On Midnight Wings

Lucien’s hands knotted into fists. He barely felt the bite of his talons against his palms. Holding the Morningstar’s now gold-flecked gaze, he growled, “Name your price. But know this before you do—I’ll never agree to anything that negates Dante’s free will.”

“Such as putting a mortal—like Annie—ahead of his well-being? That’s exactly what you did when you rescued her while your son was being stolen from inside the club.”

Angelic power crackled electric along Lucien’s fingers, snapping the sharp smell of ozone into the briny air. “Consider your next words carefully,” he warned.

An answering thrum of power vibrated from the Morningstar and into Lucien. Elohim challenge. The ozone scent thickened. Then the Morningstar’s expression shifted from anticipation to regret as he took a reluctant step back.

“Before we play any Elohim games, we have a creawdwr to find.”

Lucien exhaled, releasing his power. “We do.”

“But we also need to discuss what we plan to do if his sanity has been broken. I know all about Bad Seed and what was done to Dante. And no,” the Morningstar added, giving Lucien a knowing look from beneath pale lashes, “I haven’t told anyone else.”

“And you won’t,” Lucien stressed, holding the Morningstar’s wintery blue gaze.

“Of all the many things I am, fool is not among them.”

“Yet.”

“Your faith in me is quite touching, brother,” the Morningstar said in a voice as dry as a desert wind. “Now, Dante—his sanity?”

“Dante’s bond with Heather has kept him balanced. Once we’ve located him, we can keep him sedated and safe until we find her.”

“And if we don’t find her?”

“We will,” Lucien replied. Stepping to the cliff’s edge, he studied the whitecapped waves crashing against the rocks below. “We must.”

“While I applaud your optimism, I don’t share it,” the Morningstar said. “Do you remember the device created by that nephilim scientist? The one designed to preserve what was left of Yahweh’s sanity, maybe even restore it?”

“An Banna Cruach,” Lucien said slowly, as a memory awakened, one buried long centuries before. “The Steel Bond.”

“The bond that cannot be severed, yes,” the Morningstar mused. “That’s it.”

“It was an invention of pure desperation,” Lucien said, turning to look at the Morningstar, “a last ditch effort. An effort finished too late, at that.”

“It was meant to be implanted within Yahweh, am I right?” the Morningstar asked. “To rechannel the creu tân in some fashion in order to safeguard his sanity?”

“Yes, but it was never tested, so we’ll never know if it would’ve worked. It might not have,” Lucien replied, impatience sharpening his tone. “In any case, it was built with a full-blooded Elohim creawdwr in mind, not a mixed-blood Maker.”

“If Dante’s sanity has broken and Heather isn’t found, we may have no other choice—aside from killing him, that is.”

Lucien laughed. “You talk as if the damned thing still existed. Loki destroyed—”

“No, he didn’t,” the Morningstar cut in. “He killed the nephilim who invented it, oh yes. Loki wanted Yahweh to become the Great Destroyer. He thought that would be fun beyond measure. But he never had a chance to destroy the Bond. Someone stole it from him before he could.”

“And who was that?”

A smile brushed the Morningstar’s lips. “Michael.”

Hope sparked. If the Steel Bond still existed, it might save Dante when nothing else could. “And where is it now?”

“Keeping Michael company inside his tomb—in theory, anyway. Besides, as you said, it may not even work on a True Blood–Fallen creawdwr at all. A creawdwr we still need to find.”

“That we do,” Lucien agreed. “So name your damned price.”

“Let’s think of it as a penalty, not a price. A penalty in two parts.”

“You can call it whatever you want, just name it.”

“First, I want Lilith back, restored once more to flesh.”

Lucien nodded, surprised, but not unpleasantly so. For a deal with the devil, that particular request/penalty was more difficult than morally challenging. “I’ll do my best to convince Dante. But no guarantees. He’s stubborn under the best of circumstances.”

“I’ve noticed,” the Morningstar said dryly.

“And the second part?”

“To ensure a lasting alliance between our houses, I want a hostage.”

And there it was, the moral compromise, the true deal with the devil.

Lucien regarded the Morningstar for a long, silent moment. He caught a flash of white in his peripheral vision, heard the rush of wings beneath the wind. Hekate.

“Dante will never give up Heather,” Lucien warned.

“Of course not,” the Morningstar said. “She’s bondmate and cydymaith both. I had no intention of asking for her.”

“Who, then?”

“Her sister, Annie. The mortal you were so busy rescuing.”

“No. Impossible. She’s pregnant. Choose another. Choose me.”

“Pregnant?” The Morningstar’s eyes shone with a speculative light. “Truly? Well, that changes everything. Annie no longer interests me as a hostage.”