Dancing on the Head of a Pin

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High Ball: Dancing on the Head of a Pin

Copyright © 2007 by Kiernan Kelly

All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever

without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or

reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78650.

ISBN: 978-1-60370-223-2, 1-60370-223-7

Printed in the United States of America.

Torquere Press electronic edition / December 2007

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX

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BOOK ONE IN THE BEGINNNING Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heavens. -- The Bible, King James Edition, Gen. 19:24 Chapter One Barely kissing the horizon, the sun glowed a fiery crimson over the purpling waters of Islamorada, casting orange shadows over the storm-shuttered windows and whitewashed wraparound porch of their beachfront home. Warm, salty breezes promised an evening thunderstorm and rippled the tall sea-oats that covered the dunes, surrounding the house with a green-and-gold carpet. Standing barefoot on the second floor balcony, dressed in nothing but a loose-fitting pair of thin, white cotton pants, his tanned, flawless skin stretched over a chiseled body and his long dark hair blowing wild in the evening breeze, Malak was himself as much a work of art as anything his talented hands created. With a flick of his wrist, Malak added a touch of vermillion to the wide swath of color that stretched across his canvas. When he stepped back and eyed his work, a small frown creased the skin between dark eyebrows. To anyone else Malak would appear to be only slightly dissatisfied with what he saw, but Cael knew him better than that and ducked just as the canvas came whizzing through the air. It flipped end over end, sailing over the balcony railing, spiraling onto the dunes below. "What was wrong with that one, Mal?" Cael asked, peering down at the wreckage of Malak's latest creation. Coarse sand clung to the wet paint, lending it the consistency of colored grits. "It was shit." Only Malak's voice, deep and smoky, could make defecation sound sexy. Cael smirked and swung himself up onto the balcony railing, straddling it. Leaning back against one of the posts supporting the overhang, he crossed his arms over his chest, watching Malak angrily swish brushes around in a mason jar half-filled with murky turpentine. "You say that about everything you paint these days, Mal." Below Cael, half-buried in the sand, were the remnants of at least a couple of dozen of Malak's canvases, in various stages of completion. Pieces of the stretched canvas and broken frames stuck up through the sand like paint-splattered bones. Malak refused to allow any of them to be picked up and thrown away, inspiring Cael to nickname the area surrounding their porch St. Malak's Cemetery.

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"Don't you have something else to do?" Malak grumbled, carefully cleaning his brushes and placing them bristles-up in another mason jar. He dried his hands on a paint-splattered rag, keeping his back to Cael. "Someone else to do?" "Not at the moment," Cael answered, grinning. He could see the muscles tensing across Malak's shoulders. It was so easy to provoke him that it barely provided Cael with a challenge anymore. He flipped his mane of golden hair behind him and smiled impishly. "Why? Got someone in mind?" "Go fuck yourself, Cael." "A physical impossibility, Mal. Believe me, if I could I would -- constantly, and with great enthusiasm." Cael laughed, jumping down from the railing. He walked up and ran his hands over Malak's strongly muscled back, feeling the silken skin twitch under his palms. "You're tense, Malak. That's why you're having a hard time creating anything worthwhile. You've held out too long and it's affecting you physically." "The only reason I'm tense is because you're still here," Malak growled, shrugging Cael's hands off his shoulders. Undeterred, Cael returned to caress Malak's smooth skin. "I could relieve your tension in an instant, you know," he purred, sliding his hands around Malak's trim waist. He traced his fingers lightly over the ropy muscle of Malak's stomach, before slipping them under the drawstring waistband of Malak's pants, smiling at the sharp gasp when his fingers brushed against Malak's pubic hair. "I'd do whatever you wanted me to do. Touch you. Kiss you. Devour you. I'd even bend over the railing for you; let you take me hard and fast, or slow and sweet. Or would you rather bottom? You'd like to feel my cock push its way into your sweet, tight ass, wouldn't you? All you need to do is tell me what you want, Mal. That's all it would take." "Knock it off, Cael! You already know what my answer to that is." Malak twisted away and opened the sliding glass door that led into the upstairs living area. He slipped inside, closing it behind him. Cael watched him round the corner into his bedroom, the resulting bang as Malak slammed the door shut echoing throughout the house. Still smiling, Cael fingered his erection through his cargo shorts, adjusting himself. Damn if he hadn't given himself another boner. It was a wonder he never learned -- thinking about fucking Malak did that to him every time. Touching any part of Malak's body had that same effect on Cael, the heat from Malak's skin going straight from Cael's fingertips to his groin. He sighed deeply as his erection grew painful. A body would think he'd have grown immune to Malak's charms by now, but no. It had been that way for the past three thousand years -- why should today be different?

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Flinging himself over the railing, Cael let his blood-red wings shimmer into view, membranous and leathery, flapping slowly to ease his fall. He landed lightly on the sand below, his feet barely indenting the grainy surface. Bending, he plucked Malak's latest creation from the ground. A slow grin creased his cheek as he contemplated the sand-splattered painting. The canvas showed two figures entwined, one light and one dark. Although their faces were indistinct, no more than smudges of color, it was clear to Cael who the subjects were. Malak's subconscious was trying to break through the wall he'd erected between them. His desire was manifesting itself in his paintings, had been for centuries now, which was why Malak was unhappy with everything he painted. He didn't want to admit that he wanted Cael as badly as Cael wanted him. But Malak's wild, bold brushstrokes and his sensual use of color, in addition to his subject matter, told a different story. He was losing control. And none too soon, as far as Cael was concerned. Time was swiftly running out for him. If Cael didn't get Malak between the sheets soon, Cael was going to find himself right back where he'd started, with a pitchfork stuck in his ass and a permanent case of the hornies. That was a totally unacceptable outcome. Cael would not go back, refused to even consider the possibility. Three millennia had done nothing to dim the memories of his life before he'd met Malak. He remembered all too clearly what it had been like, how much he had suffered. Humiliation. Degradation. Subjugation. Deprivation. All tempered with a healthy dose of pain, they'd filled his every waking moment. And since Cael never slept, that translated to being miserable every moment of every fucking day. No way. He was not going back. His hands clenched involuntarily, crushing the canvas with a splintering sound as the wooden frame cracked in his fingers. Letting it drop back onto the sand, he struggled to regain his composure. Calm yourself, he thought. You have everything under control. He's going to snap any moment now, like a twig in a tornado. Cael took a deep breath, filling his lungs with clean, fresh air, willing his muscles to relax. A few more days and Malak's resolve would crumple like tissue paper. That's all it would take, Cael told himself. A handful of hours and he'd have Malak naked, writhing underneath him. And once he'd had his fill of Malak's delectable flesh; once he'd spilled his seed deeply inside Malak's perfect body, or had Malak's semen fill his -- it didn't matter to Cael in the slightest which way it went down -- Cael would be safe until the end of time. A few more days and it would all be over.

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It had better be.

A few more days were all Cael had left.

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Chapter Two Sweat beaded on his forehead as Malak leaned back against the bedroom door. It had been close that time -- too close. Cael's warm hands on his bare skin had nearly driven all reason from his head. When Cael's fingers had slipped beneath the waistband of Malak's pants and nearly touched the head of his rigid erection, it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to pull away. Cael's words were almost worse than his touch. They'd set Malak's entire body aflame, tingling with a longing that was almost impossible to resist. It seemed to get worse each year, more difficult for Malak to resist. With each passing day, each passing hour, Malak could feel his resolve weaken. He rubbed a trembling hand over his face. It was at times like this, when he teetered on the brink of giving in to his desires, that he felt anger rise anew at the circumstances that had thrown his fate in with Cael's. He'd been given absolutely no choice in the matter. Malak's life had been saved by the demon, and by Heaven's decree Malak was stuck with Cael until one of two things happened -- either the time limit imposed by Heaven elapsed, or he gave up his virginity. For almost three millennia Malak had walked the thin, razor-sharp line between salvation and damnation, and his balance was precarious. All too frequently lately he'd found himself wavering, ready to plunge headfirst into the abyss, and what both frightened and angered him was the growing feeling that he wouldn't mind falling. Quickly, he pushed those thoughts aside, knowing that they would only weaken the thin bindings that held his lust in check. Bolting the door behind him, lest Cael decide to follow him into his inner sanctum, he flopped down onto his bed. Rolling to his stomach, he rested his chin on his folded arms at the foot of the bed and stared down at the grain of the hardwood floor, lost in memory. *** Sodom. Barren, the harsh land has borne no fruit but has instead birthed a city, a colorful and noisy celebration of base desires and gratification of the flesh. The scent of sex oozes from every doorway, a thick and heady cloud of eroticism that floats through the streets, tempting and titillating everyone who breathes it. Alive with the sounds of commerce, the marketplace teems with activity. Merchants hawk their wares, jingling golden chains in front of tents swathed in colorful fabric enticing buyer's eyes to wander over displays of rare plumage, bolts of gauzy cloth, fine wines, exotic spices and oils, and costly perfumes.

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Whores of both sexes and all ages advertise their expertise, dropping to their backs or their knees at the flash of a copper coin. Pungent smoke from the burning herbs touted as helping one shed one's inhibitions drift in lazy ribbons between the rows of alchemists' tents, along with bubbling brews to enhance the libido or heighten the senses. In the heat of the day, what little clothing worn by vendors and patrons alike is provocative, intended to enflame desire rather than provide modesty or protection from the elements. Modesty is a word unfamiliar to the people of the City of the Wicked, as alien to them as the words restraint or moderation. Men and women wrapped in strips of diaphanous fabric stroll the narrow aisles between the merchants' tents. At times, their only adornment may be a coin purse strung on a narrow silken cord. Without hesitation, people dig out coins and flip them to a vendor, taking whichever whore tempts them without benefit of curtain or bed. In the dust of the street, over the merchant's table, or pressed up against the wall of a building, they thrust and grunt in wild abandon. The strong take and the weak give, bodies used with or without permission. Others traversing the marketplace simply skirt the jumble of arms and legs that lie in their path or, more often than not, join them. Within the house of Lot, Malak peers out through a rough-hewn window. He can see a small corner of the marketplace, where the comings and goings of the human folk capture his attention, drawing it away from the prayers of his fellows. He watches as a young man is bent over a merchant's table, surrounded by several other men, their arousals heavy between their legs. The young man's pale cheeks are spread, his dusky pink opening slathered with shimmering oil. As Malak watches, one after another the men thrust their erect, reddened organs deeply inside the young man's body, their faces reflecting emotions unfamiliar to Malak. Lust. Ecstasy. Gratification. One after another they gasp and moan, their hips pumping furiously with loud slaps against the young man's hindquarters. Each man in his turn, grunting and groaning, retreats from the prostrate body and takes himself in hand, showering the young man's pale skin with ribbons of white seed. When all are finished, one rolls the young man over and takes his penis into an eager mouth, sucking the semen with relish. It is all so confusing to Malak. The youngest of the warriors gathered in Lot's house, he has had little previous contact with Men, and knows next to nothing about them or their bodily functions. New to the form forced upon him in order to traverse the earthly plane, Malak is bewildered because he cannot understand why the sight of the young man being taken in such a manner should stir unfamiliar warmth in his own nether regions. Beneath the chain mail of his tunic, his cock rises up ramrod straight and hardens almost painfully. His pulse races, and his breath grows ragged, and he cannot tear his eyes from the scene that plays out before him. His hand strays to his groin, his fingers moving aside the heavy chain mail, freeing his erection. A heartbeat later, they wrap around his length, stroking the velvet skin of his cock with long, languid strokes.

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With a cry of surprise, he flings his head backward in ecstasy as he brings himself to completion and spills over his fist. There is no time to contemplate what has happened to him -- the call comes to fly, to rain Heaven's wrath down upon the city. In a flurry of white, the angels rise, soaring high over the rooftops like a flock of deadly birds, a graceful, beautiful, lethal heavenly army. With bellows of righteous anger, they let loose a volley of fire and brimstone that ignites the city below. Malak, flying low over the smoky chaos in the streets, falters. He is weak, his body drained by his recent orgasm. A heartbeat too slow, he cannot dodge the fireball that streaks toward him, and it clips one of his wings. His flight feathers are badly burned and he spirals helplessly down through the air to the street. His fall is bruising, knocking the breath from his lungs. Still too new to this form to recoup his strength quickly, he sits in the dirt, stunned, surrounded by the chaos caused by the angelic attack. Fear flows along the city streets with the smoke from the burning buildings as the people of Sodom panic. There is nowhere to go, nowhere they can hide where Heaven will not find them. They die in legions as the city burns around them. Malak drags himself to unsteady feet, his eyes burning from the smoke. He calls out to his brothers, but his cries go unanswered -- he is too far below them to be distinguished from the chorus of humans howling for deliverance. Malak feels the heat of the flames singing his eyebrows as he staggers through the smoky alleys, bumped and battered by the people running in fear for their own lives. Confused and in pain, he realizes that his life-force will soon be extinguished; the shell of his body will burn to cinders in the inferno that Sodom has become. He knows that, dying without absolution in his current, imperfect human form, his soul will not return to Heaven but will instead languish in the between-world until the End of Days, and this adds to his panic. Malak staggers to a corner of a merchant's stall and drops to his knees, unaware that the scream of terror ringing in his ears is his own. A hand appears out of the smoke before Malak's eyes. "Take my hand and live," a deep, rumbling voice commands him. Believing it to be one of his brothers, he does. Strong arms scoop him up, cradling him against a broad chest. The familiar rush of air against his face accompanies the comforting sound of beating wings in his ears as the ground falls away and he is borne to safety. Behind him, Sodom burns. ***

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Malak blinked, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. Rising from the bed, he shed his pants and spread his white-feathered wings, stretching them out to their full span. Half again as wide as he was tall, they felt wonderful freed from their normal, tightly tucked position. Slowly fanning, the breeze they stirred rustled the curtains, and helped cool the heat that flushed his skin. He still had an erection; a painful reminder of both his predicament and the effect Cael had on him. He knew from experience that it would plague him all night if left unattended. Sighing, he shivered his wings into their normal, translucent state, folding them in flush against his shoulder blades. In the adjacent bathroom, an odd combination of lust and guilt eating at his stomach, he grabbed a bottle of lotion and turned on the hot water in the shower. Stepping under the sputtering stream, he squirted out a healthy dollop of the cream onto his palm and solved his problem as he had countless times since that first day in Sodom. The only way that was open to him other than giving in to Cael. And that, he swore to himself once more, he would never do.

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Chapter Three Cael walked into the bank stark naked, cloaked only in a murky veil of translucency. One could not be truly invisible while on the earthly plane, but one could be dim. A shadow of himself, an amorphous cloud vaguely reminiscent of a man that could be seen from the corner of one's eye, he was noticed by few and if spotted, quickly dismissed as a figment of the imagination. He walked past a security guard with a Styrofoam coffee cup in his pudgy hand, and slipped behind the row of teller cages. Reaching around the tellers, he helped himself to a thick fistful of fifties and hundreds from each drawer. The money, once in contact with his hand, became as insubstantial as Cael. Stuffing his take into a small burlap bag he'd lifted from the first teller's cubicle, he cheekily pinched the bum of an older cashier, making her blush bright red and squeal. When she spun around, there was no one to be seen. Sauntering out of the bank into the bright Florida sunshine, he whistled a dirge last heard sometime during the sixteenth century in Italy, if his memory served. Something dark, perhaps one of the earlier works of Palestrina? He could have simply conjured the money out of the bank. For that matter he could have easily negated any debts that humans might have thought he owed them, from the cable television fees -- he was particularly fond of pay-per-view pro-wrestling -- to the mortgage on the beach house itself. But physically taking it provided him with a means of entertainment. It was always amusing for him to hang around at the back of the bank and watch the chaos erupt when bank officials realized that they'd been robbed in broad daylight in full view of a building packed with witnesses, none of whom had seen a fucking thing. They'd run around like headless chickens as they blamed everyone and everything but the true culprit. Today, however, he had left the bank quickly, wanting to get back to Malak. He'd nearly succeeded in pushing the angel over the edge the day before. For a moment, Cael had thought that he'd won, and the notion had nearly undone him. Unfortunately, Malak had once again found some inner reserve of strength and had pulled away, much to Cael's annoyance and grudging admiration. An alleyway provided him with the opportunity to coalesce back into solid form without attracting undue attention. Ignoring the reek of garbage spilling from a pair of dented trashcans nearby and the scuttle of rats in the shadows, he took a moment to stretch his wings. Eighteen feet from tip to tip of thin, blood red leathery membrane, he spread them out fully, sighing with relief before shimmering them into transparency again. Cracking his neck from side to side, he rolled his powerful shoulders, working out the tension that knotted his muscles. Tension that he felt more and more with each passing day. Cael was on the final leg of a very long run. Three millennia ago he'd won a rare chance to gain the one thing that could free him from an eternity of servitude in the bowels of Hell, but the clock was ticking down and he hadn't yet secured the prize. For an angel, Malak could be a stubborn devil.

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Cael had tried everything he could think of to get Malak to cave in. Rubbing himself up against Malak, touching him at every opportunity. Gifts. Music. Wine. He'd stocked the fridge with every food that claimed aphrodisiac powers, and had filled the DVD cabinet with porn of every conceivable type. He'd made certain that the only reading material available was erotic. He'd lit candles, simmered potpourri, and drowned himself with sensual oils and musk. He'd begged, bribed, threatened, flattered, and coerced, but to absolutely no avail. On more than one occasion he'd been tempted to slip Malak a proverbial mickey, but that wouldn't do Cael a piss-wad of good. Malak had to give himself to Cael voluntarily, or all bets were off. Tossing him a Mickey Finn would only serve to give Cael a stellar case of the jollies, not secure him his freedom. He had a plan for tonight, though, one that he hadn't been desperate enough to try before now. Pity sex. Big, fat crocodile tears and a pout, complete with puppy eyes and pathetic whimpering: a scene worthy of an Academy award. He'd been practicing it secretly for a month, and was certain that he could pull if off. Cael was, if nothing else, a consummate actor. Confident that his newest plan to get Malak between the sheets and himself between Malak's cheeks would be successful, Cael conjured up a pair of skintight jeans, a black T-shirt that clung to every ripped muscle of his chest and back, and a pair of flip-flops. He felt too good at the moment to fly directly home -- he wanted some attention. A few minutes one way or another wasn't going to make a lick of difference in how soon he got Malak into his bed. Plus, he needed his ego pumped if he were going to play the wretched role he'd had planned. Dressed in denim jeans that were ripped in all the right places, and the tight T-shirt, with his long golden hair and perfect tan, he knew he'd get attention on the street, and in spades. "As cocky as ever, Cael," a voice rumbled from close behind him. "I've always liked that about you." Cael froze. That voice was familiar, even after nearly three thousand years. Deep and grating, there was nonetheless something wet about it, reminding him of the sound a finger pushing through putrefying flesh might make -- wet and slick and maggoty. "Asmodai," Cael whispered under his breath, feeling suddenly cold. He recovered his poise quickly, before he turned around. "What brings you out slumming?" Hopping off the garbage can where he'd been seated, Asmodai sauntered up to Cael. "I came to ask which scent of oil you prefer. I thought that would be the least I could do for you, since you'll be spending the rest of eternity with my cock shoved so far up your ass that I'll be able to check you for tooth decay," he replied, winking lasciviously. The serpent that served Asmodai as a penis hissed excitedly, striking out toward Cael. Cael saw a broad, self-satisfied grin spread across Asmodai's face while his additional two heads, the ram and the bull, bleated and snorted in agreement.

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"Don't count your assholes before they're lubed, Asmodai. I'm not out of time yet, and I don't plan on losing." "One more turn of the seasons on this spit-wad humans call a planet, and you'll be all mine." Asmodai laughed. "You really should stop deluding yourself, Cael. You aren't going to win -- the outcome has already been decreed. Lucifer has promised you to me, a reward for my faithful service. A fitting punishment for your insubordination, as well. Why drag this out to the bitter end? Give up now and come back with me, and I swear that I'll not let anyone else touch you. Just me." "Fuck you," Cael spat, taking a threatening step forward. He eyed the thick, scaly length that coiled up from between Asmodai's thighs, and jumped back reflexively when the snake-cock feinted at him. "No, I believe I'll be the one doing the fucking," Asmodai retorted, grinning. He walked a circle around Cael, eyeing him up and down, foul breath from all three of his heads singeing Cael's nostrils. "I believe that I'll allow you to keep this form, at least for a few millennia. It pleases me, and it will be so easy to break. Over and over again… " "Get thee from my sight, demon!" "Hah! And a sense of humor to boot! Oh, I am going to enjoy you, Cael! And when I'm done with you, my legions will enjoy you as well." Asmodai laughed. The ram and bull nodded in agreement, both salivating freely as he dissipated into nothingness leaving behind the strong, sour smell of rotten eggs and decay. Cael took a deep breath to steady his nerves, but it did nothing to still the terror. It had been horrible enough in Hell before, but the possibility of an eternity spent spreading his legs for Asmodai was enough to turn his blood to ice. His good mood spoiled, Cael shed his clothing and shimmered his wings into existence, leaping up into the air. With a few strong, leathery flaps he was rising over the tops of the buildings and farther, into the camouflaging screen of puffy white cumulous clouds. Riding the air currents, the object of curious -- if wary -- inspection by a flock of gulls, he headed back toward the beach house. His body flew in the right direction unconsciously, his mind lost in the distant past. *** The screams of the damned never ceased, nor did the searing heat and bone-numbing cold of the Pits ever waver. Torturous pain was a constant state of being. Such was life -- if one could call eternity in the foul cesspool of Hell life -- for the minions who toiled forever under the lashes of the taskmaster Generals of Lucifer. Their existence was only a hairsbreadth above the agony experienced by the damned human souls that Heaven had spat into the bowels of Hell.

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Cael was but one of six thousand others in his legion, a faceless number in Lucifer's army. Slaving away since the Fall in the desolation of the Pits, he was a victim, in his own mind. He had been seduced and manipulated into making the wrong choice when Heaven had been sundered by civil war. He'd backed the losing team, and had been paying the price for it ever since. Because of that belief he labored with less enthusiasm than many of his fellows, a fact that often grated on his commanding General's nerves. Then one day, Cael had discovered a way to escape his torturous prison through a crack in the walls of Hell; a pathway that led up to the earthly plane. Whenever the opportunity arose he availed himself of it, sneaking out into the clean, fresh air of the mortal world for brief periods of time. Not often, and never for very long, lest Lucifer or one of his Generals sense his absence. His punishment would have been immediate and severe, and Cael had no wish to tempt the Fates. He usually found himself in Sodom or its sister-city, Gomorrah, during one of his illicit jaunts. They were cities of Men that melded well with his own preferences -- complete self-indulgence and instant, guilt-free gratification. Sodom especially was a favorite of his. While gluttony, greed, and the bulk of the other seven deadly sins had roots in Gomorrah, sex was the spice that flavored Sodom. Sex in all its glorious, pulse-racing, semen-spurting forms, and Cael reveled in it every chance he got. But on this day things had gone terribly amiss. First, shortly after he arrived he'd spotted angels walking among the merchants in the marketplace. The grim looks on their saintly faces told Cael that they weren't there to sample the wares. Cloaked in a mist that rendered them all but invisible to the human eye, they stalked up and down the rows, murmuring to one another, bodies tight with ill-concealed anger and contempt. He'd kept to the shadows, surreptitiously watching them until they'd filed into a house near the edge of the marketplace. Only when it became evident that they were not going to return to skulking about, did Cael feel free to return to entertaining himself with the human population of Sodom. He gave the angels not another thought. Whatever their purpose was in Sodom, it was none of Cael's affair. Just as he'd finished encouraging a group of men to assfuck a comely young man for Cael's viewing pleasure, the sky began to rain fire. Fireballs and malodorous brimstone streaked through the air, crashing into the ground all around him. The city ignited, the merchants' fine silks, gauzy cottons, and flammable oils quickly adding fuel to the heavenly flames. Cael should have known that the destruction of his favorite city would be the only reason angels would walk among the wicked.

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Heaven had never been accused of being overly creative. Its minions rarely veered from the boring but effective methods of annihilation, and fire and brimstone were high on the short list. Knowing this, Cael realized that Sodom was about to be incinerated into a reeking puddle of blasphemers and if he didn't get out soon, he'd have the dubious pleasure of being liquefied along with the rest. He was running from behind the vendor's booth, his wings unfurling and readying to leap into the sky and safety, when he spied a beatific vision huddled on the ground, quaking in the middle of the chaos. Long, dark hair blew in the hot wind, exposing a face that seemed fashioned from fine porcelain. Huge dark eyes stared Heavenward, confusion, fear, and pain flickering in their ebony depths. One of the angel's gossamer wings had been burned; his flight feathers had been scorched black. As skittish as a foal, he jumped each time a streak of flame sizzles through the air nearby. His alabaster skin was marred by both flame and the grainy sand whipped up by the sulfurous wind. In that fear and pain-etched face, Cael's keen eyes saw something more than exquisite beauty he saw opportunity. An opportunity that was so rare, so extraordinary, that it had not been taken by any demon to Cael's knowledge. To save the life of an angel would grant a demon the opportunity to gain a piece of the angel's immortal soul, which, in turn, would provide the demon with freedom from the chains of Hell. True, the demon would not be welcomed into Heaven either, but he would be free to wander the earthly plane. Free, until the End of Days. The rules were simple. Save an angelic life and choose your contest. Win the contest within three millennia and the angel would be compelled to share his soul. Lose, and you would be remanded back to the Pits for all time. Even if he prevailed, the demon would be sent back to Hell after the End of Days as well, but until then he would live in a paradise undreamed of by most who dwelled within Lucifer's domain. It was an all or nothing gamble, in which the odds were stacked against the demon. But it was something. Cael had no intention of passing on the opportunity, and even less intention of losing. Wincing as a market booth exploded into flame nearby, he dashed into the street and held out his hand to the cowering young angel. "Take my hand and live," he said, putting every drop of persuasion that he possessed into his voice.

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Cradling the trembling body of the angel to his chest as he flew them high above the carnage of Sodom, Cael heard Lucifer's cold, venomous voice in his head. Lucifer's anger at his minion's escape and his inability to punish Cael immediately for his transgression was evident. The hostility in Lucifer's voice nearly caused Cael to drop from the sky. "Choose your contest, creature of the damned." Cael thought quickly, and chose the one activity at which he knew he excelled. The one to which he felt certain any creature would easily succumb. Sex. As it turned out, it was a poor choice. *** Three millennia later, Cael was still trying to get into Malak's angelic pants. Now Asmodai had seen fit to pay him a visit, reminding Cael that his time was running out and also that Asmodai was lubing up his snake-cock in anticipation of Cael's arrival in the Pits. Spiraling down toward the dunes that surrounded their house, Cael debated the merits of telling Malak about Asmodai. It was time to play the pity card, and the sad truth was that it wasn't going to be necessary for Cael to have to fake being pitiable. At the moment, with Asmodai's oily voice still ringing in his ears, he felt like the most pathetic creature on the planet.

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Chapter Four Malak was in the kitchen, chopping raw greens for a salad. His slender, elegant fingers worked competently, dicing a fresh green pepper into bite-sized bits. Scraping the fragrant pepper from the cutting board into a bowl already filled with arugula and endive leaves, he set to work on slicing a few plump, pale oyster mushrooms for the mix. For all intents and purposes, aside from a few rather unique attributes and abilities -- having wings being foremost on the list -- Malak's earthbound form was subject to all the same trials and tribulations of the human body. His body needed fuel and, being an angel, he refused to consume anything that had once had a face. His full lips lifted into a wry smile, knowing in advance how Cael would respond to Malak's choice of a menu. "Rabbit food again? If we weren't supposed to eat beef, Malak, then cows would come equipped with armor plating and Uzis strapped to their hooves." Malak's smile grew into a grin as he heard Cael's deep, velvety voice in his head. During the course of their years together, Malak had come to appreciate Cael's dry sense of humor. He'd even go so far as to say that, except for the annoying business about Cael trying to steal a piece of Malak's soul, he'd actually come to like Cael -- although Malak would rather lop off his own wings than admit to it. He was grateful to Cael, in way. After all, Cael had saved Malak from an eternity languishing in the between-world, a place created for those whose souls were too unblemished for Hell but not pristine enough for Heaven. Those souls -- such as angels who died while in corporeal form without absolution -- were cast into nothingness, existing in the blackness, excruciatingly aware of the passing of time and the existence of their own flaws until the End of Days. Such would have been Malak's fate, had Cael not intervened. But, in Malak's opinion, that didn't warrant giving up a piece of his immortal soul and dooming himself to wander the earthly plane for the rest of time. Malak wanted to go home, and home was Heaven, not the neon-drenched, sin-soaked mortal world. Not even this house, the nicest Malak could remember ever living in, with its intoxicating view of the ocean could tempt him into staying. Malak kept telling himself that, ignoring how false the statement had begun to ring in his ears. Cael. He was never far from Malak's thoughts. Whenever Malak reached the point where he was forced to take himself in hand, it was Cael he pictured in his mind. It frightened Malak, knowing that Heaven usually lumped thinking about sin in the same category as having actually committed it. Not fair, in Malak's humble opinion, but who was he to question?

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Regardless, jacking off periodically was a necessary evil, and picturing Cael's muscular body in all of its naked glory was the only way Malak seemed to be able to achieve climax. Malak would simply have to endure whatever penance was meted out to him to absolve his sins once he got home. He refused to acknowledge the sinking feeling he got in the pit of his stomach each time he thought about spending eternity in Heaven without Cael. The feeling that Malak might find Heaven sadly lacking; the feeling that seemed to be getting stronger as the end of the time limit neared. The simple truth was that Malak would miss Cael. The blade of the knife clunked furiously against the wooden cutting board as Malak returned his attention to his chopping. Whack. Just thinking about Cael had caused Malak's cock to reawaken. Whack. It wasn't fair. Whack. Wasn't reasonable for Cael to have this effect on Malak. Surely the attraction wasn't mutual. Cael only cared about securing a piece of Malak's soul, right? Whack. "You really are an innocent," Cael would say, his voice dripping with disdain. "Let me fuck you, or you fuck me. Whichever. The result will be the same, so it makes no difference to me. You get laid, and I get a soul. Period. End of story." Except Malak had a sneaking suspicion that Cael would never say that to him, because Malak was beginning to believe -- or at least he hoped to believe in some dark, secrete corner of his heart -- that Cael might just possibly feel for him something other than mere avarice. That Malak was more than just a repository for a piece of ethereal filament. There was one way that Malak could find out. He could ask Cael, and, depending on Cael's answer, he might just consider giving up that which Cael had coveted for so long. If Malak were brutally honest with himself, he would admit that the idea of spending eternity earthbound was horrible -- except if he were to spend it in Cael's company. Spend it in his arms, in his bed, making love with him incessantly, here, where the waves kissed the sand, until the End of Days... He shook his head vigorously, pushing those altogether far too tempting thoughts away. What was he thinking? Maybe he was just hungry. Yes, that must be it. Whack. Whack. Whack. The knife slipped in Malak's hand, slicing his finger. Red droplets oozed from the shallow cut and Malak shoved his finger into his mouth, cursing softly at the sudden, stinging pain. "Mmm…I have something that would love to be in your finger's shoes right about now," Cael murmured from the doorway. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?" Frowning, Malak looked over his shoulder, removing his finger long enough to speak. "Don't even think it, Cael."

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"Aw, Goddamn it, Malak…rabbit food again?" "Kindly refrain from breaking commandments in my kitchen, Cael." "How many times do I have to tell you? We're omnivorous, Malak. We're at the top of the food chain. Would it kill you to broil us a couple of steaks once in a while?" Malak choked back a snort and turned around to focus on the salad. Cael was so predictable. Preparing himself for the inevitable, he sucked in a deep breath. Any moment now, he'd feel Cael's hands slip around his waist, Cael's soft, warm breath tickling the side of his neck. He'd feel Cael's hard, muscular body pressing up against him, Cael's hard cock rubbing along his ass crack. Malak would threaten Cael with his butcher knife, and Cael would retreat -- for the time being. It was the same old story, merely a different day. Whack. Whack. Whack. He waited. Whack. Whack. Whack. Still nothing.

That was odd. Unsettling, almost. Looking back over his shoulder, Malak realized that he was

alone in the kitchen. Cael was no longer there.

Setting the knife down, Malak wiped his hands on a threadbare, stained kitchen towel, staring at

the empty doorway. This was more than strange. Cael? Pass on the opportunity to put his hands

on Malak's body? Something was wrong.

Tossing the towel into the sink, he wandered out into the living room.

Cael was seated in the overstuffed armchair near the window, staring out at the sea. Leaning an

elbow on the arm of the chair, Cael cupped his chin in the palm of his hand. The expression on

his face was unfathomable.

Walking over, Malak glanced out at the seascape, noticing the black thunderheads that were

gathering on the horizon. A storm was brewing.

"What's wrong?" he asked after a few minutes had passed and Cael had failed to acknowledge

his presence as he usually did -- by trying to cop a feel.

"Nothing."

"Something's wrong. Talk to me, Cael."

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"You don't want to know, Malak. Trust me."

"If I didn't want to know, then I wouldn't be asking. C'mon Cael. Tell me. Whatever it is, it can't

be that bad."

Cael sighed, and turned his bright blue eyes up toward Malak. "I had a visitor today, that's all.

No one you know." He sighed again, and returned his gaze to the crashing waves.

Without thinking, Malak placed a hand on Cael's shoulder. If his mind weren't so focused on

Cael's troublesome manner, he would have realized that it was the first time he'd ever willingly

touched Cael since taking his hand three thousand years ago. "What did this visitor do to you?

Did he hurt you? Are you in pain, Cael?" Malak couldn't conceal the concern in his voice. "Who

was it? What did he do to you?"

"Asmodai. One of Lucifer's Generals."

"A General of Hell, here on Earth? God help us!"

"Doubtful. God hasn't concerned himself with the likes of me since the Big Fall," Cael replied.

Malak could hear bitterness in his voice. "Asmodai came to inform me that I'm to be given to

him when I get back to Hell."

"Given to him? You don't mean- "

"I'm fucked, Malak. Literally. Forever."

"Would that be so horrible? I thought that was one of your favorite activities."

"You haven't seen Asmodai. I, for one, am not particularly looking forward to getting my asshole

reamed by a cock that has fangs."

Malak started to smile, but froze, his body beginning to tremble violently as he realized that Cael wasn't being metaphorical. Cael grunted. "Exactly."

"I'm sorry, Cael," Malak whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face, but not knowing what

else to say.

"Don't worry about it. It's my problem, not yours. I'm the one who escaped Hell. I'm the one

who's trying to stay out. I made my bed and I'm going to have lie in it, snake-cocks and all."

"Isn't there any way you can get out of it? Apologize or something? Surely a heartfelt apology

for running away would-"

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"Malak, this is Lucifer we're talking about! He's not exactly the most reasonable entity ever to draw breath. Besides, I'm not sorry that I escaped, and I'm not sorry that I saved you. I'm only sorry that I didn't win." Malak fell silent. It was the first time Cael had ever mentioned the possibility that he might lose the contest. This visit from Asmodai must have rattled him badly. "But… You haven't lost yet, Cael." Cael smirked up at Malak. "Are you saying that there's a chance that you're going to be caving in soon?" "No, of course not." "Then the chances are good that I've been fooling myself all these years. You're stronger than I'd ever imagined, Malak. If you haven't given in by now, odds are that you won't in the short time we have left. I give up." "No!" Malak cried. "You can't just give up!" Cael gave Malak a withering look. "Malak, you aren't making sense. You tell me that you're not going to let me touch you, but in the next breath you tell me not to give up! Make up your mind - you can't have it both ways." Malak removed his hand from Cael's shoulder, suddenly realizing that he was touching the demon. Slowing shaking his head, he backed up a short way, conflicting emotions raging within him. This changed things. Before, he'd assumed that, should Cael fail, he would simply be remanded back to the life he'd previously known, and that Cael would be no worse off than he'd been before saving Malak's life. Now, Malak knew different. His guilt suddenly blossomed into an all-consuming shame. In a way, this was all Malak's fault every last bit of it, and he knew it. If he hadn't succumbed to temptation on that bright, sunny day in Sodom, hadn't taken pleasure in watching other men indulging in sin, he wouldn't have fallen during his flight over the marketplace. Cael would not have saved him, and would have returned to Hell none the worse for the wear. As Cael's eyes returned to the sea, the lightning that flashed over the waves illuminated his face. For the first time in longer than Malak could remember, perhaps for the first time ever, Malak looked at Cael. Really looked at him. Cael was a golden fantasy, his handsome features strong and even. Thick pale lashes and delicately arched brows framed brilliantly blue eyes. When he smiled his lips parted to show straight, white teeth, the tip of his pink tongue peeking between them. His high-boned cheeks dimpled deeply, lending him an endearingly boyish look, and his lips were perfectly formed, his bottom lip ripe and full and lush. Hair the color of corn silk fell in ringlets to brush past broad shoulders, strong enough to support an impressive set of membranous wings. Wings that looked

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and sounded leathery in their solid form, but had felt like lambskin under Malak's fingers the few

times he'd inadvertently touched them.

More than Cael's beauty, Malak felt moved by something that he'd never felt for anyone before.

Friendship.

Never in Heaven had Malak felt as close to anyone as he did to Cael. His relationship with the

other angels had always been businesslike, couched in religious terms. They had interacted with

one another only as far as Heaven's bidding would allow. Malak realized that he didn't really

know any of them -- not the way he knew Cael.

No matter how irritating Cael could be, no matter how he tested Malak's temper, Malak would

miss Cael desperately once he was gone.

Yes, Malak would return to Heaven at the end of the trial, his virtue intact, but could he face an

eternity living with the knowledge that he'd condemned Cael, this glowingly beautiful creature,

to a Hell worse than any Malak could conceive? The very person who'd ensured Malak's return

to Paradise? Would Malak be deserving of Heaven if he did?

The answer came to him as if he'd always known it.

No, he could not.

No, he would not.

"Cael," he said softly, his decision made. "Cael, stand up."

"Leave me alone, Malak. I'm not in the mood."

"Stand up, Cael," Malak ordered with more heat in his voice than he would have thought himself

capable of generating. Enough so that Cael twisted his head and shot him a questioning look.

"Get up. Now."

Cael rose slowly, his features cast in confusion. Malak could see the uncertainty swiftly segue to

astonishment when Malak took Cael's face between both hands and kissed him soundly.

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Chapter Five "What the Hell?" Cael murmured, the words smothered as Malak continued to press his petal soft lips to Cael's. Amateurish, to be sure, lacking the least bit of finesse, without the tiniest tease of tongue, Malak's kiss was soft and sweet. And it was making Cael's cock sit up and beg for more. Worse, it enflamed every cell in Cael's body, igniting them into a lustful frenzy that was taking every ounce of control Cael possessed to contain. "What the Hell are you doing, Malak?" "Kissing you." "I can see that," Cael said, placing his hands on Malak's shoulders and pushing. "Why?" "I thought this was what you wanted -- what you've been after for three thousand years! Why are you playing hard to get all of a sudden?" Malak pressed up against Cael to get within lip-range again, but Cael danced away, and they waltzed in odd, stilted steps across the living room floor. "Because five minutes ago you said that you had no intention of letting me touch you. Now, all of a sudden, you're on me like white on rice. What gives, Malak? What's changed?" "I've stopped lying to myself, that's all. I want this. I want you. You can have a piece of my soul. You can have the whole damn thing! I don't care anymore," Malak replied earnestly. "Oh, for Heaven's sake, Cael -- I have no experience in this! Just take me, already!" He threw his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. "I'm mucking this up, aren't I? What am I doing wrong? How do we do this? Do you need me to take off my clothes, or what?" "You're serious? You're…giving in?" Cael asked, astonishment ringing in his voice. "Yes!" Malak cried exasperatedly. "Yes!" Falling silent for a moment, Cael could do nothing but stare at Malak in wonder. "You know what this means, Malak," Cael said softly, stepping closer. "There's no going back once this is done." Malak looked down for a moment then lifted dark eyes that glimmered with emotion as he nodded. "Yes, I understand." A slow, sensuous smile tilted Cael's lips and he whispered a few words in a language that were not of the earthly plane. Their clothing dissipated into smoke, drifting away into nothingness. His tongue wet his bottom lip as he circled Malak slowly, eyes drifting appreciatively over Malak's naked flesh. Alabaster skin, sleek and flawless and flushed with a slight rosy glow, stretched tightly over sixfeet four inches of muscle and sinew. Ink-black hair, yards of it, tumbled in a wild cascade over his broad shoulders and halfway down Malak's strong back. His ass, an inverted heart, plump and untouched, was nearly enough to send Cael spiraling over the edge of sanity.

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But it was Malak's cock, uncircumcised, heavy and hardened with the same lust that was flashing in Malak's ebony eyes that drew Cael's attention. A shiver ran down Cael's back. This was what he'd been waiting three millennia for -- his body was more than ready. His cock had never felt so painfully hard, his body never so tightly wound as it did at that moment as he feasted his eyes on Malak. Then why did it feel as though his feet were suddenly bolted to the floor? "Cael?" Malak whispered, reaching out a hand to touch his jaw. The touch of Malak's fingers grazing his cheek was all the impetus Cael needed. Ripping his gaze away from Malak's groin, Cael silently took Malak's hand and led him outside, onto the wrap-around porch and into the cool night air. Shimmering his wings into solidity, he extended them in a rustle of leather to their full span. He stood before Malak for a moment, chin held high, muscles flexed, his posture bristling with dominance. "Your wings," he whispered hoarsely, impatiently. "Now, Malak." Malak swallowed visibly then willed his own wings into sight, pristine feathers, blindingly white, so soft that Cael couldn't resist reaching out to stroke them gently. He smiled at the tiny shudder that ran across Malak's shoulders at his touch. Locking eyes with Malak for one last, long, smoldering look, he sprung into the air, soaring up into the night sky. Hovering, his wings beating strongly, Cael waited for Malak to catch up. The wait was shortlived as Malak burst through the clouds and reached for him. Laughing, Cael darted away, beginning a game of mid-air cat-and-mouse. Flying in, stealing a kiss, a tempting taste of what would be, he'd soar out of reach in a heartbeat, only to return a moment later. A quick touch, a light stroke, the brushing of skin against skin, and he was gone again. Malak soon caught on, his enthusiasm bringing a wider grin to Cael's face as Malak joined him in aerial foreplay, flying close enough to brush soft flight feathers against Cael's cheek, or running fingers over the delicate membrane of Cael's wings. Cael flew low over the beach, the splashing foam of the breaking waves misting his wings with cold seawater, as Malak gave chase. Then Cael turned the tables, changing direction with lightning speed, and Malak became the hunted. The beating of their wings was the only sound aside from the crash of the waves, the rumble of thunder, and the occasional lonely cry of a gull. Spiraling, diving, streaking across the star-studded sky in vivid contrast to each other, they swooped and swirled in a mating flight of playful touches, teasing tastes, and passionate gazes.

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Cael darted after Malak, one powerful flap of his wings bridging the gap between them. He encircled Malak's chest with his arm, pulling Malak flush against his body. Trapped against his chest, Malak's wings were held immobile. Cael supported Malak, just as he had three thousand years ago, whispering "You are mine, Malak. Make no mistake. I claim you, body and soul." Twisting in Cael's arms, Malak kissed him hungrily. "You are mine, Cael," he answered, threading his fingers into Cael's hair. "Make no mistake. I give myself to you, body and soul." Then Cael released Malak and zipped away, with Malak in hot pursuit. Skimming low over the water, over the roof of the house, he circled around back to the beach. For a while they flew in tandem, their arms outstretched, fingers barely touching. Finally, although neither had spoken a single word since exchanging their vows, they descended to the second floor balcony, coming together in a fierce embrace as their feet touched the cool wood. From the instant Malak had given him permission, Cael had taken charge and he relinquished nothing. He had waited for, and had fantasized about, this moment too many times, had longed for it for far too long to give up an iota of control now. Claiming Malak's lips in a fiery kiss, he thrust his tongue impatiently past them to sweep the sweet warmth of Malak's mouth. Teeth, tongue, palate, all were greedily tasted in their turn, as his hands cupped Malak's firm ass and pulled him flush against Cael's body. Skin pressed against skin, each inch of Cael's body burned brightly with a mindless passion. In an age-old dance, he rubbed his cock against Malak's, tender foreskins brushing, their scents mixing into a heady and potent cocktail that wafted up between them. Leaving his angel's lips almost reluctantly, Cael nudged Malak's head to the side and took the tender of skin of Malak's throat between his teeth. Nipping and suckling, he raised a dark bruise on Malak's pale flesh, then another, and another, until he had laid a trail of purpling blooms along the curve, marking the angel as Cael's. Each love bite wrung a sweet, soft moan from Malak's lips, and pearly drops from his cock. His body reacted forcibly to the whimpers and soft coos that fell from Malak's lips and the tentative touches of angelic fingers along Cael's spine. He scooped Malak up in his arms, inspiring a sense of déjà vu. He had done the same three thousand years earlier, and now they had come full circle. The thought flitted through his mind as he carried Malak towards his bedroom.

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Chapter Six Malak barely had the time or the presence of mind to shiver his wings into translucency before Cael swept him up and carried him away. He was barely holding on, his mind overwhelmed by the sensations churning through him. He wanted desperately to experience each moment, immerse himself in the feelings and tastes and textures, but he was finding it difficult to remain in control of his senses. The instinct to mate had roared to the surface from somewhere deep inside, nearly obliterating his ability to remain calm and focused. The house, the porch, everything had faded, becoming mere shadows of reality. All that existed was Cael -- his touch, his tongue, and his body. He filled Malak's world completely, dominating every sense. He injected Malak's very being with the bold flavor of his lust, contagious and utterly addictive. From their first kiss through their soaring, sweeping mating flight Malak had ached for more, for the completion he knew would come. Cael had kept frustratingly out of reach, allowing Malak only the smallest, fleeting touches, until they had landed on the balcony. Then the fire he ignited with his lips and hands on Malak's body had become a firestorm, sweeping through Malak, obliterating any thought other than one. He must mate with Cael. Now. Surely if his lust was not sated soon, it would kill him. He couldn't possibly survive much longer, not with the ravenous hunger that gnawed relentlessly at him; hunger for the taste of Cael on his tongue, the smell of Cael in his nostrils, the feel of Cael inside his body. As Cael carried him into the demon's bedroom, Malak's fingers clawed at Cael's shoulders, and his teeth clamped down hard into the soft flesh of Cael's throat, nearly deep enough to draw blood. He was beyond words; a growl that rumbled deeply in his chest was all that he could manage. "Patience," came Cael's answering rumble. Cael dropped Malak on the soft mattress and crawled on top of him. Lying there, trapped between Cael's decadent satin sheets and the heat of Cael's silken skin, Malak ceased to be. He became simply a collection of tingling nerve endings, each one reverberating with passion and need. He locked his legs around Cael's thighs, holding Cael in place, their erections pressed tightly against one another's. Malak's nails raked Cael's back, marking that smooth golden skin with thin red furrows. His teeth nipped at whatever flesh he could reach.

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It became painful, this need, a sweet agony that suffused every cell in his body. "Please, Cael," he managed to whisper hoarsely against the skin of Cael's shoulder. He bit Cael again, repeating more fervently, "Please." "My lovely, impatient angel," Cael admonished, Malak felt Cael's arms tighten around him. His body grew ever tighter, spurred by the aching need in Cael's husky, "Hold." Malak's body shuddered as he felt Cael stiffen against him, growing as still as stone. He understood the reason for it, and sympathized. Malak had all but handed Cael his virginity on a silver platter, which must have been surprising enough, but Malak acting so completely wantonly must have had Cael threatening to spill. Regardless, Malak was unable to wait. He heaved and rolled his demon over, straddling those muscular thighs. Malak bent his head and traced a slow path from one of Cael's nipples to the other, the taste of salt and something else, something uniquely Cael, on his tongue sending a shivering tingle to the pit of his belly. Taking one tightened, rosy bud between his teeth, Malak pinched until Cael squirmed and growled almost angrily. His chuckle at Cael's annoyed grunt died swiftly as Cael rolled them over again and glared at Malak with lust-darkened eyes. Straddling Malak's thighs, the full length of his cock resting against Malak's, Cael conjured a vial of scented oil from a place far in the distant past. Uncorking the vial with his teeth, Cael spat the stopper across the room. The scent filled Malak's nostrils and erased the centuries in an instant with the exotic spice of myrrh, at one time worth more than its weight in gold. Tipping the vial, Cael spilled it into his palm, unmindful of the waste that overflowed onto the sheets, and used it to slick his cock with long, slow strokes. A tingle of anticipation tripped up Malak's spine as his eyes followed the path Cael's hand took from tip to root and back again, a thick, oily sheen coating Cael's erection. Finally, Cael spread Malak's legs and bent Malak's knees to touch his chest. An embarrassed flush heated Malak's cheeks as he felt his most private area exposed to Cael's eyes. The idea that Cael would watch his face as Cael took him, would see the ecstasy in Malak's eyes when he reached his orgasm and was pitched headlong into the abyss, only flamed Malak's face more. Malak felt vulnerable and exposed as the head of Cael's cock pressed against his asshole. His fingers slid over Cael's strong arms to rest on Cael's shoulders, his grip tentative, unsure of whether he wanted to push Cael away or pull them closer together. The breach of his body by Cael's thick length ripped a ragged gasp from Malak's throat and his hands made his decision for him. He pushed. "Be still, Malak. The pain will soon stop," Cael's soothing voice whispered. His eyes were veiled with lust, his lips wet and slightly parted. "No… Please stop, Cael." Malak's voice was gritted with pain; it sounded harsh and desperate in his own ears.

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Cael clucked softly at Malak's desperate pleas, but stilled. "There is no going back, Malak," Cael said, bending forward and kissing him. Cael's lips were soft and warm, his tongue sweet and wet, and the kiss went a long way toward rekindling the flames of Malak's desire. Within moments, Malak's body was screaming for release, and it came as an unexpected relief when Cael began to slowly move. Then Cael reached between them and took Malak's cock into his hand. Malak's eyes rolled back in his head, a long, low moan on his lips. The warmth of Cael's hand on his arousal heated his blood again to the boiling point, distracting Malak from the discomfort of being filled. The faster Cael stroked him, the less he felt the sting until suddenly, surprisingly, he realized that it had subsided altogether, replaced by a feeling of fullness and completion unlike any he'd ever felt before. It was then that the first bolt of pure pleasure rocketed through him as Cael's cock touched a place buried deeply within Malak's body. With each angled stroke another wave crashed through him until he was writhing, pleading, begging Cael for release from the ecstatic torment being wreaked on his body. Every nerve in Malak's body was sizzling with desire. In an abrupt aboutface, Malak's fingers clung to Cael's shoulders, his nails digging into silken flesh, trying to pull Cael closer, deeper into his body. Groaning loudly, Cael pushed himself deeper, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. Malak's body was overcome with alien feelings; every fiber screaming so loudly for relief that he barely heard Cael moaning, "Malak, Goddamn, Malak… " Malak's only answer was a groan tinged with longing, and the tightening of his legs as he wrapped them around Cael's back. Cael was completely sheathed within him, moving in a torturous, exquisitely delicious rhythm, and their moans filling the air with sweet music. Cael's eyes opened and bore into Malak's, silently encouraging him to let himself go, hand feverishly working Malak's erection. The slap of flesh against flesh as Cael's cock slammed into his body, and the slippery sounds of Cael's fist gliding over his cock filled his ears. Malak felt the moment that Cael began to come almost as if it were he who climaxed. He felt the maelstrom of pleasure in Cael's body, felt it in Cael's erratic, almost brutal thrusts. Cael's voice rang out and liquid heat filled Malak, searing him and drawing his orgasm from him in great, shuddering spasms. It began as a whisper, not in his groin but in his veins, a thrumming that swiftly grew into a thunderous pounding in his blood. By the time it reached a crescendo, Malak's entire being was trembling, shaking so violently that he was no longer certain if it were Cael's hips thrusting against Malak's body, or if it were simply the force of the vibrations that wracked him.

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His muscles quivered ferociously, sharpening the rapture that already rippled across his skin and bloomed in explosions of light behind his eyelids, sweeping his very core to a high, dizzying pinnacle. Almost as if he were in Cael's head as fully as Cael filled his body, Malak felt Cael's satisfaction and pride as his orgasm boiled up and over. Then he was lost in the blinding pleasure, hearing, seeing, and feeling nothing but the ecstasy that shattered him. It was then, as the wracking of his body slowed to euphoric twinges that continued to tickle at the pit of his stomach, that he felt it. A sense of unease that flickered but steadily grew stronger, until Malak felt as if a knife were slicing through his innards. As it grew stronger it brought with it a sense of profound loss, as if something of incalculable value, something deeply personal and precious, had been ripped from him. Within him, a desolate empty hole opened that once had been filled with light and warmth. Gasping for air, his chest heaving, Malak looked up into Cael's eyes. He saw in their wide, azure depths a reflection of what he was feeling, a ghostly mirror image of his shattering revelation. There, shimmering in Cael's wide blue eyes, a piece of Malak's soul looked back at him.

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Chapter Seven "Cael?" Malak whispered, feeling sleepy and sated and exhausted in a way physical labor had never afforded him. His eyelids felt like lead, fluttering as he tried to stay awake. He reached for Cael's cheek, rubbing his knuckles gently across his smooth skin. "Did you feel it? Did it feel the same for you? It was wonderful, but then, at the end… " "Yeah, I felt it. Did it hurt, Malak?" Cael asked. His voice sounded anxious, concerned, while at the same time filled with the same wonder that Malak was feeling. "Oh shit, I never wanted to hurt you." Cael slid out from Malak's body, their physical connection broken. Still, Malak felt something, an insubstantial filament that linked them together even as their bodies eased apart -- an awareness of Cael that Malak had not experienced before. He attributed it to the physical act, not wanting to admit for the moment that it was caused by something else. "A little, but not terribly. It was worth it, though. I've never felt anything like that before. Not ever." "That isn't what I mean. I know that had to have hurt. I'm not exactly small in the penis department, Malak, and you were a virgin. I meant the other thing." "What other thing?" Malak asked, his lips curling in a smile at Cael's matter-of-fact boasting. It was true, after all. Malak thought in passing that a statue should be erected somewhere in tribute to Cael's cock. A likeness in marble, gleaming and hard, just like its subject. His grin grew wider and he chuckled softly at his newfound naughtiness. "Didn't you feel it? How could you not? I thought it was going to kill me, Malak." Malak's smile slipped a notch, a vague sense of unease stirring. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You've had sex countless times. This couldn't have been any different for you," Malak frowned, letting his hand fall to the mattress. The look on Cael's face caused the edge of disquiet Malak was feeling to suddenly sharpen. "Your soul, Malak. Did it hurt you to give me a piece of it?" Malak froze, his face paling and his eyes widening as he finally realized what had happened, and what was causing the continued connection between them even though their bodies had separated. In the fury of their lovemaking and the explosion of feelings within his body, he'd forgotten the inevitable outcome of their joining. He'd lost a piece of his soul to Cael. Malak was trapped on the earthly plane. Forever.

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Tears suddenly burned in his eyes and his breath caught in his chest as the enormity of what he'd done -- of what he'd given up -- came crashing down on him. And with the realization of his sacrifice came new emotions, ones he'd never felt before, when his soul had been undivided. Despair. And loathing. For himself, for Cael, for Heaven and Hell, and for every mortal creature who had never felt the absolute hopelessness that was now filling Malak, eating him alive. An anguished roar ripped from his throat, and he pushed Cael away, rolling out of bed. He stood glaring down at Cael, every muscle in his body tightening into hard knots of fury. His teeth were bared in a feral grimace, anger growing swiftly to consume every fiber of his being. New to the experience of dark emotions, he had no skill at taming them. They exploded through his veins at light-speed, unchecked. Gone in the blink of an eye was the soft, sated feeling; the memory of the intense pleasure Cael had wrung from him, crushed by the growing rage that blossomed in his belly. Despair segued into self-hatred and an all too mortal need to place the blame for his pain on someone other than himself. "You did this," he hissed in a flat, dead voice. "You bastard!" "Malak?" Cael looked up at him with wide eyes. "You knew what would happen… " "Shut up!" Malak bellowed. "I don't want to hear another lying word out of your mouth, Cael! You wouldn't give up, wouldn't give me a moment's peace. You pushed and pushed, kept after me constantly, hounding me for three thousand fucking years until you finally got what you wanted. I actually felt sorry for you!" Malak screamed, his hands fisting so tightly that his knuckles whitened and his fingernails bit deeply into his palms. "Malak- " "Stop it! Stop lying to me, Cael! It was just another trick to get me to give in, wasn't it? All that talk about Asmodai and what was going to happen to you when you got back to Hell -- it was just another lie! Well, you've won. You got what you wanted. I hope you're happy with it. I hope you fucking choke on it!" He raised his fists, wanting to strike Cael, to beat him until he felt as badly as Malak did, but instead stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him with such force that he cracked the jamb. ***

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Cael winced as the door slammed shut, the boom it made reverberating in his fledgling soul. He'd never seen Malak lose his temper like that, and he was shocked by the hate he'd seen burning in Malak's eyes. Malak had been exquisite in his fury, his pale skin flushed with anger, his eyes flashing. Every muscle in his body had bunched and bulged, flexing with the strength of his emotions. But the loathing that he'd seen in Malak's eyes had nearly ripped his heart in two. Cael despised the feeling. He'd been subject to pain before, horrible miseries administered freely by the eager whips of Lucifer's taskmasters but nothing he'd suffered before compared to the pain that tore at him now. All the insults and venomous taunts that had been heaped upon his shoulders in Hell, every blow he'd ever felt flay his skin open paled next to this, and for the first time since his creation, he wept. Tears burned down his cheeks, unfettered, born of a pain so devastating it consumed his very being. With a start, Cael realized that what he felt was the byproduct of having a soul. In addition to keeping him out of Hell it had granted him a power he had never anticipated. It had given him the capacity to love, and with it came overwhelming, crushing guilt at having hurt the one he was closest to. The one he loved. Malak. Malak was right. It was Cael's fault -- all of it. He'd known what taking a piece of Malak's soul would do to the angel, but Cael hadn't cared. He'd lusted after Malak without thought to the damage he would do, to the darkness in which he would plunge the angel, a creature who needed light to survive. He'd trampled on Malak's heart, grinding it into dust under his feet in his quest for the means to end his own miserable existence in Hell. Cael's guilt consumed him and he wallowed in it, soaking it up like a sponge until it all he felt was utter desolation. Malak deserved better, deserved more than a weak, pitiable creature that had fed on him like a parasite, a common thief, who'd stolen a portion of the most valuable of Malak's possessions. Dragging himself to his feet, Cael shuffled out onto the balcony. *** Malak fumed, pacing back and forth across his bedroom floor with stiff, tense strides. Now what was he supposed to do? He was trapped in the mortal realm, subject to cold and hunger, to want and need; doomed to an existence of hiding himself from the mortal world until the end of time. Even then, would he be allowed to re-enter Heaven? Or, because he was no longer whole, would he simply cease to exist at all, his broken soul dissipating like smoke on the wind? As quickly as it had risen the fury drained out of him like water through a sieve and he collapsed on the edge of the bed, his head hanging low over his knees. His hair fell in a wild black tangle on either side of his face as he wept bitter tears of self-pity.

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Why had he given in? What had possessed him? He and Cael had danced the same steps for nearly three millennia -- it had almost been over. He'd pitied Cael before, felt compassion for him, for his plight. He'd known that at the end of it, Cael would be sent back to Hell. Cael was a demon -- Hell was where he belonged, wasn't it? Then why, when the end to their battle was so close that Malak could have reached out and touched it, when victory was within his grasp, had he thrown in the proverbial towel? The answer came to him like a hard slap across his face. His head jerked up, his eyes growing wide. At some point in the past three thousand years, at some moment when he'd not been paying attention, Malak had fallen in love. That was one thing he couldn't blame on Cael. Demons didn't love. They weren't built that way one needed a soul for that. They couldn't comprehend it, and they certainly couldn't coerce what was beyond their ken. Falling in love with someone who couldn't possibly return the feeling was Malak's fault alone. He'd let himself lose more than his soul. He allowed himself to lose his heart as well. He didn't know what to do, how to cope, and he felt panic rising in his breast. He had no experience at being in love. Angels didn't fall in love with each other, didn't lust for each other's bodies, didn't ache to share every innermost feeling and thought. Their love was pure, cold, untouched by sexual needs. Theirs was brotherly love, or love for God, not the kind of allencompassing, needful, possessive love that Malak realized he felt for Cael. The kind of love that made Malak want to throw his arms around Cael and hold him tight, to chain him to his heart and his bed forever. Sitting up, Malak ran his hands through his hair. He'd thought that spending the rest of time on Earth with Cael, of falling asleep in his arms each night and waking with Cael's kiss on his lips each morning would make being trapped on the mortal plane bearable. Now his fingers tightened in his hair as he realized what it was that was making him so angry. It was not the fact that he'd given Cael a piece of his soul. That was almost inconsequential now - a done deal. It was fear that fueled his rage. Fear that he was doomed to spend every moment for the rest of time loving Cael, hungering for Cael, investing every drop of emotion he had in the demon, all the while knowing that Cael didn't return his feelings. Just because Cael now had a piece of Malak's soul didn't mean that Cael would feel anything for Malak other than lust. As a matter of fact, now that Cael had had Malak, he might not even feel that. His eyes glanced at the door that led to the hallway, and Cael's bedroom. He squeezed them shut, remembering how wild, how beautiful, Cael had looked when he'd taken Malak's virginity, the rapture that had lit his face from within. He remembered how Cael had make Malak feel, how Cael has sent him spiraling to nearly touch the Heaven he missed so greatly.

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Malak's mind drifted farther back, memories of their time together flashing in rapid succession. Suddenly, one particular memory shunted all others aside, looming large in his mind. *** Malak's wings had healed quickly, and he'd left the moment he was able to fly unaided. He was aware that the demon had saved him, and that he was bound by the covenant made between Heaven and Hell. For the next three millennia he would be waging a war with this demon, Cael: a fight to the bitter end to keep control of his body, and thereby keep his soul intact. Cael was beautiful, far more so than any creature Malak had ever seen, but that didn't help Cael's cause. Malak would resist. He'd be strong. But he'd not tempt Fate by remaining in Cael's company. Without a word, he'd taken to the sky as soon as Cael's back was turned, flying hard and fast until the cave where Cael had tended him in was lost in the distance. Still he kept flying, through the wisps of cloud with the sun warming his back, until he could remain aloft no longer. Coming back to earth, wings lagging in exhaustion, he'd found a small overhang in the side of a mountain not far from Sinai. He had crawled into the deep shadows of a crack in the mountainside, curling up against the cold stone walls. Coming out only at night, and then for only short periods to scavenge for food and water, Malak had remained hidden for nearly a hundred years. It was loneliness that finally drove him out into the open. Malak's self-imposed isolation had taken its toll on him. His body was thin, wan, but it was his heart that bore the brunt of his lonesomeness. Leaving his nest, he'd flown out into the world and that was when Cael had found him. Either something about Cael had changed or the way Malak viewed him had, because Malak was nearly overjoyed to see him. He was every bit as handsome as Malak remembered him to be. Cael's golden hair gleamed in the sunlight, his blue eyes twinkled, his body was tall and strong. He was a welcome sight to Malak's lonely eyes. "Malak, do not run from me again. We are alone among the mortals. You know that I will keep trying to seduce you, and I know that you will resist me, but other than that one small conflict can we not we live in peace together?" Cael had asked, spreading his arms wide. Malak, his soul still raw and hungering for company after his years of seclusion, had agreed. Cael had embraced him gently, without lust or cupidity, holding him close while Malak had keened his grief at his fate, and at his lost years spent alone. It was when his tears had finally ceased, leaving him feeling empty and oddly at peace, that he lifted his head from Cael's damp shoulder and had looked deeply into his kind, understanding eyes. ***

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That was the moment, Malak now knew, when he had lost his heart to Cael. The moment, indeed, that he had lost the contest itself. There wasn't really any hope for Malak after that, although he'd managed to convince himself to the contrary for almost three millennia. The only thing left for him to do was to accept that he was in love with Cael. If being with him without being loved in return would be a daily torture for Malak, it was still better than the alternative. Standing up, he opened the door and walked across the hall to Cael's room. He raised his hand to knock, but paused. What could he say to make up for the horrible things he'd said? Would Cael forgive him? Would he even want to stay with Malak now that he'd gotten what it was he'd been seeking for so long? Malak shivered, not wanting to contemplate life on earth without Cael. All he could do was apologize, beg for forgiveness, and plead with Cael to stay. Malak had no pride, not if pride would keep Cael from his arms. Malak simply couldn't bear the possibility of living on earth until the End of Days without him. Knocking, he waited for an answer. "Cael? he called, but his voice failed him on the first try. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Cael?" There was no answer. Not that Malak blamed Cael for not wanting to speak with him. Not after the way Malak had acted. Still, he had to try. Opening the door, Malak eased into the darkened room. The bed was empty and the balcony stood open, the wind blowing in to ruffle the sheets. Cael was gone.

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Chapter Eight This time, the lights and glitz of Vegas held no appeal for Cael. He'd been there before, usually at the times when his body had demanded the release that Malak refused to give him. He'd found comfort there, in a city that reminded him nostalgically of Sodom. Sex filled the air here, just as it had there. Now, the music seemed loud and grating, and the harshness of the neon lights burned his eyes. The humans who strolled along the streets and lingered near the casinos evoked no response from him other than the jealousy he felt toward the lovers who walked hand-in-hand, whispering their secrets to one another. He sat on the rooftop of the Eiffel Tower, his legs dangling over the edge five hundred and forty feet above the Strip, his wings folded back. The landmark had been replicated in scale by the Paris Hotel and Casino. Far below him, a young woman walked along the street, picking the pockets of tourists as easily as she might have picked a handful of daisies in a field. His keen eyes followed her movements out of habit, although he felt nothing, not even idle curiosity. She passed an older man, who was flashing a thick wad of cash at a whore in his early twenties. A deal was struck, and the older had boldly cupped the younger man's ass with his hand as they melted into the shadows. Farther down on the Strip, another man, barely more than a boy, dealt three-card Monte on a folding table. Farther still, a man and a woman in saffron robes clinked finger symbols and passed out religious pamphlets while holding out baskets for donations. The flow of humanity never ceased. The Strip, from the Mandalay Bay to the Stratosphere, was packed with people of all ages, sexes, and sizes. That was a distance of just under four miles. Four miles, a virtual carpet of people, not to mention the thousands that were crowded inside the resorts, wedging themselves around the gaming and buffet tables. And yet Cael still felt utterly alone. Nowhere in the sea of humanity that flowed along the street below him was there one person capable of easing the ache in his heart. The only one with that power was Malak, and a week ago Cael had left him in a two-story house at the edge of the ocean, nearly a continent away. Bleakly, Cael considered his options. He could drink, but his metabolism was too fast for it to numb his pain. His body would burn the alcohol as quickly as he could imbibe it. He could turn to a whore for release. That was nothing new to Cael. He'd availed himself of asses-for-hire since the very first time he'd managed to wiggle his way out of Hell and into Sodom.

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But now, thanks to Malak, he didn't think he would find any satisfaction in the arms of some stray human. In fact, Cael strongly suspected that sleeping with someone other than Malak would only worsen his condition by deepening his guilt. He was quickly coming to realize that sometimes having a soul sucked. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't smell the reek of sulfur in the air until it was too late. A hard push against his back sent him tumbling over the edge of the Tower, spiraling down toward the street below.The wind was deafening as he plunged toward the crowded pavement. His wings unfurled and he caught a lucky air current, swooping low, skimming over the heads of startled tourists on the Strip. Pumping forcefully, his wings carried him back up toward the top of the Tower in a graceful swoop. Cael hadn't been in the best of moods before he'd been pushed, and now he was truly pissed off. He had no weapons except for his bare hands but a demon was incredibly powerful nonetheless, much more so than any puny human. Whatever hapless halfwit had seen fit to push him would soon find himself shredded into unidentifiable chunks by the time Cael was done with him. Shooting up over the edge of the Tower, he flexed his muscles, ready to do battle as he hovered in all his demonic glory. His face was twisted into a mask of rage, and he shimmered his gracefully curved black horns into existence, wanting to give whatever human waited on the rooftop the full effect of his demonic appearance. It was then that he realized that the stench of sulfur should have told him something. Asmodai. Standing balanced on one of the welded steel crossbeams, Asmodai was scowling up at Cael, hatred all but sizzling in the expressions on all three of his heads. "How dare you do this to me? You were promised to me, Cael! I will not be denied my due. I should drag your ass kicking and screaming back down into the Pits, rules be damned!" Asmodai raged, curling his fingers into tight, hard fists. Cael hovered just out of reach of Asmodai's scaly hands. "Fat chance, Asmodai. I've won my contest. By Hell's own rules I get to stay here until the End of Days. Fuck off, before I decide to relieve you of a couple of your heads." Asmodai threw his heads back and laughed in three distinct, hateful voices that burned Cael's ears. "End of Days, huh? Then I don't have long to wait, now do I?" Cael narrowed his eyes, mulling over Asmodai's words. "What's going on that I don't know about, Asmodai? Nobody knows when time will end."

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"No? I hate to be the one to tell you this -- no, I take that back. Actually, I'm thrilled to be the one to impart the news. The Horsemen have been unleashed, Cael. Heaven has been so preoccupied with their own sense of self-importance that they haven't even noticed. The Horsemen are coming and soon. And the moment this planet is reduced to a cloud of apocalyptic dust, you'll belong to me again." Asmodai's snake-cock hissed in evident delight, slithering between his thighs. Cael frowned. "You're lying." "Am I? Well, time will tell." Asmodai cackled. "In the meantime, perhaps I'll pay a visit to that sweet-looking angel I've heard you've been shacking up with. What's his name? Malak?" "Touch him and I'll rip you into pieces, Asmodai," Cael snarled, baring his teeth. "Slowly, starting with your dick." "Your threats mean nothing, Cael. Soul or no soul, you are still a lesser demon -- you're no match for me and you know it. I'll do as I please," Asmodai hissed. Pausing, he shot Cael a sly glance. "Besides, I'll have you both soon enough anyway -- either here or in Hell. Oh, wait…you didn't know, did you?" Asmodai's voice was dripping with mock sympathy. "You're wasting your time playing mind games with me, Asmodai. I know the rules." "Oh? Tell me, when did Lucifer ever play by the rules? Souls can not truly be sundered, Cael. When the End of Days comes you will be remanded back into the Pit, and because your soul is a part of his, so will your Malak." "Liar!" Cael roared, jumping toward Asmodai. He was a heartbeat too late and his fingers closed on thin air. Asmodai had disappeared. Cael hovered for a few more moments, trying to make sense of Asmodai's visit. It was impossible -- Asmodai had to be lying. The date of the Apocalypse was unknowable. And even if were not, the rules of the contest clearly stated that, although Cael's future was the Pit, Malak would be returned to Heaven at the End of Days. But still… There had been something in Asmodai's voice that gave Cael pause. It was an odd mix of triumph and certainty. He became convinced that Asmodai had not been lying. The Horsemen were coming. And worse, Malak was in danger. He'd be no match for Asmodai, and more, should the Horsemen prevail he'd be sent to Hell along with Cael. Cael couldn't let that happen, couldn't allow Malak to experience the horrors of Hell. Not his Malak. Not his angel. There was only one thing Cael could do. He had to go home, whether Malak wanted him there or not.

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*** Malak stared down at the scummy film that floated along the rim of his cup. Hours old, his coffee remained exactly as he'd poured it, black, sugarless, and untouched. The croissant that sat on a plate next to his cup fared no better. It grew stale, and would no doubt be tossed down the garbage disposal along with the java. Cael had been gone for nearly a week, and it had been the longest seven days in Malak's memory. Malak found that he had no appetite, no energy. He could barely drag himself out of bed in the morning -- there had been a few days when he hadn't even bothered -- and when he did it was only to slump in a kitchen chair or in the armchair in the living room and sit for hours, staring at nothing. This was far worse than the hundred years Malak had spent in his self-imposed isolation. He was obsessed with Cael. That was the plain and simple truth of it, and it was driving him out of his ever-loving mind. He saw Cael everywhere -- in each room of the house, on the dunes of the beach, in the cloud formations that drifted over the waves. He heard his voice in the lapping waters, in the salty breezes that swept the sand. Cael was everywhere but where Malak wanted him to be, ached for him to be -- in his arms, in his bed…inside of him. He'd found himself rifling through the laundry basket, pulling out a blood-red T-shirt that belonged to Cael. Imprinted with the image of a winged, scaly, be-fanged demon (the first time Malak had seen it, he'd cattily remarked on its uncanny resemblance to its owner), Cael's unique scent still clinging to its fibers. Bunching it into a ball, Malak had buried his nose in it, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent of musk and sex had brought tears to his eyes. Again. Everything seemed to make him weep lately. The sight of Cael's coffee cup, the dark brown stoneware mug that he had always insisted on using to drink everything but coffee. A painting Malak had done a ten years ago or so that he was certain that he'd chucked away onto the dunes, found neatly framed and hanging on the back wall of Cael's closet. A necklace of strung shells that Cael had brought home one night after one of his shorter absences. It reeked of another man's scent, and Malak had no doubt that it belonged to some piece of ass that Cael had drilled. And while Malak had no compunction about throwing that particular one of Cael's possessions into the trash compactor, he still wept when he did it. It was as if Cael was dead, truly dead rather than just gone, and Malak was in mourning. He supposed that he should be furious, not broken-hearted. Cael had used Malak, used him badly. He'd taken what he wanted and had left, without a word. No goodbye. No see you later, chump. Not even a fuck you. But Malak couldn't feel anger. He couldn't feel much of anything, except an overwhelming bleakness and the ever-present pain that wracked him.

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Dragging himself to his feet, he picked up his cup and the saucer that held the croissant, carrying them to the sink. Turning on the tap, he was rinsing the cup out when a sound caught his ear footsteps, creaking on the floorboards. Setting the cup down, he walked into the living room, but it was empty. Puzzled, he peered though the sliding glass doors to the porch. Seeing nothing but the white sand of the dunes and the green of the sea kissing the blue of the sky in the distance, he shrugged and turned to go back into the kitchen. That was proof positive that he was losing it -- he was starting to hear things. "I must remember to compliment Cael when next I see him," an oily, malevolent voice spoke. "I wouldn't have thought his taste so refined. I half expected a cherub -- some wimpy, curly-headed fat-boy, not a raven-haired beauty." The ugly voice belonged to an even uglier creature. A foul stench of sulfur and decaying flesh hung about it in a cloud, an almost greenish halo that surrounded its three heads. Between its legs, a serpent slithered and coiled, hissing softly. Malak immediately knew the name of his uninvited visitor. Asmodai. "Where is Cael?" Malak asked, taking an involuntary step back from the noxious stench. "What have you done to him?" "Me? Why, nothing, dear Malak. Nothing Cael did not wish me to do, at any rate," Asmodai replied, grinning with a mouthful of sharp, yellow teeth. His ram's head bleated and snapped a mouthful of air, while his bull's head pushed it aside with the flat of its snout. "He is a fine lover, isn't he? He and I have quite a history together. Did he tell you about us, sweet Malak? He's in Hell now, waiting for me to return." "You're lying!" Malak cried with a fierce frown. He bared his teeth at Asmodai, his wings twitching into existence. Straightening his spine, he stood tall, as an avenging angel before the spawn of Hell. Asmodai chuckled at Malak's show of Heavenly strength. "Such posturing is a waste of your energy, Malak! Surely you realize that when Cael fucked you, he also fucked up any chance you might have had to be in the good graces of Heaven again, don't you? There is no power behind your wings, no halo hovering over your head." Malak felt his resolve falter, stung by the truth of Asmodai's words. He'd worried over the same thing himself. It occurred to Malak that Asmodai might have sensed that fear, and was seeking to use it against him. "Where is Cael?" he demanded again.

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"Here," came a familiar, deep and soothing voice from behind Malak. A warm hand clapped his shoulder, a warmer body stepping up beside him. "What has he said, Malak? What lies has he told you?" "Lies? I've told no untruths here, Cael," Asmodai answered smoothly. "He said you were lovers and that you'd gone back to Hell." "I've never allowed him to touch me, Malak. Not even while I was in the Pit." "I know it, Cael. You'd never have been able to rid yourself of the stink if you had," Malak replied, smiling softly and covering Cael's hand with his own. "Oh, isn't this sweet? True love, how perfectly nauseating! Although I do admit that he is a fine piece of ass, Cael. Quite accommodating," Asmodai interjected. "Tight, so very tight -- nearly as tight as you were once upon a millennium. He rode my cock as if it were a thoroughbred. Which, I admit, it is." He grinned, petting the scaly head of his snake-cock. "Fuck off, Asmodai!" Cael yelled, taking a step forward. His wings rustled angrily, his muscles bunching. "Go spew your bullshit somewhere else." "Temper, temper, Cael. This is what gaining a soul does to a perfectly good demon. Spoils you. Makes you lust for things that you have business wanting. You are a creature of Hell, and always will be! Love is an illusion you will never taste, never touch. You're only fooling yourself. You are a demon, Cael! No imaginary religious construct can change that," Asmodai spat, retreating in the face of Cael and Malak's combined fury. "You're wrong," Cael said softy. The quiet tone of Cael's voice sounded far more dangerous to Malak's ears than his earlier roar. Even he was tempted to step away from Cael. "Am I? We shall see soon enough, won't we?" Asmodai retorted. With a last, lustful look at Malak, he disappeared.

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Chapter Nine "Are you all right?" Cael asked Malak as soon as Asmodai's vile presence had left them, and the

breeze once again blew fresh and sweet through the open sliding doors.

"You came back," Malak whispered, staring wide-eyed at Cael. "You're here."

Cael nodded slowly. He reached to brush his fingers across Malak's cheek, but hesitated. "I know

that you don't want me here, but I couldn't let you face Asmodai alone."

"Who said that?"

"Who said what?"

"That I didn't want you here? I do want you. I've spent the past week weeping into my oatmeal

over you, you idiot!" Malak grinned, throwing himself into Cael's arms. Malak's arms wrapped

around Cael's neck, hugging so tightly that he made it seem as if he were trying to crawl inside

of Cael.

"You said…but… "

"Yes, I know. I was stupid, too. Cael, I was so wrong about everything. About you, about how I

feel about you, about everything. I'm so sorry, Cael. I came back into the bedroom to tell you, but

you were already gone."

"You weren't stupid. Well, maybe just a little bit," Cael answered, smiling as Malak nipped his

shoulder in mock anger. "But I was a prize-winning asshole. I should have understood how

losing a piece of your soul was going to affect you. But honestly, Malak, I thought you knew

what would happen if we made love. If I could, I'd give it back."

"I did know, and I wouldn't want it back. It was just that everything hit me all at once, Cael.

First, the way your body made me feel, then the feeling of my soul sundering -- which wasn't bad

at all, before you start apologizing again -- and then realizing that… "

"Realizing what?"

"That I love you. That I have since that day when I left my cave and you found me. Do you

remember?" Malak said softly. He drew back and looked Cael in the eye. "I fell in love with you

that day, but never allowed myself to admit it." A blush colored Malak's fair cheeks. "Anyway,

after we made love I think I went a little crazy. But as soon as I realized what I'd done, what I'd

said, I went looking for you so that I could explain. But you were gone. I thought you didn't want

me, just my soul, and now that you had it I'd never see you again."

Cael's body trembled as the magnitude of Malak's words hit him, his knees feeling weak,

threatening to give way. He leaned heavily on Malak, resting his chin on Malak's shoulder.

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Smiling softly, Cael said, "I remember that day. I remember feeling such an incredible wave of relief when I saw you that it nearly dropped me from the sky. Malak, I left because I thought you hated me for condemning you to live here. I'm the reason you can't go back to Heaven!" "Heaven wouldn't be paradise for me anymore, Cael. It would be a stale, lifeless place without you. I don't want to go back, not if it means leaving you here." Cael's arms tightened around Malak until he held his angel as tightly as he could without crushing him, burying his face in Malak's neck, breathing deeply of Malak's clean, fresh scent. "Do you know when I fell in love with you, Malak? The moment I saw you kneeling in the middle of the bazaar in Sodom. It was as if you were a single moment of flawless beauty surrounded by chaos and ugliness. I lost my heart to you that day, even if I didn't understand it until just recently." "You love me?" "I always have. I just didn't know that's what I was feeling -- I couldn't, not until I had a soul." Their kiss was soft but quickly grew needy. Cael's tongue swept past Malak's lips, meeting in a swirling, hungry dance. But after allowing himself only a few moments of tasting Malak's sweetness, Cael pulled away and looked him squarely in the eye. "Wait, we need to talk first, Malak." "What's wrong, Cael? Don't you want…" "Of course I do," Cael growled, slipping his hands around Malak's waist and pulling his angel's body flush with his own. He felt Malak's heart fluttering behind Malak's breastbone as he felt the hard, hot evidence of the desire he'd provoked. If anything, it matched his own, which made him smile against the silky skin of Malak's shoulder. "We need to talk first, though. We have a problem, Malak -- a serious one. Deadly serious." Malak drew in a deep breath, and nodded. "All right. What is it, Cael?" "Lucifer is a liar." "No shit. For that you stopped kissing me?" Malak chuckled, but one sharp look from Cael and his laughter died in his throat. "Listen to me Malak, and let me finish," Cael said sternly. "Lucifer lied about the rules of the contest, Malak. At the end of time, I'll go back to Hell. That much he told the truth about." He put up a hand when Malak opened his mouth to speak. "There's more. Because of the contest, I possess a piece of your soul. We're connected, Malak. I can feel it, and I know that you can feel it, too. Because of that, when Lucifer hauls my ass back down into the Pit, he's going to drag you along with me."

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"What? That's impossible!"

"No, I'm afraid it isn't."

Malak shivered as the truth of Cael's words sunk in. "Well, we won't have to worry about that for

a long time yet, Cael. We'll figure out what to do."

"That's the other part of our problem, Malak. Asmodai told me that Lucifer has released the

Horsemen, and I believe him."

"What? No one knows when--"

"I believe him, Malak," Cael repeated.

Malak's face paled as he absorbed the news. "What are we going to do, Cael? I don't want you to

go back to Hell, and I certainly don't want to go there either."

"I know. Neither do I. The only option we have is to try to stop them."

"Stop the Horsemen? Can we do that?" Malak's eyes widened.

"We have to try. You have a copy of the playbook, right?"

"The what?"

Cael smiled and rolled his eyes. "The Bible. You've got one, don't you?"

Malak nodded slowly. "Yes. There's one in my nightstand."

"Go get it. We need to map out a battle plan."

***

Turning toward the door, Malak took a few steps then paused, looking back over his shoulder at

Cael. Cael looked the same as he always had, golden and beautiful, strong and unflappable. But there was a glow in his blue eyes, a tenderness that had never been there before. It touched a place deep inside of him that was still raw and achy with need. Malak's body responded immediately with a flush of desire that nearly made him cry out with its intensity. He made a decision, or rather his body made it for him, and he turned back to Cael. The Horsemen had waited since the beginning of time -- they could wait a half-hour more. Walking slowly toward Cael, Malak stripped off his shirt, shimmering his wings into solidity. He spread them, stretching them wide, the lust that began to heat his skin pulling a likewise reaction from his cock.

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"Malak… " "Shut up, Cael. I need you. I need you to…" "To what?" Cael's voice was husky with the same need Malak was feeling. "To fuck me." The command felt crude and unfamiliar on Malak's tongue but sounded oddly sensual in his ears, and his cock twitched its agreement. Cael reached for him, but Malak danced away, toward the sliding glass doors. "Catch me," Malak said, more of an order than a tease as he stepped outside onto the porch. His gave his wings a mighty flap, launching himself up into the sky. Despite the direness of the broader situation, Malak felt joy bubbling up from deep within him, spilling over into a wide smile. He felt Cael right behind him, heard the leathery rustle of Cael's wings as his demon pushed himself to catch up. Then suddenly Cael was in front of him, hovering, blocking Malak's way. Cael's eyes had darkened, the bright blue deepening into midnight, sparking with desire. His full lips parted in a knowing smile, and he swiped his tongue over his lower lip. Malak felt a compulsion to taste that tongue rocket through him, propelling his body forward into Cael's welcoming arms. They clamped around his waist like bands of hard, tempered steel, pulling him flush with Cael's body. Cael's cock, as hard as the rest of his body, lay trapped in the crease between Malak's thigh and hip, his own erection digging into Cael's abdomen. Wings moving in unison, they kept each other aloft, drifting slightly on the air currents. Malak captured Cael's mouth, his tongue seeking and engaging Cael's in a hot, wet dance. This time there was nothing gentle or innocent about their kiss. It was demanding, needful, wanton and wicked. It was the kiss of a lover too long denied, hungry, passionate, and commanding. It was three thousand years of denial let loose. He wrapped his body around Cael's, one leg sliding up to hook around Cael's thigh. "Malak!" Cael groaned -- or tried to, since Malak had Cael's lower lip trapped between his teeth. "I want you inside me, Cael. Now!" Malak ordered, thrusting his pelvis. His cock dug into Cael's flesh. Evidently, some of Cael's wickedness had backwashed into Malak. After an eternity of goodness, of pure thoughts and self-denial, Malak had to admit that being a little sinful felt wonderful. Letting go of Cael's body, Malak slipped free and let himself drop a couple feet lower until Cael's cock rose before his eyes. His wings still beating, keeping him airborne, Malak darted closer and took Cael into his mouth.

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Rewarded by a long, guttural gasp from Cael, Malak's felt his eyes roll back into his head as the heady musky taste of Cael filled his mouth. Growling low in his chest, Malak sucked harder, trying to draw out as more of Cael's potent flavor. The head of Cael's cock wet his tongue with drops of bitter salt as he licked it playfully, swirling his tongue over the rounded tip. Relaxing his throat muscles, Malak took in as much of Cael's length as he could, clamping his lips around its girth as he let it slide back out. Again he drew it in, and again he released, setting a pace that had Cael twisting long fingers into Malak's hair, groaning loudly. Above Cael's moans, the wind whistled. Malak released Cael only when he realized that they'd become too absorbed in their play and both pair of wings had stilled. They were plummeting toward the ocean at a dizzying rate, spiraling, with Malak's mouth still latched onto Cael's cock. Letting go, Malak laughed, feeling love and joy suffusing his being. He'd never felt so wonderful before, and knew it was due to the love he felt for Cael, the love that he now knew was returned to him. Grinning, he pulled at Cael's arm, flapping his wings with mighty thrusts, pulling Cael back into the air. Mating in midair was a dangerous business, but Malak couldn't have cared less. He needed Cael now, this instant, needed to feel that glorious connection that only happened when their bodies were united. Letting go of Cael's hand, Malak turned, presenting Cael with his back. A few flaps of his wings pushed him backward against Cael's chest. As he felt Cael's strong arms encircle him, Malak shimmered his wings into invisibility, tucking them up tightly against his back. Showing his complete trust, Malak allowed Cael to keep them both aloft while he gently lowered himself onto Cael's stiff arousal. Wet from Malak's mouth, Cael's cock slipped into his asshole like a hand in glove, snuggly, filling Malak to bursting. As their bodies joined, Malak felt his heart swell with love for Cael and the two halves of his soul touch one another. Moving slowly, bracing himself on Cael's strong forearms, Malak began to ride Cael's shaft, grunting with the pleasure that stabbed into his belly each time he forced himself downward onto it. "Malak!" Cael cried. His fingers dug into the flesh of Malak's chest and his breath quickened on the back of Malak's neck. "You're fucking killing me, Malak!" "Am I hurting you?" Malak asked, twisting his head to the side, trying to look into Cael's eyes. "No! Don't you fucking stop, Malak!" Cael begged as his wings beat furiously, working doubletime to support both of them.

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"Come for me, Cael," Malak moaned. Through their shared soul, Malak could sense Cael's innermost feelings, felt Cael's body's reaction to him just as clearly as his own nerves. Words weren't really necessary, but they added an erotic edge nonetheless. "Fuck me, Cael!" "Fucking you, Malak…loving you, loving your sweet ass," Cael whispered, his voice growing tight and his words clipped as he came. Cael's red-hot seed flowed into him, a cry of ecstasy ringing in Malak's ears, pushing him into an orgasm that ripped a scream from his own throat. Time stopped, the wind and sea freezing in place as stars burst in Malak's field of vision. He stroked himself feverishly; ribbons of silver seed threaded into the air as he climaxed with such force that he feared his body would shatter into a million pieces. Completely and utterly drained, he collapsed in Cael's strong arms. None too steady himself, Cael's flight down to the beach was erratic, making Malak giggle. He'd done that. He'd sapped the strength out his demon lover, leaving Cael as weak as a kitten. Malak's face creased with a broad, self-satisfied grin as Cael laid him down gently on the dunes and collapsed in a heap next to him. His breath ragged, Cael asked, "What's so funny?" "Nothing. I love you, you know," Malak replied, rolling over and laying his head on Cael's broad chest. He was still smiling, listening to Cael's heart beating under his ear while his eyelids drifted closed. "Hey! No sleeping!" Malak cursed and jumped when Cael poked a finger into his ribs. "We've got a load of work to do. The Apocalypse? Four Horsemen? Remember? " Malak huffed, then turned his face and blew a loud, wet raspberry against Cael's flat belly. "You're acting more and more like a little devil every minute, Mal," Cael snickered. "You're a bad influence, Cael." Malak pulled himself up along the length of Cael's body, making sure that he rubbed himself against every inch of skin along the way. Capturing Cael's soft lips, he kissed him long and deep. "Did that sound like I was complaining?" Cael asked, arching an eyebrow when Malak let him come up for air. "Because I wasn't. Seriously though, we have to figure out a game plan." "I know, you're right," Malak conceded. He forced himself to stand up then offered Cael his hand. "C'mon. I'll get the Bible, and you make the cheeseburgers." "Cheeseburgers?" "I'm hungry," Malak replied with an impish grin.

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"Oh, Lord, I've created a monster," Cael groaned, shaking his head. "Whatever happened to not

eating anything that used to have a face?"

"I'm pretty sure that if the situation were reversed, the cow would eat me."

"Cows are herbivores."

Malak laughed, and swatted Cael on the ass with the flat of his hand. "Stop arguing and start

grilling. I need protein, and lots of it."

"I can give you plenty of protein. No calories, and fat-free, besides. A little salty, but… "

"Get moving or I'll take you up on that, and then we'll never get a plan together."

"You know, I don't know if I like this new side of you, Malak. It's a little too much like me."

Cael grinned.

"Well, get used to it." Malak smiled, slinging his arm around Cael's shoulders and leading him

up toward the house. "Because if I have anything to say about it, we're going to be together for a

long, long time."

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BOOK TWO THE WHITE HORSE And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer. -- The Bible, King James Edition, Rev 6:2 Chapter Ten "Cael!" Malak's voice echoed throughout the house, the urgency in it causing Cael to drop the glass of iced tea he held. It fell to the floor at his feet, exploding in a shower of sparkling glass and amber liquid. Dashing through the house, half-flying up the stairs to the bedroom they'd been sharing, Cael's shoulder slammed painfully against a wall as he cut a corner too closely. Grimacing, he burst into the bedroom, looking for Malak. "What is it? What's wrong?" he gasped, rubbing his shoulder. "Look!" Malak cried, pointing at the television set that played atop Malak's dresser. "It's the fucking television set, Malak. I've seen it before," Cael groused, frowning at him. "Not the set. Look at what's on it!" Cael peered at the small screen, eyebrows knitting as he concentrated. "Brothers and sisters!" the man on the screen yelled, his arms spread wide as if to embrace the large audience before him. He looked like a ghost to Cael, dressed in white from the top of his neatly styled hair to the bottom of his snakeskin shoes. "I have had a vision! All around us, the world is crumbling under the yoke of sin, the very planet beneath our feet cracking from its decay. Who's to blame? Not you, not me, not the righteous! No, the fault lay with the blasphemers, the fornicators, and the sodomites! Those damned souls who refuse to come to see the light; who turn their backs on morality and virtue! They are lost, and will continue to taint everything and everyone with their evil unless we do something about it!" As Cael watched, the man continued to fan the flames of fanaticism until it burned brightly in the wild eyes of his followers. "That's him, Cael," Malak whispered, drawing his attention from the television. "That's who, Malak?"

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"The Antichrist." Cael laughed, shaking his head. "Malak, he's a preacher!" "No true man of God I ever knew spewed garbage like this one, Cael," Malak replied, the look on his face earnest. "Just because he's got the right title doesn't make him righteous. He's convincing these people that their government, their neighbors -- even members of their own families -- are sinners if they don't belong to his church! He's talking about taking up arms, about committing violence in Heaven's name. And he's got a large following, Cael. Huge." "Large enough to help bring about the End of Days?" Cael asked, taking a closer look at the man on the screen. He would look like someone's kindly old grandfather, if it weren't for the hateful gleam in his eye. "Hate spawns fear, and fear spawns hate, Cael. You know that. Violence begets violence. It's a self-propagating, ever-widening circle. It may start relatively small, but it spreads like a disease, Cael." "You really think this is him? The First Horseman?" "Look at the banner behind him, Cael. What do you see?" Squinting at the screen, Cael focused on the huge blood red banner that spanned the stage behind the preacher. It was printed with the silhouette of a large white horse and the name of the preacher's church, "The Right Arm of God" spanning the width of the banner. The words "Suus ira est puter" were written in flaming letters below the horse. His wrath is loosed. "Shit. It really could be him, Malak." "It is him. I can feel the evil wafting off him right through the television screen, Cael," Malak replied softly. Cael saw that he was shivering. He sank down beside Malak, drawing him into his arms. "Does he look familiar to you, Cael? Do you remember seeing him in Hell?" "No, but that doesn't mean much, Malak. I was only one demon in a legion, and there were more legions than I could count down there, each with their own General." "Well, what do we do now?" "I guess we'll need to go have a talk with him, Mal. Up close and personal, as they say." "I'll go get the box," Malak said, disengaging himself from Cael's arms. There was a note of finality in his voice. He must be convinced the preacher was the First Horseman -- that was the only reason Malak would ever bring the box out from its dark hiding place in the back of his closet.

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Malak hadn't touched the contents of the box in almost three thousand years, except to move them from place to place. In the beginning, the contents had been wrapped in leather. Later they'd been put in a wooden crate, and a hundred years ago Malak had placed them in a sturdy trunk, secured with a large, silver padlock. There was a thick layer of dust coating the top of the trunk, some of which puffed up in a cloud when Malak deposited it down on the coffee table. Coughing, Cael waved a hand in front of his face, shooing away the irritating particles of dust. He watched Malak take a deep breath, steadying himself, before producing a key and fitting it into the lock. Popping it open, he placed his hands on the trunk's lid and looked at Cael. "Go on, Malak. I'm right here with you," Cael said softly, knowing how difficult this was for him. The trunk's lid creaked open, a smell drifting out that brought the past rushing back to Cael. It was the smell of sex, of blood, and of brimstone. It was the stench of Sodom. Malak lifted a heavy bundle from the trunk and laid it on the coffee table. Carefully, he peeled back the ancient, leather wrappings, some of which disintegrated into dust at his touch, exposing a long tunic of lustrous chain mail, and a gleaming silver sword. Time had not tarnished the heaven-forged weaponry. They shone as if they had been made that very day. Cael held his breath as Malak donned the heavy chain mail, and took up the sword in his right hand. The ages fell away and Cael once again saw the frightened, trembling angel Malak had been, crouching amid the carnage of Sodom. He hadn't worn his armor since he'd returned from his self-imposed exile and had agreed to stay with Cael. "Are you okay?" Cael asked, standing up, touching Malak's cheek tenderly. Malak nodded. "Fine. Never better. Damn, this stuff is heavier than I remember it being." Holding the sword up, he eyed the edge critically. "It's old, but it's still sharp enough to cut paper," he said, swinging it experimentally. Cael smiled. Malak was adorable, dressed up in his old battle armor, swinging his sword around like a little boy. His smile faded though, as he realized two things. First, the Horsemen were no amateurs. If the preacher were indeed a General of Hell, he would know how to fight dirty. Second, Malak had little experience as a warrior. Sodom had been his first -- and last -- battle. "Be back in a minute," he said, catching Malak's arm as he swung the sword in an upper arc. "Try not to accidentally cut off any parts of you that I've grown fond of while I'm gone." Malak snorted at him, returning to thrusting and parrying as Cael slipped from the room. Re-entering the living room a short while later, Cael cleared his throat, trying to gain Malak's attention. From Malak's wide eyes and gasp of surprise, he figured he'd succeeded in impressing him.

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Malak, being an angel, had to follow the rules when engaging in battle, and that included using nothing but Heaven-sanctioned weapons -- swords, shields, chain mail, and the like. Heaven was a little behind the times when it came to warfare. Luckily, the same rules did not apply to demons. Cael had donned a camouflage jacket over a black Kevlar vest. His army-issue fatigues were tucked into laced-up, steel-toed boots. Strapped to one thigh was a long leather sheath that held a knife that was nearly big enough to be called a machete, and at his hip was a holster for his Luger. His chest was crisscrossed with wide leather ammo belts, and he held a Škorpion, a sub machinegun, cradled in the crook of his arm. "Great. Just what we need -- a demonic Rambo." Malak laughed, eyeing Cael up and down. "I'll be back," Cael grinned with a cheesy accent that sounded a lot like Bela Lugosi. Malak laughed, shaking his dark head. "That was Schwarzenegger. Stallone was Rambo, you goof." "So sue me. C'mon, Malak. This show is broadcasting live from Atlanta." Cael paused, putting a hand on Malak's arm. "Are you sure you want to do this? There's no guarantee that we'll beat him. We could lose. Will probably lose, as a matter of fact." "We have to try, Cael. I don't want to go to Hell, and I don't want you going there either. I want to spend forever with you, here. If the Horsemen win, well…at least we'll have tried." Cael felt his throat thicken with emotions that were still new to him. "I love you, Mal." "I love you too, Cael. Now let's go kick some Antichrist ass."

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Chapter Eleven The Right Arm of God Ministry had its headquarters in a towering, glass-and-steel monolith in the center of downtown Atlanta. Fifty-two stories high, it cut Atlanta in two like a great, shining silver sword stabbed into the city's heart. A city within a city, accounting, personnel, marketing, and legal offices, mailrooms, several printing presses, a recording studio, a television studio, several restaurants, and a bank took up most of the floors of the skyscraper. The uppermost floor, a huge penthouse suite, was reserved solely for the use of the Most Reverend Randall Kincaid, the self-proclaimed Savior of the World, and figurehead of the Ministry. His story was a classic rags-to-religious-riches tale. Born in abject poverty to a mother who died shortly after giving birth and a father who'd been gutted like a fish in prison without ever laying eyes on his son, Kincaid had spent his formative years being passed from one foster home to another. By sixteen, he'd been heavily into drugs and crime. Then one day, while he'd been lying in an alley hovering near death from an overdose, he'd had a vision. An angel had appeared to him, telling him that he had great work to do; that God had chosen him as his greatest Prophet. He'd dragged himself out of the gutter and had built the Right Arm of God Ministry from the ground up, with his own two hands. Or so the story went. In truth, nothing of Kincaid's life could be traced back before he'd appeared in public for the first time with a sermon on his lips, a Bible in his hand, and a healthy bankbook in his wallet. It was as if he'd appeared out of thin air. Oddly enough, no one ever tried to dig very far into his past. Those few that tried had ended up dead or missing. Kincaid had the media, and most of Atlanta's officials, wrapped up neatly in webs of blackmail and payoffs. Wheels and palms were greased with regularity, assuring Kincaid of complete freedom. He was a mesmerizing speaker, as his growing flock attested. He could work a crowd up into a fanatical frenzy in moments, until they were seething with religious fervor and itching to do his bidding. It was a gift, albeit not a heavenly one. "When?" Asmodai hissed, his other heads snapping at the air in frustration. "Lucifer grows weary of your theatrics, Balam. He handpicked you for this role, and you're fucking it up!"

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"Shut up," Balam rumbled. The shadow of his familiar, a monstrous bear, coalesced in a smoky swirl behind him. "I know what I'm doing." "Oh? Then kindly explain your plan to me, because I fail to see the logic! Every time we turn around, you're broadcasting another fucking sermon! Lucifer sent you up here to start a war, not to be a fucking movie star!" "I don't need to explain myself to you! Get out, before I really lose my temper with you, Asmodai!" Balam gestured with his hand, and a heavy crystal ashtray shot through the air at Asmodai, nicking the bull's head. A thin trickle of blood oozed between the bull's eyes as Asmodai's triple roar thundered through the penthouse suite. Asmodai dabbed at the blood. "I'm going to enjoy watching your ass fry after you fail, Balam. The Angel and Demon will find out about you, my friend. They'll be coming for you, and if you haven't started the war before they get here, you're as good as toast." Balam narrowed his eyes at Asmodai, his voice a low growl. "And how, exactly, did they find out about the Horsemen in the first place? Don't think your mistake hasn't reached Lucifer's ears, Asmodai. He knows that you told Cael and his angelic whore about us. If we fail, it's on your head." "If you fail, it won't matter in the slightest. There are three others coming after you, and Cael and Malak will have no idea who they are. They haven't had their faces plastered across the boob tube every five minutes!" Asmodai spat. "Get the fuck out!" Balam roared, the thunder of his voice echoing the in the penthouse, rattling the fine crystal arranged on a nearby credenza. It shattered, spraying the parquet flooring with tiny shards of glass. Balam's breath was thick with the stench of brimstone as he charged at Asmodai, shape shifting instantly into his familiar, claws extended and jaws agape. His huge shaggy arms closed on nothing but air as Asmodai winked out of the room. Breathing heavily, Balam shifted back into his human guise, smoothing his rumpled white suit with his hands. Of all the demons in Hell, Asmodai was no doubt one of the most obnoxious, annoying ones. When I succeed in my mission, he thought, eyeing the shards of the broken ashtray that still held bits of the bull's scalp on them, I believe I'll ask Lucifer for Asmodai's mangy heads on a platter. Putting Asmodai out of his thoughts, he strode to the elevator that would take him down to the television studio. He didn't have the time or inclination to dwell on a flea-bitten, two-bit demon like Asmodai. Randall Kincaid had a sermon to give, and a war to start. *** "Do you remember the plan, Malak?" Cael asked as they hovered over the Right Arm of God Ministry building in downtown Atlanta. "Think you can pull it off?"

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"Do I look like a two-year old, Cael? Kindly stop speaking to me as if I am. Of course I remember, and I wouldn't have agreed to it if I didn't think I could handle it," Malak growled. "Sorry, hon. Really. It's just that the last time you fought, things didn't go so well for you," Cael gently reminded him. He was referring to Sodom and, damn it, he was right. Malak rolled his eyes, conceding the point without actually saying so. "This is different. I can handle this, Cael." "I know you can. I believe in you, Mal," Cael said, darting in for a quick kiss. "Just remember that we have to get the preacher to reveal himself before we destroy him. We need positive identification, or Heaven will have both our heads for taking down one of their mouthpieces." "I wish you wouldn't refer to the clergy as 'mouthpieces', Cael. Most of them are sincere." "Sorry, hon. Guess that's the devil in me." Cael grinned. "We'd better get a move on. It's show time." *** "Children! Listen!" Kincaid's deep, commanding voice echoed throughout the large auditorium, filled to overflowing with his faithful followers. His broadcast had just begun, and he'd just starting working the crowd. "Evil has become so firmly entrenched in this world, that only the sword can pry its wicked fingers free! A chorus of "amen"s and "hallelujah"s greeted Kincaid's well-timed pause. "Last night, the angel of the Lord came to me. He told me that now was the time for the righteous to stand against the wicked! To cast evil back into the Pit! Now! Today! He told me to gather my army, and to set across this land, grinding the wicked beneath our boot heels!" Kincaid thundered,working himself up into a frenzy now, pacing back and forth across the stage. "The angel said--" "The angel said nothing of the sort." Kincaid blinked, looking at the dark-haired man in old-fashioned chain mail who had appeared out of thin air on Kincaid's stage. The security team stared with gaping mouths at the man, as if they couldn't believe he'd managed to slip by them. "You sir, are mistaken. The angel of the Lord said to me--" "An angel of the Lord wouldn't cross the street to spit on you, you lying bag of shit," Malak interrupted, narrowing his dark eyes at Kincaid. "Angels do not condone violence against people simply because they follow another faith, or love someone people like you think that they shouldn't. Angels do not rabble-rouse. They do not pick the pockets of good, if misguided, people. They do not--"

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"Blasphemer!" Kincaid roared, pointing a finger at Malak. "You are one of them! An infidel! Black-hearted demon spawn, sent by Lucifer to destroy all that I've built!" "Nope. Wrong on all counts. You're the demon," Malak said, drawing his sword. The steel sang as it slid free of its sheath. "I'm one of the good guys." With a dramatic whoosh, Malak's wings sprung into view, sweeping up to their full, impressive span, a gleaming expanse of white feathers. A collective gasp from the audience loosened Kincaid's tongue. "What utter nonsense! You think you can come in here, before these good people, with a pair of dime-store wings and …" Once again he fell silent as Malak rose from the stage and gracefully circled the studio, coming to hover just out of Kincaid's reach. "Do you know how I know what an angel of the Lord would or would not say? I know because I am an angel, and, as an angel, I can recognize a demon on sight, even when he's hiding in a human skin!" Darting in, Malak touched his sword to Kincaid's head, darting away again just as quickly. Bellowing, Kincaid grabbed his head with both hands. Smoke began to drift from his scalp. His entire body trembled as he sank to his knees, spontaneously shifting into his bear-shape. Roaring, he stood up on his hind legs, lips pulled back to reveal long, dagger-like yellow teeth. Two thousand pounds of muscle and fury, he charged Malak. In the audience, bedlam erupted. Screaming, clawing at one another in their panic, people fought to get out of the way of the rampaging demon-bear. "Hey! You! Yogi Bear!" a new voice called from behind Balam. Cael hovered a dozen feet off the floor, his leathery wings beating to keep him aloft. He had his Škorpion trained on Balam, his lips curled into a predatory grin. "I recognize him now, Malak! He's Balam, one of the worst of Lucifer's Generals! You were right!" Security personnel charged the stage, their bodies shifting as they ran. The Hounds of Hell, black as night, bared their venomous fangs and howled as they ran to protect their Master. "No, Cael! He's mine!" Malak cried, darting through the air toward him. He slipped in front of Cael, blocking his shot. "You get his lieutenants!" Cael turned his firepower on the charging Hell Beasts, spraying them with bullets. Blood soaked the stage as the Hounds were felled, their snarls turning to whimpers as their bodies disintegrated.

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Balam rose on his hind legs, foam dripping from his jaws as he roared his fury. One thickly

muscled arm swung at Malak, his long, sharp claws reaching to strip meat from bone.

Malak dodged the blow, feeling the rush of air as Balam's claws narrowly missed him. Swinging

his sword in a wide arc, he sliced into the juncture of Balam's head and neck.

An unearthly scream overpowered the sounds of the Škorpion as Malak's sword bit deeply.

Balam fell to all fours as smoke and black blood poured from the ghastly wound.

Still screaming, Balam exploded into a foul smelling cloud of red and yellow sparks and oily

black smoke. Within moments, all that remained was a charred streak on the floor of the stage.

Malak felt his strength wane as the adrenaline surge of battle drained away. Floating to the ground, he collapsed in one of the theater seats, staring at the spot were a moment ago he had battled a General of Hell. It was hard to believe that it was Balam who'd been vanquished, and not himself. "You okay?" He looked up at Cael, who stood on the stage. Splattered with the black blood of the Hounds, he

looked as tired as Malak felt.

"Yeah, I think so."

"You did good, hon."

"I think I'm going to throw up, Cael."

Cael laughed and hopped down off the stage. He leaned down, kissing Malak's lips gently.

"Good. If killing someone -- even a demon bent on ending the world -- didn't make you

physically sick, I would be worried about you, angel."

"What happens now? All those witnesses… "

"Don't worry about them. Eventually they'll convince themselves that it was nothing but special

effects. Even if they don't, it doesn't matter what they believe. It's over. One Horsemen down,

three to go."

"Take me home, Cael," Malak whispered, wiping a weary hand over his face. "I want to go

home."

"Me, too. I want home, a shower, and you, in that order," Cael said. "I think we've earned it."

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BOOK THREE THE RED HORSE "And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword." -- The Bible, King James Version, Rev 6:4 Chapter Twelve In Hell's throne room, extravagance and elegance were incongruent bedfellows with the thick, choking smell of brimstone. Gilt and crystal formed a glittering, brittle veneer that veiled the fetid reality of Hell, posh superfluities mirroring the outward beauty that masked the inner ugliness of its King. Lucifer sat on his throne, his tapping fingers the only outward sign that he was displeased. His golden hair cascaded in a shimmering sheath about his bare shoulders. Eyes that were the same blue -- and held as much warmth -- as a deep shelf of Arctic ice gazed unblinkingly at the demon prostrated before him. Of course, his calm exterior would not deceive anyone who knew him. Balam knew the real Lucifer all too well. "How," Lucifer asked in a deceptively smooth, calm voice, "did a pathetic excuse for a demon and an equally useless angel manage to defeat one of my generals?" Balam quailed before him, huddled on the floor before Lucifer's throne. Anyone who ever had quoted the proverb, "Hell hath no fury" didn't know Lucifer. Scorned women had nothing on him. "Someone tipped them off, Sire." "Someone? Which someone?" "I don't know," Balam croaked, a strong shiver twisting his spine. "But I suspect Asmodai." "And I suspect," Lucifer said, his fingernails digging into the arms of the throne, leaving gouges in the burnished mahogany, "that you were weak and careless. That you waited too long to make your move, were too arrogant. I don't tolerate failure well, Balam." "Please, Lightbearer," Balam begged, using one of Lucifer's preferred monikers. "Forgive me!" Sitting back, Lucifer smiled. It was a cold, reptilian smile, and it chilled Balam to the bottom of his black and withered heart. "Balam," he purred, "my faithful general, when have you ever known me to forgive?" Soon, Lucifer's harsh laughter echoed throughout the circles of Hell, matched in volume only by Balam's screams.

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*** Mephistopheles grinned as his fingers danced over the strings his trademark blood-red electric guitar. Behind him, towering video screens flickered with his image; on each side of the stage enormous speakers throbbed, the volume set for just under the decibel level that would shatter a human's eardrum. On stage, Mephistopheles was not merely a demon -- he was a god, and he reveled -- no, wallowed -- in his growing infamy. The notes of his complicated riff spiraled up at a dizzying speed until at last he reached the end with a flourish and a fiery blast of pyrotechnics. The final note hung in the air like a solid entity, pulsing. In the audience women and men alike screamed, tore at their clothing, and convulsed in an animalistic orgy of biblical proportions unseen since the days of Sodom and Gomorrah. Blood flowed. Mephistopheles' fans were often driven to acts of extreme violence by the twisted, angry notes he played. He enjoyed every minute of it. He took a deep breath, scenting the blood on the air. The dirt of the field that had served as the venue for Mephistopheles' concert became a solid mass of writhing bodies as his fans clawed and bit one another in their sexual frenzy. Blood flowed as freely as the booze and drugs had before and during the show. Mephistopheles soaked it up, all of it, the sex and the rage and the hate. His cock filled as he watched his fans literally tearing themselves apart before him. Many tried to storm the stage only to be beaten back by Mephistopheles' security. Handpicked by him for their violent propensities, his bodyguards were brutal, adding to the bloodshed. Unzipping his black leather pants -- all he ever wore, onstage or off -- he released his straining organ. Fisting himself, he let his black, foul-smelling semen spurt onto the stage in front of him, sizzling as the acidic droplets ate into the metal platform. His head flung back, tendons in his neck bulging, his howl of pleasure blended in horrific harmony with the screams of the crowd. Breathing hard, sweat beading on his brow, Mephistopheles tucked himself back into his pants and took leave of the stage without another thought to his fans. Most would not survive the concert, but he wasn't concerned about them in the least. There were always more; for every one that fell tonight there would be hundreds more to take their place tomorrow. Mephistopheles' music, composed in deepest bowels of Hell, was both seductive and addictive. His fame was spreading as his songs were played in underground clubs and over the Internet, his music shared through peer-to-peer file sharing programs. Once heard, it burrowed into the

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listener's mind and heart like a parasite, feeding on the soul until there was nothing left but a black, gaping hole. Concerts such as this one were impromptu; arranged and executed in a matter of days, publicized through chat rooms and message boards before the authorities could sniff out the location and stop them. A few spells now and then cast on unsuspecting members of local law enforcement helped. By the time the police realized what had happened, all that was left for them to do was clean up the mess and bag the bodies. He had to admit that this was the sweetest gig he'd ever had. Mephistopheles smiled to himself, remembering that he'd almost choked on his own bile when Lucifer had given him this assignment. The Red Horseman of the Apocalypse should be a warrior, he'd protested, not some longhaired, pussy musician. As always, he'd obeyed. One simply did not tell Lucifer, "no". Not if one wanted to keep one's pretty head attached to the rest of one's body. Mephistopheles had to admit that he'd been wrong about the musician thing. He was doing far more damage with a guitar than he had ever done with a sword. The concerts were really only gravy -- his music was responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of less impressive violent crimes across the planet every week. Best of all, plans were being finalized to broadcast his music worldwide via satellite. Every radio and television station would be pre-empted; every iPod, cellular phone, and computer system would broadcast his music, all at the same time. He grinned as he thought of the global riots and mass murders that his songs would incite, especially his latest composition. It would be last song he would ever play and the last one mankind was likely to ever hear -- at least until they heard the encores in Hell. That particular song was special, and dear to his withered, black heart. It would bring about the Apocalypse. Once the lyrics left his lips and his fingers coaxed the last note from his guitar, world-wide war would erupt. Armies would march. Buttons would be pushed. The world would end in a fiery cataclysm as he stood by and watched, the strings still thrumming on his guitar. He was still smiling and humming REM's It's the End of the World As We Know It under his breath when he entered his enormous bus, converted into a plush mobile home. Inside, he leaned his guitar against the wall, and conjured up an ice-cold beer, one of the few human concoctions that he enjoyed. Sitting in a cushy recliner, he put his feet up, sighing contentedly. The insulated walls of the bus muted the screams of the crowd outside to relaxing background noise and he reached for the remote, flicking on the television set. The announcer was reporting on a bizarre event at the Right Arm of God Ministry in Georgia, and the subsequent disappearance of Most Reverend Randall Kincaid. According to eyewitness reports, a bear had somehow entered the building and gone on a rampage. Mephistopheles snorted, nearly choking on his suds. "Balam! Why Lucifer ever chose him for a Horseman is beyond me," he said, draining his beer. He flung the bottle away, conjuring another. "I told Lucifer he only needed one Horseman -- me. Balam is a brainless, overconfident asshole. He was bound to fuck-up."

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"The same might be said of you. Does Faust ring a bell?"

Mephistopheles' ice blue eyes flicked away from the television screen. "Asmodai," he hissed.

"Shouldn't you be in a petting zoo somewhere?"

"Cockiness lost you Faust's soul, and it could be the means to your end here, too," Asmodai

answered, his bull and ram heads nodding in agreement.

"You smell like a fucking barnyard," Mephistopheles snorted, dismissing Asmodai with an

imperious wave. "Besides, Faust reneged on his contract. That's common knowledge."

"Really? Because the story I always heard was that he put one over on you. He jerked your

chain, 'Lees. Enjoyed the highlife and then flipped you the bird on his way into Paradise."

Mephistopheles flung his half-empty beer bottle at Asmodai. It caught and shattered on one of

Asmodai's bull head's horns. "Get out, before I send your triple-headed ass back into the Pit!"

"You couldn't send a telegram, never mind me. Look, I'm only here for one reason. Has Lucifer

told you about Cael and Malak?"

"Who?"

"Shit! That's what I thought. Lucifer is the king of arrogance, 'Lees. He won't admit that those

two could throw a serious kink into his plans, even after what they did to Balam."

"Balam is the worst kind of screw-up. I'm not. Whoever these two are, I can take care of them,"

Mephistopheles said, conjuring another beer and settling back into his recliner. "Now take a hike,

beastie boy. I just gave a brilliant performance and I want to relax."

"Funny, that's just what Balam said, right before they cut his black heart from his chest and sent

him back to Hell."

"I'm not Balam. All I need to do is hit a couple of notes on Old Faithful over there,"

Mephistopheles said, gesturing toward his guitar, "and I'll have them tearing each other's throats

out."

"Don't underestimate Cael and Malak. You need to make your move now, before they zone in on

you, 'Lees. Don't delay because you enjoy getting your rocks off during these concerts of yours,

or you'll find yourself playing chamber music in the ninth Circle."

"You're fucking up my good mood, Asmodai. Get out!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Mephistopheles roared and reached for his guitar; Asmodai disappeared.

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He tried to dismiss Asmodai from his mind. He had more important things to think about than the drivel of a demon that belonged in a carnival sideshow. After a few minutes, the sweet strains of mayhem from outside calmed his jangled nerves and he returned his attention to the television screen. It was no use. Asmodai was nothing if not a buzz kill. Frustrated, Mephistopheles flung his bottle at the television. It shattered the screen in a shower of amber liquid and bright, sizzling sparks, a finger of smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Small flames licked at the exposed circuitry and casing of the set. Throwing his head back, he bellowed, "Nybras! Attend me at once!" The smoke from the destroyed television that pooled along the ceiling swirled, and took shape. A woman's face, darkly beautiful, stared down at Mephistopheles with flashing, almond shaped eyes. "What's the emergency?" she asked in an irritated voice. Demoness of Technology, Nybras was rather new to the ranks, and prone to impertinence. "Dick caught in your zipper again, 'Lees?" Mephistopheles shot up from his chair, his fists balled at his sides. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm in a foul mood, Nybras. Don't push me, or I'll have your pretty ass back in the Pit before you can say, ‘I've got mail,'" he sneered. "I want an update on our progress." Nybras sighed, exhaling a plume of smoke that wreathed Mephistopheles' face. "I've just about got the programming done. It's a matter of waiting until the satellites are aligned so that we can bounce the signal." "When will that be? I can't afford to wait much longer." "We've been over this a million times already, 'Lees. The Andromeda Satellite is due to be launched within the next few days. It's the last piece of the puzzle. Once it's in orbit, we can transmit our signal and your music will broadcast over the whole planet simultaneously," Nybras replied in a bored voice, rolling her smoky eyes. "You're in charge of the technology, Nybras. Can't you do something to hurry those melonheaded humans along? I want that satellite up and functioning yesterday!" "Patience is a virtue." "I'm a fucking demon. Virtues are not my forte. Now, get out of my sight and get moving on that satellite, or I swear, I'll have a different piece of you residing in each of the nine circles." Her laughter mocked him as she disappeared, leaving him alone with his impotent anger.

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Chapter Thirteen "Hungry?" Cael asked Malak as they landed on the second floor balcony. Both were bone-weary; the last few miles had been a true test of endurance. More than once Cael had been tempted to drop to the beach, pulling Malak down with him, and burrow into the warm sand for about a month's worth of sleep. The fight against Balam had taken its toll on both of them. What worried Cael was the knowledge that three more Horsemen remained, and that each would be more powerful than the last. Plus, with Balam they'd had the element of surprise. Cael was certain that Balam and Asmodai would both have reported to Lucifer about their interference. The next Horseman would surely have been warned about them, and would be ready for them. Of course, that would only matter if he and Malak could locate the Red Horseman before he struck, which was like finding one red M&M in an ocean of brown ones. "No, I'm too tired to eat," Malak replied. His wings sagged as he shimmered them into invisibility. He looked as tired as Cael felt, bedraggled and splotched with Balam's blood. The stench of Balam clung to both of them like a greasy, malodorous cloud. "All I want is a shower, Cael." "That's all you want?" Cael asked. He was weary, but not that exhausted. As far as Cael was concerned, he could arm himself with only a toothpick, fight every demon in Hell twice and still not be too tired for sex with Malak. After nearly three thousand years of wanting, the luxury of being able to enjoy Malak's body was too new to him, too precious, to be passed over for simply because he wanted a nap. Malak gave him a sideways glance. Despite his fatigue, there was a spark of interest flickering in the dark depths of Malak's eyes. "That depends. Can we do two things at once?" he asked, his full lips tilting in a mischievous, if weary, smile. "Eating in the shower is not pleasant," Cael teased, dumping his guns and ammo on the floor of the bedroom. "There's nothing more disgusting than wet, mushy tuna fish sandwiches." "The only thing I'm interesting in eating is located between your thighs, Cael," Malak said, leaning in for a kiss. "And I don't think that particular part of your anatomy will ever get mushy." "Well, not with my horny little angel around, it won't." Cael laughed, helping Malak shed his blood-splattered chain mail, letting it clatter to the floor along with the rest of their clothing. "We're going to have to burn this stuff, you know," he said, wrinkling his nose at the reeking pile that lay at their feet. Loath to touch any of the garments again, he kicked the pile out of the door onto the balcony.

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"Hey! Watch my armor! That's irreplaceable, you know!" Malak protested as his chain mail came to a stop outside. "Haven't you ever heard of Kevlar? Sheesh, Malak, forget it for now." Cael shook his head. "The shower is calling." Naked, he led Malak directly into the bathroom, twisting the controls until the water steamed. Pulling Malak inside the shower stall with him, Cael leaned his forehead against Malak's and sighed in near ecstasy as the hot water sluiced away the blood and grime of battle, easing the ache in his sore muscles. Malak moved to grab the washrag, but Cael was faster. He snatched it off the shower bar, along with the soap. "Stand still," he said, grinning and urging Malak to turn to face into the streaming water. Damn, even my fucking cheeks are sore, Cael thought. His head felt like it weighed a ton, his neck straining to keep it from tilting over to the side, but Cael's other head -- the one whose only thoughts were of the lustful variety -- was full of energy and raring to go. As usual, Cael's small head silenced any protests that might be rolling around in his big one. Picking up the bar of soap from the small fish-shaped dish that sat on the side of the tub, he worked up a rich, foamy lather. Sandalwood scented the steam of the shower into aromatic clouds that cut through and finally erased the stench of death that clung to both of them. Working slowly, Cael slid the soapy rag over the smooth skin of Malak's back, rinsing away the filth. He could feel Malak's muscles begin to relax under the hot spray of water as he worked the rag over his angel's body. Malak had been incredible, Cael thought: strong and capable, his movements as graceful as they'd been deadly. Even though he hadn't had much experience in warfare, Cael's angel had proved to be a helluva warrior. Now that he could love, Cael found that he had an ever-replenishing supply. Opening up his heart, he let love flow over Malak with every touch of the rag against that beautiful skin, every brush of his lips across Malak's neck and shoulders. After three thousand years of admiring Malak's body from afar, he knew every inch of it. He knew the graceful curve of Malak's spine, the full swell of his buttocks; the way the strong muscles of his thighs moved under his skin. But now he also beginning to knew the way Malak felt, how warm his skin was, how silky sleek under his fingers, and the way Malak sounded when Cael touched him, the way his chest rumbled with an angelic purr. But more than any of that, Cael knew what it felt like to be loved, to feel a wave of warmth wash over him, calming, soothing, making him want to submerge himself until he drowned in it. That was Malak's greatest gift to Cael.

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Malak could inspire emotions in Cael that he'd never known he could possess -- even with a soul. Love, compassion, and most of all, hope. When he was in Malak's arms, Cael could almost forget that he was a fallen angel. In Malak's s arms Cael could remember what it was like before the Fall, before the Pits, before Hell had ripped away his dignity and replaced it with a pulsing core of pain. "Malak? Want you, baby. Want you so bad that it hurts," he whispered against the skin of Malak's shoulder. He slipped his arms around Malak's waist, rubbing his hard length along the crease of Malak's ass. So sweet, that ass, so tempting, and all his, he thought, possessiveness making him growl. Mine. Malak twisted in his arms, facing him, wrapping his arms around his neck. "So, what are you waiting for?" Ooh, his tempting, teasing little angel, pressing that cock against Cael's, two iron-hard swords ready to duel. Cael could swear that he could almost hear them clang as they touched. With soapy hands, he gripped them both together, stroking them in tandem. Malak's throaty moan did more to excite Cael than Cael's hand on their cocks. It heated him to the boiling point, until his lust bubbled over, hips pumping, hand fisting them both wildly. He couldn't hold it back, didn't want to, as his orgasm exploded in a tendon-straining, eye-rolling release. His knees went weak with the force of it, and he caved instantly, falling to the floor of the slippery porcelain tub. Malak's cock was full, fat, and ready. He could tell by the look on Malak's face and the tremors that rippled Malak's flat stomach. Barely without pausing, as his own body still quivered, Cael took Malak into his mouth, refusing to a let a single drop of Malak's ambrosia be wasted in the swirling water. The taste was potent, salty-bitter on his tongue, but that cry of ecstasy was sweeter than any music in Cael's ears. He drank Malak dry, ignoring the beat of the shower on his head and face. His Malak. His. Mine. He barely had the strength to catch Malak as he, too, collapsed, legs finally giving out. Together they sat in tub, letting the shower wash away the last of the grime and the stickiness of their lovemaking, until at last the water ran cold. Making their way into the bedroom, they fell into bed, arms and legs entwined around each other, wet and dripping, the warmth of each other's love lulling them to sleep. *** "Damn it, Cael! How many times do I have to tell you to quit downloading porn onto the computer! Honestly, I don't understand this fixation you have with naked bodies. They don't look any different than us. If you've seen one dick, you've seen them all!"

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Cael chuckled, his handsome face bathed in flickering cathode rays. "It's not what they look like -- trust me, sweetheart, none of them can compare with you -- it's what they do. I'm a visual sort of guy, that's all. Nothing to get jealous over, cupcake." "Sweetheart, cupcake…don't think your little pet names are gonna soften me up, Cael." "God, I hope not. I like you hard," he replied. He licked his full lips, sending a shiver dancing down Malak's spine. "You know what I mean, Cael!" Malak growled. Or, at least he tried to growl -- it came out as more of a moan. Damn it, but Cael could reduce him to a quivering pile of need with just a look, even when Malak was in the throes of righteous anger. "I know. But, come on, Malak…look at them. All sweaty and groaning, flesh smacking flesh…besides, they give me ideas." "Ideas?" "Yeah, ideas of what I'd like to try with you," Cael said. His grin was absolutely lecherous. Malak's body's reaction to it was positively salacious. His erection pressed against the thin sweats he wore, outlined clearly under the fabric. When he felt Cael's gaze drift to his crotch, it twitched hungrily; Malak's body was simply traitorous where Cael was concerned, refusing to obey and behave itself. "Please," Malak squeaked. He cleared his throat then tried again. "Please. There's nothing you can see on there that we haven't already done a half dozen times." "Oh really? Looky here." Cael laughed, pointing at the screen. Against his better judgment, Malak leaned in over Cael's shoulder. On the screen, a man was bent over a table while another pushed an entire hand inside his body. His entire hand! Fingers, knuckles, palm…up to the wrist! Malak shivered, and although his mind said it was because he was appalled by the images on the computer screen, his cock said otherwise. "Good Lord! Doesn't that hurt?" "He seems to be enjoying it. At least, he's not protesting. Nothing keeping him there either -- it's not like he's tied down. Shit, Malak. Imagine! My whole hand inside you…" "Not a chance, pal. No way. Nope. Not gonna happen. Don't even think it," Malak said, even as he tried to remember how much lube they had left, and if he was going to have to conjure more. "What's that?" he asked. He pointed to a small rectangle that stretched across the bottom of the computer screen, where words were flashing, wanting to get his mind off the image of Cael slipping inside him up to the forearm and trying to imagine the fullness.

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"Chat room." "Chat room? Oh, my God, Cael! Don't tell me you've been talking to humans! Do you know how dangerous that is?" Malak was horrified and, if he wanted to be perfectly truthful with himself which he didn't -- a little jealous. Cael was his and his alone, and he wanted to selfishly keep everything about his demon to himself -- even his words. "No, I haven't typed anything. I'm just reading it. Gives me an interesting insight into the workings of the human mind. You wouldn't believe what they talk about, Malak. They're quite the little perverts, and coming from a demon, that's saying something." Malak leaned in closer, reading the conversation that flowed across the bottom of the screen. "That doesn't seem too perverted, Cael. They're talking about music." "Must be one helluva band." Cael chortled, slapping his knee. "Get it?" Malak snorted, smacking Cael on the shoulder. "That was bad, Cael, even for you. Wonder what kind of music it is?" Malak had always loved music, from the sweet strains of a harp to the sensual notes of a tenor sax. "There's a link. Let's take a look," Cael said, clicking on the hyperlink. The screen went black, and then, without warning, something that was less like music and more like aural flaying blared from the speakers. Malak screamed, clasping his hands over his ears. "What is that? Oh, God, Cael! Make it stop!" Cael tried to click off the site, but the computer refused to obey. He reached underneath the desk and ripped the cords out of the wall, the speakers falling blissfully silent. Malak rocked on his knees, until Cael's arms encircled him, calming him. "What the Hell was that, Cael?" ""Hell" may be exactly the right word, Malak." Malak could feel the shiver that ran through Cael. "It made me…want to hurt you, Cael. You! The one that I love more than life! How can that be? Why didn't it affect you like that?" "Because even though I have a soul now, I'm still a demon, Malak. I've heard this auditory shit before -- in the Pits. I guess being a demon makes me immune." "It's horrible. I knew lyrics could be evil, but that…that was more than just some misguided, warped human's imagination, wasn't it?"

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"Whoever's playing that music, Malak, whoever wrote it…I think we just found the second Horseman," Cael whispered. He buried his face in Malak's hair, his breath warm and soothing. "How do we track this one down?" "We start by you leaving the room. I'm immune -- you're not. Let me hunt around, ask a few questions in the chat rooms. I'll let you know if I find anything." "All right. But you'll call me if you feel…if it starts to get to you, right?" "Don't worry about me. I may sleep with an angel but I've still got my horns," Cael grinned, letting his twin, curving horns shimmer into existence. An hour and a half later, Cael stumbled downstairs into the living room, collapsing in his armchair. He looked as if he'd been run over by a bus, and said bus had backed up a few times to make sure. His eyes were haunted; his hands shook. "Cael?" Malak dropping to his knees in front of the chair. "Cael, are you okay?" "It's awful, Malak. The Horseman goes by the name Deathmonger. His music is all over the 'net, free to whoever wants to listen. There are whispers in the chat rooms that he plans on a world broadcast -- using satellites to broadcast his music. Do you know what would happen if the world at large heard his shit all at the same time?" "That's how he's going to do it, isn't it, Cael? How he's going to start Armageddon -- through this God-awful music." Cael nodded mutely. "I think I have a fix on him, though. They were talking about a concert that Deathmonger is going to hold in upstate New York. Supposedly, it's going to be in the same field where Woodstock was held -- up in Bethel, New York state. They've built a performing arts center up there now, but I get the impression that this Deathmonger dude is going to invade it without permission." "We have to stop him, Cael." "I know. Shit, we've barely had time to get Balam's reek out off us." Malak heard Cael sigh, heavy and deep; felt Cael kiss the top of his head. "Come on, lover," Cael said, his voice sounding every bit as old as Malak felt at the moment. "We've got a lot of work to do."

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Chapter Fourteen Everything was nearly in place. The local authorities had been spelled into compliance, as had the people in charge at the performing arts center in Bethel. Mephistopheles hadn't bothered about the media, in fact he welcomed their intrusiveness -- anything that helped spread the word of the concert was gravy, as far as he was concerned. The roads were already jammed with traffic as people of all ages surged toward the concert site. It would be a three-day bloodbath, beginning on Friday and culminating with the worldwide broadcast using the newly launched Andromeda satellite, when he, Mephistopheles, would send the earth into its final days with a performance to die for -- literally. He was sitting in his trailer, his hands caressing the oily-feeling surface of his guitar as one of his lesser demon bodyguards knelt between his legs, sucking him off. It was his traditional pre-show blowjob. It would leave the bodyguard dead, his head melted by Mephistopheles' acid-like ejaculate, but leave Mephistopheles relaxed and ready to perform. Which was the important thing, really. As he came, his fingers plucked at the guitar strings, adding unearthly music to the gargled screams of the bodyguard as he died, Mephistopheles' black sperm dripping from his face along with his flesh. Life was good, Mephistopheles thought contentedly, standing up and stretching, kicking the dead bodyguard out of his way. And it's about to get better. Much better. At least, it was for Mephistopheles. For everyone else, it would be Hell. He chuckled at his own wittiness, checking his reflection in the mirror. His hair was thick and black; a shimmering, inky curtain that flowed over his shoulders. It framed an almost too-pretty face, made a bit more dangerous looking by just the right amount of scruff. But it was Mephistopheles' ice blue eyes that were captivating -- at least in his own mind. The only other creature who had eyes to compare was Lucifer, and Mephistopheles privately thought his eyes were even a bit colder than the Morningstar's. As a matter of fact, Mephistopheles thought that his entire being, his strength, his talent overshadowed Lucifer's, and that, after the End of Days, he might just see about booting Lucifer's ass off the throne it'd been parked in since The Fall. The times they were a-changing, not only for Earth, but for Hell as well, he thought, smiling at his reflection. A sharp rapping at the door to his trailer shook him from his pleasant daydream. "Showtime, 'Lees!"

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Showtime. This was it, the performance that everything else had been leading up to, the one that was going to blow them all away. Standing on a stage erected over the same field where once five hundred thousand human beings had gathered under the banners of love and peace, Mephistopheles would play his riffs of rage and despair, of sin and hate and violence, until the countryside was sodden with blood. Until his music was bounced into space, and from there into the ears of the rest of the planet. He wondered if anyone would stay sane long enough to appreciate the irony. He paused at the doorway, listening to the rolling thunder of a half million voices chanting his name. No music was sweeter, not even his own. The thunder rose to a deafening level when he walked onstage under the hot lights. Sweat, not from heat but from excitement glistened on his bare chest and shoulders, beading on his forehead. His black heart pounded as he plugged his in his guitar and took his place at the microphone. Behind him, his band members picked up their instruments, Hellish creations one and all. Nybras coalesced from the special effects smoke that crawled along the stage, ready to sing back up All was ready, waiting for his signal to begin the end of all things. Raising his hand high in the air, a pick carved from human bone between his fingers, he waited patiently until the crowd had quieted, holding its collective breath in anticipation of the first chord. He brought his hand down, picking out a note that thrummed through the amplifiers like the roar of a living beast. With that single note, the screams began. Throwing his head back, laughing, Mephistopheles began a riff, fingers dancing along the strings of his guitar. Suddenly, there was a terrible, high-pitched, earsplitting feedback, and then silence. He kept playing, but his fingers only managed dull thwacks against the dead strings of his guitar. "'Lees! I should have known it would be you," Cael cried, hovering above the stage. "No!" Mephistopheles roared. He turned toward Nybras. "Get those amps back online! Now!" She scrambled toward the nearest speaker stack, but just as she neared it, it began to topple over, landing on her with a crash that rocked the stage beneath their feet. "Asmodai warned me about you, demon! Do you really think you can stop me?" Mephistopheles raged, as the other speaker stack dropped to the stage. He spotted an angel behind the downed

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amp, dressed in old-fashioned chain mail, carrying a sword. "Please, how pathetic! Is this how Heaven seeks to stop me? By sending a single angel? I don't need amplifiers to take you out, Heaven-spawn!" Running toward the angel, Mephistopheles' pushed his fingers over the strings, plucking out a stanza of evil that even without amplification made his demon band members drop to their knees, clasping their ears. Amazingly, the malevolent music had no effect whatsoever on the angel. Instead, Malak flew at Mephistopheles, sword raised above his head. "No! No!" Mephistopheles cried, backing away, holding his guitar in front of him like a shield. "Lucifer promised! He promised!" "Don't you know anything?" Cael said softly from behind Mephistopheles a moment before relieving Mephistopheles of his head with a single movement of the sharp knife. "Lucifer lies." Malak went after the guitar, hacking at it with his sword, ignoring the way it screamed as if alive. He and Cael half-suspected that it was alive, another demon perhaps, and he didn't stop slashing until it had been reduced into a pile of blood red fragments. Stepping back, they watched the remains of Mephistopheles and the guitar burn, enveloped in a foul-smelling, greasy ball of smoke and flame, until there was nothing left but a small pile of malodorous ashes. Behind them the crowd had fallen silent, people blinking and rubbing their faces, looking at one another in confusion, as if unsure of where they were or why. In the distance, sirens sounded. "Time to fly, my angel," Cael said, sheathing his bloodied knife. "Huh?" Malak said, cocking his head at Cael. Cael shook his head, laughing. Reaching over to Malak, he plucked two bright orange earplugs from Malak's ears, tossing them onto the pile of ashes on the stage. "I said, ‘Time to fly.'" "Oh, yeah. Two down, two to go," Malak answered, returning his smile. He stretched his wings, cracking his neck at the same time. "Those earplugs were a good idea. Couldn't hear a single word he said." "Yeah. That was Mephistopheles, by the way. I would have never thought Lucifer would allow him out of the Pits again, not after what happened with Faust, but I guess he'd managed to redeem himself somehow. Man, I'd hate to be in his shoes right now. Lucifer is going to have kittens when he finds out 'Lees lost again." "I somehow doubt that Lucifer would have anything as cute and cuddly as kittens," Malak laughed. "Basilisks, maybe. Cockatrices, perhaps, but not kittens."

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"Cockatrices?" "Cockatreeses? What's the correct form for more than one cockatrice?" "Don't know, don't care. Let's go home." Cael laughed, pulling on Malak's arm as he beat his powerful wings, lifting both of them from the stage. Holding hands, they flew away, leaving the police to sort out the mess on the field.

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BOOK FOUR THE BLACK HORSE "And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and saw a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of scales in his hand." -- The Bible, King James Edition, Rev 6:5

Chapter Fifteen Asmodai quailed before Lucifer's fury, huddled prostrate on the floor before his throne, all three heads kissing the cold stone. He'd never seen Lucifer so angry, not since The Fall. The very walls of Hell shook with his rage; the screams of the damned rose in an unholy chorus as his wrath sent bolts of searing red lightning shooting through all nine circles. Nearby, the remains of Mephistopheles bubbled where he had been reduced to an oily spot on the floor. A temporary state, to be sure -- he would spend eternity in the Pits, or perhaps in some special Hell that Lucifer conjured up for him. Liquefying him first had been Lucifer's welcome home present. "Where are they? Where? I want to know, Asmodai." Lucifer's voice was like a thunderclap resonating in Asmodai's heads. He paced before his throne, each step sending a cold finger of dread down Asmodai's spine. "O-on the beach, sire. I told you! On the b-beach in Islamorada, there's a house, in F-Florida, that's where they--" Lucifer stopped pacing. Asmodai could see his boots, golden leather tanned from human skin, stop right before Asmodai's six sets of eyes. "Gather your legion. Go to Islamorada and kill them. I do not want them interfering again! Do I make myself perfectly clear? Destroy them, Asmodai, and I will make you Grand General of all my legions. But do not fail me. I guarantee you will not like the consequences." "Yes, sire. I will not fail you! I swear it!" "Good. When their souls arrive here it will give me great pleasure to torture them myself. Go." Dismissed, Asmodai scuttled backward across the throne room floor, too terrified to stand until he was well out of Lucifer's sight. Tortured by Lucifer's own hands? For the briefest moment, he almost felt sorry for Cael. Almost.

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Then his weak moment passed -- temporary insanity stemming from his distressing meeting with Lucifer -- and he assembled his legion of demons. Balam and Mephistopheles had been fools. He was not. He would not fail. *** "I don't want to leave here, Cael. I love this house," Malak said sadly, as if there might be any other way. He knew that there wasn't, but he really did love the house and the beach and the ocean. Besides, this was the place where they'd first made love, where he'd given Cael a part of his soul. It was special. It was theirs. No matter where they went after this, no other place would feel the same. "I know, baby. Neither do I. But Lucifer isn't stupid. He might have been too arrogant to accept us as a threat against Balam, and his pride might have blinded him to the danger we posed to Mephistopheles, but even Lucifer can be taught, hon. He's going to send someone after us, and since Asmodai knows where we live, you can bet that an attack is coming and coming fast. Lucifer is the master of overkill -- he won't send one or two demons to do the job. He'll send a legion. They'll raze this place to ground looking for us. No way can we stand against that many, Malak." "I know. I just wish we didn't have to leave." "Might not have the house anymore, but you still have me," Cael said, and oh, wasn't that just his most charming smile spreading across his face? Malak couldn't help but smile back. God, he loved his demon. No matter how low or empty he might feel, one smile from Cael filled him up with light, as if Cael were the sun shining into even the darkest corner of Malak's heart. "Take only what you can carry, Malak. We have to fly," Cael said, as they ran up the stairs toward the bedrooms. "Five minutes, no more, okay?" "Yeah, okay," Malak answered, wondering how in world he was supposed to decide what to take with him. How do you sift through three thousand years of mementos and memories in five minutes? When he met Cael in the hallway his arms were laden with trinkets, clothing, and a large plaster bust of Mozart's head. The eyes had been colored in as if they were crossed, and someone had drawn a handlebar mustache on it in magic marker -- that someone having been Cael. "Malak! What are you doing? You can't take all that!" Cael said, shaking his head. "Be reasonable, Malak. How are you going to fly with all that junk?" "It's not junk. It's treasure, and it's my treasure. I'll be damned if Lucifer is going to make me leave it all behind!" Malak answered, lifting his chin defiantly.

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"Damned might just be the key word there, Malak. That stuff's going to weigh you down and we're going to be sitting ducks for the army Lucifer is sending." Malak did love his demon but he hated it when Cael was right. "Fine," he said, depositing most of the stuff, including Mozart's poor, defiled head, on the hallway carpet. He slipped his hands behind his back. "What have you got in your hands?" Cael asked, trying to move behind Malak to see what he was hiding. "Nothing. Just stuff." "What stuff?" "Nothing." "Angels don't lie, remember?" "Damn it, Cael! Okay, fine. Here," Malak said, thrusting his hands out. In his fist were a neatly rubber-banded stack of photographs, taken with, the kind of camera that took a picture then spat out a square of paper, which developed as you watched. They were all of Cael, lying in bed, fast asleep. Malak blushed as Cael's eyes widened at the evidence of Malak's secret vice. All along -- at least as long as instant cameras had been on the market, Malak had been taking photos of him. Nude photos. "Guess I'm a visual sort of guy, too, huh?" Malak whispered, feeling his face heat and his ears burn. "Don't worry about it, Malak," Cael said when his laughter had died down. "I'm flattered. And I don't want to have to tell you what I did while you were sleeping." He grinned lasciviously. "I would have taken photos, too, if I'd have thought of it." He was enjoying this far too much, in Malak's opinion. "What are you bringing?" Malak asked, trying to change the subject. He felt like a pervert, which in retrospect he realized he was, which didn't help his burning ears at all. "Just this," Cael said, holding up the small painting that Malak had found hanging in the back of Cael's closet. "I know you threw it away, but this was always my favorite of your paintings. I stole it from the beach where you'd tossed it." It was a small work, no more than eleven by fourteen inches, painted with Malak's usual bold color and brushstrokes. It showed a cowering angel amid a maelstrom of fire, with a single hand reaching out to him.

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"I'm glad you saved it," Malak whispered. Then photographs and paintings were forgotten as he melted into Cael's arms. One kiss from Cael's sweet lips sent every fear and worry flying from Malak's mind, and he realized that he didn't need mementos or busts or photographs. All he needed was Cael, and Cael wasn't going anywhere without him. He took a last few moments walking through the house, reliving memories of their years there. Standing in the middle of their bedroom, he stared at their bed as he remembered the night he'd given himself to Cael. He remained there, lost in his memories, until Cael came and took him gently by the arm. "Come on, angel. We have to go," Cael said. To Cael's credit, his demon didn't call him on the tears he couldn't seem to stop shedding. "Where are we going to go?" Malak asked as they stepped out of their house for the last time. "I spent a few minutes online -- there's a small farmhouse for rent up in the mountains in northeastern Pennsylvania. No view of the ocean from there, I'm afraid, but its pretty, and more importantly, it has a satellite dish. We're going to need the Internet if we're going to find the next Horseman." "I don't even know where to begin looking, Cael." "We'll figure it out when we get there. C'mon, darlin'. Time to fly." *** The lush green mountains and deeply shadowed valleys of Pennsylvania were a far cry from the wide, sunny beach that they'd left behind. The house stood on over fifty acres, of which only a handful was flat enough on which to build -- the rest was mountain, heavily forested and teeming with wildlife. Shaded by immense oak and pine, the house was a two-story farmhouse. Other than having a roof and walls it was completely different from their beach house, and it felt as if he were living in a stranger's home. Cael had secured the place for them by using what he called "creative financing," which meant that he'd either conjured the money or had spelled the minds of the humans involved in the transaction. Probably both. Malak sat on the sofa -- which had been covered over in thick plastic sheeting -- watching Cael at the computer, scouring the Internet looking for some sign of the third Horseman. "We were lucky the first two times, Malak," Cael said, after several hours of fruitless searching. "Balam was a media hog, and Mephistopheles used the ‘net to further his fame. I have no idea of where to look for the third Horseman."

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"Well, let's think about what we know about him. The third Horseman is pestilence. He rides the black horse, which is desolation." Malak peeled himself off the plastic slipcover, trying not to notice the sweaty marks his thighs left behind, and began pacing across the small living room, hands clasped tightly behind his back. "Could be someone who's into biological warfare, working for the government." "Could be, but which government?" "Don't know. Could be one of several dozen, I suppose." "This is impossible!" Cael cried, banging his fists down on the keyboard. "How the Hell are we supposed to track this one down? Even if I knew which government, I'd have to hack into their network -- and even I'd have trouble with that. I'm not Nybras -- I don't have that sort of connection with modern electronics. I can surf the Web. That's about it." Malak placed his hands on Cael's broad shoulders, trying to massage some of the tension out of them. "I know, Cael. You're doing your best. Look, we haven't eaten yet. How about we take a break and fly into town for some burgers?" "Burgers? You? The Patron Saint of Healthy Living?" "Not funny. I don't mind fast food once in a while. Come on. It's a long way into town and I'm hungry." *** Depot, Pennsylvania is a bucolic little hamlet in Sullivan County, whose main claim to fame is that it is home to the county's one and only traffic light, and the annual outhouse races. Cael had paused in front of the Post Office, reading an advertisement for the upcoming Founder's Day celebration. Evidently, actual outhouses were built, put on wheels, and raced down Main Street. Leave it humans to make even shithouses into a competition. Human beings were the most competitive creatures Cael had ever known. Build it bigger, build it faster; bigger homes, bigger bank accounts, bigger televisions, bigger…everything. If there were a false idol that the modern world worshipped, its name would be "Excess." The folks from Sodom and Gomorrah would feel right at home here. Case in point, the fast food industry. Burger and chicken joints took competition to the Nth level, and they used every trick in the book to get people in through the doors. Toys, contests, and dollar menus…the newest trick was to throw a few salads on the menu and advertise their food as being healthy. What next? Wheatgrass milkshakes and pine-nut burgers?

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But the companies' biggest competition was location. Take any tiny town across the country. There might not be a museum or a library or a movie house anywhere within town limits, but Cael was willing to bet that there would be a McDonald's, a Burger King, and a Wendy's all within a block of each other. Even here, in Depot, sitting close enough to bathe in the red and green glow of the infamous traffic light was a Cowboy Roundup, with its trademark fiberglass cowboy hat perched on the roof of the building and its gigantic, rearing black stallion out frontWhoa. It couldn't be that easy, could it? "Malak, look over there," Cael said, tugging on Malak's sleeve. He pointed toward the towering sculpture of a black horse that sat outside the restaurant's doors. "Burgers again? Doesn't this town have a pizzeria? Or a salad bar, maybe?" Malak asked hopefully.

"No, Malak. Look at the horse! It's a black horse, Malak! Do you think…?"

"What? That the Horseman works in a fast food joint? Do you think he's going to bring on the

End of Days with ketchup, mayo, and a sesame seed bun?"

"Famine, Malak. Remember? The third Horseman isn't only Pestilence. He's Famine, too."

"Come on, Cael! Are you serious?"

"As the grave. Let's get home. I need to get online."

"Fine, but let's at least pick some food up at the Piggly Wiggly. We can't save the world on an

empty stomach," Malak said, dragging Cael in the direction of the supermarket. As they passed under the shadow of the giant black stallion, a finger of foreboding raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

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Chapter Sixteen Asmodai's outraged howl drowned out the crashing of the waves as he stalked out of the empty house to the beach. Gone. They were gone. He'd missed them by mere minutes. When he'd first arrived with his legion of leathery-skinned, malformed demons, he'd knocked politely on the front door, thinking it would be quite amusing to see the look on their faces when they answered and saw a thousand demons on their beach. Asmodai had had it all planned. First, he would make Cael and Malak watch as his legion tore their precious house down, board-by-board, until there was nothing left but kindling and dust. Then he'd make Cael watch as Asmodai fucked the angel, again and again until Malak, too, was nothing but dust. Finally, Asmodai would give Cael over to his legion. Oh, his screams would make such lovely music! Asmodai would waltz over the sands in time to the melody. But no one had answered. When he broken the door down they'd already gone. Their scent lingered on the furniture, on the clothes they'd left behind, the smell of angel and demon and sex. Oh, yes, sex. Their musk was everywhere -- they must have fucked like rabbits, he thought, absently fondling his snake-cock. "Finish it!" he ordered his legion. They fell upon the house like rabid beasts, tearing and smashing it and each other in their frenzy until the sands were littered with blood-blackened timber. He couldn't go back to Lucifer. Not until he had Malak and Cael. Asmodai was no fool. He knew what his fate would be if he went back to Hell and announced his failure. Memories of Balam and Mephistopheles danced through his head, making him shiver. No, he couldn't go back. Not yet. Suddenly, his three heads looked at one another, then laughed, bleating, bawling, and hooting together. He knew. He knew where to find them! Sooner or later they'd show up at the door of the Third Horseman. Asmodai knew they would figure out his identity. Personally, Asmodai suspected Heavenly interference. They'd found Balam and Mephistopheles far too quickly. In any case, that's where Asmodai would find them, and that's where he would take them down. It was time to pay the Third Horseman a visit.

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Merihim, the Prince of Pestilence -- better known as Big Tex, owner of the Cowboy Roundup, the fastest food in the wild, wild, west, -- needed to be warned. *** "Son, if'n you got business with me, I suggest you get down to it. I ain't got all day." Big Tex sat behind his huge, curved, rosewood desk, wearing his trademark white Stetson, a large cigar poking out between his fleshy lips. His hands were folded over his stomach, a huge gut that stretched the buttons on his red, fringed cowboy shirt to their limits. Jeans, a large oval, silver bull riding belt buckle, and a pair of handmade snakeskin cowboy boots rounded out his outfit. They were only clothing he was ever seen in, no matter whether he was attending a ball or holding court in his posh office at the Roundup Headquarters in Secaucus, New Jersey. It had been a relatively easy thing to possess the body of Big Tex. Merihim had slipped inside the man's body easily. Big Tex had been soft, an astute businessman but a lousy warrior. He'd hardly put up any fight at all. No one had even noticed the difference. This Tex had never been to Texas, wouldn't know one end of a horse from the other, the only bull he was familiar with was of the oral variety, and he'd had learned his drawl by watching old Tom Mix movies. Interestingly enough, Merihim had absorbed bits and pieces of Big Tex' personality, which helped complete the illusion. Big Tex frowned as Asmodai paced back and forth in front of his desk working himself up into a fine tizzy, wasting Tex' time. He'd been jawin' for the better part of an hour, and the only reason Merihim hadn't thrown him out on his ass -- or better still in bite-sized pieces -- was because he claimed he'd been sent by Lucifer. The more Asmodai talked though, the more Merihim was beginning to doubt his word. Surely Lucifer wouldn't put his faith in this barnyard reject, would he? Besides, he was talking nonsense. Something about a demon and an angel teaming up to stop Merihim's plans. It was ridiculous. Tex had more important things to do than sit around listening to a whiny little demon trying to tell him what to do. "What is with you people? What do I have to do to get it through your thick skulls that these two are dangerous? They took out Balam and Mephistopheles, and they're going to come for you next, Merihim!" Asmodai yelled. My, but he was a sight, with his goat and bull heads all but foaming at the mouth. "Horseshit. Ain't no way these two varmints could figure out who I am. Big Tex has been around for a long, long time, son, not like Balam and 'Lees who just popped up out of thin air! This face has been plastered on burger boxes and Styrofoam cups for twenty-five years! Shit, boy! Ain't no way these two assholes are gonna figure out that I'm the Third Horseman! Ain't nobody that smart."

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"You don't know these two. I think they've got an informant Upstairs." Tex leaned forward, resting his hands on the desktop, bushy brows knitting together. "Heaven don't get involved with earth politics no more. Got their heads stuck too far up their celestial butts to see what's going on down here. No way they're feeding information to anybody." He pointed a fat, sausage finger at Asmodai. "Now you listen up. Everything is going according to plan. In the basement of this very building is a state-of-the-art lab that Tex has been funding for nearly twenty years. Those good ol' boys were working on secret sauces and sesame buns and what-not. Now they're cooking up batches of the Roundup Virus. Gonna be done any day now." He leaned back again, his eyes taking on a dreamy look. "Pretty soon every Cowboy Round-up burger is gonna have a new special sauce courtesy of those lab boys. Every French fry is gonna be salted with a whole new flavor. Every shake, every soft drink, in every restaurant I own is gonna get that little bit of extra flavoring. Got that new contract to provide airline food, and one to provide meat for the military. Before you know it, the whole world is going to be dancing the Big Tex two-step. Ain't gonna stop there, though, no way, no how. Wouldn't be neighborly to keep it all the fun to our own selves. Gonna put a little dab or two in every large body of water on the planet. No more fresh water, no more fish…" Asmodai had stopped pacing, and all three of his heads were staring at Merihim, riveted. "What kind of virus is it?" he asked. "Ha! Just the most potent, nasty sumbitch ever cooked up! Makes the Black Plague look like a goddamn cold. Makes Ebola look like the sniffles! Kills in three hours, son. Three hours after eating one my burgers or fries, or swallowing a mouthful of shake, and their fucking organs will implode! Ain't that sweet? Nobody will have time to figure out where the virus came from they'll be too busy with people dropping like flies to worry about finding the cause. Bodies piling up in the streets, rotting where they dropped, animals and insects taking a nip and spreading the virus even farther. It's gonna be a beautiful thing." "You should still make preparations for when Cael and Malak--" "For corn's sake, son! Did you hear what I just said, or do you have potato farms growing between all those ears you're sporting?" Merihim rose to his feet, gut and jowls jiggling. He didn't have much patience to begin with, and Asmodai had used all of it. "Nobody can stop this. Nobody! The fellas downstairs tell me that all they need is another couple of days. Then…boom! It'll be shipped to every operation I own simultaneously. There'll be no stopping it. Before he can blink, Lucifer will have so many souls that they'll have to take a fucking number to get into Hell!" "But--" "That's it! This meeting is over. I got things to do, son. Important things, and you're just taking up my time with nonsense." Merihim walked past Asmodai, ignoring the angry noises his animal heads were making. "Go on and get. I'll see you in Hell."

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He stalked out of the room, leaving Asmodai standing there with his mouths hanging open. *** Rain hammered at the windows as a ferocious storm bore down on the farmhouse. The thin walls of house shook with each thunderclap, lightning flashing outside the windows, briefly illuminating the fields. Inside the house, aside from the momentary bursts of lightning, the only light came from the cathode ray tube of computer monitor. It flickered almost imperceptibly, bathing Cael and Malak's faces with a ghostly radiance as they stared at the image Cael's nimble fingers had brought up. The screen showed a close-up photo of an obese man wearing a white cowboy hat, smiling at the camera. In one hand he held up an old-fashioned six-shooter, in the other, a hamburger with all the fixings. The caption under the photo read "Big Tex's Cowboy Roundup Chain Beats All Records For Sales. Hits Number One On Forbes' 500 List Of Financial Giants." "You have to be mistaken. This company's been owned and operated by the same guy for twenty-five years," Malak said, leaning over Cael's shoulder. "Why not? Come on, Malak! You know how fond demons are of possessing humans! Ever see The Exorcist? Whoever The Horseman is, I'm willing to bet that he's taken up residence in fat boy, here." "But it's Big Tex! He's got his picture on lunchboxes for crying out loud! Television commercials. Billboards. Cartoons! They've put his cowboy hat in the Smithsonian Institution!" "I know. He's perfect. No one would suspect him, would they? The Third Horseman is pestilence, Malak. What better way to spread disease than through everyone's favorite burger chain? What richer irony than to cause famine through cheap fast food?" "How would he do it? They have food inspectors, laws… " "Mephistopheles spelled the minds of law enforcement to look the other way. Hell, I've done it myself with our creditors, Malak. It would be easy." "Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Cael. It's not right that we shouldn't be paying our bills--" "Malak, I think we've got bigger problems to worry about than our credit rating right now," Cael said, rolling his eyes at him. "If he's the Third Horseman, which I still doubt." "He is."

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"He looks too fat to be Famine."

"Lucifer has a wicked sense of irony, Malak."

"I guess we're going to Secaucus, huh?"

"Guess so. Let's suit up."

Casting a forlorn look at the rain pelting the windows, Malak sighed. "I hate flying in the rain.

My feathers get soggy."

Cael turned around and grinned up at him. "All part of the trials and tribulations of saving the

world, darlin'. Look at it this way -- it could be worse. We could be wearing tights and capes."

"I don't have the legs for tights."

"When did you get so saucy?" Cael laughed. He stood up, pulling Malak into his arms. Malak

melted into him, taking a long, sweet kiss.

"You're a bad influence."

"That's the story of my life, hon. Besides, there's nothing wrong with your legs. I like ‘em.

Especially when they're wrapped around my waist."

"You are a horndog."

"And you love it. Admit it," Cael grinned.

"An arrogant horndog, to boot."

"Keep talking dirty to me baby."

"Come on." Malak laughed, smacking Cael on the shoulder. "Let's get going before we end up in

bed again. We have things to do, worlds to save."

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Chapter Seventeen In Cael's humble opinion, the building that housed the Cowboy Roundup Headquarters was reminiscent of its owner -- squat, wide, and possessing an overblown sense of self-importance. The lawn in front of the building had been planted with bright yellow flowers in the shape of a huge Lone Star. Surmounting the star was a bigger-than-life sized statue of Tex, seated on the back of the rearing black stallion that was the company's icon. One bronze arm was raised in the air, as if he was leading an attack, but instead of a sword he held a triple cheeseburger. The gray cinderblock building sat sprawled across several acres of land in the heart of Secaucus, surrounded on all sides by slaughterhouses. The reek of death was palpable -- one could feel it on the skin, taste it in the air. It was the perfect choice of location for a Horseman, Cael thought as he and Malak stood on the building's flat roof, surveying the area. Surrounded by death, Big Tex -- whoever he really was should feel right at home. Dim, they went unseen by the patrolling guards. They were armed to the teeth, Cael noticed, an odd choice of security for a burger conglomerate's main offices. If Cael wasn't mistaken, those boys were armed with semi-automatic weapons. Why? After all, it wasn't as if they were guarding the World Bank. What was there to steal -- Big Tex' special secret sauce recipe? Maybe it was worth the maximum security, Cael thought, if that recipe contained the formula to brew up the End of Days. Next to him, Malak shook his wings, flinging water in every which direction. "Now what?" he asked, as his wings shimmered into invisibility. "Now we find Big Tex," Cael answered, wiping water from his eyes. "And say what? 'Hey, Tex? Um, you wouldn't happen to be a demon, would you? Mind letting us in on your evil master plan?'" "Yeah, something like that. Of course, if I'm using my little buddy here to ventilate his scaly hide while I'm asking, he might be more inclined to answer." Cael grinned, patting the Škorpion that was cradled in the crook of his arm. "You do realize that there's the possibility that Tex is only human and that you might be using one of America's most beloved figureheads for target practice, right?" "Yeah. So, what's the worse that can happen? I get damned to Hell?" Cael shrugged, checking his ammo. "Point taken. Still, I don't want to hurt an innocent, Cael."

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"Don't worry, Malak. By the time I pull the trigger, we'll know if he's the Horseman." "How?" "By exploiting the single sin that every one of Lucifer's Generals have in common." "What's that?" "Arrogance. All we need to do is drop a few insults, say how idiotic his plan is, and he'll be foaming at the mouth," Cael answered. Flashing a devil-may-care grin at Malak, Cael tested a door that opened onto the roof. It was locked, but grunting, he tore it free from its hinges. They both cringed at the metallic scream of the door pulling free of its moorings. "Wouldn't it be easier to just send up a flare and let them know we're here?" Malak whispered. "Save you the trouble of tearing the building apart." "You know, I think there's a little too much of me in you now," Cael sniffed. "You're supposed to be the good one, remember, angel?" "I am good. You've said so yourself on numerous occasions. And as far as I'm concerned, there's never too much of you in me," Malak replied with an impish grin. "Neither too much or too often." Cael blew Malak a kiss, and then stepped into the darkness of the stairway that led down into the belly of the beast. The internal door opened easily, leading to a plain, cinderblock hallway lined with steel doors on each side. "Wow, Big Tex sure didn't spend much on interior design, did he? This place looks like a bunker," Malak whispered as they stepped through. "Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's exactly what it is," Cael answered, giving Malak a pointed look. "A bunker…or a fall out shelter." Remaining dim, they made their way down the hall, checking each door in turn. Most were stockrooms, filled to the rafters with empty crates. Bags of packing straw and Styrofoam peanuts were stacked like kindling, along with bundles of collapsed boxes. "Gee, wonder what they're getting ready to ship out?" Cael asked, cocking an eyebrow at Malak. "Doesn't prove a thing, Cael." Damn, but his angel was stubborn. Cael was certain, absolutely positive, that Big Tex was the third Horseman. He could feel the evil in the air, and it was only getting thicker as they moved deeper into the building.

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The next door he tried opened into a long, wide storage area that was crammed ceiling to floor with weaponry. Rifles, handguns, submachine guns, a few rocket launchers, and boxes upon boxes of ammunition side by side with flamethrowers, hand grenades, and bricks of plastic explosives. In addition, there were boxes filled with dehydrated food and bottled water, and rows of gas masks hung neatly along one wall. "Okay, so maybe Big Tex is into survivalism," Malak said weakly. Obviously, even he didn't believe what he was saying. "Yeah, and maybe I moonlight as the Tooth Fairy. I'm thinking that these are weapons and supplies for his human mercenaries. He'll need them to take out the few humans who survived the plague." One door led to a community bathroom, while the rest of the rooms on this floor were barracksstyle bedrooms -- four sets of bunk beds, and four footlockers. Reaching the end of the hallway, Cael led Malak down another flight of stairs to the main floor of the building. This floor had been decorated to impress. Cael and Malak stepped into a large reception area, where polished brass fixtures accented rich, dark wood paneling. Plush sofas and chairs of butter soft, dark brown leather were arranged in intimate groupings. The floor was marble. There were people milling about, dressed in suits and carrying briefcases instead of submachine guns. It was nearing quitting time, and they all seemed in hurry to go home. Cael sniffed delicately at man as he passed close by, but couldn't detect the sour stench of brimstone on him. They were just humans, without the slightest idea of what was really going on behind the scenes at Cowboy Roundup. Another hallway extended out from the reception area, ending at a massive pair of double doors. There was no nameplate, but it really wasn't necessary. Anyone who looked at those intimidating mahogany doors with their brass horse-head knockers would know immediately that there was only one man whose office would warrant such an impressive entryway. "Overcompensating, you think?" Malak whispered in Cael's ear. Stifling a chuckle, Cael tossed a stern look at Malak. "Knock it off, Malak. Time to get serious." "Yes, mommy." "Not funny, Malak." "Cael, if he's the Horseman, we may not make it out of that office in one piece. I don't want our last words to each other to be ‘lock and load.'" Feeling a sudden lump in his throat at the thought of losing Malak, Cael ducked in for a quick kiss. "I love you," he whispered. "How's that for last words?"

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"Much better," Malak said with a smile. "I love you, too." "Good. Now, lock and load," Cael said with a grin. Cracking open the doors, they slipped inside the office. Big Tex' office was reflective of his persona. Everything in it was oversized and overstated, from the beautiful rosewood desk, and the overstuffed leather chairs that sat in state in one corner of the room, to the floor to ceiling bookcase that lined one entire wall. "Well, look who's come to join the party." "Aw, shit. I knew something smelled bad in here." Cael grimaced, flicking the safety off on his Škorpion as he took a half step between Malak and Asmodai. He shimmered into full visibility. Obviously staying dim didn't matter anymore, since Asmodai had known they were there. "Do you even know what soap looks like, Asmodai? It's that little bar of white stuff in the shower. Oh, wait…that would infer that you know what a shower is, wouldn't it?" "I knew you'd figure it out. Knew you'd come here." Asmodai grinned, as his bull and goat heads huffed and snapped at the air. Between his legs, his snake-cock hissed. "But you're too late, Cael. Merihim's humans are almost ready to send little vials of liquid Hell to every corner of earth. It's going to be quite a picnic. Too bad you won't be here to see it." Asmodai raised one hand toward Cael and Malak, palm up. A green ball of light formed, crackling and glowing in the air. As Asmodai laughed, it zoomed across the space between them directly at Cael. Cael sidestepped, feeling it whiz by his ear, the heat of it scorching his hair. He could smell his hair burning, and knew he'd look as if he'd had it cut by a blowtorch. "You missed. My turn," Cael said. His finger twitched on the trigger, the sounds of machine gun fire echoing loudly in the room. Sparks flew as the Škorpion sang in his hands, sending eight hundred and fifty rounds a minute into Asmodai. Asmodai danced like a marionette, his body jerking wildly as the bullets hit him. All three of his heads screamed as his snake-cock was shorn free of his body, curling on the floor like an oversized slug. "What have you done? My baby! My love!" Asmodai wailed. The Škorpion finally fell silent and the smoke cleared. Ignoring his numerous other wounds, Asmodai dropped to his knees, picking up his snake-cock and cradling it to his chest like an infant. Between his legs, black blood gushed, soaking into the carpet. Malak moved so quickly that Cael almost missed him. In a streak of flashing silver, Malak's sword swept across Asmodai's shoulders, separating all three of his heads from his body in one

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clean, stroke. They fell to the carpet before Asmodai's screams fully died away. Three sets of eyes blinked incredulously. Before it even registered in them that Malak had ended it, Asmodai's body -- heads, cock, and all -- began to fade, disappearing as he was sucked back into the bowels of Hell. Within a few moments, all that remained were the greasy black, foul smelling stains on the carpet. "You okay?" Cael asked Malak. He put his hand on Malak's shoulder, turning him, looking for injuries. "Yeah, I'm fine. Missed me, but not by much," Malak said, showing Cael a long, blackened burn on his arm. The ball of light that Asmodai had flung at them had melted Malak's armor, cutting through it and several layers of skin. "Still think Big Tex is only human?" Cael asked, gingerly touching Malak's wound. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you? Okay, fine. You were right, I was wrong. Happy now?" Malak asked, hissing through his teeth as Cael healed his wound. It instantly scabbed over, but remained an angry red. Hellfire burns never really healed completely. His angel was going to carry that scar forever. Cael almost wished Asmodai were still in the room, just so that Cael could kill him again. "No. The only thing that would make me happy would be if none of this was happening and you and I were cuddled up in bed somewhere. Naked." "Only you could think of sex at a time like this, love." "Who said anything about sex? I just said ‘naked.' The sex is all you, baby." Cael grinned. He rubbed his thumb along Malak's jaw, wanting so much to send his angel away to safety, but knowing that Malak would relieve him of his head if he said anything. He settled for a kiss. "So, we know what Big Tex is, but who's Merihim? Another General? Where do we find him?" "Merihim is the Prince of Pestilence. I should have realized that Lucifer would make him the third Horseman. Nobody knows disease and how to spread it as well as Merihim does -- he was the one that thought of using fleas to pass the Black Plague around Europe. Asmodai said that Merihim's scientists were brewing up some viral beastie in the labs. He must plan to use it to taint the food at the Roundup restaurants." "Where do you think these labs are?" "I'm willing to bet that they're right here in this building, probably underground. Merihim is too arrogant to think that mere humans would be successful without his direct supervision. He'd want to be oversee the project personally."

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"Okay. Let's go. We'd better hurry. I can hear sirens already. Someone must have reported the gunfire." "Malak… "

"Don't Cael. I know what you're going to say, and just…don't. We're in this together, for better or

worse. I'm not leaving you."

"But… "

"No buts."

Cael nodded. He might not be able to send Malak away, but he could keep himself between

Malak and whatever Merihim would throw at them.

"If I were Merihim, I'd hide the entrance to my lab. I wouldn't want nosy janitors or lost tourists

finding it," he said, looking around Merihim's office. He walked over to the bookcase, running

his fingers over a few of the spines.

"Oh, come on… Merihim wouldn't be that clichéd, would he?" Malak asked.

"Why not? Don't forget the arrogance factor, Malak. He doesn't believe that he'll get caught,

especially after so many years masquerading as Big Tex. Plus, if the entrance were in his office, he could get in and out whenever he pleased. There's probably another entrance outside, most likely where all the guards were patrolling." Malak rolled his eyes, but started yanking books from the shelves. Most flew off without the

slightest resistance, except for one.

Merihim's copy of Dante's Inferno.

Cael looked at Malak and snorted. "What did I tell you?"

"What does Lucifer do? Give his Generals lessons in arrogance?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." He yanked on the leather bound copy, feeling it give. It tilted to a

forty-five degree angle before the bookcase silently swung away from the wall revealing a dimly

lit staircase.

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Chapter Eighteen The stairway proved to be three flights long, leading them deep underground. Fluorescent lights illuminated a wide cinderblock tunnel that stretched in both directions. A forklift trundled by bearing a stack of wooden crates. Cael sniffed the air, pulling Malak into a small space underneath the stairwell. He put a finger to his lips. Crouching in the darkness under the stairs, they counted the guards patrolling the tunnel. They passed by with regularity, in pairs, armed to the teeth. These were not human sentries. Cael had smelled the brimstone that clung to their pores, felt the cold breath of evil that they left in their wake. They'd need to be very careful from here on out. Being dim would not hide them from the Hounds of Hell. Slipping his knife from the sheath he had strapped to one thigh, Cael readied himself. They needed a disguise, and the next two Hounds to pass by Cael and Malak's hiding place were about to provide them with one. He dispatched both guards with lightning speed. "Okay, Malak, look alive. Let's strip ‘em down before they change back into their natural forms. The uniforms won't hide our identities from Merihim, but they should get us past the rest of the guards." Malak looked slightly green as he pulled the dead Hound's cammo pants and army green tee on over his armor. "Good Lord, Cael. They reek!" "Yeah, the Hounds have a natural aversion to soap and water." "I'll smell like a sewer." Malak whispered. "No, you'll smell like Hell. Literally." The army-issues didn't entirely disguise either Malak's chain mail or Cael's Kevlar vest, but it was better than nothing, and the reek of the Hounds helped cover their own scents. With a little luck, they might be able to locate the lab and Merihim without drawing attention. Luckily for them, the Hounds were vicious, malevolent, and bloodthirsty, but not very bright. Cael and Malak briskly walked the length of the tunnel with their heads down, trying to seem as if they knew where they were going. Several Hounds passed them by. None gave them a second look. They came to a long bank of reinforced windows which looked in on a huge laboratory. Entering through a small chamber housing a number of white bio-hazard suits, and ignoring the numerous

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signs that warned of contaminating the "clean" room, Cael and Malak slipped inside, weapons drawn. Cael spun in one direction and then the other, ready to lay waste to anything that resembled Big Tex, but aside from a few cages of mice and a sour-looking rhesus monkey, the lab was empty. "Damn it! I was so certain that he'd be down here," Cael hissed, pounding a nearby lab table with his fist. The beakers and glasses on the table rattled with the force of his anger. "It's okay, Cael. We'll find him. Where do we look next?" Malak asked, putting his hand on Cael's arm. The warmth from Malak's hand seeped through the cammo shirt, soothing as always. "How about right behind y'all?" The voice was deep and gravelly, and familiar. It should be -- they'd heard it countless times in commercials for Roundup Restaurants. "Big Tex!" Malak exclaimed as both he and Cael spun around. "Merihim!" Cael hissed nearly at the same time. His fingers twitched over the butt of the Škorpion, but a ferocious growl stilled his hand as Hounds popped into the room all around them -- dozens of them, far too many for he and Malak to take down. "In the flesh…so to speak," Merihim replied, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders. "You two boys have caused us a heap of trouble. Lucifer is fit to be tied over it. Damn shame, too, fine demon like yourself hooking up with one of them feathered fairies. What possessed you, boy?" he asked, looking at Cael. Cael's mind was spinning, trying to find a way out, but he was coming up empty. For once in his life, he was at a loss. What had possessed him? What had he been thinking when he'd marched Malak into the lion's den with only a machine gun and a knife to keep them safe? They were both about to pay with their lives for Cael's arrogance. Arrogance. "Hey, you can't blame a guy for wanting to stay out of Hell and have a little fun, can you? The angel was my ticket out. I've had three thousand years of fun because of him," he said, smiling. He tossed a sneer at Malak, one as full of malice and contempt as he could muster. "But when I found out that Lucifer had released the Horsemen, I knew I had to do something. Balam and Mephistopheles were such fucking amateurs -- it would have been a shame if they'd succeeded in bringing about the End of Days. It would be like baboons writing Shakespeare's plays. But you, you're a legend in the Circles. A hero! I knew that if you had your chance to shine, you'd outdo them all, so I conscripted this pathetic excuse for an immortal and made sure that Balam and Mephistopheles would fail."

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Cael fought hard not to cringe under both the weight of his lie and the glare he received from Malak. "This one didn't even know what I was doing! He actually thought that I loved him, that we were going to stop the End of Days! I just wanted to have the opportunity to watch the master at work." There was shock in Malak's eyes, outrage, and a stab of pain that twisted in Cael's heart like a knife. "How about that. A fan, huh?" Merihim said, a broad, conceited smile spreading across his doughy face. Cael was surprised that his shirt didn't pop its buttons as Cael's lies inflated his already overblown ego. "Funny though. Asmodai said Halo-boy here was your lover." "So I got a little angelic ass along the way. Can you blame me?" Malak's eyes were full of confusion and pain. "Cael! What are you saying?" Damn it! He hated hurting Malak, even though it was necessary. Then again, could Malak really think that Cael meant what he was saying? How could he not realize that Cael was lying to save their asses? He bit the inside of his cheek hard, tasting blood, as he snatched Malak's sword out of the angel's hand. "Shut up!" Cael snapped, hating himself. He slapped his hand over Malak's mouth. He squeezed Malak's cheeks together roughly, fingers sinking into Malak's flesh. "Not another word or I'll cut that sweet tongue right out of your mouth." "Good for you, demon. Got to keep these boys in their place. He's one fine looking piece of ass, even if he does play for the wrong team. Speaking of Asmodai, you left quite a mess in my office. Why'd you have to kill him?" "He was an asshole," Cael said, shrugging. That much, at least, was true. "He said that he was going to wait until the mojo juice you're making was ready, then kill you and take credit for your work. He wanted to be the one who brought on the End of Days." "Stupid bull-headed ... I knew that sneaky bastard was up to something. Not that he would have succeeded. Nobody stabs me in the back. I got eyes in the back of my head." Cael nodded. "So, where is everybody? I'd have thought you'd have teams working round the clock to concoct your super-virus. That is what the plan is, isn't it? To poison the food?" "Among other things. Food, water supplies…son, before you know it the whole world's gonna have the worst case of food poisoning ever recorded," Merihim said, laughing. He was practically strutting. "But you've missed the entire process of creation. It's a done deal. We've got it in the warehouse, ready to be shipped worldwide. Plus another few thousand crates that'll be

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chucked into every body of water we can find. Tell you what, son. Kill the angel and come with me. I'm going to dump the first batch myself. You can help me do the honors." "Oh, you don't want to do that. Kill the angel, I mean," Cael said, giving a little laugh. "He's far too good to waste." "I don't have time for--" "You ever fucked an angel, Merihim? Trust me, it's like nothing else you've ever experienced. Creamy flesh, tight ass, beautiful mouth, and he makes the sweetest sounds when you pound him into the mattress! Probably won't get the chance to fuck one after the End of Days. You know Lucifer -- when he gets through with Heaven he won't leave any pieces big enough to fuck." Merihim's gaze fell on Malak, his small, pig-like eyes roaming over Malak's body from head to toe, with a long, leisurely stopover just below Malak's belt buckle. Cael could see that Merihim's lust was getting the better of him. "All right. Bring him along. It'll take a day or so after contamination for the virus to actually reach the consumers and do its magic. We can use him to pass the time." Merihim laughed. His beefy hand slid from his suspender to his crotch, rubbing himself lewdly. "Hounds! Back to the warehouse!" They disappeared instantly, leaving Cael, Malak, and Merihim alone. Merihim turned, heading toward the door. It was the moment Cael had been waiting for. He ripped the Škorpion out of its sheath, finger pressing the trigger even as he swung the barrel toward Merihim's back. The bullets ripped through empty air, peppering the wall, digging out chips of concrete, dusting the air with a cloud of pulverized cement. Merihim was gone. "You disappoint me, son. Didn't I tell you that I had eyes in the back of my head? Did you think that I was talkin' out of the side of my mouth?" Merihim was behind Malak, arm around Malak's chest, as he pressed the serpentine blade of an ornamental dagger to the soft flesh of Malak's throat. The blade drew a thin line of blood. "Twenty-twenty vision, both sets." "Let him go!" Cael said, baring his teeth. His finger twitched on the trigger, but he didn't dare take a shot. Not with Merihim using Malak as a shield. "Drop it, or I'll slice his throat. You're done, son." Blood dripped from the knife's keen edge, bright crimson against Malak's skin.

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Cael bent down, never letting his eyes leave Merihim's, and placed the Škorpion on the ground. As he slowly straightened, he let his hand slide against the leather of his boots, feeling the hilt of his dagger brush his palm. In one swift movement, he slid the dagger from his boot and flung it end over end toward Merihim's shoulder. It sunk in deep, striking with enough force to pierce flesh and bone. Malak twisted away from Merihim's knife at the same instant Cael snatched up the Škorpion and opened fire. Jerking under the bullets' impact, Merihim shed his human disguise, revealing his true form. Two pairs of huge eyes, blood-red and sparking with pain and fury appeared, one on his face and the other on the back of his bald skull. His skin was a mottled purple and yellow, and two large, black horns curved from the top of his head. Thick gouts of black blood pulsed from more holes than Cael could count. Bellowing, he fell to the floor as he raged and thrashed, casting curses that would strip flesh from the bones of any human within hearing range. They were painful even to Cael and Malak's ears, and that was saying something about Merihim's power. Both covered their ears, wincing. "Finish him, Cael!" Malak cried, doubling over as Merihim's curses slammed into him with the force of a runaway semi. Fighting the screaming pain in his head, Cael aimed the Škorpion at Merihim and opened fire again. He kept his finger on the trigger long after Merihim had fallen silent and the ammo clip had emptied. Still gasping for breath from the debilitating pain of Merihim's curses, Cael and Malak watched Merihim's body erupt into flame, charring to body-shaped pile black oily ash. Then that, too, was gone, leaving only a scorch mark burned into the cement floor. Malak shivered violently and leaned back against the wall, sinking down to the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest. "You okay?" Cael asked. He knelt down and reached for Malak, pulling him close. "Come on, angel. You know I didn't mean anything I said." "I know. That's not it." "Then what? Talk to me, Malak." "When he cursed us, I saw it, Cael. I saw Hell. What it's like down there, the agony. What souls go through…what you went through. I heard the screams, Cael. I don't think I'll ever stop hearing them."

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"Don't worry, love. You'll never set foot there. I promise," Cael whispered, kissing Malak's brow. He wasn't sure if it was a promise he could keep, but he knew that he'd put himself between Malak and every demon in Hell if that were what it would take to keep Malak safe. "It's not me I'm worried about. It's you. I don't want you to back there, Cael. Not ever. Not even after the End of Days." Cael sighed, tipping Malak's face toward him, taking a long, deep kiss. "There are some things no one can prevent, Malak. That's one of them. Don't worry about that now. Besides, if we don't get moving, the End of Days may be sooner than later." "Huh? We beat Merihim, didn't we?" Cael watched Malak's eyes wander to the black smear that was all that remained of Hell's General. "Yes, but there's still one Horseman to come. Although, that's not what I'm worried about right now. The Hounds are still loose. Merihim sent them to the warehouse, remember? We need to destroy them and the virus." "How?" "Come on. I have an idea," Cael said. He stood and helped Malak to his feet. Picking up his knife from the floor where it had fallen, he slid it into his boot, then ejected the empty magazine from the Škorpion and slapped a new one in its place. A slight smile tilted Malak's lips. "Lock and load, huh?" "Yeah, lock and load. Oh, and I love you." "What do you know? He can be taught!" Malak said, although Cael could tell he was still smarting from his recent glimpse into Hell. Sadness and pain still flickered in his dark eyes, and Cael wanted nothing more than to erase what Malak had seen. He wondered how long it would take Malak to get those visions out of his head -- three thousand years later, Cael was still trying to do it. Then again, Malak had only seen the horrors -- Cael had had a front row seat to a production that was heavily into audience participation. Cael led Malak upstairs, back through Big Tex' office to the reception area. A quick check confirmed that the offices were empty, which was perfect as far as Cael was concerned. He didn't want any more human casualties than absolutely necessary. The Horsemen had done a good job of supplying Heaven with martyrs already -- he had no wish to add any more. On the second floor, he found the room he'd been looking for -- the one filled to the rafters with weapons and explosives. Finding the C-4, he took several bricks, handing some to Malak. Grabbing a handful of blasting caps, a roll of duct tape, and a large, heavy coil of fuse, he grinned at Malak. "Hounds go boom," he said, hefting the roll of fuse. Malak was eyeing the explosives warily. "Since when did you become an action hero?"

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"Hey, I saw all the Die Hard movies at least twice. That makes me an expert." "I hate to tell you this, but Bruce Willis, you ain't." "Yippee-kay-ay, motherfucker," Cael growled. He led Malak downstairs and out the back door, toward the nearby warehouse. Along the way he planted two of the C-4 bricks, attaching blasting caps to both and trailing fuse behind him. He cut the fuse halfway across the lawn between the buildings. Reaching the huge warehouse, they peeked inside a dusty window strung with spider webs. Inside, the Hounds milled around a cargo plane, loading crates up a ramp into the plane's belly. Crates that he had no doubt held the virus. Creeping around the building, Cael and Malak planted an additional four bricks of C-4, setting the blasting caps and attaching the fuses. Cael trailed a long length of white fusing behind him to where the fuse from the office building ended. Kneeling on one knee, Cael looking up at Malak. "When I light this, hit the air and fly -- pardon the pun -- like Hell. We only have about five minutes to get clear. This place is going to blow sky high. Okay?" Malak nodded, shedding his "borrowed" clothing and shimmering his wings into visibility. Cael ripped his shirt over his head. His own wings, blood red, unfurled from between his shoulder blades. "Ready?" "As I'll ever be," Malak replied, bending his knees, ready to launch himself into the sky the moment Cael lit the fuse. It was dangerous to remain close by, but they needed to see the Hounds and the virus destroyed with their own eyes before they could rest easy. Cael grinned at him, then looked at the fuses that lay on the ground like a pair of sleepy, pale snakes. "Okay, Fire in the hole!" he cried as his flicked his thumb. A flame appeared along the edge of his thumbnail, flickering in the breeze. He touched it to the fuses, which began to burn backward toward their respective charges. Together, Cael and Malak took wing, flapping hard to put as much distance between themselves and the coming conflagration as possible. Even so, when the buildings blew, one immediately following the other, the shockwave pushed hard at their backs. Turning, hovering, they watched a pair of huge black clouds billowing into the sky Wearily, they turned toward home; the world was safe for another day.

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BOOK FIVE THE PALE HORSE And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. -- The Bible, King James Edition, Rev 6:8 Chapter Nineteen Lucifer's rage shook the very fibers of the universe, echoing even in the halls of Heaven. "What was that?" The voice was as soft and as golden as Anael, musical notes floating on the air. "Lucifer, I think. Only the Lightbearer had lungs like that," Gabriel answered. Anael looked troubled. "I haven't heard his voice in more millennium than I can count. Since…you know when." His voice was barely above a whisper, and he looked from side to side to make sure they were alone before uttering even those innocuous words. Angels had been punished for lesser infractions than uttering the name of the most embarrassing war in Heaven's history. "The Fall. We can say it now, Anael. Enough time has passed to soothe even the most ruffled of feathers." "I'd rather not take any chances. What do you suppose he's so angry about?" "I haven't got the foggiest notion, nor do I care. Lucifer made his eternal bed -- now he can lie in it and howl to his little black heart's content." "Gabriel! That isn't very forgiving." Gabriel shrugged, his wings bobbing. "Lucifer doesn't care about forgiveness, only power." "And that hasn't changed, not even after all this time." A new voice reached them as Michael joined them. "He's also as sneaky a bastard as ever." "Michael!" Anael gasped, his shock at Michael's choice of language clear. He cringed, as if expecting a thunderbolt to sizzle Michael in his sandals. Ignoring the youngest of the Archangels, Gabriel turned his attention to Michael. "What do you know that I don't know?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Michael. "I can tell by the look on your face that something's up."

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"Indeed. Something is up…or rather, down, as in down on earth. Lucifer has loosed the Horsemen. Without Heaven's permission." "What?" Gabriel cried, jumping to his feet. Instantly, he was garbed in his armor, sword sheathed at his side, trumpet hanging over his shoulder from a rope of braided gold. The horn was his pride and joy, and his burden to carry. He was to blow it at the Crack of Doom -- the End of Days. "Easy, brother. We're not going to war." "What?" Gabriel repeated, looking no more surprised than if Michael had spat in his face. "Why not?" "Well, it seems that we're not needed," Michael said, almost enjoying the incredulous look on Gabriel's perfect face. "Three of the Horsemen have already been defeated."

"By whom? Surely not the humans!"

"Hardly. No, by…perhaps you'd better sit down first."

"By whom, Michael?" Gabriel asked again, frowning.

"Malak."

"Who?"

"Malak. You remember Malak, don't you? The young seraphim who was wounded at Sodom?"

Gabriel gaped. "The one who made the pact with the demon?"

"Well, he hardly had a choice in the matter, Gabriel. Although from what I've heard, he finally

gave in and shared his soul with the demon not long ago. In any case, they've been fighting the Horsemen…and winning." "No! A demon and a fallen angel are saving mankind? And it's being allowed?"

"Malak isn't a fallen angel. He gave his soul out of love. You know how the Boss feels about

love, Gabriel. Plus, they've actually been doing a pretty good job of it. Very few casualties."

"Bah. Who cares about casualties? If the Horsemen have been sent out, then it's war! We should

be there, Michael! Strike hard, strike fast, and don't leave anything standing. Remember?"

"Tsk, tsk, Gabriel," Michael said, wagging a finger at him. "Heaven didn't decree it to be the

End. And until Heaven does, we aren't to fight. They're doing just fine without us. Besides,

raining fire and brimstone down on a world that has fire extinguishers and sprinkler systems

won't work."

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Gabriel snorted. "You've been helping them, haven't you?"

"Maybe just a little push in the right direction now and then. You should have seen them take out

Merihim, Gabriel! With all the pyrotechnics, it was almost like the old days." Michael grinned.

"What's next?"

"The last Horseman. I only hope the two of them can pull it off," Michael said, "or you may be

blowing that thing after all."

***

The Throne Room was deserted. The quick got away with their hides intact; the less swift

remained behind in smoking, greasy black puddles. A temporary reprieve at best -- they'd reform shortly, and be sent to deepest Pits where their screams would echo for eternity. That was the fate Lucifer decreed for those who failed him -- which had been everyone to date.

Lucifer paced back and forth, his fury tangible, crackling in the air around him in streaks of blue

and red lightning.

How? How could one pathetic angel and one lesser demon manage to take down three -- four if

he counted Asmodai -- Generals of Hell? How?

He snarled as the answer came to him.

With help, that's how.

Michael.

That sanctimonious, behave-or-I'll-smite-your-ass archangel! He had to be helping them. There

was no other conceivable explanation. His twin brother had to have been sticking his holier-than thou nose into Lucifer's business…again.

The thought only served to infuriate Lucifer more, until his entire being shuddered with waves of

rage. How dare he!

Identical twins from their silky blond hair and ice-blue eyes to the graceful arches of their feet,

Lucifer and Michael had once been so close that they could have been the same person.

Until the day he'd realized that he, along with his angelic brethren, were destined for greater things than being footstools for a Being no more powerful than themselves. The day Lucifer had realized that, he put in motion plans to assume his rightful place in Heaven.

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Choose, Michael. Choose to remain in chains, or choose to live free, to become who you were destined to be. Fight at my side and you will be a god! Lucifer would never have thought that Michael would choose to stand against him. It was the

wound that cut most deeply. The one that still bled, fueling his rage. But Michael had made his

choice, and the Heavens had run red when their swords had met in battle.

For eons the war had raged, until finally the unthinkable had happened.

Lucifer lost.

If there was one thing Lucifer hated above all else, it was losing.

He'd had the last laugh, though. Hell was meant to be his prison, but it had become his Kingdom

instead, and Earth was his playground. The humans made for excellent entertainment. Frail little

monkeys with their precious little souls; Heaven's Conceit as Lucifer called them

He pitted them one against the other, inspiring greed, envy, and hatred, dusting the little blue

planet with famine and war. They were so malleable, so easily influenced that time and time

again Lucifer had succeeded in bringing civilizations to their knees. Lucifer's borders were

packed with the souls of those he'd corrupted.

But after a few millennia, it became almost boring.

The one thing that he looked forward to was the day it would all end, when the world would stop

spinning on its axis. For on that day, when mankind breathed its last, he would be free to finish

what he'd started. On that day, the Gates of Hell would open wide and he would march his army

of the damned into Heaven and grind those sanctimonious angels beneath his boot heels.

Michael would be the first one he'd stomp into dust, and he looked forward to that most of all.

Oh, how Michael would pay for his betrayal! He'd pay in flesh, in blood, and Lucifer would

dance on his bones.

But Heaven was obstinately closed-mouthed in respect to when the End would begin. His spies

had not been able to gather any information whatsoever about a date. Tired of waiting, he'd

finally set the End in motion himself.

Now that he'd begun it, he would allow no one to stop it. No one. Not Heaven, not Michael, and

certainly not a pair of hapless underlings like Cael and Malak.

The trouble was simple -- his Generals were weaker than he'd thought. Fools, all. This time he

would leave nothing to chance.

If you wanted something to be done right, the best course of action was always to do it yourself.

***

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Malak lay on his back as Cael's lips, teeth, and tongue wreaked havoc on his body. Fiery kisses and licks, nips with sharp teeth on delicate skin; Cael skillfully drove Malak to the very edge, teasing him with the promise of pleasure, only to renege on that promise time and time again. Malak felt the white-hot rush boiling up, only to have Cael withdraw at the last possible moment with an evil little chuckle. Writhing underneath Cael's weight, Malak threaded his hands in the silky strands of Cael's hair and pulled. Hard. "Stop teasing. I want to come, Cael." "All in good time, angel. Getting there is half the fun." "I've been there at least a half-dozen times in the last hour, but you keep putting up detour signs. Let me come, Cael!" Malak hissed as Cael gave his turgid erection another long, languorous lick. Cael's only answer was another evil little chuckle. "At least give me something to do while I'm waiting," Malak said. "Get your ass up here." "My, my, but you're in a pushy mood today," Cael answered with a smirk, but he did as Malak had ordered, positioning himself so that his head hovered over Malak's cock while his ass filled Malak's vision. From his vantage point Malak had a perfect, up-close view of Cael's firm sac, heavy and furred, dangling enticingly before his eyes. Oh, Cael's ass was indeed a thing of beauty. Malak often wondered how he'd managed to resist Cael for so long. Cael's body was built for pleasure, from his petal soft lips, his long, talented fingers, to his thick cock, but it was Cael's ass that never failed to fascinate Malak. Firm muscles played under his fingers as he ran his hands over Cael's sinfully soft skin, kneading the cheeks. Between them, Cael's small hole winked at Malak. The ring of ridged flesh beckoned, and he didn't hesitate to take. Pressing his face along Cael's crack, he inhaled deeply, savoring the heady spice that was uniquely Cael. Holding out for as long as he could, Malak finally flickered his tongue over Cael's hole for a taste of paradise. As Cael's musky flavor filled his mouth, his fingers reached around Cael's thigh and wrapped around Cael's length. Sensations bombarded him, making his head spin: Cael's soft mouth sucking hard on his cock, hands deftly manipulating his sac, the taste and scent of Cael filling his mouth and nose. Malak's hips thrust up into Cael's willing mouth keeping time to the wild beating of his heart, hand sliding over Cael's hot flesh.

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Malak found himself trapped between rapture and ecstasy, at a place where the pleasure was so sharp and biting that it was almost painful. It sliced through him like a razor, every star in the universe dancing in his vision as he came. With Malak's tongue inside his body and Cael's cock in his hand, Cael followed him into bliss, screaming his pleasure. The very earth trembled.

"Did you feel that, Malak?" Cael asked, his breath still ragged, looking over his shoulder.

"Yeah. Good job, hon."

"I don't think that was me. Or you. Or us. It was something else, Malak."

"What?" Malak's eyes fluttered closed as he drifted down from the incredible high of his orgasm.

"I think what we just felt was the arrival of the last Horseman."

Malak's eyes snapped open and he sat up, pushing Cael off of him. "Are you serious?"

"Deathly."

"Well…who is it? Where is it?"

"Do I look like MapQuest? I don't know, Malak."

"Well, we'd better find out, and fast. Anything powerful enough to cause a tremor has to be bad

news."

"Yeah. And whatever it is, it's big and nasty, and it's already pissed me off. Nobody rocks your

world but me, angel."

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Chapter Twenty The bike roared like a ferocious beast, belching a stream of black smoke. A silver blur, it hugged the curves of the two lane road that wound through the mountains as if it were one with the blacktop, a single entity of metal and macadam. As it passed, grass withered in its wake. Leaves grew brown and brittle and fell, leaving blackened branches reaching for the sky. Animals grazing at the side of the road fell over dead, eyes casting over with a bluish-white pall. Upward into the mountains the rider traveled, and if anyone had been close enough to hear him over the roar of the motorcycle, they would have heard him laughing. The bike was Sorrow, and its rider was Death. And the party was just beginning. *** Depot still slept at that early morning hour, unaware of the evil that idled under the county's only traffic light. Dawn broke, pink and cool. The green grass of the town's neatly kept square sparkled in the new sun with drops of dew. Tranquil. Idyllic. Peaceful. About to be dragged kicking and screaming into a nightmare. Lucifer straddled his silver Harley, long legs planted firmly on either side of the sleek machine as his icy blue eyes scanned the streets for movement. Shirtless, he wore his black leather jacket open to expose the golden skin of his broad chest and washboard stomach. Formfitting black leather pants clung to his sculpted muscles, and buckled biker boots covered his legs to mid-calf. His golden hair fell in shimmering curtain halfway down his back, not a hair out of place regardless of the helmet-less ride he'd taken through the mountains. The bike was a plaything, a toy. He had no need for transportation, fully capable to popping in and out of the world as he saw fit, but he rather liked the dangerous, bad boy image it leant him. He looked damn good on the bike, and he knew it. Ah, vanity, thy name is Lucifer, he thought, chuckling with a sound like broken glass grinding under a boot heel. In Lucifer's opinion, his narcissism was one of his greatest attributes. Beauty was just another weapon in his arsenal, but out of all his weapons, the truth had the keenest edge. They called him the Father of Lies, but in reality he knew that the truth was usually more painful and cutting than

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any falsehood he could possibly invent. There was a reason they called it being "brutally honest." Even the best and most believable of lies were wrapped around a kernel of truth. One truth that Lucifer knew was that Heaven would not tolerate another Sodom. It was the best way to draw Cael and Malak to him. How best to start here? Lucifer closed his eyes, and listened hard. He could hear the softly murmuring voices of the townsfolk as they plodded their way through their dreams. Old Mrs. Vellaway, who spent her days bent over the Librarian's desk, books stacked all around her like the walls of a fortress, was dreaming of Michael Fenway, the local mechanic. Michael had taken out a copy of a foreign automotive repair guide, and it was overdue. In her dream, Mrs. Vellaway was giving Michael a firm dressing down for his failure to return the book on time. Overdue books rated right up there with capital murder in her opinion, but the poor woman was so repressed that the best she could do was wag her finger at him and lecture. Well, Lucifer could certainly do better than that for poor Mrs. Vellaway. He called them both into the street, along with Mr. Vellaway, the librarian's husband. Moments later, Michael was dangling by his wrists from Sullivan County's one and only traffic light, stripped naked and howling as Mrs. Vellaway wielded a riding crop against his flesh with great relish. Mr. Vellaway seemed quite pleased with the show his wife and the town mechanic were putting on, jerking off with a great deal of enthusiasm as he watched. Much better, Lucifer thought. He rubbed his hands together gleefully and turned his attention back to the dreams of the sleepy little town. How many inventive lessons could he create? He chuckled, answering his own question with another. How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? By the time the sun had fully breached the mountains, Lucifer had transformed Depot's Main Street into a place that bore an eerie resemblance to Sodom in its heyday. Sheriff Will Stanton was buttfucking Deputy Fred Miller on top of the town's only police car, the car's springs squeaking noisily. The rest of the town's police force stood in a semi-circle, eagerly waiting their turn. Bob Mason, owner of the local supermarket, was involved in steamy little threesome with the good Reverend Wilcox and his wife. Barbara Shent, who owned the Cut & Curl Beauty Emporium had Town Clerk Gloria Shepard sprawled naked on the sidewalk, her face buried between Gloria's legs. The entire membership of the Depot Ladies' Book Club were involved in a clusterfuck with the Volunteer Fire Department, while the Gazette's only reporter, Millicent Finch, alternated taking photos and fucking herself with a large, black flashlight.

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Principal Benjamin Taylor had School Secretary Barbara Schmit sprawled out on the blacktop,

hogtied and greased up, studiously giving his secretary a lesson in fisting.

Screams of ecstasy blended seamlessly with cries of pain, as bodies shuddered and writhed,

undulating over the blacktop and sidewalks of Main Street like a solid, living entity.

It was a thing of beauty, to be sure.

Lucifer stood in the middle of the sexual chaos, head thrown back and arms outstretched,

soaking up the energy that crackled in the air, and howled.

"Come on! Come and get me, Michael! We end this now, or this will only be the beginning! This

is only a one-horse, pissant town! Want to see what I can do in New York? London? Tokyo?

LA? Come on!"

Eyes sparking with excitement, Lucifer looked out at his handiwork, laughing…and waited.

***

"Hungry?" Malak's finger drew random circles over the satin skin of Cael's chest. He flicked a

nipple playfully, ignoring Cael's answering growl. "I'm starving."

"What do you feel like having? Besides me, of course." Cael grinned. "Chinese? Italian? I'll conjure something up while you finish what you've started here." He pulled Malak's hand down toward his crotch. "Oh, no. Not a chance. We've been stuck up in this house for days. I want to go out, Cael."

"Out? Out where? Depot? What the Hell are we going to do there?"

"I don't know and I don't care. As long as it's not here, I'm good with it," Malak said, pushing

Cael out of bed. "Get dressed. We'll fly into town, grab lunch, go window shopping."

"Window shopping? Great. Which window were you thinking of? The display of socket

wrenches at Moe's Hardware, or the gen-u-ine milk cans at the Second Time Around Shoppe?"

Cael asked. He rolled his eyes, and stuck out his tongue.

"Just get dressed," Malak huffed, pulling on a T-shirt. "Don't be such a snob. Depot is a cute

little town."

"I'm not a snob. I'm just not particularly excited by rusted-over wheelbarrows and chipped

crockery."

"Come on, let's just go, okay? I happen to like antique stores. They're exciting."

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"Exciting?" Cael said grumpily, although he did get dressed without much more prodding by Malak. "Angel, one thing I can assure you is that excitement is something they're critically short on in good old downtown Depot, Pennsylvania." "Oh, I wouldn't say that, Cael," Malak smiled. "You never know what you're going to find until you get there." *** "I hate it when you're right," Cael hissed as they alighted on a rooftop overlooking Main Street. Narrowing his eyes, he watched the debauchery playing out on the street below before he conjured his weapons, along with Malak's chain mail and sword. "Not only did we find excitement, but I think we just found the Fourth Horseman." "Where?" Malak whispered, eyes searching the crowd below. "Oh, I'm willing to make book that it's that fella on the motorcycle over there," Cael said, nodding toward the blond in black leather who sat straddling his bike. "He looks familiar." "He should. It's Lucifer. You remember him. Caused a little trouble in Heaven a while back, Lightbearer, The Dragon, Father of Lies…any of this ringing a bell?" "God help us!" Malak's face had gone pale, and Cael could see the shudders that were running across his shoulders as he donned his chain mail. "Lucifer isn't just any other demon, Cael. How do we defeat him?" "We don't." "What?" Malak's dark eyes darted toward him. "What do you mean? We have to!" he said, incredulously. "We can't. He's way out of our league, Malak. Or don't you remember him taking on Heaven? How many millennia did it take how many angels to defeat him? Last time I counted, there were only two of us, Mal." "Well, well, look who we have here! Finally decided to join my little party, have we?" Lucifer's dulcet tones reached over the human din to reach them on the rooftop as easily as if he were standing next to them. In the next instant, he was. "I cast thee out, demon-" Malak began in a shaky voice, holding his sword before him with trembling hands. Cael winced. He grabbed Malak's arm, pulling him back.

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"Oh, he is just too cute! I must congratulate you, Cael. That is one very sweet angel you have there." Lucifer grinned for a second before his features crumpled into a scowl. "Unfortunately, sweet makes my skin crawl." A flick of Lucifer's fingers sent Malak flying backward, skidding on his back across the rooftop. Only a brick chimney kept him from sailing over the edge. Chunks of red-brown brick flew as he hit it hard. The Škorpion jumped in Cael's hands, firing short bursts before the dust had settled. Cael hurried back toward Malak as he fired. "Malak! Mal, are you okay?" he cried, sparing a look down at Malak who lay with his back against the crumbled brick. Cael planted his feet on either side of Malak's legs, and spread his wings wide, trying to shield his angel from anything Lucifer might throw at him. "Aw, protecting him, Cael? You should know better than to try that. Angel, you've ruined a perfectly good demon. I can't tell you how much that pisses me off," Lucifer said. An instant later a fireball raced through the air, crackling and sizzling. Cael ducked, but felt the heat of Hellfire crisp the hair on his arms. His finger tightened on the trigger of the Škorpion again, but it was no use. He felt icy dread swirl in his belly as the bullets reached Lucifer, hovered for a heartbeat, then fell, bouncing harmlessly on the tarpaper rooftop. "You disappoint me, Cael. Even though your work was less than stellar in the Pits, I still held some hope for you. But it's not too late. Come stand beside me and I'll forgive you your indiscretions with this pathetic creature," Lucifer cajoled, smiling at Cael. It was a viper's grin, full of thinly disguised venom. Cael bared his teeth at Lucifer in return. "Like I'd believe anything you said. Malak's not pathetic. He's the strongest person I've ever met." He felt movement as Malak struggled upright, to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. "You've been fooling yourself, Cael. You're a demon, a fallen angel. You have no heart, and regardless of what you might think, you have no soul. Not your own, not his. You're empty inside," Lucifer hissed. "You're wrong!" Malak cried, shouldering Cael aside. "He does have a soul. I shared mine with him! And he has a heart because he loves me!" "Pathetic. Do you really believe a demon can love anyone or anything? It's a sham, Malak. A ruse. You've been taken in by the oldest trick in the book. Love isn't real. It's a farce." "No!" Malak roared. Cael had to restrain him to keep him from charging Lucifer. "Calm down, Malak! You know that he lies! Don't listen to him!" Cael ordered, pushing Malak behind him again. If anyone was going to get hit by Hellfire or worse, it was going to be him. He'd keep his angel safe, even if it meant being blasted back into Hell.

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"Do I? Think about it, Cael. How could an angel, a creature of light, love someone so foul that Heaven spat him out? You're a bigger fool than he is if you believe that." Lucifer's eyes sparkled as a cunning smile lifted his lips. "Perhaps a small test is in order." Cael watched Lucifer carefully, the barrel of the Škorpion following his every move. Although it had already proven itself useless against him, it was all Cael had. The next instant, the Škorpion was yanked out of Cael's hand. It zipped across the rooftop to Lucifer's feet as Cael felt himself lifted up. Hovering about ten feet in the air, he was held immobile, as if in a giant fist. The invisible fist squeezed, nearly crushing him, and he screamed in agony. At the same time a young woman appeared over the edge of the rooftop, dangling in midair. Her screams were no less tortured than Cael's. "Choose, Malak. Which one lives, and which one dies? The demon, or the innocent human?" Lucifer asked, laughing. "Let them go!" Malak cried. Trying to steel himself against the red curtain of pain that enveloped him, Cael managed a hoarse whisper. "Lucifer! Leave them be! You can take me." "No, Cael!" Malak screamed. Cael shut his eyes against the look of horror on Malak's face. "Oh, now this is rich. But you see, Cael, you really don't have anything to bargain with, since I already own you, lock, stock, and broken halo. Oh, yes, and I also own your angel. You're both coming to Hell when this is over, remember? His half-soul hitches a ride along with you." "Liar, liar, pants on fire." Cael's eyes widened at the figure that appeared behind Lucifer. It was as if Lucifer had cloned himself. For the briefest of moments Cael wondered if it were a trick, but the sword Lucifer's mirror image held could belong to only one person. Michael. "I truly tire of your half-truths, Lucy. What he's conveniently forgotten to mention to you boys is that Malak's soul only goes to Hell if Lucifer succeeds in bringing about the End of Days. If Armageddon plays out according to Heaven's original timetable, Malak will go to Heaven. And Cael, since your half-soul is bound to his, you get to come home too," Michael said, running his thumb over the razor sharp blade of his sword. "Don't call me Lucy!" Lucifer growled. He opened his fingers, letting the screaming woman drop over the edge of the building, and sent a fireball flashing toward Cael.

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It hit just below Cael's shoulder, instantly burning his skin black. "Malak! Get the woman!" Cael groaned as he fell to his knees. The pain was incredible, worse than any he'd felt while in the Pits. It seared him to the bone, his flesh bubbling under the intensity of Lucifer's Hellfire.

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Chapter Twenty-One Malak felt the blood drain from his head at the sight of the gaping, blackened wound in Cael's chest. Still, he hesitated only a heartbeat before diving over the edge of the building. Wings unfurling, he managed to catch the woman just before she hit bottom. But by the time he deposited the woman none-too-gently on the street below and returned, Cael was laying facedown on the rooftop. "No!" Malak screamed. His legs gave way and he sank to his knees next to Cael's still body. "Cael? Cael!" Malak cried, turning him over as gently as possible. He no longer cared about the End of Days or where his soul would go afterward, or that two Archangels were poised to fight not a dozen steps away. The only thing Malak saw, the only thing that existed to him was Cael. "Please, Cael. Say something. Anything. Please." "Spare us the theatrics, angel! It's not as if he's dead. You'll be joining him soon enough…in the Pits." Lucifer laughed, summoning a wicked-looking sword into his hand. It had a long, curved, serrated blade, and a handle carved from a human femur. "And you, Michael! Don't stick your nose into my business, or I'll slice it off and feed it to you." "You know, I always wanted to be an only child. Now's my chance." Michael grinned. "Lucy…you've got some ‘splaining to do...and you can start with why you thought Heaven would let you get away with this. Really, don't you ever learn?" Michael's sword sliced an arc through the air "Don't. Call. Me. Lucy!" Lucifer screeched, launching himself at Michael. Their blades met in a shower of red and blue sparks, and a sound that rattled Malak's teeth. Cael lay in Malak's arms, chillingly silent. He didn't move, didn't flinch at the noise of the battle going on mere feet away. Malak curled his body protectively over Cael's, trying to shelter him from the sparks that flew each time Michael and Lucifer's swords clashed. He barely noticed them, focused only on Cael, grief overshadowing his fear. The two archangels fought their way across the rooftop. Time seemed to stand still, holding its breath for the outcome of their battle. Then Lucifer dodged a thrust of Michael's sword, and brought his own around in a swift, powerful arc. The serrated blade sword bit deeply into Michael's side. Michael fell to his knees, his hands cupping the blood that poured from his side, his handsome face twisted into a mask of agony and surprise.

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Lucifer's laugh curdled Malak's blood, as the Lightbearer raised his sword high above his head. "The end has come, brother! The end of Days, the end of Heaven, the end of you." Lucifer's words cut through the veil of grief that had held Malak immobile. "No!" Malak screamed. His fingers closed around the hilt of Cael's knife, slipping it free from its sheath. Springing to his feet, his wings propelled him forward and he plunged it deeply between Lucifer's shoulder blades. Lucifer's agonized scream rent the air. Dropping his sword, he reached behind him, trying to grab the knife buried in his back. It was the opening Michael needed. Struggling to his feet, Michael swung his sword with one powerful arm, relieving Lucifer of his head. As he stood over Lucifer's crumpled form, Michael's wound healed, his flesh knitting, the blood vanishing. In moments, he looked as if he'd never been injured. Lucifer's body and head disappeared, leaving only the odor of sulfur and brimstone behind. It was over. Below them in the street, people began to separate and move back to their own homes. They would awaken no worse for the wear, with only foggy memories of what had happened, like the remnant of a bad dream. Humans would go about their lives without any idea of how close they'd come to annihilation. Michael would return to Heaven's business, Lucifer would continue to plot his revenge from the bowels of Hell. The sun would rise and set, the waves would continue to kiss the shore. The world would continue spinning. Malak didn't care about any of it. His world, his life, lay as still as death in a pool of blood at his feet. Michael laid his hand on Malak's shoulder. "You fought well, little brother. As your reward, your soul will be made whole again. You can come home." Malak shook off Michael's hand. "Don't do it, Michael. Don't take his soul from him. That was my gift to give him." He looked at Michael, hot tears tracing his cheeks. "The only mistake Cael ever made was choosing the wrong side during the War. He paid for that mistake in flesh and pain. If my soul can give him any comfort in Hell now, then I want him to keep it, even if it means I can never go home again." "You would sacrifice that much for a demon?"

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"No. I would sacrifice that for Cael. I love him, Michael, and nothing that Heaven or Hell can do

will ever change that."

"So be it. But I can't leave you here, Malak," Michael said, folding his arms across his broad

chest, frowning. Then his eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. "Alone."

Malak's breath caught in his throat. Hardly daring to hope, he turned back to Cael's body.

"Oh, my aching head. Mal? What happened? Where's Lucifer?" Cael groaned. He tried to rise,

hand reaching for his weapons even as his eyes blinked open.

"Cael," Malak whispered, dropping to his knees. He pulled Cael into his arms, weeping openly.

"I thought I'd lost you!"

"Lucifer…have to--"

"It's over, love. He's been sent back to the Pits."

"It's over? I missed it? Damn."

Malak laughed, shaking with relief. He looked back over his shoulder at Michael. "Thank you,"

he said softly, eyes bright with tears.

"You earned it, Malak. Demon," Michael said, looking at Cael. "Take care of our angel for us.

I'll see you both at the end of time." He smiled at them then vanished, leaving them alone on the rooftop. "Man, I feel like I've been run over by bus," Cael said, sitting up. He poked a finger through the hole that marred his Kevlar vest. "Ruined a perfectly good vest, too."

"Can you fly?" Malak asked. He cupped Cael's cheek, running his thumb over the bristly jaw.

"Yeah. I'm fine. What happened, Malak?"

"Long story. Remind me to tell you about it sometime. I don't have the time now."

"Why? What do you have to do?" Cael asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Take you home, strip you down, and make love to you until you can't walk." Malak grinned.

"Oh. Well, I can see how that would take precedence," Cael laughed.

Malak melted into Cael's arms, their lips meeting in a soft, tender kiss. He could have sworn that

Cael had Hellfire in his lips; their touch seared him to the core. His body tightened, a sharpedged need flooding him that demanded he take Cael now, hard and fast. He groaned, forcing himself to step away. Taking Cael's hand in his, he smiled.

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Nothing would hurry them now, not even their own desires. Together they would go slowly, losing themselves in each other's taste, in their scent, in their touch. They would not be rushed; would make it last. They had all the time in the world. End

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