Vasya turned to Cindy and smiled. “I
think we will make our surroundings somewhat more habitable for you, bella mia,” he said. He took her hand
and the small satchel of things taken from the church sacristy, and led her
into the icy cold room adjoining hers. The symbol of the demon’s presence
glared at them.
Vasya stepped close to the marking
and dropped to his knees. He held his hands out to Cindy, palms turned upward.
“Anoint me with the Holy water, bella.
The sign of the cross and a blessing if you believe in such things.”
Matéo watched and made to step
forward, but Aimé’s hand on his arm stilled the action. He was watching
intently, and Vasya spoke into his mind, This
won’t take long.
Cindy placed the bag on the floor
and got to her knees, taking the vial of clear water out of the satchel with
shaking hands. She pulled the cap off the vial and looked at Vasya. For several
moments she was motionless, and the ancient’s deep, dark eyes drew her in,
softening unexpectedly as he felt the kiss of her fear. He nodded, and she
spilled a small amount of the water into one hand, then touched his palm,
drawing a cross over his skin. The contact was electric and she felt the
tingling shiver run through her entire body, igniting warmth in her veins that
settled insistently in places she shouldn’t be thinking about right now. She
peeked up at him through her lashes, and saw his smile. He knew the effect he
was having on her, and was enjoying it. She drew the sign in his second palm,
and gasped when the jolt of power shot up her arm and landed her on her ass.
“Mi
dispiace, piccolo uno,” he whispered. He turned to the symbol on the floor
and chanted a soft incantation, then rose.
Cindy bit back a yelp of surprise
and fright when the glowing signature of the demon began to change colour to
deep golden flame, the flames growing to blinding intensity before a flash of
pure white filled the room. Seconds later, Vasya’s hands on her arms helped her
to her feet, his hands warm, but no more than they’d been minutes earlier. She
stared at the floor, gaping at it. There was no sign of anything, no scorch
marks, no lingering traces of glowing white. She stared up at him.
“The portal is closed?” Aimé’s voice
intruded on the shocked silence and shook everyone back into the moment.
“Yes, he can no longer return this
way,” Vasya nodded.
“What?!”
Rémy’s enraged snarl filled the room
an instant before he launched at Vasya, his heavier form knocking the other
male to the floor. He landed one punishing blow to Vasya’s jaw before Matéo
dragged him off the ancient prince.
“If he closed whatever door there
was, we’ll never get her back!” Rémy shouted in Matéo’s face as he tried to
wrench himself free of his brother’s hold.
“We’ll build a bridge that we
control, Rémy,” Aimé said quietly, already understanding why Vasya had needed
to block a return through a portal created by Azazel.
Warmth was seeping into the room
quickly now that the door to Hell had been closed. Cindy went to Vasya and held
out a hand. He didn’t need her help to stand up, but he smiled at the gesture
and rose gracefully, motion fluid. He bent and kissed her lips very briefly. “Grazie, bella,” he murmured.
Cindy felt a soft blush stain her
cheeks, but tried to ignore it when she turned to look at the des
Quatre-Frères. Rémy was no longer in Matéo’s grasp, and Aimé was visible in the
next room, bent over the bed, unwrapping the relic. They followed him into the
room, and watched as he lifted the tarnished, archaic weapon and held it in
both hands.
“It still looks like a piece of
junk,” Rémy muttered to no one in particular.
“Such an insolent young whelp,”
Vasya noted, voice cold.
Matéo stiffened, and Aimé’s
friendliness cooled noticeably.
Vasya’s eyebrow rose and he looked at
each one of the affronted brothers. His looked stopped on the Alpha and he
inclined his head. “My apology for the slight to your brother,” he said, though
amusement was still clear in his tone. He let it go at that and once again
turned to Cindy. “The rest of the supplies we picked up, please?”
She went to collect the bag and
brought it back to him. Vasya took out several items, dropped them on the foot
of the bed, then went to take the sword from Aimé’s hands. He examined it
closely, running his fingers over the ruins, expression thoughtful, almost
troubled.
“It is the Aducător de moarte, my lord,” Aimé said quietly.
“It has been dormant for a very long
time,” Vasya said, speaking more to himself than to anyone present. He tested
the edge of the sword, found it dull and lifeless. His mouth tightened in a
thin line of displeasure and he looked back at Rémy, who watched every move he
made, suspicion rolling off him in near tangible waves.
“You are the one most proficient in
weaponry?” It was as much a statement as a question, but Rémy nodded in reply.
“Clean the weapon if you would, Rémy des
Quatre-Frères. I have brought supplies for the task. When you hone the blade,
there is Holy water for use with the whetstone. Make liberal use of it, it may
save us all.”
He held the blade out and Rémy’s
hand closed on the hilt, the moment they both touched the weapon, their eyes
met in silent communion. A voice, faint and frightened, whispered from far
away. Rémy’s blue eyes widened and Vasya nodded. “It is her,” he said. “She is
trying to warn us.”
Aimé stepped forward and added his
touch to the sword, as did Matéo, and the voice of the woman trapped in
Azazel’s hell grew clearer.
* *
* * *
Denysé concentrated harder, certain
she felt some kind of connection being forged. Her heart was beating a wild
timpani in her ears, but she was certain she felt her beloved Rémy’s presence.
It gave her courage, and she focused on a simple mantra, begging him to stay
away. Part of her, the honest part that was terrified, secretly hoped he would
come anyway, and she hated herself for it. She was too scared to be noble.
Tears flooded her eyes and she squeezed them back. Inside her mind, she fought
down the urge to scream for Rémy.
All around her began to quake
suddenly, and she jumped to her feet. Dear
God! Were there earthquakes in hell?
The cell that surrounded her started
to heat, blistering her skin as the temperature rose in intensity. She put her
hands over her eyes and tried to breathe as brimstone and sulfur choked her. A
blast of light erupted, searing her eyes even while she had them covered. She
felt back, and looked up. Azazel... and he was no longer the man in black, he
was the demon who commanded the legions of hell.
She screamed, a shriek of utter and
total terror...
* *
* * *
Rémy felt the backlash hit him hard
when the mental bridge went up in flames. An instant too late to block her
voice rising in fear, the scream echoing over and over in his head. He felt a
hand on his shoulder and snapped his eyes open to meet the darkness of Vasya’s onyx
gaze.
“We know she is still alive,” he
murmured quietly. “Have courage, young warrior.” For the first time, Vasya’s
voice held kindness when he spoke to Rémy. “We will bring her back.”
Rémy broke the hypnotic gaze and
looked quickly at his brothers. “I have work to do if I’m expected to make this
piece of junk into a sword again,” he said. From the corner of his eye, he saw
Vasya’s smile and relaxed minutely.
“I would like to confer with your
scribe, if you have no objections,” Vasya said, addressing Matéo.
The Alpha glanced at Cindy. “Écrivaine?”
Startled, Cindy looked at them all
and shook off the momentary daze she’d slipped into watching them with the
sword.
“Sure,” she smiled as she replied,
then glanced at Vasya. “In here?” She asked, indicating the room that no longer
felt like the inside of a freezer.
He nodded. “I’ll be with you in a
moment, bella. Order some wine.” When
she slipped into the room, and Rémy settled on the couch, tools laid out on
table in front of him, Vasya faced Matéo and Aimé. “Azazel plans to sacrifice
her, a blood ritual that will once again allow him access to this plane of
existence.” He paused, knowing full well that Rémy could hear every word being
spoken. “He will take her heart, and use it to dress himself in human form.”
Rémy’s curse made him look back, and
they saw the blood that soaked the blade of the sword where it had cut into his
hand. The runes blazed to life and he looked up at Vasya Petrova, confusion
written on his handsome features.
“The Aducător de moarte has chosen you as her champion, Rémy des
Quatre-Frères.”
Matéo sighed, and Aimé looked closer
at Vasya, clearly wanting to speak. He chose not to, there’d be time to
question before they built the portal from their side to make the trip into
Hell...
Part Seven tomorrow at:
Can't get enough? Meet the Brothers des Quatre-Frères HERE:
Book One: Hour of the Wolf (Matéo)
Book Two: Thrown to the Wolves (Sébastien)
Book Three: Cry Wolf (Aimé)
Book Four: Wolf at the Door (Rémy)
Coming Soon
Oooh, the part with the sword choosing Remy still gives me shivers. LOVE IT! (((HUGS)))
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