Sunday, October 13, 2013

Demonic Revenge - Part 4 #BadGirl #RomFantasy

Demonic Revenge continues:

Cindy stared at Vasya, drawn into his presence like a moth to flame. He was taller than Rémy by a few inches, and less muscular, though she knew he could probably take down any of the des Quatre-Frères without much effort. The darkness in his mood now enveloped her like a cloak, and she shivered, but not from the cold. In direct contrast to the chill, her heartbeat quickened a little when she let her gaze drift over the planes of his face, tracing with invisible fingers the high cheekbones, brushing the thick silk of his espresso brown hair, threaded with strands of silver moonlight. Her look lingered on the strong curve of his mouth, the sensuous fullness of his bottom lip. When that seductive mouth turned up in a brief smile, Cindy wondered if he could read her mind.

“Azazel’s fight with you is personal, isn’t it?” Cindy blurted quickly, staring up at him now.

Vasya shrugged, a slight, elegant gesture of one shoulder, and he smiled. “He thinks so.”

She frowned. “That’s not much of an answer.”

Vasya poured himself a glass of wine, sipped at it, and cocked at eyebrow in surprise. “This is a nice vintage.”

Cindy took another swallow and speared him with a determined look. “Is Denysé’s new book really your history?”

He shook his head. “Somewhat, but she’s more interested in charting my...” he sought a word, then settled for, “...return to power in my clan.” He added, somewhat dryly, “I think her infatuation with the whelp has her intrigued with the whole idea.”

Cindy tried to bite back a laugh, but it was only a partial success. “He’s going to snap if you keep pushing and prodding like that,” she warned. Rémy’s temperament was volatile at times, and his instinctive distrust of Vasya Petrova was riding his control to the limit.

“Who are you worried for, bella? Me or the whelp?” Vasya’s smooth, accented voice betrayed his amusement.

“If we have to fight a demon, what do we need?” She asked, going back to the mission at hand before she fell into those deep dark eyes.

Before he had time to answer, Rémy returned, a shopping bag in hand. He dropped it on the edge of the bed and looked at them. “When are we going to actually do something?”

“Don’t be so eager to die, Rémy des Quatre-Fréres,” Vasya said. For the first time since they’d stood in the same room, there was no taunt in Vasya’s voice when he addressed the younger male.

Cindy watched in fascinated shock when Rémy’s head ducked in a curt bow of respect and he answered, “I need to be able to do something.”

Vasya inclined his head in understanding. “Who among your clan would know the old ways best?”

“My brother, Aimé.”

“Do have any knowledge of an ancient relic that should be in the possession of your family?”

Cindy was looking from one to the other of them as they talked like civilized men for the first time. Vasya slanted a quick smile her way and returned his attention to Rémy.

“A sword?” Rémy questioned, blue eyes expressing doubt.

Vasya nodded.

“I remember seeing it when I was young,” Rémy admitted. “It looked like a piece of junk,” he added.

Vasya shook his head, but he actually laughed, and Rémy’s mouth quirked upward in a reluctant smile.

“While this lovely woman accompanies me to the nearest church, contact your brother, and tell him to bring the...” He paused, searching for the word he wanted, then spoke the ancient name, “Aducător de moarte,” he said. “Loosely translated, it means the bringer of death.”

“It’s held at Sommet Bleu,” Rémy said. “I’ll contact Aimé immediately.” Cindy tossed him a cellphone, and shook her head when he plucked it out of the air as it sailed toward him.

“Shall we locate the nearest house of God?” Vasya asked, holding out his hand to Cindy.

The sound of Rémy’s low, urgent tones as he spoke to Aimé trailed them for only a moment as they headed for the elevators.

* * * * *

“Is there a particular denomination you’d like for this,” Cindy asked. They were headed into the lobby, and she was acutely aware of the stares being leveled at her. Well, her companion, really. More than one longing glance lingered over the man walking at her side, though he appeared to be oblivious to the attention.

“The oldest church we can find,” he remarked. He finally glanced over his shoulder and his mouth tightened to a thin line. “Modern females lack decency,” he noted softly, “their thoughts belong in brothels.”

Cindy gaped up at him and one elegant brow arched upward. “Something you wish to say, bella mia?”

She waved a hand toward the desk in a vague, distracted gesture, “We can ask for information here, then leave.”

Vasya followed her across the busy lobby, and waited while she spoke with the clerk who kept staring at him when she wasn’t answering the quick barrage of questions Cindy threw at her.

“Got it,” Cindy declared when she was at his side again. “Let’s go.”

Twenty minutes later they entered a towering cathedral in the center of the city.

Vasya stopped when they were standing in front of the ornate altar, and turned to face the lovely woman at his side. He touched her hair and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “If you believe in prayer, say a few for your friend while I get what we’ll need.”

Before she could question him, he was gone in a blur of motion.

It took him only a few minutes to scour the altar and find the sacristy behind it, as was tradition in older churches. The serene, hushed atmosphere was a balm to his raw senses. He’d been alone for almost a century, living free on the plains of Siberia. Coming back to Venice had been a shock to him, and he was still adjusting to the modern age. His skin crawled, his senses felt battered by the noise and rampant madness that seemed to dominate most of the civilized world.

He closed his eyes, let his breathing slow and his mind reach. After a few minutes of focused searching, he found what he was looking for. All the older churches held secrets few were privy to, but Vasya had lived more lifetimes than most mortals could imagine, and he knew the secrets. He crossed the sacristy and reached into a small cupboard. Removing the vials of blessed Holy water, he set them aside, then brushed over the wooden panel that was the upper part of the cabinet. His sensitive fingers found the slight indentation and pressed. He stepped back as a section of the wall opened for him, then he slipped inside.

His vision adjusted to the darkness, and he was able to see enough to locate what he had hoped was stored here. An archaic blade, with ancient runes etched into the tarnished steel. The vibrations of magic were faint, but still there. Many of the elders had hidden the weapons of power in small places built within churches, always without the knowledge of those who served God. Always with the hope the weapons would never be needed.

He took a deep breath, almost a sigh, and slipped out the same way he’d come in. A few moments later, he was at Cindy’s side again.

“Come, I have what we need, bella.” They left the church and while they waited for a taxi, Vasya put his arm around her. “We’ll find her,” he promised. “I think the young one will be more than ready for battle when we return, don’t you?”


Part Five tomorrow at:

Can't get enough? Meet the Brothers des Quatre-Frères HERE:

Book One: Hour of the Wolf (Matéo)

Book Two: Thrown to the Wolves (Sébastien)

Book Three: Cry Wolf (Aimé)

Book Four: Wolf at the Door (Rémy)
Coming Soon


  1. Oooh, Vasya is just soooo sexy! He gives me shivers :) Can't wait write more! Thank you for including me in this project. Love ya!

  2. DAMN! I thought they'd at least use a fork!

  3. ROFLMAO. I'm sure Remy has one on him...just in case.

  4. The Big Bad Wolf is always prepared!! ;)


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