Noble Romance Publishing, LLC

   

   
Angels and Demons   
ISBN 978-1-60592-433-5   
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED   
Copyright 2011 Mandy Rosko   
Cover Art by Fiona Jayde   
Edited by Bonnie Walker   
   
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means 
without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, 
LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.   
   
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or 
actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's 
imagination and used fictitiously.   
   
Blurb   
   
In 1665 Scotland, five years after the Black Plague, former angel Jophiel lives in 
solitude as a mortal, having removed his own wings to punish himself for falling in 
love with a vampire. One day, his old friends, Michael and Zadkiel, offer him the 
chance to return home to his old life in the Heavens. The price? Capture his former 
lover, and take his head.

   

   

Lord Frederik Jasper Grimm, the man whom Jophiel loved, is a Belial vampire born 
with half a soul and mortal emotions. His crime was destroying a village of innocents 
as a ransom for his beloved sister Amelia, whom the murderous sorcerer Malcolm 
MacNiel holds hostage. But before Frederik can retrieve Amelia from MacNiel's 
keep, Jophiel captures him.

   

   

Before Jophiel can raise his sword, Frederik begs for mercy, explaining why he 
destroyed the village. Frederik has lied before, but Jo cannot bring himself to kill his 
former lover. His only choice is to hold Frederik prisoner until he can find an answer 
to his question: Why would he be sent to execute an innocent vampire?    All the 
while, he must keep his new, mortal state a secret.

   

   
   
   
   
   

Prologue   
   

England   

The Time of the Black Plague   
   
"You are such an idiot, Jo."   
"Excuse me?" Jo fell back a step at the insult and at his lover's eyes, whose glare was 
hard upon him. It was not a jibe lovingly delivered, but one meant to sear and cut. 
And it did.   
Jo became angry then, his body tightening, his fingers curling into fists, his wings 
ruffling like those of an affronted bird. The wings were invisible to the men Frederik 
had stationed on the grass of his vast garden, some six feet from where they were 
having their argument. But Jo's emotions were not as concealed as his wings, and the 
bastard vampire could see his ire clearly. Yet, Jo's anger seemed to elicit no response 
from Frederik at all, other than an unsympathetic demeanor.   
"Ye know damn well I can’t stay on earth unless I become mortal. What is so 
idiotic—?"   
"The plague, you fucking fool."     
Frederik seethed. For the first time, Jo saw something akin to hatred gleaming within 
those angry eyes. The servants crossed themselves at the mention of the disease.   
Though Frederik feared fire, tall flames burned hotly in every chamber of his home, 
and pits also flickered high in several spots surrounding it as a measure to keep the 
rats and fleas away from the mortals under Frederik's care. It was midnight, and, 
though the full moon cast its usual silver glow, 'twas hardly noticeable with the fires 
that sizzled and popped around them. 'Twas nearly as bright as day.   
Frederik's face shone wet with sweat from the heat. "If you become mortal, the 
plague will consume you, as it has done everything else, and you are stupider than I 
imagined if you think for one moment that I will transform you into one of my kind. 
I won't go to hell for anything, not you, not anyone."   

"I never suggested ye change me into a vampire." Jo's voice rose with impatience. 
Frederik's servants hardly blinked at the word. They knew perfectly well what they 
served. Jo sensed the fear in them, not of their master, but of the plague that raged 
across nearly the whole of the mortal land and of the possibility they would lose 
their lives to it should Frederik not transform them.   
They were placing their hopes on the wrong demon. Frederik would never dare 
transform any living thing into a vampire. Not with the threat that it would become a 
soulless creature of the night.   
Frederik was a Belial vampire. Different from other vampires in that he was born 
with half a soul. His belief, and that of other Belials, remained strong that, if they 
wanted any eternal peace once their long lives ended, they were to never, ever, create 
any more vampires.   
Jo took a breath and gathered his calm, forcing his fingers to relax. "Frederik, I have 
stayed as long as I am able, but I can wait no longer." He lowered his voice to keep 
the servants from hearing. They may be comfortable with serving a vampire, but the 
knowledge an angel was before them in such a time of fear, when all mortals seemed 
to think the end of days was upon them, would likely terrify them. Even though Jo 
wore the traditional armor of angels, his breastplate and cape were invisible to them, 
like his wings. They saw only a mortal man in mortal garments, begging his lover 
not to cast him out. "Heaven calls to me. I can barely fight it any longer now that my 
wings are healed. I will become mortal for ye, Frederik. I wish to stay."   
That . . . and a mortal body would allow him to share himself in ways only mortals 
could.   
Frederik seemed hardly impressed by his declaration. His arms remained crossed 
over a long-sleeved blue waistcoat, and he planted his black boots steady in the grass 
as he stood with a stiff back. "Jo, I apologize if I have misled you in my affections. If 
Heaven calls to you, then you must stop ignoring it."   
"Ye…what are ye saying? How could I have been misled? I know perfectly well what 
yer affections are."   

As an angel, Jo had no sexual organs with which he could experience physical 
affection. But Frederik had kissed Jo and done other things with his mouth, again 
and again, enough to heat Jo's blood and enough to leave no doubt of the vampire's 
intentions.   
"It seems you do not. Go home, Jo." With that, Frederik turned and began walking 
back toward the relatively cooler air of his house.   
The angry heat swelling inside Jo's chest threatened to consume him. "Do not turn 
yer back on me!"   
He made to follow the vampire, but a quick hand on the metal sleeve of his 
breastplate halted him. He jerked his shoulder away and spun, hand on his sword, 
ready to draw it. The servant who stalled him stepped back, uncertainty on his face. 
The second man, some steps farther back, watched the scene carefully, waiting in 
case he should be needed.   
Jo could see the goodness of these men. He had spent the last week under Frederik's 
roof and had seen them occasionally setting tables and giving gentle commands to 
the maids. Jo did not know them and had barely even spoken two words to them, 
but he did not want to give them any cause for grief. Perhaps that was the reason 
Frederik had chosen them to witness this exchange. He knew Jo would not fight 
them just for the privilege of following the other man like a lost puppy.   
"Frederik, have I truly misjudged the situation?" he called.   
The vampire stalled, gave a half-turn of his head, and then continued on as though Jo 
hadn't spoken at all.   
The strangest, most uncomfortable sensation rippled through Jo's chest. Never in all 
his years of battling demons had he ever experienced such pain. He looked down, 
half expecting to see a clawed hand punching through his armor and straight into his 
soul.   
Naught was there. The pain existed only within him.   
"Milord?" asked the one servant with light hair and pleading eyes. The other, 
darker-haired one was directly behind him now. "We are to see you out."   

Their tones begged Jo not to make a scene of it. A door slamming had him turning 
back toward the direction Frederik had gone in. The heavy wooden door now 
separated Jo from the goings-on inside.   
Bitterness began growing inside of him once again.   
"I need no escort." Jo walked away from the house. He needed no direction. In this 
countryside where everything was surrounded by forest, he would be alone soon 
enough.   
"Forgive me, milord, but we are to see you out," repeated the servant.   
This time, Jo could not contain his scowl. Both men stepped back, but continued to 
follow at a distance as he marched off.   
Soon, the cool night air overcame the heat, and he sensed a halt in their steps. Away 
from the bonfires, the countryside was much darker and also much more dangerous 
for mortals who sought to avoid the cats and rats and fleas—and the disease they 
carried.     
Jo walked into the woods, limbs buzzing from the insult of being walked off the 
property. It was as though Frederik wanted to be absolutely certain he would not 
return and attempt to sneak through a window or some such nonsense. His spirit 
sank just a little at the realization he might very well have done exactly that had 
those servants not escorted him.   
The anger Jo had felt toward Frederik, he now twisted toward himself. Humiliation 
and shame followed, pressing so heavily upon him that he hunched his back. He 
threw his hand out to the nearest tree to steady himself.   
A crack of thunder sounded above. Jo's head shot up. The trees were not so thick that 
he lost sight of the sky. The sky was important to one such as him.   
'Twas black as night, but the moon and stars were still bright. No hint of storm 
clouds, and no cold brush of a violent breeze to suggest a coming rain.   
He knew what he had heard. He wished he had not.   
"I am so sorry," he said.   

What had he done? He'd fallen to earth from an injury in battle, and yet his wings 
had been healed enough for him to fly home for days now. Heaven had called to 
him, yet he remained in the house of a lower-level demon. He had allowed Frederik 
to touch him, kiss him, had put himself on his knees—he did not want to think of 
how perversely he'd behaved.   
Jo had loved a vampire and offered to sacrifice his immortality, his wings, his very 
self. Perhaps 'twas just he be turned away. How dare he even entertain the thought 
of turning his back on his brothers? His responsibilities?   
His fist punched into the dirt and scattered grass. He had not been aware of falling to 
his knees. The thunder clapped again. Jo winced. If this had been a test, then, surely, 
he had failed it, and he despised himself for that.   
He wanted to scream. He wanted . . . he needed . . . argh! He did not know what he 
needed! How could he return home after what he'd done? He'd nearly turned his 
back on his family for a demon. They would never have him back. He did not wish 
to go back. The shame was too great.   
Then, the answer, his punishment, became clear. He would not return.   
Jo sighed heavily, eyes returning to the stars. He had wanted to become mortal, and, 
now, he would be, but without the luxury of a lover by his side. Even Heaven had its 
balance to maintain.   
Jo reached behind himself, his fingers finding the softer feathers that grew along the 
slim bones of his wings nearest his shoulder blades. His hands wrapped around the 
stems, where the feathers were so fine that the pink flesh of his skin was visible 
beneath.   
He gripped tightly and pulled.   
A grunt escaped him at the first horrible tug, the skin of his back stretching as he 
pulled on his wings. The limbs themselves stiffened; his grip cut the flow of blood, 
and, as he pulled harder and harder, the wings were soon cold and twitching. The 
wings themselves became numb, but the bones where the wings met his back were 
fire-hot with pulsing agony.   

Though he tried to hold back, he emitted a rough scream as the fiery pain consumed 
him. The bones of his shoulders bent under the pressure of his assault on himself. 
Then he heard the terrible rip of muscle and pop of the bones dislocating from his 
back.   
He released his wings and fell forward onto his chest, a blast of air wheezing from 
his throat. He inhaled deeply the scent of the grass, and the blades felt cold as they 
pressed against his hot, sweating face. His wings—his dead, white wings—fell to his 
sides. They were still attached to his back by the threads of skin that had not ripped, 
but no longer were they fully a part of him.   
He had to act quickly. Already, he could feel the cool tingle of his muscles as the 
flesh attempted to weave itself back together and the bones shifted to reassemble 
themselves. With trembling arms, he pulled his sword from the leather sheath at his 
hip. The blade burst into flame, and he was glad to be able to see its fire once more.   
Using his free hand, Jo lifted himself back to his knees. His wings remained a useless 
weight on the ground, but his joints screamed with the movement. He grabbed his 
left wing and positioned the sword where the feathery limb met his back. He hissed 
as the fire burned, but then he began slicing, and that burning became naught but an 
inconvenience by comparison to the pain inflicted by the blade. Jo bit his lips 
together as he jerked his arm up and down, sawing wetly through the flesh and bone 
until the wing fell away.   
He nearly fell onto his right side from the uneven distribution of weight.   
Jo shifted to get a look at the bloody limb, his back, and the back of his thighs and 
calves which were wet with the blood flow.   
He voiced a small cry at the sight of the disembodied wing, its heavenly glow gone 
from it forever. Still, Jo could still feel his connection to the Heavens; that light within 
him flickered weakly, but it was still there.   
He gripped his other wing, and, without hesitation, sliced it clean away the same as 
he'd done the other.   

With no weight on his back to balance him, Jo fell forward again, the slam of the 
earth against his chest harder than he expected.   
The poke of small rocks against his chest and the unevenness of the earth were what 
stunned him most. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, body quaking with the 
strain of keeping his balance.   
Jo's metal breastplate had vanished and been replaced with a thin garb that 
resembled a sack. Next, his sandals fell away from his legs like dry sand, leaving his 
feet bare. His eyes went to his sword, still in his hand. First, the flames were snuffed 
out, and, for a mere second, he played with the hope he would be allowed to keep it. 
Then it, too, came apart, no longer able to hold itself together without a heavenly 
hand to keep it.   
Jo did not need to look to know his wings were no longer where he had dropped 
them. He did not want to exhaust what little strength he had remaining to look when 
he already knew they would not be there.   
His body felt lighter. Despite the absence of his wings, he felt small and weightless 
enough that, if he managed to get to his feet and jump into the sky, the wind alone 
would carry him away.   
Then his innards twisted and tugged in turmoil, his face became hot, and a ringing 
that was hardly that of the trumpets of home sounded in his ears. He turned his head 
over and retched out onto the grass a thin, hot liquid that burned the lining of his 
throat and mouth. The sour scent of his vomit wafted to his nose. His stomach, 
throat, and chest constricted and he retched again, entirely against his will. He had 
no control over this new body.   
It was a reminder that he was now a helpless mortal, bleeding in the forest. 'Twas 
also a reminder of the great illness sweeping the land. If he was going to survive his 
new existence, he needed to find shelter.   
Jo rose to his feet, and, stumbling as he went, traveled farther into the woods and 
away from Frederik's home.   
   

Chapter One   
   

Scottish Lowlands   

Summer 1670   

Five years after the Black Plague   
   
The small hut Jophiel called home had no door. A bit of cloth over the entrance was 
all he had to guard his privacy and keep the cold air out at night and on chilly 
mornings. He pushed the cloth out of the way and stepped into the morning 
sunshine to stretch, scratching his belly through the ragged cloth of his thin 
garments. He froze midway through, arching his back, slumping his shoulders and 
clenching his fists as he marched toward the small space that made up his garden.   
Jo fell to his knees in the wreckage, heedless of the dirt on his legs. The little monster 
responsible for digging up and consuming most of his carrots, leaving hardly a one 
for him, continued to nibble away at a stalk between small paws, nose twitching, 
black eyes unafraid.   
Jo scowled at the rabbit as fiercely as he could. "Ye are a pest. Worse than any demon 
I've ever encountered." It was true. At least the demons had only attempted to kill 
him in battle, not starve him to death.   
The rabbit took another tiny bite, and Jo was all the more insulted. Small, wild 
animals did not fear him as they should a predator, even after he gave up his noble 
gifts and responsibilities to become mortal. It was a blessing and a curse during his 
first days as a man. Keeping the small beasts away from his garden proved difficult, 
yet hunting was easy.   
Eventually, he'd managed to scare them away from his food—but for this one. This 
brave, plain, brown-furred scourge continued to harass him.   
He reached out and gave its rump a slap. It skittered away in response to his pitiful 
attack, dashing into the brush and disappearing with a full belly. He shouted after it. 
"One day I will wear yer fur on my hands!"     

A chuckle sounded behind him. "Ye could easily have captured it and be done with it 
now."   
The voice startling him, Jo spun. He reached for the dull blade he kept in his leather 
shoes, but then he halted as his mind took in what he was seeing. He blinked his eyes 
to clear them, but the vision remained the same.   
Michael, General of Heaven's Army, which Jo had once served on, was smiling at 
him. Wings of pure white flickered behind his back, and his arms were crossed over 
a gleaming, silver breastplate molded to his muscular chest. His hair—Jo had nearly 
forgotten how black it was—rested at his shoulders, framing a strong face. A playful 
smile touched Michael's lips as he observed Jo, still up to his knees in dark soil and 
garden wreckage. He and Jo had once been nearly the same; now, they couldn't be 
more different.   
"Why did ye let it escape?"   
Michael already knew why. He could read Jo's mortal thoughts. Jo could not believe 
his good fortune. His dearest old friend was paying him a visit after five years of 
living as a mortal. Was he imagining this?   
Michael chuckled and shook his head. "'Tis no dream, brother. I am here."   
Indeed. A hallucination of his mind would say such a thing. But Jo believed him. 
Still, he was not relieved. Humans believed that, when angels paid their visits, 'twas 
all done with bright lights and beautiful song.   
Not true. One moment, there was no one; the next, a man in gleaming armor with 
folded wings, arching high, stood in a place that had previously been unoccupied. A 
sliver of fear spread under Jo's skin. Perhaps, today, he was finally going to be 
punished for turning his back on his family.   
"Michael, how fare thee?" he asked.   
Michael raised a dark brow at him and took one step forward, but then halted. "Are 
ye . . . well?"   

"Of course." Jo rose to his feet before his superior, hands behind his back, legs apart, 
and shoulders straight, though his knees, caked in the damp earth, detracted from 
his attempts to assume an appearance of respect.   
Michael looked down upon Jo's dirty legs, barely suppressing a crinkle of his nose. "I 
despise not being presentable. How do ye stand it?"   
By his reaction, one would think that Michael's armor had ceased to clean itself as it 
had always done and that he was the one covered in filth instead of Jo. Still, Jo 
responded. "Ye get used to it, living down here."   
Michael laughed, shocking him, and stepped forward. He took Jo's arm and clasped 
it as old friends did. As they used to do many times before . . . well, before. Michael 
was careful to keep Jo at an arm's length, but his smile seemed genuine. However, it 
served only partly to ease Jo's tense thoughts. Jo returned the friendly embrace as 
best as he could.   
Michael stood taller than he, so Jo was forced to stare up into the angel's ocean-blue 
eyes. The angel was a reminder of home, his previous occupation in a life that had 
once been unchanging—and never-ending.   
Michael's polished armor and red cape were standard among Heaven's soldiers, but 
the red sash that crossed the large expanse of his torso gave indication of his rank. 
The long tunic beneath the armor stopped just above his knees, leaving his strong 
legs mostly bare, save for the sandals that wound up his legs from his ankles, 
stopping mid-calf.   
Jo used to wear such armor. He had proudly fought in it with his own fiery 
sword—and bled in it. But he was here now, not on the battlefield, and he did not 
wish to think of the circumstances that had brought him here.   
Michael's smile fell from his lips. He released Jo and stepped back.   
With that, Jo knew Michael had heard his thoughts.   
"They have become loud since yer transformation," Michael said.   
Jo shrugged. Mortals had not the ability to hide their thoughts the way those who 
flew in the clouds—or lurked in the hot underbelly of the Hell—could.   

"Ye are not here for a social visit."   
Michael shook his head, hair swirling around his shoulders like dark water. "Nay. 
We come to offer ye a chance to return home."   
Jo turned around and came face to face with sunshine-gold hair and a wide grin— a 
face he hadn't seen in five years. Zadkiel stood before him, appearing as silently and 
suddenly as his general and wearing the same armor, albeit without the red sash.   
Whilst Jo stood frozen in shock at seeing another long lost friend, Zad tsked and 
touched a lock of his pale, dirty hair. "No gold in it any longer. 'Tis as if the life left it 
when yer wings were . . . . " He did not finish but instead laughed sadly. "Though 'tis 
hardly the case. It darkened when ye were given life."   
Aye, his hair used to be the same golden color as Zad's. So bright the sun would 
catch in it even on the darkest of days. Now, 'twas merely as pale as one would 
expect in a mortal man. Jo's muscles urged him to embrace Zad the same way he'd 
embraced Michael. Zad would not squawk as Michael had done; he'd likely enjoy 
being made a little dirty. But Jo made no move. Zad's previous words had struck him 
hard.   
"R-return? Truly?" He looked from one angel to the other. Michael crossed his arms 
again and nodded severely.     
Zad clapped him on the back. "Ye shall no longer be lame, my friend. Yer wings shall 
be returned to ye, and we can go back to the Heavens together."   
Michael glared harshly at the younger angel, silencing him. In response to Zad's 
shocked stare, Michael muttered that he should keep to his manners and not point 
out Jo's obvious lack of important Heavenly limbs.   
But Jo barely paid any mind to them. Joy did not sprout through Jo's body at their 
revelation. Rather, suspicion coursed through his blood. Perhaps it had to do with 
Michael's severe face.   
"Brother? What ails you?" Jo asked, though part of him did not wish to know the 
answer.   

Zad nudged Jo's shoulder and whispered cattily into Jo's ear, being sure to speak 
loud enough that Michael would hear. "Naught ails him but his own stiff arse."   
"Zad," Michael snapped.   
Zad shrugged. "'Tis not much ye need be concerned over, brother. 'Tis a simple task 
ye need perform to come home. All shall be over with quickly. This day, even, 
should all go well."   
Jo did not believe it. Zad enjoyed making molehills out of mountains. No. Jo did not 
assume he would simply be given his wings back after some trivial task. Heaven did 
not work that way. Jo would be expected to prove himself. He would be tested. 
Severely.   
Michael's broad chest heaved out and back in with a sigh. He stepped forward and 
put a large hand on Jo's shoulder. "This concerns Grimm."   
Suddenly, Jo couldn't breathe. An unseen hand had reached beneath his ribs and 
grabbed his lungs, liver, and heart all together in a single, crushing grip.   
"Easy, man, easy." Zad, good friend that he was, put an arm around Jo's waist and 
held him upright as his knees threatened to buckle.   
"Frederik?" Jo's voice rasped. He needed the confirmation.   
"Aye."   
Lord Frederik Jasper Grimm. A vampire hiding in plain sight amongst the upper 
crust in England, and the love of Jo's life.   
The last Jo had seen of Frederik was five years ago—his back as Jo was being 
escorted out of his garden by his personal guards.   
Jo had—he was ashamed to admit—fancied the idea he'd fallen in love with that 
vampire, and that, in turn, Frederik may have loved him as well, for Frederik was a 
Belial vampire, born with half a soul and still capable of human emotions. When 
they'd met, after some initial distrust, Frederik had made it his mission to show Jo 
how beautiful those emotions could be when they were experienced firsthand, rather 
than observed from a detached distance.   

Of course, it had been a game to him. A flirtation to pass the time, and naught else.     
All this begged the question. "What has he done?"   
Zad pulled away from Jo, allowing him to stand under his own strength. Michael 
and Zad positioned themselves side by side before Jo. Both angels wore dour faces 
now.   
"He slaughtered an entire village," Michael said.   
Again, a hand squeezed everything important inside Jo's body. He locked his knees 
to keep from unmanning himself again. Nay, surely not even Frederik . . . though he 
had killed before, many times in his youth . . . Jo shook his head. "Frederik is 
reforming himself, attempting to earn the other half of his soul. He could not do such 
a thing without consequences. He knows that."   
"We know not the reasons." Michael said, ignoring Jo's denial. "But, two days ago, he 
went alone into a small village, overseen by a laird and quietly killed the men, 
women, and children in their sleep. Those who awoke to his massacre were quickly 
disposed of."   
Jo could hardly believe it, that Frederik, a vampire who once caressed Jo's cheek so 
tenderly, could ever use his hands to bring harm to children. "We are certain 'twas 
him? He crept into their houses and killed them in their sleep?"   
Zad nodded. "Aye. No one survived but for the laird of the village and his family. 
They were spared entirely. Those poor mortals may not know who or what their 
attacker was, but vampires have not the capabilities of hiding from Heaven."   
"He left the laird and his family alive, yet killed everyone under his employ." Jo 
thought hard. "It had to have been a message. But for what purpose?"   
"We do not know the answer to that," said Michael. "For some reason, I cannot hear 
his thoughts. Something blocks me."   
Jo's mind raced. Vampires were a lower form of demon, their thoughts not as easy to 
read as those of a mortal, but Michael should have been able to discover the reason 
for such a needless attack. Heaven had witnessed Frederik perform such an atrocity, 
yet, now, his mind was being cloaked from Michael's detection?   

Why had Michael and Zadkiel been sent to tell him about what Frederik had done?   
Ah, of course. "Ye wish for me to hunt him? To bring him to judgment to earn my 
wings?"   
Michael nodded. "Aye. I cannot listen to his thoughts, but we know where he is. He 
is traveling day and night in his wolf form. He seems to be moving toward another 
village under the protection of another laird. This one even poorer than the last."   
Jo's breath rushed out of him. Another—? For the love of God.   
Michael held out his hands, and a long, golden chain appeared there. The links were 
small, delicate in appearance in Michael's large palms. No shackles were visible, but 
these chains were far from innocent. Jo knew Gideon's chains when he saw them.   
A great warrior of long ago, Gideon used these chains not only on his mortal 
enemies, but also on any demonic ones who made a foolish attempt to challenge his 
armies. Now, the chains were used in Heaven to hold and interrogate prisoners. 
There were only two ways to remove them, and neither favored the captive.     
"Put this on him. The chains will recognize you as their master. He will be entirely at 
your mercy. Nearly mortal."   
Jo took the chains from his brother's hands. They weighed less than a small bird, and, 
in the sunlight, the gold glittered. He gripped them tightly. "I will do as you ask and 
bring him to you," Jo vowed.   
His first mission since he disgraced himself and abandoned his post. A rush of 
excitement filled him with an anticipation he had once sworn to never feel again. But 
it was in his blood to fight and serve. Only now did he realize how much he had 
missed it.   
Frederik needed punishment for his sins. Jo had been commanded to deliver justice, 
and he would not rest until his mission was complete.   
Zad shifted uncomfortably, and Michael shook his head. "Ye are not to bring him to 
us alive. Kill him, bring us his head, and then we shall take ye home."   
   

Chapter Two   
   

Run, run, run!   
Lord Frederik Jasper Grimm's muscles ached and screamed for him to stop for rest, 
but in his mind he continued the same chant as his heavy paws pounded the earth. 
He sucked in and released air through his long muzzle and let his tongue loll to keep 
himself from overheating, to keep himself going.   
Run, run, run!   
The sun was only now beginning to set. Vampires had a hard time when it was up, 
even when they were in their animal forms. His wolf claws dug up dirt and damp 
foliage, kicking it back as he ran. He was determined to get to MacNiel's castle just as 
nightfall approached.   

That pig! Filthy swine! If he's touched her—   
Touched her in ways worse than simply removing a finger, of course. Which was 
horrible enough. But what if that single, long digit had been only a sample of what 
Frederik was allowed to see? What if he'd . . . .   
No, he could not allow his thoughts to drift in that direction. He would go mad with 
the possibilities. He nearly was mad now from what he had done two days ago.   
No, he was mad. Insane with rage. The moment he reached MacNiel's keep and took 
what was his, he would also take his vengeance. He would take MacNiel's head and 
eat the damned thing.   
Nightfall. Nightfall was what he needed. If he reached the castle by nightfall, he 
could transform into his normal shape and take his sister. Then, the two of them 
could leave immediately without being forced to wait for a convenient hour. 
Obviously, she could not shift herself into her animal form, a bat, and fly away. She 
would have done so already if it had been so simple. A spell of some sort must be 
preventing her from doing so. MacNiel was a known sorcerer. He must have 
enchanted Amelia when he took her hostage. Now that Frederik had done as he had 
been commanded, she would be released. And Malcolm MacNiel would suffer a 
painful death befitting a man who would order an entire village slaughtered.   

Run, run, run!   
He was nearly there. His sharp nose detected the faint scent of the lavender Amelia 
used on her hands. She was not far off, then. Yes! There! MacNiel's castle, its single 
stone tower surrounded by battlements, rose in the distance as he ran. The green of 
the pines and sycamores, the moss climbing the walls of the tower, somehow gave 
the small castle an air of innocence that belied the true, evil nature of the man within. 
With the sun nearly in her cradle, he would arrive at those walls the moment the 
light in the sky ceased to exist. He was going to—   
A powerful force crashed sideways into his body, knocking him off the trail and into 
a heavy oak. A loud crack sounded, but whether it had been the tree or his head, he 
could not say. Frederik slid down to his paws in a clumsy and drunken motion. He 
staggered and shook himself, his head pounding like a blacksmith was doing his best 
work on it.   
The crack had been his head.   
He growled and righted himself. A horseman, a bloody horseman, was in the middle 
of the road, blocking his path. The magnificent, white stallion hoofed the dirt beneath 
him with impatience, showing no sign it had been affected by their collision.   
Frederik growled as the man atop the horse slid down, but then his nose twitched as 
he caught the scent of something other than Amelia's lotion.   
A man Frederik never thought to see again. Jophiel.   
Jo's eyes landed on him, and, if possible, the muscles beneath Frederik's gray fur 
tensed further. Would he know that . . . ?   
"I know 'tis ye, Frederik. There are no longer any wolves here, so it must be."   
For fuck's sake.     
The shick of Jo pulling his blade from its sheath made Frederik's ears stand straight. 
Jo charged at him, holy armor glinting in the fading light. Frederik barely managed 
to leap into the trees before the sword impaled itself into the dark earth.   

Jo was attacking him! The fucking idiot was actually trying to take his head off!   
Jo yanked on the handle of his bastard sword, freeing it with a hard jerk, eyes blazing 
as he stared at Frederik. "You will pay for what ye did to that village!"   
Of course he was here for that.   
Jo ran for him again. Frederik leapt off to the side to return to the path, but Jo threw 
the sword with a yell, impaling it again deeply into the grass and moss. Frederik 
nearly got his paw lopped off before he jumped back into the other direction.   
Which had been what Jo planned for. Their bodies collided. Arms wound around 
Frederik's neck, Jo yanked him down, pinning him. His claws made hard lines in the 
earth as he struggled to free himself. He had only seconds. Less than that. If Jo was 
any sort of warrior, he would have another blade on him that he planned to use the 
moment he subdued Frederik.   
Frederik wiggled his neck furiously, his fur preventing Jo from getting a tight grasp, 
his back claws kicking and scratching, desperate for escape. Jo grunted behind him 
as Frederik's claws caught his legs. The glint of a dagger caught Frederik's eye, and 
panic took hold as he shook his head, desperate to put his throat out of harm's way. 
His lips and teeth soon found warm flesh, and he bit down hard, his teeth breaking 
skin and puncturing muscle. Jo yelled in pain and rage. He had no choice but to 
slacken his grip on Frederik or else lose a chunk of himself.     
Frederik's narrow muzzle slipped under Jo's arms, but Jo slashed his dagger out in a 
quick swipe. The blade caught Frederik's nose as he danced out of the way. He went 
farther into the shade of the trees, limping along on only three of his legs, the fourth 
paw rubbing at the hot sting of the cut. It did not feel particularly deep, and it was 
already beginning to heal. His muzzle would not fall off, at any rate.   
Gasping for breath from the struggle, Jo rose to his sandaled feet, his thighs and 
forearm bleeding heavily. Frederik knew Jo's wounds would heal quickly as well, a 
consequence of his angelic nature, and he would not stop until his mission was 
complete. Until Frederik was dead.   
"Ye knew this was coming, Frederik."   

Yes, he expected as much. The timing could have been better, he thought, gazing toward 
MacNiel's castle once more.   
Jo moved to his bastard sword still impaled in the moss on the side of the road. He 
pulled it out and slid a bit of cloth over the metal to clean the blade, approaching 
Frederik as he did so.   
Frederik's heart beat faster at Jo's approach. He could run. He'd been running for 
days, but he could do it again. But then what? Jo would give chase on what was no 
doubt an angelic steed, and Frederik could not hope to take shelter in the castle of the 
sorcerer who had taken his sister.   
He would have to put off rescuing Amelia for only a few moments more. He needed 
to explain himself, to earn Jo's sympathy, to gain only a little more time. The sun was 
nearly down. Indeed, the stars were beginning to come out in the far east, and the 
shade of the trees was just dark enough to keep him from burning. Instead of fleeing 
for his life, he allowed the familiar tingle and shift to caress him, praying that Jo 
would be too honorable to attack him whilst he was unable to defend himself.   
The gray hairs of his wolf form shed away like dead leaves from trees, revealing his 
alabaster skin and dark hair tied back with a bit of leather. He stood from his four 
paws as his legs thickened, stretched, and straightened. The hair that did not shed 
made a transformation of its own, turning back into his shoes and garments, 
expensive blue silks and lace, although no one would know their value to look at 
them now. They had been ruined by the muck from the few times he'd passed out 
during his travels. Happily, very little blood had stained him during his endeavors in 
the MacGreggor village. He had been quick and clean with his work. Very little mess. 
He did not think he would be able to stand having such blood on him. It was hard 
enough to accept he'd drank some of it.   
He nodded his thanks to Jo for not attacking him. "Good evening, Jo."   
Jo nodded and stepped forward, his sandals squishing rocks in the mud. He 
sheathed the dagger in his belt and flicked the sword in his hand. "Good eve, Lord 
Grimm."   

Frederik wanted to laugh at their formality, especially because they had just 
attempted to kill each other. "Five years have made a difference, I see."   
Jo stopped and glared at him. During their time together, Frederik had never seen 
such a thing on that handsome face. Not directed at him, at least.   
"After our last encounter, ye could hardly expect us to remain friends."   
Ah, yes, that. "Though I delight in the opportunity for us to catch up, right now it is 
impossible. I am otherwise engaged."   
Jo nodded. "Aye, as ye were the last time I wished to speak with ye, as I recall. 
However"—he lifted his left hand, and a golden chain appeared there—"I cannot 
allow ye to keep yer engagement."   
Now, Frederik's whole body tensed. The chain appeared small enough, and he'd 
once broken irons as thick as a giant's wrist, but he knew better than to be deceived 
by appearances. The fact that Jo even held the chain meant he was only here for one 
thing. He eyed the still setting sun behind Jo's back once more. Not quite safe enough 
to leave the shade of the tree, and transforming himself back into a wolf would take 
far too long. He was exhausted, and Jo would catch him if he ran into the trees.   
Idiot! Utter fucking fool. He'd trapped himself.   
Frederik crossed his arms as Jo calmly approached, golden chain swinging in time 
with his stride. He spoke quickly, hoping for any distraction. "Is this revenge? Are 
your superiors ordering you to capture me for stealing your innocence those years 
ago?"   
Jo abruptly stopped, the muscles of his arms and shoulders stiff with anger, his face a 
ghastly shade of red. "Ye shall not speak of that to me, evil monster."   
His stomach sank. No.   
"Jo, the village—"   
"Was filled with innocents ye murdered. And I am here to seek their justice." Jo 
lunged for him again, the chain in both hands.   
Frederik leapt out of the way, his usual graceful landing compromised by his weak 
body. The remaining sunlight splashed against his face like boiling water. Like fire 
licking his cheeks and lips and eyelids. He hissed and screamed at the sunlight's 
touch and shielded his face with his hands.   

At least, he attempted to. The air in his lungs left with more of a whooshing sound 
than a real scream of agony as Jo tackled him into the mud. Frederik blindly threw 
his fist up, and, despite the clumsy blow that cuffed awkwardly against his jaw, Jo 
grunted and flew back as though his fist had landed perfectly. No time to think on it 
now. Frederik got to his knees and risked opening his eyes in the burning sun.   
It barely cast any light now, and he was not on fire. This was a good thing. The cool 
muck he'd been pushed into eased the burning pain somewhat. It acted as a barrier 
between the light and his flesh. Frederik's spirits rose. He never thought he would be 
glad for this stinking filth. He would fight Jo and still manage to get to MacNiel's 
keep in time to collect Amelia.   
He focused his body, concentrating on the wolf he knew so well. He could survive 
this dismal sunlight, but that did not mean he wanted to. The prickle of coarse grey 
hairs peeking through the pores of his muddy skin had only just begun when he was 
tackled again, and his transformation was interrupted.   
Fuck! The angel was too quick to recover. Frederik would have to do this while his 
skin boiled and peeled. Already, the cool mud was turning hot. It could not provide 
nearly enough protection.   
But, as they fought, they rolled, adding another coat of mud and grime, which 
thoroughly covered the rest of Frederik's face and hands. Frederik's strength began 
to return. He bared his fangs and hissed when Jo, equally caked with mud, rolled on 
top of him.   
Jo punched him in the jaw. One of Frederik's fangs popped clean out and fell into the 
back of his throat. He choked on it before turning his face and coughing it out. He 
took several deep breaths and barely registered the jingle and clicking sound about 
his neck.   
"So that is how it works."   

Frederik shoved Jo off once again, but then a sharp tugging at his throat had him 
gasping again. He reached up and grasped the chain. There seemed to be no locking 
mechanism about it, yet it was snuggly around his neck as though hot irons had 
fitted it there. It felt tight at first but then loosened. Must have twisted around as he 
moved.   
Airways clear, he sat up, and Jo abruptly jumped back. Frederik narrowed his eyes at 
the sight of the other end of the chain in Jo's hands. "When I take this off, I will also 
take your hands for stalling me."   
Jo clutched the chain tighter at the threat. "Try all ye like to remove it. It will never 
come off."   
"We shall see." Frederik gripped the chain around his neck with both hands, his eyes 
never leaving Jo's because he wished to see the fear there while he escaped. He 
tugged. The small chain remained intact.   
Perhaps it was made of something stronger than Frederik originally thought. 
Gripping the thin, gold links tighter, he pulled harder. Still, they did not break. He 
dropped to his knees, took a long breath, and began pulling and tugging with 
everything he possessed.   
'Twill not come off, Grimm. I told ye already."   
He ignored Jo—that damned angel—and kept on pulling.   
"Grimm, yer face is changing color."   
Yes, it likely was, but, again, Frederik put away the discomfort of the blood traveling 
up his neck and flooding his face as he struggled to remove that goddamned chain!   
He had to stop with a loud exhale of the breath he had not realized he had been 
holding. The blood left his face in a rush, leaving him dizzy and gasping on his 
hands and knees.   
"What—"   
"'Tis a Heavenly chain. 'Twill not come off—"   
"Unless you take it off." Frederik gave his most fearsome snarl. "Take it off."   

Jo shook his head. "'Twill only come off after I remove yer head." Jo turned his back 
and, still holding the chain, moved toward his sword. The chain seemed to lengthen 
as needed to allow him to move farther away from his captive, because Frederik did 
not feel himself being tugged from his kneeling position.   
"I wish I could be sorry it has come to this."   
Now, the chain decreased in size, and Frederik found himself being pulled toward 
the angel, even though Jo was not winding the chain around his hands. Jo held the 
long sword in his right hand while the chain hung in his left.   
Frederik rose up and tackled him, catching him off guard, and throwing them both 
down to the ground. He would not lose his head! He would not!   
The pair rolled some more in the muck. Jo lost his sword in the struggle, and the 
chain released from his grip as he and Frederik each battled for control of the other.   
Jo fought him quite well, which posed a problem for Frederik who still intended to 
rescue his sister. Frederik needed to overpower the annoying angel and quickly. At 
least the little idiot had yet to think to reveal his wings. Those would certainly give Jo 
the advantage in a brawl.   
They rolled once more, but then Frederik tightened his thighs around Jo's waist, 
keeping the damned angel from rolling them over in the muck again. He put his 
hands to Jo's throat and squeezed. Killing Jo would only be a temporary solution. It 
would send Jo back to Heaven from which he would again be sent down to capture 
and kill him. But so long as it bought him enough time to rescue Amelia, he would 
not make any more complaints when Jo came for him next.   
Jo's hands clawed at his wrists, his mouth opening and closing for the air he could 
not take in. He looked like a dying fish, but he still did not release his wings to fight 
off Frederik's attack. Perhaps they were pinned while Jo was held in this position.   
Jo's hands ceased their clawing of Frederik's skin and began scrambling around in 
the mud, searching for the hard earth beneath the slippery muck so that he might 
properly steady himself and throw Frederik off. An explosion of white behind 
Frederik's eyes and a sharp pain in his ear followed. Frederik fell off Jo, partially 
blinded with throbbing pain, while the other part of him chastised himself for being 
an utter fool.   

No, not searching for the solid earth, but searching for a solid, fist-sized rock with 
which to club him.   

Dirty bastard, whoreson, swine.   
Actually, the pain from the blow was so much more than what a simple rock hitting 
his skull should have caused. Jo straddled his hips, the chain in one hand, and the 
sword back in his other firm, muddy grip. He pointed the working end at Frederik's 
throat. The hand that held the chain also gripped Frederik's hair to keep him still.   
Jo did appear angry enough to kill him.   
"Do you not wish to know why I did it?" Frederik asked.   
"It matters not."   
Frederik spoke quickly as the tip of the blade touched his throat. "My sister is being 
held captive in that castle." He gestured with his head—as much as he dared, not 
wanting to cut the most vital part of himself wide open—toward MacNiel's keep. 
"He used a spell of some sort to steal her away, and she is there. Right now waiting 
for me!"   
He did not intend for his words to become louder the longer he spoke, but as he 
looked up at his former lover, the possibility Jo would not wait for an explanation 
before cutting off his head became an ever greater concern.   
Jo did not deliver the killing blow, but he did raise a single, muck- smudged blond 
brow at Frederik's story. "I did not know ye had a sister."   
"You and I barely knew each other, then," Frederik said, referring to the best days of 
his long, possibly about to end, life. "I had not introduced you to her yet. I intended 
to. But I had to wait first, be certain you were not sent to kill us."   
Jo appeared unconvinced and unimpressed. "Ye have lied to me about having family 
before."   
Fuck! Jo was right. He had. But that was something he did with all guests to explain 
the lonely state of his manor—create a family who happened to always be on holiday 
visiting other well-to-do friends and relatives. He usually had to pretend to be his 
own son to keep the humans from learning of his true nature. Amelia had been on 
holiday that time when Jo had fallen to Earth. He just had not wished Jo to know of 
her right away.     

"That was different! I hardly knew you then."   
Jo pursed his lips and sent a barely noticeable jerk of his head in the direction of 
MacNiel's keep. "Who is the laird of that castle?"   
"Laird Malcolm MacNiel and his clan reside there. He sent a messenger to me after 
Amelia went missing, with her finger and our family ring, claiming that, if I did not 
destroy that village which belonged to Clan MacGreggor, he would execute her. 
Throw her into the morning dawn and leave her for the sun."   
The devil only knew what that bastard had been doing to her while Frederik had 
been out obeying orders like a chained dog—well, he was certainly chained now. 
Cutting off more fingers? Molesting her? "I will make him pay for it."   
Jo licked his lips and then removed the blade from Frederik's neck.   
Frederik's relief spanned as deep as an ocean he could sink in. But Jo did not lift 
himself from Frederik's body. "Do ye still have her finger?"   
"Of course not!" He'd done away with it the moment he was able. He couldn't bear to 
hold the severed flesh of his sister. "I have the ring!"   
Jo lifted a brow at him.   
"Check my inside pocket! It's there! It even still has her blood on it." He growled the 
last part.   
With one hand still holding the chain and his blade, Jo used the other to peel back the 
mud-caked layer of Frederik's jacket. His hand fumbled around the inside pocket 
there.   
"I feel nothing."   
Frederik felt a chill go through him. "It's there!"   
"Naught is there. Not even a hole for a ring to slip through."   
He didn't want to believe it, but it had to be true. The pocket was small enough that 
Jo's fingers should have felt it immediately. But then how did it fall out?   

"It must have fallen out while I was transformed, or while you were wrestling with 
me in this filth." He glared accusingly at Jo.   
Jo gave him a look that suggested his patience was running extremely thin. 
"Assuming there had been a ring, and a finger to fit it, why would Laird MacNiel do 
such a thing? To yer sister and the village?"   
"Do you doubt my words?"   
Jo nodded. "Aye."   
That calm admission stung more than it ought. And this Heavenly Creature was 
attempting to separate his head from his neck. "I know not all the details, but 
MacNiel wanted to wed one of MacGreggor's daughters. He was denied."   
"Why was he denied?"   
"I do not know! Perhaps because he is a tyrant with no money! I was told to expect 
that, if word did not reach MacNiel of the MacGreggor clan's destruction, he would 
send me more than her finger. He would kill her and then send me her head." Even 
to Frederik's ear it sounded pathetic. A thin threat with vague terms.   
It had not seemed so at the time he held Amelia's bloody finger in his palm, the skin 
bruised to look like spoiled fruit, the blood sticky and stinking like rot in his nose. 
He'd dropped it once he realized what it was and vomited all over the writing desk 
in his study. He had to think of that shriveled thing, hold onto the idea of it, as well 
as the possibility that any number of MacNiel's spies may have watched him, as he 
killed farmers and their children, and then set fire to their houses and crops.   
Jo's face fell. His eyes flickered briefly toward the keep. "Regardless of yer reasons, 
be they true or not, ye had no right, no right, to steal the lives of innocents, be it one 
or one hundred."   
Frederik opened his mouth to argue, but Jo cut him off.   
"However, if there is a chance ye speak the truth, then, I cannot kill ye. I must at least 
bring ye to Michael. He will know what to do."   
"Michael? Who the bleeding devil is Michael? Just let me go, now."   

Jo stood. He made as though to offer his hand, but then thought better of it and 
tugged the golden chain until Frederik stood. "Even ye should know who Michael is. 
He is above all other angels in the army I serve."   
An image of Amelia flashed through Frederik's mind. He looked toward the sky. Not 
entirely black, but dark enough now that he no longer needed the protection of the 
mud.   
Jo meant to take him away, when he was so close to rescuing his sister. He pulled 
against the chain. The bloody thing glittered as though it hadn't been in the mud 
with him. "You can deliver me to face an execution after we rescue Amelia."   
Jo halted, temporarily easing Frederik's neck as he pulled against the chain. Then he 
continued on to the stallion, tugging Frederik along, and pulled himself up to mount 
the creature. He cast his eyes down as he clicked at the horse to trot in the opposite 
direction of the castle.   
Frederik tugged harder, panic seizing him as Jo's intentions became clear. "Jo! She is 
there! I swear it!" He dug his heals in the mud, but he was slowly pulled away from 
his goal. "Jophiel!" He grunted and ran ahead of the horse, grabbing the reigns. The 
animal shook his head and whickered until Frederik released it. "Please, I beg you." 
He fell on his knees, the wet muck squishing under him. He had to lean his head 
entirely back to see Jo staring down at him without pity. "Take my head, but do not 
force me to leave without her. She is innocent."   
"She is a lower-level demon. She can hardly be innocent."   
Frederik fought against his temper. "Please,"   
Jo hesitated, pity returning to his eyes. "I have orders to keep ye from reaching that 
castle, lest ye repeat yer performance at the MacGreggor village."   
"Fuck your orders!"   
Jo's eyes turned to stone, and his lips thinned. His hand tightened on the golden 
chain and the reigns of the horse as he turned away, and he rode past Frederik. "I 
once believed yer every word. No longer is that true for me. We are going."   

Frederik remained kneeling, disbelieving. Even through the darkness that swallowed 
it, he could still see MacNiel's castle in the distance as the torches and nightly fires 
were lit. Amelia was there. Right there. Waiting for him. Could she sense him? Sense 
that he was so close and was about to turn away?   
The slack of the chain ran out, and he was pulled on his back and dragged, 
struggling and screaming, away from his only family.   
   
Chapter Three   
   
"When I escape, I will take your head off."   
"Ye will not escape," Jo retorted. Not so much as a flicker of anger touched his eyes or 
voice at the threats being thrown at him, which infuriated Frederik all the more.   
It had been this way for several hours.   
"If we are to go to your betters for my trial, the least you could do is ride faster. My 
sister cannot wait forever." Each moment was torture.   
"And I always thought vampires were immortal like the rest of yer demon cousins."   
"You know damn well what I meant. Let us at least get to Michael quickly so I can 
return for Amelia."   
Jo did not immediately answer him. "Would ye rather I held ye in front of me as we 
rode? Anael is much faster—"   
"I'll not be caught dead allowing you to touch me." Frederik snapped the retort 
without thinking.   
Jo sneered back at him and turned back to the road. "Then walking it is to be, for 
unless ye wish to have me drag ye behind Anael, we keep on at this pace."   
Frederik longed to rip Jo's throat out and leave him for the beasts. Not that he hadn't 
already attempted it. But, when he had, the bit of chain around his neck had 
tightened until he was forced back to his knees, choking and gasping. Only when he 
thought he would faint from the lack of oxygen did the chain loosen. His crazed run 
as a wolf aside, he was not used to such an indecent form of travel. But at least his 
other fang had finally grown back.   

Frederik continued tugging on his chain before slapping the damn thing in his rage. 
"Is Michael even still on this plane? And why can you not simply take us to him with 
your wings?"   
Jo said nothing.   
Frederik scowled. "Very well, why can you not appear before your general as you 
appeared before me?"   
Jo muttered something Frederik did not catch. Damn this chain for retarding his 
strengths! "What did you say? Speak up!"   
Jo turned on his horse to glare down at him. "'Tis not yer concern what I said. This is 
how we travel."   
"We are wasting time! MacNiel could be doing who knows what lecherous things to 
her while we are walking away to—where the devil are we even going?"   
For the first time during their encounter, Jo actually appeared uncomfortable. He 
shifted uneasily in his saddle. "I am not entirely certain."   
Frederik stopped dead in disbelief. He had to be pulled forward by the tug of the 
chain. "You do not know? How can you not know?"   
"Michael dropped me here and told me to retrieve ye. If I were to guess by all the 
MacNiels and MacGreggors ye keep yammering about, I would wager we are still in 
Scotland."   
Frederik's jaw dropped, and then a revelation came. "Do you have your wings?"   
Jo's lack of reaction—not so much as a roll of his eye for what should have been an 
idiot's question—was answer enough.   
"Are you mortal?"   
The horse halted. Jo spun on him. "I am no such thing! My lack of wings to take flight 
is . . . . "   
"Is what?"   
"A punishment."   

"Punish—? Ah, for . . . yes, of course." Frederik smirked, righteous glee filling him 
like liquid in a cup. Jo was as good as a lame bird, and it was because he had allowed 
himself to become friendly with a demon.   
"Wipe that smirk from yer face. It means we are walking."   
And, as simply as that, his hunger for Jo's blood returned, even though he'd drank 
enough to last him a fortnight at the—   
He cut himself off before he could finish his own thought. Jo's blood. That's what he 
desired at this moment. Not that of the villagers. Jo's blood was what he would focus 
on. Nothing else. "You'll let your guard down eventually, and when you do . . . ." He 
wanted Jo to use that limited imagination of his to finish the rest.   
Wingless he may be, he was still an angel, and, while angels never slept, their bodies 
still required a sort of wakeful rest that made them vulnerable. Jo had told him so 
himself, years ago. At the very least, the horse would require rest. Heavenly beast or 
not.   
Jo scratched the back of his neck, his face taking on a nervous glint before he pulled 
his head back to stare up at the sky. "We should make camp. The sun is soon to rise."   
Frederik tensed and gaped up at the darkness as well. The stars were not as bright, 
certainly, but that could hardly mean—   
The chain truly did disorient him. He could not even sense the heat of the coming 
dawn.   
There was a silver lining in this. There was no shelter from the sun except for the 
weak shade of the trees. Jo would have to get close to him. Would have to loosen the 
chain around his neck so he could transform into his wolf. Otherwise he would burn. 
And he knew—hoped—that Jo would not allow that.   
Once Jo loosened the chain, it would just be a matter of throwing the little fool off of 
him and running back to MacNiel's keep.   
"Well? Where are we to camp?" Frederik asked mockingly. "I see no caves or castles 
where you can hide me away from the sun."   

Jo stepped down from his horse and sneered. "If ye are suggesting we find a village 
to rest, ye are sorely mistaken. I'll not trust ye near any humans on our journey."   
Frederik bristled. "How dare you? I explained why that happened."   
Jo ignored him and led them off the road and into the brush and trees. The damp 
scent of the coming dawn hung in the air, birds twittered awake above them in their 
nests, and twigs and wet leaves sloshed at his feet.   
Frederik scowled at his back as he followed, infuriated. "I was right to drive you off 
those years ago like the treacherous murderer you are."   
"Murderer I am?"   
"Yes! If my sister is killed by MacNiel while we are wasting time in the shrubs, it will 
be on your head, and your God's."   
* * * * *   
A loud and throaty caw-aw-ah crackled above their heads. Jo spun, startled at the 
sudden intrusion upon their bickering. Crows, hundreds of them, perched on the 
branches of the trees on the other side of the road. There were so many their weight 
caused the branches to droop. All were staring with their beetle-black eyes at 
Frederik and Jo.   
Though he no longer had any of his angelic senses—despite what he would have 
Frederik believe, Jo's muscles bunched up in alarm. Only a moment before, those 
birds had not been there.     
Frederik crossed his arms as he glared back at the ghastly birds, the air of a 
difficult-to-impress noble all about him. "Now what? More punishments from your 
heavenly—"   
The crows cawed together as one, and then in separate intervals, each screaming 
above the other as they spread their black wings.   
Anael hooved the ground beneath him. Jo dismounted and drew his sword. "We will 
run into the trees."   
"What?"   

The birds swooped, a black waterfall cascading from the trees and crashing down on 
them. Jo and Frederik turned, but they were already engulfed in a void of black. 
Claws scratched long and deep along Jo's sword arm. Jo swung out at them, the 
blade slicing feet, wings, and feathered bodies, but he might as well have been slicing 
at raindrops as they fell from the sky for all the good it did.   
Jo shielded his eyes from their pecking beaks with his arm. He gripped Frederik's 
chain tighter as they ran farther into the shelter of the woods. He couldn't allow 
Frederik to use this incident as an opportunity to escape. He couldn't! But through 
the black cloud of flapping wings, angry eyes, and slashing claws, Frederik was 
taking more punishment than he was. His claws and fangs were out, and he swiped 
and punched at the crows, biting harder than they could when they came too near 
his mouth. But his face and hands bore red lines from the slices of their claws.     
This was not only Jo's punishment for defying orders. 'Twas Frederik's as well.   
"Get them off me!" Frederik screamed, grasping at the wings of another bird that had 
swooped too close to his face. Frederik tore the wings clean out.   
The birds attempted to bite out his eyes and crowded his neck until he flung them 
away. They weren't merely delivering punishment. They were attacking his arteries. 
No! They could not kill him! That was Jo's mission and no one else's!   
Jo lifted his blade and brought it down hard, his aim precise and true, as though he'd 
never ceased to hold a sword. The crows grasping Frederik's back were sliced off at 
the feet. Their screeching caws as they fell and frantically flew for escape were 
deafening.   
"Michael!" Jo screamed, swinging again as more black birds came at them from the 
trees. "Michael, stop this!"   
His only answer was a scratch to the cheek. Anael whinnied. A burst of light came at 
them with the power of an exploding star. The crows burst apart in a shower of 
feathers and black dust that fell on them like dark snow.   
Jo gasped for air in the fog-like cloud of ashes that nearly blinded him. He could 
hardly see but for the dim light that penetrated it.   

"What the bloody hell was all that?" Frederik demanded.   
Jo could barely make out the vampire's angry form in the settling dust. Frederik was 
brushing what remained of the crows out of his hair and his shoulders, the thin chain 
tinkling as he moved about. Jo's hand relaxed around the other end of the chain, 
which he still held, his hand tight and muscles sore.   
Jo did not answer. He turned back to the pure light that was coming closer and closer 
to them. He shaded his eyes with his hand as it brightened. "Michael?"   
A whicker answered him, and the light came closer still. Anael's form became 
clearer. Jo dropped his hand as the stallion's white nose touched his sword arm. The 
horse had banished those evil beasts for them. Michael had neglected to tell him 
Anael had that ability.   
"Thank you, friend," he said, petting the horse behind his ears.   
"Again, Jo, what were those? Why were we attacked by crazed birds?"   
The ashes from the crows' destruction had now settled enough that Jo could see the 
annoyed scrunch Frederik was making of his face. The long scratches were already 
healing, becoming smaller, closing.   
What indeed? Had they been sent by Michael, who took his orders directly from the 
Council of Spirits, Anael would surely not have banished them as he had. It would 
have been as good as disobeying orders. "Perhaps they are a gift from your Malcolm 
MacNiel," he said, having no other answer to give.   
"Ha! Do you now see? We must go back for Amelia now."   
Jo sheathed his sword and took Anael's reins. "As of now, there is only my 
speculation this was by his hand. The attack was mostly for ye, at any rate. Why 
attack ye when ye have already done his bidding?"   
Frederik seethed. There was an argument on his lips, ready to burst out. He gripped 
the chain around his neck, and turned away from Jo instead.   
"We will walk a little ways further. I do not wish to sleep in all this dust." Jo toed at 
the loose black soot at his feet.   

Frederik said naught, and, though he allowed himself to be led further into the 
brush, Jo knew better than to think he had suddenly become compliant. Frederik was 
just waiting for the right time to strike.   
   
Chapter Four   
   
Frederik did not cease his pouting, and Jo felt the other man's glare on the back of his 
head. It felt like a tiny horn-demon was pounding a hammer against the base of his 
skull. It was not the first time he'd taken a prisoner who seethed and snarled at him 
during transportation. Jo would live.   
Let the bastard be angry. He didn't care. His main concern was treating the sting on 
his arms and face before an infection set in and then seeing to the rumble in his gut.     
Jo stopped his long strides after ten minutes of walking and no other signs of 
possessed animals.     
"This will do."   
Frederik came to stand beside him. Jo would not be the first to step away.   
"What will do? I see nothing."   
Jo smiled. He'd always enjoyed spiking Frederik's temper. Frederik had no idea Jo 
meant to tie him to this aspen tree.   
"Well? What are we to do here?"   
Jo did not answer. He merely stepped forward and looped the golden chain around 
the base of the tree with the diamond-shaped markings. As though knowing of his 
plan, the chain made a tingling click as it locked itself.   
"What are you doing?" Frederik rushed and pushed Jo with both hands out of his 
way.   
Jo stumbled back. He could not help but laugh a little on the inside as Frederik 
inspected the chain.   
"Are you mad? You said you could not remove the chain! I'll burn when the sun 
rises."   

"Ye will not." Jo took Anael's reins and led the horse farther into the woods. "Ye 
whimper like a woman."   
"Because you are leaving me to die! What if MacNiel sends more creatures?"   
"I will remain within hearing distance. I'll return for ye after ye've rested." Jo called 
over his shoulder. He badly needed to use the bushes and, demons or no, was not 
going to be near Frederik for that. "The journey must have tired ye."   
Frederik continued to scream after him, but Jo did not turn back, nor did he stop 
until the trees and brush became so thick he would not be able to see Frederik, nor 
would Frederik be able to see him. As good as his word, he could still hear the 
vampire's panicked screams.   
Jo would have preferred a much thicker tree, but the one he'd left Frederik tied to 
would still do. No man could claw through it in one morning, or even several 
mornings, and, so long as that chain was around his neck, Frederik was as good as 
any mortal.   
As the sun cracked through the canopy of the trees, Frederik screamed again, and Jo 
rolled his eyes. Cowardly fool. He had nothing to fear of the sun so long as the chain 
was in place. Michael had assured him of that when he gave it to Jo.   
Truthfully, Jo did not wish to stop, but the need for rest had not been an excuse, even 
if he had lied by implying they were stopping only for Frederik's benefit. Vampires 
still required sleep, like every other creature on the earth. Even full-blooded demons 
required it now and then. Angels did not. They rested their bodies, but 'twas not a 
true sleep. Frederik still thought Jo was an angel. A wingless angel, but an angel 
nonetheless. He could not allow Frederik to catch him eating, sleeping, or 
performing distasteful mortal body functions.   
Speaking of which, Jo found a shrub and performed one of those functions, then put 
distance between himself and it, searching for another place to lay down his aching 
body. He was desperate for rest, but he fought against the pull of sleep.   
After kicking his feet around a bit, Jo found a relatively dry patch of leaves at the foot 
of an oak. He pulled Anael's reins and saddle off, letting the horse do as he wished.   

His mission had been meant initially to last only seconds. Jo had no ointment or 
alcohol to rub into his skin. Not even a small loaf to ease his aching stomach.   
He looked pointedly at Anael. "Stay here."   
Then Jo went off to hunt. 'Twas a pain in the arse, having to stay so close to 
Frederik's wretched screaming, but eventually he caught himself a small pheasant 
and a squirrel to cook. He knew how to make a fire without flint, and, soon enough, 
he was eating.   
He could find naught for his wounds. They would have to wait for treatment. 
Hopefully not very long.   
Belly full, Jo lay back against his tree. He would never be welcomed to Heaven after 
this, but he needed help.   
"Michael, please come. I need yer help."   
He waited. No answer, and Michael did not appear.   
He sighed. "Michael, please, I know I erred, but I cannot . . . . ye must come for us."   
Still no answer. He looked to Anael, as if the horse could give him answers. "Ye do 
not happen to have the ability to transport us back to my house?"   
Anael flicked his tail and moved further into the trees.     
Jo's heart sank. He would have to find his own way. So long as he traveled south, all 
should be well, providing there were no more attacks.   
Jo doubted he would be so lucky. He lifted himself to his knees for prayer. A hard 
habit to break even after he left his brothers. He asked for the usual 
things—forgiveness of his sins and pity for the dead and dying—but he made a 
special request for strength from temptation from that blasted man he had chained to 
the tree.   
Fighting as they had, when Jo was on top of him, he'd barely managed to control 
himself. He could not help but notice that beautiful face—the high pale cheekbones 
and the sun-golden eyes as they stared up at him. His reddish-brown hair had been 
caked in that dark mud, as had most of the rest of his skin, but he'd still been as 
wonderfully enchanting as ever. Jo had felt the slim, yet muscular form of Frederik 
between his thighs as that mouth and tongue moved, speaking words he could 
barely understand because that voice caressed him in ways he'd been denied since—   

Nay. He could not think of that.   
A throbbing in his groin told him that another part of his body was more than happy 
to think on it. He stared down at the tent forming in the cloth of his armor. Another 
human body function. One he had once hoped to enjoy with Frederik, but then 
learned to satisfy on his own. And it had been satisfying indeed, even been better 
than kissing. In the beginning.   
However, he hadn't touched himself in so long. Mostly because, after continuously 
doing it, he had noticed an emptiness that filled him when his body released all that 
energy, and, soon, it also became apparent the more he gave in to himself, the less he 
enjoyed it.   
Except he hadn't felt such a throbbing, begging, ache in years. 'Twas as if he was a 
newly changed man all over again, and the slightest touch, so much as a shift in the 
wind, made that bit of flesh hard and hot.   
His temptation—the man tied to a tree and calling his name—was, of course, the 
cause.   
Giving into his temptation—just this once—and putting his exhaustion in the farthest 
corner of his mind, Jo lay on his back on the bed of leaves and grass, made himself 
comfortable, and reached down. He lifted the cloth away from his waist and pulled 
out his hard member from the extra piece that hid it away further.   
His eyes closed and mouth opened with unparalleled delight as the first sizzle of 
pleasure heated his blood. No one had to know.   
   
* * * * *   
   
Frederik had stopped screaming for Jo the second it became apparent the filthy arse 
was not coming back for him. That had been hours ago, moments after he had 
realized there was no torturous heat surrounding him, no hellish flames encasing 
him, destroying him, and turning him into a pile of ash. He'd been hiding behind the 
tree Jo had tied him to, but it was about half as thick as Frederik's body. It should not 
have protected him.   

His skin remained cool, and he did not become a mound of dust despite the lack of 
cover. He blinked as the answer came to him, and he touched the gold at his neck. 
The chain. It stole his strength, but it also stripped him of his one true weakness, it 
seemed.     
Still cowering behind the tree, in case he should be wrong, he reached a trembling 
hand out of the weak refuge of the barely-there shade. His fingertips touched the 
thin stream of light first. They warmed, and he quickly drew back.     
"Ah!" He hissed, though there was no pain.   
He looked down at the tips of his fingers. His nails and skin were intact. They were 
not black and smoking like firewood. No, despite being brown with dirt, he was 
unharmed.   
He tested his whole hand next. Slowly. His body trembled with the effort, yet his 
hand did not burst into flame and vanish in a cloud of fire and smoke.   
The next test took more courage—ten deep breaths and two failed tries. He dipped 
his face into the yellow light.   
"Ah." This time, it was a pleasurable sigh, and he laughed.   
He was standing in the sun. The sun. Frederik spun as he bathed in the light. His 
wolf form could handle sunlight, barely, and that was still uncomfortable. Frederik 
sat down, leaned against the side of the tree facing the light, and closed his eyes to 
enjoy himself.   
When he escaped, he would take this chain with him. He could not break it, but there 
had to be a way to form and mold it. He could make a necklace for Amelia, one big 
enough that she could remove, of course, and they could leave their country estate 
where no one paid mind to their nocturnal ways, and move into the city. London 
was certainly progressing well after that horrid fire, and, should there still be the 
threat of another plague outbreak, well, it was not as though such a mortal sickness 
concerned him.   

He frowned.   
The plague had concerned him. It was the entire reason Jo hated him. He had not a 
doubt that, had it not been for his own cruel send-off those five years ago, Jo would 
have believed him to be . . . what? Innocent? No, certainly he was far from innocent 
after what he had done. But he was as much a victim as those lost souls from that 
ruined village. He was a vampire with half a soul. After what he'd done, he would 
never earn the other half. Never enter paradise on his death. Never be whole.   
If Jo were not so angry with him, he would see that as well.   
Jo could hide behind his rage all he wanted, and he could put Frederik in this queer 
chain that robbed him of his abilities, but he was still a vampire. Vampires were 
sensual creatures, and Frederik knew Jo held more for him than anger.   
Jo still loved him.   
Frederik enjoyed life's dry sense of humor. He truly did.   
Jo loved him. He could use that. He'd seduced that angel once before, without sexual 
organs to aid him. He could do it again, just long enough to make that tanned hand 
loosen its grip on that bloody chain—   
"What are ye smiling for?"   
  Frederik popped his eyes open. Jo stood directly before him, leaves of varying sizes 
acting as makeshift bandages stuck to his arm and along his jaw and cheek. Jo's long, 
muscled legs were close enough for Frederik to touch.   
Pity that angels had no sexual organs, yet he knew perfectly well he could still make 
Jo writhe and moan with only kisses and massage. The base of his wings, right where 
they met his back, had been the most sensitive part of Jo's body. Frederik had 
enjoyed petting those wings.   
"I was merely enjoying the sunshine. You left me here to fear I would burn."   
"'Twas not my intention."   
"I could have been attacked again."   

"Ye look well enough to me."   
Little prick. "I enjoy the sun as much as any light-deprived creature, but I enjoy being 
a vampire more."   
"Is that so?"   
Frederik nodded. "Eternal life, strength." He rapped his knuckles over the dry, 
crusted area of his jacket that concealed his chest. "Strong, solid ribs to prevent easy 
staking." This was how they had once spoken to each other. Like friends, before 
they'd become lovers.   
He had asked Jo once what it felt like to receive a building pleasure with the 
knowledge that there could be no release. Jo always had to wait for his body to relax 
on its own. Jo had replied that it was a strange form of torture, even though he did 
not comprehend how a cock gushing sticky fluids could be both the height of that 
pleasure and the ending of it.   
Frederik leaned forward and reached out. He grabbed Jo by his firm legs and let his 
hands slide up, tickled by the light hairs of his calves before stopping just behind the 
knees. Jo's thighs were always a point of mild pleasure for him. Frederik frowned at 
the scabbing slashes still visible from the fight they had when he was in his wolf 
form. Was this another punishment of Jo's? His healing abilities taken as well?   
Jo tensed, blue eyes widening. "What are ye—"   
Frederik quickly pushed behind the joints, and Jo fell to his knees with a shocked cry, 
which Frederik swiftly silenced with a kiss.   
He put his arm around Jo's shoulders to prevent him from struggling and a hand in 
his light, long hair to keep his face still. Despite this quick work, there was something 
. . . peculiar. Jo did not quite taste the same as before.   
Frederik opened his mouth as Jo's tongue reached out and met his. They touched and 
caressed each other in a welcoming embrace that Frederik had missed more than he 
thought he had.   

Suddenly, Jo was gripping him just as tightly. Frederik's dirt-stained clothing was 
making a mess of that gleaming armor, and yet he pressed closer still. Another moan 
sounded. Frederik vaguely realized it was he who made the noise.   
He should have let Jo untie the chain from the tree before he did this.   
Jo was so pliant in his arms, and, if possible, so much more responsive than before. 
The skin of his jaw and cheek smooth to the touch. Jo never needed shaving.   
This had been a mistake. Frederik was becoming a victim of his own ploy. His skin 
tingled, unbearably hot, he could hardly breathe because his nose was mashed into 
Jo's cheek with the leaf sticking out, yet he did not dare stop. His cock was full and 
pulsing in time with his heartbeat which had suddenly come alive in his chest. Jo 
could not take the kind of relief that Frederik wanted, but that didn't mean he had to 
suffer.   
Keeping their mouths firmly attached, he gathered Jo by the hips, and pulled him 
forth for that delicious friction—   
Jo's hand pushed him off. Then his fist in Frederik's face sent his head shooting back 
and banging into the tree. Flashes of light and blinking stars exploded behind his 
eyes. When Frederik's vision cleared, his erection had, sadly, softened. Frederik's 
anger spiked. The little deserter. Simply because Jo could not enjoy all the pleasures of 
the flesh was no reason to punish him for it.   
Jo rose to his feet and turned his back, which Frederik could tell was stiff with anger 
even though it was hidden behind that red cape. Both Jo's fists were balled, and he 
held his head high, as if praying for strength.   
Damned angel probably was doing just that. "You just ruined what was to be the 
only good thing about being stuck with you."   
Slowly, Jo turned his head so he might glare at Frederik over his shoulder. "If yer 
cock is after the attentions of my mouth then I am not sorry to disappoint."   
Frederik would never become used to all those curses leaving that pretty, puffed-up, 
mouth. But then he smiled and put it out of his mind. Had Jo considered it? Perhaps 
that was why Frederik had been pushed away so roughly.   

Frederik stood, crossed his arms, and leaned against the tree. Confidence soaring. "I 
had not sought the heat of your mouth so much as the friction of your thighs. 
However, since you brought it to both of our attentions . . . ." He stroked his 
uninterested cock, pretending he was still aroused.   
Jo seethed. "'Twill never happen again."   
Frederik raised his hands. "Fine, fine. I will not honor you with the privilege of 
sucking my cock. You used to do it very well, do you not remember, Jo?"   
With a roar, Jo dove for Frederik. Frederik did not move and allowed himself to be 
taken down. Jo tackling him away from the tree with the force of their combined 
weight would snap that fucking chain. He would be free!   
But the chain only grew longer to accommodate them, the links multiplying as they 
fell. And now Frederik had an angry angel on top of him.   
Jo pinned him in the dead leaves from the previous fall, lifted his fist, and brought it 
down on Frederik's face. It hurt more than it ought to, which was why Frederik 
fought back.   
Did the idiot not recall that Frederik had no strength while shackled in the chain? If 
Jo was too rough, he could crush Frederik's skull with his angelic strength. Frederik 
kicked the stupid angel off of him. Jo rolled away, and Frederik went for the attack. 
But Jo grabbed the chain before he could reach him, and it constricted around his 
neck. Frederik was halted instantly as the pressure stole the air from his lungs and 
heated the blood in his face.   
Bloody God damn it! He had forgotten about this part of his imprisonment.     
He stayed on his knees, clutching at the chain, his fingers digging into his neck, 
attempting to get under the chain so he could breathe. Wet warmth trickled down his 
skin and hands as his fingernails cut deep. He fell on his back, kicked his legs, and 
arched his spine, attempting to force air into his lungs. The chain would not relent.   
A dark, gray cloud appeared around the edges of his vision and began to spread. It 
was Death, coming to claim him. He was dying, he was dying, and he had not even 
rescued his sister. All he'd done had been for nothing.   

As the darkness came down on him, he could barely make out Jo's feet. Just as the 
blackness consumed him, Jo's hand on his shoulder banished it away. The chain 
loosened, and Frederik gulped back the air like it was precious life blood. His head 
spun as blood rushed to his face. The spinning traveled down his body and into his 
guts, twisting everything around in knots.   
He rolled to his hands and knees, still sucking back air and ready to vomit. He held 
back as much as he could, not willing to be so weak in front of that bastard angel.   
It was some seconds before he was aware of Jo's hand caressing his back through his 
filthy cloak. Even with that layer along with his shirt beneath, Jo's hand still brought 
pleasant warmth.   
He didn't want it. He shrugged it away and stumbled to his feet. His first attempt at 
seduction was a bloody, botched mess. It was a waste of time he could not afford to 
repeat.   
"Frederik? Are ye well?"   
He did not turn to look back at Jo. How strange it was hearing his name spoken in 
that soft voice after so many years. It nearly undid his anger, and he desperately 
needed that right now. "What do you care? You are taking me to my death."   
Jo stiffened, blue eyes turning hard like stone. His hands moved to untie the chain 
from around the tree. "It is not my place to decide whether ye had a valid reason for 
what ye did. That is all I will say to ye. Now, come, we must make haste if we are to 
find Michael."   
   
Chapter Five   
   
Michael had long ago realized his Creator always had a reason for the things he did. 
Even if Michael did not always understand those reasons in the beginning, he did by 
the end.   

This was the case with most angels in heaven. They trusted their Creator to do what 
was right for them, to love them, and to see to their needs. In return for that love, all 
that was ever asked for was their trust.   
Jophiel had been one of the few angels to challenge that.   
Oh, he was never loud or angry with his inquiries. He was a young, curious angel, 
and his questions—most of them—were not considered threatening. They were of 
the innocent kind. Mostly.   

Why do angels have wings and mortals do not?   

Why can demons not be forgiven?   

Why does man have free will and angels do not?   
That last one had been Jophiel's most dangerous question. Of course, man had free 
will so they might choose not to believe. Choose not to serve. For an angel to ask 
such a thing meant he too wanted the choice not to believe. It had been the question 
Lucifer himself had once asked before causing all his havoc and being cast out.   
But Michael knew Jophiel, was fond of him and the songs he sang. He knew the 
question was only the expression of a childish wonderment. Still, he warned Jophiel 
not to ask such things again lest someone else overhear and begin to speculate. He 
should not have forced Jo to keep his thoughts to himself. Perhaps, if he had allowed 
his brother to be more open, this entire situation would have been avoided.   
Soon after their discussion, Lucifer sent his demons to heaven, and all chaos had 
erupted both here and on Earth. The demons were diseased and sickly, some with 
black boils for eyes, and, as they attacked in heaven and fought with the angels, their 
plague spread to Earth as they were struck down.   
The battle had been fierce and lasted years. Zadkiel and Jophiel were at Michael's 
side when he struck the winning blow with his flaming sword, finally beheading 
their pus-and-boil-encrusted general. But a stray demon had sent one last blast of fire 
and energy toward him. Jophiel had pushed Michael out of the way, risking his very 
existence.   
The blast did not kill Jophiel, but, like the disease, he had fallen to the Earth.   

Angels could not appear on Earth without Divine permission, and yet Jophiel had 
fallen. Worse still, he had been found by a vampire. The bottom feeders of all 
demons, human in appearance, and yet without souls. They were so low on the list of 
demons requiring attention they were mostly left to the mortals to deal with. That 
this vampire was descended from Belial and still held half a soul was of no 
consequence to Michael. They all killed eventually, as was proven by Grimm's attack 
on a mortal village.   
Michael had wanted to go down and fetch Jophiel. He could not stand the sight of Jo, 
helpless in that thing's house, being nursed back to health. Yet, again and again, his 
request was denied.   
At first, Michael thought 'twas meant to be a test, though for whom, he could not say 
for certain. Jophiel was hidden away by the vampire and treated with something 
akin to care until his wings healed. Yet, even then, when the wings were strong 
enough to hold him aloft, Jo did not come home, again and again fighting the pull 
that should have taken him away and back to Heaven.   
Then, to Michael's horror, he discovered the reason for Jophiel reluctance to return 
when he saw Jo allow the vampire to kiss him for the first time. After that, he could 
watch no more.   
Later, he discovered Jophiel had cut off his wings. 'Twas as ridiculous and saddening 
as a fish without fins or a man without his legs. Though it had been rude of him to 
point it out, Zadkiel had been correct. Jo was lame without them. With Jo's wings 
gone, all contact with him had been severed completely until three days ago.   
Michael had been brought before his Creator and told of what the vampire had done 
to the village. He and Zadkiel were ordered to go to Earth, find Jophiel, who had 
been living alone as a mortal these last five years, and have him redeem himself by 
taking the head of the vampire who had betrayed him. Only then would Jophiel be 
allowed to return.   
He and Zadkiel had done as instructed, given Jophiel Gideon's Chain, and 
transported him to the vampire's location, but Jophiel had not returned. He and Zad 
waited all into the night and even until the dawn had turned the sky a cool gray. Yet, 
still, Jophiel did not come.   

Which meant he had yet to kill the vampire.   
Michael and Zadkiel had returned home immediately, and Michael had gone to his 
Creator to ask what had happened, fearful Grimm had killed his brother as well as 
those villagers. The truth was far worse. Jophiel was keeping the vampire alive. The 
rage that swelled within him was a hot, boiling emotion he rarely ever felt. He 
wanted to go down and kill the vampire himself at the very thought of Jophiel being 
used again. But he had again been denied. He and Zadkiel were to wait.   
His Creator loved them and always knew what was best. Michael had to 
continuously remind himself of this as the hours crawled by and his helplessness 
grew. Soon, another morning would come.   
Whatever his plan, his Creator knew best.   
"We cannot merely sit here." Zadkiel complained, having already done so numerous 
times already.   
"We have been given our orders." Michael stated from the soft cloud he used as a 
cushion. If he kept his eyes shut, he could concentrate on keeping his patience rather 
than on Zadkiel's rigorous complaining.   
"Jo was ordered to kill that vampire, and yet he did not!" Zadkiel stomped in a circle 
around Michael. Panic seemed to be building within him.   
"There is a chance He did not know of the vampire's . . . persuasive abilities over 
Jophiel," Zadkiel said. "Our brother is a heartfelt creature. He would have offered 
mercy even to a being who does not deserve it."     
Michael thought for a moment. "Perhaps He knew this would happen."   
Zad spun on him, panicked rage coursing through his veins. "He would not know!"   
"Be calm."   
"We must go down there and kill him ourselves!"   

Michael's eyes snapped open. His wings spread, and he flew up to his feet, drawing 
himself to his full height. Zadkiel's eyes widened, and he stepped back—fortunately 
for him, for otherwise he might have been in range of Michael's itching fist.     
"We will do no such thing," Michael said. "We have our commands. They are to be 
obeyed."   
That Zadkiel spoke of returning to Earth without permission could mean only one 
thing, and Michael would not have it. Ever.   
Zadkiel scowled, but then turned his back and released his own wings. He walked to 
the edge of the cloud they had been sitting on, as though he meant to leap off. He 
stopped and turned his head at the last moment. "Always the good son, ye are 
Michael, even when a brother may be in danger of facing damnation."   
Zadkiel jumped before Michael could reply and flew away.   
Michael did not follow his angry brother, nor become anymore enraged over his 
words.   
Those words had . . . saddened him. Were they true? He would do anything to keep 
his brothers safe, but    . . . .   
Best not to dwell on such things, especially now he was alone. He would ask his 
Creator one more time for leave for Earth. Just once more.   
   
* * * * *   
   
Frederik and Jo travelled until the sun went down for the night. Frederik was now a 
whole day's journey further away from his sister. Frederik hated realizing that, yet 
he was grateful for the darkness. Though he enjoyed putting his face into the light 
the first few minutes, after walking in it for so long, he had begun to sweat in ways 
and in places he had never experienced before.   
On those rare occasions when he was outside during the daytime, he was always in 
his wolf form, and then his gray coat protected him from the heat. While walking in 
the sun in his gentleman's form, he'd been forced to loosen his garments and 
completely discard his cloak.   

To make matters worse, several times throughout the day, Jo had stopped, tied him 
to another tree—the current one being a young willow—and wandered off into the 
woods for whatever mysterious reason. Each time, he was gone for no more than five 
minutes. Perhaps it was all to give the horse a rest, though why a Heavenly Creature 
would require rest was beyond Frederik.   
But at least the sun was down now. Jo had been gone for an hour—the longest time 
yet. The white stallion beside him whickered impatiently.   
"I shall give him a good hard thrashing as well." Frederik answered.   
"The chain would not allow it."   
A tiny muscle under his eye twitched fiercely at the sound of Jo's voice. "Where have 
you been? This is the third time we have stopped so you can prance off—"   
"Shut up." Jo unwound the chain from around the tree, and Frederik allowed himself 
to be led as Jo pulled himself back on his horse and they returned to their weary trail.   
Frederik waited, but Jo offered no explanations. "What were you doing out there, 
then?"   
Jo's hesitation was barely noticeable, but Frederik still caught it. "Praying."   
"Praying? What would an angel pray for?"   
"I have been praying that Michael, or even another of my brothers, will come to 
retrieve us. 'Tis becoming obvious they will do no such thing until ye're dead."   
Frederik said nothing to that.   
The eve came, and a sliver of a moon lit their way. They were becoming lost. How 
would they find Jo's meeting place with Michael when the little fool himself did not 
know where it was?   
"We shall stop for directions."   
Jo turned his head to glare down at him. "And where do ye propose we get these 
directions?"   

Frederik sighed and shrugged. He hadn't the faintest clue where the nearest town 
could be. "I don't know." He clenched his fists tightly. "Perhaps you should kill me. 
At any rate, it will get you back to your brothers quickly enough, and then you could 
retrieve my sister, and all of this will be done with."   
It had been what he originally asked for. The only difference would be that, this way, 
he himself would not be the one to kill MacNiel. But too much time was being 
wasted on this journey, and he was losing hope of escaping.   
Jo chose to ignore him, it seemed. "I am still against it, but when a village comes into 
view, perhaps I shall tie ye again to one of these helpful trees and ask how far away 
from"—he cut himself off—"I shall ask the way."   
Frederik snorted and crossed his arms. If he was tied to another tree he was going to 
kill . . . something.   
"Are ye thirsty?"   
Frederik blinked out of his violent thoughts. Jo was again looking down on him as he 
rode. Seeing to the needs of his prisoner, he was.   
Frederik had enough blood in him to last a small lifetime, and his belly did not crave 
food either. "No, I am full—" He shuddered.   
Jo turned away from him.   
He had to speak. "You must believe I did not wish them any harm."   
Jo still would not look at him. "What I do or do not believe does not matter."   
Frederik winced. "I will no longer pretend the only reason for your hate is that 
village" —that village of at least two hundred simple farmers— "I am . . . sincerely 
regretful for the way we parted."   
"Frederik—"   
"But with the plague, so many people dead and dying, I could not risk—"   
Anael stopped abruptly, and Frederik was yanked by the neck of his chain to where 
Jo sat. The angel grabbed him by his collar. Frederik's head barely reached over the 
top of that massive animal which Jo sat upon. His jaw was practically in Jo's lap.   

No, it was in his lap. Frederik's chin rested just on the tight muscle of Jo's thigh. 
Though it was the worst time for it, he wanted to bury his face there, sink his teeth in 
to taste even though he was not thirsty. He missed the taste of Jo, the flavor of his 
skin . . . .   
Before today, Frederik had never experienced sunlight the way it was meant to be 
experienced, but, whenever he licked Jo's angelic skin, he always thought of the 
warmth of the sun.   
Jo did not appear to notice. His face was a mask of rage. "Stop. Speaking. Of. That. 
'Twas my decision, not yers. If I chose to become mortal, with or without yer 
blessing, it gave ye no leave to treat me as such."   
Frederik sighed and tried to nod, managing only to scratch the stubble of his chin 
along Jo's smooth flesh. "You are right. I apologize."   
Jo's flesh suddenly heated under Frederik's chin. Their closeness snuffed out the 
anger he had kindled with his talk. Boldly, Frederik reached his hands up to caress 
Jo's thigh, the flesh pimpled in pleasure, and he pressed his lips there, his eyes never 
leaving Jo's face.   
"Frederik." Jo's voice wavered. "Ye should not—"   
"If I mean you any harm, the chain will punish me," Frederik said.   
Frederik reached up, but he could only touch Jo's arm, not his face and hair as he 
would have liked.   
The touch lasted but the barest moment before Jo shrugged him away, kicking Anael 
back into an easy pace.   
"I'll not be yer whore again."   
Frederik's anger felt like a spike inside him. "Is that what you think?"   
"'Tis what I know. Ye used me for yer release, and, when I wanted to be with ye 
indefinitely, ye threw me away."   
"Idiot!" Frederik raged. "I already told you of my reasons. There was a damned 
plague. Did you really think I would allow you to kill yourself for me?"   
"I survived it."   

"Only because you are an angel. You could not catch the disease any more than I 
could. But as a man, a feeble man, it would have taken you."   
Jo sputtered.   
"I will speak of this no more with you," Frederik said finally. "When we reach 
Michael, he can take my head so long as Amelia is brought to safety. Otherwise, I 
shall have nothing more to do with you."   
   
Chapter Six   
   
Jo could barely stand the silence they had been traveling in for hours.   
At first, it had been pleasant without the heated arguing. That feeling had not lasted 
five minutes before he began to contemplate when Frederik would speak to him 
again, demand release, or even attack him and Anael.   
None of those things came. Every now and again, he turned around to be sure that 
Frederik still followed him, even though 'twas impossible the vampire could escape 
with the chain around his neck.   
The moon slid lower in the sky. Jo stopped once again, tied Frederik to another 
helpful tree, went to hunt for food, relieve himself, and sleep. He peeled away the 
leaves that hid his cuts and slashes. The wounds had long ago begun to itch, the 
edges producing a fine layer of white slime he knew should not be there. He cleaned 
it away and exchanged the leaves for softer, fresher greens. Hopefully, the switch 
would ease his discomfort before he returned to his prisoner. Frederik made no 
complaint about being left alone.   
'Twas nearing dawn when he could take no more of the quiet. "Will ye not speak at 
all?"   
Frederik stayed silent.   
Jo stopped Anael and turned. "Frederik, this is child-like behavior. Speak."   
Frederik's fists clenched. "My apologies if my shunning you for taking me prisoner is 
causing any hurt feelings."   

Jo turned back to the road and gently prodded Anael to continue. Though he 
promised himself to leave Frederik be, after another few moments, he found he could 
not. "Why did ye never speak of a sister? In the beginning."   
He hoped for an answer, yet he did not expect one.   
"I had to be certain you weren't sent to kill us. Angels kill demons, and vampires are 
as good as demons."   
"Aye, but not demons worth our notice."   
Frederik threw his hands in the air. "Thank you for that."   
"Will ye cease?" Jo snapped. "Would ye rather have had legions of angels at yer gates 
after I fell onto yer land?"   
Frederik's lips thinned. "Since I did not know whether they were to be expected or 
not, I kept the knowledge of Amelia from you and allowed you to believe in my farce 
family instead."   
Jo took that in. He sighed. Why should he bother with these things? It made no 
difference at all when considering what Frederik had done to the MacGreggor clan. 
"Where was yer sister, when we met?"   
"London,"   
Jo sputtered. "London? London was infested with the plague. Every hat and glove 
shop would have been closed."   
Frederik glared at him. "She had been staying with a lady friend at the time. A mortal 
girl and her family. Her friend's father thought himself above disease, and he would 
not leave the home for fear of thieves, or what-have-you. When the black spots and 
swellings appeared on him, they were locked in their home for forty days. My sister 
had nothing to fear, but she did have to watch a beloved friend sicken and become 
consumed by the illness."   
Sympathy swelled inside him. "I am sorry for yer sister."   
"Just not sorry enough to save her."   
Mortified at his own contradictions, Jo turned away.   
Frederik grumbled. "Of course not."   

Anael suddenly halted his stride and shifted. He made a noise of displeasure and 
flicked his tail. Jo was glad for the sight in front of him until he realized what it 
meant.   
"Your poorly trained animal nearly trampled my foot!" Frederik complained.   
"'Tis the least of yer worries," said Jo, nodding toward what had stopped him.   
Zadkiel stood in the middle of the road, flaming sword in hand.   
   
Chapter Seven   
   
For the second time in his life, Frederik beheld a winged warrior. Only this one was 
not injured from battle. Rather, to judge the flaming weapon in his grip, he appeared 
ready to leap into a battle.   
His armor was the same as that which Jo wore, only cleaner. He stood taller than Jo, 
probably as tall as Frederik. His snow wings were folded behind him, arching over 
his head and falling nearly down to his sandaled feet, the pointed feathers stopping 
just shy of the dry road.   
A fierce expression of hate twisted what would have otherwise been a handsome 
visage. He gripped and twisted a blazing bastard sword. Frederik suspected the 
blade was meant for his neck.   
Michael. His mind supplied the name.   
So this was the warrior angel who would kill him.   
"Jo." Frederik looked up at his captor, who was staring at the angel in the road as 
though this was the last place he expected to see him. So, this was not the meeting 
place then. This angel had finally answered Jo's prayers and come to them.   
"Aye?" Jo said.   
"You must promise to go back for my sister when he takes my head."   
Jo's head snapped down to look at him. "He is not here to—"   
  Jo turned away from him to face the other angel. "Zadkiel, wherefore are ye here? 
Where is Michael?"   
Zadkiel? "Who the hell is Zadkiel?" Frederik asked.   

"Fear not. He is a friend." Jo had still not taken his eyes from the other warrior.   
Friend indeed. If that angel was not here for Frederik's head, then he was a centaur in 
vampire's clothing.   
"Why have ye not taken his head? Why is he still in chains?" Zadkiel demanded, 
pointing the fire blade at Frederik and ignoring Jo's other inquiry.   
Jo pursed his lips. He dismounted from Anael, dropping to the ground before 
walking to where his friend stood, tugging Frederik along as well.   
Frederik crossed his arms bitterly as he was led, like a chained dog, though Jo still 
halted several yards out of reach of the sword.   
"He claims there is another equally responsible for the attack on the MacGreggor 
clan. Where is Michael? He can answer why I have been sent to kill only one man."   
Frederik eagerly awaited the answer to that as well.   
Zadkiel shook his head. "It matters not. He destroyed an entire village, murdered the 
inhabitants in cold blood, and burned the remains."   
Frederik tensed. "If you want to kill the man responsible, then why don't you go and 
behead Malcolm MacNiel? He sent me to them."   
Zadkiel flicked the flaming sword in his hand. "Aye, and ye obeyed your orders 
quite well."   
This time, Jo stiffened beside him. "'Tis true then?" His voice grew disheartened. 
"Why was I not made aware of this? Where is Michael?"   
"Michael is not here."   
"Not—? Ye left without permission." This fact seemed to horrify Jo, though Frederik 
did not understand its significance.   
Zadkiel looked away briefly, but then stepped forward, determined once again. 
"Michael did not wish to finish the task ye had been honored with."   
"Zad!"   
Long wings stretched and expanded behind the warrior as he ran and leapt off his 
feet. His wings caught him in the air and propelled him faster than any horse toward 
Frederik.   

Jo turned one way, and Frederik turned another just as the fiery blade sliced down 
on the chain between them.   
Frederik fell. He fell. The chain was now out of Jo's hand, but his vampire strength 
and agility would still not serve him.   
Zadkiel landed on his sandaled feet and spun on him, amber eyes ablaze with fire as 
he lifted his sword above his head.   
Frederik rolled out of the way, but the sound of iron clunking into soft earth did not 
reach his ears. The clang of metal against cold metal did.   
Jo stood above the place where Frederik had once been, his sword raised to block 
Zadkiel's attack.   
If anything, Zadkiel's amber eyes brightened all the more. "Ye defend him? An Agent 
of Satan?"   
Jo's blue eyes turned as cold as winter frost. He swung his sword with a mighty blow 
against Zadkiel's flaming blade, prompting sparks to scatter and the fire to dance.   
"Jo! 'Tis fer yer own good. Ye do not belong here."   
Frederik went to Anael, who stood motionless but for a slight shifting of his hooves, 
as though he were confused why these two allies would be battling each other.   
He saw Frederik's approach and shifted with an anxious whinny. Frederik raised his 
pale palms in a gesture of peace.     
"I will not harm you."   
Anael shook his mane around and made no other movement as Frederik took him by 
the reins and lifted himself into the saddle. Frederik spun the horse around. He now 
had an unencumbered view of the battle between the angels.       
Jo brought his sword down again, then again, his attacks constantly being foiled by 
Zadkiel's blocks until he finally sliced down and hit his target.   
Zadkiel screamed and stumbled back. He fell to his knees.   
"My wing! Jophiel!"   
"'Tis a scratch. Ye shall heal." With this small victory, all the frigid air left Jo. "Do not 
confront me again without Michael. If he will see you after this."   

Zadkiel's eyes turned a glowing red, as though blood were spilling behind the irises, 
consuming everything in his rage.   
Jo stepped away from him. "What did ye do?"   
Frederik pulled Anael alongside Jo. He looked up and jerked in surprise to see 
Frederik as the rider. He offered Jo his hand. Jo clasped the offered palm and pulled 
himself up behind Frederik.   
Panic entered Zadkiel's eyes, overcoming the red color Jo had seen. "Where are ye 
going?"   
"That is no concern of yers," said Jo.   
They were going to MacNiel's keep, Frederik knew it, and he could not wait to 
punish MacNiel, but, now that Frederik knew of this other angel's involvement in 
hiding MacNiel's part, Zadkiel was next on the list.   
But only after Amelia was seen to. Frederik kicked Anael into a run. The beast was 
fast considering he now carried two men instead of one. So fast Frederik could not 
hear what it was the angel they left behind screamed out to them. It was something 
directed at Jo, but Frederik was not about to halt, turn, and politely ask what it had 
been.   
   
* * * * *   
   
Even a heavenly horse needed rest, it seemed. After an hour's ride with two 
passengers, Anael began struggling to halt, constantly turning his head, and resisting 
commands. Frederik was soon forced to ease the animal from a fierce gallop to a trot, 
and then to a gentle stride.     
"'Tis about time ye slowed," Jo said, sliding down from his perch and moving toward 
Anael's head to check on the beast. "I told ye he could not take much more,"     
"Why did you not tell me you are a man?"   
Jo's entire body became rigid, his eyes turning away from the horse and finding 
Frederik's. "I—"   

The blunt force of the question had shocked the words from him, it seemed, which 
was all the confirmation Frederik desired. "It's true then."   
Jo steeled himself, becoming a warrior once more. "'Twas decided ye should not 
know of my weakness lest ye attempt to exploit it in battle."     
Frederik leapt down from Anael, nearly lost his footing with the bloody chain still 
swinging from his neck, and ran to the little idiot.   
Jo stood firm until Frederik grabbed him by the edges of his metal breastplate and 
pushed his back into an oak tree. Jo opened his mouth to protest but Frederik 
meshed his lips to Jo's with a force that would bruise, silencing him.   
Jo made a sound of surprise, but his lips quickly pushed back, so hard their teeth 
clashed. He put his fingers in Frederik's hair and gripped tight enough to pull a 
grunt from Frederik's throat. Each of them desperately clung to the other.   
Jo had just opened his mouth in a glorious invitation when Frederik ripped himself 
away. "When?"   
Jo blinked in a haze, his mouth red and beginning to swell. "When?"   
Frederik gripped the neck of Jo's armor and shook him. "Yes, when? You utter shit. 
When did you do this to yourself?"   
Jo glared at him. "The day ye cast me out."   
Frederik closed his eyes. A piercing pain thrust hard into his chest, as though 
someone had staked him. "Before—?" He could not finish.   
Jo glared at him. "Do not be so dramatic as that. I wanted to be mortal, I told ye this. I 
meant to do it with or without ye."   
Frederik pushed away from Jo with a snarl of disgust and horror.   
Jo's wings, his beautiful wings that Frederik had stroked and petted, were not gone 
temporarily for some punishment. They were gone forever, and Frederik mourned 
for them, and for Jo's mortality. "Idiot. Fucking idiot. How could you do that to 
yourself?"   
Jo sighed. "'Twas my decision."   
Frederik snarled at him. "A stupid decision."   

Jo snarled back at him, but Frederik ignored him. The Devil take it. How could he 
have not seen it? All that talk of punishments and whatnot.   
Frederik looked into Jo's face, saw his hair, and studied it for the first time since this 
charade began, touching and comparing its texture now from what he remembered 
before, taking a good look at the strands. Yes, it, too, was no longer as golden as 
before. His skin had a darker shade to it from long hours in the sun. Jo had not 
tanned like this when he had his wings.   
Frederik again noticed the leaves and moss Jo used to bandage his wounds and 
recalled how Jo had scratched incessantly as they rode. He reached for one sticking 
along Jo's jaw, a young alder leaf. When Jo did not move to stop him, Frederik pulled 
it away.   
He hissed. The area behind the little leaf had turned a bright red. Mild swelling 
suggested the infection was still new, but no doubt, more patches of red would be 
found where Frederik, in wolf form, had bitten Jo's arm and scratched his legs.   
Had he still been an angel, these wounds would have healed already, but as a mortal, 
Jo would have more to be concerned for than a rash if he did not receive treatment 
quickly.   
"When did ye put it together?" Jo asked.   
Frederik looked into Jo's eyes. The former angel appeared uncomfortable with his 
scrutiny.   
Frederik cleared his throat. "Your battle with the other angel. You appeared so 
different from one another. There was no sense at all that you belonged to the same 
species." Frederik thought again. "And your sword did not burst into flame."   
"It did not burst into the flame when we first battled each other."   
Frederik made a face at him. "My attention was too preoccupied elsewhere to notice." 
He could hardly keep his despair in place. "How did you survive all these years? The 
plague consumed everything."   
Jo winced. "For a time, I hardly did survive. I was certain life on earth would be easy 
enough for me. I was proven wrong quickly as the needs of my mortal body called to 
me every waking moment. I went into the nearest forest and hid myself, barely 
traveling for fear those passing by would be carriers. 'Twas not until I discovered 
three children dying of plague—"   

"You did not go near them?" Frederik shouted.   
Jo gave him a sour look. "As I am alive, nay. I stayed at enough of a distance to keep 
from infection." He continued with his tale. "Their parents were forced to abandon 
them when they became stricken. I saw them and realized their woes were fiercer 
than my own. I chose to be where I was. They did not."   
Jo clenched his jaw, as though recalling the events gave him pain. Frederik himself 
had seen the stricken up close many times when he traveled. Men, women, and 
children, and none of them had been a pretty sight.   
Three children, entirely alone and going to their deaths, must have been horrifying 
for an angel—a man—who had previously lived in the heavens and had never seen 
the sufferings of mortals.   
Frederik nudged him. "Go on."   
Jo settled himself to sit against the tree, and Frederik did the same. "They were 
hidden away under the shelter of a willow, all of them bubbling with black sores. A 
girl and two boys. The youngest boy had already died with them, but his siblings 
treated him as though he were merely sleeping, or perhaps they did not know. The 
eldest could not have been older than eleven. He attempted to ward me off from his 
other sister by throwing stones. Though, his arms were too weak to send the rocks 
very far.   
"The girl complained of hunger. It had been days since ye and I parted, and though I 
too was hungry, at the time I barely knew what that was." Jo managed a sardonic 
laugh. "She explained it to me, and I went hunting for the first time, made a fire, and 
cooked the meat. 'Twas not very well done, but I was certain it was edible."   
Frederik winced at that.     
Jo sighed again and leaned his head back. "The tale obviously ends in their deaths. I 
hardly know why I'm speaking of it."   

Hesitantly, for somehow the act seemed more intimate than a kiss, Frederik curled 
his arm around Jo's shoulders. Jo leaned into him. It felt odd, having the man there 
when he had been gone for five long years. Even so, Frederik was not used to 
providing comfort. Amelia had long ago ceased to come to him when she needed 
comforting, so being the man that others came to for that sort of satisfaction was a 
new experience.   
"Then you left?"   
"Nay, I sang to them."   
"You did?" He recalled Jo's voice. The former angel enjoyed making music between 
battles. Frederik once had the honor of listening to that voice. A deep tenor that 
could bring kings to their knees. "Then you made them most comfortable until they 
went into the afterlife."   
He could not see Jo's face from at this angle, but he had the distinct impression that 
he smiled.   
Frederik did not know what else he could say. Jo had given up his wings, had stayed 
on Earth during its most horrific of times. Had Frederik known of it, he would have 
found him, prepared his best ship, and set sail with him, never returning to port until 
he was certain the disease had run its course.   
Spilt milk and all that.   
"I should have better protected you."   
Jo pulled away, leaving Frederik cold.   
"What is the matter?"   
Jo stood. "Naught is the matter aside from yer thick skull."   
"Thick—!" Frederik sputtered, rising. "It's a miracle you are still alive, Jo. What else 
do you want me to say?"   
Jo blew out a breath. "For the moment, there is only one thing which ye can give." Jo 
took Frederik's hand and crushed it between his legs.   
Frederik's lifeless heart began beating, blood flowed free and hot as lust, and surprise 
claimed him.   

An erect shaft sat between Jo's legs. One that had not previously been there when 
Frederik had touched him in their old lives together.   
Excited, like a boy discovering sex for the first time, Frederik rolled his palm over the 
cloth of Jo's tunic, prompting a twitch from his thighs and a soft inhale that had 
Frederik's cock up and ready to fuck anything available to it.     
Suddenly, Jo's hands were fighting with his armor. "Help me remove this thing."   
Not one to argue with such a command, Frederik deftly worked the straps and 
catches holding the metal breastplate over his chest and back. It came apart without 
difficulty, and Jo ducked his head under the neck hole, allowing Frederik to lift it off 
before tossing it and the attached red cape away. A feat that was easier contemplated 
than done. The thing was heavy indeed, and Frederik's toss did not send it far. The 
rest of the armor came off much more easily.   
Jo pushed Frederik back down and straddled his hips. The vast stretch of hard, 
muscled chest, stomach, and thighs covering and surrounding Frederik—he had 
missed this for so long that, now he had it again, his mind needed to catch up with 
his body. His clumsy fingers worked at the straps of his breeches. A difficult task 
with the distraction of Jo's leaking cock staring at him through a shrub of light, 
coarse hair. It was perfect, beautiful, and he wanted it more than anything. His 
fumbling fingers loosened the ties of his pants while Jo took care of his doublet and 
shirt.   
Jo lifted himself off Frederik enough to completely remove the offending garments 
and throw them away. Frederik's hot skin had a chance to cool in the shade of the 
tree, but then Jo settled himself back down, so that they were skin to skin, and his 
blood heated again. They were both filthy as hell, even without the dirty clothing on, 
but it was marvelous, and Frederik groaned.   
Apart from his boots and Jo's sandals, they were now both gloriously naked. The 
skin of Jo's firm, muscled thighs sat delightfully over Frederik's legs. Frederik's cock, 
red, straining, lifted up to touch and slide along Jo's prick, as though one were 
introducing itself to the other.   

Frederik wet his lips at the sight. He could not tear his eyes away. He moaned when 
Jo took his leaking shaft in hand to give it a firm stroke.   
"I have wanted this for so long."   
Long enough that he did not mind taking it on a bed of damp leaves. Frederik could 
not count the number of times he had fantasized of making love to Jo in a way that 
would not be one-sided.   
"I learned to touch myself after becoming mortal."     
Frederik's eyes widened. Every blood vessel came screaming alive, and the throbbing 
pleasure in his prick pooled upward into his balls and belly. "Did you, now?" he 
asked.   
Jo stared down at him, blue eyes dark as he stroked again. "'Tis so different from 
when ye have kissed or stroked my skin. I now know what ye meant when ye spoke 
of release."   
Frederik groaned, his hips shifted upward, searching for some sort of friction, but Jo 
lifted himself high enough that it was impossible. He grabbed the former angel by 
the shoulders and attempted to pull him down for a kiss, but Jo refused to budge on 
that as well.   
"God damn it." Frederik growled.   
Jo's eyes flashed, nearly as bright as they had been back when he had his wings. "Not 
yet. There had always been one thing I did for ye that made me jealous."   
Frederik thought on it, but there were several things he'd had Jo do for him. Any one 
of them could be what he was referring to. "You can hardly expect me to think 
straight now."   
Jo chuckled. "Perhaps that was expecting too much."   
Frederik opened his mouth to yell at the idiot when Jo thrust against him. Oh, finally! 
Frederik grabbed him and moaned as his sizzling flesh was finally seen to.   
He wrapped his arms around Jo's waist and pressed him harder down so their cocks 
maintained the friction that quickly grew and spread fire in his legs and belly.   
"I went yer mouth." Jo gasped against him.   

Frederik kissed him, complying with the wish.   
Jo put his palm to Frederik's chest and pushed him away. "'Twas not what I meant," 
he said. "Ye always enjoyed when I put my mouth around your manhood. I want ye 
to do the same."   
"Why did you not say so?" Frederik lifted Jo off and slammed his lover onto his back 
in the moss. Frederik quickly settled between his legs. He frowned as the position 
brought his face closer to the poorly bandaged wounds on Jo's legs.   
"Frederik," Jo said, pulling him out of his thoughts.   
Later, he promised himself, returning to the matter at hand. "This was something I've 
wished to do as well."   
Jo lifted himself to his elbows to watch, and Frederik grinned. Jo obviously recalled 
the many times Frederik had lifted himself in a similar way.   
Jo's mouth dropped with a shaking exhale when Frederik licked the underside of his 
manhood.   
An impressive manhood it was. It was at least the same size as Frederik's, but thicker 
to be sure. Did Jo even know how fortunate he was? It would certainly have been 
unfavorable if Jo had gone to all the trouble of becoming mortal and ended up with a 
thumb-sized sex for it.   
When Frederik took it into his mouth with a hum, Jo's entire body vibrated and 
shook, his hips leaping as Frederik tugged on his cock with his lips.   
"Fuck!" Jo said.   
Jo began thrusting his hips, and he cursed again and again. He did this for less than a 
minute before he'd had enough. "Frederik, I'm going to—"   
Frederik pulled his mouth away. Jo did not come, and Frederik did not dare so much 
as breathe on him lest that be enough. He was not shocked that Jo could not last. It 
was his first time.   
Jo looked down on him. "What are ye doing?"   
Enough time had passed that he felt confident his lover would not spill himself like 
an adolescent. Frederik pulled himself up Jo's body so they were chest-to-chest and 
hip to hip. Jo was of a larger frame, so Frederik could not entirely cover his body 
with his own, but the man beneath him did not seem to mind being climbed.   

"This is another thing I have always wished to do with you." He thrust his hard prick 
into Jo's organ, the pleasurable sizzle putting his eyes to half-mast. Jo gasped and 
clutched his shoulders, raising his knees to hold Frederik in place.   
Ah, lovely. Frederik did it again, the pleasure increasing within him. He gasped and 
thrust again, and again, creating a rhythm Jo attempted to follow. They moved out of 
sync with each other before catching on and becoming in tune, and, as their bodies 
became increasingly heated, the gooseflesh that had appeared on their skin vanished.   
This proved too much for Jo. His grip on Frederik's shoulders tightened like irons as 
he called out, throwing his head back into the moss, his cock jumping and spurting 
as he spilled himself over his stomach, onto Frederik's stomach. Frederik followed 
not far behind with a shudder.   
He collapsed on top of Jo, out of breath and beautifully satiated. The chill came upon 
him fast, and he knew Jo must be feeling it as well, but he didn't move to retrieve his 
clothing. He would rather share body heat for the moment and allow satisfaction to 
take hold.   
That was it. That was precisely what he needed.   
"I think we are done."   
Those words were like a hot poker piercing his chest. Frederik lifted himself to his 
elbows. Yet Jo continued to push him until Frederik rolled to his side. He could do 
nothing but watch as Jo collected his clothing and armor and began putting them 
back on, hiding his nakedness.   
Frederik growled and did the same, grabbing his breeches and tunic and returning 
them to his person with a flourish of rage. "Did you get what you wanted?"   
Jo froze as he re-strapped his sword to his hip. He turned his head to look over his 
shoulder. "Did ye?"   
"What does that mean?"   

Jo fully turned to face him. There was neither malice on his face nor anger in his 
voice. He seemed resigned. "Ye do not want me as a mortal, and I have been given 
the chance to return home."     
"I see."   
Jo's chest heaved with a sigh. "Do not do that. I still feel strongly for ye, Frederik, but 
I no longer wish to starve on earth, and I cannot keep kissing ye if I am to return. It 
hurts too much."   
Frederik's jaw clenched. His fists did the same. "Might I remind you of what needs to 
be done for that event to occur?"   
"Ye need not fear. I am unable to kill ye. Ye should know that already. After we 
rescue yer sister, I will speak to Michael, and petition the counsel on yer behalf to call 
off the order on yer head. Perhaps, once we deliver the one truly responsible for the 
village, they will grant ye mercy."   
Frederik was not entirely convinced that he deserved mercy.   
"Ye never wished for a human lover, yet, while I am like this, we were both able to 
give each other what we always wanted. A proper release. I thought it would please 
ye."   
"The very last thing that would please me was an empty fuck."   
Frederik had been an idiot not to see it for what it was. Jo had spent five years caring 
for himself in conditions Frederik did not wish to even think on, and, after all that 
time, he wanted to go home. It would be better if Jo kept to himself for the remainder 
of their journey altogether.   
Frederik turned his back, walking toward Anael. He reached to grab the reins, but 
the damned horse skittered out of the way. He made another attempt, but Anael 
jumped away and flicked his tail at him again.   
Jo arrived, and, when he reached for the reins, that fucking horse did not so much as 
shake his head. With the loyal beast in hand, Jo stared at Frederik expectantly, his 
voice even and demanding. "Where were ye going?"   

Frederik started walking toward MacNiel's keep. "You have heard from your friend 
that I am . . . mostly innocent of any wrongdoing. I am going to collect my sister, take 
her home, and pray her ordeal has not damaged her mind as well as her body." He'd 
been an idiot to waste so much time to begin with. "If I hurry, I can be back at 
MacNiel's keep by midday tomorrow."   
Jo followed him. "Zadkiel will heal within hours and be back on yer trail. With that 
chain around yer neck, ye are still as helpless as any mortal against him, or MacNiel."   
Frederik refused to look at him. "I did not need your rescuing the last time he 
attacked."   
"That is debatable. Will ye halt?"   
Jo grabbed at his tunic. Frederik brought his hand down and severed the connection.   
The former angel stared at him. "Have ye gone mad?"   
It almost looked as though Anael nodded his head.   
Frederik glared. "You have no need to follow me around now. You are a mortal and 
no longer my jailor."   
"Ye are helpless so long as this is around yer neck."   
Before he could stop him, Jo grabbed for the long chain still hanging from Frederik's 
neck. The gentle clink of the golden links as they joined chilled his blood.   
Their eyes both fell down at Jo's wrist. The end of the chain connecting to Frederik's 
neck had become one with the bracelet.   
Frederik wanted to scream. Jo had the audacity to grin. "It appears we are to 
accompany each other for a while longer."   
   
Chapter Eight   
   
Frederik wanted to kill him. To take that golden chain, wrap it around Jo's throat, 
and tighten it until all the life left the idiot's body. He had attempted it even, 
forgetting that the chain reacted to such aggression. But the chain did not react this 
time. Jo must no longer be its master after what had happened with the other angel, 
and Frederik moved in for the kill. Jo saved himself only by pulling out his blade and 
pressing the point to the soft indent of Frederik's throat.   

Frederik managed to halt before he could impale himself. Anael shifted with unease 
as the two men stared at one another—Frederik not releasing the chain, as he still 
meant to kill Jo with it, and Jo, not lowering the blade in his hand.   
"Ye have gone mad," Jo said.   
Frederik did not answer.   
Jo refused to move his sword. With a hateful sigh that was half a grunt, Frederik 
threw down the chain. But it did not clash onto the ground like he would have 
preferred. It dangled in the air between them, connecting them.   
Frederik walked on, and, even when the slack of the chain ran out, he yanked 
himself forth, forcing Jo along.   
"Ye will strangle yerself if ye insist on traveling like that."   
He cared not.   
The sound of a sword being sheathed and Jo climbing on top of Anael filled his ears. 
It did nothing to lift his mood.   
More walking while Jo rode peacefully on top of that fucking horse. "I am going to 
rescue my sister."   
"I shall aid ye."   
"What for? She is a vampire. Why ever would you want to rescue her?"   
"I wish to make amends—" He stopped himself from saying whatever it was he was 
about to say.   
Frederik did not wish to put the possibilities to words either. A finger was bad 
enough.   
"Zad's eyes became red as we fled," Jo said when Frederik said nothing.   
Frederik looked at him over his shoulder. He was no fool. He knew that no angel 
could have red eyes. "Is he a demon?"   

Jo clenched his jaw. "Very likely, he is. Though such a thing would require him to sell 
his soul." He looked pointedly at Frederik. "There is a connection here between him 
and . . . well, everything that has happened between ye and yer sister these last 
days."   
"And now you make it your mission to discover what that connection is?"   
"Aye."   
Frederik didn't like it. That Jo was only agreeing to rescue Amelia because he had 
finally been faced with some other evidence that Frederik was not the demon he 
thought him to be . . . well, it hardly did for creating softer emotions within him 
toward the former angel. He would rather the idiot had just believed in him, had a 
little of the faith their kind was so well known for. But, all the same, he was not about 
to question his new luck either.   
  "We will have to find another route."   
"This is the same road we have traveled. If we make haste—"   
"Zadkiel knows we are on this road. He will follow it and attempt to find us, and if 
ye want to make it to yer sister in a timely fashion, we can hardly afford to be 
accosted by him."   
Frederik snorted. "A fine time you wish to hurry, when you suggest that the road is 
no longer useful to us. You can hardly expect to ride that stallion through the 
shrubs."   
"Anael can run through the forest like no other horse can." Jo leaned down and 
offered his hand.   
Reluctantly, and with the inward promise to punch him later, Frederik took it and 
hoisted himself up to sit behind the former angel.   
With a kick, Anael leapt up and off the road, flying into the trees at speeds Frederik 
did not think possible through the dense forest. Even Frederik could not move so 
swiftly through such foliage without the lick of branches stitching his skin. He did 
not even feel the slap of the trees as they rode passed, and the wind hardly whistled 
in his ears. He managed enough spirits to smile. They would return to MacNiel's 
keep in half the time.   

* * * * *   
Gideon's chain would no longer follow Jo's commands. Now that he and Frederik 
were joined, he could not separate them. 'Twas Zadkiel's doing. Jo was sure of it. 
When the angel brought down his Heavenly Sword, cutting the chain, it must have 
recognized a new master. Though Zad was no longer wholly an angel, his sword still 
blazed on impact. Gideon's chain had never before been under the submission of a 
half demon, as far as Jo knew. Only the fiery blade of an angel's sword, or touch of 
an angel's hand, could separate them now.   
Regardless of all of that, their new connection made Jo's need for the bushes much 
more awkward. His current stop being enough to put color to his cheeks as he 
relieved himself. Frederik had to stand behind the young willow tree to allow Jo to 
do what every human had to do two or three times a day, and that was by far not 
enough space.   
"I had wondered why you continued to stop the horse and tie me to the damned 
trees so often," Frederik had said from behind one of those trees. "Though that does 
not explain why you had sometimes disappeared for several hours at a time."   
"Well, I do have to eat now," Jo replied curtly, fixing himself and returning to 
Frederik's sight. They both walked briskly back to Anael. "And sleep."   
The sky above now cast a darker shade of blue. The shadows of the trees stretched 
long, signaling the coming night. "I will be requiring rest as well very soon, as will ye 
I assume."   
"We should keep riding. We could arrive at MacNiel's by dawn if we push hard 
enough."   
"Aye, and what good would that do yer sister? When we creep into MacNiel's keep 
in our chained and helpless states, what are we to do with Amelia once the sun 
rises?"   
Frederik glared at him. He kicked at the shrubs and twigs at his feet. "Here is not the 
place for your rest. There is nothing that can be used to make shelter. We shall move 
on for a little longer and make camp."   

The vampire just wanted an excuse to keep going, and Jo had not the energy to argue 
with him. He was right, at any rate. They lifted themselves onto Anael and continued 
on.   
Jo could run Anael for only minutes more before pulling him to a steady trot as the 
sun went lower and lower into the western sky, and he had to trust Anael's vision 
over his own.   
When the last of the twilight was upon them, Jo thought it time, finally, to come to 
rest when a clearing opened unexpectedly between the trees. A large circular space. 
Its sudden appearance halted them. Anael attempted to walk ahead but Jo pulled 
back. The horse let out a sound of displeasure and shook his head around, but Jo 
held firm and patted his side. "Easy. Don't be so impatient."   
"What is this place?" Frederik asked, though Jo had no answer.   
A village, old and rotting, sat in the center of the clearing. Though calling it a village 
was indeed stretching the imagination. There were only five clay houses situated in a 
circle around a small clearing with a stone well. At the far end was a small lake.   
The village appeared dead.   
He stiffened. Was this . . . ?   
Nay. It could not be. Jo breathed a heavy sigh. For a mere second, he thought this 
might be the village Frederik had destroyed. But 'twas impossible. That village was 
miles from here, large enough to hold hundreds, overseen by a laird in a castle, and 
mostly burned to nothing now.   
Anael whinnied and shifted uneasily on his hooves.   
"I think your animal wishes to rest here," Frederik drawled, glaring down at Anael.   
Jo kept to the safety of the trees. "Zadkiel could be watching from the sky."   
Frederik shook his head with disgust and slid down from his seat. He grabbed the 
chain and yanked Jo forth. "You are the one who wanted a place to sleep. There it is."   

Jo hesitated, his eyes turned up in case he should see any creatures with wings that 
were not birds. "Where are the villagers? Something feels amiss."   
"Something has been amiss since you took me from my mission."   
Jo did his best to keep hold of his temper.   
He looked up once more. No crows and no angels. Hopefully, the darkness would 
prevent Zadkiel from seeing them as well.   
There was nothing for it. Jo allowed himself to be taken to the village. Perhaps 'twas 
the darkness, but the houses became more foreboding as they entered the lonely 
space. The windows were dark; not a fire, nor a candle, burned anywhere.   
Something indeed was not right. Jo should not have allowed himself to be brought 
here, and his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Where had the people 
gone?   
"There is someone here."   
Jo stiffened and pulled his blade from its sheath. Darkness was now fully upon them, 
and he could hardly see. An inconvenience, but he'd trained to battle using his other 
senses, should he require those skills. The true test would be to fight with Frederik 
chained to him.   
  "Where are they?"   
Frederik gruffed by way of reply. He attempted to go forth, likely in the direction of 
the scent, but Jo yanked him back. "Do not go on!" he hissed. "Ye do not have your 
strength, nor are ye armed."   
Frederik grabbed the chain and pulled Jo again, yanking the hand that held his 
sword. "Are you not a warrior? Act like one!"   
"'I had no fear for myself." Jo muttered, allowing Frederik to drag him along so he 
could keep a better grip on his weapon.   
A scraping sound along the walls of the house beside them had him spinning 
around.   
"Watch your blade!" Frederik hissed. "You nearly sliced me!"   

Jo ignored Frederik's dramatics and stepped closer to the sound. He stopped to peer 
around the corner of the house. The crack of a pole had him spinning around the 
other way. Frederik clutched his nose and roared with pain and rage. Jo grabbed him 
by the back of his jacket and pulled him away from the threat. A small shadow with 
quick feet scurried away, kicking up dust across the clearing, and inside the house 
directly to their right.   
A mischief demon. It had to be. Jo could think of naught else. It would certainly 
explain the abandoned state of the village. Jo would certainly not spend the night 
here if there were two or three of the things roaming about. And anything else would 
certainly have killed Frederik instead of merely hitting him before scurrying away.   
Speaking of which, Jo laughed at his companion, who had fallen on his arse and was 
now clutching his nose with both hands, sputtering muffled curses.   
"It's hardly funny!" Frederik yelled. With his hands in the way, and the injury, he 
sounded like an affronted duck. Jo laughed harder.   
"You!" Frederik tackled him into the dirt. His sword fell away, but that did not 
matter. Jo could not stop laughing, making him an easily pinned opponent.   
"I could have been killed! And you laugh?"   
"Ye were hit by a little demon. Yer life was hardly in danger."   
"Why you—" Whatever Frederik had been about to say or do was cut off by another 
crack over his back.   
Frederik spun, and Jo managed to cease his laughter as the creature was now in 
sight, a black silhouette.   
The little demon held the end of a broomstick in his hands. A shattered broomstick 
now that it had been broken over the stone-like bones of Frederik's ribs. Frederik 
reached his clawed hand out toward the thin creature.   
A childish scream filled the air.   
"Leave me alone!" Little fists pounded on Frederik's arms. He held a child by his 
throat.   

"Frederik!" Jo launched forth and grabbed his arm before the vampire could do any 
harm. "Stop, Frederik! 'Tis a boy!"   
"I know that! He attacked me!"   
"Release him, Frederik." Jo commanded.   
Frederik's grip slackened. The boy dropped to the ground, but his little feet did not 
scramble away. With no moon in the sky, Jo still struggled to see more than merely 
the dark outline of the child as he sat with his arms around his knees and began to 
weep.   
Frederik made a noise of disgust before walking away, or, at least, as far away as he 
could with the chain around his neck. Jo was vaguely aware of him nudging logs and 
barrels out of the way with his foot. His arm even stretched out when Frederik 
attempted to go farther, and then, "Jo."   
Jo ignored him. He went down to one knee before the boy. "What is yer name, child? 
Do not fear. No one is here to hurt ye." He put a hand on the boy's hair but the child 
screamed and scrambled back. "Dinna touch me!"   
Jo blinked. "I am not here to harm ye."   
"Jophiel."   
"I dinna want to catch your plague!"   
"Plague!"   
A bright, crackling light appeared from behind him. Jo spun. Frederik stood there, 
looking mightily unhappy about having to carry a torch on one hand, with a little 
girl holding his other. Though he held them both out at a distance away from 
himself.   
"The girl was hiding in the cracks here. She was good enough to give us their flint," 
he said, gruff mask still in place. The dirt-smudged child was stiff with terror.   
"Breanna! I told you to stay hidden!" The boy yelled, leaping to his feet, courage 
renewed.   
The girl burst into tears.   
Suddenly, Jo understood. These children were alone in this village, without the care 
of any mother or father.   

"Frederik, we must—"   
The torch in Frederik's hand flickered and burst. He threw it away from himself with 
a yell. The torch landed with a clatter next to the well, but the flames continued to 
grow in size, the heat all consuming. Both children screamed at it. The boy scrambled 
to his feet, running to his sister and taking her other hand. Frederik allowed them to 
go, even as he backed away from the heat, protecting his face with his arms.   
Jo was only able to grasp his sword once more before the torch fire widened further, 
darkened, and hundreds of tiny, laughing, round demons leapt out and attacked.   
   
Chapter Nine   
   
The mischief demons, fat, round, and numerous, each one barely as high as Jo's 
knees, were energized with their release. They jumped about, red, wart-crusted 
bodies dancing, chanting, and swinging the pointed staffs they held with all the awe 
and invincibility of a lad wielding his first wooden sword.   
Jo swung his own blade at the ones that came too near, cutting one clean in half, the 
pieces turning to dust and returning to Hell, and taking the thin leg off another.   
"Frederik!" Jo called. But the vampire still had his eyes focused on the blazing fire 
from whence the creatures came.   
Mischief demons, by nature, did not travel in such large groups and hardly ever 
appeared in more than pairs. Yet there could be no fewer than three or four dozen of 
the little beasts, and Jo could not hold so many back.   
"Frederik! Fight!" He screamed as more of the creatures dodged his blade and made 
for the vampire and the children against the wall of one of the houses.   
As the little creatures grasped at his legs, the vampire seemed to blink out of his haze 
and finally take note of what happened around him, enough so for him to forget the 
danger of the fire and defend himself as the creatures began to climb his body and 
stab him with their tiny spears.   

Breanna's brother shielded her while punching and kicking with more might than 
one so young should possess. The little demons laughed at his efforts, spat, and 
made faces, and the girl wailed with fright. One of the little heathens came too near, 
and the boy kicked his leg out, smashing its face and sending it bouncing away like a 
child's ball. Its little arms and legs flailing helplessly as it rolled, black tongue cursing 
in a language only Jo could understand.   
Jo reached the three of them and grasped one of the demons clinging to Frederik's 
shoulder and throwing it off and away.   
Frederik's face peeled with the heat of the burning portal, and scratches and slashes 
covered his hands from defending himself against the sharp weapons of the demons, 
but otherwise he was still in good order.   
"We need to leave, now," Jo said.   
He was reaching for the boy when, suddenly, the air at his back turned cold. He 
turned. The fire of the torch had returned to its accustomed size, yet the demons 
remained. All were calm, all were staring, and all were smiling smiles that showed 
their triangular, pointed teeth. Some licked their lips as though they meant to feast 
on their prey.   
This was not the behavior of mischief demons. Zad, what have ye done?   
"Jo, what are these?" Frederik asked.   
Every round head turned to the vampire.   
"They are here for ye," Jo answered, stepping in front of him, sword ready.   
With a battle cry that was like the shrieking of a bird, the demons rushed as one, a 
red bobbing river that came at them and attacked their legs. Jo swung and kicked, 
desperate to protect his flesh from their spears.     
The girl screamed again, and Jo lost his focus as he turned. But the creatures were all 
but ignoring the boy and girl now as they concentrated their attention on 
overwhelming Frederik.   
Jo hissed as a little spear entered his calf. The little demon whose leg Jo had cut off 
was still making the effort to attack. Jo kicked the demon hard so that it flew above 
and over the opposite houses with indignant shrieks. He pulled the pathetic weapon 
out of his leg with a hiss, tossing it away.   

One of the demons, with horns covering its round body, pointed its spear at Frederik 
and made a battle cry that reminded Jo of a roaring rat. Again, the demons gathered 
their strength and charged. Jo took a hard swing of his sword and got one of them in 
the belly. Its body turned to dust under the heavy wound.   
No more came upon him. They charged past him toward Frederik and continued to 
swarm upon the vampire like heavy insects, pulling him down, overpowering him 
without his vampire strength. Their distance and their connection to the chain pulled 
Jo to his knees when Frederik fell. Jo's heart hammered in his throat as the demons 
consumed his body and began jabbing their spears up and down, stabbing their 
hostage.   
"No!" Forgetting his sword, Jo charged. Using his fists he punched one of the 
creatures, sending it flying away in an explosion of demon blood, he kicked another, 
stole the little spear of a third, and stabbed its eye. He could not use his sword with 
the little beasts on Frederik. Even he was not that skilled a swordsman.   
The demons turned their attention on Jo as he became a threat to their mission. They 
leapt from Frederik and onto Jo, gripping his armor and hair, putting him on the 
ground and on his back.   
They did not attack him with their spears. This time, they used their fists and claws. 
His chest armor banged where they hit, but his arms, face, and legs, felt every little 
blow and scratch.   
He kicked and punched, a sharp prodding in his cheek pooled blood into his mouth. 
He put one arm over his face to protect it, but the spiky bastards stuck to him until 
he found himself buried beneath a mountain of the creatures. Another scratch over 
his arms, his fist bitten. The poison made his limbs heavy and numbed senses that 
should have been alert. His ears worked well enough to hear Frederik's roar rising 
above the demons' noisy chatter.   

His chain tugged his arm protecting his face away, toward the torch. They were 
taking Frederik. They were taking him!   
They shrieked and flew off him as though they possessed wings. A bright light, pure, 
glowing white, different from the flames from whence the creatures came, seemed to 
be frightening them away. They cringed and crawled away from it in slow, pained 
movements, like a vampire burning in the sun, crawling for any bit of shade.   
He wiped the blood from his face and sat up. Michael had come to their aid.   
But 'twas not Michael's light. 'Twas Anael who glowed so purely, the same light he 
had released to vanquish the crows. The stallion whinnied and raised himself high 
on his hind legs, proud and strong. Jo managed a weak smile. He should have 
known.   
Hands—normal, male, beautiful hands—reached out to him now, lifting him into a 
pair of familiar clothed arms that surrounded him.   
He fought the comfort. "The demons—"   
"Are gone, Jo. Look."   
He did. The flames of the torch were flickering and dying. The mischief demons 
were nowhere in sight. Anael's light had vanquished all or most of them before they 
could return to Hell on their own strength.     
Though he had been the one who wanted to do the rescuing, Jo settled himself in 
Frederik's embrace. His body felt weak, and his skin stung and itched from the 
scratches and stab wounds. His previous injuries from Frederik's wolf bites reopened 
and burned. Even though Frederik's arms about him only enflamed those sensations, 
he stayed perfectly still. He could do naught but stay vaguely aware of his 
surroundings as the scene calmed.   
Anael stood close, his own Heavenly light dimming yet never entirely going out, as 
though he meant to protect them from another invasion. The children came close, 
slowly and still clinging to one-another, for the first time more frightened of 
something other than the strangers in their village and the demons that came with 
them. Perhaps 'twas the glow Anael released that gave them their courage.   

More than anything, Jo wanted to comfort them. Tell them everything would be well 
again for them, but he could hardly move as the poison from the demon claws pulled 
him further and further into sleep. Vaguely he was aware of the press of lips against 
his eyes, and Frederik murmuring comforting words he could not make out. Then all 
became dark.   
   
* * * * *   
   
"Mischief demons?" Frederik said. He seemed galled by the fact that their attackers 
had been demons of such low quality, not worthy to be his opponents, and had still 
gotten the best of him.   
Jo nodded. "Aye. Generally, angels never bother them because they are considered a 
lesser form of evil. Lower than vampires, even."   
Frederik complained loudly at that comment. Jo tuned him out.   
Mischief demons were created exactly for the purpose of their namesake. To create 
mischief. Not to attack like soldiers. Once or twice, they had been known to steal 
infants and ruin crops, but that was all. Otherwise, they were relatively harmless. 
The mortals dealt with them and rarely were angels required to lend their aid in such 
small matters.   
Of course, they generally caused their mischief alone, as individuals, never in pairs 
or in groups. The fact that so many had gathered and attacked both him and Frederik 
meant someone was pulling their strings. Zad.   
The boy, Angus, and his young sister, had explained that the plague had returned to 
their village. All had died but for Angus and Breanna, and they stayed hidden in 
their house, rarely venturing out during the night, too frightened to leave.   
Another plague was impossible. Jo knew firsthand what had caused the last one. He 
believed Angus when he spoke of the elders becoming ill, some wandering away and 
never returning. But it was not the plague. He assured the boy of that.   

But he and Frederik had only arrived last night. Unless Zad had developed the 
ability to see where they were going before either Jo or Frederik knew of it, then they 
could blame neither the mischief demons nor Zad for whatever had happened there.   
Of course, Frederik was healing nicely after his attack. The many stab wounds on his 
face, arms, and hands having closed and resolved, after a single night, into hardly 
more than tiny red blemishes that would vanish completely by noon.   
Jo brushed Anael's coat, attempting to hide his minor jealousy. His own wounds 
could be plainly seen on his arms, legs and face, even after he spent the night 
unconscious. His healing was progressing at a mortal's pace. They were shallow 
enough, he supposed, and whatever he bled, Frederick had cleaned away while Jo 
slept off the effects of their minor poison. But the many long, red scratches stood out, 
burned and itched like never before. 'Twas a struggle not to scratch them.   
He returned his thoughts to Anael's grooming before he could become bitter of his 
own former abilities of quick healing. He was not entirely certain whether a horse 
created in the Heavens required such treatment—as he had been riding him for days 
without so much as a sign of dirt in his fine coat or hooves, or knots in his mane or 
tail. Yet Anael stood proudly under all the attention. No doubt the animal really saw 
Jo's strong flicking motions as more of a massage than a needed brushing.   
Anael deserved as much for his rescue last night.   
They would leave the abandoned village soon now that they were both back on their 
feet. They only waited for the children, Angus and Breanna, to finish the meal of 
rabbit and berries Frederik had caught for their breakfast before setting off.   
Of course, if Frederik kept on with his complaints, Jo would be listening to naught 
but his annoyance for hours to come.   
"I am a vampire, for fuck's sake. At least Lucifer should send a fire troll or an acid 
spitting dragon. Something with a bit more challenge."   
"Ye should be grateful nothing fiercer was sent after our performance last night. And 
Lucifer did not send them. He has better things to attend to."   
"Who else would send such worthless creatures after me?"   

Jo looked at him pointedly.   
Frederik cursed under his breath, his eyes darting to the boy and girl sitting at their 
fire. "Can we assume he also sent the buzzards after us the first time?"   
Jo moved around to brush Anael's forelock. "Aye. We should be grateful he did not 
send anything stronger. Or perhaps he could not. I doubt either of us could have 
handled anything else, chained as we were."   
He did not dare mention the kiss he felt when Frederik surely believed him to be 
unconscious. It had surely confused Angus and Breanna. Or perhaps they were too 
preoccupied with Anael to notice two men in such an embrace. Either way, neither 
he nor Frederik spoke on it.   
Frederik kicked a rock and fingered the gold around his neck. "We need to leave now 
if we are to make it to MacNiel's by twilight."   
Jo nodded.   
He spoke to Angus and Breanna once more, returned their brushes to 
them—Frederik remaining at as far a distance as possible from their campfire as he 
did. Jo could not ignore his duty to them. Though he and Frederik had already 
caught them enough food to last for some days, he promised to return with more for 
them.   
When these issues with MacNiel and Frederik were over, returning would be 
impossible, but Frederik could, with twenty servants, and he could find them a 
decent living as well. The vampire would want to do it to redeem himself for all the 
wrong he had done.   
Jo and Frederik mounted Anael.   
"You will remember this location?" Jo asked.   
"I won't forget them,"   
'Twas as good as a promise for Jo. Breanna got to her feet and waved her arm as he 
kicked off. The trees became a blur as they passed. Likely because they still left the 
village before the sun was fully in the sky, and if they kept a steady pace, they would 
reach MacNiel's keep before it descended into the hills.   
Jo kicked Anael into a full run, and they flew into the forest.   

"Still through the forest?" Frederik asked from behind.   
"Now more than ever. If Zad wants us, I mean to not make it easy for him."   
Frederik made a grunting noise that Jo took for an agreement.   
If Zadkiel was sending possessed animals and lesser demons to this realm to catch 
them, Jo did not intend to easily be seen from above.   
   
Chapter Ten   
   
Frederik did not much care for the reasons to stay within the forest, but he accepted 
that Jo was correct. They needed to avoid detection. That village proved to be an 
ineffective hiding place from those watching above or below, and someone had seen 
them and attacked. Surely, had it not been for the chain hindering him, he would 
have fought off the fat little demons with ease. But he had not. Fortunately, his 
healing capabilities had not abandoned him like his strength had. Though they had 
stabbed him, Frederik now had nothing to show for their efforts other than some 
holes in his garments.   
Their claws, on the other hand, had poisoned Jo. The poison only worked to steal his 
strength. Nothing a good night's rest could not handle. But had it been more than 
that, coupled with his growing infection . . . .   
Even now, so close to him, Frederik could feel the growing heat, like an inner fire 
burning too hot within Jo's chest, burning through that armor he wore. He was 
becoming ill. Even with the chain hindering him, Frederik could still sense the 
change in Jo's blood.   
All the more reason to hurry to MacNiel's. The sooner they settled the matter, the 
sooner Jo would return to a state where no illness could touch him. They stopped 
only once. Jo was still human, still required basic necessities, but, after that, they rode 
on. Otherwise, he chewed on bits of smoked rabbit and drank from his water skin as 
they rode.   

They reached MacNiel's land in better time than Frederik could have hoped. They 
remained within the tree line on the hill just north of the property, looking down on 
its single tower surrounded by heavy wooden gates. The courtyard contained the 
stables, a few small houses, and the larger dwelling that connected to the tower itself.   
Frederik's eyes fixed on the house and tower. That was where MacNiel lived. That 
was where he held Amelia. The dim, gold-yellow light of the sunset strangely made 
everything brighter, crisper, and even slightly pink and lavender, in the moments 
before the light vanished in favor of the night. It gave MacNiel's worthless keep an 
almost innocent glow. Looking at that single tower in this light, one would not 
believe that within those walls lived a tyrant sorcerer who raped women and 
ordered the destruction of entire villages.   
Fangs lengthened, Frederik leapt from Anael. He had entirely forgotten Jophiel was 
attached to him by his arm. Luckily, Jo jumped down much the same as Frederik had 
done, his reflexes quick, even with the light sheen of sweat that had begun to build 
over his flushed skin. However, he had a fierce scowl for Frederik.   
"Ye damned, idiotic fool! Are ye trying to strangle yerself?"   
"I am trying to kill him!"   
Jo gripped his shoulders and shook him. There was not much strength in his grip. 
"Listen, ye idiot. I am no longer infallible, and, so long as this chain is wrapped 
around yer neck, neither are ye."   
One of those warm hands slid up his neck and cupped his face. The gentle gesture 
put a calm air into Frederik.   
"Cool heads, and a plan, are what will gain us entrance. We are here now, but if we 
charge onto the property, he will have his men on us, and yer sister will pay the 
price."   
Frederik closed his eyes. Before Jo had placed this chain around his neck, his plan 
had been to leap over the spiked walls surrounding the keep, then, with a single fist, 
blast open the thick doors, turning them to splinters. Nothing would have stood in 
his way, no amount of stone, or magic.   

He no longer had that strength to rely on, and, now, with an extra man attached to 
him at his neck, one whose speed and strength were rapidly being sucked out of him, 
everything became much more complicated.   
Still, Jo's hands kept his mind where it needed to be. "What do you suggest?"   
Jo sighed and turned away from him to look at the castle. "'Twill be difficult. 'Tis no 
great fortress, but still a challenge for two chained men. Ye should take my dagger in 
case we are accosted."   
Frederik snorted but took the offered weapon. He would prefer to kill MacNiel with 
his bare hands. This blade would have to do.   
Jo continued. "I cannot imagine there will be many men guarding the gates, 
regardless of MacNiel's reputation. His magic likely handles most of what comes and 
goes."   
Frederik agreed. The days that required such medieval protection were coming to an 
end, yet MacNiel was not the sort who wouldn't set wards to let him know when 
someone lurked along the gates, searching for an entrance.   
"What do ye know of the property?" Jo asked.   
"Only that it has been passed down in MacNiel's family for generations. Supposedly 
since back when the Vikings were still causing trouble, but I have my doubts to that." 
For all Frederik knew, MacNiel had stolen the small fortress from the previous 
owner. 'Twas small enough to make it possible for a man with some magical abilities.   
Jo looked down at the single stone keep, the attached house made of plaster and 
wood, and the gates, also built from the logs of the trees in the forest.   
"The house itself is a recent addition," Frederik believed it was anyway. It did not 
appear to be hundreds of years old.   
"Any weaknesses in the defenses?"   
"Apart from walls that are not made of stone, and a pathetic number of men to guard 
the property, I do not know."   

Jo's eyes widened. "Were ye truly planning to siege the castle under the cover of 
night? Without a plan?"   
"I have never made any claims of being a strategy expert. It had never been required 
as I've always had the upper hand."   
"Idiot." Jo raked his hands through his loose hair, sighed, and turned to face the 
castle. He bit down on the knuckle of his finger and muttered to himself on occasion. 
The golds and pinks of the stretching lights had faded to darker shades of blues and 
purple, the stars making their appearance in the horizon by the time he spoke again.   
"The spaces between battlements are thick."   
Frederik looked. Indeed, they were. "And?"   
"MacNiel has the advantage, living within a keep made up mostly of thick oak. 'Tis 
easier to make adjustments for cannons. If he has cannons then likely some of his 
men, if not all, are also carrying pistols or flintlocks."   
"And we are trapped together with you only carrying a single sword and me a 
dagger?" Frederik wanted to destroy something. There was nothing he could destroy 
so long as the chain was around his neck. If he so much as punched a tree, he would 
break his knuckles.   
Jo scratched his chin, winced as he caught an inflamed cut, then spoke again. 
"MacNiel is expecting ye, aye?"   
"Days ago."   
Jo ignored that. "After what he's done and had ye do, he can hardly expect ye to 
simply walk inside, take Amelia, and then leave calmly as if naught had happened. 
He is expecting a fight out of ye. But if a man were to take ye hostage and present ye 
to MacNiel . . . . "   
Frederik saw what Jo was thinking. "Have him take me, a creature he might use to 
smite enemies who challenge or insult him."   
Jo nodded. "The plan is flawed, however. Once we are taken inside, our chances are 
slim that we will immediately see Amelia, and this chain will no longer remove itself 
on my command to separate us once ye are detected."   

"Anael is quick and could provide us with both a distraction and escape." Frederik 
said.   
"Still, we will not know were Amelia is."   
"He cut off her finger." The memory of holding the bloody digit in his palm heated 
Frederik's blood. "We do not have time for this."   
"Frederik, ye know as well as I that no mortal can hold a vampire against their will 
using force alone. A spell of some sort is holding her. Something on her mind, 
perhaps. We cannot rely on her strength, or for her to flee once we provide a 
distraction. She may even attack us. Getting inside will be fairly simple, but the rest 
still needs thought."   
They argued over the flimsy plan, adding and removing details, Frederik in a 
constant hurry regardless of what Jo said, and the fact they were chained eventually 
ruined everything they thought to do.   
They did this until a voice interrupted. "May I?"   
As one, Frederik and Jo spun, Frederik bared his fangs and claws, forgetting the 
dagger, while Jo pulled his blade and thrust it toward the threat.   
A dark haired angel, arms crossed over a gleaming silver breastplate with the same 
design as Jo and Zadkiel's—but for a red sash across his chest—stood at the end of 
the blade. His clear blue-green eyes flickered down at the pointed tip at his throat. A 
single, dark brow lifted.   
"Michael." Jo's voice rasped.   
The hairs on Frederik's neck stood on end at the sight of the angel. Even the beard he 
was beginning to grow prickled.   
Jo's arm bent as though he were about to pull the blade away before he stiffened 
again. "I will not allow ye to kill Frederik."   
"Aye, I am aware. I've seen what happened with Zadkiel."   
"Then ye know I will fight ye to the death before ye touch him."   
The declaration stunned Frederik. First with Zadkiel, and now with Michael, an 
angel whom Jo had once spoken of with such dedication.   

Michael sighed. "As I am not a mortal creature, and, currently, ye are, I would very 
much hate to kill ye. Please lower yer weapon. Ye must know ye cannot defeat me or 
help him to escape."   
"Show me yer eyes first."   
Michael's jaw clenched. He took one step closer, bent slightly so that he and Jo were 
at eye level and the flesh of his neck just touched the tip of Jo's blade, and, using two 
fingers, pulled at the skin below his right eye, exposing more of the sclera.   
Jo frowned at it, then tentatively lowered the blade, though he did not take his eyes 
from Michael, nor did he sheathe the weapon.   
"Better," Michael said, straightening.   
"What are ye doing here, Michael?" Jo asked.   
"After some time in prayer I was given permission to come."   
"Is that poor excuse for an angel with you?" Frederik added.   
"Nay." Michael's head lowered, as though in pain. "Nor shall he ever be."   
Jo, too, lowered his gaze as though hurt.     
"When did ye discover what he had done?"   
"I did not. When he went to the mortal lands against his orders, his intent and actions 
became clear to the Spiritual Council. Enough had been deduced from that alone, 
even before ye and Zad brawled. I was given permission to come and . . . intercept 
ye."   
Frederik's eyes flickered to the keep.     
"I came for my sister. I will offer you my head in exchange if that is what you desire,"   
"Frederik—!"   
"But I will only do so after Amelia has been taken out of harm's way, and the man 
responsible for that village is destroyed."   
Michael nodded. "Agreed. However, such a man is not within those walls."   
Frederik frowned. "MacNiel is a laird; he would not abandon his clan."     

He would not tolerate the thought that MacNiel would not be inside that tower and 
may have spirited Amelia away with him. He had to be inside.   
"Aye," Michael said. "But he is not the man who sent ye on that fool's errand."     
Michael looked away from the both of them, as though ashamed.     
"We know this now."   
Frederik reeled.     
"Of course it was MacNiel! The messenger was bespelled, gave MacNiel's orders, his 
seal . . . ."     
Frederik trailed off, as Michael's expression remained unchanged. A tinge of pity 
entered his eyes, and for the first time Frederik began to suspect himself. 
Considering all that he had done, it was a fearful suspicion.     
He thought back to the day he'd received MacNiel's missive. The messenger, a young 
man no older than twenty, had the vague and faraway expression of someone in a 
dream-like spell. That alone had saved his life.     
Everything else had been in place. MacNiel's waxen seal on the letter. The bloody 
digit within that had stained the page, making some of the words illegible. But seals 
could be faked, and MacNiel was not the only sorcerer in the land.     
Michael nodded. "Ye are on the proper path, friend," he said, as though listening to 
his previous thoughts.   
Frederik turned cold all over.   
Jo sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. "Then 'tis as bad as I imagined."   
"What?" Frederik demanded. "What could be worse than this?"   
"Zadkiel." Jo said, looking at him with sad eyes. "He sent ye to destroy the 
MacGreggor village, without the aid of MacNiel."   
"Then—?"   
"Your sibling is within those castle walls," Michael said. "But she is no more a 
prisoner than the men who live there. Ye have been deceived, Grimm."   
Frederik spun away from them and vomited in the weeds.   
   

Chapter Eleven   
   
With a touch of his hand, Michael released Jo and Frederik from their bindings. The 
chain remained around Frederik's neck, and he made no move to remove that part of 
it, but for the first time, in so many days, there was no one to hold it.   
Although Jo had never been a cruel master, not being led around like an animal was 
riveting. And yet, now, there was no longer any reason for the two of them to remain 
close.   
Still, Michael gave Frederik a firm warning he would cut his head from his 
shoulders, burn his body and his home, and then leave him rotting for wild creatures 
to devour, should he attempt to flee. Frederik hid the golden chain beneath his jacket 
with a grumble. He was no coward. He would not run while Amelia's life hung in 
the balance. The dark-haired angel had said MacNiel was not responsible for the 
order on the MacGreggor clan, but that did not explain why his sister would be 
within these walls, nor did it give a proper account of her condition.   
Michael's next order of business was to use those same hands to cup Jo's face. 
Frederik carefully watched as the deep color left Jo's face, the sheen of sweat 
vanished, and the many long scratches melted away from his now healthy skin.   
"I trained ye better than to accept such damage to yerself, Jo." Michael admonished 
him when the healing was complete.   
Jo inhaled deeply as Michael pulled his hands away. "'Tis difficult for a mortal. Every 
scratch shows."   
The angel took Anael's reins, and they strode down the hill and toward the gates as 
easily as if they were invited guests. For all Frederik knew, Michael had already been 
inside and had told MacNiel of their expected visit.   
For the sake of appearances, they had given Frederik leave to ride Anael as though 
he were the beast's master. Both Michael and Jo walked at either side of him as 
personal guards instead of his keepers.   

At first, Frederik worried the men above them, squinting down through the 
torchlight with crossbows and guns, would see Michael's wings, or even refuse them 
entrance based on his and Jo's dirty garb. Instead, they called down for him to 
identify himself. When he announced who he was, the men called an order to lift the 
wooden gate without hesitation. So they had expected him.   
He glared down at Michael. The angel kept his eyes firmly ahead as they passed 
under the single wooden portcullis.   
In the courtyard, a squire came forth to take Anael to the stable while another led 
them inside. It had been many days since Frederik had experienced a roof over his 
head. The space was by no means small, but the walls surrounding him, the clap of 
his shoes against the old stone floor, were suddenly foreign and alarming. There 
would be rooms to search, and he had no idea where to begin. Where were they 
keeping Amelia? A room? A pit? Did this meager keep even have a pit?   
His blood tingled and itched as though ants crawled beneath his skin. He had to 
remind himself that Amelia was no prisoner of this house. She was not in any 
danger.   
"The lord and lady are waiting for ye." The squire said, pulling Frederik from his 
musings.   
"Lady? MacNiel is not married." Frederik said. That was the entire reason for his—or 
rather Zadkiel's—deception with clan MacGreggor.   
The boy gave him an odd stare and continued to lead them inside the keep. "'E has 
been wed this last month, milord."   
Frederik said nothing else as they came in from outside through heavy wooden 
doors with black, iron hinges. Married this last month. He tried to recall how long it 
was exactly since his sister left him, but it was much longer than a month. Long 
enough to be wooed and wed to be sure. But Amelia would never . . . . No. There was 
some mistake here.   
The converted keep they entered looked like the inside of a manor home, though 
there were hardly the luxuries of one. The oak furniture was bulky, lacquered, but 
still plain. A grandfather clock chimed in a corner, farther down the hall, Frederik 
could see where the stone stopped and the modern, wooden walls began, and from 
around a stone wall—which had been covered in a fleur-de-lis wallpaper—Amelia 
walked out, a pleasant smile on her lips, exposing long fangs. With a blue plaid 
wrapped around a red gown and trailing over her shoulder, and her long, dark hair 
down in a well-kept braid, she had the carefree air of a woman who had not spent 
any recent time under duress.   

She halted at the sight of Frederik, shock briefly draining the blood from her lovely 
features, before a red flush colored her cheeks. That her cheeks had colored at all 
meant they'd kept her well fed. Frederik and Amelia openly stared at one another.   
She had not been expecting him. She'd walked into the room before someone could 
announce Frederik and his party's presence.   
"Is that yer sister?" Jo asked. No doubt, he, too, was searching her for any signs of 
distress.   
Amelia's mouth twitched up in a nervous smile. It vanished when he did not return 
it. "Frederik, what are you doing here?"   
With a speed he thought the chain around his neck had robbed him of, Frederik 
rushed forth and grabbed her around her thin shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Are you 
hurt? Give me your hand."   
"Frederik!" She protested under his grasping hands, but eventually she let him yank 
up both her wrists for examination. He counted the fingers on both her hands twice 
to be certain they were all there.   
The sick, hot feeling of vomit rose inside him again. There they were, long, pink, and 
healthy, her nails well-groomed, and the thing that burned inside him most, the 
family ring, passed from their mother to her years ago, the berry-sized ruby that 
Frederik had cleaned blood from, resting right where it was supposed to. Was any of 
what he'd witnessed, read, and felt in his hands, real? He'd killed many people, 
looked into the eyes of mothers and their children before ending their lives, and 
cursed himself from ever having the other half to his soul—all over a trick.     
"What are you doing here?" Frederik asked.   

She attempted to pull away but he would not release her. "I—I came here."   
"Came here?" He yelled. "You were supposed to be in London!"   
A hand touched his shoulder, but he shrugged it away.   
"I had been sent a message that you were being held against your will! Why did you 
not tell me you were coming here? Why—?"   
The hand on his shoulder gripped harder. "I'll be much appreciative if you release 
the lass." The voice was thick and held a burr that did not belong to anyone in his 
group.   
Frederik turned his head without releasing his sister. A heavily muscled chest faced 
him. Frederik craned his neck up to see a square head framed with coarse sand 
colored hair and beard. This mortal was large indeed.   
"MacNiel, I presume?"   
The giant Scotsman with long hair nodded and boomed. "Aye, and you would be?"   
"My brother, Frederik." Amelia responded for him. "I told you about him, 
remember?"   
"Aye, but you never mentioned he had habits of putting his hands on you."   
"The question I am most concerned with is whether you have put your hands on her."   
"She is my wife." MacNiel growled.   
Confirmed! Frederik saw red. He released Amelia and nearly went chest to chest 
with the plaid-wearing warrior before a flaming sword came between them and had 
them leaping away from each other.   
Amelia shrieked and grabbed Frederik. They fell backward in their haste to be away 
from such a near flame, and she pulled him close to her and away from the fire, to 
protect him, and to be protected. He could tell this by the way her eyes watched the 
fiery blade with suspicion and awe.   
The troubling thing was that, had he not been the nearest body available, he felt she 
would have made a grab for MacNiel instead.   

While an iron sword cast in fire may be an incredibly frightening thing toward 
vampires who despised so much as a candle flame, MacNiel, in a fit of bravery and 
speed even Frederik found impressive, lifted his own heavy sword from its sheath 
behind his back, and readied for battle.   
On sight of Michael, his enraged face relaxed, though his expression was no less 
annoyed than before.     
"Hmph," he said, lifting his long sword away from Michael's face, and sliding it back 
down into its sheath. "You returned quickly."   
Michael did the same with his own blade, the fires disappearing when sheathed. "I 
told ye I would."   
Only then did Michael's eyes return to Frederik, to whom Amelia still fiercely clung. 
His bearded face took on a look of shock. "He is the damned one?"   
Amelia gasped at MacNiel's choice of words, and what little flesh visible under all of 
that scraggly hair flushed under her scrutiny. "Not because he is a vampire, love."   
Frederik felt Amelia's arms tighten around his shoulders. "Then, why—?"   
Frederik gripped her hands into his and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'll tell you in a 
moment," he said. "Not now."   
She looked at him, then at Michael and Jo. She judged the situation to be safe, pulled 
herself out from behind him and ran out to her husband's open arms.   
Frederik squashed down the ire that rose within him as he lifted himself to his feet. 
"Amelia, did he force a marriage onto you?"     
Amelia threw her little hands around MacNiel's boulder-sized shoulders. She had to 
stretch to his toes in order to accomplish such a task due to his size. "No!"   
"No?" He could hardly believe his ears. "Then how did you come to be married, 
without my knowledge, to a Scotsman?" A mortal Scotsman, he wanted to say.     
"I believe the lady was clear," Michael said flatly.   
"You stay out of this!"   
MacNiel looked between all three men in front of him, then put a meaty hand on 
Amelia's little arm as she attempted to protect him.   

He did not complain about the way she cared for him. So MacNiel was aware his 
wife was not as fragile as ladies of her small size usually were.   
However, Frederik still thought to attain some clarification. "You are aware she is a 
vampire, sir, yes?"   
Amelia hissed at him. Frederik stepped back.   
MacNiel answered in place of his wife. "What the sun will not have, I will gladly 
take. I care not that she is not like other women." He grinned through that ridiculous 
beard. "It makes for good fun in the bed."   
Amelia blushed and made a hushing noise at him, her hands waving as though to 
ward off the humiliation of his words.   
He was talking about her strength. It brought an image of his sister, the only 
remaining person alive who shared his flesh, dominating this incredibly large 
warrior who wore a belted plaid and carried a horned sword on his back.   
As his temper began to soar once again, Jo spoke. His voice was hushed, hardly 
noticeable under the tension of the room. "Ye must think vampires to be truly evil, 
Frederik, if ye believe love cannot be found for them."   
"It is not that I believe no one can love us," Frederik said, his lower eyelid twitching 
as MacNiel put his hand on Amelia's waist. "Just that it cannot be found with 
mortals."   
"Why not?" Amelia demanded, snapping her attention to him. "Why can I not have 
this man for my husband? He is as good as any other."   
"Amelia—"   
"No. That is not true. He is better than all others. Certainly better than those rare 
others we find who are like ourselves." Her chest pumped up and down as her anger 
overtook her. MacNiel petted her hair and shushed her as though she were a horse 
he could tame. Amelia's breathing evened, the snarl in her lips smoothed, hiding her 
fangs, and her fingers no longer clenched as though she wished to strangle someone.   
"I thought you were in danger," Frederik said at last. "The things I have done for you, 
so that you could hide here with a . . . ." He did not know how to refer to MacNiel. 
He could not call the man her lover; they'd wed. But Frederik refused to identify 
with him as his brother.   

A cautious curiosity entered Amelia's eyes. "What things have you done?"   
Frederik could not look at her. He looked at MacNiel. The man he had spent much of 
his energy hating and of whom he had fantasized, devising a variety of ways he 
could rip the skin from his bones . . . .     
"You are aware of the MacGreggor clan?" Frederik said.   
The giant hulk of a man actually staggered. "That was . . . ? You did that?"   
"Aye."     
He did not bother looking back at Amelia.    He could see enough of her in his 
peripheral vision. She remained silent, gaping in a most unladylike fashion at him.   
He had slaughtered hundreds of mortals for nothing. When he finished with them, 
some appeared as peaceful in death as they had in sleeping life. Most of them had 
not been so fortunate.   
Frederik pressed his fists to his eyes to ward off the images. They would haunt him 
for the rest of his life. However long that would be. He had promised his head to 
Michael so long as they rescued Amelia. As there was nothing to rescue her from, he 
had nothing to do but wait for the angel to claim his debt.   
Michael cleared his throat. "Now that ye are all aware of the mistake that has been 
made, perhaps I should tell ye why it has been made."   
   
* * * * *   
   
Frederik could not believe his luck. His horrid, unmerciful luck.   
MacNiel was actually a hospitable host. Once Michael had explained everything, the 
large Scot had immediately offered Jo food to eat and Michael a chair to rest in. He 
had even sent for an animal from which Frederik could drink blood. Baths were 
being prepared, and then the servants would take their garments for mending and 
washing.   

It was nearly too much to bear. Malcolm MacNiel was not the villain in this tale. He 
seemed to be a jolly sort of man who perhaps enjoyed his ale a little more than most, 
but Amelia did not seem to mind any of that, she'd even sat in his lap at the table in 
the great hall during their meal, occasionally stroking his beard and purring like a 
content kitten.   
She was a woman who was obviously very much in love, and MacNiel stared at his 
wife constantly with affectionate eyes. Even when the serving maids came, heavy 
bosoms heaving under the thin slips of gowns they wore as they bent to fill goblets, 
he did not look in their direction. He was a loyal husband.   
Husband. Frederik had shuddered as he went to his chamber. He and Jo received 
their own bedchambers, where steaming tubs awaited them. There were serving 
maids prepared to help him along with his bath, but he wanted to be alone. He 
requested they leave the drying linens within reach and sent them away. He bathed 
and shaved himself for the first time in so long—though MacNiel had tried to talk 
him out of the latter—and he was now waiting for his clothes so he could get out of 
the ridiculous, plaid costume he now wore. After everything that happened, he 
would not have minded sharing a room with Jo and finding his comfort with him.   
Jo had better not have accepted the aid of the maids.   
Frederik took the only wooden stool in his borrowed chamber away from the low 
burning fire, placed it beneath the narrow stone window, sat, and stared. Even with 
MacNiel's limited funds, it seemed he could still afford glass, and, through them, 
Frederik watched the men with swords as they walked along the battlements under 
the blue moonlight, broken by the orange light of torches. Michael had told of 
Zadkiel's threat, and MacNiel had acted by immediately putting more men on sentry 
duty.   
From Frederik's position, he could see their faces, alert, and searching for any 
possible threat coming for them or their lord. Such dedication was a product of 
loyalty, not a spell of the mind. MacNiel was not nearly as powerful as Frederik once 
thought him to be. He wished he had known that sooner.   

MacNiel had so far been a decent sort whom Frederik would have been glad to have 
called his friend under any other circumstance, but he had wed his sister without 
informing him first. Perhaps they could have avoided this whole mess if one of them 
had simply said something to him. Apparently, they had been in contact for months, 
and Frederik had never suspected. He pressed his palms to his face and breathed a 
hard sigh.   
A soft knock rapped on his door. He already knew who stood on the other side.   
"Enter, Amelia." Of course, she would wish to speak with him in private. In 
MacNiel's great hall, she'd had little opportunity to do more than glance uneasily at 
him.   
The door slid open with a moan, then shut heavily behind her with a loud metal 
clomp. He could not bear to look at her. He heard her sigh.   
"Brother, please."   
"Am I a horrible sort of sibling to have?"   
A pause. Then: "What?"   
He turned to look at her. She seemed both cautious and leery of him. He damned 
himself for whatever it was he'd done to give her the impression she needed to fear 
him.     
"I had always assumed it was your maiden pride that kept you from marrying, not a 
fear for what I would do to your husband."   
Amelia rarely appeared small in front of him, but, standing there, face turned from 
him and hands clasped in front of her, she made an odd picture. "I did not believe 
you would kill any man I chose for myself. I just knew that, unless it was another 
vampire, you would never approve."   
Frederik rubbed away the coming headache from his skull. "Of course, I do not 
approve."   
Amelia's eyes snapped to him, flashing.   
Frederik stood and went to her. She folded her arms. He put his hands on her 
shoulders despite the obvious lack of invitation.     

"I do not approve because he will grow old in front of you, wither, and die. You will 
be unable to have children with him, his seed"—Frederik paused and made a face. 
He did not wish to think of a man's seed anywhere near her—"it cannot create life 
within you. You know this. Why did you choose him?"   
"The same reason you chose that man downstairs. And do not stare at me like that. 
You spent an hour in the great hall, and, whenever you were not staring at me, you 
were looking at him."   
"Well that hardly matters because there is nothing between him and me."   
"But do you love him?"   
Frederik clenched his fists. "I do not see what—"   
"Do you, or don't you?"   
"This has nothing to do with what you and I are speaking of. He is an angel, and he 
will return home. I cannot have a life with him."   
"That is all the confirmation I need. You love him because we do not choose who we 
love."   
"No," he agreed. "But we choose whether or not to act on that love." He thought of 
the day he walked away from Jo five years ago. He shoved the memory away.   
Amelia gaped at him. Her face hardened into an unhappy mask. "If this is how you 
wish to live your life then I cannot stop you. But I love Malcolm, and, if loving him 
means I must one day watch him die, then so be it. Mortals watch those they love die 
every day. It is a part of their existence, yet they still love. Perhaps that will be 
sacrifice enough for me to gain the other half of my soul, or perhaps he is the other 
half of it."   
"That is a great deal of 'perhaps,'" Frederik said. "Our souls are completed through 
sacrifice, prayer, and acts of kindness. They are not found within others."   
"You would, of course, believe something like that." With a swirl of her gown, she 
turned her back to him and went to his chamber door. She paused before exiting. 
"Malcolm and I have spoken of our"—her jaw tightened, and Frederik could clearly 
see the difficulty she had with the subject —"inability to have a family. The boy and 
girl you found in that village, they would have a good home with us."   

"You would be content to raise children not your own?"   
She looked at him. "You said so yourself. I am unable to become a mother with 
Malcolm, and he adores little ones. Why should we not share our love with children 
who may need it? Is that not an act of kindness?"   
Frederik had nothing to say to that.   
Amelia shook her head at him and left in an angry huff, slamming the door behind 
her.   
Frederik nearly ran after her. His last hours were fast approaching, and he did not 
wish to have her angry with him. But he halted himself before he could make it to 
the door. No. It was better this way.   
In her anger, and her new vision of him as a heartless ogre, she may not mourn so 
deeply when she learned of his death.   
Amelia had wed a mortal man. Frederik wished with all his might for her happiness. 
The last thing he ever wanted her to feel was sorrow. Whether she liked it or not, 
MacNiel, her giant, lumbering man with the Scottish burr in his voice would one day 
die, leaving her entirely alone and heartbroken, with only her memories to keep her 
company. She could transform him if she chose, but then he would be one of the 
soulless vampires, and she would be forever cursed to only have half her soul, and it 
would burn in Hell. Punishment for daring to turn a man into a monster.   
"Just as ye would have been if ye allowed Jophiel to remain with ye, aye?"   
He closed his eyes at the Heavenly voice. "How many visitors can I expect, tonight?"   
Michael. Although the angel had spared him from shedding any more unnecessary 
blood, Frederik did not wish to be around him. In fact, Michael was the last creature 
Frederik wished to see. The angel was a reminder of the evil he had done.   
"Only myself," Michael answered.   
He did not hear the angel come into his chamber, and Frederik still faced the shut 
door. Another one of their Heavenly tricks?   

"I could not help but overhear yer conversation with yer sister. Such thoughts are not 
very agreeable," Michael said.   
"So I have been led to believe."   
Suddenly, his voice was closer, an arm's length away as opposed to across the 
bedchamber. "There are matters that need to be discussed, Grimm."   
Frederik had known this was coming, even if Jo denied it. There was still a price to 
be paid to make amends for his actions. "I know."   
"Good."   
Frederik turned to face the creature who wished to kill him but who was not his 
enemy. Although MacNiel had offered both him and Jophiel clean garments, Michael 
was still dressed in his angelic armor. The moonlight gleamed off the artificial 
muscles in the polished breastplate.   
Frederik recalled a time when he had seen a similar sight on Jo. He had removed the 
breastplate, pleased to see the muscled chest and abdomen beneath was just as 
exquisite as the armor itself.   
Michael's lips quirked. "I am not Jophiel."   
Frederik looked away with a heated blush. He wet his lips and replied. "Yes, forgive 
me, but must you do that?"   
Michael did not even have the decency to appear remorseful. "Aye, I must."   
Jo could not read minds even when he had his wings. It must be this particular 
angel's rank that allowed him such easy admittance to his head.   
Michael made a sort of face that suggested he agreed with that thought, but he said 
nothing. Frederik glared at him.   
Michael lifted his hands. "I promise I will . . . attempt to not hear any of your stray 
thoughts."   
Frederik supposed he should be grateful for that much. "When will Jo come for me?"   
Michael sighed, and when his hand went to rest on the hilt of his sword, Frederik 
stiffened.   

Michael lifted his hand away. "Be at ease. Forgive me. 'Tis a habit to rest my hand 
there."   
Frederik did not lower his guard. Michael's hand returned to its resting place.   
"Jophiel . . . is being difficult. He seems to believe that because not all was as it seems, 
ye should be given a leave of sound mind for yer actions in that village."   
"A leave of sound mind?"   
"A second chance."   
"I know bloody well know what you meant," Frederik muttered. He could not 
understand how angels talked as such.   
Michael eyed him narrowly. "Regardless, such a thing cannot be done if he wishes to 
return to Heaven. And you still have not paid your debt."   
Frederik winced. Indeed, he had not. He deserved to die. After what he had done, he 
deserved so much more than that.   
"Must it be Jo who makes the final thrust of the blade?" Jo did not wish to do it, and 
Frederik did not want to try to convince him to deliver it, despite how deserved it 
was.   
The reason for Michael's visit suddenly became clear to him. And Michael, 
thought-reader that he was, nodded his approval. "I will be the one to take yer head."   
"When?"   
"As soon as the matter with Zadkiel is settled."   
That could be anytime from an hour to a fortnight. "Before we go any further, I have 
a request." A request that he could not be denied.   
"And what would that be?"   
"That, in exchange for my co-operation, my soul not be sent to Hell."   
Michael barely seemed to resist scoffing. He held it back. "Ye cannot possibly believe 
there is a place in Heaven for ye."   
Frederik fought back his growing ire. "I was hoping for the in-between."   
"Limbo?"   

Frederik nodded. He was not entirely aware of the details of it, other than it was an 
extremely boorish place to reside. But there was one thing he hoped to be true.   
"It is indeed quite a lonesome place, even with company," Michael said, agreeing 
with his thoughts. "But, with proper behavior, ye could be reincarnated back to the 
mortal plane."   
Precisely what Frederik wanted to hear. The potential for a second chance lifted the 
burden he carried ever since discovering the angels wanted to seek justice, 
personally. Even should it not been true, an eternity of existing in boredom was more 
than he could have hoped for. "I have your word that I will be sent there after my 
death?"   
Michael narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Jophiel told me how ye continually offered 
yer life in exchange for the safety of yer sister, and I saw that when we first met here. 
Was all that a farce? Simply because ye thought ye could barter yer way out of Hell?"   
Frederik wanted to punch the man in his frustration, but despite everything, he still 
wore the golden chain, and Michael was an angel. There would be no question who 
would win in a brawl. He took a calming breath.   
"When Jo told me he had been sent by someone else to kill me, I knew there would 
be no negotiating my fate other than to gain time. Had he decided to kill me then and 
there, I would have happily gone to Hell so long as he promised to rescue her. Now 
that I have the opportunity to . . . receive a lesser sentence, as it were, can you blame 
me for trying?"   
The corners of Michael's mouth lifted very briefly, and then he nodded.     
"I suppose I cannot. Very well. We have an agreement."   
Frederik sighed.     
"What is your plan to return Jo's wings?"   
Michael put a hand on his shoulder as though they were comrades in arms, which, 
he supposed, this made it so.   
"First, we must see to Zadkiel. Leave the rest to me."   

   
Chapter Twelve   
   
Jo hated to admit how odd it felt, not having Frederik next to him, loudly 
complaining as they traveled, or even waiting tied to a tree—an image that still 
brought a grin to his lips. 'Twas ridiculous. They had only been together for three 
days. Jo's need for the other man should have vanished after their tryst in the woods, 
but 'twas as strong as ever and gaining power with each passing hour.   
And Michael still wanted him to kill Frederik.   
Jo could not. Though Frederik did not care for Jo as much as Jo cared for him, he 
would not harm the vampire. The guilt the man harbored over the MacGreggor 
village was punishment enough.   
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and walked into the great hall of MacNiel's 
keep. He had to force his usual confidence upon himself so long as he wore such 
strange plaid garments in place of his armor.   
Though the lack of breeches was comfortable and familiar, the odd blend of colors 
and the long and heavy stretch of cloth that folded and wrapped over his shoulder 
hardly made him feel battle ready.   
He could not wait to get his wings back. Then his armor and the cape would polish 
and clean themselves. Of course, he had to find a way to become an angel without 
killing Frederik.   
The great hall was as dark now as it had been last night, low burning torches and a 
tiny crackling fire the only light source. Heavy curtains blocked the windows, 
keeping out the natural light that would be fatal to a creature of the night. Despite 
this, the sewing maids and kitchen boys went about their duties as though the 
daylight spilled through every window.   
One of MacNiel's tricks. MacNiel himself looked up from where he cooed at Amelia, 
who was again in his lap. Jo halted at the sight of them. Discomfort crawled under 
his skin. MacNiel's mouth opened in a booming laugh at him. "Och, lad, dinna look 
so distressed. Sit and have some bread with us."   

MacNiel pointed with his hand to a bench, and Jo took his seat —MacNiel's chair 
was the only one at the table that had cushioning or engraved designs—and Jo sat 
stiffly. 'Twas not so many days ago when he would have allowed the lady on 
MacNiel's lap to die horribly. MacNiel would not be so welcoming to him if the man 
knew the truth of that.   
In fact, everyone seemed to be in a delighted mood. Neither MacNiel nor his lady 
must know Jo's little secret—that Jo had been tasked with killing Frederik. Had she 
known what Jo had intended to do, the lady would likely have made an attempt for 
his eyes with those vampire claws of hers. He could not afford to lower his guard 
with that threat hanging about. Jo took a careful glance at her while Lady MacNiel's 
attention was on her lord.   
Amelia's gown was pink today with white lace at the ends of her sleeves and 
neckline. Even with vampire speed, such a garment would hinder her to the point 
that, even in this weaker mortal state, Jo would be able to handle any of her potential 
attacks.   
Her black hair was again down in a gleaming braid, and her smile was wide as she 
hand fed her lord pieces of buttered bread. Jo had the impression of an innocent 
young lady who could barely stand up to a mouse, let alone display the strength of 
ten fine warriors.   
MacNiel nuzzled her cheek. She laughed and squirmed in his embrace. Whether 
their good cheer was a natural thing, or the product of Angus and Breanna's 
imminent arrival, Jo could not say.   
Frederik had touched him like that once. Jo was incapable of growing facial hair, 
even after he had become mortal, but Frederik's whiskers grew thick along his jaw, 
chin, and lips. He bent his fingers to a fist despite himself. They had both behaved 
like fools.   
The heavy oak doors opened with a long groan. Jo turned his head and stood. 
MacNiel and his lady ceased their play long enough to stand for Frederik and 
Michael as well. MacNiel may be the laird of these lands, but he was wise enough to 
know when to offer respect for an angel.   

"What news is there?" Jo asked, doing his best to keep from looking at Frederik. 
Despite this, he had seen the noticeable lack of black stubble along his jaw.   
Frederik had shaved.   
Michael's face was grim. "We already know Zadkiel is using lesser demons to hunt 
Lord Grimm and take him. Likely that is all he can control. His deception was 
discovered when he attacked Jophiel and Grimm openly. I was the only one given 
permission to offer aid."   
"What does this Zadkiel want to take my brother for?" Amelia asked. "The—"   
Jo opened his mouth to answer before she could complete the sentence, but Frederik 
still beat him to it. "His wish is to see Jophiel as an angel once more. That cannot 
happen unless I am dead."   
He did not outwardly say Jo would take his head, but Amelia bristled and eyed him 
warily, her eyes cold. "Indeed?"   
"I am not going to kill him," Jo said. "Ye have my word."   
"I trust him Amelia," Frederik said. "Calm yourself."   
"The last demons who attacked ye both were not trying to kill ye, Grimm. They were 
attempting to drag ye to Hell," Michael said.   
"Who is the next to attack?" MacNiel gruffed. "You shall all be made safe behind my 
walls. My men will fight off any simpering creature that dares to try and take my 
brother."   
Frederik shifted uncomfortably at that. Jo smirked.   
"This is the problem," Michael said, his thumb caressing the hilt of his sword. "A 
lesser demon is not necessarily less dangerous than something with a great deal of 
power. Mischief demons do pose a serious annoyance at the worst of times, but 
calling forth so many in the same place was a dangerous tactic."   
Jo knew firsthand how the little bastards turned vicious.   

"From what Jo has told me, Zadkiel has been choosing larger and larger demons with 
each summoning. Logically, this means his next attack of lesser demons will be 
something even more dangerous."   
"Like what?" Jo asked. He could think of nothing else in Hell that would be weak 
enough to obey an angel, intelligent enough to remain in a pack, and strong enough 
to battle.   
Frederik answered for him. "Vampires."   
Amelia scoffed. "Vampires? Ridiculous! We are based on Earth, not in Hell."   
"You are hardly a demon, my love," MacNiel said.   
Michael clarified his earlier words, ignoring MacNiel. "Ye are Earth bound demons 
until ye die."     
Amelia's shocked smile melted from her lips.   
Jo sighed. "Belial vampires, I assume?"     
Michael nodded. "Aye."   
MacNiel blinked and looked between his wife and the other men in the hall with 
him. "I dinna understand. What is a Belial vampire? Are they to be feared?"   
Frederik's eyes popped as he stared at his sister, his mouth open. "Did you not 
explain?"   
Amelia shifted uncomfortably. "I did not see the significance in telling him."   
Frederik slapped his forehead and shook his head. "Amelia—"   
MacNiel actually began to growl. "Och! I'm standing right here! Dinna be giving my 
lady grief. Tell me what it means."   
Neither Amelia nor Frederik spoke. Jo did not understand their discomfort. He saw 
no shame in what they were. A half a soul was as good as a full in his opinion.   
"There is more than one sort of vampire in the world." Jo said, explaining for the both 
of them. "One of them is Belial. The others ye need no information on other than they 
are soulless and will kill at a moment's notice. Belial vampires, like Lord Grimm and 
your lady, have souls."   
"Half souls," Frederik muttered.   

Jo ignored that. "They have souls and a conscience. How they choose to live their 
lives determines whether they receive full souls and a comfortable afterlife upon 
their deaths."   
"Then, it wilna be the Belial vampires that come for battle, but one of their kin?"   
Michael shook his head. "Nay. As Jo explained, the others have no souls to speak of. 
When they die, there is nothing left for them. They cease to be. The vampires coming 
for us will be the souls of Belial vampires who chose a darker path for themselves 
whilst they lived and were condemned to hell."   
Michael finished explaining the differences between such vampires—and how they 
came into the world—seemingly without frightening the man off from his wife. 
MacNiel held Amelia closely, and she must have been frightened he would have a 
different reaction to the news that she had only half a soul to give him, because 
Amelia held him back in a crushing embrace.   
Jo paid only half attention, however. His thoughts were elsewhere.   
Regardless of Frederik's half soul, he had slaughtered an entire village mere days 
before, and the Heavens wanted him dead.   
Because of Jo's refusal, Zadkiel had taken measures of his own, and, though Michael 
was being patient about it, surely such patience could not last, especially with such 
callous attacks from the otherworld occurring on the mortal plane. Michael would 
lose his patience, and, if not he, then another would be sent to perform the task that 
Jo refused, and Frederik would be sent to Hell. Unless Jo discovered some form of 
leverage, something he could use to bargain for his life and the possibility of 
attaining a full soul, he would go to Hell to rot while Jo stayed on Earth as a mortal.   
Jo turned his head to look at Frederik, who remained silent during Michael's 
explanation, which had droned into the details of the battle in Heaven that brought 
vampires to earth over a millennium ago. Jo had wanted to leave Heaven for him. He 
would defy their powers for him as well if need be.   
"When do they attack?" MacNiel asked, pulling him from his thoughts.   

MacNiel must have interrupted him because Michael could not have finished his 
lesson in angelic history so quickly. Michael's jaw became tight, but he answered, 
"Because they are vampires, their attack will have to be at night," he said.   
"I do not understand," said Amelia. "How can vampire spirits be weakened by 
sunlight?"   
"They will be given bodies with which to fight," Jo answered. "'Tis one of the laws of 
Heaven and Hell. No one really made it; 'tis just how it is. Corporeal bodies must be 
attained for any true influence to be had on Earth. 'Tis why demons require the 
power of higher beings to come to Earth."   
Frederik appeared thoughtful. "Do we know which night they will come?"   
"That is uncertain," said Michael.   
Which meant they could have anywhere from a few hours to a fortnight. And Jo had 
an idea of which it would be. "The last time Zadkiel attacked us was days ago." When 
there were children about, he added silently. "Impatient as he is, he will wish to attack 
again as soon as possible."     
Likely, it would be the moment he had enough vampires under his control.   
"Then we shall assume he will attack tonight." Michael said, nodding to MacNiel.   
"I shall ready my best men. No one will siege my land and live to tell the tale!"   
Jo did not point out that everything coming after them was already dead.   
   
* * * * *   
   
When his armor came back to him, the breastplate polished and the garments 
cleaned of mud and sweat, Jo doffed the plaid they'd given him and put on his 
beloved armor with a sigh that would suggest he had embraced an old friend. 
Without his wings to complete it, he still felt like a child donning a warrior's 
garments, but 'twas better than nothing.   
The last time his armor had been removed, he had not put it back on for five years.   

'Twould be taken from him again, permanently this time, if he did not kill Frederik. 
No more chances, no more quests to redeem himself. He would be left behind, 
forgotten on Earth, until he grew old and died, and, even then, he would die as a 
mortal man. Should he be given the gift of returning to Heaven after that death, he 
would still never have his wings back.   
He shook his head. Think not such thoughts. Something else. There was something he 
was missing.   
If he captured Zadkiel in the coming battle and presented him to the Council as a 
traitor, or even if Frederik himself did it, they would be forced to spare Frederik's 
life.   
Jo frowned. They would spare Frederik's life, but that would balance everything. The 
Council would owe Jo no favors of gratitude and would still not grant him his wings 
back. He had to find something else. Something that would force their hand into 
giving Frederik mercy while allowing him to return.   
Jo sat on his stool and rested his chin on his interlocked fingers, elbows on his knees, 
and remained in that position until the light in his chamber stretched and yellowed 
with the coming night. Naught came to him despite his efforts of forcing his mind to 
work.   
Jo caressed his metal breastplate, tracing the indents that mirrored the muscles 
beneath the steel. If he had to return this armor again, he could survive it. He'd lived 
without its comfort for five years. But if he had to remain on Earth, living, growing 
old while Frederik . . . .   
Jo could suddenly no longer recall his reasoning for avoiding Frederik. The vampire 
had seemed sincere when he spoke of his fear of the plague taking Jo's life. If Jo were 
to be honest with himself, he had to admit that, after hearing such a thing, he had 
still been too angry to allow himself to believe it.   
He missed his home, and he longed for his wings and his brothers, but, if he had to 
choose, if there was no other action he could perform that would bring him both 
Frederik's redemption and his wings, he would choose Frederik.   

The door to his small bedchamber opened. Jo turned, expecting a servant, or even 
Laird MacNiel. His eyes widened. 'Twas none of those people. 'Twas the man he had 
just been thinking of.   
Frederik was back in his usual fine attire, and, with the window behind Jo open, the 
gold-orange setting sunlight embraced the vampire like a long lost lover. He closed 
the door behind him and strode in. Two steps, and they were toe to toe, but, really, 
there was nary more space in the small chamber than that. Jo could feel the warmth 
radiating from Frederik's body and from Frederik's breath, caressing his flesh, and 
his body recalled the last time it had been this close to the vampire and responded 
accordingly, with pumping blood and arousal.   
"What are ye doing here?" Jo asked, his blood moving down to where he least 
needed it to be, but where it felt the most wonderful.   
Frederik crossed his arms, as though prepared to defend himself already. He opened 
his mouth but then quickly shut it again and said nothing.   
"Did ye want to close the window?" Jo asked, already moving toward the shutters. 
Anything to step away from him.   
"No," Frederik said. "You . . . you shine so brightly in it."   
Strange words. Untrue words, Jo knew, because, in his mortal state, his body no 
longer cast the angelic glow it once had. "What are ye after?"   
Frederik sighed. "Jo, I know you wish to return to Heaven—"   
Jo stiffened. "I will not kill ye to regain my wings."   
Frederik licked his tongue over the points of his fangs. "Your friend is already 
attempting to force your hand with these attacks he is calling. Innocent people would 
bear the brunt of those attacks. My sister, those children in the forest. The 
MacGreggor clan has already suffered more than any other."   
Jo winced. He despised it when Frederik spoke so logically. Everything he spoke of 
was true. MacNiel had dispatched a select few of his men with supplies and food for 
the laird and his family, but there was naught that could be done for the village itself. 
That it was all brought on by Zadkiel made everything so much worse.   

"I will not do it," he repeated.   
Frederik's full lips twitched. "Then you will grow old and die on Earth."   
"That hardly matters."   
"Oh?" Frederik raised a dark brow. Infuriating creature. "You no longer care to return 
home? To have your wings?"   
"Of course, I care. But I will not send you to Hell to have those things." Jo drew 
himself up tall. "Not anymore," he added hastily.   
That he had been willing to do it that first day, would have done it if Frederik had 
not begged him for mercy, brought him great regret.   
Frederik's long lashes nearly touched his cheeks when his eyes were half lidded, as 
they were now. He did not move away from Jo during their exchange. He continued 
to stand close, watching him, and Jo's lust transformed into a pounding force that 
went straight to his cock, making him want things it would hurt to have, and also 
making him not care that it would hurt.   
"Ye cannot convince me to kill ye," Jo said. "I shall never do it."   
Frederik's hands came out from their folded place over his chest and rested on Jo's 
hips. Jo stiffened.   
"You should not give up your eternity for me."   
"This argument is old. I shall always have eternity," Jo said, referring to his immortal 
soul that ached for Frederik, that felt incomplete without him.   
Frederik's lips quirked again. "That is not what I meant, and you damned well know 
it." His fingers began to move, squeezing and massaging along Jo's hips and slowly 
moving up toward his stomach and onto the steel breastplate. His body ached at the 
severed contact.   
Jo could take no more. "Frederik, I apologize for what I said in the forest."   
Now Frederik stiffened, but he did not look at him. He stared at his hands as they 
rested on Jo's breastplate.   
"I still love ye. If ye still want—"   
Frederik kissed him, effectively silencing him.   

His lips meshed with Jo's, a strong motion that brought their teeth clashing together. 
Frederik's jaw, smooth from his recent shave, was hard against Jo's mouth. Muscled 
arms wound around him, locking them against each other. Frederik pushed Jo back 
until they toppled onto the bed. Their lips broke apart in the fall, but Frederik used 
the opportunity to attach them to Jo's neck and began to suckle.   
'Twas like they were back at Frederik's manor, just the two of them, taking their 
bodies as far as they could go with Jo's limited sexual abilities. Only this time Jo 
could follow Frederik on this path.   
Then Jo recognized this for what it was. Despite his words of love, there was no 
happiness in Frederik's eyes, no smile upon his lips, nor any joy that Jo could feel in 
these actions. Jo was being silenced. Whatever damage he had caused with his 
actions and his words, 'twas too late to repair them. Frederik was . . . . Jo was not 
entirely certain what he was doing or why he was doing it.   
Still, his arousal was peaking, and he could not stop himself despite this sad 
revelation. Jo's hardness tented in his lower tunic and pressed eagerly against 
Frederik's breeches, searching for and receiving the desired friction. Oh. That felt so 
wonderfully good. He wanted this.   
But then Frederik quickly pulled away, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "There 
will be no rutting against each other to completion tonight."   
Jo had already known where this was going.   
A mild fear entered him at the thought of doing such a thing. Despite this, he 
nodded. "Aye."   
Jo wanted to know what sex was truly like. Not merely the rubbing together they 
had done, or the feel of his hand. He wanted to enjoy real sex.   
"I apologize for removing this so soon after you have put it on, but . . . ." Frederik's 
hands worked the clasps of Jo's armor. First, the breastplate, then the padding, and, 
finally, his long tunic.   
All the while Jo's fingers fumbled with the strings of Frederik's own garments. 
Breeches, hose, boots, all thrown aside until they were both gloriously skin to skin. Jo 
continued to kiss him, continued to rub his cock against Frederik's because he could 
not—for the life of him—stop. If only Frederik wanted a mortal lover.   

He pushed the thought away as he rolled the vampire onto his back and lurched 
down for another kiss, their hips humping together in a sample of what was to come. 
Kissing had been one of the few things he had been able to do for Frederik when 
they had been together and Jo was an angel without any sexual organs. He could kiss 
him forever.   
"You are the most—" Frederik abruptly cut himself off, his breath hitching between 
shuddering moans. "Your cheeks are pink."   
Aye, he imagined they were. A brief humiliation clouded around him, and he halted 
his movements.   
"What is it?" Frederik asked, disappointed in the delay. Though they were not chest 
to chest, Jo could hear his lover's frantic heart beats.   
"I do not know how to proceed." He admitted.   
Frederik's smile revealed his fangs. "I know. I have planned ahead."   
He lifted Jo from his lap and returned to the crumpled mess of clothing on the floor 
next to the bed. He came back up with a small, glass vial with a tiny cork.   
There was a translucent, amber liquid inside, though, when Frederik's fingers 
twitched, it did not slosh around, giving the impression of a thickness to it.   
  "What is it?"   
"Oil for Amelia's hands and face. Most vampires use such things to strengthen their 
skin should a stray bit of sunlight catch us unawares." He uncorked the little bottle 
with his teeth and spat it away. The scent of peppermint quickly filled the small 
space. "I did not bother to pack any for myself when I began my journey. I hope you 
do not mind the scent."   
He did not. Jo snatched the oil vial with the greed of a child, though he still was not 
quite certain what he was expected to do with it.   
"Perhaps ye should—"   
"No," Frederik said. "The answer is no."   

While Jo still held the vial, Frederik gripped the fist that held it and lifted Jo's other 
hand. Jo watched as Frederik positioned his fingers and slathered the oil over them 
before Frederik set the vial aside and began to thoroughly coat Jo's fingers with the 
oil in three, quick, fluid, pumping motions.   
The sight reminded Jo of so many nights when his own hand had moved in such a 
way over his aching prick, and the times before when he had done the same to 
Frederik. His manhood twitched, reaching out to Frederik in a begging motion.   
"I need ye to tell me what to do," Jo said, hating that he needed to be coached.   
Frederik kissed his lips chastely, got on his knees on the bed, and lay chest down, 
taking one of the pillows and positioning it beneath his hips and wriggling until 
comfortable, leaving his entire backside exposed.   
Jo's mouth filled with moisture at the sight of Frederik's hips up in the air like that.   
Frederik looked over his shoulder and grinned. "You will do fine. Now come here."   
Jo complied. Frederik had Jo prepare him first, an act Jo thought ridiculous; a man's 
arse was the last place he would ever have thought he would put his fingers. But as 
he stretched and thrust his hand, Frederik began to shudder and moan so prettily 
into the bed, and Jo's cock wept in response to the sound. The pulsing of his 
heartbeat was in time with the throbbing in his cock.   
Jo removed his fingers. His body easily covered Frederik's. The vampire had often 
spoken of his attraction to Jo's build and height. Jo attempted to enter slowly, to give 
the body beneath him time to adjust, but the second he'd gone as deep as he could 
go, the end was already within sight. "Uhh, Frederik, ye fit like a glove,"   
The vampire answered something back, but Jo could make out not a word of it. His 
hips pounded away quickly, frantically. Luckily for him, Frederik returned the 
motion, thrusting back against him and into the pillow, and, for some seconds, they 
seemed to be in a race. Frederik's walls clenched around Jo's throbbing shaft after 
only a few hard thrusts as he spilled his seed onto the pillow, moaning loudly into 
another, bringing Jo along with him.   

Jo collapsed heavily on Frederik's back, which was now moist with sweat. He smiled 
as he gasped for breath. Though he had naught with which to compare it, he was 
certain his performance was less than stellar. He would do better the next time.   
Then he remembered there would be no second time.   
His lips found Frederik's shoulders against the better judgment of his mind. His 
heart was a loud drum that beat a lyrical tune in his breast, and Frederik's own heart 
matched it even though the deed was now done. 'Twas fast, but now he knew why 
mortals placed so much importance on the act of coupling.   
He would hold this feeling close for the rest of his life.   
Frederik was still for a moment before he shifted. Jo lifted himself off to allow the 
other man to leave the bed, his body cold now without Frederik to warm him. He 
would have liked to have been with him again, but Frederik quietly began lifting his 
garments from where they had been left on the floor, giving not a hint he desired 
anything more.   
Jo thought it best to collect his armor and dress as well. Frederik had given him a 
gift, and he would do well not to waste it. They dressed without looking at each 
other, Jo's armor requiring more heavy lifting and buckle latching than Frederik's. 
Straightening his cuffs and collar, Frederik peered out the window. 'Twas darker in 
the chamber, now that Jo noticed it, and outside the sun had gone from bright orange 
to a barely there flame in the distance with the hints of stars.   
"I'll ask Michael to remove my chain," Frederik said. "We will need my strength if we 
are to fight a host of Hellish vampires."   
Jo nodded, staring into Frederik's eyes. "Of course."   
They were silent, and then Frederik turned and left the bedchamber. Jo's heart sank. 
A sickening feeling claimed him, and he rubbed his chest, just above his heart, even 
though the breastplate prevented any comfort.   

The vampire had a plan of his own, Jo could tell, but regardless of what that plan 
was, after tonight, they would neither of them see the other ever again. And then Jo 
understood why Frederik had done what he had done. 'Twas not pity. Not at all. 
This was their goodbye.   
   
Chapter Thirteen   
   
As the sun fell into the hills— a round, bald head laying down for sleep—it let out 
one last burst of light before disappearing entirely. Frederik's hands gripped the 
warm, wooden edge of the battlements he stood on. Having the rays of the sun 
against his fur in wolf form did not compare to the warmth against his bare skin . . . 
the lack of fear, of pain. Of course, the mortal warriors preparing in the courtyard 
below would not have stopped to appreciate it, spoiled creatures that they were.   
Hands ghosted around his neck, and Michael removed the chain, ending its power 
over him. Even with the darkness now overpowering the light, without the aid of the 
chain, he could now feel the heat in the air through his clothes, and an instant layer 
of sweat dampened his garments and made him itch.   
Frederik was a true vampire once more. The sunlight had been beautiful, and he was 
glad he had it while he could. It was a gift . . . one of many he had received on this 
journey.   
"I have a plan," Michael said.   
That voice irritated him. Michael had no appreciation of how difficult this was for 
him. "What would that be?"   
"Jophiel's sword. Had he beheaded ye with it, as he should have"—Frederik's fists 
clenched, but Michael ignored this—"his wings would have been returned to him, 
and he would have been brought back to the Heavens. 'Tis the sword enchantment 
that decides, not the one who wields it. If that sword takes yer head, Jo returns to his 
rightful place."   

Frederik rubbed his face. Men were milling about, some with muskets, most with 
crossbows. The men on the ground level all carried bastard swords, lances, and 
daggers.   
Jo had made a comment about the battlements being made for cannons, but it 
seemed MacNiel could not afford cannons as of yet, considering the expense of the 
work he had put into the walls. They would have to make do.   
With the sun down, they expected an attack at any moment and at any hour of the 
night. If nothing came tonight, they would have to stand watch tomorrow night. And 
over and over again until their enemy finally came. Frederik could not die until then. 
Not when his strength could be of such use to help save these people.   
"What are you suggesting?"   
"I am suggesting we stop Zadkiel before he goes so far there can be no forgiveness 
for him."   
"Forgiveness for him?" The very idea that an angel who was entirely responsible for 
sending Frederik on that—he could not stand it! "You filthy—"   
Michael's hand shot out like a flying arrow, his hand finding Frederik's face, his 
fingers digging into his cheeks and gripping his entire jaw. Frederik's fangs cut into 
the flesh inside his mouth as Michael yanked him closer, a calm smile on his face as 
though they were still having a gentlemanly discussion. "Do not presume to question 
my love and loyalty for my brother." He squeezed harder, pushing Frederik's fangs 
deeper inside. He winced but remained still.   
"Am I being understood?"   
Frederik's eyes glanced to the side and down into the courtyard. Jo was visible, but 
he was speaking with MacNiel's warriors, enlightening them as to what to expect 
during their coming battle. They were so engrossed with Jo's instructions that no one 
noticed Frederik's and Michael's exchange.   
Fuck off, swine, Frederik thought, glaring.   
The swine frowned, but released him. Frederik lurched back and had to adjust his 
cheeks to pull the fangs from the holes they'd created in his mouth. Then he spat the 
blood that had been building on his tongue onto the wooden boards at Michael's feet. 
Drinking one's own blood was never a good idea.   

"If I could kill you for that," Frederik said, "I would."   
"Not very Belial of you," Michael noted.   
"I'm going to die anyway," Frederik muttered.   
A young warrior walking along the battlements passed by, shooting Frederik a look 
when he caught his words. Both he and Michael said nothing else until he moved on 
and out of hearing range. Frederik's voice was soft when he spoke again. Jo was still 
below with the men, and he did not wish for him to hear any of what he and Michael 
said either.   
"Tell me there will be some retribution for his actions."   
"Calm yourself, Grimm," Michael said. "I did not mean he would be returning to his 
duties with nary a slap on the wrist. I only meant he will be given a chance to stay 
out of Hell after his wings have been removed. Would that be punishment enough?"   
"Not in the least."   
"Regardless, 'tis what I hope for him after centuries of loyal service."   
Frederik folded his arms. The hard conviction in the angel's voice meant there would 
be no swaying him. It shouldn't matter to Frederik that he was being sent into Limbo 
while the one responsible for all of this would be allowed to live as a mortal, but it 
still grated on him.   
"Tell me your plan," he said.   
"When all is said and done with Zadkiel, I will take Jo's sword, and ye and I will go 
to some quiet spot in the forest to end this."   
The plan shocked him. He half expected Michael to suggest they steal Jo's sword and 
give it to Zadkiel to do the deed. No doubt that was the whole purpose of Zadkiel's 
entire plot, and there could hardly be repercussions against him—any more 
repercussion—for killing him after what Frederik had done.   

And, yet, if Zadkiel did get his hands on Jo's sword, it was highly doubtful he would 
be as merciful in killing Frederik as Michael would be. Having Michael do it did 
seem to be the preferable option.   
The plan was flawed, however. "If you ask for Jo's sword, he will know what we are 
doing. I will ask for it."   
Michael observed him silently for a moment before nodding. "Let it be done then."   
"I'm trusting you in this," Frederik said, looking down on Jo once more, one hand 
gripping the wooden ledge. "I do not want to go to Hell."   
Michael's jaw popped. "And I will do all in my power to keep that from happening."   
Frederik wanted to ask Michael more, but the wind and trees abruptly stilled, 
leaving the air unnaturally quiet. The little hairs on the back of Frederik's neck stood 
high and itched. The silence was as good as a war drum beating across the land. 
Even the warriors in the courtyard searched about them, as though wondering 
where the noise had gone.   
The sounds of leaves clapping together in the trees stalled. The chirping and 
skittering of other forest creatures faded from the night.   
"They're here," Frederik said, though he did not need to. Michael was already calling 
out his orders.   
"Do not attempt to pierce their hearts with yer swords," he called out. "Ye will 
damage yer weapons. Make yer attacks at the neck and through the eyes."   
Though it was grossly childish, Frederik fumed inwardly at secrets to killing 
vampires being spread so freely.   
MacNiel appeared then, dressed much the same as he always was, but with his 
heavy sword in hand and ready to battle beside his warriors. His sword flickered 
with orange flame.   
Michael stared at the weapon, and then looked shrewdly at MacNiel, who only 
grinned and shrugged.   

"You must not waste what little abilities ye have on parlor tricks."   
"This will hardly be a trick to vampires who fear the fire," MacNiel boomed, flicking 
the sword.   
Frederik stepped away from the fire, annoyed.   
Amelia was not with her husband, he noted, but she was no doubt off somewhere 
preparing a battle of her own.     
His main concern was Jo, on the ground, keeping the spirits of the men behind him 
high and ready. Some of them were young, so young Frederik doubted their lack of 
facial hair was a result of shaving, and Jo stayed particularly close to them. He and 
his battalion faced the gates, weapons drawn.   
Frederik forced his eyes away. No distractions. The vampires would attack everyone 
within these walls. Zadkiel was a fool to think he could control them.   
Everything had been much simpler when he assumed the only enemy he needed to 
fight was MacNiel.   
They waited and waited. The wind picked up again but nothing came for them. 
Nothing walked out of the darkness of the forest save for a lost rabbit scurrying for 
shelter. Not a single vampire, let alone an army of them.   
"Och, what is taking them so long? I am not known for my patience, Grimm!" 
MacNiel shouted. The bastard knew perfectly well the battle could easily not happen 
tonight. Some of his men chuckled nervously amongst themselves at that.   
"Be silent!" Jo called.   
The laughter abruptly ceased at the command. Jo's eyes went to Michael. The angel 
had his head tilted. He seemed to be listening for something no one else could hear, 
not even Frederik.   
His ears must have found what they sought, because his face twisted in horror.   
"They are coming!" Michael roared.   
The wind picked up and threw itself around them, a violent rush that twisted and 
clattered the heavy tree branches together and snapped them apart, their breaking 
limbs like the clapping of thunder. Dust flew up, over, and around them, 
surrounding the men in a cloud that was thicker, and more blinding, than any fog. 
Frederik lost Jo in the sand, and panic squeezed his insides.   

"Jo!" Frederik yelled. He put his foot up on the fence of the battlement and prepared 
to leap down when the wind and dust settled as quickly as it had come. Frederik 
found him, but his relief was momentary when he realized what the drunken-like 
stumbling and Jo's arm over his eyes meant: The dust had blinded him.   
Not just Jo. Every man below was stumbling and reaching blindly for anything to 
grasp hold of. Jo rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to clear them but was just as 
helpless as the other men.   
One plaid-clad warrior fell into another, emitting a shout of surprise, and, with a 
shick, their swords were drawn. In a panic, every blinded warrior went into a battle 
stance.   
"Hold your weapons!" MacNiel called, even though he, too, had his giant hand over 
his face, his own weapon no longer flaming. "No one make a move. Dinna attack!"   
Frederik leapt down, a tiny cloud of dust wafting at his feet as he landed. "Jo, I'm 
coming to you. Keep your damned blade to yourself." When he reached Jo, he 
grabbed his shoulders.   
Jo hissed. "I cannot see!" It seemed to both anger and pain him.   
"I know, come with me." Frederik pulled him away from the fifty warriors before one 
of them could take his, or Jo's, head by mistake. Jo did not fight him. He followed at a 
brisk pace for a blind man.   
Several archers at the gates had the same idea as Frederik, and they left their posts to 
aid their friends. There were only four or so to help the many who were blinded. Not 
all would be helped in time.   
Frederik pulled Jo under the battlements where they would be sheltered should the 
wind pick up again. He grabbed a water skin he had been given, took Jo by his 
golden hair, and forced his head back.   
"Open your eyes," he said as he poured the water over them.   

Jo made a sound of displeasure as the water pooled over his eyes, washing them, but 
he kept still. "'Twas Zad," he hissed, shaking the water from his face and hair after 
Frederik pulled the skin away, though Jo's eyes were still bleary, and he continued to 
press his fist into the left one. "He is coming. He brought forth the wind."   
"I know that!"   
But for the moaning and stumbling of the warriors in the small courtyard, and the 
occasional shout from MacNiel for everyone to put away their blades as men rushed 
to them without warning to pour water into their eyes, everything had gone silent 
again.   
"He brought more than that," Frederik said, watching the feet of the warriors now. A 
mist lifted from the ground, floated on the air like wisps from a ghost before 
thickening to a fog.   
Jo looked down at what Frederik saw.   
"Do Belial vampires create fog?"   
"Some do."   
The gray fog climbed up the legs of the warriors, reaching their chests, and necks, 
until the already blind men disappeared within its blanket. The archers who had 
come to the aid of the men rushed out of it before it could consume them, taking the 
few men they could with them. They dared not enter it after that.   
"Milord, your orders?"   
Frederik stared down into the boyish face of the man who spoke. To his extreme 
distaste, the man had directed the question at Jo.   
"Lower yer weapons, and, until ye can see yer opponent, ye are to not shoot 
anything,"   
Suddenly, the lad looked as though he would rather he hadn't asked.   
"Are you certain it was Zadkiel?" Frederik asked.   
Jo did not get a chance to answer as a dozen shadows fell into the misted courtyard. 
Panicked screams filled the air, most transforming to gurgling cries as those who 
were still standing were taken down, their heavy bodies thudding on the ground and 
creating ripples in the fog.   

The vampires had arrived.   
The metal scrape of swords being unsheathed brought Frederik's mind back to Jo just 
as the former angel attempted to run ahead to fight. Frederik's hand snatched out 
like a whip and grabbed the red cape of Jo's armor, yanking him back.   
"Get off of me!"     
"You won't see in there. You'll get your head cut off!"     
Jo returned his eyes to the chaos. The many movements of flailing bodies and 
vampires watered down the fog, though it was difficult to see more than shadows 
within the mist.   
Michael landed next to them.   
"Do something!" Frederik snapped.   
"What would you have me do?"   
"Use yer wings, dispense the fog," said Jo.   
"And kick up more dust in their eyes?" Michael spoke with a calm Frederik did not 
understand. "We are forced to wait."   
There were more men than vampires, many more, Frederik could tell. But the 
warriors who had not been ambushed lifted their swords to attack the creatures 
latching onto their companions. There were more misses than hits, and, for this, the 
men received long slashes that bled freely down their arms, necks, and ribs, making 
easy meals of them. The added screams of those being taken down by their own men 
brought more blind warriors to them, believing one of the demons to be attacking a 
comrade.   
Through the fog, somewhere he could still not be seen, MacNiel screamed to his 
men. "Dinna attack! Stand your ground!"   
The panic of the men, blind from sand and fog while being attacked, rendered 
MacNiel's shouted commands as useless as though he had whispered them.   

Then the fog began to clear enough that Frederik could see more detail, and smell 
more of the carnage, as though a window were being opened into a bloody room, 
which only made his situation all the more helpless. Some of the older, more 
experienced warriors kept their calm and bravely kept still.   
Most of the fighting warriors continued swinging and lunging, and when they sank 
their swords into a vampire, their blades passed through the body and into the flesh 
of the men they intended to save. It was a massacre. The odor of blood, bones, and 
shit whooshed down on him and clung to his clothes and the inside of his nose.   
Of course, Frederik should not have expected Jo to remain still through it all. Just as 
another young warrior was about to thrust his blade blindly down on a vampire 
latched to the neck of his comrade, Jo pushed Frederik's hand away and leapt into 
the fray.     
"Jo!" Idiot!   
The former angel ignored him as he leaped over a dead warrior, reached out, and 
halted the hands of the man about to kill his friend. The young Scot panicked at what 
he perceived to be an attack. A brawl broke out between them for control of the 
weapon. The Scotsman pulled out his dagger and made a clumsy swipe with it, 
tripping over his own feet, and slicing Jo's leg before he could dance out of the way.   
"You bloody, do-gooding idiot." Frederik rushed forth, leapt from his feet, and came 
back down. By the time he landed, he was in his wolf form. But even with his 
vampire speed restored, Frederik could not move fast enough to offer aid before Jo 
landed his fist into the eye of MacNiel's warrior, disarming him.   
Jo had the situation well in hand, but Frederik would not abandon him, so he turned 
his attention to the female vampire still sucking the life-blood from the now 
unmoving man on the ground. With quick teeth, he opened his long jaws and 
grabbed the vampire's head, locking it within his fangs by crushing his incisors into 
the bone of its skull. The sucking teeth of the vampire jerked out of the flesh of his 
victim in surprise, and, before she could fight back, Frederik twisted until a telling 
crack sounded, and her body went limp.   

"Frederik."   
He released the body and spun. Jo stared down at him, mouth hanging a little.   
He transformed back quickly and wiped the blood from his lips with his sleeve. "She 
was killing this man here," he said, looking down at the body, which appeared dead 
despite Frederik's attempt at a rescue.   
"I know. I was unaware your wolf was so powerful. Stay that way until the battle 
ends."   
"It's you I worry for."   
Jo frowned at that. He looked between both men on the ground. The fog had now 
fully lifted. The vampires had gone as quickly as they had come, and, when what 
few men who remained standing finally blinked the dust away, they wished they 
had not.   
Jo's eyes rested on the warrior he'd punched. He was not moving, his eye was 
already swelling and bleeding from Jo's attack, but his chest rose and fell in a healthy 
succession. "This one is alive."     
"We will be attacked again soon," Frederik said. He knew better than to think this 
moment of respite meant they were safe. Jo's expression remained stern and ready.   
"Frederik," Jo grabbed his arm and pointed at MacNiel, who still blinked in a bleary 
daze, heavy muscles trembling with the effort of keeping his eyes open.   
It took a half-second for Frederik to spot the dark creatures crawling up from behind 
him, low to the ground stretched out on their hands and feet, some in their wolf 
forms, on their bellies, stalking their prey, others transformed into a cluster of 
spiders. Jo and Frederik nearly ran to him until a banshee shriek froze them.   
Amelia flew down upon the vampires. Literally, she flew, transforming mid-air from 
her bat shape, long wings and furred body lengthening into the larger shape of the 
lady of the land wearing a riding gown with her plaid overtop. Her hands remained 
mostly creature-like, long brown digits, which curled into pointed ends, and she put 
her claws into the eyes of the first vampire before a second gripped her braid and 
yanked it like it was a rope, lifting her and pulling her around.   

MacNiel heard her enraged screams. "Ami! Ami!" he called to her. He stumbled 
toward the sound of her voice but did not lift his sword lest he bring it down upon 
her.   
Frederik, using all the speed he possessed, rushed across the battlefield, his hands 
reaching out to grab the fool who dared to touch his sister. He leapt up, his knees 
landing on the male vampire's shoulders. The tips of his fingers were already claws 
when he took his sister's attacker by the skull. He twisted hard, forcing the head to 
turn even when the bones and muscles strained to stop and listened with deep 
satisfaction as the neck bent and cracked in the same fashion as had that of his 
previous victim. The entire body attached went limp, releasing Amelia so abruptly 
she fell to her knees and coughed in the dirt.   
Instead of showing her proper gratitude, she glared at him, wiping the dirt from her 
mouth with the back of her hand. "I had all in hand."   
"No you didn't."   
"Ami! Where are you?" MacNiel screamed, still struggling to find her, his arms over 
his eyes, rubbing in a desperate attempt to clear away the little rocks so he could see.   
"I am here." She went to him and put her small arms around his large shoulders. His 
bulging giant-like hands her close. Had she been as fragile as she appeared, Frederik 
had no doubt he would have crushed her in his embrace. As it was, she nearly 
disappeared within his enormous arms anyway.   
Frederik looked away from their affection. Jo raised a light brow at him, and he 
turned from that too. He held out his water skin for his sister to take. "Wash out his 
eyes."   
Amelia pulled herself from MacNiel, snatched the skin, and poured the water over 
her husband's face.   
Frederik's anger at her for daring to enter this battle knew no bounds, but yelling at 
her would have to wait for later. He searched around for more attacking foes, but all 
the vampires who had not been slashed to pieces along with the warriors they had 
been attached to had disappeared.   

"They are readying for another attack," said Michael, sword still in hand, flickering. 
"We do not have long."   
Amelia cleaned MacNiel's eyes with an extreme gentleness. The Scotsman shook his 
head like a dog, the water beading in his sandy beard and hair. Finally, he opened 
his eyes and blinked rapidly as the last of the clean water washed out the dirt and 
sand.   
When he saw her, his eyes hardened. He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook 
her. He attempted it, at least. While another vampire had been able to drag her 
around in circles, MacNiel, for all his brawn, could barely nudge her. "I told you to 
stay in the keep! You could have been killed!"   
Frederik would not need to punish Amelia after all. MacNiel's fierce voice brought a 
tremble to her lips that suggested a better punishment than Frederik could ever offer.   
"I had to save you," she said.   
Her small voice was enough to make MacNiel melt around her, comforting her and 
rocking her like a child.   
Frederik rolled his eyes, annoyance sizzling within him.   
A scraping voice at his feet stole Frederik's attention away. "I'll not go back!"   
They all stopped and peered down at the crumpled body of the vampire he had just 
destroyed. His body remained limp and dead, but his head was far from lifeless. 
Black hair had fallen into his fanged mouth as he spoke, and, without the ability to 
wipe it away, he attempted to spit it out as he glared and snarled. "Do not send me 
back! I will kill you all if you send me back!"   
Hell, Frederik realized. The vampire spoke of Hell.   
Frederik should have expected this. So long as the head remained attached, the heart 
continued to beat and provide blood to the brain. Looking back, the first vampire 
whose neck he broke was also alive, although his throat seemed to be in far less 
working condition as he did little but gurgle in rage.   
One of MacNiel's archers came close to examine the worthless creature. The 
vampire's jaws snapped open and shut in biting motions, as though attempting to 
frighten him off. The young lad's face twisted in anger, and he lifted his sword and 
brought it down on the vampire's throat, severing the head entirely. The warrior 
then kicked the head away in a fit of rage. It smashed against the wall of the gates 
and burst apart as though it had been a pear instead of a head.   

"Did you really think a full soul could be yours in exchange for all of this blood?" 
Frederik asked the vampire at his feet.   
The golden eyes widened, but no other part of his body twitched. "I was promised!"   
"Which means Zadkiel has already lost control," Michael said, staring down at him 
with contempt.     
"He never had control," said Frederik. "Not if all he used to begin with was a 
promise." He scanned the bloody courtyard where only a few warriors remained 
alive, or, at best, standing. Once the small group of vampires had vanished, the 
remaining men were left to pick themselves, and their wounded, up. Pained moans 
filled the night. "He sent those bastards to kill us all."   
"I was thirsty!" The vampire moaned. "I've had nothing to drink for years! Ever since 
being sent to Hell!"   
Frederik winced at that. One of the legends of the torture inflicted upon a half-souled 
vampire in Hell involved entrapment inside a small cave, a bleeding pig sitting an 
arm's reach away. But whenever the vampire went near it, it scurried away, spilling 
not a drop of blood to be licked up, always too quick to be captured.   
This, of course, was a tale told to young Belial vampires to frighten them into living 
good, decent lives. Never steal, never turn mortals into vampires, and most 
importantly, never kill the innocent. Whether it was actually true or not, no one 
could ever say for certain.   
Yet this vampire, who claimed starvation and the promise of freedom from Hell, 
made Frederik believe the story perhaps held some accuracy.   

Jo pulled his sword from its sheath. He lifted it and fell upon the vampire, stabbing 
him between the eyes, snuffing out his borrowed life forever. Not a beheading, but it 
worked just as well.   
Frederik stared at him, shocked.   
Jo's expression was grim. "There was no salvation for him. Not with his body so 
useless as that."   
Frederik put his hand on Jo's shoulder. Jo reached up as if to touch that offered hand, 
but he shrugged it off and walked away toward the center of the courtyard, instead.     
He raised his head toward the sky. "Zadkiel!" Jo bellowed, an anger in his voice 
Frederik had never before heard. Not even when he accused Frederik of murder. 
"Show yerself!"   
"Jophiel," Michael said, attempting to calm him this time.   
Jo pushed Michael away with both hands and continued to scream at the sky. "Zad, 
come down here now!"   
Michael went back to him. "Jophiel, calm yerself."   
"Nay!" Jo shoved Michael again. The angel stiffened and popped his jaw. For the first 
time since Frederik saw him, he looked like he was struggling for patience.   
"Zadkiel needs to answer for this. He is a traitor. We are protectors, not killers," Jo 
said.   
"'Tis easy for ye to say such things."   
Everyone looked up. Zadkiel stood upon one of the poles of the wooden battlements, 
now empty. The angel spread his wings. They were dark even in the torchlight. 
Frederik squinted at them. No. Not a trick of the shadows and torches. Zadkiel's 
wings were no longer white; they were now as black as the crows the angel had sent 
at him the first day Jo broke his agreement with Heaven.   
Zadkiel leapt from his perch. One injured man barely managed to pull himself out of 
the way as Zadkiel landed in a crouch, the ground quaking under his weight.     
Jo unsheathed his sword and marched toward him. "I will take your head."   

Frederik's insides transformed to ice.   
"Jophiel, halt!" Michael roared.   
To Frederik's relief, Jo did as Michael ordered. Years—or centuries, rather—of 
following commands had stuck with Jo despite his time on Earth.   
"Nay!" Zadkiel said, his blue eyes melting into a copper -red, the same color they had 
been the last time he and Jo escaped from him. In fact, twin lumps were forming on 
his forehead. One on each side above his eyes and just beneath his golden hairline. 
They were a bright pink and had the look of an infection.   
Horns, Frederik realized. Horns were sprouting from his skull, stretching the skin 
and attempting to break through.   
"Had Jophiel followed his orders, this would not be happening to anyone."   
Frederik blinked. Zadkiel was speaking to him. The angel—demon—thing—was 
listening to his thoughts.   
Frederik spun on Michael with a glare. "How many more of you can listen to our 
thoughts?"   
"Only me," he said. "Zadkiel, what have you done?"   
"He is a demon," Jo said.   
MacNiel growled, pulled Amelia behind him, and readied his sword at those words, 
as though expecting Zadkiel to charge at any second. Michael sighed and closed his 
eyes.   
Frederik had not known demons could hear the thoughts of others. Perhaps it was 
only some demons that could do such things, as Michael could only do it amongst 
the angels.   
Zadkiel's eyes glowed brighter, the red completely consuming the whites of them 
now, and he bared his teeth, some of which had been transformed into fangs. "Do. 
Not. Call. Me. That!" Hot steam flowed from his eyes, ears, and mouth. "I am a 
servant of Heaven. Not those creatures in Hell."   

"Zadkiel, look at what ye have done." Jo waved his arm around the carnage of the 
courtyard, as though Zadkiel had somehow overlooked it. "Ye sold yer soul. 
Endangered innocents and killed others."   
"I have not sold my soul. I have killed no one!" Zadkiel shrieked. Then his once 
proud and straight back folded. "I . . . I promised to aid the vampires in gaining full 
souls and escaping from Hell if they claimed him." He nodded toward Frederik, yet 
did not bother looking at him as though he bore no true significance. "They were not 
meant to do . . . all of this."   
Zadkiel's head lazily tilted around so that he might see the death at his feet. He 
quickly shut his eyes against it and raised his thick hand to his face, shielding his 
eyes and his nose.   
It was hardly the normal hand of an angel. Claws were growing there, jutting out 
like spikes where his fingernails should have been. Deep, red boils marred the skin of 
his arms. Hair—black, uneven, and as stringy as MacNiel's beard—jutted out at odd 
angles on his knuckles, from inside the boils, and even on his palms.   
His skin looked like the flesh of mischief demons.   
Raven-black wings, fangs, and red boils.   
"Every demon you summon becomes a part of you," said Frederik. Which meant that 
the angel was losing, or had already lost, his angelic gifts.   
Jo went closer. Frederik stepped forth to stop him, but Michael's hand on his 
shoulder held him back. The angel’s grip was tight, stronger than even the golden 
chain Jo had once put around his neck. He received the message clearly.   
Do not move.   
Jo halted before his friend. Their armor was the same, but their bodies now entirely 
different. Jo pulled the devilish hand from Zadkiel's face. The demon was weeping 
quietly. Despite his grossly disturbing appearance, his tears were still clear and pure. 
Jo shook his head at the creature and promptly turned his back on him   

The rejection only caused Zadkiel's cries to become louder, more childlike. Apologies 
spilled from his throat, but Jo did not halt until he stood next to his commander.   
"What are we to do with him now?"   
"Question him. If he's able, we can have him send back the vampires." Michael 
released Frederik's shoulder.   
Michael went to Zadkiel, hesitated, and then put his hand on his hunched back. The 
former angel winced at this and looked up at him.   
"Why did ye do this to yerself, Zad?" Michael asked.   
Zadkiel turned his red eyes accusingly to Frederik, as though he had been the one 
who brought such a monstrous condition onto the former angel.   
"Jophiel was made a fool by that creature. Laughed at in Heaven for fornicating with 
a Hellspawn."   
Frederik hissed at him.   
Jo did not appear to notice their exchanged looks of hate. "If such is the truth, it does 
not matter."   
"Of course, it matters! The story was passed around many times. Disgusting things 
said, things I cannot repeat."   
Frederik clenched his fists, torn between needing to know what had been said and 
never wanting to hear of it.   
"I wanted my brother back!" Zadkiel spat. "Ye may have been content to sit in the 
clouds listening as they tortured his memory while he starved on earth, but I was 
not!" By the end of his shouting, Zadkiel was advancing upon Michael. "Ye have seen 
his face, ye have seen what this mortal existence has done to him."   
"Michael healed my wounds, Zad," Jo said.   
"Yer own body should have done that for ye!"   
"My understanding is that those wounds were brought on by the little minions ye 
sent after them. As for being mortal, 'twas his decision. He wanted free will, and he 
gained it." Michael folded his arms.   

"Because ye allowed it!" Zadkiel stood close to Michael now. He pointed his finger in 
Michael's face as he shouted his defense. "He saved ye from that demon, and ye let 
him rot down here."   
MacNiel sputtered in displeasure. His chest puffed in and out at the insult to his 
home world. Amelia's calming hand on his chest was likely all that kept him from 
lashing out.   
"Nay, Zad," Jo said, speaking calmly despite the energy and heat emitting from his 
friends. "Michael is correct. Until I cut away my wings, I was able to return home 
whenever I chose, but I did not. I made a mistake, and I lived with it."   
Frederik winced at hearing Jo call him a mistake.   
Jo continued to plead with Zadkiel. "I will not kill him, Zadkiel. Enough damage has 
been done. Return yer army to Hell."   
Zadkiel hid his face in his boil-encrusted hand again. "I cannot. I have tried. They 
were never meant to do this. They will not listen to me."   
"And I'll be a horse's ass!" MacNiel roared, having had enough. He lifted his sword, 
ready to bring it down. Michael unsheathed his own fiery blade, but halted the 
Scotsman with only a look.   
MacNiel sputtered. "He speaks lies! Kill him!"   
"No," Frederik said, shocking those around him. He stepped forward, ignoring 
Michael's glare, and Zadkiel's indignant, snake-like hiss. But then the demon rushed 
forth, putting himself directly between Frederik and Jo.   
Frederik could hardly believe it. The damned idiot believed he was protecting Jo 
from him. Him.   
"I was not the one to attack him, nor send mischief demons and vampires at him." 
Frederik could barely hold his calm.   
"They were not for him, fool. They were for ye."   
"And yet, he bore the marks of their attack. He was also attacked by your vampires 
just now, and, if memory serves, he fought you as well."   

Zadkiel's eyes glowed a darker shade of red. Darker than blood. His fists clenched 
and his nails became longer, a violet liquid dripping from their pointed ends.   
Poison. Naturally.   
"You said you did not sell your soul," Frederik continued quickly. They were, after 
all, on a time limit. There was no telling if or when those crazed vampires would 
return, or where they would go. "Visual evidence points to the contrary."   
"Aye," Jo said, coming around Zadkiel so that now he was standing between him and 
Frederik. "How did ye become this way, Zadkiel?"   
The demon stared at his friend and brother for a long moment, and then his chest 
heaved in a great breath. "I made a bargain, but I did not sell my soul."   
"What did ye sell?" Jo asked.   
Zadkiel finally looked back at Frederik. "His."   
A loud screech echoed in the black sky.   
   
Chapter Fourteen   
   
Despite the shock of Zad's revelation, Jo looked up toward the horrific sound, but all 
he could see was black and darkness. 'Twas as if the stars had gone into hiding to 
avoid looking at the bloody scene splayed out beneath them. MacNiel's warriors, the 
ones who were still able-bodied, took up their swords again, also watching the sky 
and not willing to be taken by surprise again. The vampires, it seemed, were opting 
to return for more food instead of immediately running out into the world.   
"You sold . . . my soul?" Frederik asked. "Mine?"   
"Aye."   
Jo forced his eyes away from the sky. He stared at Zad, his best friend, and felt no 
shock within him at the revelation.   
This time, Amelia's battle shriek was the one to slice the air. She rushed to Zadkiel, 
fangs and claws ready to tear him into pieces, and, even with MacNiel's heavy 
weight attempting to pull her back, his heels creating long scratches in the dirt, she 
still made steady progress toward him. "You monster. How could you do such a 
thing?"   

Zadkiel puffed his chest out and folded his arms. "The irony of being called a 
monster, by a monster."   
Frederik had to aid MacNiel quickly in keeping his sister in line as the comment 
threw her into a rage. She only settled and ceased to struggle after it became 
apparent she could not overpower her brother.   
Frederik was still reluctant to release her.   
Jo struggled to make sense of it all. "Ye sold a soul that does not belong to ye. How is 
that possible?"   
Michael had not moved to assist MacNiel or Frederik as they subdued Amelia. His 
hand remained on his sword and his eyes in the sky. "There is more than one way to 
strike a bargain with Lucifer, Jo." Michael rubbed his eyes. "He must have promised 
to deliver Frederik's half soul to Lucifer with the offer of his own in exchange, should 
he fail. All this for the ability to summon demons and lost souls."   
Disappointment filled Jo like liquid in a jug. Every word spoken only seemed to 
lower Zad more and more.   
"Jo, please, 'twas only to help ye return home." Zad put his hand on Jo's shoulder. 
"Not any of this was meant to happen."   
Jo took his hand and removed it. "I want to hear nothing ye have to say."   
"But I had only tried—"   
"Not a word of it," Jo said, glaring this time.   
Zad backed away, taking the hint.   
'Twas awkwardly silent for some seconds until Frederik, slowly stepping away from 
his sister, approached and stretched out his hand. "Jo, give me your sword."   
Jo's fingers instinctively wrapped around the hilt of his weapon. "No,"   
"Do not give it to him!" Zadkiel screamed. He made to lunge forward, but Michael 
wrapped his arms around him before he could attack. He threw his friend to the 
ground and pinned him down with a foot to his back and the tip of his sword sitting 
beside Zad's neck. "Be silent."   

Zad sputtered a protest. "He needs to kill him. He cannot return unless he kills him."   
Michael put enough pressure into the sword that it pierced the flesh of Zad's throat. 
Just enough to frighten and draw blood. The blood was no longer red, but a lighter 
color. Nearly pink. At the sight of it, Zad inhaled a shocked breath and closed his 
mouth.   
"Ye have caused enough damage," Michael said.   
Jo turned away from the scene. He could no longer look at the angel whom he once 
considered a friend. "Why do ye ask for my sword? I will need it."   
Frederik closed his hand and lowered it to his side, as though only just recalling the 
evil horde of vampires still waiting for them to lower their guard. As if to remind 
him further, wicked laughter sounded just beyond the walls, loud and bold with the 
entertainment of their fresh kills and full bellies.   
Frederik would not give in. "Michael told me it was not you, but the sword itself, that 
needed to kill me to send you back."   
Jophiel finally understood, and his chest seized up. "If I kill ye, the vampires . . . ." He 
trailed off, aware of the amount of still able-bodied soldiers who gathered to stare at 
the creature who brought such a nightmare onto them. Every man had his hand on 
their weapon, and all appeared to be struggling against an urge to attack Zad right 
then and there.   
If Jo said aloud that the vampires would return to Hell if Jo killed Frederik with the 
sword he held, there could easily be a riot.   
"Zadkiel will become an angel once more." That much was also true, at any rate.   
Frederik growled and threw Zad a resounding glare. "Yes. As will you."   
He would not allow it. "I will not touch ye, Frederik. Even to gain my wings back. Ye 
have my word."   
"I do not trust your word. Give me your sword."   

"And how am I to fight?" Jo snapped, anger coursing through him, hot and violent in 
his blood. "What am I to do whilst all of ye fight for yer lives?"   
Michael answered this question. "Take Zadkiel inside and guard him. He is to face 
the Council and be charged for his actions." Michael’s sword was still placed 
precariously at Zad's neck, blood beading down his flesh.   
"Have one of the mortals guard him! I am a warrior. I am trained to battle this kind 
of menace."   
Michael's eyes snapped to him, hard and angry.   
Jo straightened. "Apologies, sir,"   
Michael nodded. "Ye are a warrior, aye, but ye are trained to fight with yer wings, a 
fiery blade, and a strength that mere mortals cannot dream to possess. Ye have none 
of those to aid ye now, and it has been five years since ye have gone to battle." 
Michael's eyes went down to the new wound on Jo's leg, as if silently confirming his 
words.   
Jo bit his lips together to keep the protest from spouting forth.   
"Zadkiel has no angelic strength with which to fight ye, and the battle will end before 
he can regain anymore vampire qualities. Ye shall have my own blade in exchange. 
'Tis lighter and will serve ye better. Ye can defend the women with it should any of 
these villains make it passed our defenses."   
"Your presence will do more harm than good, Jo." 'Twas Frederik who spoke this 
time. He put his hand on Jo's shoulder, as though such a thing would ease the sting 
of being cast out of battle like a helpless child. "Having to watch over you will be a 
distraction to myself and to Michael. Zadkiel is your friend. He will not fight you like 
he will others, and he will be safer with you than them. Please, Jo."   
Jo shrugged off Frederik's hand and pushed his sword at him. "Take it then." 
Frederik barely caught the golden handle before it fell to the ground.   
Michael released Zadkiel just as Jo reached down and grabbed him, taking his 
former friend as his prisoner. Michael held out his sword, and Jo took it, its fire 
extinguishing itself in his grip. 'Twas a dark reminder of his mortality, and his 
uselessness in Michael's, and Frederik's, eyes.   

Still, 'twas indeed lighter in his hand. No doubt he could cut rain drops with it, and 
Zadkiel made no protest as Jo led him back to the keep. Little comfort.   
"There is a pit that can be made useful for him in the kitchens," MacNiel said to their 
backs. "See to it he's comfortable within it."   
Jo banged on the heavy doors with his fist and the maidens inside allowed him 
entrance. They gasped and cowered at the sight of Zadkiel, stepping away from the 
pair as they passed, but Jo paid them no heed as he pushed Zad along.   
"Jo, ye cannot do this. He needs to die." His former brother was pleading, but Jo 
barely heard a word. He felt like a coward leaving his fellow warriors behind.   
He found the pit. 'Twas little more than a hole in the ground, one which Zadkiel 
would have to sit in, his knees folded to his chest, in order to fit.     
Because he did not trust Zadkiel enough to turn his back on him, he had him go 
down in it himself and search around for the chains he required.   
Zadkiel pulled them out, still protesting as Jo shackled him. "Brother, I can aid you. 
That vampire is out there, and, so long as he lives, this threat will continue."   
"Because of ye." Jo found a stool and sat across from the pit, watching Zad as he 
pouted in the hole. Jo glared with equal ferocity whilst Michael's sword rested on his 
knees. He listened patiently for the screams outside to come. He could ignore the 
battle cries, as he was not to participate, but the screams of pain . . . .   
Nay, do not dwell on it. He had a new mission now.   
   
* * * * *   
   
The hilt of the sword still held warmth from Jo's hands. The blade itself was heavy, 
solid, and sharp. A fit weapon for the removal of his head. Frederik doubted he 
would feel a thing.   

"Brother," Amelia said, pulling his thoughts away from the blade. "What are we to 
do?"   
MacNiel stood in silence next to his wife, as though he too would welcome a 
suggestion. His remaining men, even those who had been injured in battle and 
finally regained their sight, crowded around them in a show of brave loyalty.   
'Twas touching. Frederik only wished he had a plan to give to them. The only plan 
he had at the moment was to not allow Michael to take his head in front of his sister. 
Jo would be spared from such a thing. He wanted the same for Amelia.   
For the first time, he was thankful Michael had the ability to look into his thoughts.   
Michael wrapped his hand around the sword's handle and gently pulled it from 
Frederik's grasp. Frederik glared at him, but released the weapon to him regardless. 
Michael faced the hopeful army. The blade burst into an orange flame in Michael's 
hand, as it had not done in Jo’s.   
Instinctively, Frederik took a step back.   
"Lord Grimm and I shall attack on the front lines, thin out the crowd. From what I 
have seen, and the number of vampire bodies littered around, there are fewer than a 
dozen remaining. They shall not take us by surprise again. Grimm and I will destroy 
as many as we can. The few who breach our defenses shall be yers to return to the 
fires of Hell."   
Ah, so this was his plan. It seemed the most logical one as well, as far as ensuring 
Michael would not have to behead him in front of his beloved sister.   
The warriors around MacNiel seemed pleased with Michael's design, their faith in 
his fighting skills no doubt brought on by the strong and glorious wings on his back. 
But Laird and Lady MacNiel chewed their lips thoughtfully.   
"A fool's plan," Amelia finally said. "We should stay together."   
"Aye," MacNiel said, clasping Frederik's shoulder. "Stay with us. Together we can 
send all of them weeping back to the pits they came from." MacNiel lifted his sword, 
an eager look upon his face, ready to fight again now that blindness would not 
impede him.   

"My dear," Amelia spoke sweetly. "I meant I should stay together with them. Two 
vampires are indeed better than one and an angel." She eyed Michael with shrewd 
distrust as he held onto Jo's sword.   
MacNiel's face blanched, and he quietly lowered his sword. Then his pale visage 
turned red as he bellowed down at his wife. "You can damned well get that thought 
out of your head! I dinna think sending you out there to battle for me is—"   
Frederik quickly interrupted him. "MacNiel is correct, Amelia. You should be 
keeping shelter in the keep with the rest of the women, not out here ready to fight 
with warriors."   
"Aye," MacNiel said, forgetting whatever else he had been about to say. He pointed a 
heavy finger toward the doors that Jo had disappeared behind moments prior. "Get 
inside, as agreed."   
"As you agreed," Amelia said, her voice hard as she glared at her husband. "I have as 
much strength as any warrior here. Perhaps more."   
MacNiel's men did not enjoy hearing such a thing. They shifted around, muttering 
amongst themselves at what they no doubt perceived as an insult. The couple had 
been wed long enough for MacNiel’s men to have grown used to the fact that 
MacNiel had taken a vampire bride, but not that she would enjoy fighting at their 
side, it seemed.   
"There is no time for this," Michael said, grabbing Frederik's arm and pulling him 
toward the gate. "Settle the matter amongst yerselves. We go."   
Frederik allowed himself to be taken, the nerves in his body tightening as he was led 
away from the relative safety of the keep. As they went, Amelia shouted threats to 
Michael should anything happen to her brother.   
"Open the gates!" MacNiel called for them as they came upon the walls.   
"Nay!" Michael shouted over his shoulder. "We shall find our own way out. Do not 
give them more openings than they already have."   

Frederik understood that. The vampires could still get in if they chose, without using 
the gate. They could leap clear over the walls. But if MacNiel and Amelia had only 
the sky to look to for the coming attack, and not any other direction, it would be far 
easier to defend themselves.   
Michael spread his wings, bent his knees, and hurled himself into the sky, 
disappearing into the darkness. Frederik glanced one last time at his sister, who, for 
all her husband's protesting, could not be convinced to hide away in the keep. 
Frederik had to satisfy himself with looking at the keep where Jo was, instead of 
taking a last look at the man himself.   
He had no wings, but he was certainly capable of leaping over the wall. He bent his 
knees and launched himself high, arching over the battlements, and landing on his 
feet on the other side.   
It was colder on this side—he felt the chill through his clothing immediately. It was 
darker as well, but he welcomed that. Torches lit by the warriors prior to nightfall 
had been knocked over and snuffed out by their vampire enemy—recently, to tell by 
the wisps of smoke still curling from their dead ends. Frederik was childishly 
pleased with the sight of the blackened embers.   
A laugh sounded in the distant trees, echoing. More laughter, a different pitch and 
sound came from his right—from a woman this time, and then again from his left—a 
male. They were all around him.   
"They are watching us," Michael said.   
Frederik's heart beat like a heavy drum. He had not noticed the angel directly in 
front of him until he spoke. He must have just landed.   
"We should get this over with quickly," Michael said, drawing Jo's sword. The blade 
loyally burst into flame once more. Frederik tried not to wince at it. He had to tense 
the muscles in his legs to keep from stepping away from it.   
"I suppose we should," he muttered.   
"Ye must know that, due to Zad's bargain, if I kill ye now, Hell is the only realm that 
will welcome ye."   

Frederik spoke through gritted teeth and fangs. "I am aware." If he was to spend time 
in Hell being tortured and ripped apart again and again, perhaps then he would 
truly atone for his sins. There was that bit of good news.   
Bloody hell.   
"There can be no promises I can free ye from it quickly either. Or ever."   
"I know."   
Michael shrugged. "Very well. Kneel."   
Frederik glared at him. "You mean to do it here?"   
"'Tis as good as any place," Another laugh sounded, and a bush close by rattled. 
"Nay, actually, 'tis better if ye do not wish to go through them first."   
Frederik caught sight of glowing eyes watching him through the dark bush. A body 
came into view next. More followed. Many more of all sizes and from different eras. 
They moved slowly, surrounding the pair, as though they had all the time in the 
world. Michael had been wrong earlier. There were well more than a dozen here, all 
of them eager to tear into their flesh.   
He and one angel could destroy many of them on their own now that they could not 
use their tricks, but they could not kill all of them. Even one who could attack Amelia 
or Jo was too many.   
It galled him to have to get to his knees in the damp muck before this man—his 
breeches had just been cleaned and mended—but he did it. "Be quick about it," he 
muttered, bending his head.   
Michael lifted the sword, the light from the flame spreading out farther. The 
vampires circling around them hissed at it.   
"Heaven forgive ye."   
A single vampire, braving the holy fire of Michael's sword, barreled from out of the 
safety of the trees with a demonic shriek, grabbed the arch of his wing and threw 
him to the ground. Baring his fangs, the vampire lunged in for the killing bite just as 
Michael lifted Jo's sword, impaling the creature through its open mouth.   

The pointed end of the blade appeared on the other side of the dark head, and the 
body went still, twitching as it slid further down the steel until it rested fully on 
Michael. The vampire stared wide eyed at Michael, shocked while blood spilled from 
his gaping mouth like a stream down Michael's arm.   
The other vampires took it as their opportunity to strike. Bird-like war cries sounded 
as they leapt into the field. Michael only just managed to throw off the body above 
him and do a quick kick-up before the vampires descended upon him. Fiery sword 
or not, they were after his blood, and he could hardly keep them at bay with his 
weapon alone.   
Frederik bared his claws and fangs and went on the defense. He tore one female 
vampire from Michael's back and kicked another's head in as he was about to sink 
his fangs into Michael's exposed calf. Damn the angel's ridiculous footwear!   
One of the vampires wore a French costume and appeared to be in full winter garb 
from the length and thickness of the cloak. Frederik grabbed it and, using the 
creature's weight against him, flung the vampire across the dark expanse of the field. 
He did the same to the others, all dressed in different fashions, dislodging shoes and 
wigs and hats as he did so.   
Michael crouched and lunged with his sword as he was no longer being held down 
by so many hungry bodies. He used the sword masterfully, slicing the arm from one 
more female vampire in an evening gown before beheading her as she fell to her 
knees and screamed. He spun around, dodging other attacks whilst delivering his 
own.   
Frederik opened his mouth to command Michael drop the sword and fight hand to 
hand. Despite their initial bravery, few were still too unwilling to allow Michael near 
them so long as the fire burned. But then, as the Hellish vampires retreated from the 
fiery sword, Michael bellowed a war cry and charged at Frederik.   
   
* * * * *   
   

Jo's eyes missed nothing as Zadkiel's head suddenly jerked up. His lips twitched and 
his eyes brightened before he became serious once more. He bent his head, becoming 
smaller once again as he hunched in the pit with his shackles. A farce. Jo had seen his 
change.   
"What is it?" He demanded, straining his ears to better detect whatever sound Zad's 
ghoulish hearing had caught. He could hear nothing but the crying of the women in 
the next chamber. His mortal hearing would go no farther than that.   
Zad shook his head, refusing to lift it. Jo thought he attempted to hide a smile. 
Attempted and failed.   
"Naught is the matter, brother."   
Jo gripped Michael's blade, a general's weapon, tighter. He considered bashing Zad's 
head in with the hilt and bloodying the wings molded into the metal. He could cause 
just as much damage with this sword as he would his own.   
That thought stalled his blood, and images of punishing Zad flew from his mind like 
dust in the wind. Jo shot up from his seat, knocking over his stool as he ran out of the 
kitchens. Zadkiel called after him.   
   
* * * * *   
   
Frederik remained still, frozen with fear and duty as Michael charged him, yet just as 
he lifted his blade for the killing swing, another vampire tackled Frederik by his legs, 
pulling him down as the blade slivered across the flesh of his neck. There was a small 
flash of pain, but he was still able to breathe and felt no blood trickling down his 
flesh. Little more than a scratch.   
  The vampire straddled him with quickness and deadly grace and had him pinned 
before he could put up his defense.   
As its jaws opened and its long teeth came down, Frederik struck out his hand. He 
intended to grab the vampire's pale face, halt the coming bite, and push him off, yet 
his palm became trapped within those teeth instead. The mad vampire bit down as 
Frederik's thumb went into its mouth.   

He roared as the flesh broke. Droplets of his own blood spilled from the vampire's 
lips and fell in Frederik's eyes.   
"Michael!" he screamed, struggling to free his hand without taking it off. "Bloody 
hurry along with it!"   
But then he was able to see, even for only the split seconds his eyes were away from 
his attacker above him, what was causing Michael's delay. The last of the vampires 
had decided to abandon their attempts to kill Michael and Frederik. They leapt for 
MacNiel's walls, attempting to re-enter his courtyard. Michael held them off 
wherever he could, but too many passed him whilst he busied himself with 
removing the heads of the others. They braved the fire of Michael's sword, some 
bypassing him altogether as he was distracted by beheading others. They jumped 
clear over the gates and landed within the courtyard with the ease of leaping fleas. 
Shouts of battle and charging men sounded on the other side. His sister would be 
charging along with them.   
"No!" Frederik launched his free fist high, cracking hard on the jaw of the vampire 
above him, knocking it loose and the head back. Unfortunately, his teeth did not 
release the flesh of Frederik's hand, and large pieces of it went with the broken jaw.   
No limbs were lost, but he could now see the bones of his hand in some places. He 
felt no pain. Only a burning desire that thrummed through his body and 
commanded his attention above everything else.   
More screams and shouts from the other side of the wall. Frederik stood and had to 
fight the urge to run to them. A furious mixture of the vampires' death screams and 
the warriors' war cries. The scent of blood hung thickly in the air, both undead and 
living. Frederik could not tell who was winning the fight.   
He could not take the risk that it was not his side. "Michael! I am ready."   
Michael had turned as though he was about to leap after the vampires who had 
managed to pass him, but stopped at the sound of Frederik's voice. Michael 
advanced upon Frederik once more, flicking his blade, ready. "No more of this."   

Frederik could not agree more. At least, now, there would be no distractions.   
But then Jo's voice rose above it all. "Open the gates! Open the gates!"   
Frederik's eyes flew wide. What the devil was he—?   
A heavy force, like that of a horse’s charge, knocked into him, throwing him from his 
feet. He landed on his back and looked up as Michael stood above him, sword in 
hand. The point of the fire blade came unbearably close to his neck. He could feel the 
skin peeling, smell the burning of his own flesh.   
Frederik hissed up at him. The angel hardly needed to be so rough.   
Jo's voice sounded in his ears again. "Open the gates, damn you! Open the gates!"   
The moan of heavy bolts being pulled aside groaned into the night.   
Frederik glared at him. "He will see my body."   
Michael lifted the sword, and, now, at least, Frederik had some relief from the fire 
licking at his skin. "There is no time to move ye again."   
"Then be quick about it. I do not wish him to see me killed if he must see me without 
a head."   
Michael's wings spread as both of his hands gripped the handle of Jo's sword, the 
muscles of his arms tight and bulging with the strain of what he was about to do.   
"I will see ye in Limbo, I promise ye." The blade sang as it came down on his neck. 
For a bird's breath of a second, Frederik’s body grew hot with the fire of it. Then 
there was nothing but blackness and peace.   
His peace was short-lived. Within moments, his entire body lit up from the flames of 
Hell. Everything was on fire. Flesh, stomach, mouth, tongue, eyes. All that existed in 
his world was the sound of his own screams.   
   
Chapter Fifteen   
   
The gates opened at a slug's pace despite Jo's screams for the men to move faster and 
push harder against them. In the brief fog created by some of the vampires, all of 
whom were either dead or in bits across the courtyard, the wooden gates became stiff 
and stubborn, but with Jo's added strength, they opened slowly, very slowly. More 
men came to assist him, pushing against the doors and each other. Jo felt a weight at 
his back, an odd sensation. He assumed it was the force of one of the other men 
pushing against him.   

Through the widening crack, he made out the still form of Frederik's legs first. Fear 
froze his insides as hope still flickered within him. Hope that he could save Frederik. 
Then he saw Michael standing above his lover.   
He squeezed through the doors, his body clumsy and heavy. "Michael! Do not—"   
He halted and exhaled all the air from his lungs before stumbling to his knees and 
falling on his hands. His sword was impaled into the ground, the blade coated in 
blood that produced snaking trails of steam on the hot steel. Most horrific of all, 
Frederik's head was detached from his body. 'Twas being held gently by the cheeks 
in Michael's large hands.   
The weight was still at his back, Jo realized. Now he knew what it was. 'Twas his 
wings that weighed him down and made him clumsy. When he first removed them, 
he had to learn how to walk again without them. He felt nearly the same 
awkwardness now that they had been returned, heavy on his back. He continued the 
inventory of his body. Indeed, there was also a noticeable emptiness between his legs 
that proved this was no spell of the mind. His transformation from mortal to angel 
was complete.   
He'd thought to punish himself that day he cut off his wings, but, nay, this was the 
true punishment. His lover murdered and his cock cut off. Never mind that he had 
his wings again. His speed, strength, and healing abilities. He had grown used to 
living without them. He would give them again and forever if it meant he could turn 
back time by one minute. He would be swifter with his feet, stronger with the gate. 
'Twas too late now.   
The night had turned quiet. Those vampires not yet sent back to Hell with his blade, 
or even by MacNiel or one of his men, had been forcefully returned with Frederik's 
beheading. By Jo's sword.   

Michael's face twisted in pain when his eyes landed on Jo. He set the head down next 
to the body with a tender care, as though Frederik would mind how gently his 
carcass was treated now that his soul was in Hell.   
"Jophiel, I am deeply—"   
Jo screamed a battle cry that tested his lungs as he charged at Michael. He tackled the 
other angel with all of his strength and tumbled with him to the ground. His fists 
came down upon him in quick succession. Left, right, left, right, right, left. Upon his 
jaw, his nose, cheeks and eyes, but most especially his nose. He wanted to break it 
into his skull! Turn it inside out.   
Jo felt no pain in his knuckles. More satisfying still, the skin on Michael's perfect face 
was breaking and bleeding under the abuse. But 'twas only because Jo had his former 
strength once more.   
It had been returned by Frederik's murder.   
He grabbed Michael's red sash and pulled him up so their noses nearly touched. His 
vision of the older angel blurred as rain pattered down on his face. "I will kill ye." He 
snarled. "Then I will follow ye to Heaven to do it again and again."   
"'Twould not bring him back." Michael rasped through the blood in his mouth and 
lips. He spat out a tooth. Jophiel wanted to punch the rest of them out before they 
grew back. Already the bruises and splits on Michael’s face were mending. That 
enraged Jo all the more.   
A scream sounded behind him. Jo spun away, thinking in a panic that not all the 
vampires were vanquished.   
Instead, he watched as Amelia, Frederik's only blood, fell to her knees before her 
brother's body, her trembling hands reaching for him before she put her face onto his 
chest and began sobbing openly. Hardly the controlled weeping of a heartless 
creature. Looking at her, no one could doubt her love for her brother. Not even the 
angels who turned their noses up at vampires. He hoped they were watching. Prayed 
they could see the pain they had caused.   

MacNiel knelt behind her, large bear hands on her small shoulders as she wailed. 
Those of his warriors still alive were either tending to their dead or too wounded to 
pay much heed to their lady sobbing over one more.   
Jo could not look at her, not after he foolishly gave his sword over to Michael. Yet he 
had nothing else to look at except for Michael.   
The angel beneath him took calm, even breaths, as though he had not just received a 
thrashing without so much as defending himself.   
Jo wanted to destroy him. Wanted to take Michael's head for daring to take 
Frederik's. He wanted to beat the angel with his fists and have him fight back.   
But Michael was correct. Such actions would not bring Frederik back from where he 
had gone.   
"Ye are my brother no longer," Jo said. He released Michael's head, allowing it to 
smack the hard earth beneath him before he stood and walked away from him.   
Amelia did not appear ready to release her brother's body. Jo doubted he could do so 
much as take solace in holding onto Frederik's hand while she wept so loudly on top 
of him.   
He did not regret it, however. He could not bear the thought of being anywhere near 
Frederik whilst his head was not on his shoulders.   
He wiped the moisture from his cheeks. Only then did he realize 'twas not raining, 
and Jo pressed his fists to his eyes to prevent any more tears. His chest ached and 
throbbed. He could not be there.   
Jo spread his wings. They opened smoothly as though he had never lost them, like a 
fist long clenched and tight becoming pliant again. But he could never enjoy them.   
He jumped into the sky, letting the wind catch him, flying up and up and up. The 
strong muscles beneath the feathers carried him as though he were weightless.   
* * * * *   

Michael watched Jophiel's form disappear with no satisfaction in him. No joy at 
watching his brother take flight after years of being grounded like a crippled bird. 
He got to his feet, wiped the blood on his lips onto his arm, and spat it from his 
mouth.   
MacNiel was in front of him before he could take a step.   
  "What happened?" he demanded in that thick voice of his. "Why is he dead?"     
The Scotsman did not appear pleased as he pointed toward the body his wife 
continued to weep and wail over. In fact, MacNiel knew how he had died. 'Twas 
obvious to the human that Michael had done the deed. He was confused about the 
reason for it all.   
Michael anticipated this. MacNiel loved his lady. If Michael's actions against her 
brother brought her such distress, then MacNiel meant to remedy that. But there was 
no quick explanation he could give that either of them would understand. Michael 
still had his mission. He walked around the irritated Scotsman, took hold of Jo's 
sword still spiked into the earth, sheathed it just as it burst into flames, and then 
moved toward the wooden gates of the keep.   
MacNiel bellowed after him. "I damned well asked you a question!"   
"I do not answer to mortals," Michael said.   
At the sound of their master's displeasured voice, several of the warriors still capable 
of battle stepped into his path, swords at the ready, though none appeared confident 
as they stood before him.   
Michael spread his wings and brought them forth, a gush of wind blasting from 
them, knocking the men from their feet. None were harmed, but all knew better than 
to get up and challenge him again as he calmly strode by. One man signed the cross 
over himself as Michael passed.   
He was vaguely aware of MacNiel attempting to comfort his wife as he crossed the 
small courtyard. The doors of the keep opened for him without so much as a touch 
from his hand. The women and little ones inside who had been cowering, huddled 
together for protection, stopped sniffling at the sight of him.   
He paid them no mind either.   

"Is it over?" one of the sewing maids asked bravely.   
"Aye," he said as he passed them by and made his way to the kitchens.   
More crying, this time of joy, as they embraced each other and laughed.   
Michael instinctively knew which way to go, and, again, the heavy oak door opened 
for him without his hand touching the iron handle.   
Zadkiel was still in chains, yet the boils on his skin had vanished, leaving the 
smooth, radiant flesh of an angel. The tiny horns protruding from his skull had 
melted away. His wings were once again white and beautiful instead of thin, black, 
and decrepit. No doubt the fangs were also gone.   
When Michael entered, Zad stood quickly and clasped both hands in front of him. 
They could not be held behind his back as the chains prevented that. He would be 
able to break them now, but he had stayed where he was, waiting.   
Michael gripped the handle of the sword with which he had killed Jo's lover.   
Zadkiel's eyes widened at that. "Are ye to kill me?"   
Michael shook his head. "Those are not my orders."   
Zadkiel's chest dropped with his relieved exhale. "Then, we are to return home?"   
"I shall return. Ye shall not."   
Zadkiel tensed, his eyes becoming wide with panic. "I—but I had thought—"   
Michael had run out of patience, but he felt too weakened, too disheartened from 
recent events—and actions—to express anything other than disappointment. "Ye 
turned yer back on our brothers, our laws. Sold yer soul."   
"I did it to save Jo," Zadkiel said. His posture was no longer calm and respectful, but 
clenched tight and frightened.   
"Ye disobeyed our Creator."   
Zadkiel flinched at that. "I have prayed for my forgiveness. Surely, He understands."   
"Surely," Michael agreed. "But ye are not a man. He will not forgive ye simply 
because ye asked for it."   

Zadkiel seemed to understand what his coming punishment was to be, and he 
stumbled back. The back of his knees caught in the pit, and he fell backwards onto 
his arse. He scrambled out and continued to back away from Michael and his sword 
until his armor clanged against the stone wall. He shook his head furiously. 
"Michael, no."   
Michael unsheathed the sword. The fire had cleaned away the blood, but it still felt 
heavy in his hand. "Consider yerself fortunate. When ye are a mortal, yer prayers 
will be heard, and ye shall be forgiven."   
"I do not want to be a mortal!" Zadkiel's wings quivered. They folded tightly behind 
his back, as though hiding from Michael's burning sword.   
Michael flicked the sword as he approached. "Ye have no choice."   
   
* * * * *   
   
Jo appeared in the cloud where he'd once lived for the first time in five long years. It 
was the natural place for him to be. When angels returned to the Heavens from 
Earthly duties, they were instinctively drawn to their clouds, their personal spaces 
for solitude after hard labor.   
Angels had not much use for decorative things the way the mortals did. The floors 
were always softer than any rug, the blue scenery more beautiful and full of color 
than any green field. The air was always fresh, and his bed, which was part of his 
cloud and made from the same light material, would offer more comfort than he 
could ever require.   
Though he knew naught could have changed, everything appeared different to his 
eyes. His cloud was smaller than he recalled. It was not as bright, and the air not as 
crisp. It felt cold, empty, and unwelcome. With a silent command, he ordered the 
walls to open for him. Instantly, they did, and he spread his wings and leapt out of 
his home.   
He flew toward the bright horizon, where the sun was always shining. The golden 
palace where his Creator lived and the Council made their decisions was situated 
within that sunshine, always moving with it, forever in the light.   

'Twas why demons, ghosts, and vampires had more power during the night. The 
Earth spun around the sun and not all of it could be bathed in the sun’s holy light 
during its full rotation.   
There was only one vampire he was concerned with at the moment, and, even as he 
felt the warmth of the sun and the eyes of his Creator on him as he flew closer and 
closer, he could not stop thinking of him, could not cease his worry over where 
Frederik could possibly be.   
Not Hell. Please not there.   
He had assumed 'twas Hell where Frederik would be sent once he saw the body, saw 
his head in Michael's hands. But his hope returned to him the closer he came to the 
holy palace. He clung to it like a child to a beloved toy, unwilling to relinquish it. No 
matter what Frederik had done, no matter what he was, his soul, half or not, was 
good. He had offered his aid to MacNiel after discovering the threat of the oncoming 
vampires. He took care of Jo when he fell wounded to Earth. He was capable of love 
and being loved and did not deserve to be thrown to Hell like some unfeeling 
demon.   
Jo tilted his body, bringing his feet down as he came in for a gentle landing on the 
gleaming, marble balcony. The saints and angels who spotted him ceased speaking 
to each other over their scrolls and other various tasks to stare.   
He paid them no heed as he marched past and entered the palace through the golden 
archway. Zadkiel had told him cruel words had been spoken.   
Jo put the thought away. There was only one place he wished to be. As Michael was 
not yet here to stop him, he was free to push open the tall, brightly shining, silver 
doors with the golden latches and trim to the Council's chamber.   
  "Where is he?"   
Jo had never been in this room. He had once glimpsed the inside when he had still 
been a soldier, long ago, once when Michael entered the room to speak with the 
entities within. He'd spotted bright lights around a tall fountain centered in the 
middle of the spacious room, the light catching in the water and reflecting many 
glowing colors.   

Naught had changed. As the doors closed, Jo noted 'twas as bright now as it was 
before. White walls caught the lights and made the glow catch in his eyes, partially 
blinding him to anything but what lay directly ahead.   
There were no angels or saints in here. No physical bodies anyway, and, with a mild 
shock, Jo realized what the dozen or so lights hovering around the fountain were. 
Spirits.   
There were no chairs for them to sit. The spirits seemed to possess no physical bodies 
to speak of. They glowed with the all the power and brightness of a pure white 
flame.   
The urge to get to one knee before them was great, but he locked his legs.   
"Jophiel, we have been expecting your visit."   
He blinked. "Ye have?"   
Though they had no bodies, and therefore no heads, the top quarter of them seemed 
to bend in what could have been an agreeing nod.   
Intentions could not easily be seen, but where else would Jo go after what had 
happened?   
He could not identify the speaker. The voice seemed to come from all around him. It 
sounded up close and far away at the same time, loud, yet with the tenor of someone 
who spoke at their comfort level. Indeed, the tone of voice was neither masculine nor 
feminine. For a moment, he feared he'd stormed into the chamber of the Creator to 
demand his answers, but then he put the thought out of his head.   
Regardless whether Michael was here to stop him, he would never have been able to 
enter without permission and unannounced, if this had been his Father's room.   
Jo found his manners. He had expected a cold indifference to his queries, but this 
reaction was startling. It reminded him of who he was and where he was. He bowed 
low to them before standing straight. "I apologize for my intrusion, but my reasons 
for coming are of the utmost importance."   

They were silent, and it occurred to him they were waiting for him to explain those 
reasons, even though they probably already knew them. "Lord Frederik Jasper 
Grimm was murdered on Earth."   
"We know," the voice said in that calm, strange tone.   
Jo did not pretend to understand. "Then, why—?"   
The doors behind him opened once more with a loud yawn. Jo spun, and there stood 
Michael, as well groomed and crisp as though Jo had not attacked him less than an 
hour ago. His armor gleamed pristinely in the holy light of the spirits. Jo wanted to 
dent and dirty it all over again.   
"Jophiel—"   
"I have nothing to say to ye." Jo turned his back to his former friend and once again 
addressed the Council. "I only ask to know where he is. Is he well? May I speak with 
him?"   
"You may not."   
His heart squeezed, and then it began to pound violently as though a blacksmith 
were hitting it again and again with his heavy hammer. He asked, even though he 
knew the answer. "Why not?"   
'Twas Michael's hateful voice that answered. "He is in a place where ye cannot reach 
him, Jophiel."     
Jo clenched his fists. He had prayed he was wrong. Begged for it not to be so. Had 
Frederik been sent to Limbo, his only suffering would have been boredom until he 
could be reborn on Earth. But, in Hell, his time would be an eternity, and his stay 
would be . . . less than pleasant.   
"Why?" Jo's voice cracked despite his best efforts.   
"His actions are answer enough." The asexual voice spoke this time. "His sentence is 
just."   
Jo released a crumbling sigh. He was forced to quickly wipe at his eyes with the heel 
of his hand lest he display any emotion to these beings that obviously had none.   

"And Zad?" Jo demanded. "What is to be his punishment for his part in this . . . this . . 
. ?" He had no polite words to give to the spirits, and he dared not call it a fuck up.   
"If he will be allowed to return to his former post, then I shall not return to mine."   
The color of the spirits changed from their pure white to an impatient red. "You 
would return to Earth?"   
Jo nodded. "I would."   
"Abandon your obligations once more?"   
"Aye."   
"Jo." Michael put his hand on Jo's shoulder but pulled it back when Jo glared at him. 
Jo would have punched him again had he not been in such high company.   
Michael sighed. "Jophiel, when Zadkiel's wings returned to their normal state after I 
took Grimm's head . . . ."   
Do not attack him. Do not attack him.   
"I went to him after ye left. I cut off his wings."   
The urge to attack vanished. "Ye took his wings?"   
Michael nodded. "Aye."   
Jo had taken his own wings, had chosen to stay on Earth that day so long ago. But to 
have one's wings forcibly removed was considered a punishment worse than any 
sort of death.     
Jo no longer saw it as such, having lived on Earth for five years. He knew there was 
still happiness to be found merely by living, little as it was. Zadkiel and Michael, 
however, were of a different mind. Zadkiel was, at this moment, likely wallowing in 
misery. And Michael had put him there.   
Nay, only the Spiritual Council could have given Michael such an order. Jo bowed 
low to them, clasping his hands in front of himself. "Forgive me, Council."   
Their color returned to its pure, pearl state. "You are forgiven, child,"   
Michael stepped around Jo to address the spirits in the golden chamber. "Council, 
another foul injustice has been done. I made a promise to Grimm that, if I took his 
head, not only would the nightmares that Zadkiel brought upon him and Jophiel 
vanish, but he would be sent to Limbo. A gift for volunteering his death."   

Jo hissed in a breath. He should have known. No creature would ever willingly go to 
Hell. That Frederik had been tricked made the situation that much worse.   
It felt like a wound, a festering slash inflicted upon his side by one of those mischief 
demons, especially with his next realization. When they had been in bed, Frederik 
was not merely saying goodbye to him because they were going their separate ways. 
He was bidding him farewell because he knew death was upon him.   
The urge to attack was strong once more.   
"You are not at liberty to offer such promises, Michael."   
Had Jo known, he would have warned Frederik. He would never have allowed 
himself to be sent inside the keep, like a helpless maiden, while Frederik went to his 
death.   
"Nay." Michael shook his head, and then turned to Jo. "I had not meant to deceive 
him. I made the promise before we discovered the terms of Zad's agreement."   
"It hardly matters." Jo said. Frederik had allowed himself to be killed. To be sent to 
Hell in order to save everyone in MacNiel's keep.   
The spirits spoke again. "It is beyond our powers to pull him from his prison."   
"But can you not—?"   
"No," the voice said. "We cannot. The laws speak for him. He is a demon with a half 
soul. He shall remain in Hell as punishment."   
"Zad pulled demons from Hell," Jo said. "It can be done—"   
"Zadkiel made a bargain with Lucifer. That bargain has been fulfilled. We cannot 
interfere."   
"Nay!" Jo yelled. Reaching out, he snatched the sword at Michael's hip, unsheathing 
it before the other angel could react. It burst into flame in his hand, and, suddenly, it 
seemed as if those glowing orbs around the fountain were all looking at him in shock 
and alarm, their colors reflecting the orange glow of Jo's weapon.   

Michael's face was pained, as though begging Jo to not make any more of a scene 
than he already had.   
"I will not stand by and allow this to happen," Jo said. "Even if I have to go into Hell 
myself, he will not spend one moment longer there!"   
"You cannot leave Heaven without Divine Permission," the voice said, still in that 
kindly tone, filled with the patience and love that Jo was beginning to despise. 
Where was that patience and love in the midst of his suffering? Frederik's suffering?   
"They are correct, my friend," Michael said, stepping toward him and reaching his 
hand out as though to take the blade.   
Jo pulled away from him.   
Michael halted his approach. "We can still persuade them. We can speak to our 
Creator. All hope is not lost."   
"Not one moment longer." Jo was insistent.   
Michael tensed, the language of his body no longer friendly but defensive. "I shall 
not allow ye to attack the Council, Jophiel."   
Jo laughed. "Ye think I mean to—? Nay, I said I will go into Hell, and that is what I 
mean to do."   
"Not without Divine Permission, child," the spirits said again.   
"Unless I was to sell something precious," said Jo. Sell it, that is, to the one being who 
would allow him into Hell, onto Earth, anywhere he desired should he bargain well 
enough.   
The glowing forms tensed, their light dimming as though the spirits were paling in 
shock and despair.   
Michael froze up. His shock quickly replaced with utter fury. "Jo, do not, do not, sell 
yer soul. I forbid it!"   
"'Tis not yers to forbid. 'Tis my soul. I can do what I will with it. I am certain Lucifer 
would rather the soul of an angel over that of a simple vampire. Especially now that 
Zadkiel has slipped between his fingers."   

"You will not sell your soul," the ghostly voices said in unison. This time, there was 
irritation and anger within the smooth tenor of their words. "It is too precious to 
you."   
"Jophiel." Michael limbs shook. "Do not threaten such a thing."   
Jo took a breath, preparing himself. "'Tis not a threat. I will do it. If no one here will 
give me permission, if my own Father will refuse to offer his aid, I shall retrieve it 
elsewhere."   
   
Chapter Sixteen   
   
Frederik had not been far off the mark when he contemplated what a vampire's 
torture would be in Hell. As it happened, some vampires were indeed starved of 
blood, while others drowned in it.   
His torture was not to forever burn in the flames of his new prison. No. That part 
had merely been his initiation, as the demon above him had told him once it had 
been permitted to pull him from the fires. He knew not how many demons were 
guarding him, as when the fires had finally ceased there had been little left of his 
skin, and he'd been blind. His eyes had melted away entirely.   
His skin and eyes had eventually grown back, painfully, slowly, in what had felt like 
days. But, first, the worthless, blackened bits that remained hanging onto his brittle 
bones had been shed entirely off, like the overgrown skin on a snake, only much 
more painful, he was sure. When he awoke from that nightmare, his hands, face, 
torso, all were as they had formerly been. Even his clothing, which had burned to 
nothingness, leaving him naked, had been on him as though the fires had never 
happened.   
He'd thought that they could do nothing to him that would be worse than the fires, 
but then they had. A new torture had arrived. But that torture was not to forever 
hunger for blood, always seeing it yet never being able to drink it.   
Frederik's torture was to drown in blood for all eternity.   

After several days of gasping for breath in an enclosed space flooded with blood, 
there was no question of which torture was worse. This punishment had been chosen 
for him because he had killed and drank so much before he died. He was sure of it. It 
made his punishment an ironic one, and Hell and those in charge of it were known 
for their sense of humor.   
It caused even him to laugh. But then he slipped from the stalactite he latched onto 
and fell back into the pool of blood. It enveloped his head, and, for a frightening 
moment, he could neither breathe nor think. He kicked his legs, numb from the 
cold—he was not even given the privilege of drowning in warm blood, all the more 
awful when he became thirsty enough to drink it—but he finally brought his head 
back to the air pocket in the ceiling of the cave where he was trapped.   
He coughed the blood from his mouth and gasped for air, clinging to his rock with 
white fingers. The pool beneath him was so deep he could not feel the bottom. He 
had once even swum down to try to find it, but had come away with nothing. He 
had attempted to find a way out, many, many times. He only ever found other air 
pockets, some barely large enough for him to catch a breath before he had been 
forced under the blood.   
His current position would last him long enough. There was enough room that his 
entire head, neck, and even a little of his shoulders could rise out. He would stay 
until forced to swim on.   
The worst moments were when he caught sight of a floating corpse caught in the 
uneven ceiling. Even with the blackness of the blood around him, and the red 
staining into the body's clothing, he always recognized the corpses.   
The villagers he'd murdered.   
He knew perfectly well they were not the real villagers, but illusions created to test 
his sanity. They were difficult tests to pass.   
Another corpse floated toward him now with a speed that should not have been 
possible given the weakness of the current and the pointed ceiling that hindered it.   

He shut his eyes and pressed his face to the rock as it approached. He did not wish to 
see another skeleton stare at him accusingly. Did not want to feel the press of long, 
pointed fingers as he was grabbed from beneath the black pool and pulled and 
tugged until he was brought under.   
The blood became still. Not so much as a ripple of movement around him or the echo 
of a faraway drip. Only the sound of his breath pressed against the limestone of the 
cave. Minutes passed. He took a chance to look, to open his eyes, and see if someone 
was indeed watching him.   
A near-skinless face with no lips, exposing large teeth, hallowed sockets that still 
contained wide, angry eyes, and enough flesh to form a crooked nose, stared at him, 
inches from his face. Frederik held his breath. Some seconds passed with no 
movement. Perhaps this one truly was just a corpse?   
Bony hands lunged and gripped him by his coat. Frederik roared and fought to free 
himself, but releasing the pointed stone where he hung had been a mistake. He was 
pulled under as easily as he had been the countless other times.   
Be still. Let it take you away. It will release you eventually, he thought. But he'd taken 
blood into his lungs and his panic damned him. The need for air was too strong; it 
forced his limbs to move, to fight, even though it inevitably prolonged his suffering.   
More skinny, fleshless fingers took hold of him beneath the blood. His clothes, legs, 
arms, and neck. Teeth bit down hard on him in all the places where a normal man's 
blood would best flow in a mockery of the times he'd fed.   
His lungs burned and expanded in his chest, begging for air. He bit his lips together 
to keep from inhaling more blood into his lungs, yet it trickled down his nose.   
They were not releasing him. They were holding him longer than usual. They truly 
meant to drown him. He was already dead and in Hell. What would happen if they 
killed him again?   
Panic thumping through him, Frederik renewed his struggles; he kicked and 
punched. The thickness of the blood made his blows sluggish and slow, near useless. 
He reached his hands out to grasp at one of the bones attached to him. Gripping it 
hard, he bent it until it broke. The corpse released him and swam away with the 
speed of a fish.   

He reached out to do it again but they all relinquished their hold, fearful he would 
snap their bones as well.   
Finally free of the bony shackles, Frederik kicked off toward where he 
believed—hoped—air would be. He made it to the surface of the blood pool, his face 
breaking free of the blood and pushing up so hard the top of his head struck the 
stone ceiling.   
A single white star flashed over his eyes. A wave of dizziness washed over him, 
consumed him, and, though he'd barely taken a breath that would fill the lungs of a 
small bird, he hardly cared as his lax body sank back under the blood where more 
hands took hold to caress and torture.   
   
* * * * *   
   
"Remember the rules. Do not look back. If ye look back, he will be lost to ye for all eternity."   
Jo had to find Frederik first. He took another amber stone from his pouch and let it 
drop to the dark floor with a glassy clatter.   
Hell was not an open pit of fire and bright chambers with chains filled with the 
screaming dead. 'Twas a labyrinth, dark and small, barely enough room for him to 
stand at his full height, and even less air. What little air there was, was hot and 
dusty, putting a strain on his lungs and progress through the maze.   
He was required to walk constantly with his head bent, and, had it not been for the 
sword that burned in his grasp, he would have to rely on touch alone to determine 
his path. And he was glad he could do without touching things down here. The stone 
walls were wet with fresh blood and other things. Even with the holy fire he carried, 
he continued to stumble over the uneven ground and occasionally bang his head in 
the dips of rock above him. 'Twas painful and put smears of blood in his hair and on 
his forehead.   

At least he would be able to see the stones he dropped when it came time to flee. Hell 
did not give up souls gracefully. To steal one was nearly unheard of. Yet, it had been 
the solution offered to him to prevent him from selling his own soul.   
Jo kept his ears alert. He was getting closer. He knew it; he could feel it. The muffled 
screams told him he was near the prisoners' chambers. There were no doors or caged 
bars for him to peer through. But whenever he stepped beyond a soul's torture room, 
a portion of the rough red and grey stone would transform from solid rock to a 
smooth and transparent surface that was clearer than any glass window.   
He saw men and women being raped by demons, being eaten alive, having sexual 
organs and other body parts removed, and having their flesh peeled away. Horrors 
he prayed were not being inflicted upon Frederik. Most horrible of all, when the 
wretched souls spotted him, his sword and wings exposed in the cramped tunnels he 
was forced to walk, they cried out for his help, thinking him to be their savior. But 
merely looking at them brought vivid images of their sins to his mind, as though he 
were reliving their memories of the terrible things they had done, and he felt no 
remorse when he left them behind.   
He felt more like running for his life than assisting them, as their demon guards 
inevitably also spotted him and gave chase. On one occasion, a demon refused to 
give up chasing him, forcing Jo to halt and fight it to the death.   
The demons were not kind hosts to intruders, especially angelic ones.   
Being in this place made Jo glad he had not sold his soul to get there. He would have 
done so with a grimace had the Council refused to help him. But he would have done 
it. His threat had worked, and the glowing spirits granted him the permission he 
required to leave Heaven, and even pulled a few strings and whispered into the right 
ears to open a small portal into this dank pit. The only rule was that, once he attained 
his prize, he could not look back. He did not understand this rule, but he would not 
question it either.   
As he passed another chamber and the walls opened, he looked inside very quickly 
before sneaking passed. He could not afford another battle with more demon guards. 
His body was becoming weak, and the arches of his wings were bleeding from where 
they continually scraped against the top of the tunnel. Soon, he would not have the 
strength to rescue Frederik at all, let alone free the both of them from this place.   

He passed the pit quickly. The pitiful soul within this prison was not Frederik. 'Twas 
an old man in bright robes, with jeweled rings, and a golden crown upon his head. 
He sat chained to the floor, starving while a feast of colorful foods sat out of his reach 
on a long table. Two demons sat at the table, eating as calmly and politely as though 
they were having a small party. Occasionally wiping their lips with napkins to clean 
away crumbs of bread, and conversing through their long, black jaws in a language 
even Jo did not understand.   
He passed another chamber set up in a similar fashion. More demons tortured 
another soul who hung by his feet from the ceiling. And on and on it went for what 
felt like hours.   
He was running low on amber stones.   
Then Jo felt a thud at his feet. Or rather, he felt it under his feet. He halted his slow 
stride, fearful a demon was preparing to break through the ground beneath him, and 
yet he heard nothing more. Still, his body instinctively prepared for battled. His 
limbs became pliant and limber should he need to move quickly, his breathing 
slowed for him to hear better. Should some unwanted thing dig its way out and 
attack him he would be ready for it. But naught came, and all remained silent.   
Yet there had been something under there.   
There had been torture chambers to the right and left of him as he'd walked through 
this maze. Could there be chambers above and beneath him as well?   
He took two more, tentative steps forth, and, as he did, the floor opened beneath his 
sandals, revealing a pool of black liquid beneath him. Even through the rock, the 
scent of it was all around him. He knew 'twas human blood.   
Curious, he had yet to see a chamber quite like this.   
Though curiosity was hardly a reason to delay his search, Jo could not persuade his 
feet to move. His whole body was drawn to the sight beneath him, and he went 
down to one knee to have a better look, giving in to the compulsion to stay, to 
observe, to wait and be sure that whoever was in this prison was not his lover.   

A bloody image floated up from the depths, small arms and legs that were missing 
large bits of flesh. Stretched out, the body floated face up, but with part of the face 
itself missing, revealing smooth white bone that beaded red droplets. The loose hair 
was yellow, stringy, and uneven in the places where the flesh of the skull had been 
torn away. A corpse. What had once been a child. A little girl.   
Not a real little girl. He could tell. This dead child appeared perhaps six years old, if 
that, and no child of that age could do anything that would justify a sentence of Hell.   
More bodies came, some older, some younger, all wearing torn garments that 
identified them as peasants, and, as they came, he knew they were all as false as the 
girl. Perhaps meant to torture the victim of this particular chamber.   
There were so many.   
Jo sucked in a breath as the purpose of this chamber and the punishment inflicted 
there struck him.   
These were the villagers. The people Frederik had been tricked into murdering. This 
was Frederik's chamber. His eternal punishment. How ironic to throw a vampire in a 
deep pool of blood with the people he had killed.   
No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than Frederik surfaced. Even 
through the black and red of the blood staining his clothing and hair, Jo knew 'twas 
him. The shape of his body was one he could never forget, even with the blood 
staining his hair and clothing. He was face down and unmoving.   
Jo slid his hands along the clear stone, searching for an entrance before he began 
pounding on it with his fists. "Frederik!"   
Frederik did not respond, and Jo only succeeded in hurting his knuckles. Though he 
could see through it, 'twas still stone beneath his hands and knees.   
"Frederik! Grimm! Wake up!" Jo lifted his sword and brought the tip of the blade 
down hard again and again, the holy fire tearing chunks through the floor to the 
chamber beneath. He was making noise, loud noise that echoed through the tunnels. 
He knew this, knew that demons would hear and come running to inspect, but he 
could not stop. He would deal with them when they came.   

His sword tore at the rock, cracking at the glass-like surface. His lover did not so 
much as twitch as Jo screamed at him. Jo's already tired and aching body protested 
his movements, but he raised the blade above his head once more and brought it 
down with a roar.   
The sword sliced through the rock, slashing one of the skeletal corpses through the 
chest, the fire hissing as it met the wet blood. Jo attempted to pull the blade free to 
continue his chipping, but then the floor and rocks crumbled away as the ground 
beneath him gave out. Jo cried out as he nearly lost his balance and fell into the blood 
pool with the corpses below, but he reached out and caught himself with his other 
hand on the still solid ledge, refusing to release his blade. He would need it to 
escape.   
Righting himself, breathing hard from his near fall, Jo used his blade to catch 
Frederik's clothes and pull him forth.   
"Ye had better damn well wake up, Grimm," he muttered. "I will get ye out of here, 
but ye need to wake up."   
When Frederik came close enough, Jo reached down and grabbed him by the back of 
his soaked coat, the blood squishing through his fingers. With a slippery yank, Jo 
pulled Frederik from the blood pool and dropped him with a wet plop and a smack 
on the solid stone.   
Frederik did not blink his eyes open as Jo hoped. He was not breathing, but he was 
not dead either. Hell played tricks like this. To give the illusion of finally slipping 
into death, to escape the nightmarish tortures that awaited everyone in here, only to 
have them re-awaken back in their prison cells. Jo had no time for it. He needed 
Frederik awake and moving.   
"Grimm, wake up!" He slapped the man's cheek, and then slapped him again harder, 
but that did not wake him. Neither did shaking him. He did not know what to do. 
He did not know how to get Frederik breathing again. Worse still, images of the sins 
Frederik had committed in his life flashed through Jo's mind, distracting him. The 
MacGreggor villagers . . . then earlier scenes from his youth when he hunted and 
killed freely, as though death could never claim him . . . .   

Sloshing and moaning in the blood chamber had Jo spinning his head. The corpses 
had come alive, as alive as they could become, and were attempting to pull 
themselves through the hole Jo had created, but the sheer number of them 
attempting to crawl over each other and the hole's edge, which continued to crumble 
away under their weight, impeded their progress. Eventually they would come up 
for Frederik, for the both of them if they could take them. They were the demons of 
that particular chamber, and they did not wish to give up their property.   
Jo grabbed Frederik's jacket and yanked him farther away from the hole and the 
demons within before returning to work. "Grimm, ye selfish bastard, if ye can hear 
me, get up. Get. Up. I cannot carry ye out of here, ye need to walk out on yer own. 
Frederik!" Already he could feel the spell of Hell begin to take its hold. Now that he 
had what he came for, looking behind him, even looking at Frederik, was dangerous.   
More memories of the murders Frederik committed came to him. Jo could not shake 
them off this time. Frederik drank from the villagers until they had not enough blood 
to sustain them. When he could drink no more, Frederik's hands trembled as he 
strangled the remaining villagers in their beds. He quietly wept as he did so to the 
young ones. Such a difference between the Frederik of these memories and the 
younger Frederik from centuries past.   
Jo forced himself out of those images with a yell. A light dizziness took him and the 
tunnel spun, the moans of the dead sounding far away. He rubbed his eyes to bring 
himself back into the present, smearing blood on his face. He ignored the sticky 
fluids on his cheeks and returned to shaking and hitting his idiot lover. "Frederik!"   
Still, Frederik would not move. His eyes did not open, and his chest did not rise and 
fall to draw breath. The angry moans of the zombies behind them grew more 
impatient, and the swish of blood as they fought to be free became violent.   

Jo did not know what to do. For one heart stopping moment, he thought there would 
be no escape for either of them, all because he had the misfortune to attempt a rescue 
when Frederik was unconscious.   
Jo could not leave without him.   
Then a ridiculous thought came to him. A random epiphany. An answer to a prayer. 
Someone was answering Jo's prayers now.   
Jo did as the images in his mind instructed. He pinched Frederik's nose and tilted his 
head back before covering his mouth with his own. Jo blew a long, hard breath into 
him, felt the rise of Frederik's chest, and then, as though Jo were bringing him to life, 
Frederik began to shake. His throat gurgled as he coughed and sputtered, his eyes 
flying wide as he choked. Jo jerked away as Frederik spat up the blood in his throat 
and lungs. Frederik abruptly spun to his side to vomit rushes of blood, choking on 
air between heaves.   
Jo laughed stupidly. He rubbed Frederik's back to help ease the blood out but did no 
more than that. Zombies who wanted to inflict tortures worse than death upon them 
were still clambering to get at them. They were now pulling themselves from the 
pool and dragging their bodies across the ground   
Jo spat the blood from his lips. Frederik reached his hands out to him, his eyes 
transforming from confusion to joy and then horror within seconds. "What are 
you—"   
"There is no time, we must run." Jo grabbed the handle of his sword from where he'd 
dropped it to give the life-giving kiss. It burst to flame in his hand, burning away all 
traces of blood from its steel, and, for the first time ever, he did not witness Frederik 
wince at the sight of fire. "Follow me, and do not look back."   
Frederik coughed again and nodded. Jo grabbed him by his coat and yanked him up, 
taking his hand. He moved quickly, letting the fire from his sword light the way. 
Frederik stumbled drunkenly over his feet and the uneven ground, still occasionally 
hacking blood from his throat, but there was no time to allow his strength to return. 
The corpses behind them shrieked at their escape in full-throated tones that belied 
the condition of their rotting bodies, but Jo dared not look back.   

At that moment, Hell's spell took hold and gripped firmly. Jo felt it as surely as he 
felt the sword in his hand or Frederik's weight behind him. It circled him, mocked 
him with its certainty, and dared him to turn his head. The urge to look behind 
himself, to be certain Frederik was behind him, was great. He had to fight against it. 
Even though he could feel Frederik's hand in his own, it no longer felt as heavy as 
before. For a moment, Jo fancied perhaps he was carrying an arm not attached to a 
body.   
  He yanked Frederik along, felt his weight once more, and ignored the vampire's 
indignant complaint, relieved to feel his body. He fought to keep any of Hell's other 
spells from tricking him again. There could be no mistakes. One look back, one little 
glimpse at Frederik, and the demons would ensnare Frederik forever. No second 
chances.   
"W-wait, Jo,"   
"No time. Do not look back," he yelled. He had no idea if the spell worked the same 
magic on Frederik. He dared not take the chance. "If ye look back ye shall be done 
for."   
He found the yellow pebbles he'd dropped on his journey in. They glowed under the 
light of his sword, but faintly. The blood pooling from the walls and onto the ground 
nearly covered some of them. Now that he had to follow them out, he dearly wished 
he'd dropped them closer together so they'd be easier to follow through the twists 
and turns.   
"Where are we going? How did you get here?"   
"Not now!"   
A tall demon, hunching nearly to its waist with the narrowness of the tunnels, 
walked directly into their path. Its charcoal arms were long and fell nearly to the 
ground. The legs were skeletal, thin as the arms themselves, yet the torso was heavily 
muscled. The scales there were thickest at the chest, to protect all the vital organs. It 
reminded Jo of a vampire's natural defenses.   
The creature seemed not to notice them until they nearly ran into it.   

Its long, horse-like head spun as they skidded to a halt. Its ruby red eyes glowed 
with rage as it, too, opened its mouth in a long, sharp-jawed roar. Hot air and spittle 
flew from its open mouth. Jo had to cover his face with his sword arm to protect 
himself against any poison. Yet it did not stop. It did not attack. It only roared, 
continuing to reveal their whereabouts.   
Forced to relinquish Frederik's hand, Jo charged and swung his sword, the tip 
scratching along the wall during the swing and creating sparks and lag, but his 
strength and aim held true. His blade struck on the neck of the beast, but the tough 
hide prevented a full decapitation. His sword went about halfway through the neck, 
severing the bone. 'Twas enough to silence the creature and put it down with a heavy 
thud, its black blood mixing with the red of the walls.   
Jo blindly reached his hand out behind him, searching. "Frederik."   
"I am here." A warm, sticky palm slipped into his own, and Jo sighed.   
"Let's be gone from here," he said. He could not wait for the moment when they 
returned to the surface where Anael awaited, when he could look at Frederik once 
more, with demon and human blood on neither of them.   
"Frederik, I—"   
"Whatever you are about to say, say it when we are not down here."   
A good idea if he ever heard one. Now was not an appropriate time.   
"If we become separated, follow the stones on the ground." Jo pointed his blazing 
sword toward the little yellow tablets.   
"I see them," Frederik answered.   
Jo nodded. "Good. They lead to our exit. I shall meet ye there if we are forced apart."   
Frederik's hand became tighter in his own. Any more pressure and the bones would 
splinter.   
They mixed their progress between running and sneaking, hurrying wherever they 
could but being as silent as possible while passing the dungeons of other damned 
souls.   

"Where is our exit?" Frederik asked after a time, his voice labored. Occasionally, Jo 
could hear as he coughed and spat more blood.   
Jo turned to look at him but caught himself in time. Heart beating wildly, he cleared 
his throat and pointed his face straight ahead, locking his neck. That had been too 
close.   
"I did not come in the traditional way. We are not going to the river. There is a portal 
waiting for us at the end of the amber trail."   
"Aye," hissed a raspy voice from behind. "Thank ye for providing it for us as well."   
As the urge to look back and see the owner of the voice sprang on Jo, he tightened 
his grip on his lover and yanked his arm. "Do not look behind ye!"   
"I was not going to," Frederik muttered.   
"How very rude," said another, feminine voice, more sultry, more refined and 
modern. "To not look us in the eyes as we greet you, even after you sent us here."   
"Jo . . . ."   
"I know who they are. Run!"     
The two of them shot off down the tunnel. Laughter and animal shrieks followed 
them from predators enjoying the hunt. Jo did not dare turn his head.   
A test. Or more of the horrible humor of Hell. To send the very vampires they had 
killed at MacNiel's keep after them.   
If the vampires captured them, no demon guard could ever do worse to them than 
what these angry vampires wished to do. How many were there? Only some of the 
vampires who had attacked the keep? Or all?   
Jo had to increase his speed to stay ahead of Frederik, to keep from looking at him. 
Frederik continued to stumble over the uneven path, hindering them.   
The vampires snapped at their heels as he dragged Frederik back to a run.   
"We will kill you! We are here because of you!" Voices, angry voices, shouted. They 
were close. Inches away.   

"Do not look back, do not look back!" Who had screamed the command? Jo could not 
say. Where was their portal? Their exit? The vampires were nearly upon them! But 
then, yes! The cavern! The open space where he had entered Hell finally appeared. 
They were nearly out.   
"We are nearly there! Do not stop!"   
As they came to the mouth that opened into the cave, two vampires appeared from 
the entry, arms reaching out. Jo could not stop himself. He had been going too fast, 
too eager to escape. Too sloppy.   
Those arms hardened and swung like logs, hitting Jo in the neck and taking him off 
his feet before bringing him down.   
He awoke to hands pressing on his face. He fought and kicked to get the vampire off. 
He heard an oof as his fist slammed into a stomach.   
"Jo, Jo! It's me, you fool!"   
Jo went slack and Frederik's palms, which had pressed harder down on him when he 
struggled, became soft. "Close your eyes. You cannot look at me."   
Of course. When he was knocked over he must have landed in a way that pointed 
him toward . . . well, everything behind him. When a man awakens, his first instinct 
is to open his eyes. Frederik must have known this.   
He closed his eyes and nodded. Frederik pulled his hands away.   
Someone or thing must have shoved Frederik, because he collapsed awkwardly over 
Jo with a grunt. His eyes must have been closed as well, to keep the vampires from 
tricking him into looking around.   
A foot kicked into Jo's side, powerful enough to dent his armor into his ribs and 
scrape his flesh. He cried out and pulled at the metal. Fortunately, it righted itself 
quickly.   
He could not see it, but he could feel the movements all around him. The sound of 
bare feet and shoes shuffling in the rock. What he could not feel, however, was his 
sword. He had dropped it when he fell, and now they were utterly helpless.   
"Open your eyes." It was the voice of a vampire who commanded him.   

"Aye, open them. Looking at us will not harm ye."   
True, but if they stood at the cave opening leading back into Hell, a lot of harm 
would be done. He would not risk it.   
Claws raked over his face, scratching along his jaw, lips, nose, and eyes. Jo hissed 
and flinched back.   
"Look at us!"   
Jo's fist flew out but struck only the air.   
"Get away from us!" Though his eyes were closed, the swipe of air told him Frederik 
was blindly thrashing out as well, attempting to defend him without looking at 
where the enemy stood. More laughter and the sound of feet jumping away from the 
feeble attack and scuttling about.   
Jo hoped to reason with them. "Ye must understand. We meant ye no harm, but ye 
attacked us. Even if all of ye had ran away from MacNiel's castle, had not killed those 
men, had we not killed ye ourselves, ye would have been pulled back here when yer 
purposes had been served."   
"He lies!" The voice was so close to his ear, he jerked and knocked heads with 
Frederik.   
"Ah!"   
Hands gripped his face, hands with long, thin fingers, bulging sores, and pointed 
nails. Not Frederik.   
He attempted to jerk away, but the grip on his cheeks tightened and fingernails 
scratched at his eyelids. "Not as sorry as ye will be if ye do not open yer eyes!"   
He tried to push the offending creature off, but he couldn't budge him. Jo's hands 
wrapped around the iron-like wrists of his attacker, yet they would not move. His 
fist flew up and met its mark, but his knuckles burst with pain. "Frederik!" He called 
out, though he was certain his lover was receiving similar treatment with the sounds 
of struggling so close to him.   
Those long, sharp fingernails edged their way under his lashes and began to push 
up, scratching the whites of his eyes.   

Jo screamed.   
The fingernails were yanked away. The blade of a sword sang through the air, and a 
wet sound followed before Jo heard a soft thud. Two thuds, one heavier than the 
other, yet the second making a distinct cracking noise. The sound of cloth and 
flesh—a body—crumbling. The other sound was surely the head as it had fallen. The 
other vampires hissed, and there was a shuffle of feet.   
"Frederik?" Jo asked, finding and grasping the other man. He used his hands to feel 
along his body, searching for any possible injuries. 'Twas difficult with so much 
blood still dampening his garments.   
His hands were slapped away. "I am well, who is—?"   
A ferocious war cry was released and ricocheted off the walls. "Stay away from them, 
monsters!"   
Jo's eyes nearly popped open in his shock, but he managed to keep them shut. Zad? 

Here?   
"We take no more orders from you, coward angel!"   
An angel no longer, if Michael spoke the truth. What could he—nay, how could he be 
here?   
"Him?" Frederik exclaimed. Jo recalled Frederik knew nothing of Zad's fate after he 
had been sent into Hell. "What is—has he been sent to aid us?"   
Jo was yanked to his feet and spun around. He grasped at the arm that pulled him 
up and sighed. 'Twas soft, healthy muscle he felt, not the thin, cold flesh of creatures 
that had been down here for so long.   
"Open yer eyes, my friend."   
Jo hesitated.   
Zad's voice strained. "Please,"   
There was no help for it. If Jo wanted to escape with Frederik, he would need to trust 
that his former brother would not wish to trap the both of them down here for 
eternity. His eyes opened, and Zadkiel's worried face stared back at him. He'd been 
allowed to keep the armor of his brothers, but there were no wings on his back. His 
face and hair were damp with sweat, and Jo's sword in his hand did not burn. Zad 
was now a mortal man.   

Jo was only grateful help had arrived. By the Spiritual Council's word, no angel 
would aid him. Jo was to be on his own on this mission. Yet here Zad was, and Jo 
could not have been more delighted. Better still, the wall with their portal out of this 
place was behind him, though the wall still appeared perfectly intact. Jo knew it was 
there because he had come through it. The vampires did not know of it; otherwise, 
they would have made their escape by now.   
They expected to be able to see the portal. Michael had said it would close once he 
and Frederik went through, and, if they failed, 'twould close eventually on its own, 
regardless. But, if the vampires went through, would it stay open and allow the lot of 
them to escape?   
The vampires, the remaining ones, blocked their path to the portal without realizing 
it. Others came from all sides, enveloping them in a wide circle. But they did not 
alarm Jo as much as they had before.   
"Take it." Zad put the handle of the sword into Jo's hand. It lit up as expected. The 
vampires hissed at the flames.   
Zad smiled at the fire, his hand still loosely holding the hilt. "'Twill be the last time I 
ever hold a fiery blade."   
Jo had no time for Zad's regret or sentimentality. He pulled the sword free from 
Zad's grip and reached his free hand out behind him. "Frederik?"   
A searching palm eventually took his hand and clasped it tightly. "I have you."   
"Ye can open yer eyes."   
Frederik righted himself and must have done so because he hissed. Whether at Zad, 
the fire, or their enemies, Jo could not be certain. "Are we to fight our way through?"   
"I shall." Zadkiel pulled his own sword from his belt with a long scrape. The lack of 
fire made him appear somewhat smaller than before. "Ye two must escape."   
"But how—?"   

"Neither of ye can look the other in the face without dooming each other. Ye'll be 
useless to me in a battle."   
The circle of vampires surrounding them took that as their sign to leap in and attack 
all at once. Zad rushed at the three ahead of him with a battle cry, his sword flying, 
his body carrying him as gracefully as though his wings were still with him. Two 
vampires, one on Jo's left, and the other to his right, jumped into the air, claws and 
fangs exposed as they prepared to dive.   
Jo went to the right with his weapon, and Frederik went left. He sliced down hard 
along the torso of his would-be attacker, cutting through cloth and flesh. His sword 
would have divided the one vampire into two halves had not the stone-like bones of 
his ribs prevented a full separation. The creature still came down heavy and stayed 
down. A long screech behind him sounded before 'twas cut off by the snapping of 
bones.   
Without looking, Jo knew Frederik had broken the vampire's neck with only one 
hand to spare.   
More came for them, but Jo refused to fight. He could not. He chose retreat and ran 
for the wall where he knew their portal was, where the first amber stone lay, 
dragging Frederik behind him and swinging his weapon at any who stood in his 
way, removing heads, arms, and reaching hands.   
Zad was right. Merely because he and Frederik had good luck with those first two 
vampires did not mean they could battle a horde of them without looking at each 
other. They could not watch each other's backs if they could not look at each other.   
"Jo!"   
He thought Frederik called out to him to stop him from leaving the battle. He did not 
see the female vampire that leapt at him from the side wall until 'twas too late.   
Her weight was too much, and Jo was thrown down, his hand ripped from Frederik's 
as he was pinned. He stayed awake this time to watch as the she-devil raised her 
clawed hand and prepared to bring it down upon his neck.   

She was slammed off of him by a strong body. By Frederik, who was now directly 
above him.   
They looked at each other, and Frederik began to fade before his eyes.   
"No!" Jo tried to grab his translucent form, his arms, coat, anything to keep him from 
vanishing, but, instead of touching solid, muscular flesh, his hands passed straight 
through as though Frederik were a ghost.   
Frederik opened his mouth, but what he had to say Jo would never know because he 
disappeared entirely.   
   
Chapter Seventeen   
   
"Frederik! Frederik!" Jo screamed. He scrambled to his feet and twisted around as 
though expecting to see Frederik merely standing somewhere nearby in the open 
space. All he found was more fighting and limp bodies. "Frederik!"   
Zadkiel shoved off two vampires attempting to overtake him and grabbed Jo's arm. 
He began pulling him toward the wall with the hidden portal, his sword arm 
thrusting his weapon out, moving back and forth, holding off the other creatures that 
were still upright and wished them imprisoned or dead. "We must leave, my 
brother."   
Jo shoved him off. "I am not leaving without him!"   
"Ye have no choice!" Zad yelled back, grabbing his breastplate this time and pulling 
him out of range of a reaching pair of claws. "Ye had yer chance, Jo. Ye looked at 
him. Hell has reclaimed him, and 'twill not give him up again."   
He was right, of course, but Jo could still not accept it. He refused to leave while 
Frederik remained. He could not bear the separation. He would not bear it.   
Jo raised his flaming sword toward the damned vampires. "Go, Zad. I will remain."   
"I'll not leave ye again."   
No mortal man could come to this realm. Michael must have sent him to aid Jo and 
Frederik. No angels shall aid you, the Council had said. Zad was no longer an angel, 
but, of course, Zad still did not care about Frederik's well-being; his only concern 
was for Jo. "Zad, leave. I do not wish for ye to follow me where I am going."   

He stepped out toward the vampires who would have him, ignoring Zad's outraged 
cry. He kept his sword raised to keep them back, and he did not stop until the 
vampires had him within their circle.   
"He is with us now." They were taunting Zad as Jo allowed them to surround him.   
A child-like vampire said in its tiny voice, "A damned half-soul, like us."   
He spoke of Frederik. Jo's chest rose and fell with angry irritation.   
  Another lady vampire put her hand on Jo's arm and hissed. "Ye shall never see him 
again."   
"Jo, do not do this."   
Jo ignored them all as best he could, especially the vampires, considering they spoke 
of his true fears. He yanked his arm free of the female vampire's grasp. She merely 
laughed and stepped away. Jo raised his head, projecting his voice until 'twould be 
loud enough to echo across the walls of every tunnel in this labyrinth. "I am calling 
out to Lucifer, Morning Star. I wish to make a bargain with ye!"   
"Jo—!"   
  He did not hear what Zad was about to scream at him. When the words left his 
mouth, the cave spun around him, the sights blurring together until they were one 
sad color.   
'Twas dizzying, the blood inside him rushed up to his head, and he closed his eyes 
lest he become sick with it. He was being transported. Jo only hoped Zad would be 
wise enough to sneak out of the portal while Jo's disappearance distracted the 
bloodthirsty vampires.   
When the world ceased to spin around him and he arrived wherever Lucifer had 
brought him, the floor beneath him shifted like water. Jo took a step, stumbled, and 
fell to his hands and knees. He could hear nothing but the sound of ringing and his 
own labored breathing as he fought for control of himself. Even with his eyes closed, 
as he rose up, the floor beneath him still shifted.   

Yet it was still a floor, made of smooth, cold, black-and-white marble. Naught at all 
like the uneven and bloody rock of the cave tunnels he'd been navigating for hours 
on end.   
He took one long breath, then two, and repeated the process until everything about 
him felt solid and his guts no longer swirled in his throat. Before he'd removed his 
wings, such transportation would not have affected him so. Now, he was no longer 
used to the turbulence.   
Jo opened his eyes. He half expected an army of demons waiting to rip his new 
wings from his back, but hardly a creature was in sight. The cave he'd been 
transported to appeared so endless he could not see the far walls of it. Long, marble 
pillars, sharply cut and crackling from age and abuse, stretched high into the ceiling, 
which he could also not see through the darkness above. Torches burned brightly on 
these pillars, brighter than the flame on his sword, so bright and powerful they made 
his sword appear like a dying ember by comparison. Yet not even those fires could 
pierce the endless black and coldness of the place.   
They were strong enough for Jo to make out the naked figure lying on the floor, as 
well as the creature above him, licking his flesh along his back and down his 
buttocks, the poisoned saliva leaving rash trails and red welts. The soul in question 
did not move during his abuse; his eyes stared unblinkingly ahead. Finally, he did 
blink, and then he lifted his head despite the growl of the demon above him. He 
noticed Jo. Like the other despicable souls before him, this one's eyes went to Jo's 
wings, and he called out.   
"Help me. Oh, God, help me!"   
The displeasured sounds of the demon above him increased at this outburst. Red 
eyes bright with anger, it put one charred, black claw through the soul's shoulder, 
impaling it to the marble floor to keep him still. That did not stop the human from 
reaching out to Jo.   

"Help me! Please, Lord, help me!"   
Jo could feel no pity for him. The images of what this mortal had done in his lifetime 
were invading Jo's mind. He'd done things—disgusting, horrific things—to children 
no older than Angus and Breanna. Jo turned his face away from him in an effort to 
halt the memories.   
"Foul. Is it not?"   
Jo snapped his head up. In a soft puff of black mist, something appeared in the vast 
space that had not been there previously. Twin torches illuminated a stone throne 
sitting between two of the long pillars, its back stretching just as high. A red, velvet 
curtain with a gold trim hung from the top. Faces, small and twisted in silent moans 
of despair, had been carved into its back and arms. Jo did not attempt to deceive 
himself into believing they were merely part of an innocent, if demented, design. 
Those souls had done something specifically to vex the master of this place, a master 
who was currently sitting on that very throne, observing Jo with silent eyes as red as 
those of the demon raping that mortal. A golden crown of humble 
design—compared to the chair—rested above a head of midnight black hair. Glitter 
shone in that darkness as though the very stars were trapped within.   
Jo's body tensed in a kind of terror he had never before experienced. He had hoped 
to never see this creature in all his long years. Yet here he was. Willingly.   
Lucifer reclined in a lazy fashion, legs bent up and crossed over one arm of his 
marble throne, head tilted on two upturned fingers, regarding Jo with a sort of bored 
amusement.   
"I asked a question."   
"I—yes, of course. Quite foul," Jo said. Best not to anger the being in control of this 
realm, especially when he wanted something from him.   
Lucifer nodded and snapped his fingers. The weeping mortal soul and the demon 
above him vanished in a cloud of mist. Off to wherever they had come from. "You 
and your brothers above all think me a monster, when, truly, all I do is what no one 
in Heaven will: Punish those who deserve punishing."   

Jo's answer to that would have been, "We all serve our purposes." But he caught himself 
before he spoke. That would have implied Lucifer was still, in a roundabout sort of 
way, serving their Creator. Which he was, but such a statement would have surely 
enraged Lucifer enough to inflict a punishment of his own on Jo, and he did not wish 
to end up like that mortal.   
"I had no notion ye enjoyed watching these tortures," Jo said instead.   
"Only when they amuse me. You wished to make a bargain?"   
Jo straightened and approached. Two ox-trolls appeared from the shadows of the 
pillars in more black wisps, spears immediately thrust toward his neck, touching the 
flesh, pricking just enough to draw blood but naught else.   
He halted and dared not to swallow lest doing so press their rusted blades further 
into his throat. He felt an itch as a droplet of blood spilled down his skin. Idiot, he 
scolded himself, fists clenching. Did he really think he could simply approach the 
throne without repercussions? Nay, Lucifer would take better care than that.   
Lucifer laughed in a jolly manner, slapping his knee. "You must forgive them, they 
can be a might bit protective." He pinched his fingers to show the size of that little bit 
of protection. Then his eyes hardened, the smile leaving his lips as he stared at the 
sword still in Jo's hand.   
The moisture collecting on Jo's face, even as he forced a returned smile, also began to 
itch. He'd entirely forgotten about the sword in his white-knuckled hand. "Forgive 
me." With stiff movements, he sheathed his blade, the fire disappearing as he did so.   
The ox-trolls exhaled hot air through their fist-sized nostrils before stepping back 
and away from him, their hooves clomping and echoing on the floor. They seemed to 
disappear back into the shadows, but Jo now knew better than to assume the devil 
himself would give him a private audience.   
"I suppose you are forgiven." Lucifer reached across the arm of his throne toward a 
jeweled pitcher and matching goblet that seemed to appear simply because he 
wished them to. Their gray metal gleamed with rubies and tiny horns. He poured a 
thick, red liquid into his cup, swirled and sniffed it, and then sipped, licking the 
blood from his lip before continuing. "After all, I too once sported a weapon such as 
yours." Lucifer raised his eyes and smiled, showing off white teeth, all of which were 
pointed the way Frederik's fangs were, yet not nearly as long. "Though such was 
before your time."   

Jo shifted and tightened his jaw. He did not like the reminder that this being before 
him used to be one of his brothers, regardless whether Lucifer was indeed simply 
serving a greater purpose.   
"I came to make a trade," Jo said. "My soul for Frederik's. Not merely his soul either. 
His life. I want him returned to Earth."   
Lucifer swirled the drink in his hand again, his eyes half-lidded and searching. "You 
are the second angel I have had come to me in less than a fortnight. Is everyone 
turning their backs on Father these days?"   
If there was one thing every single one of his brothers knew, 'twas that Lucifer loved 
a good bargain. The time was coming to make that bargain.   
Lucifer waved his hand as though batting a troublesome insect. "You must care a 
great deal for this creature, who is not even a mortal, to make such an offer. I believe 
I have the better bargain already." His grin became lecherous. "Of course, should I 
accept, I would also expect another gift in exchange for my generosity."   
"Ye shall make the trade." Jo insisted, his fists clenching.   
"Why should I?" Lucifer lifted his goblet to his lips.   
"A simple vampire with half a soul is not worth nearly as much to ye as an angel, 
and, have no doubt, I will not beg, nor offer anything else."   
Slowly, Lucifer pulled his mouth away from the rim of his cup, and then licked his 
lips. His body gave the impression of calm thought, but the energy around him 
became so noticeably enraged and hot, that the air surrounding him rippled.   
Jo's face remained stoic. Inwardly, he congratulated himself. Let Lucifer mull over 
that for some minutes. Jo was the one offering the better bargain, not Lucifer. There 
would be no pleading on his knees, or even offering Lucifer anything Jo would have 
been ashamed to give. His loyalty, his body, none of those things. For, while angels 
in Heaven did not possess the things required for sex, in Hell, the demons, and 
Lucifer himself, could rape and fuck whatever they chose, even beings that had no 
sexual organs for them to play with. They could always cut holes into the flesh for 
that sort of sport.   

Finally, Lucifer sighed. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. "Let's bargain, 
then."   
Frederik appeared in the space between them. He seemed confused at first, dazed. 
His clothing and hair were not dripping fresh blood, suggesting they had not 
immediately sent him back to his prison.   
Then he spotted Lucifer, and next, Jo.   
Frederik's face twisted in despair. "No, Jo!" He tried to run to Jo, but, as he went, his 
body slammed hard into an invisible barrier. Jo called out in alarm, but Frederik 
seemed not to hear as he clutched his bleeding nose.   
The barrier crackled, as though taunting them both, allowing Jo to see how it 
encircled his lover like a glass dome, trapping him.   
Lucifer chuckled. "Until an arrangement can be made, this soul still belongs to me. 
You have touched him enough already."   
A watery image appeared above their heads, like looking at a reflection in a lake. Of 
him breathing life into Frederik's lungs, gripping his hand as they attempted to 
escape.   
Jo looked away from it and tried his best not to see the pain in Frederik's eyes. "I 
have made my offer. My soul for Frederik's life."   
Frederik pounded against the invisible walls that contained him. It crackled and 
sizzled but did not break. "Jo! You bloody idiot! Do not do this!"   
Lucifer eyed him with a bored expression. "Is that all?"   
Jo tensed. "And nothing may happen to him upon arrival. Frederik cannot die or be 
killed before he has time to earn a full soul."   
"Please, Jo. Stop! Stop this!"   

Lucifer's handsome face twisted with a kind of rage that made him appear as a true 
demon. When he spoke, the sound that emerged from his mouth sounded ghostly. 
"Do you think me a fool?"   
Jo did not understand. "I do not know what ye speak of."   
"The sacrifice." Lucifer hissed it as though it were a curse on his tongue. "That 
loophole you all believe you can exploit, as though I were ignorant of it."   
Ah. That. The rule that allowed any who sacrificed themselves to be given a clean 
slate. 'Twas so powerful that even Lucifer himself could not claim souls owed to him 
who did such things. 'Twas a well-known secret that Lucifer despised such actions.   
The amusing part was that Jo had entirely forgotten about it.   
"I will not make a claim on the sacrifice clause. If ye release him, I shall stay."   
"No! Jo!" The pounding and crackling against Frederik's cage became louder as he 
fought to free himself. He left blood marks behind where his fists struck too hard.   
Lucifer grunted and flicked his wrist, and all was silent within Frederik's small 
prison. 'Twas interesting to see how Frederik continued to scream at him, to punch at 
the barrier that held him, yet to hear no sounds emerge from these actions.   
Lucifer sat upright, threaded his fingers together, and rested his chin upon them 
with a malicious smile. "He will go, and you will stay, regardless of the clause?"   
Jo nodded. "Ye have my word I shall not invoke it."   
"You do realize that I shall have you do terrible things. I will force you to go to war 
against your brothers. I will make you kill hundreds of innocents, and I will even 
have you bring their souls to me." His eyes went up and down the length of Jo's 
body. "That, amongst other things. Will you still do all of this?"   
Jo sucked in a breath. With his refusal to accept the loyalty clause, he no longer had 
quite the bargain he thought he had. Of course he would have to accept such 
shivering terms.   
His eyes found Frederik's. He'd stopped screaming at him and punching his cage 
and was now regarding him with begging eyes. He shook his head, attempting to 
make Jo's answer for him.   

Now, Jo knew of the pain Frederik must have gone through when he discovered 
what was required of him to rescue his sister. Seeing the memories hadn't been quite 
enough. But this was. Jo had been a fool to judge. He knew now he would do the 
very same to protect a loved one. To set free the man he loved, he would allow 
Lucifer to command him as he wished.   
He nodded. "Aye."   
Lucifer grinned again. "Then it is done."   
He flicked his wrist again, and the barrier surrounding Frederik vanished.     
The vampire ran to Jo and gripped him by his arms before drawing him to his chest, 
wrapping himself around him tight enough as though he meant to make their 
embrace permanent. "Jo, you fucking idiot! What are you thinking?"   
Jo held him back as firmly as he could, attempting to take in all of him, bind himself 
to him. His feel, his scent, all of it. This could be the last time he ever saw him for . . . 
an eternity. He did not want to forget an inch of how he felt. "I am thinking I do not 
wish ye to rot down here."   
Frederik pulled back enough to face him. "So you will rot here instead? How can I go 
back? How can I live knowing you are here?"   
"This bores me." Lucifer made a show of yawning. "I have released him. His life and 
soul are restored." He looked at Frederik and waved his hand at him. "You may 
leave."   
Frederik gripped him tighter. "I will not!"   
The ox-trolls reappeared in a huff of black clouds and readied their spears once 
more, a heavy, angry snort released from their black nostrils. This time, they directed 
their anger toward Frederik.   
The ox-trolls could glare and huff all they wished, part of the bargain was that 
Frederik could not be killed before he had the chance to earn a full soul and enter 
Heaven. "Be at ease, my friend, ye must go."   
"No, I—"   
"Indeed, he must." Lucifer raised his hand and snapped his fingers   

Frederik shuddered around him, but he did not vanish. "I . . . I cannot."   
"Stop fighting his spell, and go, he will not be patient for long." Jo attempted to pull 
away from Frederik's arms. The bargain had been to not kill Frederik, but there were 
many tortures a vampire could still live through.   
Frederik's grasp on him became tighter, and a smile touched his lips before a laugh 
bubbled out of them. "No, Jo, I cannot. Not without you."   
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucifer's brows draw together, annoyance 
flashing upon his features as he straightened on his throne. "What is this? Leave here 
at once."   
He snapped his fingers again, summoning a spell that would cast Frederik out, Jo 
was sure. His whole body shuddered with the strength of it, as did Jo's this time. A 
cold shiver shook his frame, but did naught else.   
Clasping Jo's hand tightly, Frederik faced the devil with a confidence no creature had 
ever before possessed in his presence. "You wish me to go? Very well. But I am 
taking him with me."   
"What?" Jo said.   
"Trust me, love." Frederik's body became transparent, a ghostly figure that mocked 
the most powerful and evil force of darkness in all existence. There, but not there. Jo's 
gaze fell upon their joined hands, shocked to see that he, too, was also vanishing.   
Lucifer leapt from his seat, knocking over his goblet of blood with a messy clatter.   
"Impossible!" His angry eyes, now red all the way into the whites, turned on Jo. "It's 
in our bargain! You cannot make a claim on the sacrifice clause!"   
But he was not. He could not make a claim on it even had he tried, due to their 
agreement. This was something else entirely. Something that joined him and 
Frederik in a way that deemed he must leave Hell if Frederik was ordered out. 
Something that kept his soul his instead of Lucifer's.   

He could feel the tug inside of him, pulling him out along with Frederik, banishing 
them both from Hell as per Lucifer's spell on his lover.   
He did not pretend to understand as he stared at Frederik, but he could not contain 
his happiness. "How are ye doing this?"   
Frederik's palm caressed his cheek, his smile touching his eyes. "You are the other 
half of my soul, Jo. You always were. I see that now."   
"Stop him!" Lucifer shrieked. 'Twas not often he was denied something he'd been 
promised. "Kill him!"   
The ox-trolls roared. One raised its spear high over Jo with the intent to bring it 
down. Frederik threw himself in front of Jo to shield him. Jo shouted over the noise 
at him, but the tip of the spear came down over Frederik's heart. He grunted and fell 
back into Jo's arms.   
And then they were no longer in Hell.   
The air cooled. The dark sky sat above them. Not the black void of Lucifer's throne 
room, but the natural darkness of an earthly sky, the moon casting a soft glow upon 
the land. A lush, green lawn cushioned their feet, and, behind them, lit torches shone 
light upon the Grimm manor. Ivy climbed the stone walls, and the flowers from the 
garden were still bursting with life even in the night.   
But, most importantly, this was Frederik's home. His servants could help him. "Help! 
Someone come and help us!" Jo screamed.   
"Jo—"   
"Do not speak, Frederik. Lie down."   
He pulled Frederik back with him until he was resting on the grass. His lover's blood 
smeared his hand.   
He clutched at the place where the spear had struck Frederik. Frederik put his hand 
on top of Jo's, as though attempting to calm him.   
The spear. That fucking demon's spear had traveled with them when they exited 
Hell. It had pulled free during their teleportation and had fallen onto the grass.   
Where the Hell were Frederik's servants? "Somebody get out here, now!"   

"Jo, for God's sake, I am alive. I am well."   
"Only because that spear did not pierce yer heart." That, however, did not put 
Frederik out of danger. Blood loss was a very real concern, even for vampires if their 
bodies did not heal swiftly enough. He removed his cloak and pushed Frederik's 
hand away so that he might dress the gaping wound.   
And was shocked to find there was no gaping wound at all. The cloth of his jacket 
and tunic was torn where the spear had struck, but Frederik's skin was smooth, pale, 
yet healthy.   
There was not even an indent to suggest the ribs had broken, and Frederik appeared 
to have an easy time of breathing.   
The prick stared at him with an expression of mild amusement. "The spear did not 
pierce my chest."   
"So I see."   
Jo looked at the spear again, with calm eyes this time. The pointed tip, while not 
entirely bent, was now certainly of no use as a weapon. It looked as though its 
handler had used it to stab a stone wall.   
"That is all you can say? When a moment ago you were in such a panic?"   
Jo was not so certain he was finished panicking. "The troll . . . I do not understand,"   
"You made it part of your bargain. Lucifer cannot kill me."   
Jo blinked. He couldn't stop the hysterical laugh that left his throat.   
Frederik's hand took hold of the back of his neck and pulled him down for a 
mouth-crushing kiss, which Jo eagerly returned. He did not understand himself, but, 
even after what had nearly happened, the hair of an escape with his existence, all he 
wanted was to kiss and touch and be touched. Frederik's mouth felt warm, and his 
body inviting, bringing a pleasant and tingling to Jo's body.   
"You saved me," Frederik said when their lips separated.   
"You saved me," Jo replied, putting their lips together again, forcing open Frederik's 
mouth so that he might take all of him.   

"I would think ye both rescued each other."   
Though Jo recognized the voice immediately, Hell had still put him on edge, and he 
and Frederik abruptly pulled apart. Jo's hand found the handle of his sword before 
he was able to stop himself. Michael stood not ten feet away in the clearing of 
Frederik's garden. A certain color in his cheek suggested he'd seen enough of Jo's and 
Frederik's affection. Anael was at his side, Jo was delighted to see, tail twitching 
behind him as he grazed.   
Jo lifted himself from the grass to stand before his superior. Frederik stood as well, 
shifting his bloody garments.   
Jo took his hand and held it tightly. Michael's visit explained the lack of attending 
servants to Jo's screams, and there could be no mistaking what the angel had come 
for. Michael was here to collect Jo and bring him home.   
Now that he had his wings returned to him, his place was no longer on Earth.   
Before discovering his fate, he wanted—needed—to hear of Zad's. "Did Zad—?"   
"He escaped well enough," said Michael, his face twisting slightly, the blush 
disappearing now that another topic was brought forth.   
"What is to happen to him?"   
"Naught."   
"Naught?"   
Michael shook his head. "This changes nothing. He will not be granted his wings 
back, even on his death."   
Jo nodded. He felt a mild pity for his friend, but Zad had been the one responsible 
for Frederik's attack on the MacGreggor village. He needed to be punished for it, and 
one favor to Michael would not bring those many villagers back to life.   
"That's the least of his worries," Frederik muttered. He'd doffed his bloody jacket and 
was loosening the strings on his tunic, eager to get out of the wet clothes. He would 
need a bath to remove the blood sticking to his skin.   
"As for ye," Michael said. "When the Council agreed to send ye into Hell, Jophiel, 
they did so on the assumption ye would not be trading yer soul when ye arrived."   

Jo's cheeks became unbearably hot. He was no doubt sporting the same color Michael 
had only a moment before. "I am sorry. I thought 'twas the only way to get him out."   
Michael nodded stiffly. "Ye're fortunate it turned out to be the way to release him."   
Frederik agreed. "Yes, very fortunate."   
"What?"   
"Jo, regardless of what would have happened to me, I would not wish ye to become a 
slave to him." Frederik hissed, not even willing to speak Lucifer's name. "Not for all 
the years in Hell would I want you down there."   
Michael nodded. "Had he turned ye into a slave, Jo, he would have forced ye to do 
such despicable things."   
"I know," Jo said.   
"Nay, ye do not know." Michael's eyes turned hard. "Ye would have been an angelic 
servant of the Devil. A fallen angel who had not lost his wings. Ye could have 
deceived countless innocents into handing over their souls to ye. Ye could have 
opened the gates to Heaven, allowing an army of demons inside to attack at Lucifer's 
whim."   
Jo hissed. He had not thought Lucifer would have forced him to do those things. And 
yet he was certain Michael was only making it seem worse than it truly was to 
deepen his shame. It worked.   
He hated Michael chastising him. Certainly, some humans would have been duped. 
Others, the majority who knew better than to give up their souls, even to angels, 
would have remained safe. And the only way he could return to Heaven after gifting 
his soul to Lucifer would be if one of his brothers had seen him and let him in.   
"I am sorry, Michael, but I would have done nothing different."   
"For the next time, Jo," Frederik said. "Please do not sell your soul for mine again."   

"We are two halves of the same whole, as I recall." A tiny smile twitched on Jo's lips. 
He liked the idea of being so connected to Frederik, and he would not allow them to 
scold him on that front. "'Tis impossible for me to do such a thing anyway."   
Michael snorted. "Aye, and ye are the luckiest creature to ever exist for it. But not 
lucky enough to avoid punishment."   
"Punishment?"   
"You dare!" Frederik dropped Jo's hand and charged forward. Had Jo not grabbed 
his arm and pulled him back, Frederik would have started a brawl with Michael like 
the offended creature he was.   
Yet Frederik would not be silenced. He hissed at Michael like an affronted snake. 
"You will not touch him. Leave my property this moment."   
"Frederik, stop." Jo's calm voice and firm grip must have been enough; Frederik 
looked back at him and collected himself, albeit with a snarl at Michael.   
If anything, Jo should not have been surprised. Zad had sold his soul, and even 
though it had been returned to him with Frederik's murder, he still had to face the 
punishment of losing his wings. Jo would likely lose his a second time. Only this 
time, it would not be by his choosing.   
He stood straight before his commander. "What is my punishment to be?"   
"Ye have already had it."   
Jo recoiled slightly, not comprehending what Michael said. He flexed the muscles of 
his wings, confirming to himself they were indeed still attached to him. He did not 
understand.   
Frederik's eyes ran over him, up and down, as though searching for lash wounds and 
other obvious marks as well. Though Heaven did not quite punish like that, Frederik 
would not have known that. "What did you do to him?" he asked, his voice laced 
with suspicion.   
"Part of the bargain Heaven made with him was that if he took yer head, he could 
become an angel again. Although the job was not actually done by him, 'twas still 
done and his wings were returned. The Council has decided that they shall not be 
forcibly removed."   

"Then . . . are you here to take him?" Frederik asked. This time, his hand was the one 
to grip Jo's tightly.   
Though he took a small comfort in the grip of Frederik's fingers, Jo did not even want 
to think of it. The worst sort of cruelty would be to separate him from Frederik now. 
They may share souls, but they could still hold physical bodies on two separate 
realms. Fortunately, Hell dealt with souls only.   
Michael shook his head, his lips setting into a firm line. "Nay. He has been banished 
from Heaven."   
Jo fell back a step. So shocking and so welcome at the same time. He could hardly 
believe his luck. He fought diligently, but the smile formed on his mouth anyway. 
"Banished?"   
Michael must have decided to pretend not to see it. "Aye. Because yer souls are 
connected, ye are to watch over this vampire, guard him, and be sure that nothing 
even remotely similar to the MacGreggor village incident ever occurs again."   
Frederik winced. "It will never happen again."   
Michael nodded. "Good. And do not think the matter is settled entirely. Ye will still 
have to make amends for it, regardless of yer shared soul with Jo."   
Frederik nodded. "I know. I will."   
Jo had no doubt that his lover would be spending the rest of his long life performing 
some sort of good deed or other in order to do just that. He would have to help him 
as much as he could.   
Michael turned his attention back to Jo. "Jophiel, ye will return to Heaven only when 
the end of his life has been reached, and there is an additional punishment to be had 
for ye."   
"There is?" He could not wait to hear it. For all Michael's frowning and talk of 
punishments, this felt more like a reward.   

Michael nodded. "Aye, it has been decided that, since yer wings are not to be 
removed, the standard punishment for disobedient angels, ye shall be given a mortal 
body to go with them."   
"A mortal body?" Frederik said.   
"A mortal body!" Jo's hands flew down to grasp between his legs, searching beneath 
his long tunic, and, indeed, there it was. His manhood returned to him. When had 
this happened? He had not felt its reappearance. Or had he? There was that 
wondrous, familiar tingling when he kissed Frederik.   
"Do not grab at it, Jo," Frederik said, slapping his hand away.   
Jo laughed, a long joyous laugh. Frederik pulled him into his arms and kissed him.   
Michael made a face, as though the very idea of a cock between his legs sickened 
him, and he did not understand what the celebration was about. He cleared his 
throat, cheeks darkening once again. "'Twill be a functioning body as well."     
Jo pulled away from the kiss. "Aye, I guessed as much." If Michael knew of the many 
pleasurable ways a human body could function, he would not appear quite so sour.   
"Is there anything else?"   
Michael glared at him for making so little of his punishment. Though he surely knew 
it was a farce, he was still the strictest of Jo's brothers. "That is all."   
Jo grinned. He was bursting with happiness, and he needed to let it out, but he could 
hardly do that with company. "Then, goodbye, Michael."   
Michael heaved a breath that seemed to stretch his armor to its limit. "Aye, goodbye, 
my brother. Until we meet again."   
But Jo could not leave it at that. He went to his oldest friend and put his arms around 
the angel. Michael did not squawk when Jo lifted him off his feet, and he reluctantly 
patted Jo's back as he was embraced.   

Frederik's arms were crossed, and an amusing look of jealousy shadowed his face. Jo 
released Michael and went back to his lover before his feathers became too ruffled, 
taking his hand and smiling at him until Frederik returned it.   
"Be happy, my brother," Michael said.   
"I will. Thank you."   
With a smile, Michael spread his wings, bent his legs, and launched himself high into 
the darkness of the sky, flying up until he disappeared. Anael did not sprout wings 
and follow the same way, but he, too, vanished from the gardens just as he was 
about to take another bite of Frederik's perfectly trimmed lawn.   
Frederik's arms wrapped around Jo's shoulders from behind, his hand petting the 
stem that connected into his right shoulder and stroking the feathers. Jo shifted and 
released a pleasurable sigh, his body heating and his cock hardening with the touch. 
Ah, aye, that was the loin-clenching tingle he'd felt before.   
He could enjoy having a manhood as well as his wings. Very much so. "We should 
both bathe before we do anything more than this." They were no longer dripping in 
blood, but a bath together would still be welcome. Once they ushered the servants 
out to keep their intimacy private, of course.   
Frederik pressed his lips along the curve of Jo's neck and jaw, and the warmth within 
him intensified like the fire of his sword. "You will have to be quick about it then. 
You are mine now," he said between kisses.   
Jo put his hands on top of Frederik's. He desperately wished to continue what they 
were doing, but there was still one last order of business that required attention 
before he could freely give himself over to pleasure and relaxation. "We will have to 
send a messenger to yer sister. She will need to know that ye are alive. She and Laird 
MacNiel will surely have Angus and Breanna in their care by now."   
Frederik nodded, a little smile on his lips. "She will make them a good mother. I must 
apologize to her as well."   
Jo turned to look at him. "What for?"   

Frederik seemed to smile in spite of himself. "She told me this would happen. Said 
that her soul was connected to MacNiel's the way yours and mine are. But I did not 
believe it. Regardless, a messenger can wait until morning, and we may perhaps go 
to visit them on some other day."   
The low sound of Frederik's voice, the press of his body, the promise of a future 
together were all enough to make Jo's blood pump, his breathing become labored, 
and his body damp with sweat and twitching with impatience.   
"Jo?"   
His reply was a soft moan.   
Frederik, however, became somber. "Jo, even had he taken yer wings, I would still 
have wanted you."   
That pulled him from his haze. "But ye did not wish for a human lover. A lover who 
would die of war and disease, correct?"   
Frederik nodded. "That was once true, but . . . I could not bear to have you again only 
to lose you. I need you to know this: That you are my other half is the only thing that 
makes sense, and, had I not discovered it today, had you become a human once 
again, I would not have been able to send you away again. I could not bear it. The 
last time, it broke my heart."   
Jo kissed him, halting his confession of guilt.   
Frederik clung to him as though he never wished to release him. "I love you," he said 
when they pulled apart.   
"And I love ye," Jo said. "And, now that we have confessed to these feelings, we must 
hurry inside. My new body is aching for more of what ye gave me at MacNiel's keep. 
But I want it to be done properly this time. Not that cold affair from before."   
Frederik smiled at him and took hold of Jo's hand. "I would enjoy that."   
   
~The End~   
   
About the Author   

   
Mandy Rosko lives and works in Ottawa, Ontario, is a romance junkie, a lousy web 
designer, plays too many video games, and is working hard to improve the craft of 
creating an actual plot.   
   
Learn more about Mandy online at 

www.rizzorosko.com