her nocturnal freak show. Fight training had become her refuge, her armor against the vulnerability of a petite frame and the accumulated scourges of abuse. Now she'd use her skills to battle this new siege. With a sniff to chase away the lingering odor of sewer, Mira began her attack.

Pop, pop, pop.
Each strike brought forth a new detail of her long-recurring dream. Mud-caked clothing. Iron cuffs locking her in place. The warbling, off-key tune of some obscure lullaby.

She switched to a series of six-jab combos, the bag morphing into the image of her after-dark tormentor. Thin lips. Yellow, jagged teeth dripping with spittle. The diseased, greenish tone of his flesh, veins dark and bulging beneath its mottled surface. His forked tongue that flicked out against her cheek like a serpent scenting its prey.

Muscles burning, Mira ignored the pain and continued to pummel her phantom assailant. His emaciated frame dwarfed by a dingy white leisure suit and the wrinkled, stained dress shirt beneath. Sulfuric ooze dripping from beneath his pant legs to stain the ground before he descended. The taunting smarm of his Cockney drawl.

Bob. Weave. Cross.
A guttural moan, the desperate keen of an addict jonesing for his fix. Mira's mind blurred the sleepscape with visions from her own trailer-park-trashed childhood. The sad extinction of her dearly departed innocence. A twisted Dickens tale courtesy of the state's family-for-hire foster care system.

Despite her adrenaline-fueled barrage, the final moments of the nightmare persisted. Ghoulish digits trailed her thigh. His parting words — vulgar, rough, yet oddly reverent — delivered with the staccato rat-tat of machine gun fire.
“Yolcam Emetgis.” Slip. Slip. Uppercut.

Mira executed a perfect roundhouse kick and the bag teetered wildly, the ceiling creaking to support its heft. She grabbed it in a bear hug to slow its swing. Lounge demon defeated — for now. Her years of self-defense had served her well as the nightmares became increasingly vile. The episodes replayed every night and now invaded her waking hours too. Worse, the return to reality grew more difficult with each sojourn. Mira couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a solid eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. She was so damn tired.

For the umpteenth time, she wondered if insanity ran in her family. Then, grunting, she shoved the punching bag away and stomped toward the bathroom.
You don't have a family, dumbass.