The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set (58 page)

He stood there, staring at her for a while, then reached out towards her face with a hand. “May I?”

Tentatively, she nodded.

He caught her tear as it slipped off her chin, and stared at it, dumbfounded. “Can I keep this?”

She bit back another laugh, because she sensed his vulnerability. Oh, hadn’t the tables turned… “Yes.”

He closed his hand around her tear, then brought his fist up, and flattened his palm against his chest, between the open collar of his shirt.

That was a nice shirt – she briefly wondered where he’d got it from.

When he removed his hand, she could see that her tear had crystallised above his heart. It shone like an opal, embedded in his skin. She looked up at him, speechless.

“No one has
ever
cried for me before. I shall never forget it. And you were wrong…” He stared at her open wings. “You look beautiful in white.”

Booted feet hit the tarmac of the main road outside.

Abaddon suddenly spun away from her, and his minions let go of Gwain. The two angels stared each other down.

Abaddon was the first to speak. “As soon as you tore your way into my home to save her, I knew what God had done – how he had created you. The connection between you both was palpable to me.” He glanced at Mary. “I thought you’d betrayed me; now I know that nothing in Heaven, Hell, or anything in between, could have kept you two apart.

“Your time is up. After you’re dead, Michael’s planning to send his entire army after the Pen to ensure this never happens again.”

Karl.

Gwain cursed in defeat, and then moaned in exhaustion. She heard his thought loud and clear:
Has it all been for nothing?
 

Angels marched up the driveway.

Abaddon reached into his pocket – thank God he wasn’t wearing John-pants anymore – and pulled out the Witching Pen. He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “Your boy’s a bit careless with his wardrobe, Gwain – doesn’t check for holes often enough.”

Mary and Gwain stood motionless, watching Abaddon twirl the Pen in his hand.
Satan had the Pen in his hand.
 

“What are you going to do?” asked Gwain, his voice tight.

The first angel looked at the last angel. “There’s nothing I can do to save either of you, and I don’t like you very much – my neck still feels kinda loose,” he said, rolling his head from side to side. “But I’m going to throw you a boon. You freed me from the burden of Hell, when I’d thought myself trapped there forever – I can free your boy from this.”

Abaddon crushed the Pen in his hand.

A light flashed from it, so bright it was blinding, the front door crashed open, angels poured in, and somehow, in the confusion, Gwain managed to find Mary’s hand and they both went tumbling out the kitchen door and into the garden.

Tumbling was the right word. Still half-blinded, one of them, or both of them, tripped and took the other down. They rolled a bit before they landed in the middle of the grass, Gwain on top of Mary.

Mary had already unclasped the dagger from her belt. She thrust it into his hand. “
Savhail iame, m’angeal.
Hell’s gone. Mankind is saved. Now save us.”

He took it in his right, ripped her shirt open with his left, and angled the blade above her heart. His eyes met hers for what she knew would be the last time, and her love for him swelled. There was that peace she’d always felt, right there in the grey depths of them. There was no one she trusted her life to – or her death to – more.

The back door crashed open against the brick wall; feet stampeded towards them.

She placed both her hands over his, and suddenly, the world went silent. “I won’t let you go, I swear it.”

There are moments in your life, even if you are immortal, when you experience a millisecond of clarity – when everything you have ever known, everything that you are, and the part that you play in the fabric of existence, becomes so obvious, you'll have no understanding of how you could not see it before.

This was one of those moments.

Everything faded into the background. There were no words – words could not encompass the absoluteness that was ‘now’. There was no past; there was no future. All ‘whys’, ‘what ifs’, and ‘buts’, were gone. There was only the purity of the present, the surety of faith, and the abundance of love.

Michael’s sword glinted in the sunlight as it descended on them.

“
And all dimensions will bleed into one
,” whispered Mary.

She tightened her hold on Gwain’s hand, his lips fell on hers, and together, they drove the blade home.

Epilogue

Lucifer and Morgana stood in the garden, and watched the last of Mary and Gwain’s blood seep into the earth. Their bodies had become immaterial upon their death, and had shimmered into nothingness – what was death anyway, if not a transformation. All that remained were their bloodstained clothes, but even the blood disappeared from their clothing as it sank into the soil.

The dagger would ensure that their souls remained merged.

“Lighten up,” said Lucifer, giving her a nudge. “We won.”

“This has to work.”

“It will. God knows, I injected her with enough dragon venom.”

“God is no more.”

“It’s an expression. What, I have to change the way I speak?” he brought out an apple from some invisible stash behind his back, and bit into it.

Morgana threw him a disapproving glance. “Most angels carry swords on their backs, not apples.”

“I like apples,” he mumbled as he chewed. “Swords have no flavour.”

Michael and his army had fled in panic as soon as they realised they were now fallen – all angels were. The veils that separated dimensions were gone. Demons could walk freely among humans, and angels were falling from the sky – literally. Heaven and Hell no longer existed, and the ground was drinking the blood of Tír na nÓg, quenching its long-standing thirst.

“Can you see the necklace?” she asked.

“No. It’s gone – gone with the blood.”

“Good. How are the others?”

“In mourning. Give them a bit of time; I’ll head over there soon.”

“The Dragon will need their help.”

“I’ll tell them all about it – you worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough.”

“Morgana, you’re beautiful, but anal to a fault.”

She glowered at him. “Is the baby—”

“Safe?” He sighed, then turned the brown-haired Goddess to face him. He tilted her chin up. “The baby is safe – it’s as stubborn as all three of its parents put together. The Shanka Witch is still coming into her powers, but she’ll be strong enough to face her tribe soon; the half-angel has no idea what he’s capable of, and he’s hurting a lot right now – I feel sorry for the lad. I want to wait until he’s feeling less vulnerable before bombarding him with a whole bunch of new stuff to deal with. Oh, and the Dessec has forged a union with Teigas in his bid to conquer his kingdom.”

Morgana raised her eyebrows in surprise. “That should be interesting.”

Lucifer laughed. “The imp didn’t see it coming. I’m growing to like that Dessec – he has the heart of a true king.”

“And The Witching Pen—”

“Is gone. I
definitely
didn’t predict that one. Abaddon—”

“Was always going to be the one to destroy it,” finished Morgana, her tone hushed with admiration.

Lucifer let out a little snort. “Yes, I’m well aware of your ‘feelings’ for the first angel. You do know he’s a complete basket case nowadays, don’t you?”

She ignored him. “So all we’re waiting for now—”

“Is the last Dragon to rise. Wonderfully ironic, isn’t it? The last angels feed the last Dragon.”

“They’ll do more than that,” stated Morgana, a steel edge to her voice.

They looked at the ground again. All the blood was gone.

“Yes, they will, my Goddess … yes, they will.”

~*~

Deep in the belly of the planet, just below where Hell once reigned, cold became warmer, dark became lighter, and unconsciousness became dawning awareness.

Where are you? w
hispered a voice.

I’m here.

As awareness grew, so did sensation.

I can feel you.

I told you I wouldn’t let go.

Something shifted; there was a breath, and then a sigh … movement … muscles cramped from aeons of non-use, finally feeling blood-flow … and wings. Wings?

We have wings.

I know. Are you scared?

No. When at rock bottom, there’s only one way left to go.

The creature twitched in its sleep, and instinctively stretched its wings.

Oh, that feels good.

A laugh.

Laugh louder – it’s beautiful.

The laugh filled the earth from inside out, and the Dragon opened its eyes.

Book Four:
The Last Dragon
 

For Becky Johnson, Nikki McCarver and Anne Nelson.

Thank you for your friendship, fanship and invaluable support.

Origin of the word, apocalypse:

Middle English:
revelation
, Revelation;

from Anglo-French
apocalypse
, from Late Latin
apocalypses
,

from Greek
apokalypsis
, from
apokalyptein
:
to uncover
;

from
apo- + kalyptein
:
to cover

(ref: Merriam-Webster)

Circumstances do not make the man,

they reveal him.

James Allen (author)

Prologue

(The first night after all dimensions bled into one.)

Lying in the crook of his arm, she trailed her fingers along the contours of his smooth, firm chest. Without hesitation, she leaned in a little and followed that trail with her mouth, her kisses making his skin pebble.

He stroked her arm in response and sighed with pleasure, and then turned his head to take her in with those blue eyes she’d fallen in love with ten years ago – maybe even before that.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Just wanted to make sure you were.”

He smiled. “And this is your way of checking?”

“Is there another way you’d prefer?” she teased.

“No, this is good.”

Manoeuvring under the duvet, Elena threw one leg across his thighs and hauled herself up and astride him.

“Mmmm … better.”

She leaned down and captured his lips with hers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Another kiss … deeper…

“Are you sure you want to sleep here tonight?”

He briefly looked around the room that was Gwain’s – had been Gwain’s – although none of them were ready to admit what had taken place just over twelve hours ago. “I’m not ready to go home after this morning. Even if it’s safe, I just … can’t.”

“I know. We don’t have to.”

She nibbled his earlobe and he groaned, his hand finding its way to the curve of her bottom.

“Karl…”

“Mmmm?”

“Have you looked in the safe behind the bathroom mirror yet?”

“No. I will soon.”

Her nibbling continued down his neck.

“Karl…”

“Mmmm?”

“I want to make love.”

She felt him smile against the top of her head. “I kind of figured. Are you hungry?”

She paused for a second, letting the brief hurt of his words slide her by, and then glanced up at him. “No. Well … yes, but that’s not why—”

“Hey,” he cupped her face, “I know, but if it
was
the reason, it’s all right.”

Annoyed, she started to climb off him, but he pulled her back down and held her in place. “Elena, I love you,” he repeated, “and that means your demon too. If she needs to feed, it’s fine – it’s more than fine.”

“I want to make love to you because I want to feel close to you and because of everything that’s happened today – to feel safe and happy, if that’s even possible.” But she couldn’t deny that she was hungry, and her words rang hollow with the truth she kept hidden. It irritated her that she was so ruled by her demon’s needs. The succubus in her had been very prominent today, demanding her attention, and although the day’s events had been busy, she’d still found herself fighting with the fact that she craved sex – or rather, the energy that sex created. It wasn’t right that whilst in mourning – while everything was collapsing around them – she wanted to fuck for her own gratification.

She looked away from Karl, aware that he could read her like a book.

Pinning her on top of him, he reached forward and slipped two fingers under where she sat, finding her centre.

She moaned with delight, despite herself.

“I want you to make love to me,” he said, his voice coarse with desire. “Please.”

It was music to her ears and a hot river to the rest of her body. But still she fought it. “How can you stand it? The way I look when I… What I do to you when I…” She couldn’t finish either sentence, partly because she hated thinking about it, and partly because he’d increased his pace, making her wetter and using her reaction to add fuel to her fire.

His erection had grown fully under her, expressing his own need. “Unless you’ve had a succubus make love to you, you don’t get to ask me that.” His fingers entered her, and she gasped, but had no time to enjoy the sensation because he moved her up and repositioned himself beneath her before bringing her back down.

His cock replaced his hand, both of them fighting for breath as she fell on him; drew him in; sucked him into her…

“Christ,” he groaned. “…So good.”

And still she denied herself – denied her demon. “That moment when I come … it feels like I use you.” Repulsion sat heavy in her belly at those words, but it was her mother’s earlier confession that played out in her mind, feeding the self-loathing she tried so hard to master:
They have a way of making things … pleasurable.