PART 6
London, England
Frustratingly it was the next day before Teddy could do more than fret about what he’d found in the archives. Fighting the worlds evil didn’t stop for the weekend, but No 36 did run on smaller shifts than during the week. Given the 8 hour time difference between here and California, the few times he had tried to ring Giles, and even heaven forbid, Angel Investigations, he’d only reached answering machines. He left no message believing the information was simply too sensitive.
The time had, however, given him an opportunity to think. “Too, much blasted time if you ask me,” he grumbled, once again climbing the stairs towards the upper offices housed two floors above ground level. As predicted his weekend was turning out to be a disaster and threatened to get worse.
Mumbling dire threats at as yet unknown, idiot receptionists who should have known better to put a call through from a disgraced ex-watcher, he reached the office he was after and entered without even pretending to rap and miss the thin plywood of a door.
“Silas, old boy, we need to talk,” he announced and sat down uninvited.
The bald pate ringed with gunmetal-grey didn’t even rise. “The protocol is: knock first, then enter, then ask if I can spare a minute.”
“I would but you’ll say no.”
“Perceptive still in your old age,” said Silas Young dryly, flicking only the briefest of glances up from the text he was deciphering. The magnifying glass in his hand hadn’t moved from its place over the page. It was a common opinion that he looked more like a one-time rugby player with his large frame showing evidence of once having been beefy and wholesome.
In reply Teddy simple slid a piece of paper across the desk towards the crabby linguist. “Do you remember translating this, perchance?”
Not fooled by the casual tone, so at odds with the piercing look in blue eyes, Silas picked it up and glanced down. That first disinterested glance was swiftly followed by another much longer scrutiny. Dropping it finally, Silas folded his hands over it and said, “I’ve translated thousands of texts in dozens of languages over longer than I like to remember. Why should I recall this one specifically?”
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Teddy opted not to answer directly, “From what I can tell it’s an incantation that forms part of a spell to remove a soul from its body. It also includes reference to the heart of a vampire slayer.”
“I can read,” deadpanned, Silas before pinning his colleague with a speaking look, “Where did you find this?”
There was a pause, “Lets not ask that shall we.”
Silas’ dismayed, “Teddy!” was cut off.
“I’ve been informed of a series of ritual murders taking place in Los Angeles as we speak. Each victim is connected only by being a possible donor recipient of Buffy Summers heart. Somebody is butchering innocents in a terrifyingly determined hunt for a slayers heart. This is real, Silas, and we’re at fault.”
That statement did not go down well. Silas stiffened and ground out in a clipped voice, “How are atrocities in the US our fault?”
“The original scroll and the rest of your notes, incomplete or not, are missing. Somebody has removed them. I’m not a huge believer in co-incidences and from my long friendship with you, I know you aren’t either.”
“They’ve been misplaced, perhaps-“
“Co-incidence,” interrupted Teddy, refusing to let him bog them both down in useless denial.
“This is preposterous. What you’re suggesting would mean we have a traitor in our midst.”
“I’m aware of that and not just anybody knows the location of the archives. Who asked you to translate the original scroll, Silas?”
Silas was shaking his head in disbelief before the question was fully framed, “You’re barking up the wrong tree. There is no way that is the connection.”
“Humour me.”
Sighing deeply Silas shrugged, “Since you insist and just to ally your paranoia. I was asked by Harry…before Sylvestor retired.”
Harry, or Henry Marchingham was the Director General of the Watchers Council. There was nobody higher than him within the hierarchy of the council. He reported only to the Home Office. Teddy was as far from being reassured as it was possible to be. Dear God! His despairing, “Shit!” earned him a reproving glare.
It was a well known fact that Harry had an almost fanatical hatred for a certain vampire, considered him in abomination far worse it seemed than before he’d been cursed with the return of his soul. Sucking in a breath and raising a shaking hand to mop at a brow beaded with sweat, Teddy said, “Did I happen to mention the vampire Angel is also involved. He’s investigating the killings apparently; not to mention his previous and intimate relationship with the slayer.”
Opposite him and behind the desk he’d sat behind for fifteen years, Silas lost every single scrap of colour from his usually ruddy face.
***
“Let me get this straight. You want me to hack into the DG’s email so you can have a good ole’ gander at what the old fart’s been up to?”
“Well, really-“
“Yes, exactly right,” interrupted Teddy, flicking a reproachful Silas a warning look. “I should warm you it’s a dangerous undertaking, young man, so I wouldn’t ask it of you lightly.” Finished, he maintained eye-contact and mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he’d assessed the youngster accurately.
“Danger’s right up my street, mate, no worries about that,” assured T J Ratner, alias Ratty, who then sucked his teeth and looked thoughtful. Behind him a whole rack of computer’s buzzed and pinged busily. This was the IT department of the Watchers Council and predictably it was under-funded and ridiculously short-staffed.
“I could lose me job, if we get found out couldn’t I?”
“That’s a good possibility in those circumstances, yes. However, I understand you’re quite good at um…getting away with such things.”
Ratty grinned. “Heard about my rep have you?” He looked more proud than abashed, “Those were good times. Much better than now I can tell you. Boring as shit this job is. In fact this is the most intriguing thing I’ve had to do all year.” The grin widened to reveal yellow, tobacco stained teeth, “Okay, I guess that means I’m in.”
Swinging back to the nearest monitor, he began tapping importantly and speedily at the keyboard. “Gimme a minute to get up his inbox and then you owe me a crate of Coors. Word of warning don’t get me any of that German shite, hate that stuff. It tastes like icy piss.”
“You can’t tell,” sharing a shudder with Silas, Teddy tried not to crowd too close in the torturously uncomfortable typists chair with its squeaky wheels.
A few moments later and the slight figure of Ratty, lost in his bulky Nike tracksuit and baseball cap, pushed away in his chair to let Silas wheel in and browse, boasting, “There you go; easy as taking candy off a baby.”
There were several pages of emails and going through them all took a while. “There’s nothing here,” Teddy announced, disappointed and leaned back to wipe the accumulation of dampness off his brow with a crisp white square of linen. His hand was shaking.
“I told you-“
“I know I’m not wrong, Silas, and I think whatever you say to the contrary you think so to.” The craving for a cigarette abruptly dug in like talons. He almost asked Ratner for one of his.
“That may be,” Silas conceded, adding pragmatically, “but if we can’t prove it. We have no case to present.”
“What about a personal email account?” asked Ratty, rolling a piece of chewed gum around his mouth. He was sat stretched out, as casual as casual can be, hands up behind his head.
They’d forgotten he was even there. Both men looked over at him in confusion. “Personal email?”
“Personal emails, you know, like hotmail and the rest. You can login to them anywhere with a password.”
Shaking his head to clear it, Teddy said, “Never heard of them. How do we find out if Harry has one?”
Popping a pink bubble, Ratty cocked his head to mull the problem over. “Temporary Internet folders would be the easiest. I don’t figure he knows enough to clear them out. Should be accessible from that. We’d need to go on his PC though. Can’t do that from here.”
If Silas had looked unnerved before, he turned green now. “Are you suggesting sneaking into the Director General’s office and snooping on his actual computer.”
Another bubble popped and slight shoulders shrugged. “What’s the diff from doing it here?”
“If you need me to explain it, then there is really no point,” Silas replied dryly; then turned to Teddy with bleak eyes, “You can’t be seriously considering it?”
The Kali Shiva Vishnu Temple, Los Angeles
There was a splatter of blood decorating a toe of the naked corpse. Around the ankle the brown leather cuff holding the foot was still fastened to the gurney, as if the deceased man with the gaping hole in his upper thorax was going to make a sudden, unexpected stab for freedom. Doing his very best not to linger on the man with a family who’d grieve for him, Wesley concentrated on the ones who’d ritualistically murdered him.
Left arm going numb from the chains, he shifted on the hard floor to get some ease and thinking at least he had a clear view from where he sat. Whether that was a plus or not would depend on what happened in the next few minutes. The mage, as he’d labelled him in lieu of a name, was clearly the one with all of the power here. Tall with stooped shoulders and a shock of grey hair, he could have been anybody’s grandpa. If you discounted the blood spattered red vestment-like garments, that is. Too far away to hear much of the conversation, Wesley surmised from the chalk marks being inscribed on the floor that the assessment of Richard’s heart was soon to commence.
Which was all well and good except he still had no clue as to who they were, and why hadn’t they killed him and Detective Lockley? Those questions along with many others circled maddeningly. Alas, those thoughts brought with them the debilitating and familiar terror that had always transfixed him in the past. Rather than succumb to it, Wesley chose instead to consider in as detached a manner as he could fake the reasons for keeping them alive; especially given the merciless modus operandi of the magician and his demon servants.
An unwillingness to kill unless it was the unfortunate donor seemed preposterous. An audience? Hardly, true magic doesn’t require active participants other than the wielder. So, that left him with the unpleasant idea they were Scooby snacks for the demons; a sort of well-done treat. His belly gave a terrified lurch and the urge to jibber a useless round of pleas was fairly overwhelming.
Get a grip on yourself, man, you’ve been in tighter spots than this and lived to fight another day. Bolstered, Wesley drew a long slow breath and got back to gnawing at the facts.
That was another mystery. Demons don’t generally serve men, at least not unless compelled to by supernatural force. Even then it would have to be for the vilest of reasons. You don’t control such bestial creatures by denying their desire to maim and destroy. You feed it and bind them even more strongly to your will. Another gruesome thought given the precarious position they were in.
He didn’t recognise the breed and struggled to even categorise them. Most demons walk on two legs if they even have legs, but these were multi-jointed and appeared to be comfortable upright and on all fours. Covertly he studied one of the pair flanking the mage. They were not a pretty sight. A red crest rose between pointed ears that slanted up on the sides of a scaled head. Below, malformed snouts jutted out from a flattened nose while deep-set burning eyes gave them an almost biblical appearance that was deeply disturbing.
Mired deep in unpleasant thought, it didn’t register immediately that his subject was staring straight back at him until he made the mistake of returning that stare. Connecting with it briefly, Wesley sensed cold, unremitting evil so strong his bowels threatened to empty.
Oh God, they were doomed!
Unluckily, distraction was at hand. At the other end of the room, the conference between mage and seers ended abruptly with the old man violently flinging the container to smash into the wall. With his own heart thudding sickly and guessing Richards heart hadn’t been the right one after all, Wesley didn’t suppose the question of their surviving the night would be left unanswered for much longer.
Beside him, Kate stiffened, too, and when he caught her gaze, he recognised the flash of fear she didn’t stamp out in time. In tandem they tested the chains, stopping when a threatening grunt reminded the pair they had a bigger problem than mere metal. It wasn’t so much the chains that imprisoned them, as the third beast eyeing them hungrily out of blood-red slits from perhaps three ft away.
One of the seers had been sitting inside the ring of chalk symbols. When Anton heard the verdict and snatched up the container with its fragile contents in a towering rage, the walls of the room seemed to shrink back and the air cackled with sinister energy. As they watched as fury leached every vestige of humanity from the old man’s face, turning softly wrinkled skin ravaged and mottled with veins that stood out in grotesque relief. The transformation sent the cloaked seers leaping back to cower back against the wall as if hoping it would magically move out of the way of their retreat. A wise move it turned out as all that rage was for them.
His ranting at them in an arcane language froze the marrow in Wesley’s bones.
Understanding the words wasn’t necessary. Some things were universal. Finally the mage calmed enough to warn hoarsely, “I am at the end of my patience. After sixty years of waiting, planning and sacrificing everything I was before, I am thwarted by imbeciles. I warned your employers what would happen if they failed me. Do they need a lesson on taking me seriously?”
“No, My Lord,” quavered one of the seers, obviously braver than his partner, “there is but one name left on the list. They must have been given the slayer heart you seek.”
Anton was forbiddingly unimpressed, “Hardly reassuring when, so far, you and yours have failed miserably to locate the person who has that name, now is it?”
Hearing that silkily voiced question, sweat broke out all over Wesley’s body as it dawned on him exactly why they’d been allowed to live. It made horrible sense now. Who better to interrogate about that last name, than a pair of interlopers who shouldn’t have been aware of what was going on? Oh God, please let me withstand whatever torture this monster plans, or better yet- Angel will you kindly move your arse and get here!
As if he’d read Wesley’s mind, Anton turned slowly on his heel and gazed steadily and coldly at the bound man and woman. “However, all is not lost. I think we have our breakthrough sitting right in this room.”
Wesley was lost for words, Kate wasn’t and glaring rebelliously, she spoke up, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, or who the hell you are for that matter. I had a list with twelve names and thanks to you they’re all dead. Oh, and just in case I forget to say before you kill me, too. You’re not going to get away with this. You’ll pay one way or another. Bank on it.”
Calm, his face was restored to its previous state. Unmoved by her passion, Anton folded his hands over his middle and deigned to reply, “Who I am is irrelevant and I don’t disagree. Everything has a price and I fully expect to pay mine. If it makes you feel better, I have no doubts it will be far more excruciating than any price your authorities could exact.”
There could be no doubting the man’s zeal or willingness to pay. Something smouldered inside him that transcended both age and knowledge. What terrified Wesley the most as he sat helpless before him was the instinctive realisation that this person was not naturally evil. He’d been driven to it by something. Perhaps the same rage that would not let anything deter him, including the murder of innocents.
Since they were engaged in dialogue of sorts, Wesley asked one of the questions that had been confounding him since walking inside this death chamber. “So why do it? You’re no arrogant dabbler in madjicks ignorant of the consequences of using such forces, but a master at it. What could be so important that you would be willing to pay the price of body and soul?” Even as he asked, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.
Anton didn’t get a chance to reply. A splintering crash saw the door violently parting from its frame to fly across the room, smashing into the gurney and sending it on a collision course with the petrified seers.
“Revenge” announced a new voice, one infinitely recognisable. Inside the shattered frame stood a tall, black coated figure with spiked dark hair and a forbidding expression. Angel, sword in hand stepped through the remains of the door.
Hope soared ridiculously high inside both Wesley and Kate. “About damn time,” they chorused in unison.
Angel ignored them to focus purely on the old man. “Hello, Anton. It’s been a long time.”
Unfreezing and blue eyes now lit with loathing, Anton inclined his grey head, “Angel.” The atmosphere with frigid, brittle enough to shatter, perhaps splintering into a million pieces of hatred. “I told you we would see one another again.”
Taking two slow and very deliberate steps into the room, Angel made a show of inspecting the room. Survey complete he returned to Anton and said grimly, “This is new isn’t it? What happened to bringing balance and abhorring the senseless loss of life?”
If the reminder was supposed to faze, Anton it didn’t work. “I learned the end justifies the means- from you. Did you think I would forget such an important lesson?”
Wesley saw Angel’s flinch even though it barely showed on the surface. “I guess not,” replied the vampire, edging closer to the two bound humans and blocking them with his body. “You’ve been busy. Tell me, do you think Serena would still be proud of her father now?”
This time the barb was right on target. “Do not even say her name, vile monster.” Anton howled, losing control at the softly spoken charge. Breathing heavily the old man advanced, continuing hoarsely, “You do not have that right. My daughter died at your hands, she loved you and you killed her to save your soul!”
For the bound witnesses all thought of rescue faded. Feeling ridiculously like an interloper and mesmerised by the drama being enacted before his eyes, Wesley looked to Angel hoping for a swift denial. It wasn’t forthcoming and the vampire’s profile was, if possible, even more closed off than normal.
The demons who served Anton advanced with him; their thick skin flushing to russet as his wrath stroked their own eruptible natures. With the broad sword raised defensively, a father’s hell seared Angel from 10 ft away. Coming to a standstill savage purpose was audible in every word as the grieving mage revealed his intent. “I will bring down all of the torment and hell I can bring on you, vampire. I am the bringer of your worst nightmares, exactly as you were of mine.”
Sacramento – 1942
“Angel, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know.” Serena sobbed. “I thought I could do it. I thought I could help you and then you might love me back.” She was kneeling on the dirty floor of the basement, surrounded by the paraphernalia of magic that she’d been brought up with and would now spell her doom. Tears tracked clean lines down a beautiful dirt stained face. Blue eyes identical to Anton Silverous, her powerful father and mentor, pleaded with him for understanding.
Stood over her, Angel couldn’t give her understanding, only horror tinged anger. “How could you?” he asked, stunned. “Do you have the slightest idea what you could have done, messing with my curse like that?” Dumbly shaking his head from side to side, he saw the move and stepped back from the lunged attempt to latch onto his legs. “Stay away from me, Serena,” he warned raggedly, still staggering under the enormity of what might have been.
Her confession still hadn’t sunk in properly and already Angel felt sick. “I thought you were my friend?” he whispered, betrayal ringing out.
Serena folded in on herself as if he’d struck her. “I am your friend. I love you. They tricked me, I swear. Angel, please help me.” A grazed sooty palm was held out to him in blind supplication, terror glazing those eyes. All around them the flickering of candlelight added a surreal aspect to underground room, highlighting the lurking darkness rather than keeping it at bay.
Ignoring the hand, he raked her with a seething glare before turning away to pace off, growling, “I can’t help you, how can I? According to you I can’t even help myself.”
With his back to her bitter self pity added to the mix. Why did this keep happening to him? He hadn’t led her on into believing he could return her feelings. Hell, he’d even asked Anton to intercede rather than hurt the girl he’d watched grow from a gangly twelve-year-old with too big eyes, to a striking woman.
Anton, Oh God! What was he going to say about all of this? Angel stilled with renewed horror at what this would do to Serena’s father.
Anton was his friend, a good man who’d taken a guilt-ridden, unstable vampire into his home and using slow coaxing had taught him how to find some small measure of peace. Angel owed him everything. This house sitting in a valley, surrounded by acres of dense woodland was a haven for balancing magic; owned by an order dedicated to keeping the demon world from infesting the human one and vice versa.
A haven until now. The air of the basement was thick with burnt blood. In the centre of the ravaged circle the small animal she’d sacrificed taunted him. In the time he’d spent under this roof he’d seen nothing like this. The lingering malevolence called to his demon. In attempting a spell to somehow alter his curse, she’d instead opened a gateway for a demon to enter this world. The gateway being her own body. Thanks to the deal she’d struck in ignorance, she had a few hours grace.
Fists clenched and staring blindly, he said, “This can’t be happening. It’s a nightmare.”
Trembling and drowning in shame, Serena sat up, curling her legs under the bedraggled and filthy skirt, “It’s real,” she said hopelessly. “I know what I have to do. I just know I can’t.” She’d tracked his agitated pacing with her heart squeezing in remorse. Every dream she’d carried from a young adolescent had been about him. Now he couldn’t even look at her. Her failure was complete.
Every muscle locked in outrage he spared her only a brief furious glance. “You’re not killing yourself, so don’t even think about it. There’s got be another way. We just have to find it.”
God damn it! Why was it that no matter how hard he tried, he brought destruction to anyone who tried to help him? Dimly, behind the roaring in his ears, Angel heard himself add, “We have to tell your father, maybe he can do something.”
That golden head jerked up, eyes wide with rejection. “No!” she shouted, “No, Angel, please?!” Sucking in a breath, fresh tears welled. Serena lifted a trembling hand to try and bite them back and then got to her feet. Wringing her hands, she pleaded with him, “Please, don’t tell my father about any of this. I’m begging you. I couldn’t bear that.”
A sudden leap of fury had him rounding on her, face hardening to reveal some of the darkness he’d wrought so effortlessly before being cursed with his soul. “You’re begging me,” he rasped.
The sound grated along her spine. Blanching, Serena tried to duck her head. Closing the distance he’d put between them inhumanly fast and grabbing her chin, Angel forced it back up to make her face him and what she’d done. “The curse has got nothing to do with why you and I can’t be together. I don’t feel like that about you.” He snarled, wishing he’d told her that before now, instead of cowardly hoping he wouldn’t have to.
“But they told me-“ she faltered under his blistering glare.
“You mean the demon you’ve let infest your body lied?” Angel bit out, sarcasm rife and let her go with a slight push before he did something he’d regret. “Go figure, it’s not like demons do that a lot now is it?”
Spinning in his heel he tossed up his hands and then swung back to snarl. “You are so unbelievably stupid. I can’t believe your father let you anywhere near magic.” It was a waste of time and effort, but Angel was helpless to stop the ranting. It helped him not think about what she’d done. So much for his vaunted self-control.
Helplessness drove him nuts, always had and this was no exception. “You’ve never practised the dark arts before in your whole life. It’s forbidden. What the hell made you think of trying it now?”
She opened her lips, but he jumped in and cut her off with a chopping motion of one hand, “Forget it. I don’t want to hear it.”
“You’re right, they lied about a lot of things and I was foolish enough to believe them. As much as I wish otherwise I wasn’t prepared for this and now I have to pay the price.”
It was time to lay it all out. “Angel, if I live past midnight my soul will be wrenched out, leaving my body behind to wreak havoc on the innocent. I think you know better than anyone why I can’t let that happen.” If nothing else, the teachings she’d abided by before love had seduced her held fast on one stark truth. “I must die before that happens.”
The stoic resignation, replacing the terror of a young woman faced with literally bringing hell on earth pierced Angel’s anger. He mourned it because without that cushion the feelings he did have for her came through. If only she’d been satisfied with what he could offer, affection and caring.
Acid tears stung. Achingly he said, “Serena, I can’t kill you, please don’t ask me that.”
Closing the distance, her palm cupped his cheek and this time he didn’t pull back. “I know what it is I’m asking, but there is simply no-one else. I’d do it myself but they must have foreseen that and I still forfeit if I do. Angel, I must ask you one last time. Please save my soul.”
He still couldn’t accept how this must end. “There’s got to be another way.”
Blonde hair flew around slim shoulders as she shook her head. “This is an ancient entity, driven out back before time began. Somebody planned this well and I strayed into the trap.” Snatching her hand back, Serena let the seeping coldness flow into her face, turning her gaze crystal. “The demon you host is nothing compared to what I’ve let return. If you refuse to do what I ask, then you’ll be as culpable for what follows as I am.”
She could see the moment he began to accept and pushed back her own fears. It wasn’t fair, but she was fiercely glad that if she had to die now it was like this. Stepping away, Serena lifted aside the curtain of tangled golden hair to bare her neck. In the pause she tried to sooth him, “Maybe this is meant to happen. Maybe this was a part of their plan all along that you be the one to kill me. Don’t let them have the satisfaction of failing, or tormenting yourself over things you can’t change.”
Reaching out for his hand, Serena held his gaze unwaveringly and felt sick with relief when Angel took a slow painfully reluctant step towards her. When he reflexively jerked back from what he was considering doing, she refused to let him and pulled him closer. His face hovered inches over her neck. Sliding her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, she quivered and said huskily, “Kill me now, Angel, and if you will give me one thing before I die. Lie and tell me you could have loved me.”
***
As it turned out, the demons who’d destroyed Serena hadn’t entirely lied, but he hadn’t found that out until much later in Sunnydale following his moment of bliss. Thinking about it, Buffy had reminded him very strongly of Serena. Maybe that explained why he’d been almost predisposed to falling in love with the slayer. Not that the guilt had left him. Only with Cordelia did he feel free of guilt. The problem was, finally ready to admit he had deeper feelings for the feisty brunette, Angel had a hunch all of that was about to change, too.
He hadn’t had to drink from Serena to kill her, but knowing she wanted it done that way, Angel hadn’t been able to deny her. Making it as painless as possible he’d bitten and drained her, then cradled the slumped body as he ascended up from the bowels of the building he’d come to call home. Laying her in her bed, he’d left her for Anton to find and then disappeared.
Angel hadn’t left any explanations because he hadn’t had the heart to sully his friend’s memories of his only beloved child. Now, facing him sixty years later and with Wesley and Kate listening in, he lowered the sword so that the tip pointed harmlessly at the floor and said, “I didn’t kill her to save my own soul, Anton, but hers.”
“Lies,” the old man hissed, “I won’t listen to your pitiful excuses, vampire. I took you into my home and you destroyed it. There are no excuses.” Hatred burned with maniacal fire. Jerkily nodding his head, Anton said, “Take your humans and leave. I will see you again when it is time for you to pay.”
“Wait! You don’t understand…” Sensing they were out of time, Angel made a hasty, desperate move for the man he once would have died to protect, “…Let me explain and stop this madness-“
Spinning a complete circle on powerful legs one of the demons ejected its spear, and howling a battle cry, slashed him across the middle before its master could shout an order to desist. Staggering and falling heavily to his knees with an agonised grunt, Angel hugged his abdomen to try and halt the blood leaking from the deep slash. Badly wounded, he couldn’t lift his sword arm even if he wanted to.
Head whirling, he yanked his senses back into a semblance of order and blurrily saw the supernatural entourage were almost gone. Falling onto his side to roll to face the exit, Angel tried one last time. “Anton, wait. It doesn’t have to be this way,” he groaned, lifting tormented eyes to catch the other mans. “You have to believe me. I swear I never meant her harm.”
From the temple beyond the door, Anton hesitated for a fraction of a second before letting the darkness swallow him whole again. “I see you haven’t lost your touch, Angel; still able to seem so sincere. You sicken me. I will not stop– ever. Besides, I have gone too far down this path to stop even if I wanted to.”
